#that poor boy would burn out if he had to do an incredibly demanding full-time job as an adult

[fantastic-nonsense]

"Damian should be a veterinarian when he grows up" this and "Damian should be a doctor" that….I think he should take advantage of his wealth and be an art major

[sarahjtv]

BNHA Chapter 319 Spoiler Analysis: Found Family

Holy crap what a phenomenal chapter!  This arc in general has been great, but this chapter might be one of my favorites of the arc.  Not just because it focuses on Class 1-A (I’m so glad to see the kids again), but because of the growth we see in these kids in general especially Bakugo and Shoto IMO.  Like, holy shit ESPECIALLY BAKUGO!  I stand by my opinion that Bakugo is one of the best developed characters in the series.  There’s so much I want to say about this chapter and I’ll try my best to do so if my poor injured left hand will let me 😭:

The chapter starts off with the first of 3 colored pages we’re going to get over the next few weeks to celebrate 7 YEARS OF MY HERO ACADEMIA!!!  CONGRATS, HORIKOSHI-SENSEI!!!  This series revived my love of anime/manga and really helped me in some really rough spots in my life.  I will forever be grateful towards Horikoshi for bringing this series to life and blessing us with such an incredible story full of beautiful characters.  MHA may be a little overrated, but I still think it deserves all the love it can get.  

Anyway, the color page.  It shows Uraraka, Iida (who has red eyes here, so IDK why the anime gives him blue eyes though I do think they work better for him personally *shrugs*), Shoto, Tokoyami, and Bakugo after basically figuring out where Deku went.  Bakugo is shown tearing up his letter (which says something like “Thank you for being there, Kacchan”; there’s more but I can’t translate it 😭) and you can kinda see some bandage wrap around his arm where he was stabbed.  Also, both Bakugo and Shoto still have some visible injuries on their faces and Bakugo’s hands, so they’re still recovering from the War.  It’s a really pretty page in general and I can’t wait to see what the next 2 color pages are going to look like.  I also kinda want Horikoshi to take a break after this too again so he doesn’t overwork himself.  Maybe he’ll treat himself to the MHA: World Heroes Mission movie 🍿.  

So, Shoto and Bakugo have figured out that Deku is most likely with Endeavor, Hawks, and Best Jeanist.  Problem is that none of them are answering their phones.  I like that Bakugo calls Best Jeanist “Pair of Denim Pants” 😂 and Shoto’s image of Endeavor is still a very angry version of his old man.  Shoto’s still making amends with his father, but he’s still not THERE yet.  Regardless, these kids are smart enough to know that something’s up.  Especially since All Might hasn’t returned to UA either.

It’s basically confirmed by Ojiro that because classes have been suspended, our Class 1-A kids are still 1-A; they haven’t moved into their second year yet.  That clears up the confusion on whether we should still refer these group of kids as 1-A still or not.  

Now Bakugo’s showing how much of a genius he really is despite his personality.  Bakugo figures out that the Top 3 and All Might are working together as a group based on how they all connected with each other back at Central Hospital.  Also, Bakugo concludes that All Might snuck Deku’s letters under their doors while Deku started running.  Ultimately, Bakugo does know more about Deku and All Might more than anyone else does.  He’s been around his childhood friend and he’s admired his idol longer than most people have.  Bakugo understands how bad the situation is and he’s ready to take action.  

As are the other kids.  You can see how determined they are and you can see Kirishima’s black roots coming in 🥺!  Even Uraraka gets some shine here by bringing up the idea to trick Endeavor to come via getting help from Principle Nezu as Endeavor was a UA student.  It’s really interesting to see Ochako in a more serious roll than usual, but I actually like it.  I hope she’s still as bubbly as she always was at the end of the day, but she’s definitely matured and grown a lot over the corse of the series.  Even the simple things like her hair show it as it’s not as floaty as it was before.  I love it when Horikoshi shows small details like this.  It adds to the characters and stories a lot.  Also, the art in this chapter is amazing.

And now it’s Endeavor vs. Class 1-A in a much needed conversation.  All the kids are wearing their school uniforms to make this as formal and serious as they can.  EVEN BAKUGO IS PROPERLY WEARING HIS TIE YOU KNOW SHIT’S ABOUT TO GO DOWN!!!  And, I must say, Bakugo looks damn good with a tie 😳.  You can also get a decent height measurement on the kids here if you want.  Ngl, sometimes I forget that Shoto’s about 2 inches taller than Bakugo.  It’s definitely the hair.  

Shoto’s the first to step up and he scolds the hell out of his old man.  Rightfully so tbh.  Endeavor shouldn’t have ignored Shoto’s calls even though I kind of understood why.  Shoto reminds Endeavor of their plan to stop Dabi though thankfully that’s what’s pushing Endeavor forward so he hasn’t forgotten.  Shoto calls his father “Endeavor” and gets mad at him fro leaving Deku and All Might alone.  The rough translations say he called Izuku “Deku” here too btw.  Endeavor has no response.  I think this anger Shoto’s unleashing is very justified and has been burning inside him since Deku left UA.  His best friend just up and left him and his friends with nothing but a letter to kinda explain things.  Also, Shoto and the rest of 1-A (minus Bakugo) have basically been lied to for about a year.  I’d want answers too if someone did that to me.  

Bakugo steps in by putting a hand on Shoto’s shoulder (🥺) to calm him down a bit and to say his piece.  Ultimately, he thinks what Deku is doing is right, but that the way they’re all doing it is wrong.  I love Deku and All Might, but they’re sacrificial idiots.  They care more about others than they probably ever will themselves.  That’s how All Might lost his OFA in the first place.  It’s because of that that All Might doesn’t have it in him to stop Deku from going down this path.  They shouldn’t have been left alone.  Someone should’ve kept a closer eye on them.  I know the Top 3 were all worried about getting too close to Deku before, but really, someone should’ve been watching them closer on the sidelines.

The next page is a really cool drawing of Endeavor flinging his phone to the kids to catch.  The previous panels showed Endeavor with this face that’s regretful and I think he realized something: That Bakugo is right and that the kids might be better off finding Deku than he is.  So he basically gives the kids his GPS on his phone.  Those are just my thoughts, but it does look like that.  I don't think Endeavor’s just going to up and give up though.  He’s probably going to start rethinking things though.

As Sero manages to catch Endeavor’s phone, he and the rest of the kids think about how even though they’ve only known Deku for a year, they still think of him as family and cannot let him go down this thorny path alone.  They’ll carry the OFA burden with him if they have to.  They can’t smile without Deku around.  These kids truly have become a family over the year.  It’s amazing to see.  Everyone’s like a brother and sister and it’s really nice to see.  I just love Found Family stories, guys 😭❤️

And really quick, I want to focus on my ❄️🔥 boy, Shoto, really quick.  As he’s thinking about Deku, he mentions how shocked he still is about Deku keeping OFA from them and how Deku thought just a letter would suffice.  He has this sad look on his face like he’s trying to say: “I still can’t believe my best friend hid this from me for so long.  Why?  Did he not trust me?”  That’s just my interpretation.  Still, I can’t imagine how upset Shoto must feel.  I think he still cares a lot about Deku enough to go out and find him, but he’s gotta feel some sort of betrayal.  More so than the other students outside of Bakugo because, again, Deku was essentially Shoto’s best and closest friend 💙😭

Endeavor is rightfully worried about letting the kids out in the state of Japan right now, but now Principle Nezu speaks up and praises the kids on growing up so well.  He’s also took into account Deku's feelings about his mission which is why he agreed to the team up.  Also, Deku’s still welcome back to UA whenever he wants thank god ☺️.  He’s a student who has to be protected.  There’s a cute panel of Uraraka and her mom crying happily after getting her acceptance letter too.  Not 100% why this is shown other than Acceptance Letter part, but it’s cute to see.  Maybe Ochako realizes how much Deku needs to be protected or something.

As for the refugees, Nezu had the security system strengthened in time for the Cultural Festival earlier, but they never used it before.  It’s call The UA Barrier.  God, how strong is this thing?  Is it strong enough to stop Shigaraki who was able to Decay the last barrier?  This seems like something that’ll be used in the final battle TBH.  

So, Nezu trust the 1-A kids to bring Deku back home.  Which is exactly what they plan to do as all 19 of them enter Kamino in a badass full page.  I actually wasn’t sure if all 19 of them were there at first since I couldn’t find Shoto for the life of me, but then my eyes saw the BIG-ASS ICE WALL IN THE BACK AND I THOUGHT “OH THERE HE IS!!!” LOL 😂 

The next panel actually does show Shoto with Momo as they capture the villain from the last chapter.  Momo politely calls Bakugo “Bakugo-san”, but Bakugo demands that he be called his insane hero name: “GREAT EXPLOSION MURDER GOD DYNAMIGHT”!  I CAN’T WITH THIS DUDE SOMETIMES WHY DO I LOVE HIM SO MUCH 💥🧡

Deku sees his friend and wonders why they came.  Ochako answers because that they were worried about him, but Deku tries to convince everyone (including himself) that he’s fine.  He’s obviously not and Bakugo calls TF out on him!  He even drops a good F-bomb for good measure.  Bakugo mocks Deku for trying to act like All Might and asks Deku if he can even smile right now.  I actually really like it that Bakugo’s calling Deku out on his shit.  I think Deku needs some good tough love right now to knock some sense into him.  Who would be better to do that than Katsuki Bakugo himself?

As Deku is trying to convince everyone that’s he’s fine (while still looking like a demon btw), there’s a small focus on Iida.  Actually, a few panels this chapter have focused on Iida.  Maybe he’s remembering the time Deku saved him back when they went up against Stain.  Deku saved him then so it’s now Iida’s turn to save Deku.  Also, Iida hasn’t gotten much focus lately and I really like his character, so I’m glad he’s being brought back to the forefront again.  Also, I like hearing Kaito-san’s voice in general so I’d be happy to hear him again (thanks for that one, Haikyuu).

The final spread shows Deku telling everyone to move away while Bakugo, Iida, and Ochako get ready to stop him.  IT’S DEKU VS. CLASS 1-A!!!  WE’RE ENTERING CIVIL WAR FOLKS!!!  Seriously, though, this is great.  I was thinking that it would be just Bakugo and a few other students finding Deku.  Instead we got the whole class.  And looks like that “helping hand” thing will happen later because we got a battle to fight first.  

Bakugo’s become a damn fine leader and I love to see his growth every freaking time🧡! I like how Iida has his hand on Bakugo’s back to support him btw.  It’s weird that Shoto’s not in this page though.  He’s one of Deku’s best friends, so I would think he would be in this page along with Bakugo and his first 2 friends (Ochako and Iida).  Maybe Horikoshi’s saving Shoto for a more 1-on-1 conversation with Deku.  God, I hope that happens because I think along with Bakugo, Shoto deserves a good talk with Deku the most.  

Honestly, I’m not sure who would win this battle.  I’ve been going through scenarios in my head on who would win, but I can’t come to a solid answer.  Class 1-A has 19 versatile Quirks under their belt and they have more energy than Deku to fight, but Deku still has 6 insanely powerful Quirks that he’s been practicing for a while.  The kids could probably win if they strategize enough and use Deku’s exhaustion against him, but again, Deku has OFA and multiple other Quirks.  If he could beat Lady Nagant, one of the best snipers around, he might be able to beat the 1-A kids.  He could just escape with Smoakscreen, Black Whip, and Float if he wants to really.  That would put 1-A on another wild goose chase.  There’s also Deku’s Danger Sense which will be a pain to deal with.  Also, Deku said that he’s as strong as All Might was in his prime with Fa-Jin and OFA combined.  Only AFO and Shigaraki were strong enough to take on THAT.  Plus, we still don’t know what the 2nd OFA Holder’s Quirk is yet.  Deku might use it in this battle.  God, I have so many theories in my head now.  I think this battle will be awesome, but ultimately, I want Deku to come home 😭💚

Me reading and loving My Hero Academia: 

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

Drive By ~ L.P. (Part 1)

A/n: I have a discord I’m part of! I’m gonna add it to every jatp fic I have, so you’ll get updated links as I post or if you just ask because I don’t know how to do permalinks lol. Have fun reading!

Word Count: 5300+

MASTERLIST

"What are you smiling so widely about?" The teasing question came from Luke and was directed at Alex, who had come into the room blushing with a smile wide and bright enough to outshine the artificial lighting.

"Nothing," Alex dismissed, hopping down from the piano he'd manifested on top of. "Willie just answered a lot of questions and now I feel a lot better about what's going on." They'd just gotten done talking about Julie joining the band and how Alex had met a new ghost friend on his walk.

Reggie's eyebrows came together and he reached out, catching Alex's wrist with both of his hands to still the boy. "What's that?" In dark ink, almost like a tattoo, words were set into the base of Alex's wrist. "I didn't know you had a tattoo, and why does it say 'I think you dinged my board'?"

Alex ripped his arm away from Reggie, but the damage had already been done. As Alex looked over at Luke, he could see in the guitarists' eyes what was about to happen. "You found your soulmate?" Luke asked, a slightly bitter tone already in his voice. His nose was scrunched up a little. Not in hate or disgust per say, but edging toward those emotions. Like he was ready for Willie to be a total jerk or hurt Alex.

"Yeah," Alex slowly admitted. Reggie shot Alex an apologetic look but Alex just shook his head. Reggie hadn't done anything wrong. Normally it would even be a good thing, like when Julie had spent hours talking to him about Flynn and how happy she was that Flynn had been her soulmate. Luke wasn't Julie though. Before Luke could go off like he was getting ready to, Alex stood up to his full height, determination setting in his eyes. "And you know what? I'm glad I did. Willie is really great, and it's nothing like they used to say soulmates were. It isn't forced or weird or magically easy. I don't feel addicted to him. It wasn't even like we were flirting with each other or anything. It was really chill and nice, and he was funny and easy going and listened to what I had to say and understood my feelings and helped me. He's a good guy."

Luke was suddenly very interested in his guitar. "I'm happy for you." His tone didn't support his words.

It was hard, because Alex knew that any other time Luke WOULD have been incredibly happy for him. He'd have wanted to know every detail and have hyped him up and been excited and invested in the story like he always was. Luke would have been more than happy to tease and laugh and be so, so very happy for him just like he said. He'd have smiled and hugged Alex, because he knew how hard this had been for Alex. How he'd always thought he'd die without ever really falling in love and then he DID and now despite everything he has answers and a cute boy who's interested in him and a promising relationship waiting to bloom.

But Luke wasn't, and it was all due to the fact that Luke had a soulmate once and swore them off ever since. Sometimes... Sometimes Alex wished Luke had never met Y/n.

-

It had been a good performance, and Luke was tired. He wanted to go back to the studio and burn off the rest of his performance high with lots of snacks and a good movie, right beside his best friends, like they did after every performance. Before that though, they drank lots of water so they could drive home without passing out. It had happened once and Reggie had sprained arm. He'd sat out the next performance and they all made a rule to be more careful about self care so it wouldn't happen again. They would have just canceled the gig but Reggie would have killed them. They did learn however they hated not performing with everyone present, so here they were.

Because they were just performing at a little bar on a slow night, there weren't many people around. They also weren't a big enough band to perform at somewhere they could get a real bad stage, so they all just sat on the bar, sipping on water so they wouldn't hurt their stomachs. Luke had thrown up once and it was another lesson they'd taken to heart.

As the guys were refueling, a girl approached them. Her smile was wide and she took the open seat next to Luke. Alex had been sitting there but he'd gotten up to use the bathroom. "Hi," she greeted. Her cheek rested on her hand and her eyes sparkled.

Bobby was immediately returning a flirty, "Why hello." He'd always been more of a charmer than the others. Luke was a close second, but Bobby did it more often than he did because Luke didn't like what usually happened when you flirted with someone.

The girl ignored Bobby though, turning to the lead singer, who currently far too busy shoving his face full of food to pay attention to her. 'Hey, slow down or you'll get a stomach ache," Reggie reminded.

Luke nodded and then swallowed, breathing for a few seconds before going to take another, smaller bite. He paused when the girl cleared her throat. "Uh, hi," he said hesitantly, only now registering she'd been talking to him. For some reason.

Her smile grew when he greeted her. "You're Luke, right?" She leaned against the counter, draping herself in an odd way.

Despite how much he hated when people did this, he wasn't thick enough to not know when it was happening. He wiped his mouth, offering an awkward smile. "Uh yeah. What's your name?"

"You can call me anything you like," the girl responded evenly. Her bright hair moved fluidly as she twirled it around her finger. She was pretty, Luke could admit that. Her eyes were a bright blue, and her clothes were a nice silver, which went well with her deep tan.

Unfortunately for her, he wasn't interested. "I'd prefer to just call you your name if that's okay with you."

Her eyebrow arched in surprise. She seemed like the type of girl who dealt with people like Bobby or Reggie. People who were into her and didn't often say no when offered the chance. She was attractive, and probably popular. Luke just... didn't want what she did, and what she wanted was getting more clear by the second. Before she could make some comment that would probably make him feel even more awkward, he slipped off the stool and began to move away from his friends, using it as an excuse to dismiss the girl. She only followed after. "Oh come on," she drawled. "You're hot. I'm hot. We'll have lots of fun. I promise I'll be worth your time." She stepped in front of him, stopping his path and hooking her finger into his collar, pulling him closer to her.

Luke felt panic begin to rise. He'd never had someone come onto him this strong before. Usually they backed off pretty quickly after he made it clear he wasn't interested. What could he say to her to make her lose interest that would make sense without offending her? He didn't want to be mean but... he was the last person to sleep around, even after Alex who was gay in a world that hated people like him. A world that demanded him to keep it secret. HE was more sexually active than Luke was. To say, Luke wasn't. "Listen..." he began slowly, feeling his nervousness twist his gut. His friends had told him so many times that it was okay he didn't want to be with people like Reggie and Bobby did, the same way that Alex didn't want to be with girls like that. It was fine. Yet, every time he had to face it in a situation with someone who might not be so forgiving, he felt the weight of the world on his chest. Not all people were like Alex, Bobby, and Reggie.

"Darling, you're breathtaking." The low purr came from a new body. A hand touched Luke's arm with the most gentle pressure, just enough to nudge Luke backward so the new person could pay attention to the girl. All Luke saw was hair and broad shoulders, but he was distracted suddenly by a weird tingling where the person had touched him. A guy, he realized. "I can't believe there's anyone here that can't see how absolutely beautiful you are." The man rose a hand to brush the girl's cheek with a thumb. Her shining eyes turned to him, taking in his charm in gulps. The man's arm moved to go around her shoulders as he tucked her into his side, burying his nose in her hair to leave a little kiss on her forehead. "What do you say we ditch this poor soul who's so obviously blind and have some fun of our own?"

The girl blushed. "Oh definitely."

An odd feeling went through Luke when the guy made eye contact with him and winked. He turned away from the couple as they began to walk away, hurrying back to his seat. He sat down, trying to get the guy's face out of his head. He'd never been exactly blind to how attractive some people were, but usually it was easy to ignore or forget. This guy... his mind was packed with this guy. Everything about him that Luke had seen in those short moments before he'd left. How he'd smiled at Luke with a look that said he knew Luke had been trying to get out of the situation. Almost like a little 'you're welcome'. And if he was honest, he was thankful.

"Hey, what's that?" Reggie grabbed Luke's shoulder, stilling him so he could get a better look.

"What?" Luke looked over, but he could only see the tip of something inked on his shoulder. It was just out of view for him to see any better.

Bobby moved over then, a smirk growing on his face as his eyes widened. "That's a soulmate mark."

There was a tension between the three boys for a second. Everyone knew that soulmates were a huge taboo, but with all the things between them that were taboo, it was kind of thrilling too. Bobby shrugged off his jacket, offering it to Luke. "Probably a good idea," Luke agreed, putting the jacket on and covering the mark. Even if all of them were cool about it, other people might not be. He could get it tattooed over later or something.

-

Three full days and no one had stopped talking about Alex and Willie. Willie seemed really cool and Luke was easing up a bit, but when the conversation turned that way he found himself usually drawing away, focusing on cleaning his guitar or writing more lyrics. Today he was fiddling around with a melody quietly, a pencil in his mouth and his lyric journal on the floor next to him. He absently rose a hand to tug at the collar of his shirt. He'd never really gotten used to how high the collar went, or the feeling of fabric against his shoulders. He had always worn cut off sleeves, but had changed it after...

He felt suddenly ill.

"You know we still have some of your old shirts," Alex comments casually. "Most of them are cut off actually. You could wear one of those instead." He spoke with a soft voice, and Luke looked over to see Julie and Reggie going off about Flynn. Of course Alex wasn't one to call Luke out in front of anyone else, but he'd still had to check just in case.

Luke's eyes fell back to the song he was sort of writing. "No it's fine. The sleeves cover... my shoulder."

Alex didn't have to ask, but there was something in his expression. "You know you don't have to hide it here," the blonde reminded gently. "Julie and I have our marks too, and-"

"I know," Luke cut off. "I just... don't want her to ask about it." His eyes flickered to Julie before moving away again.

This time Alex nodded and let it drop. "What song are you working on?" Luke smiled, appreciating his friend more than ever. Luke didn't get to respond though because Reggie began to come over. He was holding Julie's glass of water, thrilled by the fact that he wasn't dropping it.... He tripped though, spilling the water all over Luke's shirt.

"Crap!" Reggie hissed, his eyes widening with guilt. "I'm so sorry, Luke."

Laughing it off, Luke rolled his eyes as he moved to his feet, putting his guitar down. "It's fine Reg." He pulled out another shirt, pushing down the way he wanted to glare at it as he pulled off the wet shirt to change into the new, dry one.

Julie's eyes went wide. "You have a tattoo?"

Luke suddenly froze. He tossed the wet shirt by his other stuff, forcing himself to move to cover his midrift again. "No, I don't."

Alex made an expression between pained and amused. "Guess there goes keeping Julie from asking," he mumbled quietly.

As if on que, Julie asked, "What is it?"

Now, Luke could have lied. But he hadn't, and he didn't want to. He hated lying, especially to bandmates. "It's a soulmate mark. It appeared the first time my soulmate touched me." He pulled his shirt the rest of the way down, covering the mark. Without even thinking about it, he tugged at the sleeve. He'd never worn sleeves before using them to cover his mark. He'd always passed it off as a tattoo, but when the mark had just turned into a bad reminder, he'd started covering it up for himself.

Julie didn't pick up on the tone of his voice though. He had played it casual, so he didn't blame her, especially as she rushed up to him with shining eyes and a wide smile. "Wait what? You have a soulmate? How come you never told me?"

"Because I HAD a soulmate," Luke answered softly, offering a small smile in response to her enthusiasm. It turned a little bitter when he continued, "I don't. Anymore."

Suddenly Julie looked really guilty. "Luke, I-"

"It's okay," he dismissed quickly. "That's just why I don't usually engage in soulmate conversations." He forced his smile to brighten. "Now, where were we?" Seeing his urgency, the others shared looks before moving the conversation onward. They talked about soulmates around him a lot less after that.

-

Hey, wait!" Luke's eyes had caught the guy that had saved him earlier as he moved through the crowd. Luke picked up his pace, reaching out to catch the guy's arm. Suddenly they were looking at each other straight on. Luke was a little shorter, but he was a little shorter than most people so it wasn't new. "Sorry, I just wanted to thank you for earlier." He felt his body heat up under the stranger's gaze. "I... thought you would have left."

A smile rose to the stranger's face. "I don't exactly require a lot of space to handle business." When Luke drew back, the man ducked his head. "Sorry I didn't mean to be vulgar, I'm just used to people... anyway." He shook his head. "You don't have to thank me. Not everyone likes to get attention like that from people, and I have no issue stepping in when it's required." His fingers tapped against his leg, his demeanor a lot different from the flirty, confident front he'd put on earlier. 

Luke swallowed, trying to pull himself together. "Uh... what's your name?"

The guy's shoulders sagged, as if he was disappointed by the question. "Y/n. Yours?"

"Luke," Luke responded. "Listen, I was just wondering-"

"Look," Y/n began, a sudden tiredness coming into his features. "I get that you're not into girls and that's fine, but I've already had sex tonight and I'm really not in the mood to-"

"What?"  Luke's face screwed up in confusion. "I don't want to do that. With anyone, let alone you. I... I'm into girl. And guys. But- I- That's not why I-" His face burned hotter. "Listen." He reached forward, grabbing Y/n's palm. He turned it up, to reveal what he was so hoping would be there. A mark, in the shape of a rose. It looked a lot like a tattoo, just without any color. The details were outlined in black ink - even the thorns on the stems. He felt thrilled when he saw it, angling his body to show the exact same mark on his shoulder. "I know we all grew up on the same stories. But I thought... maybe we could get a drink? Talk? I'm the first one of my friends to get a mark and I'd hate to lose the chance to act on it." He shuffled nervously, ready for rejection.

By the look on Y/n's face, it might be harsher than he wanted to face. Y/n surprised him though with a gentle, "I don't think you want me. I- I know we're soulmates, and this has nothing to do with you being a guy, or the whole weird thing most people have with soulmate bonds. I just... I'm not the best person. People don't usually stick around for long."

There was something in what Y/n said that pulled at Luke. "Maybe I could change that. I'm planning on sticking around for a while. How about you?"

Hope of the kind Luke had never seen before filled Y/n's eyes and Luke was rocked breathless by the sight. "You promise?"

"On my life," Luke swore. "At least give me one date to prove I'm not a total waste of time."

Y/n grinned. "You have one date." Luke pumped his fist and Y/n laughed. "Now what did you have in mind?"

-

Luke plopped next to Julie on the couch, concern already on his face. "Are you okay?" He asked softly, slowly reaching out to rub her arm. Alex was on the other side of her, laying on his chest. The two had gotten really close in all their talk about soulmates but when Alex had shot him a plea for help, Luke had been plenty willing to jump in.

"Yeah," Julie sides, picking up her head. "Flynn and I just got in a fight. It was dumb, I just... Someone made a comment asking about 'my boyfriend' after the performance yesterday. Claiming we were together. They were talking about you." She sighed and Luke felt like he was the worst person to get involved in this, but one look from Alex made him stay where he was. "I told them you weren't my boyfriend, and the conversation moved on. She was a little annoyed that I didn't mention she was my girlfriend, I guess? And then went off about how you're into me or something?" She shook her head.

Luke's eyes went wide. "Wait what?"

"I know!" Julie gushed. "I tried to defend you, because we all know that's kind of just how you are with everyone. I mean people also think you're dating Reggie and that's not true..." Suddenly her head tilted. "Is it?"

Despite the tense feeling of the situation, Luke laughed. "Uh, no." Then he considered it, and tilted his head in thought. "I mean, not that I'd pass up the chance if it came. Just-"

Seeing him struggling, Julie supplied, "Your soulmate?" Luke hesitated before sighing and nodding. "When did you..."

"Not long before the night we died, actually. A month max? Time started to kind of blur  as things got more intense and trying to get over a break up and stuff." He shrugged.

Julie nodded. "That makes sense." She hesitated, but finally asked, "You don't have to answer if you don't want to, of course, but... what was she like?"

That made Luke smile. "He."

Her eyes widened. "Really?"

He laughed. "Yeah, really. Uh, I mean it was actually Alex who helped me come to terms with that whole me being attracted to dudes thing." He shook his head. "Anyway-"

Julie chuckled. She calmed, her eyes settling on Luke with a gentle curiosity. "What was he like?"

Immediately Luke remembered a time when things were amazing. When life had seemed truly good since he'd run away from home. "He was... like, a light. In a really dark part of my life, he came to me like sunlight in the morning? You know when the nights really dark and the clouds cover the stars and the moon just isn't enough and then the sun rises and it's almost a relief? It's like that. I had enough before him, but after... It was like everything I needed - everything I'd ever wanted or dreamed about or thought of - it was just right there. A whole person made of my dreams." He got a sort of dreamy smile on his face. "He was always so warm and soft. He used to... trace it." He rose his hand so his fingers ghosted over the mark on his shoulder. "When he did, it sort of tingled. Like this warm sensation that rippled across my skin. It always did that when he touched it. I usually did it more though. I'd hold his hand in my lap and just like stroke the mark. Cause his was on his hand, below his thumb. He used to call me his flower because of it." A bubbly laugh rolled from him and Alex and Reggie looked at each other in surprise. They hadn't seen Luke like this since...

Julie's eyes were very soft. "He sounds amazing."

"He is." Luke's smile suddenly faded, slowly. His fingers grazed the rose again. "He dances like I play music. He was really good at it. All kinds of dancing actually. He used to slow dance with me all the time. Just pulling me close when it was just us and swaying back and forth. He did actual dancing too, but I loved slow dancing with him the most. If he was feeling really restless he would HOARD spray paint and sneak out. The next day we'd wake up with some street art of our band. It's how we did most of our advertising back then. No one could ever pin it on us because we didn't do it, and no one knew me and Y/n were..." Suddenly Julie realized why Luke looked so sad while talking about something that was obviously such a happy time. "I mean, two guys are soulmates in a world where both soulmates and anything nonheteronormative is demonized? I was trying to make a band that was gonna get really popular and do a lot of incredible things and we couldn't even DREAM of being caught together, let alone going public. Girls would still flirt with me all the time, and I got distracted really easily with practices and writing music." He shrugged. "I always thought that soulmates were... different, I guess. I learned my lesson." He stood, putting his guitar down. "I'm done for today. I'll see you guys later." He walked out and Julie almost went after him, but Alex shot her a look.

"Well that went well," Julie mumbled, sitting down again and rubbing her face.

Alex sighed. "About how well it always goes." He shook his head. "But anyway. How about we figure out how to get you back on Flynn's good side?" He winked and Julie managed to actually smile. Luke hadn't had luck with soulmates, but she had. The past was the past. It was time to enjoy the now, until Luke was ready to really talk about it.

-

Luke wasn't sure what he had walked in on, but it was obviously something he wasn't supposed to have. When he opened the garage door, the muffled sounds of an argument trying to be hushed died out immediately and of all people, Reggie and Y/n were the ones who stepped away from each other to break out of whatever heated exchange they'd been having.

Since Y/n and Luke had started... whatever it was they were, Y/n and Reggie had become like best friends. At first Luke had been a little jealous, but at the end of the day he was just glad that his two favorite people had someone when he was busy as he so often was. Bobby and Alex were important to him of course, but Y/n was his soulmate and he and Reggie had known each other the longest. Sometimes he felt like there was a disconnect between him and Alex; the same with Bobby. He and Reggie were always on the same wavelength though. Even when Reggie missed something, he always got the idea or figured it out after a second. He was slower to do so when it came to the others. Y/n was the same way, as if he was just an extension of Luke's body. Rather than an echoed return, it was just one fluid motion. He and Reggie bounced off each other and built; he and Y/n slowly grew together, feeding off a constant wave of energy. Reggie and Y/n were like a game of hot potato, where the potato got hotter each time they threw it. They had that same gaining effect, but not an echo or a constant, just a little bit of energy from each until it was overflowing. The three of them were kind of unstoppable and anytime they could all hang out, it was the most fun any of them had ever had.

That didn't seem to be the case right now.

Y/n snagged his bag, throwing it over his shoulder. "Hey." His voice was strained, and all of his muscles seemed to be tense. He couldn't focus directly on Luke, his eyes constantly drifting to the door. He wanted to book it.

Luke caught Y/n's shoulder, his eyes full of concern. His eyes drifted between the boy trying to run and the one still in the studio, retreating to the furthest corner - seeming just as desperate to escape. "Wait what's happening here?" Luke asked. "You guys never fight." When they didn't answer, he pressed, "Come on, maybe I can help. Friends argue all the time; it's not a good idea to leave on a bad note."

Despite how odd it was, he did not miss at how the two flinched at the word 'friends'.

Finally, someone spoke. "It doesn't matter, dear." Y/n didn't relax, and the small smile he managed onto his face was so forced it was painful to look at. Luke went to argue, but Y/n rose a hand and caressed his cheek and Luke got distracted for a second - just long enough for Y/n to add, "Just some talking between friends." The word came out harder than the others. Friends. Luke was even more confused. "It was stupid to argue about. Some people just have their minds set, and that's it."

Luke's eyebrows came together, eyes moving between Y/n and Reggie. "You know you guys could... tell me, right?"

"Of course," Y/n reassured. "We just..." He sighed. His walls fell and Luke relaxed, knowing whatever was about to come out of his mouth would be genuine. "Can we just not talk about it please? It's something we need to deal with."

That was understandable. Luke could let it go for now.

-

Luke was glad he couldn't dream anymore. It had taken him a while to figure out he could go to sleep. He didn't tire like he used to, and usually any exhaustion he felt faded pretty quickly if he just sat down and relaxed for a few minutes. He had been nervous the first time he'd fallen into what he now considered sleep, and had woken up pretty quickly. But then he realized he'd been out for half an hour and he hadn't had any dreams. Not like when he had when he was alive.

Y/n wasn't in his dreams now that he was dead.

If he was being honest though, in the very back of his brain, he did miss it. He missed going to sleep knowing that he would be lulled all night by imaginary arms, dreaming of a life he yearned for. A life he missed. A relationship he so regretted losing.

Without the dreams, he started to imagine. Just out of nowhere, if he wasn't engaged in something important, he might just sort of... zone out. And he would think. Think about what things used to be like when Y/n was still around. What life might have been like if Luke had been better. Just, in general. They'd never even called each other boyfriends. The title had never been used, and Luke knew it was because their relationship didn't deserve that. They cuddled sometimes and kissed sometimes and knew each other well, but Y/n had never been Luke's first priority. Of course his music was important but...

The night they'd... broken up? No, that was for people who dated. It was more of just a parting of ways. They'd argued and then Y/n had walked out and like an idiot, Luke had let him. He hadn't gone after Y/n, or tried to fix it after. He'd just lost himself in music and the thrill of being so close to fame and victory. It hadn’t been until he was dead and had realized he’d missed twenty-five YEARS that he even thought about Y/n again.

And now he couldn’t STOP thinking about Y/n. How wonderful and special their time together had been and how much Luke absolutely didn’t deserve it. How he had ruined everything and just let it be ruined. He had been too ashamed to go looking for Y/n because he knew it would only bring him pain. Seeing him with someone else - or even worse, still alone - it would kill him. Again.

What really sucked is that Luke was back to exactly where he’d been when he was alive, after Y/n had left. He was distracting himself with music and work and shutting everyone else out and refusing to talk about it or acknowledge it or anything, and WANTING to go back and fix it but being far, far too terrified to. The result was that Y/n was just always on his mind, more prominent than ever, because now he had so much more guilt. So much more pain, watching all his friends be happy and in love. It was all so much harder to ignore.

Maybe that was why he saw Y/n across the street as they stood outside Bobby’s house, Julie telling them off for going after Bobby and holding onto the past when there was so much in the present to focus on.

Luke suddenly couldn’t hear a single thing Julie was saying.

He stepped past her, eyes wide and heart racing. He had forgotten how beautiful Y/n was. Maybe it was a weird word to use for a guy but... GOD it fit.

The weird thing was that Y/n wasn’t a day older than the last time Luke had seen him. So for a second he thought that maybe he was just imagining it. But the longer he looked, the more clear Y/n became. He wasn’t looking at Luke. His eyes were focused on Bobby’s house, anger twisting his features. And then someone passed him, a woman and her child, and they walked right through Y/n and the small child, a little girl, jumped, eyes wide as Y/n seemed to become clear to her. She dropped her toy and Y/n ran to pick it up and hand it back to her, a soft smile on his face. She took it back with a look of awe and then hugged her little toy close, a huge smile on her face.

She said something to her mom and Luke didn’t know how but he HEARD it.

“Mommy! Mommy! The angel helped me!”

Luke took another step forward. “Y/n?” He only whispered it. He was sure the others hadn’t even heard it, let alone Y/n from all that distance away. But he looked anyway, as if answering to his name, and his and Luke’s eyes locked.

Behind him, someone gasped and someone else shouted in a voice flooded with concern.

Then Y/n disappeared, and with him, Luke felt his heart shatter all over again.

[socheckitout-mikey]

you can totally make hc if you want!!!! i'd eat that shit up like breakfast ngl. in my opinion david is joe (kind of obvious) dwayne would be sal, marko would be murr and that makes paul q <3333

omfg yes! i had way too much fun doing these. i know they're a little shitty, but i tried istg! - mae

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

The Lost Boys Pranking Each Other Like Impractical Jokers Hc's:

° I JUST KEEP IMAGINING DWAYNE AS SAL RUMMAGING THROUGH TRASH FOR HIS BIKE KEYS AND THEM LEAVING HIM DHDHDHR OR THAT TIME SAL HAD TO DIG THROUGH ELEPHANT CRAP TO GET HIS PHONE, ONLY ITS DWAYNE'S KEYS AND ALL OF A SUDDEN MARKO GOES "EH BUDDY LOOKIE ERE!" AND HE'S DANGLING HIS KEYS IN THE AIR "I'M GONNA FUCKING KILL YOU GUYS!" SHDHFJFJF

° Paul is deadass one of the most ruthless out of all of them when it comes to prank wars. He's targeting everyone with ridiculous pranks, but they always bite him in the ass later on when he wakes up the following night with his hair dyed a luminous green. He rocks it but he totally had a nervous breakdown over it bc "THAT'S MY FUCKING HAIR MAN!"

° "Maybe you shouldn't have thrown my keys into that gross guys hotdog stand-" David drawls nonchalantly, flicking cigarette ashes at Paul's green goblin looking head.

° There was this one time that Marko attempted to prank David, and I say attempt bc it went absolutely atrociously... Maybe it was because Paul was trying to get him back and gave his buddy too much of that good green stuff. Marko's plan to train his pigeons to crap all over David had ended up with him waking up the next morning covered in pigeon shit. "Serves you right, you yutz-"

° "Man, we need to drown you in the tub." Dwayne snorts.

° "DON'T BRING THAT SHIT UP-" Paul screams from the other end of the Cave.

° "Right... But it's not like we're adding a dog into the mix..." Marko muttered under his breath, using a crumpled old napkin to clean the literal crap off of his face.

° "I SAID SHUT UP!"

° Paul thought it'd be a good idea to drop rice to bug David, but it ended up with all of them counting the fallen grains of rice lmaoo. He kept losing count and everyone got different numbers.

° Honestly, the best one's at pranking people are Dwayne and David as they're very patient and thoughtful.

° David schemes like an asshole cat, striking when you least expect it. It leaves Paul and Marko on edge for months, just waiting for David to pull a prank on them.

° "C'mon man! Just prank us already!" Paul pleads, paranoia finally driving him up the walls.

° "Yeah, we're livin' in fear here!" Marko agreed suddenly.

° "You know, you just reminded me about that..." David's just kidding, though the other two don't know that. David forget something? Not a chance. This guy is on that Petty Train™ and it's going straight to Saltyville!

° Dwayne can take years to strike with his pay back. He's got patience that even David doesn't have, and honestly, Dwayne's pranks are really intense. He'll scare the shit out of the others so much so that they don't prank him for good long while. Paul's the one who never seems to learn lmaoo.

° Well, unless he's in the mood for being playful that is...

° Like I'm talking about the fact that after digging through elephant crap in the local zoo after hours for his bike keys, he not only chased down all of them, but he kinda tied Paul and Marko up and may've just let the sun rise a little... he's waiting for an apology- he's salty now and won't care if they burn... but once he get's that apology he's been wanting to here, he's pulled them into the shadows.

° "Ahhhhh! Dwayne, man, c'mon! The suns rising!" Paul screams, thrashing around in the sturdy chains he's been bound by the wrists at.

° Dwayne responds with an expression of total anger, but it's cool and collected. He's patient. He can wait a little longer. He's in no hurry.

° Whereas David's lounging on one of the dusty old couches in the shadows. He had given Dwayne what he wanted, whether his apology was half assed or not. He still said it with some meaning, right?

° "David didn't even mean that piece of garbage he called an apology!" Marko spat out, eye cracking a vivid yellow whilst he stared directly into David's blue amused eyes.

° "Well at least I had the courage to swallow my idiotic pride~" David sing-songed joyously, folding his nimble gloved hands behind his spikes of bleach blond hair. "And it worked wonders, didn't it? I'm not the one about to be fried into ashes..."

° "Man, we're sorry alright?! We won't fuck with your bike or your keys again!" They both screamed in unison, shutting their eyes tightly as the sun began to rapidly crawl into the open space of the Cave. It's golden rays beginning to spark the ends of their blond locks alight! That was precisely what Dwayne wanted to hear, and without little thought, yanks them down and watches them scurry into a deep crack in the wall. That'd teach them from fucking with his shit ever again.

° "Fuck, my hair! It's all burnt on the ends!" Paul wails, swatting the frizzy ends rapidly to put out the sparks.

° "That's literally the least of your worries, Paul." David retorted into the air, gathering himself up from the couch and towards his own nest.

° "Yeah, we almost got fucking fried you sack of shit! This is the last time I listen to your ideas-" Marko rambles on angrily.

° Yes, they did sleep curled up together in the crack in the wall. They genuinely held each other tightly, Paul waking up from nightmares! Poor baby :'(

° Marko definitely does listen to his ideas after that lmaoo.

° Also it's very true, these guys compete to embarrass each other out in public, so much so that they've pretty much become a star attraction.

° That is until that one time Marko drop kicked Paul off the Pier and cracked his skull open... Yeah, they got into a lot of trouble for that one...

° These guys are chaotic dumbasses and their prank wars a cynical as hell. Like it get's so intense, but it's hilarious! Star and Laddie are kept entertained for ages!

° They be pranking Laddie too, but it's all in good fun. He's a kid after all! They're not gonna be excessively mean to him. That is until he fucks with their shit...

° Then you've got Paul and Marko holding him up by the scruff of his jacket, demanding where their Playboy mags, bike keys, their specific wrench is, that Deff Leppard Tape... boy you name it! They'll interrogate him good cop bad cop style lmaoo.

° Dwayne's heart kinda warms up whenever Laddie pranks him. He ruffles his hair, even if it makes him mad as hell. Laddie is his weak spot tbh.

° David just gives Laddie a pointed look and goes, "This better not become a common occurrence, otherwise I'll have to shave your head."

° Lmaoo the absolute sass that he receives from Laddie after that djkgdsghjsd-

° Sometimes David allows Paul and Marko to get away with their stupid pranks on him. Although it's incredibly annoying, he also finds it endearing how happy getting away with some of the simpler ones makes them. Paul thinks he's literally gotten away with it, but Marko knows.

° Paul deems himself to be the Prank King™ and honestly he is, but you know what? He's usually quite good natured and even though he does overstep boundaries, he'll always make things up to everyone if it really bugs them. He's out to have fun, not get murdered or cause tears. Most of the time...

° He ropes Laddie in on the pranks and loves it! Paul is a great big brother! He also enjoys pranking Star quite a bit, and she can be quite mean when returning the favor.

° Marko however, plays the dirtiest! He's pretty cynical himself, so his sadistic nature comes out full throttle. The lines within him are blurred. He's genuinely good natured usually, but once someone does something that pisses him the hell off... They best be prepared for hell to arrive at their feet.

° Like this one time, Marko cock blocked Paul for several weeks lmaoo then he ate the person Paul had the hots for. He dropped them at his feet in the Cave like, "Whoopsie!" He got into so much shit from Max bc that person was like hella important, I'm talking celebrity status sfjdshfhjsdfnbds

° David's just cynical as hell and he's always got something witty to say during or after it. Definitely mocks them dsjgdsjfds David's just an asshole cat istg! I mean, not even Star is safe from his pranks, but he kinda has a sisterly soft spot for her. He likes to dig deep under her skin and bug her. She's quite fiery honestly.

° Pranks with the Lost Boys is incredibly chaotic to round it off.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

please like, reblog and follow for more!

requests: open!

[the-final-sif]

Wait you can’t just say that and not tell us what fuck up some teacher did to Katsuki in the Katsuki shimura au. Give us the angst and the unholy hell tenko releases

Katsuki accidentally bumped in to a kid in the gen ed course, it should’ve been a total non-issue, but the kid was a total spoiled rich kid who already had a bone to pick with Katsuki just ‘cause of the sports festival & Katsuki’s general disposition. The guy escalated things, demanding an apology that Katsuki obviously wouldn’t give, and Katsuki left after insulting the guy thinking that would be the end of it.

Only, it wasn’t. The guy was so pissed off about it that he got a couple other guys together and waited until Katsuki was on his way back to the international dorms on his own. They tried to corner him and pick a fight, but Katsuki fought back & won fairly easily, since, ya’know, they’re gen kids who’ve never been in a real fight in their lives. He didn’t seriously hurt anyone, but the kid was desperate to ‘win’ so he purposefully had one of the other guys escalate his injuries (broke one of his arms). Then all of them went crying to their homeroom teacher about it.

They basically straight up lied, saying that Katsuki had made a big deal out of what happened in the hallway, and that the guy had approached him after school with his friends to try to resolve the situation on good terms. According to them, Katsuki responded incredibly violently and laughed about it afterwards.

Since the guy didn’t have any (known) track record of lying / picking fights, and Katsuki had a reputation for ‘violence’ (plus the kids did have some burn marks / evidence of getting into a fight), so their teacher believed them completely. The teacher then made a huge fuss about it to Cementtoss (who, according to my HC was one of the ones who chained Katsuki up during the sports festival), who the teacher was close with, and Cementtoss also took her side. Recovery Girl treated the injuries, and she was actually suspicious of them, since the burns were all quite light, and the bone break was the only serious injury among them. She also knows Katsuki’s track record, and has never had a student sent in by him before, since Katsuki has excellent quirk control.

Things escalated quickly, Aizawa was busy with training Shinsou for a large part of the process, and All-Might was usually kept uninvolved with Katsuki related stuff (due to not knowing how to handle Tomura), and by the time Aizawa was looped in, most of the ‘investigation’ was already complete. The other teachers had already questioned Katsuki, extremely hostility. Cementtoss was the primary one questioning him, which made things even worse since Katsuki was still struggling with flashbacks to the sports festival.

All in all, Katsuki barely defended himself because he had no idea what was going on, and he was basically in a panic attack through most of it. The teachers involved took this as ‘confirmation’, and when Aizawa tried to figure out what the hell was going on, he was told that Katsuki had ‘admitted to it’. None of this really added up for Aizawa, but the other teachers were very insistent and had what appeared to be an overwhelming amount of evidence, so he reluctantly agreed to a punishment without speaking to Katsuki himself.

The gen ed kid’s homeroom teacher had wanted Katsuki expelled, but Aizawa did push back on that, opting for 2 week house arrest instead (it would usually be a full suspension at this level of severity and since Katsuki wasn’t an international student, but Aizawa absolutely refused to force Katsuki to be around villains for 2 weeks). Aizawa delivered the punishment to Katsuki, and again, something felt off about the entire situation, but Katsuki accepted it without any pushback (since by this point, he’s in a full tailspin, convinced this is the sports festival all over again, and if he does anything but agree then they’re going to chain him up + muzzle him again, and he really can’t handle that).

Katsuki goes back to his dorm that night and basically has an awful mental breakdown. He was straight up gaslit about what happened, because he was sure he didn’t do any serious damage and he definitely didn’t start the fight, but the teachers pushed onto him that he did and decided he was at fault anyways.

The next day, Class 1-A obviously notices that Katsuki wasn’t there, and they were told a rough version of what happened. Izuku absolutely refused to believe it though, since he’s fought Katsuki plenty of times, and he knows damn well that Katsuki would never break a bone or do serious damage to someone like that. The rest of class 1-A is skeptical, but Aizawa shuts down any debate about it, as he’s still not entirely sure of the situation himself. Izuku does some more investigating, and quickly discovers the entire thing is bullshit. Reocvery Girl’s reports confirm it for him, because the way the bone broke doesn’t make any sense for an explosion attack, and the position of the break doesn’t add up for someone who’d been actively fighting/defending themselves.

Now up until this point, Izuku has had.... very limited contact with Tomura. What with him being All-Might’s successor and all, he and Tomura do not get along. Even a little bit. But, Tomura swore of trying to hurt / kill Izuku for Katsuki’s sake, and even Izuku has to admit that Tomura has been a good guardian for Katsuki so far. 

Izuku wouldn’t have even considered it if he wasn’t absolutely furious at UA for believing the bullshit he’s hearing, but oh boy, he was super fucking done with them putting Katsuki through this. He does at least try to talk to Katsuki about it first, but all he confirms is that Katsuki is in an awful state of mind right now & that Katsuki definitely didn’t do it.

Enraged, he gets Tomura’s number from All-Might (whose easily convinced, if confused/concerned) and he tells Tomura everything. That Katsuki got accused, and that he didn’t do it, but also about who questioned him, why Katsuki probably wouldn’t have defended himself against them, and about Katsuki’s current poor mental state.

Tomura listens to all of this, a 20 minute or so rant, and then calmly thanks Izuku for letting him know, promising that he’ll handle it. His tone is soft and deadly, and Izuku is kinda worried he might kill someone, but honestly with how pissed off Izuku is, he’s not sure if he cares anymore.

After that, Tomura breaks two of the few unspoken rules he’d had with UA. Up until then, he never had Kurogiri teleport onto their campus after USJ. He also never took Katsuki outside of scheduled visits. That night, he does both, quietly going and getting Katsuki from his room and bringing him back home.

It takes awhile, but between Tomura & Kurogiri, they’re able to coax the whole story out of Katsuki from his side of things, and it becomes very obvious what happened. Tomura comforts him, waits until he’s kinda okay, and then goes and collects what he needs.

After that, Tomura has Kurogiri straight up teleport him into Aizawa office, where he then proceeds to completely tear apart the accusations, and call Aizawa out for having not properly investigated the situation. He does it all in calm, collected, vicious manner that is completely unlike his usual villain demeanor and is a million times scarier as a result. 

As Tomura discovered with a bit of searching, there was video footage of the area (because it’s UA, and there’s video footage of everywhere) that completely disproves the Gen Ed’s kid lie, but was conveniently overlooked in the investigation. Once it’s clearly established that Katsuki only ever defended himself, Tomura then starts in on how the entire thing was handled, and it’s quite awhile before he’s finished.

By the end of things, Aizawa is genuinely shaken over how much he fucked up in this situation, he apologizes and sets about fixing things. The other kid involved gets expelled for having attempted to assault another student and then faking an injury & lying about it. There’s various punishments handed out to the teachers who were involved in the situation and mishandled it, and Aizawa apologizes to Katsuki personally when he gets back. Aizawa also instates a straight up blanket rule that Katsuki cannot be questioned/punished/etc unless Aizawa is there and leading the process. No exceptions. He’s done with this bullshit happening whenever he was busy with something else. He holds to that too.

Although, it’s worth noting that Katsuki doesn’t come back right away. It’s two days before Katsuki comes back to UA, because Tomura insisted on him taking time to recover first and debated him staying there at all. In the end, Katsuki decided he wants to give it one more go, mostly because Izuku and his friends are still there, and Tomura relents even though he doesn’t like it. Eventually though, Katsuki does get back, and things settle down for the most part.

[yami-writes]

MHA boys with tiktok accounts

(🏷️) paring(s): Midoriya x reader, Kaminari x reader, Todoroki x reader (🔮) summary: Midoriya, Kaminari, and todoroki with Tiktok accounts (hcs) (⚠️) warning(s): just crack n fluff here (💌) note from Yami: inspired by a request I got the other day (check it out here) (hey yall, made this at 3am dont mind me. jus vibin)

~*~*~*~*

Midoriya

i think he would enjoy tiktok

you introduced him to it

and he thought it was cool so he decided to stay for the ride

His fyp is filled to the brim with all might.

Just all might.

Occasionally some other heroes

But mainly all might ✋

He WANTS to only follow you

But he's a pushover and too nice for his own good and ended up following everyone in class

Poor bby

If he ever does decide to post, it will have something to do with heroes

Probably just recording all of his all might merch

And occasional small vlogs of what it's like at ua

Or in the dorms

And there pretty fun to watch and get a lot of love

And of course people will demand more

And, like I said, he physically can't say no

So he does more

which never fail to get under 1.5mil veiws

he’s well known in the tiktok community~~

HE WILL COMMENT NICE THINGS ON EVERY. SINGLE. VIDEO. YOU. POST.

no exceptions.

A small dance video??

"angel, your so good at dancing!!! Plz teach me someday!! I wanna be in one of your tiktoks!! :)"

precious!!

or perhaps some sort of aesthetic video

“wow! this tiktok is so pretty! just like you, angel <3(a tiktok could never compare to you)″

ahhhhhhhhhh IZUUU

you always screenshot the comment and send it to him with your response

and u could see him blushing behind the screen

if u do decide to allow him to dance in one of your tiktoks, hes so happy

like, incredibly happy

as if All Might himself walked into the room

his face will light up like a PUPPY

ok i’ll stop.

after mina’s many lessons she was able to teach him to dance pretty well

now all you had to do was teach him the dance 

and it turned out really good

ill leave the dance and the overall quality of said tiktok up to u 😌

use ur imaginations loves~~

but regardless~

the tiktok yall made 

blew. tf. up.

the comments were full of

“OMG YOU GUYS R SO CUTEE 😍”

and

“PLZ DO MOREE!!!!”

probably the most popular video you have tbh~

and you bet ur ass when midoriya found out he was gonna do another one

GOD- 

you swear his smile could make a bitch go blind~

Follower count: 5.3mil & counting

Kaminari

i know for a FACT this bitch has tiktok

i also know he is a tiktok MASTER

he knows all the trends

and the memes

and is also quite well known

his fyp definitely has A LOT of memes

and trendy stuff

and he only posts trendy stuff

the includes dances, challenges, pranks..... PRANKS.

a lot of pranks from this man....

and you, dear, are one of his main victims

along with the rest of the bakusquad

and its annoying asf bc this idiot is wasting his damn brain space that he apparently has??? to plan out a PERFECT prank

and it works EVER. SINGLE. TIME.

there is no escaping him,

and its even worst bc these pranks of his are his most popular posts

by this point there is no stoppping him.

and dont even bother trying to get him back

he can literally sense a prank

like a second quirk or sumn-

rip 💀

he will SPAMM your comments

“FGUYJGYHUK”

“GO OFFFF”

“dat ass tho 👀👀”

“u really went: 🍰🍰“

“just suffocate me with your thighs already, boo!! 😭🥺”

lmafoooo 

you cant even be bothered to reply to any of his thirsty comments

which are always the first ones you recive...

and are always top comments

rip💀

now,lemme get this straight.

he will BEG

like- on his hands and knees beg

the be in one of ur tiktoks

specifically, a dance

even more specifically, a dance thats more on the~~ scandalous side

you know what i mean sis

rolls, hair whips, throwin it back, all the shit

hell- you have NO idea how much he would love to just be in the presence of you throwin him back sum ass 

damn

once you finally give in and do a tiktok with him

and he wants to pick the dance

obviously

yall prob did a doja cat song cant lie lmafo

“Candy” perhaps??

anyways, he’ll probably mess up on purpose just so u can throw it to em again

but once he’s had enough he’ll do it properly

after about 12 attempts that is-

but dont worry cause that video got LOVE

“THIS IS SO CUTE😍”

“PLZ DANCE TOGETHER MOREEE❤️💗“

and you know denki is gonna see this

you also know he, along with ur comments, also want more

good luck, dear...

follower count: 8.1mil & counting

Todoroki

you showed him tiktok

and he watched you in your dorm making some

and he wanted to try so you helped him make an acc

ofc the first thing he does is follow you and watch some all of ur videos

every single one, sis.

i think his fyp would be full of cooking tutorials

specifically, soba

he tries, he really does.

he still cont cook with out burning something, but there IS improvment

and he would post the most random shit

literally anything

a small bug he saw on his way to school?

filmed and posted.

and that shit gets VIEWS

how you ask??

good question dearie

lets just say Mr. Shouto Todoroki is HOT

in all aspects, no exeptions

people can and will watch his tiktoks just to see him

and better bet ur ass his comments are full of thirsty girls

but thats offtopic.

he also has small videos he recored of you

whether it was you singing or dancing

doing you makeup brushing your hair

dosent matter.

he’ll have a BUNCH in his drafts he likes to scroll through daily

he never told anyone, not even you

👀👀

he dosent comment on all ur posts but he does comment on some of them

only some

specifically, the ones he likes

i mean~ he likes all of them, but if he favors a specific one over the rest, he’ll let you know

“wow, y/n. i like this video more than your others. i guess thats why im commenting. anyways, i love the tiktok, but i love you more.”

he sooooo dryyyyyy

like put a heart at least man

ANYWAYS

he usually lurks in the comments, making sure everyone is staying their place

like a security guard lmao

he’ll privately message you his thoughts on your tiktok

it’ll be a long message with a mix of compliments but also questions

“i liked the song, but whats the song called? 

“how did you make that? I really liked it though.”

dry, but pure.

i dont think he would have much interest in  being in one of your tiktoks

BUT

if you want him in one of your tiktoks

he’ll offer to stand in the background.....

then you explain to him you want him to /participate/ in the tiktok

if you want him to do a dance with you

goodluck

this man is STIFF

every move you teach him is another jab at your soul

painful

if you gather up the courage to allow him to be in the tiktok

he’ll just-

leave

as in, walk out of the room leave

...what???

he’ll come back later and act as if nothing happened

and if u question him

“i lost interest.” 

yea, like a fucking child

the damn tiktok barley even started-

follower count: 10.9mil & counting

Masterlist

[needs-to-stop-looking-at-yigas]

I feel bad asking because I feel like you're probably tired of everyone being suddenly obsessed with your mpreg fic, but Imma try anyway: is there any chance you'd consider writing a little pregnant sex scene, with Sooga just lusting/obsessing over Kohga's giant tummy? I man, Sooga's breeding kink has got to be beyond satisfied now. With a side order of him talking to the babies and creeping Kohga out, because that image is, frankly, hilarious? XD

No no! Ask away for ANY of my fics! Seriously. Stroke my ego. Pls.

(no cap im amazed that out of ALL my fics, the one with preggy Kohga is the one people liked the most. Ya'll fucked. I love it)

"Move move move-"

Sooga didn't mean to be so rude, but in this crowded hallway, he had to be. Master Kohga was awaiting his dessert, and Sooga was running late (some issue with the ice that he SWORE he took care of earlier). Kohga had been greatly affected by the new pregnancy, mainly in temperament. He was bossier, louder, angrier than he had ever been. And Sooga loved waiting upon him. He made his way to his room, carefully opening the door with his tray in his hands. Kohga sat there, nude, save for his silk robe, and looking bigger than ever. He had his arms folded across his chest, clearly not happy.

"You took. SO long, Sooga."

"I apologize, there was a situation with the ice. But, it's here now. Please, enjoy."

Kohga accepted it from him, before turning the bowl over in his hands. If he accepted it, he’d eat it. If he didn’t, well. Sooga would feel his fury. He breathed a sigh of relief once Kohga started to tuck in, seeming to no longer be quite so angry. Sooga put his cup of tea next to him on the night stand. He made it extra hot, so it’d be just warm enough for him to properly enjoy it. Kohga stuffed his mouth full of his dessert, before sighing comfortably. Good, that was a sound that meant he wouldn’t get hit.

“Sooga.”

“Yes, Master Kohga?”

“You keep staring.”

“I...apologize. You being pregnant is still so jarring to me. You...look exactly how I pictured you.”

“Pfft. Simp.”

He chuckled, finishing off his ice cream, and handing the bowl to Sooga. Sooga took the bowl from him, and put it on the tray, right next to the tea. He was about to hand him the drink, before stopping.

“Master Kohga? You look sore. Would you like a massage?”

Kohga thought it over, before shrugging, putting his arms behind his head.

“Yeah. I’d like that actually. Dealing with this is hell.”

“I’m so sorry, my Master. Please, allow me to ease your poor aches.”

Sooga oiled up his hands, before crawling into bed. Due to his rather obvious belly, Sooga had to massage his hands, legs, and shoulders, rather than having him lay down on his back. Not that he minded. He liked seeing Master Kohga like this. Leaned back against his bed, surrounded by sheets and pillows, just letting himself be adored. Sooga's hands wandered from his shoulders, down to his hands. He held onto one of his hands, lightly massaging his fingers in his hands. It felt good, seeing his fiery husband all relaxed, all settled, all...incredible, really.

“About time you finally put some damn work in, Sooga. I was getting SO pissed after my video call with Mipha.”

“Did she say something rude?”

“No, she was hanging out with Revali, and HE called me a lazy ass. I told him ‘I made a lung, the fuck did YOU do today?’. Guy is so stuck up.”

“Crass as he may be, he has talents to back him up, Master Kohga. But of course, you’re in the right.”

“COURSE I’m in the-oh, that’s the spot~”

Sooga chuckled. His poor Master Kohga needed his knuckles cracked occasionally, and he could tell it made him feel SO much better.

“You needed that, poor thing.”

“Ugh, I really did. Now what do YOU need?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re gawking. You want something. I’m in a better mood, so what do you want?”

He loved how well Kohga knew him. He leaned up to him, lightly pushing his mask to the side. He pressed his lips right against his, and felt his body shiver once Kohga’s fingers lightly fumbled with his ears. He pulled away, trying not to show how excited he was from just a simple kiss.

“You. I want you. If I may be so humbled.”

“Can we even DO that?”

“We can, I asked Mipha.”

Kohga snorted, lightly shaking his head.

“Course YOU’D ask, pervert. Alright, alright. Come on then, ravage me~”

Oh this image would be burned into his mind for the rest of his life. The sight of a nude, plump Kohga, arms spread out to embrace him, and a smirk at his lips. Was he a lucky man or what?

“With pleasure, my Master.”

He wrapped his arms around him, embracing him as he smothered his lips in his. He kept going for kiss after kiss, even while he pulled his already hard cock out. He had been aroused since he walked in, and suffice to say, he was plenty ready. He kept himself snuggled between Master Kohga’s legs, as he slowly pushed himself in. He was usually more romantic, but he couldn’t go through the slow process of prepping him, not today. Instead, he kept his hands on his hips, pulling and pushing him in rhythm to his own movements.

“Hoo, look at you today. It’s crazy, I can boss you around all day, and you can still get super hard for me at the end of the day.”

Sooga nodded, letting Kohga just sit there and watch. Kohga didn’t want to do any work aside from checking out Sooga’s frame, and Sooga didn’t mind at all.

“Always. I love it when you boss me around. It means you have a use of me. Means there’s a task for me, and only me. And I’d do anything for you.”

“Stop.”

Sooga whined as he forced himself to stop moving. His cock was already throbbing inside of him, and every fiber of his being hated not making love to him. 

“D-did I say something wrong?”

“No. You just whine when I make you stop, and it’s cute. Now, pump my cock for me. I’d do it, buuut well. You’re doing it for me.”

Sooga nodded, obeying him as he stroked his cock, nice and fast, just how he liked it. Kohga chuckled, running his fingers through his hair as he sat there, and enjoyed it. He looked right up at Sooga the whole time, letting him suffer. But Sooga didn’t mind. He liked knowing he was pleasing him. Pleasing not only his love, but the bearer of his children. Then Kohga snapped his fingers, and Sooga finally continued, thrusting himself into his ass while he continued to pump his cock.

“You’re so beautiful, Master Kohga. So precious to me.”

He buried his face in his neck, kissing at his bare, warm skin. His lips roamed from his neck, right down to his belly. Something about kissing them as he did...it did something to him. Kohga cried out as Sooga wasn’t being so gentle as he was a second ago, mainly in surprise.

“Geez Sooga, easy boy, easy!”

Kohga tried to hide his arousal in laughter, but Sooga knew better. The way he started to grumble, the way his grip on his body turned desperate.

“I can’t. I really can’t. Look at you. So beautiful, so full of life.”

“Oh. Oh god dammit this was a pregnancy kink-”

Sooga silenced his lips with a kiss, forcing his moans into his lips. Once he parted, Kohga rolled his eyes.

“You wanna fuck me because I’m pregnant. God dammit, Sooga, I thought you were gonna be fucking normal for once.”

“But you’re SO lovely! Look at you! You’re EVERYTHING I wanted! Not to mention ever since your pregnancy, you’ve been SO full of hormones. I can sense them. I can feel them. You’re so needy and demanding, I adore fulfilling every single need of yours. Be it food, massages, or this. I could make love to you for hours if you let me.”

Kohga wanted to tell him off, but god dammit how can you talk shit when you were getting a lovesick stud fucking you up the ass. He bit onto his knuckle, already feeling like he was leaking precum all over Sooga’s poor hand.

“Whatever, Sooga. Just finish me off, you know I get pissed when I don’t finish.”

“So angry~....do you think they’ll be angry too? How adorable, three fussy little ones!”

Sooga was somehow able to keep up the pace while he leaned down to kiss at his tummy.

“Are you three going to be a problem, just like your father? Are you going to be this cute? Are you going to be as cute as he is? I know the answer to the last one! Yes I do!”

Kohga smacked his face with his palm, sighing. God dammit, why did he have to make it weird when he was getting a full throbbing cock right up the ass.

“Sooga, I do NOT want to nut while you’re talking to three fucking fetusus.”

“But they’re precious! I love them! I love YOU! I care about nothing but the four of you!”

Kohga wanted to tell him to shut up, but Sooga let go of his hip, and smacked his ass. Not a weak smack either. A nice, hard smack that you knew was just going to leave a mark. It was just hard enough for Kohga to cum, getting his fluids all over Sooga’s hand. And Sooga, totally obsessed with his pregnant man, licked it all off his hand, as if it was fresh honey. Kohga sat there, heating up like a tea kettle, as Sooga sat there, awaiting further orders. Kohga nodded towards him.

“Alright, alright. You did good. You wanna finish inside?”

“...can I finish...outside?”

“Where are you-”

Kohga didn’t even know why he asked. He scoffed, and motioned with his hand for him to carry on. Sooga pulled out, and, making sure he didn’t put weight on Kohga, started to pump his cock. It was a slow, tedious stroking that Kohga had no idea how he got off to.

“You’re so full of beautiful life. Three CHILDREN. Oh fuck what if they’re all big, strong boys?”

Kohga mumbled some kind of insult, before he shook his head. Sooga’s ‘dad’ fetish was so fucking weird, he didn’t get it. But hey, he liked sounding and Sooga didn’t, they were both kinda fucking weird. So, might as well indulge him.

“Boys, girls, doesn’t matter does it? Because they’re OUR kids, and our family, and-”

Sooga wouldn’t even let him finish his sentence. He came with a swear, and came on his stomach. A big load at that, all over his stomach. Even then, Sooga wasn’t happy with just that, smearing the mess around with his cock. Kohga rolled his eyes, letting him have a moment to do his weird thing. After a second though, he snapped his fingers, getting his attention.

“You done?”

“I...yes. For the most part.”

“Good, I want a bath.”

“...can we stay for a minute?”

“Fucks sake-you can help me wash this off.”

“Deal.”

Sooga leaned down to kiss his lips, grinning from ear to ear.

“I love you all.”

“God you’re an idiot. Hurry up with the bath, I want extra bubbles.”

“Right away.”

Sooga kissed his stomach once more, before quickly jumping out of bed and into the bath. Kohga sighed, looking at his stomach.

“You guys make him so happy, it’s stupid. You better not steal my spotlight, any of you.”

[rejectofsociety]

Febuwhump: Day One

Prompt: Mind Control

Summary: As Ebony Maw and Cull Obsidian invade Earth, Ebony discovers that Peter Parker makes an excellent servant

Word Count: 2,514

Warnings: Violence, Character Death

Thank you for organizing this event, @febuwhump!

✧༺✦✮✦༻∞　　∞༺✦✮✦༻✧

The moment Ebony Maw was faced with Earth's heroes (and some skittish scientist), he searched each mind for his perfect puppet. He couldn't penetrate the minds of the wizards— he assumed they were using complex enchantments to protect themselves. Typical, he thought to himself.

Next, he eyed the man with a neatly trimmed beard and advanced-looking glasses while he called the invaders "squidward." His mind was full of thoughts that made Ebony smirk— a woman he loved, a teen boy who he was silently praying would stay far away from the situation, a dream about a child who he loved dearly even before their existence was made a reality, and an overwhelming urge to protect his planet and family. His mind was so incredibly strong, yet simultaneously weak in the most disappointing way— too many emotions that could easily get in his way.

Ebony skipped over the jittery scientist, there was no use in wasting his time with him. While the earthlings continued shouting at him, he began to sense a new mind. A young and determined mind rushing towards the scene. He was eager and energetic, yet attentive and focused. Even from a long distance, Ebony could feel his physical strength and bizarre powers. Perfect, the alien thought slyly before welcoming himself inside the boy's brain.

Peter was wrestling his suit onto his body when a tidal wave of inky darkness crashed into his body. His stomach flipped and a sense of lightheadedness consumed him. His legs shook then collapsed underneath him while he felt vomit crawling up his throat. He hacked then gagged before managing to puke up no more than some stomach acid. His throat burned as he coughed and choked up bile while his head ached with the dark cloud enveloping him. His chocolatey brown eyes, usually so full of innocence and sweet life, were overwhelmed by a glowing blue color that held a malicious gaze.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his arm then took his mask and slipped it over his head. His mind now belonged to an eccentric force, leaving the real Peter Parker locked in a cage in the back of his head.

"Come here, Peter Parker," Ebony's oozing voice rang and echoed in his ears.

"Yes, sir," Peter mumbled gruffly in reply.

With that, he shot a web onto a nearby building and launched himself into the air. Within a second, his vision focused on the alien, donut-shaped ship were a battle was beginning to break out. He swiftly webslung his way towards the park until he landed in front of Tony with the grace of a cat. Cull Obsidian was about to smash his chain hammer into the Iron Man but, with the boy in the way, the hammer missed its target and was instead caught by Peter.

"Not him," Ebony ordered from afar.

Cull grunted his understanding then withdrew from his opponent and turned his attention elsewhere. Peter faced Tony with his body seeming stiff while his movements were somewhat robotic.

"Nice save, kid," Tony praised, "are you alright?"

"What do I need to do, sir," Peter muttered, his voice slightly hoarse.

"Kill him," Ebony instructed.

"Save that wizard," Tony demanded at the same time, yet Peter didn't hear any of his words.

"Yes, sir," he turned away, "activate instant-kill," he ordered his suit and the bug-ish eyes narrowed and turned red while the insides flashed, assessing weak spots in his surroundings, and readjusting web-shooter combinations to make them as deadly as possible.

Tony nodded his satisfaction then prepared to step away. Before he could, Peter spun around and smashed his leg into Tony's side. The billionaire was sent crashing into a nearby tree that splintered at the impact. Momentarily stunned, he was given no time to recover before Peter approached him and lifted him with his hand wrapped around the hero's neck.

"K-kid!" Tony gasped.

Peter clenched his fist then pummeled it into Tony's face, making his head whip back. Ever centimeter of nanotech that Peter touch was shattered almost instantly, forcing the suit to shed and replaced whatever was damaged.

Horror consumed Tony as he realized that whoever he was fighting wasn't Peter... not really. 

Peter landed another punch square in the hero's nose and Tony silently ordered the suit to form a repulsor cannon than blasted Peter the chest. The boy flew backwards, but before he could collide with anything, he shot a web at a tree and used it as leverage to spin around and kick Tony brutally in the chest. He pinned his mentor to the ground and smashed his fists into him over and over. Tony held his hands up to shield his face, his mind failing to process any thoughts as his nanotech was desperately replacing its damaged pieces, yet it was breaking faster than it could fix itself.

"Peter!" Tony cried, "c'mon, kid!"

Suddenly, a glowing, yellowish whip wrapped around Peter's throat and his hands snapped over the magical substance. He yanked at the rope until he was swiftly jerked away from his victim and thrown on the ground, the whip still wrapped around him like a leash. Stephen towered above, his cape assisting him in levitating above the scene while poor Wong had been left to busy Ebony and Cull. Stephen quickly created replicas of himself, each bearing a whip that they used to lasso Peter and hold him down as he thrashed furiously against their grip. Stephen rushed away from his clones and lowered himself to the ground next to Tony who lay shaking and gasping on the ground.

"Are you alright?" Stephen interrogated, reaching out a hand to help him up.

"Don't hurt that kid," Tony demanded fiercely as he heaved himself upright.

"It seems it's either his life or yours," the wizard hissed.

"He isn't the enemy," Tony sharply explained, "there has to be something controlling him. He would never hurt me willingly."

An uproar nearby caused the two men to whirl around to face Peter who had already taken down the wizard clones. This is what he's capable of, a scared voice spoke in the back of Tony's head, this child could kill everyone here. And he wants to kill you. Tony's breaths grew shuddering and uneven with anxiety as Peter faced the heroes. But he wasn't scared for himself, not anymore. Now, he was terrified for Peter. What if he failed to save this boy's mind? Would he be a slave to whoever was controlling him for the rest of his life? Would the real Peter ever see the light of day again? Or maybe his controller would kill him the moment he was no longer useful... Maybe Tony would be forced to kill him. 

"Take five," Stephen remarked to Peter then sent what appeared to be a wall of glass floating towards the boy.

The moment it collided with Peter, both he and the wall disappeared without a trace. Tony's eyes widened and he clutched the wizard's shoulder and spun him around to face him.

"What the hell did you do to him?!" He challenged fiercely.

"Calm down," Stephen jerked his shoulder away from the man, "I put him somewhere where he will neither be a danger to us nor himself. Now," his gaze trailed to Wong and his expression grew into one resembling guilt. Then, a realization struck him and his face lit up, "it has to be Ebony controlling him."

"Who?"

"Squidward."

"Oh. How do we stop him?"

"I say we play it safe and kill him."

"I like where your head's at. Let's do it."

The two rushed to aid Wong, who was shielding himself from simultaneous attacks from Ebony and Cull. Tony pummeled full-speed into Ebony, snatching him away from Wong and pinning him against an office building.

"Let the kid go," he hissed fiercely.

"Give me your little friend's necklace, then we can talk," Ebony spat in reply.

For a moment, Tony hesitated. How much was he willing to give up for Peter's safety? The offer sank in another second, then he realized what he was really risking— not just some necklace, but a stone. A stone with the power to manipulate time. A stone that could be the difference between Earth's demise and Earth's safety. Which also made it was a stone that could be the difference between life or death for Peter. Peter’s life was so precious to so many people: his aunt, his friends, even the citizens of New York who he assisted everyday in small yet significant ways. Without Peter, May wouldn’t have her nephew (or more accurately: her son), Ned and Michelle would be without their most important piece, teachers who adored the boy would lose their favorite student, and New York would be stripped of its most vital protector. Tony could not have that on his conscious. 

Tony opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted as a flock of spears carved from brick and concrete came rushing towards him.

"Shit!" He exclaimed as he bolted away from the alien and sped out of the spears' way.

Of course he was only buying himself time, Tony thought bitterly while he outran the arrows, I should've known he didn't actually care to make a deal. He weaved between skyscrapers and did a number of fancy maneuvers in an effort to avoid the deadly weapons behind him.

"Stark!" Stephen called from down below.

Tony dipped and stumbled to a clumsy landing at the wizard's side. Stephen hurriedly extended his hands and produced a shield to protect the two from the deadly objects. As Stephen braced for impact, Tony briefly stepped one foot out of the shelter and fired a series of plasma-blasts before ducking behind the mage once more. The blasts hit about half of the spikes, blowing them straight to hell; the other half smashed into Stephen's shield and were shattered instantly.

"Thanks," Tony muttered.

Stephen nodded stiffly then the two concurrently jumped in surprise at the sound of shattering glass. They whipped their heads around to see what appeared to be an invisible substances cracking, as if the air itself could break.

"What's that?" Tony questioned.

"I... I don't think the Mirror Dimension can break," Stephen slowly thought aloud then craned his neck to look at Ebony whose eyes were focused sharply on the break in the dimension, "it's Ebony. He's helping it break."

Before Tony could reply, there was an explosion of shattering glass and Peter stumbled out of the Mirror Dimension. The boy locked eyes with his mentor, and for a fleeting second Tony almost thought that he was looking at the real Peter. But, the moment Peter shot a web at his legs and flung him into a lamp post, Tony realized he was wrong. His back smashed against the pole with a sickening crack, and the post was forced to bend at an awkward angle upon impact.

"Hang in there, Stark," Stephen called, "I just got an idea."

"Hurry up," Tony rasped as he struggled to rise to his feet.

Peter yanked the hero upright by his wrist, then heaved him over his shoulder, slamming him into the ground. Tony gasped and coughed, pain shooting through his entire body.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Peter," Tony stated with determination.

The spider didn't acknowledge his words but instead forced the man into a headlock, one arm wrapped around his throat with the other hand gripping his head and ready to snap his neck. Tony clasped Peter's arm frantically, by now he had learned that his suit was practically useless when pitted against Peter's raw strength.

"C-c'mon, kid," Tony managed, "I know yo-you don't want to hurt me."

Peter was silent a moment as he tightened his grip, making Tony gasp as he could feel his suit being crippled under Peter's arms. I'm sorry, Mister Stark! Peter cried in the back of his corrupted mind, I don't want to do this!

"What would you like me to tell Pepper?" Peter hissed hoarsely.

Tony choked and was just barely able to wheeze out a few words, "tell her it wasn't your fault."

The very moment that Peter scoffed and began to twist Tony's neck, Stephen forced Ebony through a portal that snapped shut around his head and decapitated him. 

The spider's body froze and he felt as if a thousand pounds had been lifted off his body. Ebony's oppressive cloud of violence and darkness faded, leaving room for Peter to obtain control of his mind once more. The shining blue of his eyes was erased and the usual brown hue took over.

Peter withdrew from Tony as fast as he could and instantly burst into tears. Stephen rushed back to the two and put his hand on Tony's shoulder as he forced his helmet to disappear and he gasped for breath. Peter briefly glanced at Tony's bloodied and bruised face, only to sob and shake harder.

"Hey," Stephen called to him, "Tony, are you okay?"

Tony forced himself to nod and calm his trembling muscles, "k-kid, come here."

"N-no," Peter refused through his tears as he wrapped his arms around himself, "I hurt y-you."

"It's okay, it wasn't your fault," Tony assured calmly as he waved him over, "now come here, you won't hurt me again."

Peter hesitantly paced towards Tony then sat on his knees next to him. His body was shuddering with terror and guilt as he fought back sobs. Tony wrapped his arms around the boy securely and Peter gratefully sank into his touch. Stephen felt a pang of pity for the kid, and gently rested his hand on his shoulder for reassurance.

"Take a deep breath, kid. Calm down... calm down... there you go," Tony spoke softly as Peter's crying and shuddering gradually relaxed, "I'm okay."

"You don't look okay," Peter mumbled, hiding his face in Tony's chest— call him childish, but he really just wanted his aunt to hold him, obviously that was out of the question.

"You're right. Right now, I'm not okay and everything hurts," Tony deadpanned.

Peter choked out a small laugh, "you jackass, how's that supposed to make me feel better?"

"C'mon, Peter, you know I'll heal. I just need a few days," Tony smiled softly, "I don't think any less of you."

The little spider nodded slightly, "thank you, Mister Stark," he craned his neck to look up at Stephen, "and- um, thank you Mister Wizard."

"It's Strange," he corrected.

Peter knit his brow together and nodded, "yeah, I guess so."

"No, I mean-" Stephen cut himself off and shook his head, "let's go help Wong."

Tony took his arms away from Peter then the two stood up. Peter looked over at Wong as he narrowly avoided Cull's hammer as it was smashed into the ground. Stephen's eyes widened and he muttered a curse as he rushed to assist his friend.

"So, what this guy's deal, Mister Stark?" Peter asked, repressing any previous emotions of guilt, terror, and depression.

"He's from space and he's here to steal a necklace from a wizard," Tony explained.

Peter nodded and ran forward, attaching a web to a building and lifting himself off the ground, "just another day in the life."

Tony almost laughed at that and his helmet reformed over his face, "good to have you back, kid."

He smiled, "it's good to be back, sir.”

[starry-bi-sky]

Behind the Mask: Gotham Ed, Gotham Fashion: Disaster

Inspired by one of the channels on the maribat discord, @stories-by-kat @maribat-archive

(You can find this on ao3 under ‘imshookandbi’)

Everyone in Gotham held their breath expectantly as the newest episode of ‘Behind the Mask: Gotham Ed’ began playing on their tv screens. Tonight was another Wayne Special, and nobody wanted to miss it.

When the first Wayne Special aired it was met with surprise from every busybody in Gotham, they didn’t think Bruce Wayne would ever agree to such a thing, considering he was big on his privacy, and they were expecting something boring.

How they were wrong.

The episode started like any other, the camera crew standing outside of the house of the chosen celebrity, getting a clear shot of the large estate, before moving to the door and knocking.

[[MORE]]

A few seconds later it was opened by Alfred Pennyworth, the Wayne butler, and the camera crew was invited inside. Bruce Wayne stood nearby with a blank expression, before motioning to the foyer and beginning the tour.

His voice, while pleasant and charming, droned on as he explained the history of the house. People were just about to click off it with a quiet sigh of expected disappointment, when there was a loud crashing sound and Jason Todd, Bruce’s second oldest, came sliding down the foyer stair banister and almost straight into Alfred, who merely stepped out of the way at the last second.

The camera jerked towards the dark haired boy in surprise, who was face planted into the floor and groaning painfully. The camera turned back to Bruce, as if asking a silent question, when the man in question adopted a pained expression and pinched the bridge of his nose, before sighing.

It was silent as the Patriarch of the house muttered quietly, in a long-suffering tone, “We were supposed to act normal.”

After that it was all chaos, and Gotham saw first hand how crazy it truly was in the Wayne Family.

The people of Gotham demanded for a second episode.

The people of Gotham got a second episode.

The people of Gotham got many more episodes even after, much to their unrestricted glee.

The people of Gotham thought it couldn’t get any better, then enter stage left; Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Damian ‘I am a glacier personified’ Wayne’s sweetheart.

She wasn’t showcased until four Wayne Specials later, but even before then she was heavily mentioned. However, it was under the pseudonym (that wasn’t really much of a pseudonym, more so a loving nickname the youngest Wayne gave her) ‘angel’.

And an angel she was, nobody expected her to be French, nor so small. She first appeared when the camera crew was in the middle of filming, a tray of macarons in hand and an easy-going smile on her freckled face. She didn’t even notice the camera yet, instead she walked over to Damian, pecked his cheek, before swinging the tray over to him and saying with a heavy French accent; “Macaron, Dames?”

Damian looked positively gleeful before nodding and taking one. That was when Marinette noticed the camera crew, she looked surprised, but quickly recovered before walking over and, while looking straight into the camera with glowing bluebell eyes, said; “Do you want one too, monsieurs?”

It startled all but Damian, who was still munching on the little treat.

Gotham adored her, and loved having her in episodes. She wasn’t in all of them, mind you, for she was still French and thus lived in France, but that just made her appearances extra special. Everyone did wonder though how she gets over so quickly, considering the far distance.

That isn’t the focus, though. As the newest episode faded in, the title did as well. Gotham Fashion: Disaster, a curious name, but promising for it held the chance of having Marinette in it.

And having Marinette in it, it did. The first thing that appeared after the title card was the small French-Asian girl, however, what was new was the fact that she wasn’t smiling. A concerning and uncommon thing with the young teen.

She was enraptured with something on her laptop, her face was stoic and deadpan, but while her expression was void her eyes were full of life. One could think her eyes were made of blue fire, full of disbelief and anger and thinly-veiled disgust. The corner of her eye twitched ever so slightly, so small a blink could miss it.

The camera crew got closer.

Marinette didn’t even seem to acknowledge their approach, and as they drew in the glare on her laptop died away to reveal a full body image of the Joker in all his crazed glory. There was destruction and carnage at his feet, rubble and destroyed street was strewn around him like an edgy teen’s family photo.

Marinette was glaring at the man, more specifically his outfit, which consisted of mainly green and white and purple.

The teen seemed to notice the camera at that moment, wordlessly she looked up from her laptop, ever so deadpan, and much like her first appearance, looked straight into the camera.

There was no smile though, no polite kindness, nor a tray of macarons in her hand. Tonelessly, yet still full of so much conviction, she stated; “The Joker is a punk bitch. If I ever so much as see him I’m going to slap him with a mallet for the sole reason of looking like an eggplant dipped in green paint and powdered sugar.”

Then, she added, “How dare he make me look at him dressed like that.”

Her incredibly offended voice would’ve been humorous, if it weren’t for the fact that she just swore for the first time on camera. The camera jerked in surprise, and the room was silent for all but three seconds, before one of the men behind the camera said, very quietly, “Pardon?”

That seemed to be the opening to a pair of floodgates that happened to be so full the dam wall was cracking. Marinette twitched, before blurting out; “His outfit! It’s an absolute disaster! An insult to fashion! He’s a walking bruise that someone attempted to cover using a concealer that wasn’t even their correct skin tone! He walks around like that and expects me to be scared of him?”

An inhale of breath could be heard offscreen, apparently from one of the crew about to speak, but the young French-Asian woman continued on.

“Don’t get me started on Puzzler and the Riddler, I know green is a lovely color, it really is, but if you’re gonna walk around like a neon traffic sign then I’m sorry but you’re gonna get slapped. By me. With a ruler.” She began, a scowl planted itself onto her face as she crossed her arms, an unusually out of place expression on her features. “If they want, I will personally make them a new suit, I can make it green if they so desire, but under no circumstances is it going to be that shade of green.”

An opportunity must’ve been smelt, for a second later one of the camera crew members piped up; “What about the rest of the villains? And what about the heroes?”

Marinette twitched again, before bursting out into a outfit-style rant that only an experienced designer could manage. For nearly two hours straight Marinette called out each and every single villain and hero who resided inside and out of Gotham for their poor fashion skills and terrible color coordination. If they had some involvement with Gotham, they were free game.

Two-Face, the Penguin, Scarecrow, Mr. Freeze, Red Hood, Superman, Nightwing, Red Robin, the Flash, Aquaman, Green Lantern, Robin, no one was safe from her ire. She ripped into each and every villain and hero she could think of, each outfit was torn to shreds and rebuilt into something new. It was the hottest verbal fire the people in Gotham have ever witnessed.

“Then there’s Batman,” Marinette hissed dangerously as she neared the end of her rampage, her eyes narrowed in both terrible judgement (for Batman) and self-righteous, fashion fueled anger. “I’m going to have a talk with him about the first Robin’s hero costume.”

“Bright yellow. Stop sign red. And clover green. The first Robin’s outfit consisted of those three colors, two primary and one secondary. Robin was a walking traffic light, he wore elf shoes and didn’t even wear pants. I’m—” She cut herself off, taking a deep breath to seemingly calm herself, before continuing.

“I get that Robin was a child at the time, and he probably needed some way to keep an eye on him, but there are different ways to track a child and being a glowstick is not one of them.” She said, “Apparently, black is the only color he seems to know that doesn’t end in neon. Apparently I will need to teach him on this thing called the color spectrum, and that he needs to use it.” Her voice was full of annoyance and disgusted designer judgement.

“And the cape.” She said slowly, enunciating each word perfectly and clearly, such a small sentence shouldn’t sound so much like a threat, but it did. “Oh, the cape. Let me tell you something—” Off she went again, the young noiret rattled on every single disadvantage a cape had.

By the end of her rant everyone in Gotham felt significantly burned, even if the focus of her ire wasn’t pointed at them. The civilians of Gotham felt both embarrassed of and for their heroes and villains— well, maybe not so for their villains too much, but still slightly. At the most they pitied them. (Except for the Joker.)

The day the episode, ‘Behind the Mask: Gotham Ed, Gotham Fashion: Disaster’ aired was the day that one Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s inbox was flooded with commissions from heroes and villains alike.

The day the episode, ‘Behind the Mask: Gotham Ed, Gotham Fashion: Disaster’ aired villain activity decreased exponentially for a month as villains of all kinds scrambled to fix their suits and outfits.

The day the episode, ‘Behind the Mask: Gotham Ed, Gotham Fashion: Disaster’ aired was the day the phrase, ‘dress to impress Mlle. Marinette Dupain-Cheng’ was coined.

The episode, ‘Behind the Mask: Gotham Ed, Gotham Fashion: Disaster’ became a new Gotham Favorite, and Marinette’s popularity inside the crime-ridden city boosted significantly.

[thorinthehottotty]

May 19th - Lyn's Writing Event - Thorin

Prompt - Apocalypse AU

A/N: ZOMBIES ZOMBIES BUNKER SEX BUNKER SEX

Summary: Kíli's upset Thorin won't speak to him since he was nearly killed over a girl. You try to get through to your leader but the topic changes.

Warnings: Mentions of rape and violence. Smut and implied smut.

"You know, your boys are stupid. But they have each other's backs." You only receive a grunt from the ornery man. "I understand there is no room for error anymore, but they're kids, Thorin." Well, maybe if kids were sixteen and seventeen.

The man continues to tinker away with his tools on the little work bench. His broad shoulders blocking your view. There weren't many people left since the virus took hold. It spread fast and violently. You never expected to be a part of the zombie apocalypse, or even survive this long.

You were only twelve when it began. Ten long years ago. You'd gone from insecure girl, shying away from her crush on the playground to a survivor.

There was hardly anyone left anymore, let alone young women. It made you a hot commodity. One that men liked to force into their whims. You were Kíli's age the first time it happened. Thorin was the first man to not try and take advantage of you on your own, which in turn, made you want him. Since you'd been with his company, you'd grown to trust them. Not one of his men had so much as laid a hand on you without permission.

Although, when he ignored you like this, it made your want dissipate. You heave a sigh at him and move around to his bench, trying to get him to look at you. "I'm not saying you shouldn't be upset. You should. They were idiots. But don't push them away for it."

"For a fucking girl," he growls out finally. "Kíli was showing off for a girl!" He slams his hands down on the table.

"Like I said. Idiots." You try. Thorin drags himself up to his full height, blue eyes burning into yours. It makes you gulp. He was twice your age, had crows feet and silver streaking his long, wavy hair and his beard did little to hide the smile lines that had formed long before you met him. He was still one of the sexiest men you'd ever seen. God really nerfed you by making him and making him fine enough you could never get him out of your head. Zombies you could deal with. You didn't know how to approach a man without coming off as cold.

You used to believe he didn't want you, but you wondered differently now with how often he watched you. You stare back into his cold glare. His jaw worked under that beard.

"They're boys. Young boys. He wasn't thinking with his head, for sure. But you can't ignore him forever. That's only going to drive him away from you."

Thorin gives a indignant snort and crosses his arms. "He needs to understand that he can't just run off-"

"I know that! You know that! Stop being such an ass about it!" You snarl, eyes blazing. "He's at the age where all he's thinking about is what's between a girl's legs. So explain it to him. Explain the dangers. Don't you yell at him or snap or ignore him. We are here to survive, but that doesn't give you the right to be a jerk." Thorin glowers at you in the low light of the room. He doesn't give you an answer, just turns back to his tinkering.

"He will have to suffer with the rest of us."

"Oh, you're suffering, huh?" You demand, taking your turn to cross your arms. "Poor, poor King Thorin, hasn't gotten any good coochie since the fucking apocalypse." He passes you a glare.

"I can control myself, thank you. Unlike you." You gasp in offense at him.

"I can't control myself? Are you fucking joking?"

"What do you call this?" He gestures to your outfit. You glance down. It was late in the night, you were preparing to go to bed. You'd stolen a pair of boxers from someone to sleep in and your bra had been abandoned.

"Sleepwear, perv." He turns full to you again, eyebrow raised at you.

"Have I ever touched you like the men did before you found us?" You chewed your cheek angerly.

"No."

"Have any of us ever made you uncomfortable with leering?"

"No."

"So why do you insist on walking about like this?"

"I was ready to climb into bed when Fí came to me. I came here because I was asked to. I'm not naked." Thorin gave a frustrated groan and ran a hand over his face.

"I'm done with this conversation, Y/N."

"Do you want me?" You ask. His eyes snap to yours in horror. He very abruptly turns back to his tinkering, not answering you. "Thorin," you call.

"Go to bed. Now." You watch his face turn pink.

"Whatever," you snap at him, turning to leave the room. "Just talk to your nephew."

You pause in the door way, glancing over at his broad back. Sweat had seeped into the fabric and soaked most of the shirt. Then much softer, you offer something. "Would it be such a bad thing?" His head inclines to the side a hair, listening. "To want me?"

He sinks onto his stool and twists to look at you, his eyes torn. He's quiet for a long moment, and gives you a heavy sigh. "We should not be having this conversation."

"No?" You lean against the cool metal of the doorframe to his workshop and bedroom. The bunker housed all 16 of your group. The coolness makes your nipples pebble and his eyes dart down to them.

"Y/N," he sighs, looking anywhere but at you. "There are so many bad things that could rise from this situation."

"Believe it or not, I am an adult. I am capable of having a conversation about this." He closed his eyes, looking as tired as you felt.

"Fine. Close the door." A thrill shot through you. You reached behind you and shut the door quietly. "For starters, it could lead to pregnancy. We can't afford to have you out of commission. If we have to move, you'd be in greater danger."

You give a nod at him. "That's a valid point. But there are other ways to get your fix." His eyes widen at this, shocked you'd even mention that.

"Are you even ready to be touched by someone else?" He demands. You push away from the door and move toward him. He stiffens as you grab his hands and bring them up to your face.

"Yes. And I want to be touched," you admit as he cups your face in his hands. "I want you to touch me." His brows furrow as he traces patterns in your cheek, his thumb trailing over your lips.

"You're too young for me," he argues.

"It's just sex," you promise, slipping between his thighs to rest against him. Your heart races as the smell of his sweat fills your nose. He tilts his forehead to yours. "Don't grasp for straws."

He gives a groan when your hips meet his groin.

"We shouldn't," he rumbles as he buries a hand into you hair still wet from your shower.

"We shouldn't," you repeat. And despite you both agreeing, his mouth is meeting yours and he's rising from the stool. And then he's walking you back to his bed, lips dragging over yours.

"We should stop."

"We should." You let him lower you onto the cot. It squeaks in protest but he's leaning down over you. There's no rush in the way you're both touching. Only you arching when he pushes his hips into yours, the thin boxers doing nothing against the rub of his jeans.

"Again?" He asks.

"Again," you whimper.

And he's caging you under him as his lips move to your neck. His hips rolling on repeat into yours. It has you gasping, legs rolling up around his hips. His hips press hard into yours as you arch against him. He sinks to the side more when his mouth reclaims yours.

His hand is dragging your thigh higher as you moan into him. He's using your leg as leverage to grind against you better. Groaning into your mouth eagerly. But his hips as dragging the pleasure out at a slow pace.

This felt incredible as you attempt to roll your hips back into his. He releases your thigh when you hook it behind his back, grabbing your breast as repayment for his calloused hands not rubbing into the soft flesh of your thigh.

"Take your pants off," you demand.

...

"Congratulations, boys! Someone got his cherry popped last night!" Dwalin calls, clapping the boys on the back. "So which one was it?"

Thorin and you share a glance of panic.

"Uh," Kíli starts, passing an embarrassed look to his older brother who looks just as put off.

"Don't be shy! We could here her half the night through the vents." Oh god. You forgot the vents! You nearly spit your tea out and Thorin just smirks at you behind his cup of coffee.

"Neither of us, actually." Fíli's admission has you cursing mentally. Just this once could they lie for you.

"Then who-...?" Dwalin cuts himself off, looking at the only one who had his own room. Then he catches the redness of your mortified face.

"We'll remember to close the vents next time," Thorin replies without glancing up from the map he was studying.

The room is stunned into silence and everyone turns to stare at the both of you. "The lass finally did it, ey?" Bofur chimes proudly.

"Good on her!"

"This deserves a song!"

"Oh dear god no!" You quickly jump to your feet and shuffle out of the room, calling that you'll be helping Bilbo in the greenhouse today. You were not about to subject yourself to the torture that was about to insue.

[godlydolans]

when is the next part of something borrowed coming out? ur writing is amazing

I’ve written this little think about how Ethan feels right after he comes to know he has a son. I’ve decided I’ll write shorter chapters and try to update more frequently. Tell me what you guys wanna read from this story and I’ll write it 😊

Ethan was still shaken up from the unexpected revelation about him having a son, moments after being kicked out of Y/N’s home. After seeing his son and Y/N and having a full fledged spat with her outside her house, he had gotten into his car and driven out of her neighbourhood.

Ethan had too much on his mind, too much that he had discovered in a span of minutes. He had only gone to her house with the hopes of maybe catching up, seeing how she was doing and apologise for the horrible way he had ended their relationship. What he found out was so shocking, it pulled the rug from under his feet.

He had a freaking son he didn’t know anything about and he was only just coming to know of his existence. How fucked up was that? A vein throbbed in his jaw whenever he clenched it in anger.

Ethan was pissed off at Y/N for hiding something so big for, him. She had no right.

He didn’t want to go home yet. That much he knew for sure. There was a very prominent desire to just turn the car around, pound on her door until she opened and give her a piece of his mind, but he wasn’t an idiot. He knew the threat she had made about calling the cops on him was not an empty one. Ethan cursed under his breath, his hand slamming against the steering wheel in anger as images of that little boy filled his mind.

Elijah, she had called him.

When Ethan had knocked on that door, his heart had been pounding with nerves in anticipation of seeing Y/N again after three long years. Catching a glimpse of her on the grocery store had definitely not been enough, in fact, it had started a burning desire in him to see her again, talk to her, see how she was doing.

But, Jesus Christ, nothing could have prepared him for the way his heart sped up when the door opened and the little boy in superman night suit stared up at him with a curious smile. It was impossible to overlook the uncanny resemblance between the boy standing in front of him and his own baby pictures that his mother had, stored away in photo albums.

If that kid wasn’t his, he wasn’t Ethan Dolan.

Ethan was still driving, when his phone went off in his pocket. It was Grayson. Ethan clenched his jaw, in no mood to speak to anyone because he was an inch away from blowing up. But Grayson had Irina and no matter how bent out of shape Ethan was over finding out he had a son, he hadn’t forgotten about the baby girl that had been his world ever since her birth.

“Gray.” Ethan spoke in a gruff voice after he pulled the car over on the side of the road. “Hey man.”

“Ethan, where are you? You said you’ll be back to get Irina in an hour and it’s 12am, E.” In no way did his brother’s tone imply that he wasn’t okay with Irina being with him a little longer than what was planned, but Ethan was in a deeply grave mood. He couldn’t stop the words that entered his hot head from escaping his mouth.

“What, you have a problem keeping her for an extra hour?”

Grayson was silent on the other line for a few seconds which gave Ethan time to realise how rude he had just been. But before he could apologise for snapping at him unnecessarily, Grayson was talking again.

“What the fuck, bro? Of course I don’t have a problem with her being here-you know that.” Ethan scrunched his eyes shut when he heard the evident hurt in his twin’s voice. Grayson was an incredible uncle to Irina, he loved her to death and him of all people, didn’t deserve to be treated like this.

“Fuck Gray, I know-“

“Ethan, is everything alright?” Ethan swallowed the bile rising in his throat caused by the sheer worry in Grayson’s voice. “I-don’t know-I just felt this weird unease, like something wasn’t right and you didn’t call once after leaving here,” Usually, Ethan always called and checked up on his daughter whenever he left her with anyone. “I got scared and-“

“Gray, I have a son.” Ethan pressed his lips together after uttering those words out in the open for the first time. His voice broke on the last word. The familiar burning began in his nose.

Grayson had gone completely silent on the other end, the silence stretching for so long that Ethan almost pulled the phone away to check if the call was still connected. Before he could do that though, Grayson spoke.

More like whispered in disbelief, “What?”

**

“I can’t fucking believe this.” Grayson was going to burn a hole in the carpet by his thunderous pacing. Ethan sat on the couch in front of his brother, his head resting on the headrest of the couch, his hands laying limply on his lap. After he told Grayson about Elijah, his brother had demanded he drive his ass over to his house immediately. Ethan had done exactly that because, even though he had felt like he didn’t want to talk to anyone, Grayson wasn’t just anyone.

His brother had listened to everything Ethan had to say without once interrupting him, which was an unheard of accomplishment for Grayson, and the gruffer Ethan’s voice bacame, the paler Grayson’s face got.

“You should have seen him, Gray.” Ethan had said this same sentence countless times since he got there, but Grayson wasn’t sure knew that. “Looks just like we used to. He has these really big bambi eyes that he gets from her, but the colour is ours. And-“ Ethan pushed himself up to sit straighter, his voice holding a hint of excitement as he pointed to his freckle by his eye, “And he has this too!”

Grayson watched as his brother chuckled before getting sad again.

“He’s so beautiful, Gray.”

Grayson clenched his jaw at the pain reflecting in his brother’s eyes. “This is unacceptable. Is it even legally allowed? She didn’t have any right to hide him from you! That baby is as much yours as he I hers, I-what the fuck?! I didn’t know anyone could be such a bitch-“

“Grayson.” Ethan lifted his head just enough to throw his brother a disapproving glare.

“What, you still can’t hear one word against her?” Grayson scoffed.

“I’ve heard plenty words against her, trust me. Iris never kept her hatered for Y/N to herself, but I want you to stop swearing for my daughter is sleeping in the other room.” Ethan knew very well his daughter wasn’t the only reason why he didn’t want Grayson to call Y/N a bitch. He wasn’t going to admit that to his seething brother though. “She said that she called to tell me but I never picked up.”

“Bullshit.” Grayson managed to keep his voice level for his sleeping niece but the harshness of his tone easily gave away how angry he was. “There were too many ways she could have contacted you-“

“How?” Ethan snapped, “I never introduced her to you or mom or Cam because you guys didn’t want to meet her, so she didn’t have any of your contact information. She sent mails which I didn’t read, she called and I didn’t pick up. That’s all she could have done and she did it. I can’t exactly put all the blame on her.”

Ethan never ever read any of the emails she sent, let alone answer her calls because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from running to her if she asked him to come back. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he would have been able to leave her that night if she would have asked him to stay. But she hadn’t. She’d just stood there and watched him leave. Now that he thinks about it, he should have read at least one of those mails. Had he done that, his son would have known him as his father and Ethan wouldn’t be meeting him tonight for the first time.

“So what now?” Grayson finally gave the poor carpet a rest and came to sit beside his brother.

“Now?” Ethan gave Grayson half a smile, “I don’t know. I can’t drag her to coart even though I threatened her with that. That won’t be fair to her. But I’m definitely not gonna sit back and let her keep my fucking son from me. That’s for fucking sure.”

[retroateez]

Prophecy - Chapter Twelve

hello!!! sorry this took an entire month to get out! life has been manic recently, but finally here is chapter 12! i’m not sure how i feel about this one but i wanted to get it out so as always thoughts and opinions are welcome! enjoy!

Prophecy Masterlist wc; 2966

Seonghwa was not impressed at your sudden arrival, dropping the book in his hands and creasing his immaculate black uniform as he jumped back in fright.

"What are you doing!?" He screeched at the three of you, a clumsy pile of limbs on the floor of his study. In fact, he had screamed so loudly that the king himself came barreling through the doors with panic written all over his face.

"Oh." Hongjoong rolls his eyes at the sight of you, Wooyoung and Yeosang clambering over each other like an energetic litter of puppies. "It's you."

"Nice to see you too, your majesty." Yeosang mocks, managing to escape from the cluster of bodies and stand up, brushing dirt and dust from his clothes whilst you try and wrestle Wooyoung off you.

"Can you explain why you've just... appeared in my office!?" Seonghwa shrieks. He's clutching at his chest, eyes still blown wide in fright. So much for the intimidating kingsguard you know and love.

Yeosang sighs and runs a hand over his face, up through his platinum hair before he settles for picking the dirt from underneath his fingernails. Something he only does when he's stressed, you've noticed. His eyes, shocking cobalt blue flicker between You and Wooyoung (now standing), Hongjoong and Seonghwa.

Why was he so nervous?

"We ran into a spot of trouble," The mage begins to explain, avoiding the steely gaze of the king. "Wooyoung here, our astrologer, was already targeted by a bunch of witch hunters when we recruited his help. We managed around a week or so of work on the prophecy-"

"Where?" Hongjoong barks. "This pathetic tale of woe means nothing to me unless you provide any evidence, mage. That is what i employed you to do, after all."

Yeosang flushes a furious red and anger flashes up inside you. People spoke to the mage in any manner they fancies, and Yeosang had never let it bother him, until now. You'd never seen him like this; shoulders hunched in humiliation, eyes darting across the room nervously as he plays with his fingers and the hem of his shirt.

You hated it.

But you say nothing, instead keeping your mouth quiet and gently grasping the sleeve of Wooyoung's white, billowy shirt and watching Yeosang embarrass himself in front of the king.

"We were attacked, twice." The elf speaks up. "We gathered as much work as we could before we left my home, but we were ambushed at Yeosang's house too."

"Ambushed?" The king echoed. "By whom?"

"We'll talk about that later," Yeosang mutters, throwing a look in your direction which thankfully, you don't catch. "I apologise for disturbing you at the castle, but this was the first place I could think of where would be safe."

Yeosang looks over to Seonghwa, who had regained his physical composure, but still looked a little spooked in the eyes.

Hongjoong stood before you, glaring between the three of you as he thought over his options.

"Let me examine the work you've done so far." He demands suddenly. "Then I shall decide what to do with you."

"What about me?" You pipe up, correct in your assumption that there's absolutely no way the king would let you help.

He dismisses you with a wave of his hand. "Explore the castle, the grounds, whatever, I don't care. Just don't make a mess or disturb my staff."

After retrieving all the wads and rolls of parchments from your pockets and socks, Hongjoong leads Yeosang, Seonghwa and Wooyoung out of the office and down the hall, presumably to his own study upstairs.

You figure that perhaps the gardens would be a good place to look around. Maybe you'd find Hongjoong's queen wandering amoungst the flowers, barefoot and clad in a snowy, flowing dress. Or maybe your own royal fantasies were merging too much with reality. You didn't even know if Hongjoong had a queen. You doubt that anybody would be able to put up with his obnoxious, bossy personality, let alone marry him.

Still, you skip down the steps and stroll mindlessly throughout the castle trying to find a door that leads you outside. Eventually, you come across the kitchen, where you find somebody ransacking the contents of the cupboards.

"Are you a thief?" You ask loudly, scaring the burglar in the process, who ends up dropping the loaf of bread he was attempting to stuff up his shirt.

"No!" He declares, and whips around to plead his innocence. "I work here!"

He's a giant, lanky young man, with a cloud of red hair covering most of his eyes. His pointy nose and plush lips are gentle and youthful , a total opposite to his sheer height and narrow eyes.

"If you work here, why are you stealing?"

"I was hungry." He pouts, dropping his shoulders a little in the shame of being caught.

"I won't tell if you share." You offer, which he immediately accepts, tearing the loaf in half and handing it out to you from one of his massive hands.

"I'm Mingi by the way," he says through a mouthful of bread, spraying crumbs all over the kitchen tiles. "I'm the king's bard."

"Iris." you reply simply, and take a bite out of your own hunk of bread. "You're a bard? What's that?"

Mingi strides past you, out of the kitchen and back the way you came in and you decide you have no other choice but to follow him like a lost child.

He turns left and shoves a slightly ajar wooden door open with the sole of his freshly polished boot, flying down the steps and you have a hard time keeping up with him.

"I entertain the king's guests," he explains as he takes you down more stairs. "Balls, parties, celebrations, I simply play the lute and sing for the people."

"Do you enjoy it?"

Mingi blushes almost as deep a red as his hair and stops at a huge, iron gate.

"I'm not a very good singer, so I tried another technique, where I speak words incredibly fast but keeping to a rhythm and a beat. But the king doesn't allow me to do it in company, so I just stick to the lute."

"What do you call this... speaking very fast technique?" you question.

The bard's eyes light up at your reply, the poor boy not used to somebody taking interest in his passion.

"I call it rapping!" he grins. "It's a name in progress, though!" you can't help but reciprocate Mingi's wide smile, finding his child-like excitement endearing.

He unlatches the gate and motions for you to go ahead, shutting the gate behind him and pointing towards the gorgeous gardens in front of you.

"This garden is the king's pride and joy," Mingi says. You reach out brush your fingers against flowers and foliage that you've never seen before. Sunny yellows and ocean blues stretch out as far as your eyes can see, with lush greens entwined within each and and every pot and planter in the area. He leads you to the center of the garden, to a circular planter filled to the brim with icy white and soft pink flowers.

"These are carnations," he says gently. "after the king's mother died, he ordered the gardener to plant an entire box full of them."

"It's very beautiful." you nod.

"Carnations, particularly pink ones, symbolize a mother's love. And the white ones mean innocence and pure love." Mingi smiles warmly. "Nobody loved the queen as much as her only son, her death struck him terribly."

You could only find it in you to nod again. The sudden impact of the hidden, emotional meaning behind the centerpiece weighing down on you heavily. A mother's love is entirely different from any other feeling in the world, you guessed.

"The first winter after the king had them planted, we expected the flowers to die as a result of the harsh weather, but they didn't. In fact, these petals are the same as when they were planted all those years ago. The king would never admit it to anyone, but he thinks her love is still present in the castle, and it radiates so strongly it refuses to let the flowers die."

"What do you think?" you ask quietly. Mingi looks up at you from his crouching position by the planter.

"It doesn't matter what I think. It gives the king great comfort, so who am I to challenge that?"

"Yeah," you frown. "You're right."

"Iris! There you are! I've been looking for you for ages!" You snap your attention to the gate and see Wooyoung charging towards you, waving his arm so frantically that you think it might tear off.

Wooyoung stands beside you, about to reach out to clasp your shoulder before he notices Mingi's crouched figure on the ground.

"Who are you?" The elf asks, in an almost protective way.

The bard stands up, displaying his much bigger height advantage over the two of you, and you stifle a laugh as you feel Wooyoung shrink beside you.

But the innocent Mingi offers his hand out to the astrologer and bursts out his kindly smile.

"I'm Mingi!" He and Wooyoung shake hands briefly, Wooyoung taken aback from the bard's warm demeanor. "I'd best go, I have lute practice soon and the king would have my head if I missed it again, he doesn't really approve of San and I stealing his swords and playfighting with them, especially when I have lute practice... See you later!"

The tall red-head rushes off up the cobbled path towards the gate, and you watch him hurtle back up the castle steps before he disappears inside completely.

"Watch out for him," Wooyoung sniffs. "I don't like the way he looks at you."

"Looks at me?" you scoff. "And what exactly do you mean by that?"

"He- He looks at you like you're a piece of meat."

"No he does not!" you splutter, feeling the heat rise up on your cheeks. "Besides, even if he did it has nothing to do with you, Wooyoung!"

You manage to keep your glare fixed on him, shocked and somewhat mortified that he brought that up with you. His amethyst eyes burn into your own and there's silence between you for a few, long moments. He's the first to break eye contact, glancing towards the castle with his tongue in his cheek, before he turns back to you with a new found air of calm.

"I came to tell you that Hongjoong is letting us stay here, in the castle while we finish conducting our research."

"Really?! That's great-"

"The only problem is," Wooyoung interrupts you. "There's only two rooms available, and Yeosang called dibs on the single."

"What does that mean, Wooyoung?" you demand dangerously, gritting your teeth and balling your fists, because if he says what you think he's about to say then-

"We have to share a room."

Gods help you.

"Please tell me... please tell me there are two beds."

"What? Yes of course there's two beds."

"Great!" you yell sarcastically. "Any other wonderful news you have to tell me?"

"Yes actually, there is one more thing."

"And what would that be?"

"Hongjoong says that because we're technically residents of the castle for the foreseeable future, we have to attend the ball in a few weeks time."

"Attend the what!?"

-----

"The Ball?" Hongjoong repeats cooly, "What about it?"

"I refuse to attend." You turn your nose up at him, having barged into his private quarters with Wooyoung trailing behind you, nursing a bleeding nose (courtesy of yours truly).

"I'm afraid you simply have no choice, Iris." The king sighs and shrugs on his tawny furred coat. "It's my Ball, you live in my castle, so I decide who attends, and who doesn't. Do I make myself clear?"

"But-"

"I said, Do I make myself clear?" Hongjoong's knees are bent slightly so he's directly face to face with you and his tone replicates that of an adult talking to a child they've just caught misbehaving.

You stay quiet, keeping your mouth closed and shooting Hongjoong an angry stare instead.

"Good." He says patronisingly, even ruffling your hair before he casually exits the room.

"Maybe the Ball will be fun?" Wooyoung tries, shrugging a little and keeping a distance from you, the dull ache in his nose a stark reminder not to piss you off anymore.

"I doubt it." you sigh, and with a final huff, you too march out of the room and make a beeline for the garden you and Mingi were sat in earlier in the day.

To the same garden that occupied your thoughts as you lay awake in bed that night, Wooyoung's deep breathing on the other side of the room. You couldn't get the image of a heartbroken, young Hongjoong out of your mind. You imagined him ordering the gardener around, organising his own pattern of pink and white carnations the exact way he wanted in order to commemorate his late mother.

At times, you didn't know what to make of Hongjoong and his hot and cold personality; he could be incredibly harsh and unforgiving, but kind and merciful in the same breath, and it was confusing. But you supposed even the most cruel people could still feel love. You wondered if Mingi had ever loved anyone. A girlfriend? His music? The people that he worked with? After all, there are many different types of love; romantic, familial, platonic, the list goes on. And what about Yeosang? Did he have parents who showered him with affection? Was he married before he became a recluse in his stunning little shack? Did everybody feel love?

"Wooyoung?" you blurt out suddenly in the darkness.

"Yes?" He replies almost immediately, making you jump in your skin.

"Have you ever felt love?"

The elf remains silent for a few moments before speaking, and you hear him turn over onto his side to face you.

"Once. I was in love, and I thought they were in love with me too."

"You thought?" you whisper.

"Yes. It turned out they had used me for my skills, for my work. It was so long ago now that I can hardly remember, but we lived together in a kingdom not too far from here. One morning, I woke up to find they were gone. No note, no hint as to where they might be. So I waited. I waited and waited for them to return for weeks."

"And then what happened?" You voice had reduced to barely a whisper, speaking so lightly as if even the quietest of sounds could shatter the heavy air in the room.

"About a month or so after they had disappeared, the kingdom guards tried to arrest me. They had turned me in to them, claiming that I was plotting against the kingdom, and of course all they had to do was to take one look at an elf and that was enough grounds to declare me guilty." You caught the way Wooyoung's voice cracked at he finished his sentence, and you felt your own heart shatter.

"I'm so sorry, Woo. That's awful."

"It was so long ago now, but the pain doesn't disappear, it just gets easier to deal with."

After a few moments deliberating, you slip out of bed and pad over to Wooyoung's.

"Are you okay?" you ask him gently.

"I'm fine." He replies dryly, but you don't miss the sniffle or the tear rolling down his cheek and how it glistens in the moonlight filtering in through the window.

Which is why you shove lightly at his shoulder to make him move over, and you crawl in beside him. You wrap your arms around his torso and bury your face into his chest. He freezes momentarily, before pulling you close and frowning into your hair.

"Don't get used to this." You deadpan. "I'm only doing this because you're sad."

Wooyoung chuckles and you can feel it rumble in his chest against your head. The two of you lay in silence and admittedly, it's nice. He exudes a warmth and a comfort you hadn't noticed before now, and the way his hand lays gently on the back of your head is soothing. It breaks your heart how somebody could have their entire world destroyed and still show compassion and affection.

"What about you?" The elf whispers softly. "Have you ever felt love?"

You shake your head.

"No. I hadn't really been shown kindness either, up until I met Yeosang."

"What about your parents?"

"I-" You inhale deeply and screw your eyes shut; you hadn't told anybody about your previous life, who you used to be. In a way, you liked the separation between the two different versions of you. This one was worth something, actually meant something to people whilst the older version of you was just... there.

"I didn't know my parents." You answer. "I grew up in an orphange, and I would steal from the local market in order to survive."

Wooyoung says nothing, just lays there running his palm up and down your back.

"That was how I ended up here, actually. I got caught stealing, and my only option was to get in a boat and row off as far as I could. Then I ran into that giant storm and- well, you know the rest."

"Does Yeosang know this?"

You shake your head once more.

"I didn't want him to think less of me, for doing the things I did. I- I have a purpose thanks to him, I don't want to let him down and show him I'm less than what I am now." Tears threaten to pour out of your eyes, so you bury your face deeper into Wooyoung's shirt.

"He wouldn't think any less of you for that, Iris. I'm sure of it. He cares a great deal about you, you know. I think he'd rather give his own life over yours." The elf begins to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear over and over again, creating a calming pattern that makes your eyes slide closed.

"Go to sleep," he whispers. "You must be exhausted."

And so you do, feeling the most loved you've ever felt.

Chapter Thirteen

[bloody-bee-tea]

love me better

This is just some self-indulgent sick!fic where Lan Xichen takes very good care of Jiang Cheng. It has all the loving nicknames, forehead kisses, soft kisses and snuggling anyone could need. It comes in at 3.7k, so watch out for the read more. It’s also here on AO3, if you prefer that.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng knows he is sick. It is hard to deny that fact when he is sweating and shivering in turns, and everything is a little bit unreal and blurry around the edges. Not to mention his stuffed nose and the blinding headache that is throbbing away behind his temple.

Still, he can’t just rest, like his body demands. There are matters to attend to; letters to reply to, disputes to settle, meetings to be hold and decisions to be made.

He’s the sect leader; he can’t just take a day off. And he has a very honored guest that should be entertained.

No matter how much he aches with the need to lay down and rest his eyes, just for a moment.

But instead of doing that, he sits in his chair and listens to his Clan Elders complain about this year’s harvest.

As if that is something Jiang Cheng can influence.

Not for the first time that day Jiang Cheng wishes he had a trusted second, just so he could hand some of the responsibility off to them. But the only one who he trusts enough to handle the matters of the Yunmeng Jiang Clan is Jin Ling, and the poor boy is swamped enough as it is with learning how to deal with his own sect. He’s with Jiang Cheng to learn. Not to be put under more pressure.

Jin Ling doesn’t need this added responsibility, and besides. If anyone should help anyone, it would be the other way around. Like it always has been.

So Jiang Cheng continues to sit through this meeting, pretends that he cares, when he really couldn’t give less of a fuck if the Elders received a little bit less money from the harvest than they did last year, and tries his damn hardest to not just faceplant into the ground.

Even though the prospect becomes more and more tempting with every second that passes. If he manages to knock himself out like that, he’ll get at least a little bit of rest and quiet.

“Sect Leader,” one of the Elders suddenly says and it takes almost a full minute for the image of two identical people in front of his eyes to merge into one. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes,” Jiang Cheng grits out, and straightens up.

“No,” Jin Ling says from his side and Jiang Cheng sends him a silencing look.

Where is that handy silencing charm from Gusu when you need it.

“Be quiet,” Jiang Cheng demands, but Jin Ling squares his shoulders and Jiang Cheng knows what this means.

The boy takes too much after his mother in that regard.

“Sect Leader Jiang is sick,” Jin Ling says, almost accusingly, and Jiang Cheng would roll his eyes if he wasn’t so certain that it would split his head wide open.

“I am not,” Jiang Cheng presses out.

They have had this conversation already. All through breakfast and well into the morning, right until Jiang Cheng just walked out to attend to his duties, like a good sect leader.

“Shouldn’t you be resting, then?” the Elder says hesitantly.

“No,” Jiang Cheng tells him, just as Jin Ling says “Yes, he should be,” and Jiang Cheng’s head snaps around to him, not caring that the sudden movement upsets his stomach.

“I swear to the ancestors, I will throw you out if you don’t behave,” he threatens, and Jin Ling narrows his eyes at him.

“Do it. It’ll give me the opportunity to get Zewu-Jun in here,” Jin Ling hisses at him and Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

“He can’t order me to go to bed, either. Besides, you shouldn’t trouble him, he’s a guest.”

“Young master Jin, if Zewu-Jun would be able to help, we’re happy to get him,” one of the more friendly Elders pipes up and Jin Ling nods at him.

“He’s the only one uncle respects enough to listen to,” he decides. “Go get him.”

Jiang Cheng wants to strangle him, but he’s not sure he can summon up the strength that would take.

Not everyone was happy with the way Jin Ling interfered either, as it seemed, because a third Elder suddenly spoke up.

“No matter who the guest is, our Clan Leader can’t just cater to every whim of someone else,” he sneered and Jiang Cheng narrowed his eyes at him, doing his best to see him clearly so he could remember his face once he was well again. “There are still matters to attend. Matters, the Sect Leader has to decide.”

“I’m sure there are,” Jin Ling said, and bowed deeply towards the Elder in a move that almost didn’t seem sarcastic. “But I’m sure there can be made an exception for the esteemed Zewu-Jun and honored guest of the Yunmeng Jiang Clan. He shouldn’t have to take his tea alone, every day, after all. We don’t want the Gusu Lan Clan to think we have bad manners, do we?” Jin Ling asked and Jiang Cheng could feel pride swell inside him.

The little mistress certainly knew how to use his words and how to sway the Elders. Jiang Cheng could just hope that he could handle his own sect as well as he just handled Jiang Cheng’s.

“Taking my tea alone is a dreadful boring experience,” Lan Xichen agrees, just as he steps into the hall, and Jiang Cheng wonders just how long he has been waiting outside. “I would be delighted by some company.”

“Zewu-Jun,” the Elders rush to greet him and Jiang Cheng can’t help the biting smile.

These goddamn bootlickers.

“If Clan Leader Jiang would be so kind as to offer me some company?” Lan Xichen asks, and Jiang Cheng doesn’t think he imagines the amused twinkle in his eyes.

“How could I ever deny the esteemed Zewu-Jun and our honored guest that pleasure,” Jiang Cheng gives back, with a side-look at Jin Ling who rolls his eyes at him.

“Do us all a favor and just take a rest,” he mutters under his breath, and Jiang Cheng swats his head.

“Careful,” he warns, but then turns back to the Elders. “The meeting is adjourned. We will continue this tomorrow.”

“Actually, I am still waiting for that sightseeing tour Clan Leader Jiang promised me,” Lan Xichen chimes in and Jiang Cheng presses his lips together, so he doesn’t burst out laughing. It probably won’t help his headache.

He hasn’t promised Lan Xichen anything, and least of all a sightseeing tour.

“How could I forget,” Jiang Cheng allows. “No meetings tomorrow then, either.”

The Elders rush to bow to him, and Jiang Cheng can’t say he’s too sad to see them all scramble in their need to get out.

Jin Ling respectfully bows and walks after them as well, much more composed than the Elders had been, leaving only Jiang Cheng and Lan Xichen behind.

“You do seem terribly sick,” Lan Xichen tells him and Jiang Cheng scoffs, before a cough wrecks his body.

It doesn’t help with the headache in the slightest.

“Nonsense,” he gasps out once he can breathe again, and this time Lan Xichen looks at him with open worry.

“You should rest,” Lan Xichen says, and Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

“I’m okay. Or I will be, now that I don’t have to sit through another single complaint of them. I’ll finally catch up on my paperwork.”

“You will not,” Lan Xichen determinedly says, his voice allowing no argument, and Jiang Cheng stares at him in wonder. And maybe a little bit of awed desire.

He sometimes forgets that Lan Xichen is a clan leader himself.

“You will take a bath, and eat some soup and then you’ll rest,” Lan Xichen declares and steps closer to help Jiang Cheng up.

“I’m not some weak maiden,” Jiang Cheng complains and tries to push Lan Xichen’s hands off him, but of course he can’t even get him to budge.

“No, you’re just an incredibly stubborn man,” Lan Xichen mutters and simply lifts Jiang Cheng into a standing position. “Can you walk?” he wants to know and slightly loosens the grip he has on Jiang Cheng.

Jiang Cheng’s knees immediately buckle under him.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“I’m just--a little bit of rest would be nice,” Jiang Cheng finally admits, and he leans even more heavily against Lan Xichen.

He’s just glad that he’s too sick to get as flustered around Lan Xichen as he usually does whenever the other is even slightly close to him.

“A little bit of rest it is then,” Lan Xichen easily agrees and slings his arm around Jiang Cheng’s waist. “You’re burning up.”

“It’ll pass,” Jiang Cheng mutters, though now that he knows he doesn’t have to pretend to be alright anymore, he feels worse with every passing second.

“Under the right care,” Lan Xichen says and carefully walks Jiang Cheng towards his quarters.

Jiang Cheng must have passed out somewhere along the way, because suddenly he’s being lowered onto his bed.

“Need to undress,” he mutters, and tries to push Lan Xichen’s hands away again.

“I’ll help you,” Lan Xichen calmly promises but Jiang Cheng shakes his head.

It’s already bad enough Lan Xichen saw him in this state; he doesn’t need to help Jiang Cheng like a small child as well.

“I can do it,” he lowly tells him, even though his hands fumble on his belt.

He’s really cold, all of a sudden.

“Jiang Cheng,” Lan Xichen says and cups Jiang Cheng’s cheek in his hand.

Jiang Cheng wants to protest, because he’s sick and contagious and all disgustingly sweaty and Lan Xichen shouldn’t catch whatever he has, but instead he nuzzles into his palm.

“Let me help,” Lan Xichen goes on and Jiang Cheng weakly shakes his head.

“You’re our guest.”

“I’m your friend, too, aren’t I?” Lan Xichen asks, and Jiang Cheng decides he has to be imagining the hopeful tone in his voice.

He’s already more than lucky Lan Xichen indulges him every now and then with his requests for guidance. He should be so lucky to call him friend. Or anything more, for that matter.

So he doesn’t answer, isn’t sure he could form a coherent answer in his current state anyways, but Lan Xichen seems to take it as confirmation.

“Then shouldn’t I be allowed to help you?” Lan Xichen gently inquires, and Jiang Cheng finds it hard to remember any reasons as to why Lan Xichen shouldn’t undress him.

Not when he’s being this gentle.

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng breathes out and is surprised when Lan Xichen chuckles at that.

“You’re really out of it already, aren’t you? Time for you to get into bed,” he decides and starts to undo all of Jiang Cheng’s layers.

He peels him out of his clothes, carefully guides him in this direction and then that one, and before Jiang Cheng knows it, he’s just in his underrobes and being tucked into bed.

“Sleep now,” Lan Xichen murmurs and smoothes his hand over Jiang Cheng’s forehead, effectively pushing the headache back to a more manageable level.

“You are too beautiful and too good,” Jiang Cheng mutters, already mostly on his way to sleep, but he still reaches out and presses Lan Xichen’s hand back to his face. “Too good,” he mumbles again, as he drifts off to sleep.

~*~*~

Lan Xichen stays with Jiang Cheng the whole time, even though most of the Elders seem affronted with his care for their sect leader.

If Lan Xichen has any say in this, they better get used to it quickly, because he’s not willing to leave Jiang Cheng again, unless he explicitly tells him to get lost.

The fever takes two long days to break and Jiang Cheng remains mostly out of it during that whole time.

He wakes for short times over the days, just enough for Lan Xichen to get some soup and water into him, but he’s never clear headed enough to have a conversation with him.

Jin Ling flutters in and out, always seemingly angry, but Lan Xichen can see the underlying worry in his gaze, notices how he visibly quiets down so as to not disturb his uncle’s rest, and Lan Xichen wonder’s if Jiang Cheng even knows how much his nephew loves him.

Jiang Cheng will probably kill Jin Ling if he hears that he threatened Lan Xichen to take proper care of his uncle or else. Lan Xichen had simply accepted the threat as the sign of love it was, and promised to do his utmost to nurse Jiang Cheng back to health.

And that is exactly what he is doing.

He’s there every time Jiang Cheng wakes up, hands him his soup and helps him with his water when Jiang Cheng’s shaking hands fail him.

Lan Xichen knows there’s a high probability that Jiang Cheng will be cross with him once he wakes up; Jiang Cheng doesn’t enjoy being seen as emotional at the best of times. Knowing that he’s been seen like this, sick and weak and almost vulnerable, will probably not sit right with him and he’ll lash out at Lan Xichen, he’s aware of that. Especially if he learns what he calls Lan Xichen every time he wakes up, and what he mutters in his feverish sleep.

It still doesn’t stop him. Lan Xichen would care for him like this even if Jiang Cheng wasn’t sick, if only he’d let him.

“Xichen-ge,” Jiang Cheng suddenly mumbles from his bed and effectively jolts Lan Xichen out of his wistful thoughts.

“A-Cheng,” Lan Xichen replies, and he would object to the liberty he takes with his fellow Sect Leader if Jiang Cheng hadn’t almost thrown a fit the first time he hadn’t called him A-Cheng in reply to Jiang Cheng calling him Xichen-ge.

Lan Xichen is still not over how much he likes hearing that name from Jiang Cheng.

“Still the most beautiful,” Jiang Cheng mutters, and immediately drifts off to sleep again.

He’s been doing that a lot lately, waking up only to check if Lan Xichen is still there, falling asleep before Lan Xichen can even reach for the soup, but Lan Xichen can’t find it in him to mind it.

He leans forward and presses a lingering kiss to Jiang Cheng’s forehead and is pleased to find that his temperature is steadily going down.

Jiang Cheng will wake up properly tomorrow, Lan Xichen is sure of that.

There is a very small part of him that is sad at the prospect of not being needed by Jiang Cheng anymore come tomorrow, of not being allowed all the liberties he had taken in order to care for him, but he squashes it down.

Jiang Cheng regaining his health is the only important thing right now.

Jiang Cheng wakes again in the evening, and this time he stays awake long enough for Lan Xichen to get some soup into him.

“Xichen-ge, I’m tired,” Jiang Cheng mutters after only five spoons and Lan Xichen sighs.

“Three more and you can go back to sleep,” he tells him, and he certainly doesn’t think of Jiang Cheng as completely adorable when he pouts at him.

“Xichen-ge is so mean to me,” Jiang Cheng mumbles, but obediently takes another spoon of soup and Lan Xichen can’t find it in him to insist on the other two when Jiang Cheng’s eyes grow heavy. “But always so beautiful,” he says under his breath and cuddles deeper into his blanket. “And the best.”

Lan Xichen smiles at him as he puts the bowl away, and then he rests his hand on Jiang Cheng’s head, soothingly carding his fingers through his hair until Jiang Cheng is deeply asleep again.

He sleeps through the night, much to Lan Xichen’s relief and when he checks his temperature again, he finds that it’s back to normal.

Seems like the worst is over.

Still, Lan Xichen stays in his room, resting on the bed some helpful disciples had brought him two days ago, and he keeps a close eye on Jiang Cheng.

He sees him wake up, disoriented and clearly still tired, but he gets up anyway. Jiang Cheng is still only in his underrobe, bright violet a beautiful contrast to his pale skin, and he rubs a hand over his eye as he shuffles barefoot towards the door, hair spilling wildly down his back and over his shoulders.

Lan Xichen’s heart thumbs heavily in his chest, and he really wouldn’t mind seeing Jiang Cheng like this, soft and unguarded, again.

“You should at least put on some shoes before you go outside,” Lan Xichen says when it looks like Jiang Cheng will really leave his room like this, and Jiang Cheng startles badly.

“What the fuck!” he exclaims, and though his voice is still rough, he sounds better too.

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” Lan Xichen says with a nod of his head, and he already mourns the loss of the soft, sleepy Jiang Cheng.

“Bullshit,” Jiang Cheng bites out and then seems to find his footing again, because the by now so familiar scowl finds his way back on his face. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry for inconveniencing you,” Lan Xichen replies. “You were ill, taken with a severe fever, and we thought it best someone stayed by your side.”

“‘We’,” Jiang Cheng repeats and raises one eyebrow at Lan Xichen.

“Jin Ling was very worried,” Lan Xichen tells him and watches as Jiang Cheng gets flustered.

“There was nothing to worry about! It was just a simple cold!”

Lan Xichen wants to disagree, because Jiang Cheng had been knocked out for over two days by it, but he keeps his mouth closed when Jiang Cheng turns back to the bed.

“You’ve been here the whole time,” he mutters softly, almost questioningly, and Lan Xichen nods.

“Someone needed to make sure you eat.”

“And that someone had to be you?”

“I am here on holiday, so to speak. And besides, I didn’t mind.”

“You didn’t, huh?” Jiang Cheng whispers and Lan Xichen watches as he walks back to the bed, strokes a hand over the covers in deep thought.

“Xichen-ge,” he mumbles, and Lan Xichen replies in the by now quite familiar manner.

“A-Cheng.”

Jiang Cheng whirls around at that, and he seems he slightly overestimated his own health, because his knees seem to buckle under him, and Lan Xichen barely reaches him in time.

“Careful,” he admonishes him. “You’re still weak.”

He expects Jiang Cheng to protest at that but instead he leans further into Lan Xichen.

“You’re still too good,” Jiang Cheng lowly says and then groans when it seems to startle another thought. “I said the other part out loud, too, didn’t I?” he wants to know and Lan Xichen watches in fascination as Jiang Cheng blushes slightly.

“You usually did, yes,” he easily admits and can’t help but to press a soft kiss to Jiang Cheng’s temple, overcome with the need to feel the blush under his lips.

It’s nothing like his fever-flushed skin.

“Well,” Jiang Cheng says and then straightens up, out of Lan Xichen’s arms.

But before Lan Xichen can mourn his loss and wonder if their relationship is now ruined, Jiang Cheng pushes him down on his bed, before he climbs up to straddle his thighs.

“It didn’t send you running,” he observes, quite correctly, and Lan Xichen stares up at him, as Jiang Cheng puts his arms on his shoulders. “What is that supposed to tell me, Zewu-Jun?”

“That I much prefer it when you call me Xichen-ge, A-Cheng,” he replies and noses under Jiang Cheng’s chin, presses fleeting kisses against his fluttering throat.

“If this bedside manner is what that gets me, I think I can be convinced,” Jiang Cheng teasingly gives back and buries one hand in Lan Xichen’s hair.

Lan Xichen looks up at him again, even though it’s very hard to drag his lips away from Jiang Cheng’s skin, and he wonders if Jiang Cheng even knows what he does to him.

“You’re way too beautiful yourself, you know that?” Lan Xichen asks because Jiang Cheng is slightly smiling at him, his face soft and open in a way Lan Xichen hasn’t seen a lot before, and his hair is still open, softening him further.

He is so beautiful Lan Xichen has trouble breathing, let alone string a coherent thought together.

Jiang Cheng steals any remaining part of his sanity away when he leans forward and gently presses their lips together.

Lan Xichen hums into the kiss and chases after him when Jiang Cheng leans back, but he stills when Jiang Cheng cups his face in his hand.

“You’ve been taking very good care of me,” Jiang Cheng mutters as he presses another kiss to Lan Xichen’s cheek and Lan Xichen smiles at him.

“You’re very easy to care for,” he says and watches Jiang Cheng blush again.

He’s going to enjoy doing that a lot.

“Some would like to disagree.”

“Some clearly have no functioning brain,” Lan Xichen gives back, startling Jiang Cheng into a laugh.

The mood is only slightly dampened when it turns into a cough.

“You should rest some more,” Lan Xichen admonishes him, and rubs his hands up and down Jiang Cheng’s sides. “You’re still sick, even though you no longer have a fever.”

“I rested enough,” Jiang Cheng complains and then lets out a startled laugh when Lan Xichen lets himself fall backwards onto the bed, taking Jiang Cheng with him, so he’s sprawled all over him.

“Maybe I can convince you to stay a little bit longer in bed?”

Jiang Cheng scrutinizes him for a few seconds before he allows Lan Xichen to arrange them into a more comfortable position. Jiang Cheng melts against him as he tucks his face into the crook of Lan Xichen’s neck and then he lets out a long exhale.

“I think I’m convinced,” he mutters, sleep clearly tugging at him already again, and Lan Xichen continues to smooth his hand over his back.

“Good night, A-Cheng,” Lan Xichen says, lips pressed to the crown of Jiang Cheng’s head and Jiang Cheng snuggles even closer.

“Night, Xichen-ge.”

[daffodilon]

cafune

cafuné - (brazilian portuguese)

"the act of running your fingers through your lover's hair; among the few words that cannot be directly translated into english"

Pairing: Jungkook / ♀ Reader Rating: M for Mature Genre(s): 🍭 Fluff, 💔 (like five seconds of) Angst, 🔞 Smut WC: 9,458 Warnings: Sexual content, porn with feelings, dry humping, like i’m talking thigh riding, coming in pants, dirty talk, discussion of exhibitionism, dom/sub dynamics if you squint, baby boy jungkook, uhhh swearing, mentions of drinking to the point of blacking out. God this sounds filthy but I promise it’s #soft If there’s anything I’ve forgotten to warn for please bring it to my attention!! I haven’t slept in two days I’d appreciate the help. This isn’t beta’d, either, so watch out for that too, I guess

Summary: [A kiss-and-confess in an alternate universe, originally written as part of a much larger chapter fic, my library/roommates au. It took off in another direction and no longer fits within the scope of that timeline, and the scene had to be re-written. So now this is a standalone getting-together oneshot, because it was too cute of a concept to scrap.] TL;DR: talking to Jungkook about your Feelings™ and making out for like 8k words. It’s, like, slowburn without the slow. So I guess that makes it... all... burn... 🔥 👀

p 01, 02

Theoretically, there’s a big difference between a kiss and a cup of tea. One might even call it obvious. 

Indeed in practice, there’s a big difference between a kiss and a cup of tea.

Both in theory and in practice, kisses and teacups are difficult to confuse.

The point is, don’t ask how the hell you managed to screw that one up, because you don’t know, either.

What you know is, you knocked on Jungkook’s open bedroom door after putting the electric kettle on for yourself.

What you know is, he waved you in from where he sat on the bed, and you crossed the floor to peer over his shoulder at what he was working on, and he let you lean in close enough to glimpse the video editing program he had open for a quick look before he pushed the laptop closed and asked you how your day was.

What you know is, you gave him the radio edit, secured a promise from him to let you watch his project when he was finished, and then offered to bring him some tea, if he wanted any.

What you know is, he beamed at you in reply, eyebrows way up under his bangs, and he asked you for green tea.

Then, you grinned and told him, “Of course.”

Then, you turned to go. Your brain said, “Give him a cup of green tea.”

Now, theoretically, you know the difference between a kiss and a cup of tea.

Theoretically.

You kiss him instead.

It’s soft, and sweet with pent-up affection and syrupy endearment, and extremely quick.

It catches up with you pretty quick, after that. The fact that you’re awake, right now. The fact that you really did that, in real life, without a warning, without a word of precedent.

Your first instinct here is to get the hell out of dodge, and through the welling panic you make to get up and do just that, foolishly hoping you could avoid the consequences of your actions that way, or maybe at least postpone them.

Plan A doesn’t work out.

Thanks to his reflexes, Jungkook catches your wrist as soon as your eyes widen in realization and you move to slip off the bed and bolt. He stops you. Begs you oh, god no, don’t you dare to that to me, you can’t just kiss me and run away. Please, please don’t do that to me.

There’s nothing you can do but sit down again and he says, “I'm sorry but would you please, please talk to me. What- What was that?”

So you gather up every last shred of courage in your body to give him what he deserves: honesty. This isn’t Plan B. This isn’t even Plan C, but you no choice but to tell him.

How he’d looked so darling, all in white, sitting an arms length away. Warm and beautiful and relaxed, all fluffy hair and soft edges. That old, old familiar low simmering want had ballooned, expanded until the pressure maxed out and finally, finally burst. There wasn’t space inside your physical body to contain the expanse of it anymore, and you’d gone ahead and. Leaned down and kissed him.

But for any of that, you need words, and they aren’t making themselves available. Your useless brain churns out miserable sensation after miserable sensation, instead. You can feel the aftershocks of the inner explosion making your fingers tremble. Blood rushes in your ears, making your own voice sound like you’re underwater.

Words finally begin to tumble off your lips, but not the right ones.

“Oh, god. I’m, so, so sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking, I- Jungkook, the truth is I'm in- uh. Like you? I like- love you. And. I got- caught up... I don’t know.”

One, two, three exceptionally long beats elapse. You think mildly that maybe this is the worst you’ve ever felt, recalling hangovers, recalling being stood up on a date when you were seventeen, recalling crying into Jimin’s shirt after Seokjin’s party. This train of thought continues until he demands,

“Say that again, without the apology. Tell me again, don’t say you’re sorry.”

So you tell him, again, but you’re about three beats per minute shy of cardiac arrest. You’re no doctor, but you’re reasonably sure.

“Jungkook, I'm in love with you. I’m s- wait, no, sorry, I'm. Shit. I should- do I start over? I’m,” You look up at the ceiling, blinking back the traitorous tears welling in your eyes and sigh once, “I’m so in love with you,” you finally get out, helplessly, only to get a shaky exhale in reply, and have to wait in excruciating silence for a number of seconds, while Jungkook works through his disbelief. You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping maybe if you close them tightly enough, the tears threatening to overflow will stay trapped. It’s a good effort, but it doesn’t work.

Then you hear, between many stops and starts, “I’ve... um,” He clears his throat, so you open your eyes again, since you’re clearly fighting a losing battle here anyway, in time to see him reaching for your hand before drawing back at the last moment, unsure. “Kind of, always been... yours. Like, this whole time?” Which... what the hell does that mean? “I’ve... I’m... I didn’t think- I was so scared that- I just. It’s just that you have no idea how many times I've imagined you saying that to me. And literally... not a single one of those times did I ever imagine you would be apologizing for it in the same breath. Please tell me again.” You’re pretty sure you’re physically shaking at this point, but it’s good that he’s asking you for simple things, one at a time, seeing as your brain has shut off. Checked out, right before you decided kissing him was a good next move.

You force yourself to make eye contact with him as you say, “I- Okay. I love you? I’ve been in love with you since... for so long now. All right? So please, what the hell does that mean, ‘I've always been yours?’ You’ve always... you’re what?”

“I mean I'm yours. I mean I love you. I love you, too. Will you please kiss me again, so I can kiss you back, because I've been sitting here these past five minutes freaking out about this whole situation but also the fact that you probably think I'm a terrible kisser? Because of just now? I’m sorry, I just, the shock-  and I'm not. I swear to god, I promise, I'm not, so please-”

You kiss him again, cutting him off mid-word, and, yep, oh, there’s a clear difference once he’s had time to react. He’s true to his word. But-

“Yeah, I know,” you murmur against his lips after a minute. The giddiness is finally beginning to catch up with you. Jungkook opens his eyes, it appears, with some effort.

“I- you what?” Holy fuck, he looks far away. It takes him a second to come back to himself enough to ask, “What do you mean?” His eyelids are heavy, and you can see his gaze trained on your mouth. The incredible way he looks this fucked out after a few seconds of kissing is really, really fucking distracting, and you almost forget what you were going to say.

“I know. I remember.” It’s not difficult to give in to the temptation to chase his lips again, between sentences, and you allow yourself to nip at his lower lip, like you’ve wanted to for so, so fucking long. But you do want to tell him, “Christmas,” before falling back into him again.

And Jungkook, poor thing, for all he’s good at kissing —giving as good as he gets and making your eyes want to roll back in your head and let him take, take, take what he wants— for all he’s very, very good at that, he’s just a little bit shit at multitasking. Carrying on this conversation is clearly, by degrees, becoming more and more difficult. You note with a little satisfaction that his chest is heaving slightly when he pulls back again, eyes still closed, but with a crinkle in his brow and his pretty, pink, kiss-swollen lips turned down at the corners in confusion.

“Christmas.” You can see him trying to remember, and yeah, you expected that, but. Ouch, anyway. You force yourself not to dwell on the number of times you’ve mentally re-lived that night, times he clearly hasn’t.

“Mhmm.” It’s too much to resist dipping back down for yet another quick kiss in between words. You’re getting addicted to it, it’s already clear. “‘S okay. You were pretty drunk,” you supply, pressing another kiss to the freckle beneath his lip, nosing along his jaw, kissing the skin there with every ounce of tenderness that’s taken up residence in your heart, piling up higher and higher over the past year, affection distinctly tinged with a powerful rush of relief overflowing in this moment as if to make up for how painful the past ten minutes were.  

“Christmas... kissed you?” Jesus, he sounds wrecked. Might as well be drunk now, at two pm on a Sunday. “Kissed you... mistletoe?” A modicum of clarity makes its way into his tone, as you reach the soft patch of skin below his ear and graze your teeth there, and you’re pressed up so close against him that his full body shudder wracks you as well. A fresh flutter of butterflies almost makes you gasp, in response. You’d been completely sure he didn’t remember that night at all. “That was... at Christmas there was, I was, so much-” His breath catches as you kiss your way down his neck, giving special attention to the mole there, “So much eggnog. I was so sure that- that was a dream.”

“Mmm mm. Nope.”

“Not a dream?” Your kisses make their way along to the other side of his neck, kissing back up, toward the corner of his jaw, angling to get his breath hitching again, and it works, up until he wrenches his head to the side with effort, leveraging his hand, which had made its way into your hair while you weren’t paying attention, to move your head where he wants it, with his lips properly brushing yours again as he says, “Hang on a second. Hang on... No? Are you sure?” Jungkook’s voice has taken on a hoarse note you weren’t expecting. This, combined with the firm grip he has on your hair has a moan slipping out of your mouth before you can clamp your jaw shut, but you have to scoff.

“Am I sure? That that was a thing I lived through? Yes, Jungkook I'm sure.” His eyes are boring into yours, now.

He’s maneuvering you both, now, careful not to pull too hard on your hair, but not relinquishing his grip, either. Before you know it, you’re on your back, propped up against the pillows with Jungkook’s body caging you in from above. He kisses you again, harder, and hotter, a kiss that has you chasing his lips when he retreats far enough to continue,

“Wow. Okay back up a little bit, I need you to tell me what happened, then, because I have a memory and its...,” —another searing kiss, “Let’s just say it can’t be accurate from start to finish. Call it wishful thinking.” He pulls back again, to read your expression. You aren’t sure what he sees there, but it’s probably something along the lines of pure want. Probably. “I was definitely blacked out from Seokjin’s horrible rum concoction. Help me out here?’”

You take a moment to give yourself the benefit of a steadying inhale, because it’s very, very difficult to think straight under these conditions. Under Jungkook conditions. Literally under Jungkook, is your current condition. Jesus, his eyes are so, so dark. Your imagination straight up fails to even speculate what he could mean by that, tapping out before you can even try. It’s too much to think about.

“What? I don’t know what that means. What do you remember happening? Or think you remember happening?”

It was worth a try, but you get only a shake of his head.

“Nope. You first. What do you remember?”

“I um. We both went to Seokjin’s for his Christmas party?” Jungkook, to his credit, seems to quickly register that you’re having a little difficulty relating events back to him, and takes a measure more pity on your kiss-clouded mind than you on his, a moment ago. He must genuinely be invested in your answer, because he backs up a little, sitting back on his heels with his knees on either side of your hips. You miss him immediately, and try very, very hard not to make any sort of embarrassing whine in protest, and succeed... mostly.

“Uh huh. I remember being sober-ish at that point.” Jungkook corroborates, kindly ignoring the noise you made, except to smile to himself as he reaches for your left hand with his right, intertwining your fingers. This simple gesture somehow makes your heart flip again, even harder than at any other point tonight. You need his weight back, want his mouth again, so you rush a little through your version of events, noting certain major details.

“You wore dorky cardboard reindeer antlers.” His eyes flit up and to the right, clearly searching for a matching memory.

“... Oh. Uh huh.”

“We played some drinking games with Tae, plus some other people, got tipsy.”

“Mmm.”

Jungkook has drawn your interlocked hands up to his face, and begun to press featherlight kisses to the side of your thumb, the inside of your wrist. Your heart rate immediately doubles, and you note with a healthy dose of chagrin that he must be able to tell, with his soft mouth at your pulse point. The fresh rush of want and embarrassment that follows has you reeling, and when you go to continue, you find yourself stuttering. You can see clearly on his face that this leaves Jungkook feeling smug, but you don’t have the will to challenge him over it at the moment.  

“I- I was also a little. A bit drunk. Then... I lost track of you for a little while, and then suddenly you were back.” You’re jumping ahead in the story now, but you can’t be blamed, because Jungkook’s mouth is tracing a soft, measured line down the inner skin of your forearm, making your heart start and stop. You had no idea that area would even be sensitive. You’re reasonably sure you’ve never been kissed there, before. “So it was me and you, in the kitchen,” you continue, reminding yourself to breathe, “And. uh. Um. Seokjin and his friend wouldn’t stop trying to get us both back out into the living room, and I couldn’t understand why, until finally,” Jungkook’s kisses reach your inner elbow, and he’s pressing closer again, eyes closed. He’s not currently watching your face, which helps you refocus enough to go on, “Finally I got it, only after we’d been shepherded over to the fireplace. And I looked up over your head and I saw the mistletoe, and I thought, this is it, this is the day I finally murder Kim Seokjin.”

When Jungkook huffs a laugh at this, the gust of warm air from his breath makes goosebumps break out all over your skin, and his eyes slot open to sparkle at you from a foot away, mouth still pressed to your upper arm. He’s smiling, and his next kiss to your bicep is tinged with a hint of teeth as he hums for you to continue. You do your best to keep your voice from sounding strangled. “But I looked down from the mistletoe to your stupid fucking antlers, and they were crooked? So I just. Um. I reached out and at first I thought I was just going to fix them. And then I. That’s not what I did.”

“No, it isn’t, is it?” Now Jungkook’s close enough to kiss on the mouth again, so you close the distance, too needy, too earnest. But he kisses back equally as honest, and after a moment, it seems he hasn’t heard enough. “Then what?”

You sigh.

“Then I. Think mostly it was rum driving the bus at that point? I just kind of said, fuck it. And I kissed you, because... because I wanted you.” Which, oops. It’s definitely, one hundred percent, completely true, but you had sort of meant to say “wanted to.” Oh, well.

“That sounds familiar.”

“Yeah?” Even to your own ears, your voice sounds breathless.

“Yeah,” He leans in again, this time only to brush noses and ask, “Tell me again.” It takes you a moment to understand what he wants to hear, but you work it out after a short second.

“Huh? You mean tell you I like you? I’m in love with you, Jeon Jungkook. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Another kiss, warm and soft, heavy with what feels like the weight of a lot of pent-up want and postponed feelings. You figure you can take that as a yes.

Jungkook sits back up a little, eyes crinkled and sparkling with his smile as he picks up the previous conversation as if the little detour that put it there hadn’t even taken place.

“I wanted you, too. But I feel like I remember being so drunk I didn’t know where my hands were,” he confides. You wince.

“I... yeah. That’s the thing, I’m so sorry, Jungkook, I could tell you were drunk, I shouldn’t have kissed you when you were so far gone. I- I’ve beat myself up about that since the minute I did it, when I pulled away and the bubble popped and suddenly I could- I could hear all the hooting and whistling.” Your cheeks are definitely coloring at that part of the memory, but this is something you need to get out. “I never should have taken advantage of you like that. I was drunk too, but not as far gone as you were, and I should have-”

“Oh, my god, please. Cut that out. Don’t, don’t don’t don’t do that. Don’t even think about it.,” he cuts you off, “I’ve heard about enough today of you apologizing for liking me. As for the consent thing... I literally- there’s nothing I’ve wanted more in the world, drunk or sober, than to kiss you, for like. The longest time. The most miserable, longest time. I’d consent to you doing... literally anything to me, any time you wanted—” And uh, that is a whole other big issue you don’t even know where to begin to unpack, so you start spluttering, but he rushes ahead before you can formulate a proper argument. “—You could chop my leg off. I trust you.”

This, for some reason, has your breath hitching all on it’s own, “But I realize you had no way of knowing that, until just now. So I'm sorry I let you stew in that guilt this whole time. I swear I really did think... I just couldn’t believe I’d be so lucky. I didn’t know it was real. Just.... you should know my only regret is that I can’t remember it better.” He stops for a moment, searching for your eyes, wanting to make sure you’re getting every word. His tone softens, “I remember wanting you, though. I’ll be honest, I’d forgotten all about the antlers until you brought it up. I remember talking to you in a kitchen... that’s all vague. I just remember thinking I wanted to kiss you so badly, I kept taking sips of eggnog just to have something to do with my mouth. In retrospect, maybe a different solution would have worked out better, because it seemed like every sip made it worse.” Jungkook chuckles, “I remember being so happy you were in my arms I thought I was going to throw up.”

“Oh, God,” you groan, throwing an arm over your eyes, only for him to tug it away, admonishing.

“Hey! No, not like that. Not drunk throwing up. Butterflies throwing up.” You have to roll your eyes, although a smile steals over your face.

“You sure about that? Because they feel pretty similar, in my experience.”

“Oh yeah? In your experience? Had a lot, have you?” He grins at you, making you swat his shoulder petulantly.

“Well, let me think. Seeing as how you like to come home from the gym with every vein in your arms bursting like they’re going to jump out of your skin, with your hair soaking wet, and then crowd all up in my space when I'm cooking, at least four days a week, every week, I'm going to go with —yes,” you gasp, as Jungkook picks that exact moment to utilize his new tactic of tugging your hair just this side of too hard, while also kissing down the side of your neck and biting down.

“You like that I go to the gym.”

“Oh my god, shut up,” you huff, after a respectable period of recovery when you can speak again, “I don’t know where all this bravado is coming from when a minute ago you were so sure I couldn’t possibly like you back, you retconned an entire Christmas out of existence.”

“Yeah, well, I’m half convinced I’m dreaming as we speak, so, if I wake up in bed alone again I won’t be surprised.” He says this so matter of factly you have to stop him, pull back for a moment and stare at him incredulously.

“What? No, Jungkook, this isn’t a dream.” He’s already leaning in to kiss you again, eyes slipping closed, so you scoot back, out of reach. You need him to listen. “Jungkook.”

He sits back up, reluctantly, letting you push his shoulder and rearrange your positions so you’re each lying on your sides, facing each other. Less power balance in play this way, legs still securely entangled, one of Jungkook’s hands in two of yours, still close enough to feel each breath he takes tickling the backs of your hands. “Do you have a lot of conversations about dreams within dreams?” you prod a little, trying to make a point, “That’s so meta.”

“I mean, no. This isn’t Inception.”

It’s unexpected, and it has you laughing. “God, I fucking love that movie.”

You extract one hand to hold it up between you.

“Excellent taste, a man after my own heart. High five?”

Jungkook can only really tip forward and try to headbutt your palm with his forehead, because you’re hanging onto the one hand he’s not currently lying on top of and he doesn’t have much of a choice. “But don’t think I can’t tell you’re trying to change the subject. That’s what I remember, one really dreamy kiss that I have literally never been able to forget about every time I've seen you since Christmas. And then I... um. I needed air and I pulled back, and everyone was, uh. I guess it could be called cheering?” You wince at the memory of the cacophony. “It was like being catcalled by barn owls,” Jungkook’s turn to laugh. “Then I think... I just ran? To the bathroom? And uh. Cried for like twenty minutes, did like three extra shots of rum, called an uber. Went home and cried more and fell asleep and woke up to like a million missed calls from Jimin. That’s the night I had. So. What do you remember?”  

“That’s horrible. That doesn’t sound nice at all, I'm so sorry. It was so bad you cried? Jesus Christ.”

“No, it’s not that at all. The kissing you part was, um. Really nice. Like, everything I wanted, nice. But it’s just that... it didn’t mean any of the things I wanted it to mean; it was just a friend kiss. A mistletoe prank kiss our shitty friends pressured us into and I knew that’s all it was to you—” Jungkook begins to protest here, so you correct, “—that’s all I thought it was to you, at the time. Except now I knew what it felt like, and the fact that it would probably never happen again and that was horrible. Is why I c- I cried.” You’ve been avoiding eye contact during this speech, but now you look up again and meet Jungkook’s gaze, and you can see a deep, deep sadness there.

“I am so sorry,” he says again. “Kiss me?” You have to disentangle one of your hands again to achieve it, but you lift one arm and give him another smack on the shoulder without any real power behind it. “Ow. Please?”

“No! What did you mean, ‘wishful thinking?’”

“Kiss first?”

“I swear to god, Jeon Jungkook, if you don’t-”

“-Fine! Fine, I’ll tell you. I just want one kiss and then I promise I will explain.”

“God, needy.” But you’re already leaning forward to catch his lips again. You never have been able to deny him anything he asked for, anyway. Your track record with telling him “No,” is a crapshoot.

You break apart again after falling headfirst back into his warmth and unsteady breathing, working with considerable effort to remain on topic. “It’s sex, isn’t it?”

And abruptly, Jungkook’s blank, wide-eyed panic face confronts your question.

“What? No, what- why- no, that’s not-” A beautiful flush works its way up Jungkook’s neck to his face, spreading across his skin like a glass of red wine toppled over on a tablecloth.

“That’s why you’re so squirrely about telling me, right? It was a sex dream?” You interrupt his stuttering, “Look, Jungkook, it’s fine, it’s not like I haven’t had-”

“No!!” he finally sputters, cutting you off. “I swear, that wasn’t it. I was about to tell- wait. You what? Not like you haven’t... what? Oh, my god.” Now it’s your turn to flush positively scarlet, as Jungkook’s head falls forward until his forehead connects with your collarbones, overwhelmed.

A moment passes. He’s not even saying anything.

Maybe you broke him?

“...Jungkook?”

“Uh huh. Yep, I’m here. Need a minute.”

“O- Okay.” You don’t know what to do, feeling phenomenally awkward, so you begin to tentatively run your fingers through his hair, detangling the strands and combing it softly with your hands. It’s getting long.

Air from Jungkook’s nose washes gently over your neck as he murmurs a pleased noise at the attention, and some muffled words into your throat.

“What?” you ask.

“I said, ‘You’re going to kill me.’”

You’re feeling playful, so you tell him, “At the risk of hyping myself up too much... I think it’s fair to say you haven’t seen anything yet, Jungkook-ah.”

It’s quiet, but you do still managed to catch his whispered, “Fuck,” along with a barely perceptible tightening in his grip where his hands grasp your sides. Then, at a more reasonable conversational volume, “I promise, it’s more like, I wanted to make sure I knew the accurate story first before I talked through what I remember dreaming, it’s not that it’s a sex thing and I’m not embarrassed to tell you about it.”

“Uh huh.” Your skepticism colors your tone well enough to have him lifting his head to let you see the honesty in his face.

“It isn’t!”

“Okay, okay. I believe you,” you tell him, unable to keep the beatific smile from your face at his expression, and he blinks, looking momentarily dazed.

“You have the most beautiful smile,” Jungkook tells you, eyes dropping to your mouth and then back up to meet your gaze, a sweet smile of his own crossing his face as he says it. “Oh my god, I have so many things I can say out loud now.”

Your blush is back with a vengeance, bringing up with it a vaguely hysterical giggle. You spare a brief thought to wonder when was the last time you felt this happy. The ballooning buoyancy of it fills your chest cavity like air in your lungs underwater, dragging your whole body up, up to the surface. You think it could pull you all the way up into the sky if you don’t hang onto the boy in your arms with all your strength to stay grounded. Love like helium in your lungs, his smile like a flame beneath the patchwork balloon and the tactile experience of having your hands in his hair, on his shoulders, body heat shared between you as ballast.

You’re still in this dizzy headspace, trying to imagine how to articulate this feeling to him when he continues, “It’s one of the reasons I first fell in love with you.”

The words are a bellows on the fire feeding all the floaty feelings and the experience is such a shock to your already overloaded system, you don’t know what to say or how to say it, instead continuing to blush to the tips of your ears and pulling him in by the drawstrings of his sweatshirt to connect your lips again.

He seems glad enough to meet you in the middle. He indulges you for a long minute; says, “My version of events is consistent with yours all the way up to mistletoe, I think. I was holding you, and I was finally kissing you, and then the rest of the night is a blur of Hobi-hyung telling me to just sleep in his bedroom, and then I think is where I started dreaming, because you were back. And you told me all kinds of things that I’d always wanted to hear, like this, and you climbed into my bed, like this. And you kissed me, like this. It felt warm, and it felt real, like it always does.”

“Oh, baby...” Is all you can say, and to you it seems ineffectual but hearing it makes Jungkook shudder and press closer. You note it carefully, with a rush of affection.

“It’s okay, though.”

“Do you believe you’re awake now?” you test him suspiciously, and watch him draw back an inch, eyes flitting around the room from himself, to the rumpled duvet, back to you for a beat and a half; then, curiously, he draws forward again, tucking his face under your chin, nuzzling his nose below your jaw where you spray your perfume, and breathes in. Your whole body locks up in response to the sudden closeness, and a wave of heat radiates out all over you directly from your core when you feel the unmistakable sensation of his tongue flitting out in an open mouthed kiss there, and then again, and then again.

“Mm... think ‘s real.” His voice is suddenly so much deeper than you’re used to, and you have to swallow, hard, in order collect yourself enough to speak, and still when you try at first it comes out as a bit of a squeak.

“Wh- What could you possibly have learned from that? Dream me never let you kiss my neck?”

“Oh, no. Not that,” He smiles, and you can’t see him, but you can still tell, because he hasn’t lifted his lips from your skin, and his pretty teeth drag gently over the tendon in your neck. “Dreams can feel real and they can look real, but they don’t smell real. Don’t taste real.”

Jungkook leans up to peck you on the lips, properly, and you’d love to keep looking at his face, shrouded by fluffy, too-long hair, bangs falling in his eyes, skin smattered with precious moles and the barest hint of hair growing in from his most recent shave, which you’ve never been near enough to notice. You’d love to, but your eyes keep slipping shut when your lips meet. It’s hard to fight.

“What does real taste like?” you ask, when you can drag your eyes open again.

Jungkook’s looking right back at you.

“You tell me.”

This time as your mouths meet, you give all your attention to the slide of your tongue against his, dipping between his lips to taste, sucking on his pretty lower lip. It earns you a gasp followed by a very unsteady exhale, and even the breath tastes sweet. You reposition your hands, using the fingers of your right hand to cup his jaw and encourage him to leave it slack and open, so you can lick back in, chase his soft tongue, and control the kiss.

Your observations are as follows:

Number one: Real tastes like --toothpaste. Mint flavored and fresh

Number two: Real tastes like --chapstick. Sugar and citrus, like a lemon hard candy

Number three: Real tastes like --bubblegum, which is actually coming from you and sweetens everything else that much more, and

--A fourth thing, difficult to label. Something your brain could never quite have conjured up, no matter how vivid the dream. Something that could only be intrinsically Jungkook.

Jungkook is breathing hard, some of them breathlessly voiced, almost moans. In the process of pursuing your single-minded goal you’ve managed to tip him on his back, lying short-ways across the bed, the wrong way. It looks to you as though the change in dynamic is affecting him considerably. Heat tinges the tips of his ears and you can faintly see his bangs beginning to stick to his skin. It makes your heart race, lightheaded from the power of it and perhaps a lack of oxygen.

“I think... I think I get it.”

Your words appear to call him back from another place, his eyes opening almost as if from deep sleep, heavy lidded, but with pupils blown, his chest heaving with each labored breath in. A beat passes before he flashes his teeth at you in a swift smile of understanding. You smile back.

It would have been hard, (no pun intended,) from this angle, not to have noticed the situation in Jungkook’s sweats by now, and you’re definitely aware of it. It’s encouraging.

You swing a leg over his body until you’re straddling his waist. You pause, glance at the clock on the bedside table and see that about a half an hour has passed already. You look back again, narrowing your eyes at Jungkook laid out beneath you, then back at the clock, and then bring your hands to the hem of your shirt and lift.

Jungkook only has time to begin to sit up, propping himself up on his elbows by the time you’ve whipped the offending article off, over your hair, like ripping off a band-aid, not giving yourself the chance to worry about doing it. It leaves you in your bra and your jeans, and the cute ankle socks with the little jello blobs on them. Jungkook said he liked these, once.

You don’t have the time to get anxious about not having had enough notice to change into one of your sexier bras, because he’s transferred his weight to one arm, elbow locked behind him, and reached out with his free hand to smooth over your side, wide, warm hand electric on the newly exposed skin, all done as if in a trance, like his hands are moving of their own accord. Gaze glued to you.

“Oh,” he exhales all at once, like all the air has been punched out of him, and, all right, yeah, that’s flattering. It might have something to do with the way your weight settles over his crotch, as well, but that’s neither here nor there. “Oh, wow.” Your tummy flips again, as you wrap your arms around his neck. His hand is still wandering, trailing the backs of his fingers tenderly down over your belly button, to your lower stomach, barely enough pressure not to tickle, then curling his fingers over your hip and stroking with his thumb. The hand travels behind your back, up to the clasp of the bra, where he hesitates, “Can I?”

When you nod your head, your hair moves, brushing your shoulders and poking the bared skin, prompting you to toss your head to the side to relieve the itchy sensation. You reclaim one of your own hands to assist the boy under you with the hooks, and between the two of you, you manage to get the thing done. You hold your breath, nervous, waiting for him to slide the straps from your shoulders, but he seems to sense your impulse to do so and kisses you first.

Slowly, gradually, his mouth moves down along your jaw, to your neck. He drops lingering, open-mouthed kisses all the way down your throat to your clavicles, and across to one shoulder, meeting up with the point where he left off kissing up your arm when you were relating back to him the details of your first kiss together. In the process, your left bra strap is brushed aside gently by his nose as it draws over your skin, and you inhale sharply as he continues down, tonguing the new expanse of skin bared to him, in no hurry, kissing your breast and taking the nipple into his curious, exploring mouth.

Your back arches toward him with no conscious direction from your brain, but Jungkook is there with his free hand pressed firmly against your shoulder blades, pulling your body closer to him anyway. You can feel a moan you’re trying not to vocalize begin to slip out, but Jungkook beats you to it, laving his tongue over your sensitive nipple and groaning out a soft, “Ahh,” followed by a low, rumbling hum before he looks up from under his eyelashes coquettishly and begins to suck. The moan you’ve been holding back escapes without your permission, as your head falls back, all strength in your body and the ability to hold yourself up threatening to fail at once.

The noises his mouth makes are wet and lewd, and if your panties hadn’t already begun to feel uncomfortably hot and sticky some time ago, chafing against the denim at the seams between your thighs, they would have at that. He draws off after a minute, releasing your breast with a filthy sounding pop to give attention to the other. It leaves your bare skin prickled with goosebumps and briefly cold with the saliva from his attention.

Miraculously, your other bra strap still clings stubbornly to your shoulder, the cups still dangling down your front between your bodies until Jungkook’s fingers slide beneath the fabric and finally coax it off and away, allowing you to slip your arms out. He deposits it at the foot of the bed.

With the barrier gone he resumes his ministrations, kissing across your ribs and lingering for a moment directly over your heart, beating at a furious pace as a direct result of everything he’s doing to you. He continues on to lavish all the same attention on your right breast. Seems only fair, to him.

He does want to make use of his other hand, however, and tease you with his mouth and his hands at the same time, so he sits up a little further, pressing forward until you get the hint and sit up to let him rearrange your positions slightly.

You’re pliant in his arms and willing to be maneuvered up to a point, and that point is that you’re ready to no longer be the only one undressed, and you’re impatient to get him out of his baggy hoodie, so you each rise to your knees, face to face, and you slip your fingers beneath the hem of it until your fingers curl over his sides. You find that he’s bare skinned underneath the sweatshirt, and quickly realize with a shiver that knowing intellectually that he doesn’t tend to wear layers under his hoodies is one thing, and it doesn’t compare to knowing it intimately, physically, which is another. His skin is warm, warm and soft beneath the pads of your fingertips.

You’re so overwhelmed to have the opportunity to touch him like this your hands are shaking, but you power through, needing to feel him and know him and make him feel good. You draw your hands further up, feeling the divots in his ribs when he inhales hard and his ribcage expands to contain the breath. The sweatshirt rides up with your hands, gradually bunching and folding until you reach his underarms, brushing soft hair for a second and he lifts his arms to allow you to slip it off, over his head.

His face briefly disappears from view and then reappears on the other side of the collar, hair ruffled and eyes searching for your reaction, your approval or disapproval.

(As if you would ever be disappointed by anything you found under Jungkook’s clothes.)

You run your hands over his swelling pecs, as he takes one deep breath after another, then down over his abs and then back up again to smooth over his shoulders, just trying to drink it all in.

“Jesus Christ, Jungkook,” you whisper in awe, pulling him forward with all your upper body strength to crush his body to yours, and he responds by wrapping his arms around you and crushing you right back. Your lips find his cheek, then his nose, hands on either side of his face to aid your aim as you drop kisses all over it. You let one hand travel down his side to his hip and bring your mouth to his ear, experimentally taking his earring between your teeth and tugging as you manage to leverage one of your thighs between his legs and encourage him to rock down on it, all at once.

The reaction is immediate, Jungkook moans outright in arousal and surprise. You briefly let go of the earring to flick your tongue over the area, and then take it back in your mouth and pull again, gently, and it’s worth it for his body’s response, when you feel his cock jump in his pants where he’s pressed up against your thigh.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Yeah? We like that?”

Jungkook merely groans in reply, and his left hand finds its way down your lower back to your jeans, sneaking under the waistband and then under the elastic of your underwear a few inches to grip your ass in his palm and angle your lower body so he can grind down on you, working his hips slowly, giving himself a little friction and then drawing away. His right hand finds your nipple again, plucking sharply to get you gasping and then pinching and rolling.

You give up moan after moan for him, everything he does to you just feels so fucking good, you can feel the dopamine saturating your brain with every second his hands and mouth are on you. Fuck, but you could get used to this.

You mouth along his jaw to his neck, letting your teeth graze his skin lightly to feel him shiver. Curious, you bite down a little, enough to sting and then lave your tongue over the spot. His hips stutter and you smile to yourself.

“Hey, baby,” you address him, dragging his hips down against you with a little more force.

It earns you a stuttered, “U-Uh- Uh huh?”

You let your mouth travel back up to his ear, ask him softly,

“Do you think you could come like this?” making sure your lips brush his skin as you say it.

“Fuck,” he grits out, letting his head fall forward onto your shoulder, like he lacks the strength in his neck to hold it up anymore. “You can’t just say shit like that.” But his hips work down on your thigh over and over again on their own, so you prompt him,

“But can you?”

“Oh, god. I don’t- I don’t know. Yeah, probably. You’re so hot. I’m so hard. Probably, yes.”

You grin into his hair, “That’s my baby. What a good boy for me.”

And Jungkook... honest to god whimpers against your skin.

Whose life you must have saved in a past reincarnation to deserve this, you don’t know, but you decide just to thank your lucky stars, and back up just a little, to move until you’re lying down against the pillows, right way up in Jungkook’s bed, holding your arms out for him to follow you there.

Jungkook’s head snaps up as soon as you start to move backwards, like he thinks something might be wrong, but he gets the picture quickly and settles his weight over you easily, slotting your leg back between his and grinding down immediately.

He captures your lips in a bruising kiss before breaking it to ask, concern clear in his eyes,

“What about you?” And his hand rests over the button of your jeans, waiting for your permission, but as much as it pains you, you have to shake your head, bottom lip pulled between your teeth.

Your eyes find his and you tell him, “Another day, Jungkookie, baby. We don’t have time.” Your eyes flit over to the bedside table with the digital clock on it, ruthlessly bearing the current time, and then back to his face, tilted up at you, open, waiting for an explanation. “Tae will be home in ten minutes. He’s bringing friends.”

A pout forms on Jungkook’s kiss swollen lips. Oh, no. Oh no. “Jungkook, we can’t. Do you want him to walk in on us in the middle of this?” And Jungkook’s eyes suddenly drop from your face like he can’t hold your gaze, but you feel the tell-tale twitch of his cock in his pants. There’s no way you wouldn’t. Jungkook clearly knows this, because he screws his eyes up, shut tight. Oh.

“You do? Oh, Jungkook. Oh, come here, baby.” He resists for the briefest of moments, but he lets you take his face in your hands and connect your lips again, and starts to roll his hips again, a little harder than before, but his eyes stay screwed shut. “You’d be into that, huh? Taehyung coming home and looking for you, coming to see what all the noise is behind your door and swinging it open to see your big, hard cock buried in my dripping pussy?” You pause for a second. “Is this okay?”

Jungkook chokes on nothing, but nods frantically, thrusts speeding up. “I’m so wet, Jungkook. You did that to me. Make me feel so good.” He’s moaning freely, now, face buried in the crook of your neck, one of his hands kneading your breast like his life depends on it. “You know, we didn’t lock the door. He could get home early. Would we hear him come in? Over all that pretty noise you’re making? Do you think we’d hear in time to stop? I don’t think so.”

You give in to the impulse to bury a hand in his hair again, scraping your nails gently against his scalp, brushing his bangs up off his forehead, then gripping a handful at the crown of his head and pulling, a little less gentle this time. Your other hand slips under the waistband of his sweats to take a handful of his ass and help him frot hard against you. You can feel the muscles flexing under your fingers, as he pants open-mouthed, breath fanning hot and damp over your neck.

This is unquestionably the hottest sex you’ve ever had, and you’re not even fucking. Neither of you are even totally naked. But Jungkook moans, brokenly, hips stuttering, and he says,

“I’m... I think I’m gonna come,”

“That’s my good boy, come for me. That’s right. Go ahead and make yourself come for me, baby.”

His face scrunches up and he gets out through gritted teeth, “Hurts,” and you slacken your grip on his hair immediately, ready to let go, but his eyes snap open and his hand flies to your wrist in a blur of motion. “No! Please- Please keep- my hair, fuck, I’m so close. Fuck,” So you wrap your fingers back in the soft, faintly curly strands and tentatively give another tug. “Ngh. Wasn’t- what I meant.” He gestures toward his crotch, and in following his movement you get an eyeful of his v line descending down under his sweatpants, and the fabric has ridden low enough at this point that it’s solely being held up by his straining erection. You can see the beginnings of a trim patch of pubic hair peeking over the waistband, and a distinct dark, wet spot decorates the place where the head of his cock must be. It makes your mouth dry to look at, but you catch his meaning. The friction must be overwhelming.

“Just a little more, baby,” you encourage him. “I know you can do it, you dirty thing. You aren’t wearing underwear, are you, sweetheart?”

Jungkook blushes to the tips of his ears, and with his shirt off you can see the way it travels down, down, all the way over his chest. Mouthwatering.

“I- I wasn’t expecting-”

“That’s what I thought. Just want to be caught, huh? Like the danger of it? The thought that someone might see you with your cock out in your sweatpants and know?” This earns you another whimper.

Then, “You.”

“Hm?”

“You, I wanted you to know. I wanted you to notice. Maybe. If I could be brave enough to... Thought maybe you might- oh, fuck, fuck. Thought you might see, think of me sometime... if you were getting off, by yourself... oh, god.”

Your turn to moan.

“Jesus Christ, that’s so hot.”

“Can you- Can I touch myself? Please, I’m so close, please let me touch myself.”

“Not this time, baby, I want you to come like this or not at all, can you do that for me?”

Jungkook whines louder, hips frantically rutting against you, desperate to come.

You lean and latch your mouth to the juncture behind his jaw that you noted was so sensitive, earlier, working the patch of skin between your teeth and gripping his hair tight at the same time.

With any luck, this is going to leave a beautiful, mottled mark and he won’t forget every time he looks in a mirror, and it’ll be in plain view to everyone else who sees him until it eventually fades. You’ll just have to create new ones, when that happens. The thought that this might happen again in the future between you fills you with a bubbly, giddy joy despite the knowledge that there’s no time for you to get off, this time. It’s all right. You’re playing the long game, here.

Jungkook suddenly tenses up hard and gasps out, “‘M gonna come, please, can I? Oh god, I’m gonna come.”

“Go ahead, baby. My good boy. Come for me.”

And he does, body locking up, every muscle in his abdomen flexing and quivering, veins standing out in his forearms, neck, and forehead, sweat dripping off the line of his jaw. He’s a vision, hovering over you, spilling into his pants and gasping heaving breaths. He opens his eyes in the last couple seconds as come stains the fabric between his legs, staring directly into your eyes. His irises are almost invisible, pupils blown and lids low and heavy. You can’t stop the full body shiver that wracks you from head to toe. That’s an image that’s going to stay with you when you’re alone in a cold bed from now on.

“Kiss me,” he demands. And you do, stroking his hair, gently now, sweeping it back off his forehead and smoothing it behind his ears.

His tongue slips out between your lips lazily, tangling with yours in a soft, sated dance for a long minute, until he appears to lose the ability to hold himself up with his arms and drops all his weight bodily on top of you.

“Oof,” you huff involuntarily. His head has landed conveniently on top of your chest, directly between your boobs. He hums from this position, utterly content, gooey pants and all. “Jungkook.”

“Mm?”

“We gotta get up.”

“Mm mm. No.”

“Tae is due in like, t minus two minutes. I need to change my underwear before company gets here. You need... a tissue and some fresh pants, at the very least.”

“Don’ wanna think about it.”

“Where’s my bra?”

“Nooo,” comes the protest from your, soft, sleepy, sexed out sweetheart. He’s very hard to say no to.

“Come on,” You slap his sweaty bicep to no effect. You really don’t want Taehyung to find you like this. Heaving a deep sigh, you decide it’s time for your last resort.

Your fingers dart to Jungkook’s sides and dig in, tickling him mercilessly. His entire body heaves and twists up off you involuntarily, up and away from your reaching hands.

“Cheating!” he protests through his giggles as you squirm out from under him in the aftermath. You really do need to change your underwear. And probably your pants, too.

You grab your bra and your shirt from where they each landed respectively, putting them back on while Jungkook sits on the bed, looking vaguely put out, pushing out his bottom lip at you.

“Aww,” you coo, coming back over to give him the kisses his expression is crying out for. Petulantly, he kisses back, but continues to pout, even as he scoots to the edge of the bed, making a face as the mess in his pants shifts when he moves, no doubt gross by now.

“I need a shower,” he sighs. “Why did you do this to me?”

You laugh outright at him, and decide he deserves it when you say, “Because you were begging to come, Jeon Jungkook.”

He scrunches up his nose in response, now standing, at least.

“I am getting you back for this.”

“I look forward to it,” you tell him, wrapping your arms around him and kissing him again, slow. You’re not even a little tired of this. Not even close.

Your eyes are closed, but you sense movement near your waist, so you open them, only to see Jungkook shucking his pants, using the bunched up material to wipe up the worst of the cum on his lower belly, and chucking the whole mess into the hamper in the corner. Despite all you’ve done today, this is the first time you’re seeing Jungkook properly naked, and you find yourself blushing and snapping your eyes to the ceiling, looking anywhere else.

He laughs at you, predictably.

“Oh, after saying all that to me, you’re gonna get shy now?”

“It’s different!” you squeak, unable to tell if it’s safe to look back yet.

“What’s different?” Nope, definitely not safe. If anything it’s less safe. His voice is very close to your ear, now. You keep your eyes determinedly locked on the ceiling fan. It needs to be dusted.

“It just is.”

“Because that was in the middle of sex, and now the sex is over, suddenly you’re flustered?” You just nod. “What if sex isn’t over, then? Will you look at me then?”

“Huh?”

And now Jungkook’s hands are on you, thumbing your sides, sliding under the shirt you just put back on. You dare to let your gaze fall back on his face, but no lower.

“I said, ‘What if it isn’t over.’”

“But it is. You just came.”

“You didn’t.”

“You just came!”

Jungkook’s eyes drop to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“So?”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

He just shrugs one shoulder. “Trust me, I can go again, if that’s what you want. You drive me crazy. But I don’t have to, I want to make it about you.” A pause, where he glances over his shoulder, then, “I’ll lock the door this time.”

It’s a lot to take in. You groan, smoothing your hands over his bare chest and squeezing your eyes shut. Try to remember the reasons it’s not a good idea. It’s difficult. Every fiber of your being wants him.

You give in a little, just enough to kiss him again, allowing your hands to travel down his back, scraping your nails over his skin just a little to feel him groan into your mouth, smoothing your palms over the globes of his ass and squeezing indulgently. You feel his cock, oh, god, perk up in interest already and decide, no, that will have to be enough for now. Giving him one last peck on the lips, you pull away.

“Later,” you promise, smiling.

Jungkook looks disappointed, but he still says, “Fine. Later.” And you can already see his eyes shifting to a darker shade, cogs in his head making plans for you.

You suppress a shiver, and slip out the door.

[Part 2 is now up!]

[mollymauk-teafleak]

I will love you if I never see you again (chapter four)

A huge, endless thank you to my beta readers @minky-for-short and @spiky-lesbian who are amazing as always

Please consider leaving a comment on Ao3 to let me know what you thought! It takes two seconds, is completely free and makes me smile so much!

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4

-----

Nureyev had always loved the stars. They’d been an escape to a small, scared boy with no home, no safety, no guaranteed next meal, nothing but a name. No matter where he had wound up sleeping, however empty his stomach was, how close the last laser shot had sounded, as long as he could see the stars he could imagine something better. A thousand other plants, most of which had never had a single human step on their surface, so far away he could blot them out with a thumb. Surely with all of those chances, all of that possibility, there just had to be something better than this. And as long as Peter knew that, he could keep going.

He’d always loved the stars, he’d needed them as much as he needed food and oxygen, he’d needed the escape and possibility. But he’d never thought they were beautiful until he saw them through his daughter’s eyes.

Nureyev tried to give Bianca routine where he could. So much of their life was completely uncertain, though not in the same way it had been when he was a child. Nureyev was endlessly grateful for that and there was no amount he wasn’t willing to part with to keep it that way. Their uncertainty was more about what planet they would end up on, what hotel they would stay in, what names he would give for them at the front desk. It was about the endlessly rotating faces around them, people slipping into roles rather than actual personalities, everything always shifting and changing. It would be so easy to lose yourself in all of that, feeling like you were becoming as ephemeral and insubstantial as everything else. Nureyev knew that well.

So he tried to anchor them whenever he could. And this was one of the ways he did that, one of Bianca’s favourite things.

The shuttles that ferried people around the solar system were microcosms of the planets they served. One floor of almost sickening luxury built to hold the scant few people who could afford it and the rest of the pot bellied space vessels given over to much grimmer quarters for everyone else. Nureyev had treated himself to a seat on the upper floor a few times, always after he was feeling smug about a particularly high profile job. But, in truth, he preferred sitting in the lower decks. The view was better there. No over attentive staff, no distracting screens on every surface vying for your attention, no live entertainment on the longer flights. No assuming that the majesty of space itself, the stars winking in the darkness, the faraway galaxies smudged against the sky, wouldn’t be enough to hold your attention. You could sit down there, feel like no one and stare out at space that held it all together.

Nureyev always got a window seat and sat his daughter on his knee, ignoring the adjoining seat he had to purchase for her. Bianca would usually sleep through the noisy takeoff, making her daddy marvel at her ability to snore through the racket of interstellar engines blasting burning fuel just a few meters away but wake up immediately in a soft, comfortable bed if he so much as shifted while holding her.

But as soon as they were surrounded by space and that eerie silence descended, Nureyev would gently nudge her awake, knowing she wouldn’t want to miss a second of it. No matter how many times she’d seen it before, whether it was their tenth or fiftieth or thousandth journey, it never seemed to dim the awe and delight on Bianca’s little face as she would stand, wobbly and uncertain on her little legs, in her daddy’s lap and press her face to the reinforced glass, making her indistinct babyish noises of excitement. As she got older, they began to coalesce into words, mostly just repeating ‘stars’ and ‘bootiful’ to herself in a whisper, clutching Nureyev’s sleeve tightly like she was worried he couldn’t see them and needed to be shown.

And then she would grasp at them, her fingers brushing against the window, like she was trying to pluck them from the vast expanse that couldn’t really be called a sky if you had no ground to stand on. Like she could open her adorably chubby little hand and see one twinkling there, as small as it appeared from their vantage point, and hold it out to her daddy, a gift of one of the shiny things she knew he liked so much.

Her little face would crinkle in disappointment after a few failed attempts, though it wouldn’t stop her trying again next time. Nureyev would smile and touch her cheek lightly and remind her that he didn’t need stars. He had his most precious treasure, better than anything else the universe could produce.

It didn’t matter how many times he had to remind her. He would mean it wholeheartedly, every single time.

Then he would help her find a more comfortable position and tell her the stories, ancient and crumbling thousands of years before now but still living on. He would tell her about Andromeda and Cassiopeia, Delphinus and Orpheus’ lyre and the mistakes of Orion. Too young to understand nine words in ten, she would still listen attentively and fix her eyes on the stars, in love with the worlds her daddy painted with them. Whether the journey was an hour or ten or a day, Bianca would listen and sleep and listen again, almost eerily quiet and well behaved. A child who had learned very early on that when her daddy asked her to be still, she had better listen or alarms might start going off.

Nureyev would always have a destination in mind for them, it would never do to step off a shuttle and not immediately know your next move. If he’d thought himself careful before he had Bianca, then afterwards he was nothing short of fanatically meticulous. Maps of whatever city they arrived in, shortest routes in and out of major buildings, dedicated assessments of how lax the police force were in certain districts, he kept all of it behind his eyes as he’d walk through the streets with his head held high and Bianca in her sling, sleeping or peering out silently but curiously against his chest.

Never the same hotel twice, even if it was a planet he’d been on before, there was no sense in taking silly risks. There never had been but there was even less now. Fake creds, fake names, fake ID, basic stuff he’d learned so long ago and had hammered into him so many times that it was part of his DNA, like the instincts that told him to pull in air and to walk upright.

Bianca would always seem hesitant at first, though she’d never cry. The unfamiliar smells and too bright, too packaged newness of their suite would bring out nothing more than hunched shoulders and maybe a soft whimper, if it was especially late or their last escape had been particularly harrowing, though those were becoming very few and far between to Nureyev’s relief. Still, it would make his chest ache.

Fortunately they had another little ritual. Nureyev would sweep the blankets and pillows off of the bed, merrily ruining their crisp whiteness and dumping them onto the floor. As it happened, the skills he so prized as a thief- clever hands, adaptability, dogged determination- were also incredibly useful when it came to constructing a blanket fort, no matter the shape of the room, the amount of materials they’d been left with or how exhausted he was.

It didn’t need to be big, just perfectly sized for him and Bianca, the top of his head usually scraping the roof of it.  No matter the colour of the light that filtered through the sheets or the noise from the city outside, no matter what dirt of what planet sat beneath them, as long as they were in their little den, curled up close like a fox and his cub in a cosy bolt hole, they felt like they were home. Bianca would open up like a flower, lying on her back and cooing happily, kicking her little legs and mauling her poor cloth cat, carefree in a way she only ever was when she was truly safe.

And she would look up at Nureyev like he hung the moon. Like he’d made the stars she loved so much.

And Nureyev would know he’d found that something better he’d dreamed of as a child.

He hadn’t thought it would still hurt so much. He’d been pretending for so long, longer even that he’d known where they were going and who they were going to collect, even longer than he’d been practising his smile in the mirror and dredging up memories he’d wanted to bury, deliberately plucking them up out of their boxes in his most vulnerable moments as training exercises.

There had been more than Nureyev had thought. His face as he’d commanded, demanded, that a towering, insane Martian anthropologist let go of Nureyev with undeniable fire in his eyes. His furrowed brow when he was just a few clicks away from solving a case, that moment of held breath before he made everything make sense. How he’d looked in the hospital with the bandage over the fresh ruin of one eye, how he’d looked so scared and so young, wracked with nightmares and clinging to Nureyev’s hand. How he’d looked in the shadowy light of his apartment, leaning in eagerly for a kiss before Nureyev had even told him to come here.

How he had looked at Nureyev’s daughter when he’d woken up and she hadn’t been there, eye wild and dangerous and full of the same fire as before, even with one where there had once been two. A face Nureyev himself had worn so many times. A father’s face.

Nureyev had let these memories loose where he’d once held them so carefully. And he’d beaten each one, forced it to be small enough to carry. He’d let them tear at him until he was a wash of internal wounds and forced them to heal. He’d said his name over and over, hearing the sound of it until it became just another word.

So why had it still hurt so much?

“Hello Juno. It’s been a while.”

It had come out as smoothly as he’d wanted it to, unconcerned and light as if the two of them had simply bumped into each other at a coffee shop with nothing in their past thornier than perhaps an awkward conversation at a birthday party. All of it perfectly orchestrated, right down to the way Nureyev perched on the Ruby 7 like a cat, to the way his lips fell open just so, making his smile a perfect mix of predatory and indifferent. I could pluck you from the sky and snap your neck in an instant, little bird, but why would I bother?

But inside it had felt like drowning.

Because he was there, he was standing right there with his ridiculous expression like he didn’t understand anything going on around him in that ratty, out of style overcoat that Nureyev wanted to burn and partly wanted to pull around him just to feel how warm it would be. Still with the eyepatch, clearly totally unconcerned with matching it to his outfit, with a tiny duffle bag over one shoulder that apparently contained all the trash from that sad little apartment he’d thought worth taking into space.

Juno Steel was standing in front of him, close enough to touch within a few strides, and Nureyev wanted to run.

But he couldn’t. He needed this job, he needed to be part of this crew. So he’d had to smile his practised smile, eye him like nothing mattered and never show that it burned like bad whiskey.

At least Nureyev had been able to make a quick exit after that, pointedly excusing himself from the hand shaking and the secretary’s loud introductions. He’d done as Captain Aurinko had asked and his own pride had demanded and he’d come off the worse. He didn’t need to do any more. And there was somewhere else he needed to be.

His bunk was as far from the others as the layout of the Carte Blanche would allow, for good reason. Bianca hadn’t taken well to settling in one place for so long, especially somewhere that creaked and groaned with decompression like some irritated beast, where there were other people she didn’t know, where things were just different. Where she could tell something was bothering her daddy that he wouldn’t share and wasn’t fixing. Neither of them had been getting much sleep lately.

Fortunately, when he pushed back the door, his daughter was still napping, curled up in their blanket, her fists pressed up against her face. Now a year and a half old, she’d become such a person. He knew that was a silly thing to think, she’d always been a person. But she’d solidified somehow in the year and change since he’d first held her and hadn’t the faintest idea what to do with her. Her arms and legs were now arms and legs rather than chubby things she could only fling about gracelessly. Her shapeless dark fluff had turned into curls that flowed and bounced. Her face still had babyish roundness but she had more expressions now, her eyes had an awareness when they weren’t closed in sleep. She had more control, more personhood than she’d seemed to before. She could wobble a few hesitant steps, she could babble the half word dada over and over and break his heart.

She was growing, more and more every day. It made Nureyev thankful for moments like this, when he could just sit by her and watch her be still, on momentary pause, like maybe he could keep her this small forever. Like she would never outgrow his arms.

Nureyev sighed and told himself he was being maudlin, leaning back against the wall. But he was finding it hard to muster up any other emotion, knowing Juno Steel had weaseled his way aboard their fresh start and was rattling around in this tin can with the rest of them.

He would have argued, offered to find any other one eyed former detective, even if he had to put out the other eye himself. He would have walked and found some other ship full of colourful misfits to take him and Bianca around the galaxy.

But his options were limited and his time was running out. And how many other thieving crews would make a man with no name and a toddler welcome? Buddy had been more understanding than Nureyev had dared hope when he’d admitted that it wouldn’t just be him joining the crew of the Carte Blanche. Maybe it was her strange ideas about them being more family than crew, perhaps she thought a baby would cement that or at least be a nice ornament to her tableau.

Nureyev didn’t care. He’d found somewhere Bianca could be safe long term, somewhere he could be sure she’d still be if he had to leave for a few hours on a job. Not painlessly, of course, but dependably. And that was the best he thought he’d get.

Juno arriving took all of that, screwed it into a ball and threw it with bad aim at a wastepaper basket. And now all the boxes Nureyev kept for things he couldn’t deal with felt about to split and even looking at his daughter, soft and sweet and sleeping, made his chest feel tight in a way he couldn’t stand. Looking at her, all he could see was the eyes that were a brown so much darker than his own, practically black, and the curls that didn’t come from his fine, silky hair. The darker skin and the broad nose and the scowl she could bring out sometimes that gave him a double take. All he could see were the parts he hadn’t given her, the proof that she hadn’t come from nowhere. The parts that made it complicated.

Nureyev reached over and pushed back a delicate curl of hair that had fallen over her face, leaving his fingers there a few seconds longer than was necessary. Bianca shifted gently and calmed, her face relaxing a shade more than it had been before, as if the brush of his fingertips had been enough to soothe her and chase away bad dreams.

His love for her struck him fiercely, as it always did, like low, constant embers flaring up into a roaring blaze.

Her DNA didn’t matter. It never had. Juno’s contribution had been all of a second, a throwaway moment neither of them had noticed. Her eyes, her hair, it wasn’t Juno’s. It was hers.

She didn’t need him and neither did Nureyev. They had never needed anything but each other.

Seized by some kind of mad energy, the need to do something and be good at it, Nureyev got up, using all his cat burglar instincts to not rock the bed in the slightest and wake up Bianca. Maybe he would mend the dress she tore last week or try and salvage the blanket he’d been attempting on and off to knit for her since she was born. Something that would push Juno Steel entirely from his mind.

Until he opened the door and came face to face with him.

Juno immediately looked as guilty as any criminal he’d ever caught, hand frozen halfway to knocking, jaw opening but no words coming out.

Nureyev, too caught off guard to manage his emotions, scowled, “Who told you this was my room?”

Juno’s eye darted from left to right, “Buddy? She gave us a tour…”

“Well, I don’t know why she’d think that was relevant,” he tried to keep his face impassive while internally running around frantically for something to hold on to.

“Well...her exact words were ‘if you’re wondering the sound of the baby crying is coming from, it’s Ransom’s room third from the left’...is that what you’re calling yourself? Ransom?”

Nureyev could have throttled him, “Would you like to announce that a little louder, Juno Steel?”

Immediately he flushed, biting down on his lip like that could have stopped the words from coming out, “Um...sorry, yeah...I didn’t...sorry.”

“Did you come to my door just to loudly announce my trade secrets? Or is there another reason?” Nureyev dropped his voice to the appropriate level, low and quiet so as not to reverberate down metal hallways. And not to wake sleeping children.

The detective- former detective- was truly flustered now, as Nureyev liked him. Seeing him from the top of the gangplank had been disconcerting, seeing Juno Steel back in his life. But now he was up close, stammering and blushing in his doorway, it threw Nureyev for a whole different reason. Not because it was the same Juno Steel he’d known.

Because he was so different.

He stood straighter than he had before, though not in a way someone would square up for a fight. His eye was clearer, like there weren’t so many shadows behind it. There were more lines on his face but he wasn’t settled into them as a default, they sat there rather as a map rather than a guide, not as inevitable. He looked older, which wasn’t surprising as it had been a year since they’d laid eyes on each other. But it was...different. The difference that didn’t come with time but with experience.

Juno Steel had grown, it was written all over his face. And Nureyev didn’t know what to do with that at all. The nerve of it.

“I wanted to talk to you, Nureyev,” Juno swallows, like he was mentally starting over, “Because...well, I thought it was obvious?”

“You thought incorrectly,” Nureyev said, biting the end off each word, “I see nothing we need to discuss.”

Juno looked dismayed at that, “Really? We’re just going to pretend none of it happened? Look, you’ve got every right to be upset with me…”

I don’t, Nureyev thought, chest clenching at the words. Because if you’ve changed, you’re no longer the lady who broke my heart, you’re someone new, someone who has his demons under control and there’s every chance you’ll find your way back in.

“...but I’ve done a lot of thinking and a lot of reflecting and...and there’s a lot of damage I’ve done that I want to start fixing. I was an asshole, Nureyev. I mean, I still kind of am but I’m trying. And...and I need to start with you. And her.”

No. Don’t you dare, Juno Steel.

Nureyev stepped forward, giving Juno barely a second to jump back out of his way. He was about to close the door, like he could close off Juno’s words as easily but that was when they both froze, instincts firing at the soft sleepy babble.

Binaca was sat up, the blanket rucked up around her waist, hands pawing at it like a content kitten. Her hair was a bird's nest, her eyes still heavy with sleep and confusion, mumbling indistinctly for her dada.

Nureyev heard a soft inhalation from Juno, eyes flickering over to see his scarred face lined with grief of all things. Grief for the countless moments in between now and then, perhaps, the ones he’d missed. That he’d turned his back on.

Bianca seemed to wake up more, her eyes widening and her little mouth opening. Her arms came up and stretched out, fingers grasping like they grasped at the stars. But not for Nureyev.

For Juno.

Nureyev shoved the sadness aside as hard as he could, not caring if it went in a box or not, just needing it out of his way, dredging up anger to replace it. He shut the door as he’d been planning, bringing it too with a dull slam.

“Listen,” he rounded on Juno, who was still standing there in some kind of shock, hurt clear on his face, “I am not interested in anything you have to say. I think two times is more than enough for someone to hurt you before you say no more. We will live on the same ship, we will work as the same crew but that is the absolute extent of my involvement with you. Is that clear?”

Juno looked ready to argue, some of the lady Nureyev had known resurfacing on his face. Good, he thought, show me this isn’t real. Show me it’s an act. Then I can go back to being angry with you and it can all make sense again. I’ll feel safe.

But then it faded and the resigned grief was back. And Nureyev felt something inside him, buried deep, crack with the knowledge he’d caused it.

“Fine,” Juno sighed heavily, “You’re not ready, I can understand that.”

“Not ready implies that this conversation will be happening in the future,” Nureyev’s voice was acidic, “Am I not being direct enough with you? I have no interest in your justifications for your behaviour. By all means, repeat them to yourself over and over as many times as you wish, however long it takes to be comfortable with your choices again. But do not bother yourself to repeat them to me, I have no need. It would imply that I care.”

Juno winced, as Nureyev had wanted him to right up until the second after he did it. He looked so wounded, like his words had punched a pinhole right through him. Nureyev refused to feel the pinch of regret at the back of his mind.

“Welcome to the Carte Blanche, Juno Steel,” he said coldly, going back into his room and slamming the door again. It wasn’t gentlemanly but there was little else to be done.

Bianca’s arms dropped sadly to her sides, eyes full of dismay. Her bottom lip began to do that wobbling dance that signified tears in the very near future.

“Darling,” Nureyev groaned, folding his arms around her, bringing her close to his chest, “Please, no. Everything’s okay…”

Bianca disagreed, mumbling unhappily against him, repeating ‘dada’ over and over like she was looking for answers. The front of his shirt began to grow damp with tears he’d caused.

Nureyev sighed shakily, trying to martial his thoughts and control his emotions, trying to feel more like himself. He buried his face in his daughter’s hair, inhaling her powdery baby scent, reminding himself that Bianca Nureyev existed and as long as that was true, he couldn’t fall apart.

After a while, he felt strong enough to sit back, like his spine and lungs would hold him up again. A moment later Bianca’s hands reached up to his face, patting his cheeks softly, cooing gently. Nureyev smiled, somehow, and kissed her searching little fingers. It was nice, he had to admit, to have someone there after he slipped away from himself.

The Carte Blanche hadn’t lifted off yet, still sitting on what passed for a dock in the Cerberus Province. But the stars were visible, unfiltered, without the fading, swimming effect of any dome and Nureyev could see them through the little circular porthole window on the far wall. As deadly as the stars were, uncovered like that, it was beautiful.

He felt the small boy that still curled up in the darker parts of his mind, one of his older boxes, stir. He felt him ache, looking at those stars with a desperate, fierce kind of hope that they held something better that could be his if he could only reach far enough. Nureyev shut him out too, after a moment. He didn’t need that any more. He would just keep moving forwards.

And he wouldn’t be alone this time.

[ramsayboltonsmuse]

Thrill of The Hunted

Chapter 2, Version A: Of A Conflicted Mind

Pairings/Characters: Ramsay Bolton/Original Female Character, Ramsay/Myranda, Roose Bolton

Summary: The story of Roose Bolton’s last living true-born daughter Annette Bolton and her half brother, the infamous Ramsay Bolton. It is a tale of power, control and a forbidden dark devotion.

Warnings: Half-sibling incest, Smut, Dom/Sub, Violence, Noncon, Ramsay is his own warning

Links to other chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2A, Chapter 2B, Chapter 3A, Chapter 3B, Chapter 4 A+B

Ao3 link

Annette sprinted through the halls, unaware that her feet were subconsciously carrying her to the doorway leading to the stables until she stopped herself short of stumbling out onto the snow-covered ground. 

She knew intuitively in that moment why her body had carried her here - she had to leave. If her father or his men didn’t hurt her, Ramsay certainly would now. His words were still burning through her mind, 

Or better yet, the kennel. 

Fear rocked through her at the thought of being locked beside those beasts. She had no choice, she had no one, she had to run. 

There was about thirty feet of open ground between the doorframe where she stood and the door to the stables. She knew that her feet would freeze if she ran across barefoot, and even worse, that without boots and winter clothing she would certainly suffer from some horrid hypothermia. 

In the span of a half-second, she weighed going back inside to get shoes and a cloak or risking an exposed ride to a nearby village. But the decision was made for her. Adrenaline shot through Annette’s veins as she heard the several boots approaching from behind her and the sound of Ramsay’s voice with them.

“Close the gates.” 

That bastard hunter knew she had decided to run. 

Out over the snow her bare feet fled toward the stable building, her soles on fire from the freeze. Annette reached the stable door and stepped in, feeling a dose of warmth from the animal bodies and dung. She looked down at her feet, now standing on the rough hay coating the floor, and they were turning a bright red. Shivering, Annette shook her head, she couldn’t think about that now. 

Hurriedly, she rushed down the stable looking for the right horse. She had a beautiful white mare that she adored, a gift from Ramsay for her fifteenth nameday, but she knew she could not take her. Nearly all of the nearby villages knew the horse by sight, an impressive animal with an incredibly rare coloring of purest ivory. Annette had named her Maiden for her completely spotless coat, untarnished by any markings. Annette still didn’t know how Ramsay had acquired her. 

She passed the stall belonging to the mare and she whinnied immediately, sensing Annette’s presence and sending a pang of sadness through her that she could not take the horse. The next stall belonged to Blood, Ramsay’s fiersome black stallion, who snorted loudly and stamped his hooves as Annette rushed by. 

In front of her, she saw one of the stable boys entering from the opposite end with an inconspicuous chestnut mare, currently being brought in to be untacked. Ideally she would have the time to saddle a fresh horse, but with Ramsay and his men approaching that was obviously not a possibility.

Annette ran toward the boy who, now noticing her, looked stricken with shock by her appearance. He still knew her of course, and she didn’t even need to say ‘move aside’ as he instinctively held out the reins to her, seeing her intent. As she mounted and urged the horse toward the open door the stable boy had come from, she felt immense sorrow for the poor boy who would certainly be flayed by Ramsay for letting her get away.

“Ya!” Annette dug her heels into the horse’s sides and spurred her into a gallop, exiting the warmth of the stable and feeling the bitter air hit her as she directed the mare toward the inner keep’s gates. She cursed herself immediately for not demanding the stable boy give her his cloak and shoes. Though she realized a second later that there would not have been time anyway, as she saw two Bolton men running toward the inner keep’s doors in front of her. 

She kicked the horse as hard as she could and leaned forward urging her faster. She passed the men just before they reached the doors and sprinted forward into the outer keep. 

Annette concentrated her vision now on the massive doors leading out of the Dreadfort, reinforced with metal and framed by the thick stone walls of the castle. Her eyes flicked between the doors, currently open as nearby merchants came and went with their goods, and the guards who stood on the barbican walls, looking out over the towers at the surrounding forests. None of them were looking at her. 

Then she heard it. The sounds of hooves and the shouting. Annette glanced quickly over her shoulder to see five horses charging towards her. Her heart stopped as she locked eyes with Ramsay, leading the others on Blood. His previously angry eyes had disappeared, replaced by a look of pure ecstasy that Annette knew all too well - 

He was hunting. 

Her thoughts were confirmed as she heard the baying of his hounds, then coming into view at Blood’s hooves, their mouths foaming. 

The tower guards turned then as they heard the commotion, but Ramsay didn’t signal to them to close the gates. He is positive that he is going to get me, Annette thought. 

She reached the gates and her mare bolted through, away from the open ground and into the surrounding forest, urged on by the sounds of the hounds behind her. 

***

Ramsay was filled with glee. If asked to describe his state of mind currently, it would be a simple answer of pure joy. As he watched the barefoot Annette slip into the trees on horseback, her paper thin bloodied white dress whipping in the wind behind her, he almost lost control of his mind completely. 

Behind him, four of the Bastard’s Boys sped their horses forward, the corners of their mouths fighting not to turn up into smiles. He knew it was because they feared that showing any level of interest in his sister would result in punishment, and they should worry, he would let his hounds tear them to shreds without a thought if they had the audacity to even think of touching her, but he allowed them to be excited this time. 

Annette was impossibly beautiful and the idea of running her down and stripping her naked was just too delicious of a feeling to keep from them. 

***

Annette tried to think logically as she kicked the horse harder, pushing her to a faster gallop. She had an advantage. She knew these woods. She knew Ramsay’s favorite parts of the forest. But she couldn’t think. She simply couldn’t think. The sound of the hounds and the horses behind her made it impossible to concentrate. 

What is he going to do to me? She started to panic. Was he going to shoot her full of arrows, not enough to kill her, but enough to cripple her? Would he let his hounds take a bite or two of her young flesh? Would he rape her? No, she thought, he won’t do that. If he catches me, he is just going to hurt me a little, to teach me a lesson. But she knew that she would be an idiot to actually believe that. 

Is he going to kill me?

An arrow whizzed past her shoulder and landed in a tree beside her, causing her horse to rear. Annette quickly regained control and started to steer the mare into a zig zag, darting through the trees as fast as the horse would go as more arrows made contact with the trees around her. 

But they were gaining on her. Every second the hounds grew louder. They could only be a few hundred feet behind her now. 

Annette was steering the mare toward a stream when an arrow hit the horse’s side, causing her to rear and this time knock Annette off. She hit the ground hard, the snow only an inch deep, her already bleeding face making harsh contact with several sharp stones beneath the snow and causing new blood to spill from the wound on her cheek.

Annette scrambled to stand, her feet on fire as they were forced to start sprinting over the frozen ground. Her rational mind gone as her baseline survival instincts for flight kicked in and she just ran blindly, pumping her legs nearly beyond their capacity. 

Branches scratched at her face and arms while stones cut her bare feet, now leaving bloodied footprints behind her. Still the arrows whirred by, landing on the ground beside her as the hounds and horses grew louder. They were close enough to hit her now if they wanted. They were playing with her. 

Annette wanted to cry then as inevitability invaded her mind. She couldn’t escape. 

Still, she ran. 

An unexpected moment of clarity hit her as she remembered the tunnels. Years ago, her great great grandfather had built a maze of secret passageways underneath the forests as a labyrinth to hunt people in. There were entrances and exits throughout the forest and if she could enter the maze before Ramsay, perhaps she stood a chance of losing him within it and leaving from a different exit. 

As she ran, she recognized a familiar large oak and knew she was close to one of the tunnel entrances. Annette forced her legs to move even faster as hope spread through her body once more.

An arrow hit her ankle.

Annette tumbled to the ground, screaming as the arrow sliced through her. Seconds later, Ramsay and the boys reached her crumpled form on the ground, laughing as they dismounted, the hounds baying loudly. 

Annette tried to stand, but her ankle wouldn’t support her and she collapsed onto the ground. She knew it was useless, but she couldn’t kill the urge to try to get away still. Her attempts to stand again were met with laughter from the boys who were tying the horses up and quieting the hounds.

Ramsay strode over and grabbed the back of Annette’s neck, forcing her onto her knees as she yelped in pain. He released her neck and walked around to face her, a mock disapproving look on his face. 

“Bad girl.” He tsked. “Whatever are we going to do with you?” He asked, crouching down to grab her chin and force her eyes up to him as he grinned smugly.

Annette summoned every last bit of her resolve and spit in his face. 

****

Ramsay didn’t hit her right away. He stood, and turned to the boys.

“Take her.” 

Damon and Skinner grabbed Annette’s arms and picked her up, dragging her toward two skinny white birch trees standing five feet apart. Annette twisted her body and started screaming as Damon held her while Skinner tied rope first to each of the trees and then each of her wrists, forcing her to stand with her arms stretched out, completely unable to escape. The boys stepped back, pausing momentarily. Ramsay was impatient. 

“Do you know what to do? Or are you fucking children. Spread her legs.” 

Damon and Skinner didn’t have to be asked twice, roughly grabbing each of her ankles and securing them to each of the trees. Annette struggled as they finished the binds, screaming as Damon ripped the arrow out of her ankle, blood immediately spilling out and staining the snow beneath her. Tears welled in her eyes, but froze on her face the second they fell. 

Ramsay approached her then as Damon, Skinner, Grunt and Allyn stood behind him, leaning against trees. Skinner took one of his knives out and began polishing it. Ramsay grabbed Annette’s chin again, this time gripping it roughly enough to leave bruises almost to the bone. He turned her head side to side before releasing her chin to grab her neck, squeezing, his eyes growing darker as her face turned paler. 

He let go and stepped back as Annette coughed, trying desperately to re-fill her lungs with air. But before she could regain her breath, he hit her face hard, twice causing her to gasp before punching her in the ribs. Annette’s body rocked backward as pain coursed through her. Ramsay grabbed her throat again before she had time to recover from the shockwaves, looking deeply into her eyes.

“You have caused me a great deal of trouble today, sister dear.” Annette didn’t even try to respond. Ramsay hit her face again. “The proper response is I’m sorry my lord.” Ramsay grabbed her throat, running his thumb across her chin before popping it into her mouth. “I want words from you, slut.” Another slap to her stinging face, and Annette’s eyes tried to cry, but her tear ducts were empty.

Annette swallowed. “I’m sorry, my lord.” She whimpered.

“Good, much better.” Ramsay smiled at her. 

***

It seemed as if Ramsay’s eyes were actually consuming Annette’s body. He had never imagined that she would be this perfect, all of her body visible through her slip’s sheer fabric. 

All the glances he had been able to steal of her in her dressing gowns over the years indicated that she would be lovely naked, but nothing could have prepared him for how lovely. Her perfect perky breasts and tiny waist leading to the sharp hip bones and those lovely long legs. Ramsay circled her, inspecting, and felt his cock twitch as he saw her rounded ass. 

Oh, she was delicious.

Ramsay’s knife was out in a matter of seconds, pressing gently against her lower back, causing her to arch her body and her skin to break into goosebumps. Ramsay inhaled sharply as she arched her back further to escape the knife. His arms encircled her waist and neck, pulling her body flush against him and breathing in her sweet floral scent tinged with blood. He whispered in her ear.

“Oh little girl. My darling little Netty.” Ramsay practically cooed in her ear. “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this moment. For you to become completely mine. My little slave.” Ramsay pressed his cock further into her backside and Annette squirmed as much as she could to get away, her grinding against him only serving to make him harder. 

“Are you going to be a good little girl and take your master’s cock?” Ramsay breathed against her neck, warming the skin up from its frozen state, before biting down onto the now sensitive spot. “Or maybe you’re going to take all of my boys’ cocks, hmm?” Ramsay smirked against Annette’s neck as they both looked forward at the four strong young men, all clearly with a sizable bulge in their pants. 

“Maybe I should let them tear that sweet little pussy apart for all the trouble you’ve caused.” Annette winced as Ramsay gently kissed down her neck to her shoulder before biting her again and moving one hand from her waist to one of her thighs, hiking the delicate fabric up. “Would you like that?” 

“Yes, Ramsay.” Annette sobbed out. Ramsay tightened his grip around her neck.

“Yes, my lord. And yes what, little rabbit? Use complete sentences.”

“Yes, my lord, I want to let them tear my pussy apart.” 

Ramsay nipped her neck, his fingers pulling the sheer dress further up her thigh. “That’s a very good girl. But I think I’ll be the only one fucking you, I don’t much like sharing.” Ramsay heard Annette release the breath she had been holding. 

“But!” Annette jumped as Ramsay’s cool voice suddenly rang out louder. “They worked so hard in bringing down such a pretty animal, I think we ought to give them a reward don’t you? Let me tell you what you are going to do, pet. You see Damon there?” 

Ramsay gestured to the tall broad shouldered twenty something with his curly brown locks and green eyes. 

“Damon likes to beat things with his whip. It helps him think. He’s going to whip you until blood is streaming in rivulets down your pretty back. And Skinner there?” 

Ramsay purred into Annette’s neck. The tall dark haired Skinner kept his eyes on Annette as he turned one of his knives over and over in his hand. 

“Skinner is going to make some lovely cuts on this horribly unmarked body of yours. Don’t worry,” Ramsay smiled “it won’t hurt too much, just a little nick here and there.” 

Ramsay pulled the slip another inch up. “And Grunt and Alyn,” Ramsay motioned to the two handsome, toned brunettes. 

“They get off beating young girls with their hands little rabbit, so you’re going to let them punch you until you’re nice and bruised and sore.” 

Ramsay lowered his voice then. 

“And then you know what you are going to do my pretty little slave?” 

Ramsay tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. 

“Then you’re going to get on your knees and suck all of them off until they cum all over your face to remind you what a dirty little whore you are. Isn’t that right my sweet?” 

Ramsay’s hand was close enough to brush his fingers over Annette’s entrance, earning him another squirm against his cock. “You’re just a dirty little whore who wants her brother’s cock? Say it.”

“I’m just a dirty little whore that wants her brother’s cock.” Annette hummed.

***

She knew it before the words came out of her mouth. She knew he was going to know. Here, exposed, she couldn’t hide it from him. Her voice wasn’t going to lie. It was true.

Ramsay reacted immediately to the unexpected sound of her voice, going completely still. He couldn’t believe it. 

“Say that again.”

Annette writhed against Ramsay’s body, desperate for him to resume the friction. “I want it Ramsay.”

Ramsay laughed out loud. “You want what?” Annette’s face felt hot as Ramsay’s boys stared at her in shock. When she didn’t answer right away, Ramsay grabbed her neck again, squeezing. “Say it. What is it that you want little rabbit? No lying, you know how much I hate liars.” 

Annette’s voice came out as a pathetic little whine. “I want your cock Ramsay.”

NEXT CHAPTER: Chapter 3A