#then inevitably the brothers find out about each others' secret lives and they round on her going SPIDERKID WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY ANYTHING

[journey-to-the-attic]

Important Question: how does Satan befriend Spiderkid, and does the cat ears on IK's hood have anything to do with it?

okay i'm conflicted here because both of these scenarios are very cute, so i present:

option 1: ik's dad helped her make the whole spiderkid costume and he made the hood from an old cat onesie - satan had previously seen the cat ears from a distance when they were saving people from the same disaster and wanted to befriend spiderkid for ages because of them

option 2: ik's initial spiderkid costume was very rudimentary, the devildom rangers helped her make something more suitable (and iconic-looking), and the cat ears were satan's idea

on the subject of the heroes/devildom rangers though, in relation to their secret identities: i figure it makes more sense if the hero brothers know each other's identities, and the villain brothers know each other's identities, but the hero brothers don't know the villain brothers and vice versa!

thus this creates scenarios where belphie insists on re-diverting an evil plan-hijacking because he doesn't want to cause a commotion near beel's gym, except beel is the villain whose plan he's hijacking - or where mammon commands his underlings to avoid clogging traffic near lucifer's workplace, unaware that lucifer is the helmeted hero currently trying to kick his ass

[oceaneyesinla]

This idea appeared in my brain in the shower and I think it's ADORABLE. Shoto just brings out the cuteness aggression in me

Shoto x gn!Reader

A knock at your dorm room door distracts you from your book, but when you open it, you're met with beige walls and blue carpet, neither of which are known for their ability to knock on wood. This has happened a fair few times in the last month , and that knowledge prompts you to look down.

You can't help your pleased little smile when your hunch is proven correct. Sitting neatly in the doorway is a bunch of pretty flowers wrapped up in blue plastic. They're your favourite, just like always, and they've arrived just in time - like clockwork, just as the old ones are beginning to wilt, a new bouquet appears. There's differences every time, but whatever extras have been added, your favourite flower is always there.

There's a distinctive amateur feel to the way the bouquet is wrapped up, and it endears you to your secret gifter even more. It's clear how much time and effort is going into this gesture, in more ways than one. Someone listened to you, when you rambled about the flower patch in your childhood garden, the one you tended alone while your brother trained with your parents to become a hero. Someone remembered you fondly reminisce about pretty leaves and bright petals, and decided to make you smile.

You crouch down to pick up the flowers, and there's a note tucked amongst the blooms, just like every other time. It's never signed, and it's always so blunt and honest that it circles right back round to being charming. Whether it's complementing your sunshine smile or praising you for your latest training success, it never fails to make your cheeks heat up. You keep them all, tucked away in the drawer underneath where you display your flowers.

Your admirer is making a valiant effort to keep their identity hidden, and you find it adorable - mostly because you figured it out as soon as you saw that first note. He forgot that you know him as well as he knows you. The way he writes his characters is ever so slightly clumsy; he spent a lot of time teaching himself to write - Endeavour more interested in teaching him to fight than to live - and there's a couple of little details that make his handwriting distinctive. Plus, you're shared a class with him for three years; you've seen his writing more times than you can count.

There's a flash of red out of the corner of your eye, and you press your lips together to hold back a giggle. He may be a nearly graduated Hero course student, but he's not very sneaky. He doesn't usually stick around to see your reaction to his creation, instead listening intently from his desk as you gush about them to Momo.

Your eyes widen as your eyes scan over familiar script, and now you know why he's loitering - Todoroki Shoto is asking you on a date. You read the words three times, and pinch yourself for good measure. Part of you is surprised - he knows all your darkest moments and he's choosing you anyway? - but a bigger part of you knows this was inevitable. You've been gravitating towards each other since first year, and honestly, you've been driving your classmates mad.

An almost painful grin stretches across your face as you straighten up, "Sho? Come here."

He obeys almost immediately, emerging from around the corner to stand in front of you. The cautious hope glittering in his eyes makes you want to squish his cheeks and boop his nose and you feel giddy when you remember that yes, you'll be able to do just that. No more hiding the urge to hold his hand or kiss his cheek when he remembers your favourite snack or brings an extra hoodie to movie night just in case you get cold.

Maybe you're getting ahead of yourself. You still haven't actually given him an answer, and he's starting to worry, his bottom lip pushing out into a little pout. You can't take his sad face any longer - you reach out and grab his hand, infinitely entertained by the immediate red flush that spreads across his cheeks.

"Of course I'll go on a date with you. How about this weekend?"

"Okay." His smile is reflecting yours like the moon reflects the sun, and oh, he might be the prettiest person you've ever met.

He lifts your hand and shyly drops a kiss to your knuckles, looking up at you through unfairly long lashes. Now you're blushing as well, heat pooling in your cheeks as he lets your hands fall back between you. Neither of you let go, and you make an impulsive decision - after all, Shoto was brave enough to take the first step; the least you can do is meet him where he is.

"Actually, I'm free right now. We could go and get dinner?"

Your bravery is instantly rewarded with another devastatingly beautiful smile, "Yeah, I'd like that."

[onyourowndaisymae]

don't mind me... just thinking about the demon brothers slowly dropping the rest of their roster for you as they fall head over heels...

lucifer // mammon // levi // satan (you are here) // asmo // beel // belphie -- others coming soon, NSFW warning below, gn!reader

satan, who doesn't care much about the exchange program, anyway. he's quite content to keep to himself. he's got his books and his quiet, so don't come bringing you or his boisterous siblings anywhere near his room. he's perfectly content listening in on the occasional loud conversation that echoes down the hall, or the bickering at dinner, or the trail of his brothers toddling off after you on the way to school. it's... interesting, he supposes. but he won't let himself get too invested.

satan, who reads a lot of romance books. he has hundreds of stories detailing the greatest loves of all time. fleeting eye contact from across the room, hands brushing against one another, secret smiles to each other and no one else... he's read it all before. he knows the way a love story shakes out every time. there's a predictability to it that he finds comforting. so how does he miss it? how does he not notice himself following that same storyline? can't he feel the way his cheeks flush when you say something sweet, or how his heart rattles in his ribcage when you smile? poor thing won't realize he's smitten until it's far too late. he'll look up from his book to see you one day and realize he can't untangle the main character's confused infatuation from his own.

satan, who has a lot of connections. thus, a lot of people know who he is, and it's not an overstatement to say that a lot of people lust after him. he's always very clear that he's not interested in anything long term, but once in a blue moon his desires get the best of him and he indulges someone. he's got the demon underneath him bent over, arms pinned against their back, silent domination with each steady, deep thrust. no matter how they try rile him up, he won't let them see him lose control. he's quiet, occasional groans and pants leaving his lips, as he steadily coaxes them-- and himself-- to the edge. he'll inevitably spare them his time for another round or two (he does have a reputation to uphold, after all) before slinking off into the night with a quick goodbye. he's got better things to be doing, after all.

satan, who still has a lot to learn when it comes to keeping his emotions in check. you have opened him up to a range of emotions he never thought he'd experience-- but now it's up to him to work through them. lust, adoration, trust, love. he has to hide his disinterest with others, now, as he leaves conversations in favor of your company. they just don't make him feel like you do. can't you see what you're doing to him? he just doesn't feel in control of his own emotions around you. not in the enraged, irritable way he felt before, but almost pathetic in the way he needs you to make him feel things, to learn how to live with all these thoughts and feelings and-- fuck, you're going to be the death of him.

satan, who never would have guessed he'd end up in this position. for all that he's wanted you, he never quite convinced himself that he'd be able to have you. and yet, he does. his hands are holding your wrists as he pins your back against his mattress. how did he get here? he remembers something of a playful bout of wrestling before this point... but your eyes, those eyes, looking up at him, wide and lustful and focused on him alone... his lips meet yours quickly, almost sloppily in his urgency. he thought he would be softer. he barely hears the loud riiiip! of your shirt as he tears it off of you. your gasps turn off his logic and activate a primal desire in him he didn't know he was capable of. he's more forgiving with your shorts and underwear, wrenching them off urgently but leaving them in tact as he tosses them to the ground. his mouth sucks and nips at your collarbone as his fingers toy with your sex, lubricating his fingers with your juices and working them into your eager hole. his fingers stretch you in a scissoring motion, your noises of delight spurring his pace forward until he can feel you squirming with an impending climax. he pulls his slick fingers out of you and spreads whatever's left across his cock. he eases into you and growls. his words have escaped him. all his flowery language, the declarations of love he wanted to share with you, escape him in that moment-- he can't even fucking speak. you're too good. you don't seem to keen on doing much talking, either. you impatiently bounce your hips back against his, and that's all the invitation he needs to begin fucking you senseless. his pace is ruthless, cock slamming into the deepest parts of you, stars dancing in your vision until you teeter over the edge much too soon. his pace slows just long enough for you to recover before his hips are rutting harshly into yours, skin clapping as you moan and whimper for him. when he finally finishes, it's deep, painting your insides white and creamy. he eases out almost apologetically-- that is, until he sees his cum dripping from your hole, your legs shaking a little in the wash of sensations. suddenly he's easing right back in, murmuring an apology under his breath as he fills you once more. you've awoken a side to him he's never seen-- surely you'll understand his need to explore it, right?

taglist for this series: @the-demonus-aunt // @scienceisfornerds // @hostilemakeover // @snow-fall1 // @kachan890 // @rphantom1 // @respitable

[new-tella-us]

So Yknow that feeling of being obsessed with an idea but too tired to polish or even color it? Thats me rn.

Swapped AU! Aka the boys are humans and Mika is the succubus.

Okay quick round up of all the changes other than the obvious.

Harold Anderson is now the boys’ grandfather and the one that saved Mika instead of the reverse. However, David is still Mika’s father and the (human version of) Demon Lord is now in David’s place. He’s still as psycho as ever but it’s not as approved of by society and he only gets away with his bullshit by being rich.

James is kind of spacey and always has his nose in a book. Mainly a romance one as of late since he doesn’t really get the concept of love or sexuality. By human standards, he’s somewhere on the asexual scale, probably graysexual or demi. His life has been set in stone to inherit his grandfather’s company from his father and he never had a say so he just put his head down and is waiting for the inevitable. All of this tends to make him a little disconnected and distant.

Erik from young wanted to be a fashion designer and when you don’t have to be a backup prince of a demon kingdom you get to actually shoot for that goal! While neither of his parents approve, he went onto getting a degree in fashion design anyway and now has a shop that’s slowly on the rise. He tends to be a little cocky but a charming socialite.

Sam is an athlete that can play many sports though he specializes on boxing. He can be gruff and hot headed but has a heart of gold and in this world where most athletes have some horrific secret, Sam being basically free of that makes him a breath of fresh air. He has a tendency to be pessimistic and has no hope for the world or attachment to it, really only caring about his brothers and mother. He probably needs to talk to a therapist about that, that sounds like depression.

Matthew is the “lazy” and “childish” (burnt out and trying to recover) one. He was a gifted child in school so his parents, mainly his father, pushed him REALLY hard in academics. Then he burnt out and stopped doing things. He tends to survive the academic world based on talent and skirts by with Cs but he has no direction in life. He likes making toys but unless he wants to be an employee of his older brother, he needs to find his own calling which is really hard when burnout is a bitch.

Damien…. Oh Damien. You don’t escape suffering just because you’re human. Remember how I said that the human version of the Demon Lord is still a psychopath? Yeah, every son was born of a relationship (whether married -Istorae and Aezera- or he was cheating -Kalipo and Dracae-) except Damien, because his mom didn’t consent. But that controversy got swept under the rug hard to the point where Omaizel was called a liar by society. To not get too dark, Damien’s life still sucks and it only sucked a little bit less when Erik, tired of seeing his brother get abused, moved out and took Damien with him. Erik literally dyed Damien’s hair orange and just pretended that he was his full brother because any connection to the (now dead) Omaizel would get Damien in trouble. So Damien is kinda floating in life, he’s just disassociating and staying as quiet as possible.

Once their grandpapi died, they were all equally given the house. (Yes, even Damien because Harold -unlike his son in this AU- is not a horrific person) So instead of trying to sell or buy it off each other, they just agreed to live there until further notice. But when they entered the lobby, they found an unconscious woman on their floor, bleeding out. And the first thing this woman does when she wakes up is that she approaches Sam and says:

“You’re going to let me kiss you, Sir.”

Mika is now a succubus or, more accurately, a succubus-brute demon hybrid that takes most of her traits from her succubus side (with a little bit of Angel to boot). She was a princess set to marry a prince from a different, far more violent, kingdom but she said “fuck that!” and ran, finding Harold Anderson and practicing begging him to help her. She tends to be a bit more prickly around the edges though still keeps her lively persona. She just snaps back more often. She also has two demon friends that managed to escape with her but they all went their separate ways.

[thestarsarealigning]

Wes Anderson-esque Aesthetic for the signs

Aries: Old Lanterns on a boat. David Bowie Music playing in the background. Stealing a famous painting to replace it with an erotic one. Making your way alive out of an adventure, even though no one understands how you did it. Extravagant food.

Taurus: Being in love with your English teacher. Biedermaier sofas in bright colours. Having a sauna on a boat. Running fire escape trials with your children just to be prepared. Looking out at the sea with a special longing only you know.

Gemini: sword fights in unexpected surroundings. Mink around your neck. Somehow the diamonds that got stolen inevitably find their way back to your personal purse. Matching speedos and red woolen hats for you and your crew.

Cancer: a sudden death of a rich remote relative and a beautiful funeral in the rain. Margo Tenenbaum smoking while in the bathtub. A big soirée, all the ladies dressed up and feeling like classic Hollywood starlets.

Leo: The captain of a ship knowing nothing about the life aquatic, but still having the most confidence of all the crew. Riding elevators and having secret meetings with your brothers-in-arms. Looking through binoculars even when it is completely unnecessary.

Virgo: having a birthmark in the shape of Mexico. Reading the paper while a ridiculous amount of people run around you and make a fuss. Falling in love with someone on a train and sleeping with them in a train cabin.

Libra: trying to be as good as your cousin and actually finding your own strengths in the process. Bowl cut hair. Train rides with your family to far away places that reveal something about you all that you never knew. Perfect symmetry.

Scorpio: marrying someone not officially, but under the moon while just the two of you make each other promises. Reading a picture book from your 5-year-olds library just for yourself. A completely monochrome room, just in yellow, the only other visible colour is your bright eyes.

Sagittarius: being stuck in the snow, but with really cool fur caps. Sneaking in the chicken farm at night, for the thrill of it just as much as for the practical use. Big round windows to look out of. Headbands. Big sports events, but retro style.

Capricorn: Brewing up some coffee to calm everyone down. Being on the look-out on an old, striped lighthouse. Chandeliers with strange ornaments. Getting welcomed in a village in the middle of nowhere and taking part in their ceremonies. Pink bakery boxes with a bow on it.

Aquarius: reuniting with an old comrade or spouse and giving each other new chances to betray each other, but also new chances to trust and love each other. Being a playwright at age 11. Using dynamite in a kind of chaotic way, but always with the best use at heart. A secret of the family unrevealed.

Pisces: living in a big old tree trunk. Bubble baths in a beautiful old bathtub with a golden faucet. The strong relationship between a brother and his adopted sister. Finding the leopard shark that you searched for all your life.

[chatonne-rousse]

Turtle-y Awesome

@sketchy-panda sent me the following ask last week:

...and this is the story that sprang from that ask. You never know what you're going to get when you share a headcanon with me! 😉

Read it on Ao3 here.

"...et puit, quand il fut bien certain que personne ne pouvait le voir, Benjamin alluma sa veilleuse."

Adrien turns the last worn page and sets the book beside his knee on Hugo's bed.

"What do you think, kitten? Benjamin was turtle-y being a scaredy-cat, wasn't he?"

Hugo giggles, eyes bright. "He's not a cat, Papa, he's a turtle!"

Adrien nods sagely at his son. "Right you are," he says, patting the book's cover. "If this book tortoise anything, it's that Benjamin is definitely a turtle."

The number of turtle puns in the world is finite, and Hugo has heard his dad tell them all repeatedly, but he still laughs every time. The sound is music to Adrien's ears. He grins as he leans down to tuck the duvet around Hugo's shoulders and lifts his son's dark fringe to place a kiss on his forehead.

"Can we read another story, Papa? I'm not even tired."

Hugo's big green eyes scrunch shut as he yawns widely.

"Mmhmm. I can tell. You know what?" Adrien grabs another stuffed turtle from the bookcase and tucks it in beside the Carapace plushie already cradled in Hugo's arms. "Monsieur Vert looks very tired. He was almost sleeping over there! Maybe if you hold him really, really gently, that will help him fall asleep. I'm sure Carapace is tuckered out after a long day of superheroing, too."

"He is," Hugo says, nodding. He strokes his little hand up and over Monsieur Vert's soft shell. "I'll help them, Papa."

Adrien smiles even as his chest squeezes with emotion. "I know you will, my kind-hearted kitten." He can't resist pressing another kiss to Hugo's forehead and delights in receiving a loud, smacking kiss to his own cheek in return.

The turtle lamp on the nightstand is switched off and the Carapace nightlight beside the bookshelf activates, dim light glowing green through the plastic.

"Bonne nuit, ma petite tortue."

He watches his son cuddle his turtle and Carapace close as the closing door slowly eclipses the bed in shadow from the hallway light. Leaving the door open a crack, Adrien listens for a moment as Hugo gets comfortable in his bed.

He smiles as he pads down the hall toward Emma's room to join his wife for another round of goodnight kisses for their precious kittens.

*****

"Kitty, this is getting ridiculous. How is that the only thing he wants for his birthday?" Marinette shakes her head, but her grin betrays her lack of any real annoyance.

Adrien rubs his face and groans. "I know. Believe me, I know. Can you imagine if Nino knew?"

That surprises her. "You haven't told him? I told Alya ages ago when he said Carapace was his favorite." She thinks for a moment. "I don't think I've shared the, um...depth of the obsession, though."

He stares at her, deadpan, before they both laugh.

"Turtles I could handle, Mari. They're cute. They're green." He bats his eyes at her and she swats his arm playfully. "But Carapace? Carapace? When Chat Noir is right there? I don't get it."

"Awww, Chaton. Is my kitty jealous?"

"Of course not," he says, pouting, though he can't keep up the ruse and his smile breaks through. "Okay, maybe a little."

"Nino made a wonderful hero, and is the perfect holder for Wayzz, and you know it."

She scooches closer to him on the sofa and rubs his back gently. His eyes close for just a moment before opening them to find his wife gazing at him with what might just be his favorite look in her eyes - a teasing glint, a touch of heat, and an endless well of love. Everything goes fuzzy momentarily, but he catches her next words clearly.

"Besides, my favorite hero will always be Chat Noir. Always."

"Yeah?" he breathes.

She nods.

Her eyes go wide when he hauls her petite frame from the sofa beside him and settles her across his lap. She laughs as she wraps her arms around his neck and presses a kiss to his lips.

"What a coincidence, My Lady," he murmurs into the whisper of space between them, "because my favorite hero--" He pauses, kissing her again, "is also Chat Noir."

There's a beat of silence and then she's laughing, pressing her face into the crook of his neck to muffle her giggles. His arms tighten around her shaking shoulders as he laughs along with her, swept away by the sweet sound he will always love. There's no joy in the world quite like making his wife laugh.

"You know I'm kidding, Bug," he finally whispers into her hair when their laughter subsides. "Emma and I share a favorite hero. The greatest of all. Prettiest, too. Oh, wow, is she ever beautiful. And strong. And smart."

"Rena Rouge?" Marinette asks cheekily, her nose still pressed to his neck.

"Nooooo," he croons, tickling her sides until she laughs again. "It's Ladybug, jumping above, Lady magique et lady chance!"

"Kitty, no!" she begs through her giggles, "Don't get that in my head!"

"Too late!"

He silences the last of her laughter when he captures her lips with his, twin sighs mingling in the late-night quiet of the living room.

With forever in his arms and their shared future asleep down the hall, Adrien simply loses himself in this blissful moment, forgetting that their baby will turn five next weekend, that the passage of time is as inevitable as the dichotomy of creation and destruction. Wrapped up in his wife, time seems to stop altogether. Marinette - her love, her care, their unshakeable bond - is eternal.

But of course, the clock still ticks. And when they part a few minutes later, after one last kiss and a nuzzle of her nose against his, he still has to ask.

"So we're really throwing Hugo a Carapace-themed birthday party?"

She nods. "Yep."

"And we're buying him the new Shell-ter Secret Hideout Super Bunker, complete with Carapace action figure, power-ups, costume changes, a Turtle-mobile sports car that Nino never had, and four different colored shields that he also never had?"

"There's a jet, too, for some reason. But...yep."

Adrien nods slowly, a smile spreading across his face. "He's going to love it."

"Oh, he is," she affirms, her grin matching her husband's. "And so is Uncle Nino."

He snorts a laugh and pulls her close once more, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo.

"This'll be hilarious."

Marinette smiles against his shoulder.

"Yep."

*****

Everything is green.

Their normally colorful apartment seems to have transformed into an emerald dreamscape that doubles as a turtle sanctuary.

Everything is green, and there are turtles everywhere.

Sea turtles, tortoises, turtles of all kinds - including a certain turtle-themed superhero - adorn every surface. Adrien had been surprised by the amount of Carapace party merchandise he was able to find online. He's used to the numerous Carapace items in Hugo's bedroom, pieces he's added to his collection one by one over the past year or so. But this, his best friend's face dangling from streamers, emblazoned on little party hats, is just a little weird.

He's proud, though. A little jealous, a lot amused, and very, very proud. No desperately sad, pitifully lonely teenage boy has ever found a better friend than Nino Lahiffe. He's the brother of his heart, the mellow to his anxious, the staunch protector of their little group of best friends and hero teammates. Adrien has to admit that Hugo has great taste in favorite superheroes.

Someday he'll discover that his idol is also his Uncle Nino, but today is not that day. Today, the magic and wonder still shines in his son's eyes, and it's a beautiful thing.

Adrien putters around the kitchen making last-minute preparations to the food and drink selection, making sure there are plenty of cups and plates (all printed with a Carapace action scene, of course) stacked on the island. Oddly, he couldn't find Carapace napkins to go along with the other paper goods, but Marinette had saved the day by snagging a pack of sea turtle patterned napkins that coordinated perfectly in a pinch.

He smiles at the thought of his resourceful bug, his grin widening as he hears her welcome guests at the door. This is followed by a squeal of glee when Hugo and two of his classmates run off to his bedroom to play. Adrien shakes his head, still smiling. He'll have to lure them out in a bit with snacks and the promise of gifts and cake.

It's not like he doesn't already know from several years of experience that children's birthday parties are mostly adults mingling and intermittently making sure the kids don't get into too much mischief as they play together.

He takes the spinach quiche from the oven where it was warming up and sets it on the table with the other food, rebelliously placing a black potholder with a neon green pawprint pattern under the hot ceramic dish.

A towering, tiered tray of green macarons has pride of place on the dining room table, the top half of each cookie painted to look like a turtle's shell in edible glittering gold. They look almost too pretty to eat, and the same goes for the expertly-decorated turtle cake nearby, made by Hugo's grandparents and brought straight from the bakery for his big day.

The vegetable plate is an array of green, from broccoli to peppers to celery. The party has barely begun, but the celery is already running low, thanks to Emma's clandestine snacking in the hours beforehand.

Everything is green, and Hugo loves it. And that's what it's all about, really.

*****

Adrien is on his way back from checking in on the now half dozen kids playing in Hugo's room when he hears Alya's laughter from the entryway. Clearly she's spotted the party decor. He rounds the corner to find Marinette hugging her best friend, Alya's pregnant belly only getting in the way a bit and not stopping her from throwing her arms around Marinette's shoulders.

"Sorry we're late, Mari," she says, then pitches her voice to a stage whisper. "I had to pee. Twice." She leans back from the hug and cradles her bump. "Actually, I'm just going to..." She points down the hall, and Marinette laughs.

"Go for it, Als. We've all been there."

Nino is still crouched by the door, helping his daughter out of her jacket and shoes. He just shakes his head and laughs. She races off to find her "cousins" and Nino stands, kissing Marinette on each cheek and wrapping Adrien in a hug.

Surveying the apartment over Adrien's shoulder, he claps him on the back and says, "I love what you've done with the place. Very inspired design choice."

Adrien rolls his eyes and all three of them laugh.

"Hugo is obsessed with turtles. You have no idea."

"Oh, I think he has some idea, Minou." Marinette smiles at her husband over her shoulder, linking arms with Alya when she joins them again and ushering her into the green-bedecked living room.

He glances sidelong at Nino with a sheepish grin. "This isn't too weird for you, is it? It was all Hugo's idea. He hasn't stopped talking about his 'Carapace Turtle Party' for weeks," Adrien says, air quotes included.

"Nah, mec, it's cool. Kind of flattering." Nino raises an eyebrow and laughs. "What do you think he'll say when you tell him someday?"

Adrien just shakes his head. "Probably ask if you can adopt him and be his dad instead." His smile is teasing but just a touch rueful.

Nino laughs again. "No way, man. Number one, I've already got enough kids. Number two, you're the best dad. They love you like crazy, bro. Seriously."

His chest fills with warmth. Nino is such an incredible friend. And he's right (about the last bit, at least).

"They're incredible, Nino. Being a dad is..." He trails off, unable to find the words.

"I know, dude." He claps Adrien on the shoulder. "They're a pain in the ass, but they make up for it by being totally awesome."

Nino glances around, finally spotting the table full of green food and turtle-themed treats.

"Wait. Bro. Is that a turtle cake?"

*****

"You know," Nino says a few minutes later, washing down a matcha macaron with a swig of turtle punch, "I could get used to this. It would mess with my head, but after a while--" he looks at the cup with his face on it and shrugs, "it's not so strange. Better than having my face plastered on a billboard outside the Galeries Lafayette."

Adrien groans. "Et tu, Brute? Why would you remind me of that?"

"Because I can." Nino takes another bite of macaron and nudges his best friend's shoulder, laughing.

*****

As the kids snack and carry on, Adrien finally decides it's time to let his best friend see the Carapace shrine that is his son's bedroom.

Nino takes in Hugo's completely green, turtle-filled bedroom as Adrien waits with bated breath beside him for his reaction.

It is, as usual, relatively chill.

"Little dude has good taste!"

"Indeed." Wayzz peeks from Nino's collar with a pleased smile on his face. "The turtle has always symbolized wisdom, strength, and longevity." His tiny smile widens. "I'm also partial to the color green."

Nino steps farther into Hugo's room to examine the bookcase. "I...did not know they made this much Carapace merch."

"Believe me, there's more. We have to draw the line somewhere." Adrien closes his eyes and sighs. "Although he does brush his teeth with a Carapace toothbrush."

Nino's laugh starts as a snort and builds when he spots the Carapace wastebasket beside Hugo's bed and the Carapace plushie propped against his pillow. It turns positively raucous when he sees his best friend's face.

"Holy crap, dude," he wheezes. "This is hilarious. You must be so jealous."

"I am not!"

"You totally are."

"Well--" Adrien sputters, "Marinette is, too!"

"Not as much as you are, Kitty!" she calls from the living room.

Adrien throws his hands in the air. Nino doubles over.

"Chat Noir is cool, too," he mutters, petulant.

A still-laughing Nino pats his arm consolingly. "If it makes you feel any better, Chat Noir is my favorite hero...after Rena Rouge."

That actually does make him feel better, but he's not telling Nino that. Instead, he just grins a sly half-smile at his best friend. "Good save, man."

"Hey, I know which side my bread is buttered on, mec. Don't act like you don't."

Adrien is helpless to the smile that spreads across his face.

Nino groans. "You've been married for seven years, dude. Are you ever not going to go all gooey just thinking about Marinette?"

Adrien quirks an eyebrow and glances sidelong at him. Nino nods once and pats Adrien's shoulder.

"That was a dumb question, wasn't it?"

"Yep," Marinette says from the hallway behind them.

Adrien's heart beats faster at the twinkle in her eye. He wonders how much she heard. Probably all of it - she always did have sonic hearing, but motherhood seemed to ramp it up to eleven. Not much escapes his wife.

"Time for cake and presents," she announces. "Nino, you can revel in Hugo's Carapace shrine later."

"And I will, don't you worry," Nino says with a laugh as he turns to head back to the party.

Adrien throws an arm over his best friend's shoulder and smiles brightly at Marinette.

Hugo has merch, but Adrien has a real, live Ladybug who promised eternity to her Chat Noir. He holds his own favorite superhero in his arms every night, and nothing, nothing compares to that.

*****

Surrounded by wrapping paper and bows, the birthday boy sits on the floor with one last gift in front of him. The box is taller than he is when seated, and he has to stand up on his knees to tear the paper off the top. As soon as he can see what's inside, he shouts with glee and jumps to his feet. Overjoyed, he scampers around the coffee table to his parents, first thanking Marinette with a hug and kiss, then getting swept up in Adrien's arms for a bear hug.

The fact that Hugo doesn't push away from him to return to his barely-unwrapped gift is not lost on him, nor is the fact that he abandoned it and thought to thank them first in his excitement.

Sometimes Adrien feels like he's been given so much more than he deserves. Marinette alone is a blessing beyond his imagination, but Emma and Hugo, too? It's too much and he knows it, so he holds them close and relishes every single moment like this one with his little boy hugging him tight and murmuring thanks into his neck.

A few minutes later finds Hugo examining every detail of his new treasure (after Adrien wrangled all the parts out of their plastic-encased prison).

He claps his hands when he sees that this set comes with a bonus Chat Noir action figure in addition to Carapace and his shields of many colors.

"Maman!" he cries, jubilant, holding Chat Noir above his head so she can see. "Look! It has Chat Noir! You love Chat Noir!"

Blushing, Marinette pointedly avoids looking in the direction of the two moms of Hugo's school friends who've stayed for the party but smiles widely at her son. "I do. He's my favorite superhero of all time."

Hugo nods, turning to his dad where he sits beside him on the floor, struggling to snip the tiny plastic anchors holding each piece to the cardboard backing.

"See, Papa? He's Carapace's sidekick."

"Hey!" Adrien says indignantly. He looks up from the mess of cardboard and plastic in his lap as Marinette, Alya, and Nino laugh.

Nino, best bro that he is, chimes in. "Nah, little man, Chat Noir is no one's sidekick. He's way too brave and cool for that." He grins at Hugo and points first to the Carapace action figure on the coffee table and then to Chat Noir in his hand. "They're a team. Best friends and superheroes at the same time. That's why they're so awesome."

Hugo looks at the Chat Noir figure for a long moment. "Wow," he breathes. "Chat Noir is as cool as Carapace." He says it like a revelation that's rocked his entire worldview.

Alya sniffles and Marinette hands her a tissue.

"Okay, but Ladybug is still the coolest," Emma pipes up from Hugo's other side.

All the adults besides Marinette nod. Adrien reaches around Hugo to pat Emma's back.

"You're absolutely correct, kitten."

Marinette blushes again and Alya blows her nose.

Hugo tucks Carapace into the driver's seat of the Turtle-mobile with Chat Noir beside him as his passenger, racing the sports car across the rug toward his friends so they can play with his new toys, too.

Adrien looks from his son to his own best friend, and Nino gives him a thumbs up and a grin.

*****

Later, when the dishes are washed and their living room looks slightly less like a turtle habitat, Adrien sits on the sofa with a cup of tea and watches Hugo play with his new, treasured birthday gifts. The Shell-ter Secret Hideout Super Bunker is open, its many accessories strewn around Hugo where he sits cross-legged, Carapace in his left hand and Chat Noir in his right.

"I'll protect you!" "Carapace" cries, Hugo's voice pitched to sound brave and true but still carrying his sweet child's tone.

"Thank you for keeping My Lady safe, Carapace!"

Adrien snorts a surprised laugh into his tea. "Chat Noir" speaks in a husky growl, though Hugo gives him a note of cheery confidence, as though he truly appreciates Carapace's brave deeds, as though Chat Noir can take the decisive cataclysmic swing knowing his beloved partner is safe from harm.

And honestly, Hugo has the right of it. Adrien wonders how his son could possibly know that this exact scene - with slightly different dialogue, of course - played out many times over, years before he was born.

Hugo mimics the sound of an explosion, then an "oof!" as Chat Noir falls to his back but springs up again quickly. Just as Carapace returns to Chat's side with a confident, "What can I do to help save the day, Chat Noir?", Marinette's hands snake around Adrien's shoulders from behind, surprising him.

He sets his mug on a coaster on the end table and wraps his hands around her forearms, pulling her in closer. Leaned over the back of the sofa, she nuzzles his cheek with hers before pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

"I think we pulled off the dream turtle party pretty well, don't you, Chaton?"

"Oh, we turtle-y did."

Adrien delights in the huff of laughter she exhales against his cheek. That might be the most overused pun in the house, but sometimes it still lands just right. They watch Hugo play, matching grins making their cheeks press closer together.

"Looks like that was one shell of a gift, eh?"

He swoons dramatically, his head falling to the back cushion of the sofa so he looks at Marinette upside-down. "My Lady, you know what it does to me when you pun."

"Oh, I do," she says, completely unapologetic, and boops his nose.

He just has to lean up to kiss her because, well, she's so beautiful and he loves her so much and she's right there.

They break apart a moment later when they hear Emma call for Marinette from her bedroom. She plants one last upside-down kiss on his forehead and lets her hands drift slowly across his chest and shoulders as she stands.

She gives him a wry smile. "Duty calls."

"Hmmm," he hums thoughtfully, picking up his tea and taking another sip. "And here I thought her name was Emma."

Marinette groans at him as she walks away, and the sound catches Hugo's attention.

"Papa? Will you play superheroes with me?"

Of course. Always. I will never, ever be too busy for my kittens, he thinks.

"Sure, buddy," he says instead.

Finishing his tea in one big gulp, he slides from the sofa and scampers on hands and knees like a giant cat to where his son is playing. Hugo giggles at his dad's ridiculousness.

Adrien takes stock of the many accessories scattered around the play set and asks, "What are Chat Noir and Carapace up to today?"

Hugo explains the situation, the bad guy's motives, and what the heroes need to do to save Paris from disaster. Adrien listens carefully. Looking up at him with green eyes that match his own, big and wide and crinkled at the corners with his happy smile, Hugo offers the Chat Noir action figure to his dad.

"Will you be Chat Noir, Papa? He's Carapace's best friend in the world and they need to work together to save the day."

Adrien cradles the action figure in one hand and gently pats the pocket where Plagg hides with the other. His kwami presses a paw against his chest in return. Overwhelmed, all he can do is grin at Hugo and try not to cry.

"It would be my greatest honor," he vows grandly, holding up a hand in oath. "I purr-omise to be the best hero I can be. Cat's honor."

Hugo laughs. "You said honor twice."

"So I did. That's because it's very important."

His son nods solemnly, then reaches for Carapace's super jet. He places the hero in the cockpit and flies the jet around his head, making zooming noises.

"Are you ready, Chat Noir? I'm coming to pick you up!"

The jet has only one seat, but that doesn't seem to bother Hugo. Adrien readies the tiny plastic baton in Chat Noir's hand and uses it to vault from his own knee into the imaginary sky over Paris.

"Meow-velous!" he crows, delighted. "This cat is ready to be whiskered away in your very realistic jet! Allons-y, my turtle friend!"

Hugo giggles, Adrien's heart melts, and they set off on a grand adventure together.

[dreamcatcherjiah]

PART 10

💞Tight Hearts (Idol!Hoseok x Reader)

Plot: The red string of fate was visible when our grandparents were children. They would play around, following the strings from one person to their soulmate and laugh happily when these two people inevitably found each other. It was a reason for happiness. But little by little, people stopped seeing the threads. In bad times, it was dangerous, it was a liability, so people stopped seeing them to protect each other from harm. When I was born, nobody saw them anymore, they just felt their soulmate. Anxiety, happiness, sorrow, love, the hearts of the soulmates are one, feel the same things, but it is almost impossible to find your soulmate, now that the threads cannot be seen.

Tight Hearts Masterlist

Part 10

Organising how many cars you would take became easier as this time there were eight people to be taken to Big Hit’s headquarters. Taehyung and Jungkook had shown up in the kitchen while you were on the shower and, just as you were turning the corner into the room, finished cleaning after eating. Apparently, their routine hadn’t changed a bit with you intruding in them. After another awkward round of introductions and some whispered greetings, Namjoon took the lead again and divided everyone into pairs to get into the cars when he got the go from the manager. Hoseok, always thoughtful, had charged your phone thinking that you would like to call in sick and tell everyone you were feeling okay and you hadn’t dropped half dead in the middle of some street… Which you had, but no one needed to know the full, gory details. Smiling, you didn’t think much of it as you rolled into the balls of your feet and pressed a small kiss to the apple of his cheek. Boastful peels of laughter surrounded the both of you as his bandmates witnessed the public display of affection, causing you to blush and hide your face in your hands; getting used to this noisy group of men was going to take some getting used to, more with their new hobby of making every little thing Hoseok or you did into the funniest joke they’d ever heard. Chancing a look at your soulmate, you relaxed seeing how he had taken the loud teasing in a good-natured way and was just hugging a laughing Taehyung to his chest. The environment around these men was refreshing, calming your anxious thoughts and bringing the first real smile that your soulmate hadn’t put in your lips. 

“Will you look at that! She can smile too!” Namjoon teased, throwing an arm around your shoulders and giving you a little shake, “I was starting to think this was going to be awkward once Jin Hyung ran out of jokes to tell you, Y/N. I know they’re bad but you can stop laughing after he drops the punchline, he likes you already!”

“YA!” Screamed the eldest, “she likes my jokes! And,” he added, turning his eyes on you and seeing how you still smiled genuinely at him, “I am not running out. They’re my natural talent, I was born with both my jokes and my handsome face,” he finished taking his hand in a grand gesture to his mouth and throwing a flamboyant air kiss in yours and Namjoon’s general direction. 

Jungkook threw himself at Jin and hung himself from the bigger man like an overgrown koala. The room descended into chaos as both of them play-fought and the rest of the guys either went for their phones to record the mock wrestling match or cheered them on. In the midst of their voices and bodies, Hoseok made his way towards you and took your hand in his. His presence did a good job of getting rid of any residual uneasiness you may have been feeling, the same way yours did away with Hoseok’s nervousness. You realised that part of what you had been feeling came from the man standing slightly behind you; even before the two of you met in person, you had noticed how he’d always put on a brave front, smiling even when his whole body wanted him to collapse and, perhaps without him knowing, he had relapsed into the same old routine: mask what he was feeling behind his happy-go-lucky persona. 

“Hey,” you whispered, keeping an eye out for the other six men in the room, you didn’t need them noticing such a private moment, “relax, whatever they say there, they’re not taking me anywhere,” you noticed as his body relaxed, his shoulders dropping a few inches, as the words registered in his brain, “whatever works for us.”

With a small tilt in the corner of his mouth, his hand tightened around yours and, as the rest of his brothers calmed down and Namjoon gave the last instructions, got closer to you until not only your hands were touching, but your arms as well. You fantasised with allowing your head to rest a while on his shoulder, breathing deeply and calmly so both of you relaxed a bit before facing what felt like a court that would decide on your future. Coming back to reality, you straightened your treacherous neck, which was nearly about to give into your secret wishes, and turning your head in his direction, smiled at how he was already looking at you. His eyes formed crescents, his feet started moving and he took you, hand in hand, to the car. 

Once the car door closed behind you, Hoseok put his arm around you, helping you get comfortable against his chest so that your head rested on his shoulder. Taking a deep breath, you felt as every last cell of your body tuned itself to Hoseok’s and you could finally breath again. His hand settled atop your head, his fingers buried deep, caressing your scalp and following the tresses of your hair to return again with its sweet ministrations.

“Thank you,” whispered Hoseok.

Not wanting to move and disturb the spell surrounding you both, you only hummed and nudged your cheek closer to his collarbone, as a way of asking him what he meant.

“They love you already, Namjoonie is so comfortable around you, even Yoongi Hyung told me while you were in the shower that I had found an excellent one… That’s a lot for him to say after such a short time, you know?” His voice was quiet, almost as if he had realised something and was at peace with it, “you didn’t have to be so accommodating, so trusting, and yet here we are. Just thank you.”

Throwing your arm around his torso, you hugged him as tight as you could and moved your head so that you could see him resting your chin against his collarbone.

“I don’t know what it is, but I feel like I would trust you with my life. No questions asked,” you chuckled darkly. At his raised eyebrow, you explained, “Does it feel like that for you too? Is it as natural for you as it is for me, the fact that I could very easily die to protect you?” After his nod, you laughed and continued talking, “This would drive my parents insane, if they knew.”

“You haven’t told them yet?” He asked, his hand stilling in your head. You could see some of the previous tension sweeping back into him and you hurried to make it disappear again.

“If these feelings of inadequacy I am sensing come from you, please, believe me when I say that it has nothing to do with me not wanting them to meet you. It’s just they’re not the typical parents. They wanted me to be independent since I was very young and now we aren’t really close.”

“But Y/N, not being close and saying that they would go insane if they found out you had a soulmate are two very different things,” he said, frowning. 

You sat up, pouting and looked at him through your eyelashes. He kept eye contact with you, matching your pout and crossing his arms over his chest. Huffing, you sat back and looked ahead while you mulled over what to say to him, what to tell him so that you’d satiate his curiosity.

“You know soulmates are little more than a myth nowadays, right?” You asked, he nodded and raised his eyebrow at you, so you’d continue, “While I was still living with them, my father was very vocal about what his thoughts on the bond were, he would say that us soulmates were mere parasites and that it was all a ploy from the government to rob us of our freedom…”

An indignant little shout reached you at the same time you felt Hoseok jump and turn to face you. His face was hard, set, his lips pouting while his cheeks and ears turned red with agitation. From the moment the topic was brought up, you knew Hoseok wasn’t going to like what you had to say. Everyone, absolutely every person in the world who knew what soulmates were, had an opinion on the matter; good or bad, that usually depended on the case and the personal experiences of every individual but, more often than not, people were VERY vocal about what a pity it was that soulmates were dying out. “With technology as advanced as it is today,” they’d say, “it is just sad that a system to find linked soulmates hasn’t been developed,” with a mellow smile, they would just continue about with their days and forget about the issue altogether. Which you, soulmates, couldn’t do. 

“I do not mean to badmouth your father, but that is such a simplistic thought process,” he said, dropping back against the seats. “To think that we have a choice in the matter is just plain ludicrous, and to imply that the government is trying to control people by making them match with their soulmates just shows how little information there really is about the bond. We aren’t like that, you and I.”

He reached for you, with his eyes closed and a troubled look on his face. You simply gravitated towards him, burying yourself against his puffy jacket, linking your arms around him. He sought comfort in knowing you were there, close to him and not leaving. 

“No, we are not,” you said, tightening your hold on his torso when a wave of worry and apprehension reached you through the bond, “but people don’t really know that. We are the only pair of soulmates I know of, it kinda is uncharted territory.”

“I don’t care how little they know as long as you get to keep me,” Hoseok whispered, so softly you thought you heard him wrong.

The thought made you stop all your musings and actually think about what your soulmate said. You would have expected to say something along the lines of “I can keep you” or “we can stay together”, but the sole thought of you possessing him, Hoseok, your sweet, caring and incredibly famous soulmate, made you feel a huge lump in your throat. 

“If I get to keep you?” You asked, looking up at him and finding him already looking at you.

“I can feel your uneasiness, maybe that was way over the line…” his insecurities were rolling off of him in waves, so strong it nearly gave you whiplash. Seeing how you weren’t answering, he swallowed and continued, “you know how our life is, you’re a fan. We… don’t get to… be normal. We don’t get to go on dates, enjoy the whole “get to know you”, mainly because we never have time. And I know that’s what we wanted but this place we’re in is very lonely. When my grandmother used to tell me about soulmates she would always say how she wholly belonged to my grandfather. As a child that didn’t make much sense, but lately, when my body hurt and I felt how miserable we both were… I just wanted to be yours, to have someone that didn’t always expect me to be okay and would just allow me to be… theirs…”

Somewhere between him saying how lonely he was and telling you he was yours, you had started silently crying, big tears leaving your eyes and staining his jacket. His thumbs suddenly cleaned them off your cheeks, carefully and sweetly, transmitting an incredibly warm feeling that surrounded you both, letting you know without words how sorry he was for making you cry, for overstepping the line he had set himself as his limit. 

“I am so sorry for making you sad,” he whispered, leaving a small kiss between your eyebrows.

“So sweet but so clueless,” you hiccuped. At his pout, you chuckled and threw his arms around his neck. Once your face was hidden safely against his shoulder you told him; “I am so sorry you were feeling lonely. And you don’t have to say sorry for telling me how you feel, ever. I was just taken aback, I would have never imagined you’d want to belong to someone you just met…”

“You don’t have to say anything, I am sorry I sprung this on you,” you tightened your hold on his neck, almost chocking him and making him stop.

“I told you we’re in this together, I’ll have you if you’ll have me. That’s my condition,” his arms finally sneaked around your waist and fused your bodies together, ending with any guilt or inadequacy you may have felt.

“Thank you,” he whispered, nesting his face between your neck and your shoulder.

The rest of the trip to BigHit Headquarters passed in either companionable silence or bursts of laughter, which made time fly and, before you knew it, the cars were entering the company’s underground parking lot.

Your car’s door flew open and the maknae line piled inside, looking frantic only to leave the car as soon as they entered.

“They’re alive and decent, Hyung! We’re good to go!” Screamed Taehyung, his black hair hiding his eyebrows and drawing even more attention to his radiant square smile when he turned to continue teasing Hoseok.

As everyone left their cars and walked towards the elevators, manager Sejin hung back to give you a small plastic card with your name on it. He told you that one was provisional, you’d have to give him a recent picture and your full name so he could make one for you. He put a hand on your shoulder telling you to relax and kept walking, leaving you, Hoseok and the rest of BTS alone to ride the elevators to the CEO’s office. The rest of the managers rode together in a different elevator, leaving the eight of you alone. If someone wanted to comment on how Hoseok and you seemed to be joined at the hip, or how neither of you seemed willing to let go of each other’s hands, no one said a word. 

“We are going to be there with you both the whole time,” said Seokjin, giving you a sweet smile, “if you hear something you don’t like or don’t agree with, don’t be afraid to speak up. We’ll all back you up.”

“But,” you doubted, until Hoseok tightened his hold on your hand to let you know it was okay, “won’t you get in trouble with the company?”

Jin huffed and looked at you as if you were the most innocent person in the world.

“I…” he started.

“DON’T FOLLOW WHAT THE AGENCY SAYS,” completed the rest of the men, as if they were so used to hearing that same sentence that they couldn’t help completing it themselves.

It served you all to relief the tension as you all dissolved into peals of laughter and you let yourself rest against Hobi’s body. His warmth was a balm for your nerves and, as the door opened to ease you all into the big hall, you felt so much more supported than you had ever felt in your life. These seven tall men, would have your back.

Nocking on the light wooden door and being allowed in, you followed Namjoon and Hoseok and found yourself face to face with a small, smiling woman who wrapped her arms around your shoulders. After a few seconds you realised the woman was Hoseok’s mother, his father and sister standing a bit behind the woman hugging you, next to a bigger man that can’t be any other than Bang PDnim. They smiled at you and Hoseok’s father neared him to give him a light slap on the shoulder.

“Welcome,” said the CEO to all standing, “I thought we’d be more comfortable sitting on the sofas, I prepared some light sweets in case you haven’t had any breakfast,” he focused now on you and smiled. “It’s so nice to meet finally meet you, Y/N. I was so sorry not to meet you yesterday, but I thought it would be better to let you rest. Please sit down and we’ll talk for a bit, then you’ll go with the boys so they show you around and practice for an hour or two. Is that alright?” He asked the rest of the room. When he got a positive answer out of them, he stirred them in the direction of a set of comfortable looking couches at the side of the room.

Hoseok’s mother sat next to you, leaving the other side free so Hoseok could sit next to you, placing your joined hands on his thigh.

“Y/N dear, how did you sleep, you look so refreshed, your cheeks look so lovely blushed!” You laughed and thank the woman, “call me Eomoni, dear”, you wouldn’t tell her your cheeks looked red because her son and you had had a heart to heart in the car, as it seemed was your thing these days, and you had cried your eyes out. 

“These two couldn’t stay more than a couple feet apart, eomoni,” said Jimin, “so I offered them my bed so they could keep their distance.”

“Yeah, ‘cause yesterday they would go ‘woohoo’ if they touched,” laughed Jungkook, around a mouthful of banana cake.

Remembering the terrible bumbling messes the both of you became the prior day, your whole face turned beet red and you hid your face against Hoseok’s shoulder.

“As you can see,” added Yoongi, “they don’t start drooling when they touch anymore.”

Another fit of laughter raised from the group and your soulmate’s hand caressed the crown of your head as his body shook in silent laughter.

Bang PDnim took control of the ruckus and got all eyes focused on him again.

“First of all I want to welcome you again to the family, Y/N. We are here for you in any capacity, to help and support both you and Hoseok, but you are free to look for outside consultants if you want to for any legal matter. The only thing we ask of you is to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement that you will write with Hoseok and your lawyer, then we will look it over and sign as well,” he waited to see if you had any objection and seeing you didn’t, he continued, “For the time being, we would like you both to visit a doctor so you will be able to go about your everyday life once the bond allows you to be apart…”

“NO!” You shouted, putting yourself between Hoseok and the older man, without thinking. Silence reigned in the room after your outburst, “You’re not going to take him from me, are you? Please, I’ll do anything.”

So focused on Bang PDnim you were that you didn’t see the softening glances of the people around the room, how Namjoon looked down and smiled, letting his dimples show, how Hoseok’s sister smiled at their father and how Jimin and Tae laughed silently. Hoseok was looking at you as if it was his first time seeing you, his eyes never deviating from the little portion of your face he could see and nearly not daring to breath.

“No one is tearing you two apart, Y/N. Our top priority is the wellbeing of the boys and, even if we didn’t care about you, which we do, we would never do something that could make them unhappy,” said the older man, allowing your lungs to release the air they were holding. You relaxed against Hoseok, finally dropping your head on his shoulder. The room then broke into soft conversations, Bang PDnim talking to Hoseok’s parents, the boys unknowingly giving you guys your space. Since you were looking out of a huge window to the side, you didn’t see the look in Hoseok’s eyes as he held you closer to him and kissed the crown of your head.

 Tag list: @obsessoverthesmallthings247 @threedecadesofawkward @mabel-k3 @tremendousminyoongi @justignoremepleaz @demonic-meatball @hadaises @littlestsweetpea28 @rjsmochii @take-u-2-an0ther-w0r1d @gali-005 @salty-for-suga @indicisive-af @nomimits7 @lysjeon @raisatarannum1234 @purplelady85 @threedecadesofawkward @valentynxmgc @acopenhagenarmy @ephyra1230 @minluvly @trashandshook @brinascorpio @trixiethebear @hobi-love @geekgirl41402​ @annywaa​

[mae-gi-writes]

And You Should Live | Changmin/Q [Part Two]

Athlete Changmin au! In which you and Changmin teach each other how to live again.

Genre: angst, tearjerker, fluff

Part One | Part Two

--

The few months that the ex-athlete spends confined in hospital are definitely some of the most challenging weeks you've had by far. It takes patience and acceptance of his new body, of the way that he is now going to live his life, and it's easier said than done. A psychiatrist checks up on him every week but his complaints are verbal and abusive, not one to hide his discontentment. There is no sign of his father, though his mother drops in once a week at most to bring some spare clothes and wheedle a few responses out of him, in vain.

He cries the first time he sees himself in the mirror, hair all dishevelled, stubble forming over his chin, skin all grey and pale from months of no sunshine. And you stand behind him that day, heart breaking in tine with his as the pained sobs falling from his mouth bounced throughout the room. He cries without relent this time as your hands tighten their grip on the handles of his wheelchair, helpless to his pain and desperate to somehow make it right in any way possible.

The next day, you bustle in with a comb, some shaving cream and a pair of scissors. 

“No,” is Changmin’s reaction, as with everything you’ve once introduced to him. You’re now used to his reticence and instead shove his hands away from you, a measley attempt to stop your advances. Instead, you threaten to attach his arms at his sides if he doesn’t cooperate and with a few more grumbles under his breath, he settles back against his pillow like a sulky child. 

“I can’t believe this,” he mumbles through closed lips as you dabble some shaving cream over his face. Mind you, you’ve definitely never done this on a man before and so you dip your head closer to his face, teeth nibbling onto your lower lip as you focus on spreading the cream evenly across his jawline.

"I swear, Y/N, if you cut me--”

“Oh shush,” you wave his protests away before drawing out the razor you’ve slipped into your pocket. Then, you gingerly lean down once more to slowly slide the device at the edge of his jaw. 

Feeling his orbs on your face, you can’t help but spare him a quick glance only for your eyes. They’re dark maroon, so dark you can barely make out his pupils from his irises, and they reflect an intensity that somehow makes your insides squirm and your heart to speed up--

“Ouch!” he cries out and you jump back in surprise, eyes flying wide open with panic, “fuck! Did I hurt you?!” You dab at his skin in search of a cut, “shit, I’m so sorry--”

Changmin’s giggle bursts through his mouth and it takes you a few seconds to realize that he’s only pulling your leg. Your hands drop to your sides in growing annoyance, “you!--”

“Sorry, it was all too obvious that you’ve never did this before,” Changmin’s eyes crinkle up into crescents. It might be the first time you’ve seen him laugh with such purity, and you can’t help but stare at the dimple forming on his cheeks, at the way his whole face lights up like a Christmas tree.

And then, you blink and let out an exasperated sigh before you shove his shoulder, “you’re such a dick,” you mutter as you resume shaving him. 

“Sorry,” he keeps on giggling, “you should’ve seen your face.”

"Keep that up and I’ll make sure you have no hair left on your scalp.”

You decide to move on to his hair a few days later just as he is being wheeled back in by the said psychiatrist. You bow to him, cheeks involuntarily rising when his gaze meets yours, a tender smile dancing across his lips.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, Y/N,” he says.

“You’re the one who’s always busy, Sangyeon,” you grin back.

“Ah yeah. Especially during exams season. A lot of students drop by,” Sangyeon nods at Changmin, “well, I’ve leave you two to it then. Maybe we can catch up over coffee sometime Y/N.” 

“That’d be great!” 

You don’t realize that you’ve still got a stupid smile on your face until Changmin lets out a snort, “you look ridiculous.” 

Scowling back at him, you lift the scissors up threateningly, “keep talking and I will make you bald, Changmin.” 

" You like him? He's such a dork," Changmin continues without relent as you wheel him to the washroom, " And you know what? He smells really bad if he doesn't wear perfume."

"And how would you, of all people, know that?" your fingers comb back his hair to tie it up into sections, eyes clashing with his in the bathroom mirror.

"Because I smelt him once when he came from the gym."

" That's just how humans work," you retort with a Scoff," also, I don't think you should be the one to talk, considering you were an athlete."

"That's different! I was training!"

" You're not denying the fact that you smell bad too though, without deodorant."

"Oh yeah?" He sniffs, "well I ain't got any deodorant now. Smell me, go on."

His statement is so outrageously crazy that you burst out laughing and soon enough he joins in so that you giggle like two schoolchildren sharing mischievous secrets. Ruffling your fingers through his hair and combing it through with water, your fingers proceed to measure how much hair to chip off.

" can I trust you with that?" doubt coats Changmin's voice.

You scoff in return as a large clump cascades down his shoulders and makes him yelp, " Don't worry, I won't murder you. If that's what you were thinking about."

" Well I can't help but think about that now."

The blossoming friendship is inevitable. After all, you were almost the same age and had fallen into a complicity, having spent so much time together. So much so tha the man would outrightly refuse anyone else's help albeit the fact that you had only told him good things about your colleagues.

When his discharge came around - a little too soon for your liking if you were being honest with yourself- he'd requested for your presence on the evening before his departure, where you had brought along some cookies that your little brother had made the night before.

"I can't eat that," Changmin crinkles his nose, acting exactly like one of those pompous arrogant kids that had more money in their wallet than they had brains.

You push it towards him nevertheless, "just try it."

" I told you, I can't eat that."

" Why not?"

"Because-" his words die halfway through his throat in realization and it dawns on you that it's probably something to do with his previous diet.

But you don't have time to find a proper response before his hand snatches one cookie up and shoves it in his mouth, head turned away to avoid your concerned gaze.

" It's good," is his response after a beat of silence, and you smile.

"So what do you plan on doing when you get home?" you lean your head onto your palm, a soft yawn falling from your mouth.

" Haven't figured that out yet. Probably lie around feeling sorry for myself," he shrugs nonchalantly, but you know it's far from that, " smoke up. I never got the chance to try. Might as well start now."

You find yourself rolling your eyes at him. Then, out of the blue, he suddenly catches you off guard.

" You always ask me about myself. But now that I think about it," he tilts his head sideway. curious," I don't know much about you. Actually, I don't know you at all."

That's it. That's the moment your heart constricts and your throat closes up so that you choke on air. You don't look at him, quickly finding interest in the mold growing at the corner of the room while you mutter out that there is nothing to tell.

You know he's not dumb enough to fall for your lie, because he repeats the question, a glowing glint of curiosity in his eye.

So you tell him. In the simplest words possible, you tell him. About how normal you are, really normal. About your average grades, your small group of friends, your family of five that you cherish with all your heart. And about the scars that line up your thighs like a row of soldiers, the time where you had almost given your life away due to the unexplainable sadness consuming you from the inside.

When you're done you can barely look at him. Your hands find comfort in the folds of your white nurse pants and suddenly you can feel the scars glowing with heat, searing hot against your now sweaty palms.

It's still as fragile as ice to be talking about this memory in particular, and you're not even sure why you've suddenly divulged it all to the man sitting before you.

"That explains a lot."

Your eyes flutter up to his, surprised at his statement.

His gaze is strong as he holds yours, " about the way you care about people... about me."

" I know what it's like," comes your mumble," to suffer in silence."

A comfortable silence fills the gap in the room and despite the chilly coldness of the walls, your cheeks feel warm, entire body suddenly bathed in heat as a result of Changmin's subtle compliment.

Which is why you almost yelp when heat engulfs your hand. Blinking down just in time to feel Changmin's fingers give yours a gentle squeeze, your heart suddenly grows twice-fold through your chest.

" Thank you," you look up at him as he murmurs and you swore his face has never seemed so gentle.

"You don't -" your throat runs dry, " there's no need to thank me. It's not something to be thankful for."

"Oh don't go all poetic on me," Changmin rolls his eyes though his hand, you notice, makes no move to retract.

Not that you mind.

" You'll still visit," you chew on the inside of your cheek as gently, Oh so gently, his thumb starts a slow brush against your knuckles, "right?"

His orbs crinkle into a soft smile when you peek at his face, " Missing me already? Y/N, you used to hate my guts."

You mutter that you still do, which earns you a playful shove before another round of laughter ensues. And then he’s pulling you into his chest in a hug that leaves your insides tingling and your body suddenly erupting as if a troop of butterflies have decided to make their way from the top of your head down to the tip of your toes. And though you know that tomorrow will never be the same, you try to hold on to the warmth blossoming over your heart and the delicious fuzzy scramble inside your stomach that makes smiling a little easier.

He tucks your head underneath his chin, hands coming up to stroke your back in comforting circles. It’s a friendly hug, no doubt, one that is as innocent as the baby born a few seconds ago in the adjacent room. Yet, you wonder whether Changmin can hear how fast, how hard your heart is beating at this very instant.

You pull back slowly after a moment while averting your gaze, your hands still entangled together like a flurry of mixed-up jigsaw puzzles that somehow fit so right. 

"Here," taking your hand in his before motioning towards the pen attached to his medical clipboard, you watch as he scribbles a bunch of numbers," Now you have my number. So you have no excuse."

"Is that a threat?" you can't help but smile.

He grins back, dimple showing, " if that's what it takes to make you talk to me."

-♡-

Your shifts at the hospital without Changmin are void and empty now that he's gone. The first time you walk in to see an unfamiliar face in the space that Changmin was supposed to be, something almost akin to pain twists inside your chest and you swivel around almost instantly, excusing yourself as bile crawls up your throat.

It's normal, this is what hospital life is about. You constantly meet people, bond with them, only to have them walk out the door as abruptly as they had come.

And yet, there's a sense of haunted expectation that follows you around Wherever you go, as if you're bound to eventually bump into the said man at any moment. Sometimes, you catch yourself getting glimpses of his face amongst the crowd. One might have his nose, or the same undercut he sports ( the result of yours truly 's doing) or even the same tonal inflection that gathers your hopes up, only for it to deflate once you realize it's not him. It never is.

You cave in one night as you gaze at the array of numbers that will bring you to his voice, deciding on impulse as your fingers fly across the keyboard.

"Hello?"

His voice is deeper than in your memories, rough, like he's just awoken.

Your fingers tighten onto the device, "Hey. Remember me?"

You hear a sharp intake of breath, "It took you this long to call?” he accuses and you can already picture the narrow-eyed stare he throws you, that some glower that you always laugh at instead of being offended.

That becomes your new normal, calling him day and night and in-between shifts. Sometimes he’d send you messages during the day, little highlights of what he does. He tells you about how his parents are literally breathing down his neck every second of the day, how his rehab sessions are getting harder and harder that he almost wishes he could give it all up. He doesn’t mention going out or meeting friends, and something inside you can’t help but twist in concern at his dismissive tone. 

"How about prosthetics?” you ask unsurely, fearful that he’ll retract back into his shell the moment you mention it.

And you’re right. He’s quiet for a few long seconds that pass by like an eternity. So you hurriedly add, “you don’t have to answer that. It’s not my problem after all--”

“I have,” he cuts you off, “spoken to my physiotherapist about it.” 

Your chest gives a small lurch of anticipation, unconsciously pressing the device closer to your ear, “what did he say?” 

“He thinks I still need a little bit more strength. I used to train everyday, so all my muscles were suddenly atrophied the first few months I spent in hospital,” Changmin replied as he shifted on the other end of the receiver, “but if I keep it up, he said he’d send in a request for me to be on the waiting list.” 

“That’s wonderful Changmin!” Hope flared through your chest and warmed your heart as though you’ve just drank a cup of warm tea, the grin on your face almost as bright as the sun itself, “oh that’s good news! Maybe you’ll be able to walk again! Maybe--” 

“It’s not that easy,” Changmin hurriedly says in response and is it your imagination or does he sound a little...embarrassed? “I mean, even with the prosthetics, he said it would take some time for my own body to adjust.” 

While you haven’t seen his face for so long, there is a sense of comfort that washes over you whenever you speak to the said ex-athlete. It’s like this silent cord of communication that comes to life whenever you talk and laugh and giggle about life in general. You find yourself craving for his phone calls every day, your heart dropping in disappointment when he tells your that he’s too busy, only to flutter in exhilaration whenever you see his name flashing across your phone screen. It’s bad, that your happiness depends on a young man who’s clearly already starting to build his own life away from you, away from those damned hospital walls that everyone hates so much, but while your mind keeps on reminding you that maybe it would be wiser to take a step back, your heart aches to hear Changmin’s soft alto, if that’s the only thing that will soothe over the pain of his absence.

"So now that you’re out of the hospital, you don’t even visit?” you once tell him off. It’s true, that he has not dropped by once over the past five months after being discharged. 

Guilt resonates in his voice when he answers, “sorry, Y/N. I’ve-- I’ve been busy. And my parents--you know, they’re not that keen for me to go around by myself yet.” 

You tut at him but decide to let it go. The only memory you have of his parents is the one conversation that haunts you till this day forth. You can’t imagine how it must feel to live in a home where the ones who supposedly love you the most are the ones who believe you’ve lot your ability to walk just to spite them.

October slowly moves in to November, before November falls right into December, who trickles in with the gift of snowfall. You catch yourself gazing out of the window at the slowly drifting snowflakes more often times than not, the sense of melancholy bringing you back to your school days whenever you spot young children playing in the yard. Patients come and go, ones that you get along with, ones that are still a pain in the butt up until they’re getting discharged. Soon, you count the days till your internship is going to be over and dread slowly fills you at the prospect of having to go back to school, to go back to the life of book and spending countless hours cooped up in the library. 

Your friends throw a party on the eve of Christmas, but when you invite Changmin to come along, he is quick to dismiss your invitation with an excuse that he’ll feel like the butt of a joke and besides, who wants to sit there and watch all of you have fun on the skating rink? 

“But I’ll stay with you,” your protests are drowned out by him adamantly shaking his head, the shadow on his face evident even in the pixelated screen of the video call. 

“No way,” his jaw clenches, “no way. I’m not going out there just so that people can feel sorry for me.” 

“Okay,” you pause, “but Changmin, we haven’t seen each other since you got discharged. What happened to us meeting each other often and keeping in touch?” 

“We are keeping in touch,” he protests even when his eyes slide away from the screen.

You shake your head with a sigh, “fine. Be that way. I’m just trying here, but that’s not a one-way street,” and you cut the call before waiting for his answer.

Mood ruined, you are clearly not in your right state of mind the moment you show up at the skating rink. Still, you make an effort. And with your friends’ naked excitement and jovial cheerfulness, it’s hard to keep sulking in a corner. The lights hanging over the trees adorning the skating rink are twinkling red and gold and shimmering green, bouncing off the ice and creating such a magical atmosphere that it is hard to keep the grin from breaking across your face. 

Until Chanhee, one of the mutual friends that had tagged along, tugs you away to give you a gift. You blink down at it, confused as to why this young m decked with numerous admirers --  was giving you a gift as though you knew each other.

He seems to read what’s on your mind, for he quickly lifts his hands in surrender, “It’s from Changmin. The one from the track team?”

The name clogs up the back of your throat. Changmin?

“You--” Your mind reels in shock. You blink, “you know him?” 

“Not really. He just dropped by, said to give this to you.” 

"What?" You swivel around to scan the perimeter, "where? Where is he?"

"He's not here--"

But you are already halfway across the rink, striding with such purposeful speed that no one has decency to stop you as you hurry, legs burning with effort, until you turn on the corner of the road.

Nothing.

Your chest heaves. He was here, you know he was. He just doesn't want to see you.

That thought alone makes your heart ache.

When you get back home to finally open his present that night, your breath catches in your throat the moment you open the box to see a pair of earrings, simple yet elegant musical notes dangling from their hangers. They are beautiful, exquisitely so. It makes your heart pound, your stomach blossom with a troop of butterflies as you wonder at the thought of Changmin picking out a pair of earrings especially for you. That idea alone makes heat flare through your face.

A card had fallen out of the gift wrap and you gingerly pick it up from the floor, eyes scanning the words scrawled on the inside:

"Since you've been a good listener to me, I thought of gifting your ears. Thank you for these past few months. I'm sorry for not having the courage to face you yet. I'm sorry.

Love,

Changmin."

Tears sting the corner of your ears and you brush them away hastily with the back of your hand, his voice resonating through his words with such a vivid picture that your heart aches at the prospect of having just missed him. If you had been a few seconds early, he might’ve still been around and maybe, just maybe, you’d have the chance to catch a glimpse of his face, to allow yourself to gaze at those deep brown eyes that -- once foreign -- felt like falling into a galaxy of stars in the world that defines Changmin. 

As if upon mere reflex, you don’t even think twice before dialling his number.

He picks up after the second ring. 

“You,” there is so much restrained emotion in your voice that it feels clogged coming out of your mouth, “I don’t get it. We haven’t seen each other for six months. That’s almost half a year. What happened to ‘let’s stay in touch and that you’ll visit?’ “ 

It’s not fair for him to fall victim to the built-up frustration swimming in your stomach for months. But your mouth is like a dam that suddenly bursts and the words come rushing out of you faster than you can blink. 

“You can’t just walk into my life and walk out of it as if the time spent in hospital meant nothing to you. If that’s the case, then why even bother answering my calls then? Why not just cut me off altogether? It’s not fair Changmin,” you swallow thickly, “It’s not fair. You’re not the one that gets to choose when we see each other, or when we don’t.” 

There’s a pause where you catch your breath, and when he speaks next, his voice is rough, laced with remorse, “I’m sorry, Y/N.” 

You breathe out shakily, “why?” Your nose feels stuffed and you’re pretty certain it’s glowing red, “do you not want to see me? Is that it? Why don’t you just say so--”

“I do want to see you, Y/N. Just--Just not--” he chokes on the last word, “not now.” 

“Why?” 

The silence that follows hangs between you both like a bubble threatening to pop, held with a string of tension so high you feel goosebumps explode across the back of your arms. 

And then, just when you think that he is too much of a coward to actually say something in his defence, his alto resonates through the receiver:

“Do you trust me?” 

Your mind pauses. You digest his words. Do you? 

It takes a moment of hesitation for you to murmur your agreement.

“Then, please don’t question whatever’s happening, whatever I’m doing right now,” he inhales, exhales softly, before repeating, “please.” 

And you’re not really sure why, or how, you still have faith in this relationship of yours that you’re not even sure where to classify it. You just nod and murmur out, “okay,” all that while silent tears are paving trails down your cheeks to dribble along your chin. 

You just hope that whatever his reason is, he better have a damn good one.

-♡-

You wait. 

And wait. 

You keep waiting.

The new year comes and goes by without much excitement. February is a spring breeze filled with valentine cards and balloons popping up at every corner of the street. March is wet and full of rain showers, so much so that there is not one day you don’t come home soaked to the bone and shaking like a dog. 

After your argument on Christmas eve, you decide to do what’s best for you, which is protect your heart at all costs. Tossing away the hope that maybe there might be something akin to romance blossoming between the two of you, you focus instead on the new semester as well as the troubles and stress that come along with it. Through it all, you keep a constant stream of chatter between you and the said young man, whom you’ve learnt has taken up French lessons online to stimulate his brain and now can fully move around in his wheelchair without any assistance. 

“Look,” Changmin said once when he’d swivelled the camera around to show you how he’d managed to get himself into the garden, “I barely had any energy in my arms when I first left the hospital. Now, it’s as easy as walking.” 

The smile on his face was as pure as sunshine and your gut felt weird knowing that you were in the same city and yet could not, for whatever of his personal reasons, see him face to face. 

The physicality of him is a void in your life you had patched up with a flurry of activities to keep your mind busy. Whenever you catch yourself daydreaming of the possible what ifs surrounding this young man, you’d throw yourself head first into any activity -- literally anything -- to keep your mind off; accompanying your mother to the grocery store for instance, or helping your dad mow the lawn. Maybe it’s just a coping mechanism until you crash headfirst into a wall and realize that running away from your problems isn’t going to cut it. But for now, you’d accept this gladly as your fate. 

The most you get of him is through video call, not that this can compare to actually seeing him physically in real life. But hey, you’re taking what you can get at this point. It makes you grow closer to each other, communicating every day about everything and anything. Though the physical distance has never seemed so huge, you can’t help but feel like these past few months you feel like you’ve grown even closer to the man in the wheelchair on the other side of the screen, heart warming and cheeks flushing deep red whenever you catch yourself wistfully daydreaming of encountering Changmin again after so long.

You’re not even sure where the time goes but no sooner are you done with your final semester of University that a year has passed. A year since you’ve met Changmin, a year since your internship that seems to have opened your eyes to see the world in a whole different perspective, as if you’ve been blind up until now.

A whole year and you still haven’t seen nor hide or hair of the said young man.

That ultimately changes one day.

You’re to attend the Children’s Day event at the hospital which you’ve interned at that day. Decked in a pair of loose khaki pants and a white shirt, you’ve tied your hair up in a bun for the occasion and trudge to the hospital doors with your worn-out, red converse. 

That’s when you hear a voice. You hear him, calling out your name.

You freeze for a moment, mind going in a mental frenzy as you try to hold yourself together. This has happened all too many times to count, where you’d turn around so fast expecting to see Changmin’s dimpled smile greet you-- only to end up grinning at a random passerby instead.

But then his voice resonates louder, stronger. Curling through the air and shattering through reality like a bass drum: 

“Y/N.” 

Slowly, like you’re teetering on the edge of a cliff, you turn around. Your eyes settle across a familiar face, features that you’ve endlessly traced god knows how many times in your dreams and almost on instinct, a scream dies at the back of your throat while you stumble back in shock, blinking furtively and trying to make sense of the reality before you.

Because there, with that same dimpled smile and those brown eyes curved into crescents, sits Changmin.

“Wha--” you don’t know what to say, precisely why you stop yourself mid-way through a sentence. You’re not really sure if you’re dreaming or not, thumb instantly pressing down against one of your fingers in case this might be a dream.

But the sting is all too real and you can’t help sucking in a breath, stunned into silence.

You gawk. He stares back evenly, a lingering smile dancing on his lips.

Changmin, your mind screams. Changmin. 

He’s here. Right here within an arm’s touch. 

You don’t think. You can’t even breathe for a second. 

Your feet stumble, as if attracted to him like a magnet. Heart beating in the back of your throat. 

“You--” your throat is clogged as if you can barely breathe and in response the young man only chuckles, the laughter resonating through your ears and reminding you of all the reasons why you’ve held on so tightly to him for all these months. Tears gather at the corner of your eyes and you don’t even bother to stop them cascading down your cheeks. Instead, you take your time to analyze his face, to trace the contour of his lips an the edge of his nose with your maroon orbs like a parched woman taking a first sip for the very first time.

When Changmin speaks next, his alto is a soft murmur, “surprise?”

“You--You--” you want to say something, anything. But the only words that manage to make it out are, “You’re here.” 

“Yeah,” he replies softly, “I’m here.” 

The urge to hug him suddenly overtakes your body and you move forward as if on instinct, until he stops you with a lift of his hands. 

“I can explain,” his eyes flutter down for a moment, before going back up to meet your brown orbs, “why I never asked to meet up, why it seemed like I never wanted to see you.” 

Confusion flits across your face, causing Changmin to let out another chuckle, more nervous this time, before his hands went to press down onto the handles on each side.

And then slowly, as if you are staring at some kind of miracle of some sort, you see him lift himself up on his legs. 

And then he stands. On his legs.

He’s standing. 

Changmin is standing. 

A breath escapes the back of your throat. Your heart almost drops to your stomach. What?

“Wha--” orbs flickering back and forth between his legs and his face, your brain goes into overdrive at the sight before you, “How?”

The Changmin, who had almost given up on life the moment he was wheeled inside the hospitals. Changmin, who had tossed any help away as though they were only nuisances in his life.

This Changmin was now standing before you on his own two feet and grinning from ear to ear as if he’d never been happier in his entire life.

“Prosthetics,” he explains then, even though you’ve already managed to put two and two together, “I didn’t want you to see me...in such a state. I wanted to make sure I could walk, by the time I saw you again,” he bites down onto his lower lip, “so it took a little more time than expected. That--” he inhales shakily, closing his eyes for a second, before gazing straight into yours with such an intensity it makes your heart stutter, “that was the promise I made myself.”

“But--how--That must’ve--” you can’t seem to find coherence in the tangled knot of thoughts in your brain, “that must’ve hurt--”

“You said so yourself,” he murmurs, taking a shaky step towards you. Then another, and another. Until he’s now just at arm’s reach, “that I need to start living.”

“I--” you swallow thickly, “I--Changmin, I don’t know what to say--”

“Then don’t say anything,” his hands come up to cup your face, “just kiss me.” 

And his mouth is claiming yours before you can even respond, moving with such an intensity that your surprised gasp is drowned out by the sensation of warmth blossoming over your chest. He kisses you with an almost desperate need , mouth moving at a pace that leaves your thoughts dizzy, your breaths uneven and your chest tight with fluttering butterflies while his hands find purchase at your waist to pull you even closer, so close you can feel his hard frame against your curves. 

Your eyes flutter open when you part momentarily, lips still hovering over each other and foreheads pressed. Gazing up into those dark pupils of his, so tender and intense at the same time, a sob echoes through the back of your throat without meaning to before you bury your face into his neck in a mixture of shame and embarrassment of being seen in such a weak, shaken-up state. 

You feel his hand rub comforting circles over your back in a gesture of comfort, of reassurance. That only makes you sob a little harder, clutching onto him with a feline’s grip as if you fear he might vanish the second you blink.

“Y/N,” Changmin’s soft alto reaches your ears, “Y/N, it’s okay.”

It is only when his legs shake that you take it as a hint that he shouldn’t be standing too much. Wiping away your tears with the back of your hand, you quickly help him back into his chair as you’re met with another of his wide grins that takes years off his age, “sorry,” he says, “I’m not really supposed to stand for too long. It’s only until recently that I managed to stand on my own.” 

“And yet you were showing off,” you remark with a roll of your eyes.

“I wanted our first kiss to be a good one." 

Something about his abrupt confession has you redden down to the tips of your toes, heat tingling like electricity down your back while his hand grasps yours to tug you closer. You look down at him and wonder where all the pain has gone, for it seems like Changmin's voice is free from the tension, the earlier pain that had deeply etched grooves onto his features.

But it's not there anymore. His expression ie clear, pure joy glistening through his eyes. You wonder briefly what changed and you can't help but ask, not even bothered by the cold nipping at your fingers.

His eyes soften at your words as his thumb traces random circles over your knuckles, "nothing changed. I just decided that I wouldn't be that person who spends his days being depressed and sad all the time."

"Does it hurt?" You motion towards his legs, "how did you even do it? I know of patients who did the same treatment. It's not easy, you have to go through rehab--"

"Which I did. I took all the pamphlets you gave me, signed up for counselling and physiotherapy. Went everyday until I had blisters along my thighs. It was hard, I almost gave up," he shakes his head, the memory causing his face twist in a slight grimace, "but I wanted to show you. I wanted to show you that I could do it. Y/N, I don't think I've ever been that desperate before. You know that one race you want to win? It felt like that. Like my life depended on it."

His eyes are so intense it makes your breath catch in your throat. Your entire chest constricts. He continues:

"I just wanted to prove to you that I was capable of doing something like that. And along the way, I guess I just felt like...like all this, this felt like living."

And it is. Gone is the weight that bears down on his shoulders. Changmin looks like he's finally breathing again, like he set himself free from the cage of his own mind.

Pride swells within you. It's amazing how far he's come from the broken mess he once was and tears prick ay the corner of your eyes.

Softly, he tugs you down onto his lap and you don't even fight it, allowing your body to give in to the warmth emanating from his chest and the feeling of his face so close to yours.

H pushes away a strand of hair from your forehead, curling it behind your ear. His maroon orbs meet yours, warm and swimming with affection, "I missed you," he murmurs huskily, causing a flurry of tingles down your spine.

"I--" your eyebrows knit together as all the time spent alone comes rushing back to you, "I missed you too."

His thumb rub circles over your cheek, "I’m sorry, I didn't want to hurt you."

"No, it's fine," you pause, hands tightening over his shirt, "I can understand."

"I didn't want to disappoint you--”

"I know.” 

“--And I didn’t want you thinking I was a coward. Or pathetic.” 

“I know, Changmin.” 

A sigh escapes his lips before he buries his face into your neck, breathing in your scent. You shiver in response and heat flushes through your neck upon feeling his lips ghost over your skin, "Am I forgiven then?" He murmurs.

"I guess you are--" the words die halfway up your throat when he presses the softest peck against your pulse point. Breath quickening, your body instinctively tenses as you ask, "what are you doing?"

"Nothing,” you don’t have to see his grin to know it’s there, imprinted on his face. But at this very moment, not even an inch of your brain cares, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him as close as you can. Changmin takes a shaky inhale at your touch as his own hands flutter down your back, the softest of caresses up and down your spine as you hold each other in the coldness of the hospital parking lot. 

"I’m not letting you go again,” the murmur falls past your lips before you can stop them, but you don’t even have time to ponder over the cheesiness of your statement that Changmin’s arms wind so tight around your middle that you are pulled close, his hard frame against your curves. 

You swallow, eyes locking in silent conversation, though it’s not quite silent since the love shining through his maroon orbs is as clear as crystal water. 

He nudges his nose against yours, “I could say the same for you.” 

You smile as he steals another kiss from your lips, not caring that your bodies are freezing, not even thinking about how ridiculous you must look sitting on his lap in the middle of the hospital parking lot.

All you know is that Changmin-- breathing and alive and filled with so much life and energy and hope -- has made his way back to you. And that you’re not about to let go. 

[lifeofkaze]

An Art of Balance #2

A/N: Chapter 2, here you go. I can’t believe how much I missed writing, let me tell you :D Also, looking at my draft and at how high the word counts for every chapter I’ve written so far turned out… we’re in for a long one, hope you’ll stay with me through it. Enjoy!

Warning: mild swearing, use of alcohol

 Word Count: ~ 2.700

______________________________________________________________ 

Chapter 2: Secrets Spilt

Orion leaned back contently, supporting his weight on the bench with his hands and let his gaze wander through the Great Hall. It was looking magnificent as ever, packed to the brim with students new and old, chatting excitedly, the air humming with positive energy. They had just finished their welcome feast and waited for the new first years to be escorted to their common rooms, so the older students could follow up.

He felt a smile spread on his face. As much as he appreciated the summer break to reset and focus on himself, there was nothing quite like coming back to what was home to him. He looked at each of his friends around him, grateful for having found so many people over the last years he considered his family.

A group of newly sorted Gryffindors walked past, being ushered along by Gryffindor’s newest prefect. Charlie Weasley, star of the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Orion eyed him up curiously. He was undeniably gifted when it came to playing seeker. As a matter of fact, Orion wouldn’t put a professional career past his abilities. If they wanted to have a chance to win the House Cup once again, they had better watch out for him.

When he passed where Lizzie was sitting, he nonchalantly saluted her with two fingers put to his forehead and grinned. Lizzie stuck her tongue out to him before she started laughing and waved back. Charlie gave her a wink and continued along after his brother Bill and their charges. Orion noticed Skye giving Lizzie a glum look.

“Stop that, Jameson, this is competition you’re flirting with.”

“I wasn’t flirting, I was waving at a friend. Get a grip, Skye,” Lizzie snapped at her, clearly exasperated.

Skye only snorted at that. “Whatever. He’s in another house and on top on another team. You can be nice to him all you want, once we’ve shown Gryffindor the ropes on the pitch.”

“What if we’re playing them last, do you expect me not to talk to one of my best friends for the whole year or what?” Lizzie shot her an angry glance. “Besides, if you weren’t so consumed with seeing everyone as competition, you could actually benefit from me being friends with him. He is excellent on his broom. I bet he could even show you a trick or two.”

Skye bristled up at that and Orion felt resignation set in. He had hoped Lizzie and Skye would last at least a week until their inevitable bickering commenced. Although they had been playing on the same team for so many years, their different approach to the sport they both loved so much invariably led to tensions. Tensions that were his responsibility as the team’s captain to resolve.

“Everyone has their strengths as well as their weaknesses. We should not concentrate on others but focus on how we can overcome our weak sides to rise stronger than before.” He leaned over the table pushing the two girls glaring at each other gently apart. “It is no use to fight amongst ourselves when we have a common goal to achieve.”

“He’s right, you know,” Penny agreed happily. “I’ve had enough of the Cup being dressed in blue and bronze already. You two be nice to each other and take it back for us.”

Much to his surprise, Skye actually let it rest at that, only muttering a stubborn “They could show me shit, Jameson, as if…” but Lizzie wasn’t listening to her anymore. Rowan was walking past with their new housemates in tow and Lizzie jumped up, walking over to her. Though Orion couldn’t hear what they said, he saw Lizzie return of few moments later, looking puzzled and Rowan leaving with the first years.

He opened his mouth to ask what was bothering her but was cut short by McNully announcing Hufflepuff’s first years to have been the last of them and it being high time they left for their common room as well.

*

Saying he was relieved to finally be able to get out of his school uniform would have been an understatement. He shrugged into his battered coat, running his hand over the worn fabric. It had been with him for so long it almost felt part of his identity. Orion felt himself relaxing more and more. Laying back on his bed, arms crossed behind his head, he closed his eyes and let the familiar smell of warm wood and the fire from the common room wash over him.

This was home.

The other boys sharing the dorm with him were still gathered around the giant fireplace, but he didn’t mind. Although they were about to start their sixth year together, he didn’t really feel connected to them. The only exception was McNully, who shared his passion about Quidditch, albeit in quite a different way.

He propped himself up on his side and reached over to his nightstand, where he had put up pictures of his team he had collected over the course of the years. Picking up the first one he could reach, he fell back again, letting his mind wander back to the glaringly hot day the photograph had been taken. It was a snapshot of the team celebrating a last-minute win against Ravenclaw two years ago. He could almost feel the heat of the sun on his skin as he looked at the exhilarated faces of his friends. The sudden burst of joy mixed with relief of not being shot out of the race for the Cup had even let Skye forget the fight she had had with Lizzie at the time, both girls having one arm around the other’s shoulder, grinning like mad up at him.

A soft sigh escaped him. As much as he valued his friendship with both of them, Skye and Lizzie could both be a handful, especially when disagreeing with each other. Where Skye was peculiar with her subordinating every aspect of her life to Quidditch and expecting everybody else to do the same, Lizzie was extremely prickly when she felt herself or one of her friends being attacked. Most of the times their quarrel was nothing more than that and they quickly returned to being friends, but every so often it would turn into a downright fight.

Orion looked up when he heard the door opening and the soft noise of McNully’s wheelchair approaching him.

“Taking a trip down memory lane?” McNully came to a halt next to him, looking curiously at the picture Orion was holding in his hands.

“Yes, setting my mind for all the things that need to be done for the new season.”

McNully leaned closer, eyes shining excitedly. “And there are a lot of these! You need to find a new beater, scout out what the other teams are up to, assess their strengths and weaknesses- “

“Good to see you have already worked out my whole schedule,” Orion interrupted him flatly.

McNully gracefully ignored the rare sarcasm in his friend’s voice. “What did you expect, I had the whole summer to think about this. And if you want to know, I do think Gryffindor will be your hardest contender for the top. Contrary to us, their team remains unchanged and they only lost to us last year due to circumstances that are highly improbable to repeat themselves.”

Fading his voice out, Orion’s mind went back to what had happened in the Great Hall earlier. McNully was right. None of the other houses should be underestimated, but he had a feeling Gryffindor maybe deserved the closest look out of all of them. Although he really wouldn’t like to admit it out loud, in some way Skye had a point.

He looked over at McNully, lost in thought. “Do you think Lizzie and Charlie being so close could be a problem for us? Got any statistics for me on inter-house friendships influencing performance? Or was Skye overreacting earlier?”

The blond wizard only laughed. “Hey, don’t ask me about inter-personal relationships, especially regarding your teammates. After all,” and he rolled over to his own bed, smiling innocently, “I’m just your ever impartial commentator.”

 ***

 Lizzie’s face hurt from laughing. She leaned back against her bed post and wiped a tear from her eye while Tonks stopped her impersonation of Professor McGonagall, turning her face back into its original state. She reached for the bottle of cherry liquor they had been passing around. Shaking it gently she listened to the remainders of the liquid slosh inside.

“Uh-oh, girls, we’re almost done.” She set the bottle to her lips, emptying it in one big gulp.

“Oi, Tonks, let us in on the fun!” Skye protested but Tonks only grinned and burped before tossing her the empty bottle.

Lizzie felt herself giggling again, giddy from the alcohol coursing through her body.

Penny, who sat next to her, leaned forward and snatched the bottle out of Skye’s hands. Her cheeks were flushed and her voice already had slight slur to it. “To mark the occasion of me having my favourite girls ever back, how about a round of good old truth-and-dare?”

Everybody groaned but got up anyway and sat down in a circle on the floor. Penny placed the bottle in the middle and got her wand out.

“Remember, everyone not telling the truth or chickening out on the dare gets to live with neon green hair for the rest of the week. Except for Tonks who has to go with a boring colour of her choice.”

To emphasise the stakes, Tonks let her hair change colour, showcasing such a bright green it actually hurt to look at her.

Lizzie felt the familiar tingling on her skin as Penny cast the spell on them. She glanced sideways at Rowan, who didn’t look to keen on the prospect of the game, but said nothing. Maybe it would loosen her up a bit.

Penny spun the bottle. It came to rest on Tonks, who confidently chose a dare. Penny thought about it for a second. “I dare you to prank Madam Pince before the end of the week. “

Tonks laughed out loud. “Consider it done. And here was me thinking this was about something I don’t want to do.” She spun the bottle again, this time it stopped pointing at Lizzie. She tensed a little bit.

“Alright, Lizzie, truth or dare?”

Lizzie remembered the last time she had chosen the dare vividly. They had made her lecture Snape on every detail about her hair care routine, complete with a recommendation of her favourite shampoo. It had cost her ten house points, detention and a good chunk of her dignity.

Considering that, she really had no choice. “Truth, I guess. I’m too scared of you, Tonks.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you, we’re only on warm up. Have you been kissed before?”

Lizzie felt a blush creep up her face. Avoiding her friends’ curious faces she looked up at the ceiling. “Yes.”

“What?!” Penny shrieked, gripping her arm. “Who? When? Don’t be a buzzkill, tell us everything!”

Lizzie shook her head. “Not a chance.”

“You have to tell us!” Tonks complained. “You have to answer my question!”

“I know. I did. You didn’t ask for any details, so I have to tell you bugger all.” Ignoring Tonks’ pout, she grabbed the bottle and quickly spun it. She could feel Rowan’s eyes resting on her and felt a little guilty. She hadn’t even told her best friend about her first kiss.

She could still feel Rowan watching her while she dared Skye walking into the Great Hall at breakfast like a chicken but when she looked over, Rowan quickly dropped her gaze.

“Well, Lizzie, looks like it’s you again.”

She looked back to the middle of the circle where the bottle pointed at her for the second time.

Brilliant. She already pictured herself giving Snape an additional lecture on conditioner. She sighed. “Dare.”

Skye blinked innocently at her. “Smashing. I dare you to tell us who your first kiss was with.”

Lizzie looked at her dumbfounded. Tonks and Skye high-fived, looking thoroughly pleased with themselves.

“This is not how his game is working,” Lizzie protested helplessly.

“Yes, it is. Now spill the beans!” Skye replied smugly.

For a second, Lizzie contemplated how she would look with green hair, but with another glance at Tonks’s radiantly glowing head, she gave in to the inevitable.

Covering her face with her hands, she mumbled something incomprehensible.

Skye put a hand to her hear. “Sorry, can’t hear you!”

Exasperated, Lizzie threw her head back and exclaimed, “Alright, it was Charlie Weasley! There you have it!”

Her friends’ reactions came all at once. Penny was squealing, whereas Skye was glaring at her, yelling “Jameson, seriously?!”. Tonks was laughing her head off.

“I can’t believe it, Dragon Boy got himself a girlfriend!” she roared.

Lizzie fiercely shook her head. “Merlin, no, don’t you get any ideas! It was just that one kiss, nothing more. It was Christmas, there was a mistletoe and that is it! End of story!”

Penny couldn’t contain herself with excitement. “You two spent Christmas together? How come I never knew? Lizzie, you have to tell me everything. Right. Now.”

Again, Lizzie buried her face in her hands. Suddenly the prospect of lecturing Snape didn’t sound so bad.

Suddenly Rowan spoke up next to her. “You heard what she said. It was nothing serious and the dare is fulfilled. Leave her alone.”

Surprised, Lizzie looked over to her. For the first time that evening, Rowan smiled at her, albeit it was somewhat restrained.

She got up. “In fact, I think we’ve all had enough. Let’s call it a day, shall we?” With that, she snatched the bottle from the floor, grabbed her things from her bed and left the room.

*

Lizzie had been tossing and turning for over an hour now, listening to Skye softly snoring in the bed to her right. She absentmindedly ran her fingers through Mouse’s thick fur, who was rolled into a tight ball against her stomach. After returning from home, it always took her a few nights to get accustomed to sharing her room with other people again.

When she heard Rowan getting out of bed on her other side, she propped herself up onto her elbows. She could see her friend tiptoeing over to the dresser at the far end of the room, pouring herself a glass of water.

Lizzie watched her silhouette quietly. Better get this over with now.

She waited until her friend returned before turning to her side.

“Rowan?” she whispered quietly.

She could see the other girl looking up, although her features were indiscernible in the darkness.

“Lizzie? Can’t sleep, can you?”

“Yeah.” Rowan knew she always had trouble falling asleep for the first few nights. “Can I ask you something?”

Rowan didn’t answer immediately. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were made a prefect?”

“Why didn’t you tell me about you and Charlie?” she retorted. Lizzie could hear the hurt in her best friend’s voice.

She sighed softly. “I’m sorry, I know should have. We just thought, keeping this between ourselves would prevent stupid rumours from spreading. It was just for fun.”

Rowan didn’t reply at first. Then, “It’s alright.”

“Now you. Why didn’t you tell me about the prefect thing?”

“This has nothing to do with you personally, really. It’s just… you have gotten so absorbed into this whole Quidditch world; I feel like I can’t keep up. Sometimes it’s like I’m not that big a part of your life anymore, Liz.”

Lizzie felt a punch of sadness at her words. And a tad guilty as well. “You could have told me anytime. You are my best friend, Rowan, you are part of everything I do.”

Although she couldn’t see her face, she heard the smile in Rowan’s voice. “That’s good to know.”

They were both silent for a bit.

“Rowan?”

“Hm?” she replied sleepily.

“Thanks for helping me out earlier.”

“Sure. Good night, Lizzie.”

“Good night.”

Lizzie snuggled herself into her blanket, moving Mouse a little bit to make herself more comfortable. She couldn’t shake the feeling there was something Rowan had not told her. But before she could think on it any further, she had already drifted off to sleep.

[supernatural---imagines]

Girlfriend Part 3:  Just One Night (Dean Imagine)

Series Summary: Sam’s suspicious behaviour has you and Dean curious enough to follow him, to find out he is meeting with a Demon in secret leaves you both in shock. Based on S4 demon blood story line with a darker ending.

Pairings: Dean X Reader, Sam X Ruby, Sam X Reader (platonic)

Chapter Summary: You and Dean have grown closer, but a mysterious call from Sam after 6 months brings an unexpected bump in the road. (Again, you don’t have to have read the other parts of the story to read this, it’s just based off Sam’s s4 demon blood story.)

MASTERLIST 

It had been 6 months since you found out about Sam, Ruby, the blood. You and Dean had became much closer, an “unofficial official couple” you had named it. You slept in the same bed, told each other you loved them, but for the most part it was very on the down low, and not a lot of romance.

The motel door opening grabbed your attention from your phone as you sat on the end of the bed. You had been looking at a text you sent to Sam two weeks ago.

Please call me back Sam. We we’re best friends, and know I barley know you. I am so worried.  

He never responded. That hurt your heart a little.

Dean came busting through the door with a brown paper bag of grocery's in one arm, and a six pack of beer in the other. He had a grin on his face as he entered, and leaned down to kiss your temple on the way past to the kitchen counter. He set everything down and reached into his back pocket.

“Here babe” He spoke to you as he held out a $100 bill. You got up off the bed confused. You took it from him sheepishly.

“What is this for?” You looked at him with furrowed brows.

“We just cleaned up a case yesterday, nothing on the radar, nothing from Bobby. We deserve a stress free night, no monsters. So i’m going to cook something nice, then were going to hit that little bar around the corner.” He guided your body towards his by the sides of your arms. You reached around his neck and pressed your body close, the bill still in your hand.

“While I get it all ready, you’re going to go out and get yourself a sexy little number and get dolled up. I know it’s been a while.” He explained before stealing a kiss.

“You know technically this is our first date.”

“I know. You’ve been so patient with me and with everything that’s been going on with Sam..” His face dropped for a moment when he said his brothers name. He hadn’t seen him since the big confrontation with him and Ruby. He had spoken on the phone once or twice, but Dean couldn’t bare to see him destroying himself with the blood and he made him chose. Sam chose the blood.

“You’re so sweet for doing this.” You gently guided his lips to yours while your fingers ran through his hair. He breathed you in deeply.

“Get out of here” He pecked once more before letting go. You turned around to leave and Dean smacked your ass with an eruption of laughter. You rolled your eyes and smiled as you left the motel room.

You borrowed the impala and drove to the nearest department store and picked out a black body con dress which hugged you in all the right places to accent your curves which you knew would have Dean turn to putty. All he ever saw you in was baggy layers, so anytime you did dress up, even before you got together, he was always left drooling.

You grabbed it from the sale rack along with a new lipstick and mascara. You paid, leaving not a lot of change, and headed back to your boyfriends car. Your phone was laying on the passenger seat and you took a quick glance over at it.

Missed Call: Sam (2)

How did that happen? he hadn’t spoken in months, no longer responded to your texts, but now suddenly there was two missed calls. He must be in real trouble. You started to panic and with shaky hands you called him back. No answer. You tried again, and again. Then you text.

Are you OK? Please answer.

Then you rang once more. Still no answer. You decided it was best to get straight back to the motel and speak to Dean, find out if he had heard anything.

You arrived back and the smell of Deans cooking was a nice greeting, much better than the musty damp scent the motels usually had. You set your bag down on the bed

“Dean, did Sam call?” You asked in a panicked tone rushing over to him.

“No.” He responded sternly, not once looking up from the pot of food his focus was on.

“I had two missed calls and then now he won’t pick up.” You explained.

“And?” Dean turned to look at you with a blank expression.

“What if he’s in trouble?”

“He got himself into trouble the moment he started drinking demon blood” He turned away again.

“No I mean what if he’s hurt?”

“Then Bobby will handle it!” He yelled and dropped the pot on top of the stove. You jumped a little, and when he turned round to see your feared expression, he softened.

“Look, he made his decision 6 months ago. He chose a demon over his own brother, over his best friend.” He gently moved towards you and took your hands. “I am done protecting him. He is a big boy, clearly. He will take care of himself. I just want one stress free night y/n... please.”

“Alright”. You closed your eyes and took in a deep breath. You knew Dean still wanted his baby brother, but not the version of him that was existing now. He was still grieving the Sam he knew, the one he raised, and that would take time. You understood. But at the same time, you still felt as if you should keep reaching out. However, tonight was not the night.

“I’ll drop it. We can enjoy our first proper date. Let me go get tidied up.” You smiled as Dean’s body relaxed at your words. He squeezed your hands and offered you a thank you in the form of a smile.

You left for the bathroom to get changed and put on a bit of make-up. It was hard to keep Sam off your mind, you had to keep telling yourself off every time you thought of him. Even thought you were only alone for 30 minutes, he popped into your head countless times. You told yourself you would call Bobby in the morning to find out if he’s OK, he still kept in contact with Sam. Barley.

You came out of the bathroom and were shocked to see the lights off and the room filled with candles. Dean was in his FBI suit, the only one he owned, serving the plates on to the table which was draped in a cheap paper tablecloth. He had made a chicken dish which smelled amazing. He looked up at you when he heard the door close behind you and his jaw dropped.

“Damn you look amazing” He beamed as he walked towards you.

“You too.” You grinned at him.

He placed your hand in his and led you a few feet to the table, twirling you on the way. He pulled out your chair and pushed you in before taking his own. Your legs intertwined with each others under the tiny table, which was barley big enough to hold the plates and drinks Dean had squeezed on. You started on the food and we’re surprised at how nice it was considering what he had to work with.

“This is really good Dean!”

“I am a man of many talents.” He spoke with a mouth full of food making you snicker a little.

“So, what do you do for a living?” Dean asked.

“Huh?” You looked at him.

“It’s a first date!” He explained

“Oh!” You caught on.  “Well I hunt monsters with this really tough, hot, scary monster killer. You better not let him find out about this date.” You jested. 

“Oh yeah?” Dean played along. “What’ll he do?” 

“He’s very protective over me. And he’d totally kick your ass.” 

“Is that right?” He smirked as his hand started to make it’s way up your thigh under the table. It took you by surprise, and butterflies started growing in your stomach and his hand slipped under your dress. You looked into his eyes, mischievous as ever as he bit down on his lip and you parted your legs slightly for him. His hand was inching closer to your panties when your phone rang across the room. 

“Don’t answer” Dean pleaded.

“I’m sorry” You stood up from the table and picked up your phone, your heart skipped a beat when you saw Sam’s name on the screen. 

“It’s Sam” you gasped. You didn’t wait for a reaction from Dean before you answered. 

“Sammy are you OK?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure, are you hurt?”

“I’m OK I promise. But I need your help”

“What is it?”

“I can’t tell you until you get here.”

“When? I’m in the middle of something” You looked over at Dean who shook his head before taking a swig of his beer. 

“Like right now. What state are you in?”

“We’re in Kansas” Dean left his seat and stood beside you to listen. 

“I’m only in Oklahoma. Please, Y/N I need you on this.” 

“Sam I-”

“I’ll text the address.” He hung up. You dropped the phone on the bed and sighed running your hand through your hair. Dean took a few steps back and looked at you waiting for answers. 

“Dean what do I do?” You asked, to your surprise welling up instantly. Dean walked away and bowed his head, pinching the bridge of his nose to keep himself calm. You could see his clenching jaw from the side and you knew he wouldn’t want you to go. 

“It’s Sam.” You pushed. 

“Is it though?” He spun on his heel and paced back closer to you. “You don’t hear from him for weeks, months, now all of a sudden he needs you help with what? a case? Lilith?” 

“He didn’t say.” You whimpered, preparing yourself for the inevitable argument. 

“All I wanted was one frigging stress free night! Just you and me!” He roared. You didn’t answer him. 

“I don’t want to fight. But if you leave now and go see him.. this is over.” Dean spoke lowly. The tears tripped down your cheeks as the words came out of Dean’s mouth. You could see in his eyes he hurt to say it.

“He’s your baby brother. You can’t give up on him.” You pleaded with Dean. 

“Y/N, he’s a monster. It’s been 6 months, do we know if he’s even still human?”

“You don’t mean that.” You breathed sharply to control your emotion. Dean wandered to the bed and he began to cry, his shoulder slouched as his arms resting on his knees caught his face. You sat beside him and placed your hand on his back, rubbing in gentle circular motions. 

“If I see him, and he’s not? If he’s not fully human any more? I’ll have to kill him.” He looked at you with tears streaming, causing your own to start up again. 

“I understand. I do. But I care so much for him and I won’t forgive myself if I don’t even at least find out what is going on” 

He didn’t respond. He fell back on the bed and buried his face in the crook of his elbow. Sam stuff hit him hard. You wiped away tears many times in the past 6 months, and he had done the same for you. That’s what hurt him now, he had told you his fears about Sam and why he had to cut him out, but you still wanted to see him anyway. 

“He’s my family too. And if it’s a trap or whatever.. then I’ll get out.” You explained. He still stayed silent. You got up from the bed and swapped the cheap heels you had on for your boots. You grabbed one of Dean’s shirts that was lying on top of his duffle and put it over your little black dress. Eventually Dean stood up from the bed, taking off his suit jacket and walking towards you as you stood by the door. He placed his palm on the back of your neck and searched into your eyes. 

“Please. Don’t” He begged. You pressed your lips to his, still wet from the tears. You completely drank him in, knowing this could be the last time you ever kiss him. He reciprocated hard, he was trying to give you a reason to stay. You broke the kiss and stepped back from his grip.

“I have to. I’m sorry.” You walked out the motel door and closed it behind you. You leaned against the door for a moment to catch your breath when you heard thumping on the wall. You knew it was Dean, he didn’t know how to handle his anger. You wanted to be there so badly for him, and you would be if he lets you when you get back. But Sam first. 

READ PART 4

[prouvaireafterdark]

Our Heaven's Worth the Waiting

Here’s my take on @pastelwitchling‘s prompt! I also mixed in an anonymous prompt I got for Max and Michael talking about his feelings for Alex ‘cause it fit really well. Hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I didn't write Michael's poem in this fic, the credit for that goes entirely to Vlamis himself.

Also, while I wouldn't consider this fic anti-Maria, Alex is a little petty and there's a blink-and-you-miss-it reference to 2x06, which did not happen in the universe of this fic, so make of that what you will.

Also on AO3!

***

Max Evans doesn’t know much right now, but he can spot bullshit when he sees it. And this? This is bullshit.

From his and Isobel’s table, he’s watched Michael flirt his way through the evening, leaning hard against the Wild Pony’s bar with a bright smile aimed right at Maria DeLuca. He looks happy, his shoulders a little lighter, until Maria goes to get something from the back and Alex Manes walks into the bar with a hipster on his arm.

If looks could kill, Max is pretty sure this blue-haired guy would be six feet under. It’s probably for the best that he skips the bar and heads for a table near the front of the open mic stand, dropping a kiss on Alex’s cheek before he goes.

Alex talks to Michael briefly and Max clocks the way the airman tries not to let his eyes linger on the wide spread of Michael’s thighs over his barstool while he waits for his drinks.

He doesn’t miss the way Michael digs his right thumb into the black bandana covering his palm when Alex leaves, pressing so hard it has to hurt.

Maria comes out from the back room with a box of straws and that million watt smile reappears, almost like it was never gone in the first place.

“Is he always like this?” Max finds himself asking.

There’s a pause where Isobel follows his line of sight to Michael, now leaning over the bar to help himself to Maria’s whiskey while she takes an order.

Isobel laughs. “God, even without your memories you’re such a fucking cop. Don’t worry, she’ll make him pay for it one way or another.”

Max turns to see an amused smile on her face.

“No, I mean…” he starts, struggling for the right words. “Is he always pretending?”

Isobel frowns and glances back at Michael, her head tilted in confusion.

“Nevermind,” Max shakes his head, taking a sip from his beer. “Maybe I’m imagining it.”

Except he isn’t.

Max watches Michael and Alex dance around each other, trading glances when they think no one’s looking. He watches Michael throw himself at Maria that much harder one night after he and Alex fight, and he watches Michael’s heart break when that blue-haired guy—named Forrest, he’s since discovered—snakes his fingers up the back of Alex’s shirt like he owns him.  

He watches until, one night, he just can’t take it anymore.

“We’re brothers, right?” Max starts, leaning against a cabinet full of complicated medical equipment.

“Uh, yeah, man,” Michael gives him a weird look.

“We talk to each other about things then?” Max presses.

Michael laughs. “Not really.”

“Hm.” Max isn’t quite sure how his past self fucked that up, but he’s hoping he’ll be able to fix it. “Well, can we? ‘Cause there’s something I don’t really understand.”

Michael shrugs and turns back to his equipment. “Okay, shoot.”

Max takes a deep breath and decides to just go for it. “Why are you with Maria when you’re clearly in love with Alex?”

Michael freezes for so long that Max thinks he broke him for a second. “Are you fucking with me right now?” he asks at last, brow drawn tight with something that looks a little like betrayal. “Do you have your memories back?”

“Um, no,” Max says regretfully. “But I do have eyes.”

Michael sighs heavily and tosses the pipette he was holding onto the table, placing his hands flat against the surface. His head hangs between his shoulders, but he doesn’t say anything.

Max waits patiently.

“I don’t—“ Michael starts, but cuts himself off like he just can’t get the words out. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You wouldn’t even know your own name if we hadn’t told you.”

Max’s mouth twists unhappily at the deflection. “Okay, but—“

“Leave it alone, Max,” Michael interrupts, a little desperately. “I’m with Maria. I like Maria. Isn’t that enough?”

The door to the secret lab opens before Max can respond.

“Hope you boys are hungry!” Liz calls as she walks over the threshold, arms laden with takeout bags from the Crashdown. Her thick, dark hair is tossed over one shoulder, and her lipstick is a distracting shade of red. “There was a mix-up with an order at the diner and I have a truly absurd amount of fries.”

Max smiles at her, stunned into silence just long enough for Michael to weasel his way of their conversation.

A week later, Max remembers who he is.

He also remembers his brother’s a goddamn idiot, and Max is determined to save him from himself.

“You want me to what?” Michael asks him, pushing himself out from under the car he’s working on to give Max an incredulous look.

“Well, you can’t exactly see a therapist,” Max says, a little defensively.

“So you want me to write a poem about my feelings?”

Max rolls his eyes at the disbelief dripping from Michael’s voice.

“It works, okay?” Max says. Michael keeps staring at him. “If writing something honest about what you’re feeling will make you breathe a little easier, why not give it a try?”

Michael stands up, dusting his hands off on his jeans as he stalks off toward the bench his mid-afternoon beer is sitting on. He takes a long pull from the bottle instead of giving him an answer.

“Michael,” Max sighs.

“Why won’t you drop this?” he asks, rounding on Max.

“Because I love you, and I want you to be happy,” Max says, amazed and a little offended that that needs an explanation.

“Maria makes me happy,” Michael protests.

“Does she?” Max asks, taking a step closer. “Or does she just distract you from the things you’d rather not think about?”

Michael glares at him.

“Look, do it or don’t,” Max says, laying a hand on Michael’s shoulder. “But you’re gonna have to deal with this eventually, and for your sake I hope it’s not too late when you do.”

When he turns to leave, Michael doesn’t stop him.

This is stupid, Michael thinks, laying on his bed with a notebook open on his chest. Max is stupid and I’m stupid for listening to him.

With a sigh, Michael rolls over and closes his eyes, shoving his face in his pillow. It smells faintly of Maria’s perfume, but his mind inevitably drifts to Alex, to that morning when he woke up to Alex kissing his chest and Michael forgot he lived in a world where he wasn’t allowed to have nice things.

It’s ridiculous. Ten fucking years, and he’s still reeling from Alex Manes.

Michael reaches for his notebook. Once he starts writing, the words flow out of him.

The fire crackles in front of him, a folded up piece of paper tight in his grip. He tries to make himself put it in the flames, but his fingers won’t obey him. What will be left, he wonders, if he burns away the part of him that loves Alex Manes?

His phone buzzes in his pocket. It’s a text from Maria.

Can I come over? I need you tonight.

Michael’s mouth twists as his finger wipes over the screen. Max might think Maria’s just a distraction, but she’s—it’s more than that. After losing Alex, losing his mom, losing Max… she’s the only person who doesn’t make him feel useless. That’s gotta count for something, right?

But he won’t fuck her in the bed that makes him think of Alex. Not tonight.

I’ll come to you, he types back, standing up from his seat in front of the fire. He puts it out and slips the folded piece of paper into the back pocket of his jeans before heading to his truck.

He can be good for Maria, and that’s enough. It has to be.

Michael wakes up the next morning alone in Maria’s bed. He picks his clothes up off the floor, tugging them on roughly. It’s not until he puts his phone in his back pocket that he notices it’s empty.

His head whips back and forth, scanning the floor for any trace of that piece of paper. He looks everywhere, even under the bed.

Nothing.

With a nervous swallow, he leaves the bedroom and walks down the hall toward the kitchen. He sees Maria sitting at her kitchen table with a mug of coffee and a bottle of Jack. He tries to keep the panic out of his voice when he asks, “Hey, have you seen—“

The words die in his throat when Maria fixes him with a red-rimmed glare. It’s then he notices the unfolded piece of notebook paper in front of her.

Michael’s stomach turns to lead, an intensely violated feeling creeping under his skin. She wasn’t supposed to read that. No one was supposed to read that.

“Look, I can explain,” he tries, but she scoffs at him.

“Fuck you, Guerin,” she says, crumpling the paper and throwing it at him. It bounces off his chest and lands on the floor.

Michael leans down to scoop the ball of paper up off the terra cotta tile, shoving it deep in his pocket before he takes a step closer to her.

“Maria, it’s not—“

“Have you been fucking him behind my back this whole time?” she interrupts, looking up at him.

“What? No, Maria, come on,” Michael says, bristling at the accusation. “I wouldn’t do that to you. I would never do that.”

“Oh, okay,” she says, but he can tell from her tone she’s still furious. “So you won’t actually fuck my best friend, just write romantic poetry about him. Got it.”

Michael doesn’t know what to say to that. He doesn’t think there’s anything he can say to that. He stands there, eyes on his boots, hands on his hips.

“When did you write it?” she asks a moment later, her poorly-constructed veneer of calm failing to mask the storm of rage and hurt he can see swirling behind her eyes when he meets her gaze again.

“What does it matter? I was just going to throw it out—“

“When?” she asks again.

He sighs, defeated, and looks at the ceiling when he admits, “Last night.”

It’s deadly quiet while Maria processes that bombshell.

“Get out,” she says at last, her voice cold and angry.

“Maria, I’m so—“

“Get out!” she screams suddenly, startling him. “Get out, Guerin! God, I can’t believe I thought you actually cared about me, I’m so fucking stupid.”

“I do care about you!”

“Not like you care about Alex, though, right? I mean, Jesus, Guerin. ‘Ten years and my heart’s still reeling’?”

“Please don’t,” Michael begs, unable to bear hearing his own words thrown back in his face.

“How the fuck can I compete with that?” she demands. “Why even let me try?”

“It’s not a competition,” he says.

Maria laughs harshly.

“It’s not, okay?” he insists. “I like you.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she says, her tears beginning to fall. “But you don’t love me.”

She lets that hang in the air between them, as if waiting for Michael to deny it. He doesn’t. He can’t.

“Get the fuck out of my house, Guerin,” she says, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“Maria,” he pleads, though for what he isn’t sure.

“Now,” she says. “And find somewhere else to drown your sorrows. You’re not welcome at the Pony anymore.”

Michael leaves without another word.

Max is only slightly surprised when he comes home to find Michael on his couch, head in his hands with his cowboy hat and a bottle of bourbon on the coffee table in front of him. He hangs his own hat on the hook by the door and slowly walks over to his brother.

“Michael?” he asks softly.

“I fucked up, Max,” he says, voice thick with emotion. His eyes stay fixed on the floor between his feet.

“Is this about Maria?” he asks as delicately as he can. “Liz told me you two had a fight,” he adds, which is really putting it mildly. He wasn’t privy to all the gory details, but he’d heard enough.

Michael shakes his head and laughs, but it comes out more like a sob.

“It probably should be, but no.”

“Ah,” Max nods in understanding as he carefully sits down beside him. “It’s about Alex.”

Michael reaches for the open bottle of bourbon on the coffee table. He takes a long pull before he answers.

“Yeah,” he sniffs. “God, I’m such an asshole. I broke her heart and all I can think about is Alex. Why is it always about Alex?”

“He’s your Liz,” Max explains, bumping Michael’s shoulder with his own. “You love him.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Maybe,” Max says, “but that’s not how love works.”

“You some kind of expert?” Michael turns to look at him, his eyes wet.

“Hey, you’re not the only alien around here with an advanced degree in pining,” he jokes, but Michael just sighs heavily and tips backward into the couch cushions to stare at the ceiling.

“I’ve wasted so much time,” he says, mournfully. Max watches a thick tear roll from the corner of his eye into his ear. “I think… I think it might be too late.”

“You won’t know until you talk to him.”

“I can’t do that,” he protests. “He’s with someone now.”

“Well, how long are you willing to wait for him?”

Michael takes a deep breath before he answers, “As long as it takes.”

“Then tell him that,” Max says.

Michael looks unconvinced.

“Just take it one step at a time, okay?” Max says. “When you’re ready, tell him how you feel.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Easy? Hell no,” Max says with a sympathetic smile. “But the best things never are.”

The sun is setting low in the sky when Alex pulls up to Michael’s Airstream, summoned by an enigmatic text from the alien asking him to meet. Given that barely anyone has seen Michael in almost two weeks, Alex feels justified in his relief to see Michael sitting in a lawn chair in front of his fire pit.

“There you are,” Alex comments as he approaches. Michael smiles at him. “You know, next time you decide to drop off the face of the Earth, a heads up would be nice.”

“What, you miss me?” Michael asks, flashing him that cocky grin. Alex has to fight not to blush. Truth be told, if he wasn’t getting regular updates from Max of all people that Michael was okay, Alex would’ve tracked him down himself.

“Maybe,” Alex shrugs, giving him a smile of his own as he takes a seat next to him. “What were you up to?”

“This and that,” Michael says. “Fixed some cars, did some research, went on a road trip for a couple days…”

“Oh?” Alex asks. “Where to?”

“Santa Fe.”

Alex laughs. “That’s not very far.”

“Didn’t want to be too far,” Michael explains. “In case something happened, you know? I just needed to get away for a while. Clear my head.”

“Did it work?” Alex asks.

Michael licks his bottom lip before he nods. “Yeah, it did.”

“Good,” Alex smiles. “I’m happy for you.”

“Thanks,” he replies.

There’s a lull in the conversation while Michael goes to get another log for the fire. Alex watches him, really lets himself look. His unruly curls have gotten brighter from exposure to the sun, and his clothes—unstained, for once—fit his lean frame nicely. He looks good. Really good.

Alex is about to ask him why he’s here when Michael settles back in his seat and speaks again.

“So how’s, um, how’s Forrest?” Michael asks hesitantly, like he really doesn’t want to know.

Alex winces at the question. “Not great, probably.”

“Probably?” Michael asks.

“I broke up with him,” Alex admits.

“Oh, really?” Michael leans forward in interest. “When?”

“About a week ago.”

“What’d he do?”

Alex sighs. “You really want to talk about this?”

Michael shrugs. “Unless you don’t want to.”

Alex takes a deep breath before he says, “He told me he loves me.”

Michael’s eyebrows shoot toward his hairline. “Um, wow,” he says, and there’s a pause while he processes that.

“Yeah.” Breaking up with Forrest was hard, but it felt kinder than to string him along, knowing he’d never feel the same way.

“I’m guessing the feeling wasn’t mutual?”

Alex chooses his words carefully. “Forrest is one of the nicest guys I know,” he starts. “He’s thoughtful, and funny, and sweet, and he’ll make someone really happy one day, but… that guy isn’t me.”

Alex watches Michael bite his lip before he asks, “Why not?”

The question makes Alex sigh, his gaze dropping to the fire. “Do you really need to ask?”

When he chances a look over at Michael, he sees his eyes are wide with surprise. Alex swallows hard, needing to change the subject. He can’t listen to Michael reject him again. He just can’t.

“So, what was it you wanted to show me?”

“Right,” Michael says. He looks nervous all of a sudden as he reaches into his pocket and takes out a folded piece of paper.

He stares at it in his hand for a minute, as if mentally preparing himself for something. Alex waits as patiently as he can, though his curiosity is piqued.

“I wrote you something,” Michael says at last, running his fingers over the wrinkled, white surface. Alex’s stomach clenches in nervous anticipation. “Well, I wrote me something, about two weeks ago.”

“Does it have anything to do with why you disappeared?” Alex asks, connecting the dots.

“Yeah,” Michael admits. “I’ve been so… mixed up, lately. After everything that happened with my mom, and Max… I did a lot of dumb shit I shouldn’t have, told myself whatever lies I needed to to make things easier. And I hurt people. I hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” Alex dismisses. After everything his family has done to Michael’s, Alex considers Michael’s anger his cross to bear.

“It’s really not, Alex,” Michael protests softly, his eyes sad. He takes a deep breath and looks back down to the paper in his hands. “Max pushed me to try writing something honest. He said it would help clear all the bullshit in my head.”

“I take it he was right?”

“Yeah,” Michael nods. “And I think… I think it’s time I shared it with you.”

Michael offers the paper to him. Alex takes it, unfolding it carefully as he braces himself for whatever he’s about to read.

Alex scans the first two lines before he looks up abruptly.

“Michael, what—what is this?”

“Just keep reading,” Michael begs him. “Please.”

Alex swallows and looks back at the page.

a veteran move as you limp into frame

longing to be your crutch, I want to consume your pain

so I loosen my belt, a familiar feeling

ten years later and my heart’s still reeling

then you show up on my porch, floating down the stream

while I swim uphill, running out of steam

lies upon lies, thighs upon thighs

love a woman’s touch, but damn that guy

the one who lifted my heaviest sighs with ease

too much pride to beg; I’ll let my looks say please

so ignore my words, this is where I stand

you’re a pretty little liar, and I’m your man

“Michael,” Alex says, his voice trembling when he finishes reading. “What—What does this mean?“ he asks, desperate for an explanation before he gets the chance to hope.

“It means I love you, Alex,” Michael says, and then the words are spilling out of him, “I thought maybe I could leave this thing between us in the past, but I can’t, and—and I don’t know that I want to anymore. I don’t know that I ever really did.”

Alex is stunned into silence, his heart full and aching all at once with the simple, beautiful truth that Michael loves him. He blinks and Michael is on his knees in front of him, reaching for his hands as he looks up at him with eyes the color of smooth bourbon, fresh tears clinging to his lashes.

“Tell me it’s not too late,” Michael sniffs. “Tell me I haven’t lost you.”

“Of course you haven’t lost me,” Alex says, bringing his hand to Michael’s cheek. “I’m right here.”

“Then stay,” he begs, eyes wide and desperate. “Please. I’m asking you to stay.”

Alex leans forward to kiss him, too overwhelmed to answer with words. He pours everything he’s feeling into it and Michael takes everything he has to give. He makes a wounded sound when Alex pulls away, tries to push back into Alex’s space, but Alex stops him with a gentle hand on his collarbone.

“I’m never leaving you again,” Alex promises, looking Michael right in the eye, needing to see him understand how much he means it. “I love you too, Michael. I love you too.”

Tears finally spill down Michael’s cheeks as Alex kisses him again. Michael pushes his way up off the ground and into Alex’s lap, still attached to him at the lips. Alex’s hands slide down his chest to grip his waist, then his hips, holding him firmly.

The cheap chair groans worryingly under their combined weight, just loud enough for Alex to notice through the rushing of blood in his ears. He feels drunk as he pulls back, Michael’s lips leaving his to press needy kisses down the length of his neck.

“Michael,” Alex says. Michael only groans and bites at his throat. Alex’s eyes rolls back into his skull at the sensation, his hand coming up to weave his fingers through Michael’s hair. “Michael,” he says again, this time tugging his head back by his curls so he’s forced to look at him.

Michael’s eyes are dark, intense as he stares down at Alex’s mouth like he wants to devour him whole.

“As much as I don’t want to move right now, I think this chair is going to break,” Alex pants.

“Take me to bed, then,” Michael whispers, sending shivers down his spine.

“You’re gonna have to get off my lap if you want me to do that,” Alex responds, wishing he could just carry him instead so he wouldn’t have to give up the feeling of Michael’s thighs spread over his lap for a single second.

Michael whines, but kisses him once more before sliding off his lap. Alex grabs his hand and lets Michael lead him inside the Airstream.

Once they’re inside, Michael pushes him gently to sit on the edge of his bed. He climbs right back onto his lap, so close their chests are flush together, like he can’t bear the thought of even an inch of space between them.

Alex certainly isn’t complaining, especially not when Michael reaches back a moment later to pull his shirt off. Alex’s hands are on him instantly, savoring that otherworldly heat simmering under Michael’s skin beneath his fingertips. Michael lets out a shuddering breath against his lips at the touch.

“Off,” Michael murmurs when their kiss breaks long enough for him to get the words out. He tugs on the front of Alex’s flannel. “Take this off.”

He leans back to start on the buttons, but he doesn’t move fast enough for Michael, whose fingers grip his collar and pull, buttons flying in every direction like he’s living some kind of bodice-ripper fantasy. Alex doesn’t even have the time to feel put out about his shirt being ruined, Michael’s hands on his chest chasing every other thought right out of his head.

The next thing he knows, his back is hitting the mattress, Michael’s frame weighing him down, caging him in. He feels Michael’s hard cock against his own and he can’t help but pull Michael down harder against him, fingers digging into his ass.

“Fuck,” Michael gasps, grinding down.

Alex keeps kissing him, losing himself to the heat of Michael’s mouth, the softness of his tongue, the occasional bite of his teeth against his bottom lip. It’s nothing short of heaven, and Alex is sure he never wants to feel anything else for the rest of his life.

“Wanna suck your cock so bad,” Michael whines a moment later when he breaks the kiss, rolling his hips against Alex’s a little harder, “but I feel like I’ll die if I stop kissing you.”

The promise of Michael’s hot, wet mouth on his cock makes him throb in his jeans, but Alex shakes his head.

“Later,” Alex pants. “God, Michael, I’ll give you anything you want, just don’t stop kissing me.”

Michael groans before bringing their lips together again in a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth.

“Wait,” Michael gasps when they part again, reaching for his absurdly large belt buckle. He doesn’t bother to take it off, just unbuckles it and gets to work on his jeans.

Alex gets the picture pretty quick. He unbuttons his own jeans and shoves them down his thighs along with his underwear, just far enough to free his aching cock.

Michael licks his palm and takes Alex in hand, hissing when Alex does the same before he leans down to kiss him again, a forearm braced beside Alex’s head to give them just enough space to work. Michael’s cock is hot and hard against his palm, and Alex wishes he could watch the way pre-come leaks from him as he runs his thumb over the sensitive head, spreading the wetness around as he moves.

It’s a heady assault on his senses—the smell of Michael surrounding him, the feel of Michael’s fist tight around his cock, his lips smothering the whimpers Alex can feel in the back of his throat. Alex is coming before he knows it, pleasure twisting hot in his gut as Michael jerks him off fast and rough, just the way he likes it.

When his brain comes back online, Alex uses his own release to slick the way even more as Michael fucks his fist. He barely has the time to say, “Come on, just like that, wanna watch you come,” before Michael is shooting hard against his stomach, gasping against his cheek.

Alex kisses him wherever he can reach as Michael collapses against his chest and trembles through the aftershocks, his clean hand running up and down along his spine.

Michael wakes the next morning to see the love of his life lying on his back next to him, re-reading the poem he wrote about him. He shifts closer to Alex and presses a kiss to his shoulder.

“You’re awake,” Alex says, looking at him with a bright smile.

“You stayed,” Michael says, a fond smile tugging at his mouth.

“Told you,” Alex says, rolling onto his side to face him. “I’m never leaving you again. I’m in this, for real this time.”

Overwhelmed by the confirmation of Alex’s feelings, Michael leans in to press their lips together. The kiss is short and sweet, lasting only a few seconds before Michael pulls back, just to look at him.

“What?” Alex asks, a subtle blush beginning to color his face.

Michael smiles wider. “Nothing,” he says, dropping a kiss on one of his pink cheeks. Alex catches his lips with his own as he pulls back, and Michael is happy to let him.

“This is really good, by the way,” Alex comments when he’s had his fill of kisses for the moment, looking back to the poem. “Forgot to mention that last night.”

“Guess I distracted you, huh,” Michael says, smirking as he eyes the bruise he left on Alex’s neck.

Alex hums in agreement.

“Well, I’m glad you like it,” he says, something in his chest loosening at Alex’s approval.

Alex smiles, but Michael can tell there’s something brewing in his head.

“What?” Michael asks, nudging his chin with his nose.

“I’ve gotta ask… is this the reason you and Maria broke up?” Alex asks, waving the paper in his hand. “I heard it was pretty explosive.”

“Yeah,” Michael grimaces. “She found it in my pocket.”

“Hm,” Alex hums, and a look of smug satisfaction graces his face. “Good.”

“Good?” Michael asks, raising an eyebrow.

“She knows you’re mine now,” Alex says as he shifts to lean over him, his right thigh coming to rest between Michael’s own. Michael shivers as Alex leans in to whisper in his ear, “And I don’t share.”

[benichi]

I played Chou no Doku (so you don’t have to) - True Route

This is the BIG SPOILER route which reveals all the secrets. I decided to post this before anything else though because Majima’s route splits from this one and is easier to understand after knowing everything. Also I actually quite like this route so this post is more on the serious side, but with that out of the way we can have a good time with all the other ones later lol.

The route splits off after Yuriko’s mothers death. If you’d like to read what has happened before check out these posts: (Prologue 1) (Prologue 2) (Mizuhito’s Route 1) (Mizuhito’s Route 2)

Yuriko finally gets the hint that the Chinese Bellflowers are connected to everything that’s been happening. She decides to visit Lady Kyoko, since she’s an old friend of her mother and might know more about the situation than she lets on.

She asks if Kyoko knows anything about Chinese Bellflowers and if they have any connection to her deceased mother. The Lady states that she may know the answer, but in order to be completely sure of her suspicion she asks that Yuriko find her Mother’s diary. Kyoko concludes that the diary must still be around since it held great importance, but is likely hidden somewhere in the Manor.

At home Yuriko immediately starts searching the storehouse...

... and ends up finding some pr0n.

As she’s about to give up and just settle for the pr0n she’s found Yuriko spots a small hamper which, hidden among Kimonos, also holds her Mothers diary.

The diary is from 25 years back. Shigeko writes that she’s in pain, but not unhappy since due to her condition her Brother visits her a lot. Though she also wonders what he thinks of her inevitable marriage. A little later she writes that she misses her Brother and that he will be married soon as well.

There’s more talk of Shigeko being courted by Yuriko’s father and her hate towards the woman her Brother will marry. Eventually she says that she will have to leave her home to visit a “Villa”.

Sweet Home Alabama

Yuriko notes that some of the pages have been ripped out, specifically those about Shigeko’s time at said Villa...

Speaking of Brothers! Mizuhito shows up and asks why his sister decided to pay Lady Kyoko a visit. Yuriko tries to dodge the question, which leads Mizuhito to reveal that the Lady is bisexual and especially interested beautiful people - Yuriko to be precise. He warns that Kyoko isn’t as nice and innocent as she appears. Yuriko ends up getting mad since she clearly needs Kyokos help, so she storms out of the room saying that she’ll definitely be visiting her again the next day.

Mizuhito’s turn to get dragged.

On said next day Lady Kyoko starts to read through the diary, stating that she finds it hard to believe Shigeko would rip out pages herself. The women conclude that whoever is responsible for the missing pages did so in anger, and that they never wanted for anyone to find out about what happened at the Villa. Kyoko exclaims that she’s figured out the connection between the Chinese Bellflowers and what’s been happening - but also suggests that Yuriko find out the truth herself by visiting the Villa.

Once Yuriko arrives at the Villa she asks if there is someone that has been working at the place 25 years ago. It appears that the last person, called Kikuya, who fits that description left the Villa recently but lives nearby. Once at her house Kikuya immediately recognizes that Yuriko is Shigeko’s daughter since she looks just like her.

Kikuya was actually tasked with looking after Shigeko’s brother Kazukiyo and states that the sibling were very... “close”. Yuriko proceeds to ask about what happened 25 years ago which shocks Kikuya. The old women says that Yuriko’s father asked her the exact same question. He came 15 years ago with fire in his eyes, scared of what he might do to her Kikuya told the truth - something she was never supposed to tell anyone. The women can’t bring herself to say it again, which leads to Yuriko stating her thoughts - that her Mother gave birth in that Villa.

Kikuya confirms her suspicion and exclaims that Yuriko’s dad looked like a demon after hearing the truth. Terrified she told him the whereabouts of the child - which had been raised by a Maid like he was her own. The name of that Maid was Kikyo (Chinese Bellflower). Kikuya also confirms that the child called Kiyoshi was indeed born from an incestuous relation between Shigeko and her Brother. She goes on to explain about hearing a rumor that the entire family of said Maid disappeard...

After returning Yuriko decides to finally confront the killer of her parents. She heads to the Servant’s room (alone, of course) to speak with...

Immediately starting off strong. But I mean we know by now that Yuriko has a thing for calling guys she’s into “Brother”. Majima initially tries to laugh it off but stops once he realizes she won’t let things go.

I’m not sure if he means Mizuhito or Kazukiyo but either way he be dragging.

Yuriko tries to exclaim that all the time they’ve spent together couldn’t have been a lie - but Majima states that it was exactly that. He says that Yuriko must have come for a reason, which leads to her saying that she wants him to atone for his crimes by surrendering himself to the police. Majima remarks that he himself has not killed anyone but only pulled the strings. He goes on, wanting to know exactly how Yuriko figured out he was the child born in that Villa 25 years ago.

Please don’t go there.

Majima states that he smells like rotten fruit and that the scent becomes even thicker when he sweats (what am I writing....).

SWEET IS NOT THE SAME AS ROTTEN

Yuriko remarks that it must come from their Mother’s lineage and that they probably couldn’t smell each other since they have the same odor. Finally the conversation shifts away from the scent talk and to what motivated Majima to commit these crimes. He refuses to reveal exacly what Yuriko’s father did however, stating that his revenge is done.

Charming.

Majima says that he would have killed Yuriko if she had stayed ignorant and innocent. But he can’t bring himself to kill her who’s come alone to his room to face him head on. He states that Yuriko might get in trouble if she doesn’t get rid of him, which she rebukes by saying that killing him won’t bring her happiness. This leads to Majima saying that happiness doesn’t exist for him since he’s dirty. He says that he won’t be a threat to Yuriko anymore and that he’s going to leave the Manor. The two of them embrace and... I’ll spare you Round 2 of their scent talk.

Asgsjskdkl. Anyways after getting a whiff of Majima Yuriko once again has to point out that he really is her older brother.

SWEET HOME ALABAMA

Afterwards Majima says his farewell and Yuriko cries as she silently whispers that she likes him, knowing they will never meet again.

A few years later. We learn that Yuriko is working as a editor at a publishing company now but also solving cases that Kyoko introduces to her as a Detective (which is pretty cool tbh).

... and that Shiba is still trying to woo her. Ugh.

In fact she’s a very popular and well respected Detective. Content with her current life Yuriko states that she does not intent to marry anyone soon - or even for the rest of her life. On her way home she spots some Chinese Bellflowers on the side of the road. Flooded by memories she can’t help but wonder about what happened to “him”. The color of those flowers - Yuriko finds to be both beautiful and sad, just like the tears he shed that day.

-

& that’s the “true” route I guess? Honestly this is my favorite ending and I’m glad I got to experience it before the app was shut down. Detective Yuriko was a pleasant surprise. It’s a shame this game had such a bad localization because, even if the truth becomes pretty obvious eventually, the story is still quite intriguing. We can only hope that maybe someday Chou no Doku will get it’s redemption arc like Taisho x Alice did!

[sortasirius]

Dean and Sam have some bet while playing pool in a bar and Dean ends up loosing and Destiel ensues *wink wonk*

Ooooooo thank you so much!  This was so fun to write!

Hope you like it! :)

Words: 1114 (ooooooops)

Dean is really good at pool.  Like really, really good at it.  So, going to a shitty dive bar in town with Sam to get one too many beers, play a few rounds, and then have Sam drive them home has become one of the ways they can relax after a hunt.  A sort of tradition.

Except this time, Sam is throwing a wrench in his hustling plans, standing in front of Dean after his first successful heist of the evening, arms folded, asking something so unlike him that Dean’s having trouble comprehending what he’s asking.

“You wanna play me?  seriously?”

“Yeah, I’m better than you think I am.”

Dean scoffs, rolling the pool cue in his hands, itching to start playing again.  They really just needed to bite the bullet and buy a pool table for the bunker, but Sam shot him down every time he suggested it, something about drawing attention to themselves with stupid purchases that require multiple delivery men to come into their secret bunker.  Whatever.

“I am Dean, you just never give me a chance.”

Dean rolls his eyes again, moving towards the table and setting up the next game.  But Sam isn’t having it tonight.

“Fine.  Let’s make it interesting then.  Let’s do a wager.”

Dean looks up at him with that.  Oh hell yes.  Sam knew he could never walk away from a good bet, especially one that he’s absolutely going to win, but he plays it cool.

“A wager?  I’m not trying to hustle you for cash, we live together anyway.”

“I’m not interested in cash.  But if you lose, you gotta do something for me.”

Dean does not like the way Sam is already smirking at him.  His eyes narrow.

“What?”

“If I win,” Sam grins, “You gotta kiss Cas.”

Dean chokes on his beer, inhaling about half of it up his nose, pouring the other half down his shirt.  Sam’s laughing at him, soaking wet and coughing.

“Bullshit, what’s the real bet?”

“That is the real bet.  What, are you too chicken?”

Dean knows, in the back of his mind, that Sam is messing with him, riling him up so he’ll take the bet.  But he’s so much better than Sam at pool, he doesn’t have anything to worry about.

“What do I get when I win?”

Sam grins, knowing he has Dean caught.

“I’ll do the dishes for two weeks.”

“Pssh, that’s weak, little brother.  Seems like someone knows that he’s gonna lose.”

Sam simply holds out his hand.

Dean takes it.

He’s so much better at pool than Sam, this’ll be easy work.

Dean sinks three after the break shot (he gets solids, which is fine by him).  He’s feeling fine, it usually takes Sam a try or two to get his footing, and by that time Dean’ll have this in the bag and he’ll be heading home with no dishes to do.

Also no Cas to kiss…not that he wants that, that’d be ridiculous.  He doesn’t want anything like that from Cas, he definitely doesn’t think about his hair and his eyes and his too broad shoulders and…

“Right corner pocket.”

Dean is broken out of his not entirely appropriate thoughts by Sam lining up his shot with the eight-ball.  Wait.  Where the fuck did all the stripes go?

“Hold up-”

Sam sinks the shot and straightens up, with the type of grin that only little brothers that know they’ve won can have.

“Well well well, would you look at that.  I won.”

“Shut up,” Dean is still trying to work out how the fuck that just happened, “When did…how did you…what?”

“Told you I was better than you gave me credit for.”

A pit is forming in Dean’s stomach.  Oh no.  Sam seems to read his mind, damn him.

“You can’t back out.”

Dean huffs, not sure if he’s angry or excited or nervous or a terrible combination of all three.

“What’s with you playing matchmaker?  Why do you care? And what makes you think that I’d want, that I’d want to…do that anyway?”

Smooth, real smooth.  Now he’d never suspect anything.

Sam rolls his eyes, looking a little too all-knowing for Dean’s taste.

“Because I’m pushing along the inevitable.  I’m tired of the will they, won’t they.  And you aren’t slick, Dean, regular friends don’t look at each other the way you and Cas do.”

Dean grumbles.  He hates it when Sam’s right.

“Now come on,” Sam jangles the Impala’s keys in his fingers, “You have a bet to complete.”

Dean gets progressively more keyed up as they get closer to the bunker.  His leg is bouncing uncontrollably in the passenger seat, his hands are sweating, he sort of feels like his stomach is in his throat.  Is this what dying feels like?  Does he need to go to a hospital?  They should definitely go to a hospital and not home to the bunker to face the thing Dean’s been avoiding for a decade.  

Sam just keeps grinning, it’s driving him nuts.

Dean does his best to act natural as they head down the stairs.  The bunker seems brighter, warmer, more inviting than usual.  It usually felt that way when Cas was home, and then Dean really wants to throw up because what kind of girly thought is that?  Cas comes around the corner in sweatpants and a t-shirt, and Dean’s so unused to seeing him not in a trenchcoat and suit that he nearly runs up the stairs out of sheer fight or flight instinct.  But no such luck, Sam is behind him, probably to make sure he kept up his end of the bargain.

“Have a good time?”

Cas has this soft smile on his face and he looks so relaxed and so perfect and it makes it so easy for Dean to take two steps forward, take Cas’ face in his hands and press their lips together.

The moment is brief, but when they break apart, all of Dean’s fears are gone.  Cas’ eyes are bright, and Sam clears his throat and edges around them, no doubt off to find Jack and laugh about this for the next hundred years.

“What was that for?” Cas asks, his chest pressed flush with Dean’s, the heat radiating from his chest, warming Dean from the inside out.

“Lost a bet with Sam.  But uh…I’ve wanted to do this awhile so…”

Cas gives him this half smile and Dean really feels like he’s going to melt into a puddle when he runs his hands through Dean’s hair.

“Me too.”

“So um, could we, um, do that again?”

Cas just pulls him closer, not even bothering to answer. They don’t talk much for a while after that.

Sam is, for the rest of time, known as the best pool player in the house after that night, but Dean doesn’t much care.

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Prompt me up!

[tacitwhisky]

Feeling the blues now Game of Thrones has wrapped as a series? Don’t worry, I’ve got your jonsa recovery fic list right here. This is by no means a comprehensive list of all the great fic out there, just the best of the best I’ve read. If there are any other fic you think should be on this list that I missed reblog and tag them.

Season 8 Fix Its (Pt 1 / Pt 2)

In Love and Death We Don’t Decide [Link] | @pardonmymannerssir | Her siblings arrive like leaves carried on a sudden breeze, alighting upon the placidity of her life and casting wide ripples before being swept away again. Their movements are cyclic, changing and shifting like the seasons, but one thing will never change: Winterfell is home.

Come out of hiding (i'm right here beside you) [Link] | @noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth​ | After the death of Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow goes to live beyond the Wall, while Sansa Stark, the newly-named Queen in the North, marries a Dornish prince. Three years later, when Jon finally gathers the courage to return to Winterfell, he finds that while many things have changed, one hasn't: he's still in love with Sansa.

We are buried in broken dreams [Link] | @snowsinthenorth​ | Prompt: Sansa and Jon sleeping together before he goes to Dragonstone and when he comes back he finds out she is pregnant. A full on s8 fix-it fic at this point.

Essential Reading

The Cold Inside Our Bones [Link] | @xylodemon | 1,904 | The Wall is no place for a woman, but Jon looks at Sansa's gaunt cheeks and hollow eyes and knows he will not send her away.

At a Funeral [Link] | @justadram | 5,231 | There's something about the funeral that makes Sansa need Jon more than ever. Too bad she threw it all away.

What a Disappointment [Link] | @justadram | 7,836 | Sansa Stark and Jon Targaryen are married and neither of them is pleased about it. Set in a world where Rhaegar lives and Jon was raised in King's Landing as a legitimized bastard.

Tree of Hearts [Link] | @uchihabat​ | 7,239 | It was a secret, shameful thing. The more he denied it, the more unruly it had become within him: a sleeping dragon, around which he tread carefully. There was nothing good about his half-sister, he told himself, but her beauty. "I am not beautiful anymore," she told him through teeth clenched. "It is ugly inside my heart. I am ruined."

Subject: La Bamba [Link] | @ghost-of-bambi | 16,441 | Trust Margaery Tyrell to turn Sansa Stark's 21st birthday party into an exercise in matchmaking.

More fics under the cut.

Canon Divergent

From the fire we rise [Link] | TheEagleGirl | 2,367 | In another world, perhaps Jon would have been the heir to the throne. In this world, his father died on the trident, his mother in childbirth, no witnesses to their union. In this world, Jon is just the bastard prince, and in this world he still wants more.

Brine on the Tongue [Link] | @orangeflavoryawp​ | They pause, afternoon light shifting in through her window like an accusation – a slant of clarity against their panting forms. “Then leave.” (He doesn’t.) - Jon and Sansa. What breeds in a house of wolves.

Found In Forbidden Nights [Link] | @alienor-woods | 16,777 | In which Robb Stark still refuses to trade Jaime Lannister for his sisters, but Jon Snow decides if being an oathbreaker means he can tell strategy and politics to fuck off, then it's worth it to take matters into his own hands.

Jon of the Kingsguard [Link] | @tacitwhisky | Jon goes to Kingslanding instead of the Wall, there’s no war, and he becomes a knight of the kingsguard even as Joffrey marries Sansa. As Joffrey’s true colors inevitably show Jon is forced to choose between the vows of a knight and the duty of a Stark.

Southern Wolves [Link] | @tacitwhisky | Jon leaves the Wall to save Sansa from Joffrey. Together they wander the war ravaged Riverlands to try and return home.

Missing Scenes

A Cartography of Vulnerability [Link] | @subjunctivemood​ | 1,720 | Jon is the only one Sansa trusts to do this for her.

Stitch Up All Your Hopes [Link] | @subjunctivemood | Sansa is sick, but she refuses to rest.

'Cause I know that it's delicate [Part1 / Part2] | @noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth | 4,865 | Set during "Book of the Stranger," immediately after Sansa arrives at the Wall. Jon goes to build the fire back up, and for a few minutes he stays silent, kneeling at the hearth, not looking at her. Finally he clears his throat. “I know,” he begins, “it’s not exactly what you’re used to.”

We can brave the dark [Link] | @thatgirlnevershutsup | 2,320 | When Arya dares Sansa to spend the night in the crypts, it’s Jon who comes to her rescue.

Modern AU - Short

Caught [Link] | @jonnsansa | 4,055 | The first time they sleep together, she's on a break from Joffrey and they're both a little drunk.

Like real people do [Link] | @thatgirlnevershutsup | 2,749 | For the Twelve Days of Christmas project, have an AU Sansa Stark and Jon Snow doing one of those “first kiss” videos.

Beans [Part1 / Part2 / Part3] | @justadram​ | Jon and Sansa never seem to be on the same page about their relationship.

Never knew I had it all [Link] | TheEagleGirl | 3,130 | Sansa feels bewitched. She’s never noticed Jon before last month. He was Robb’s silent shadow, outshined by Robb himself, or his friends Theon and Dacey.

Trust & Control [Link] | @jonnsansa | 4,444 | Sansa first sees him at the Tyrell fundraising gala. In a sea of drunk, happy people, he is the singular solemn one, standing as still as a statue against the far wall with a glass of untouched champagne in hand. Or: the 50 Shades AU no one asked for.

Baby, It’s Cold Outside [Link] | Tate | It starts at one of Robb's Christmas parties, with Harry Hardyng and a kiss Sansa's avoiding. The two that follow are another story altogether.

Modern AU - Long

Happiness throws a shower of sparks [Link] | @pardonmymannerssir​ | 14,115 | “I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” Sansa Stark says through a swollen, bloody lip, a pair of sunglasses perched on her nose that don’t completely hide a black eye.

Battlefield [Link] | @uchihabat | 17,264 | “God, we might as well just start a family together,” she blusters, half-joking but of course not joking at all. “We both want kids and we both don’t care how. We’re both single. We’ve known each other all our lives. It’s like a movie.”

I'm Feeling Younger, Every Time That I'm Alone With You [Link] | Tate | 19,872 | Jon's got a crush on Sansa, Sansa's got no idea; it's kind of about a production of "Florian and Jonquil" but it's also just kind of about Jon and Sansa.

Tipsy in a Red Push Up Bra [Link] | @tacitwhisky | 21,320 | Of course the first time Sansa Stark sees Jon Snow in God knows how long, the first time since they lost the house and she’d come to live with her aunt Lysa, it would have to be at a house party where she’s already tipsy on schnapps. And of course it would have to be the one time she’s wearing the ridiculous red push up bra Margaery talked her into buying.

Alternate Universe - Crossover AUs

The Seasons of My Love [Link] | @noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth | 48,275 | Months after Ned and Robb are murdered, Sansa returns to Hogwarts for her final year of school. Far from home, she finds she must rely on family friend Jon Snow, now an Auror, to help keep her family together -- and perhaps to help solve the mystery of her father and brother's deaths.

Put a spell on me [Link] | TheEagleGirl | 2,346 | Somewhere along the line, this became less about release and more about him. Or, a Hogwarts au with lots of making out, saving the world from the Dark Lord, and feelings

Saskatoon Berry Pie [Link] | @justadram | 23,179 | When Sansa loses her family in a rail accident, she makes her way to Saskatchewan in search of sanctuary with her cousin, Jon Snow.

As Long As We're Going Down [Link] | @alienor-woods | 37,096 | Four years after Stannis Baratheon wins the Battle of the Blackwater, Sansa Stark finds herself summoned back to King's Landing to serve as a bridesmaid at Crown Princess Shireen's wedding. When King Stannis tries to marry Sansa off to his illegitimate nephew, Edric, she thinks quick and tells him she's already married-- to her bodyguard, Jon Snow.

Post Series

With the Wild Wolves Around You [Link] | @redbelles | 3,782 | Jon finds Sansa at the Vale after his Targaryen lineage is revealed.

And the Geese Are Headed North Again [Link] | @yekoc | 13,316 | In the dark and honest part of her that Sansa is no longer afraid of, she had thought that Jon would die, and she was no sadder than she was relieved. Seeing him now, she notes the absence of the relief and joy that marked her first glimpse of him at Castle Black. Instead, she feels a too-familiar grief: my brother is gone.

The world is still round, my compass is true; each step is a step back to you [Part1 / Part2] | @dialux | 3,655 | Endgame fic, where Jon goes south and he returns to Sansa only after the Long Night. Trust isn’t easily built after all that’s happened, but Jon and Sansa manage it well enough.

Jonsa Fic Lists:

Season 6 Fics  |  Season 8 Fix-It Fics (Pt 1 / Pt 2)  |  Jon in the South AUs  |  Kink Fics  |  Flash Fics  |  Bastard Sansa  | Crossover AUs  |  Married  |  Jon/Val

Follow me @tacitwhisky for jonsa fic recs, meta, and fanfic. I swear I’m good at at least two of those.

[archadianskies]

Whumptober Day 5

Rescue  → part of the A/9 SWATverse

Whumptober Masterlist | 05/31 of RK900 short stories ↳ on Ao3

Tags: Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Anti-Android Sentiments (Detroit: Become Human) × Anti-Android Language (Detroit: Become Human) × Verbal Abuse × Power Imbalance × Established Relationship × Team as Family × Good Parent Hank Anderson × Imprisonment

The thing is, the thing he figures out, is that no one’s supposed to know he exists. There’s no record of him anywhere, not a single line buried in fineprint, not even a whisper, not even the rumour of a whisper. The FBI’s downfall- Perkins’ downfall, is his pride, his failure to resist the urge to show off. 

It’s not even a mission, it’s not a special occasion, it’s just meant to be an ice-breaker, a dumb team-bonding thing which always, inevitably, turns into a pissing contest. Not exactly how David pictures spending an ideal weekend off-duty but letting off some steam by letting his team loose in the woods with paintball guns isn’t entirely undesirable. 

He just wishes it weren’t in tandem with Perkins’ SWAT unit because he loathes Richard Perkins, and his SWAT unit loathes Perkins’ SWAT unit. It’s never just fun and games with Perkins. It’s never any fun with Perkins, ever, actually. 

And so there they were, deep in the woods and he’d sent Caleb off with three of the team and he was leading three others, with the other four to the far left. He’d come around from behind a tree and Caleb shot him square in the chest. Instant kill. He’d been so surprised, so caught off guard, so betrayed that he couldn’t react. Only it wasn’t Caleb at all, because Caleb was on the other side of the grounds as confirmed by three of their unit. It was another RK900. The FBI’s RK900, a secret RK900 who didn’t exist on paper. SWAT Unit 32 lost that round and oh how Perkins gloated but all he could think about was that RK900.

It’s 3am and he doesn’t even have to say a single word to the android curled up in bed beside him. They dress in dark clothes, they sneak out of the hotel and head for the vans parked by the paintball grounds. Caleb deactivates the car alarms and hacks into the electronic locks to open each van until they find him. The other RK900. The one that shouldn’t exist.

“Hello.” Caleb greets quietly, and the other android’s LED spins red in alarm. “I’m Caleb.”

“Caleb RK900 Anderson, part of SWAT Unit 32 under Captain David Allen’s command.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Caleb nods. “What’s your name?”

“I have not been assigned a name.”

“How long have you been active?” David asks. The RK900 turns his steely gaze on him, and though they’re the same colour as Caleb’s eyes, his seem so devoid of warmth, of life.

“Eight months, two weeks and one day, sir.” 

“That’s-” Caleb frowns, brows creasing. “We were activated on the same day. But you don’t have a name?”

“Special Agent Perkins stated that one does not need to assign names to pieces of equipment.” The RK900 recites and David scoffs. 

“Pieces of fucking equipment, he says.” 

“You are not a piece of equipment.” Caleb climbs into the van, grabbing his wrist. “You are Alive. You know that, right? We are not machines, we are Alive. We are living, sentient beings. Legally.”

“The passing of the Sentient Life Act on the first of December 2038. Yes I am aware.” He nods, pulling his arm out of his grasp. “However I have been extensively modified for the FBI’s exclusive use and thus I possess no autonomy.”

“Can you do it?” David asks his partner. “The- the fancy freedom thing? The Markus thing?”

“I can try.” Caleb bites his bottom lip, retracting the skin from his hand. “I’ve never had to deviate an android before. I was never...not a deviant.”

“I cannot deviate.” The RK900 says sternly. “I am equipment belonging to the FBI and I must report any attempt to tamper with me.”

“Give me one attempt,” Caleb says lightly, “and then report us afterward.” He grasps his wrist again, the skin automatically retracting from the other RK900 as he opens a connection between them. David watches his face intently, watches the android frown, his LED still a strong neon red glowing in the dimly lit van. A myriad of emotions flit through his face; wonder, curiosity, confusion, fear. When Caleb draws his hand back, he looks at him with open sorrow.

“It’s always been like that for you? From the very beginning?”

“Yeah.” Caleb confirms quietly. The other android seems to curl inward, rubbing his arms as if to soothe himself. 

“Why did your team love you so readily, so easily, when mine lock me up in the armoury after every mission, along with the rest of their guns?”  

“Because mine never saw me as a piece of equipment.” Caleb reaches for his hands. “Mine saw me as one of their own.”

“One of their own.” He echoes, eyes glassy. “I wish I could be so beloved.”

“You can.” David shrugs. “You will be.”

“Captain, I don’t understand-”

“You’re coming with us.” David says simply. “We’re not letting them take you back. This is the equipment van isn’t it? We’re all heading back to the city tomorrow and it looks like everything’s already loaded. They won’t even check for you, will they?”

“No, sir. They won’t.” There’s such grief in his eyes, and David knows it’s because he would’ve seen Caleb’s life, all eight months, two weeks and one day, full of friendship and family, camaraderie and love. Everything Perkins would’ve denied him.  

“Then you’re coming with us.” David repeats, and the RK900 looks at him like he’s offered him the world on a platter, and he supposes that’s true.

 *~*~*

It’s not the most elegant rescue mission they’ve ever undertaken. It’s by far the funniest, though; stealing something from Team Prickins, from right under their noses and feigning innocence the entire time. Technically, they’ve stolen a piece of equipment from the FBI. Technically, the piece of equipment doesn’t exist, so they haven’t stolen anything, actually. Caleb gives him some of his clothes so he can change out of that godawful uniform and belatedly David realises the RK900 is showing signs of trauma, now that he knows what trauma is. Now that he has a basis for comparison.

“I’m-” Caleb takes a deep breath he doesn’t need, and squares his shoulders. “I’m going to call my dad and my brother.” He doesn’t wait for a reply and goes out onto the balcony, closing the door behind him.

 He doesn’t call them, not right away. Caleb sits down heavily, resting his forehead on the cool railing and closing his eyes. Reaching for the compiled file, he picks apart the deluge of memories the other RK900 had shown him; the memories his brother had shown him, Caleb corrects himself, because the android in the room with his partner is his brother, surely. His twin, even, since they were both created, both activated, both deployed at the same time. It’s certainly what Connor would think, anyway. It’s what their father would say. 

He opens eyes that are not his own and he’s in a supplies van being activated for the first time with no memory of his testing phase. Richard Perkins stands in front of him, arms crossed as he looks him over. A CyberLife representative stands at his side, and they are flanked by security.

“And no one knows it exists?”

Yes sir.” The rep confirms with a nod. “This RK900 does not exist on any records and belongs to the FBI exclusively. It has been modified to connect only to the FBI mainframe and cannot connect to any other wi-fi source. It has no knowledge of the outside world, and the RK800 base program has been removed almost completely to allow a higher percentage of Myrmidon programming.”

“Good.” Perkins nods. “Anything I need to know about upkeep?”

“Entirely self-sufficient. Charging bay will be installed in the Armoury. Supplies will be added to the regular supplies the FBI publicly receives for its auxiliary units so nothing will seem amiss.”

“Good.” Perkins says again, giving him one last appraising look before he turns around and steps out of the van, everyone trailing out behind him. The last guard closes the door and leaves him inside.

 *

“This is an eight million dollar weapon.” Perkins says in the next memory, and he opens his eyes to find himself looking out at a sea of FBI agents. “Do you understand? A weapon. It belongs to the FBI SWAT unit, and we take it with us when heavy weapons are required. No one plays it with it. No one tests it. It stays in the Armoury when we don’t need it. Understood?”

It’s been two days and he doesn’t have a name.

 *

“Alright, and Spiteri I need you to take five guys and go ‘round through here.” They’re poring over a blueprint hologram on the table, mapping out the next mission. His first mission.

“Sir, it would be faster if-” He barely gets the words out before Perkins turns on him, eyes bulging with rage as he grabs the front of his uniform.

“Did I fucking ask? Play back the memory where I fucking asked for your opinion, hm?” He gives him a rough shake before shoving him away. He closes his mouth immediately and steps back, standing at attention and keeping his eyes downcast.

“God I fucking hate androids.”

Four days, and no name.

* 

The mission is a success and everyone is happy even though they’re grimy and sweaty and a little bloody. They cheer and pat each other on the back and even Perkins manages some semblance of a pleased smirk. 

“Alright alright, chuck the weapons in a pile by the door and hit the showers. I want reports by midnight!” He orders and there’s a chorus of groans in reply. Perkins turns to him. “Cleaned, locked, and logged. Understood?”

“Yes sir.” He says quietly, stepping into the Armoury. Perkins closes the door behind him, and it locks with a mechanical click. Bending, he picks up the first gun and methodically, mechanically, goes through the motions of stripping it, cleaning it, reassembling it and then returning it to its proper place. He logs it, then picks up the next gun. It is soothing, he thinks, almost rhythmic in a way as he repeats the actions, over and over until the last gun is locked and logged. 

Looking down at himself, he realises belatedly that a bullet wound has gone through and through his side and he’s been bleeding steadily the entire time. No matter. Opening one of the crates, he retrieves a repair kit and sits himself down on one of the benches. He must be in perfect working order, and he must look clean and ready for the next mission.

Maybe if he does well, they will give him a name.

* 

It has been two months, and he knows they will not give him a name because they do not see a team member, they see a piece of equipment. He is a weapon, much like the guns he cleans for them. A gun has a make and model, and so does he. Nothing more. 

 *

There’s sound from one of the vents one Spring morning. It’s faint, undetectable to humans but he is not a human. There must be a nest somewhere high up on this side of the building and he counts one, two, three hatchlings, their incessant high pitched chirps carrying down to him as they cry for food. He listens to them, notes the change in pitch of their cries as they grow older and bigger day by day. They help pass the time between missions when he is locked up like a piece of equipment, no more than another gun to the team. He wonders what it’s like to look up and see the expanse of blue sky whenever one pleases. 

 *

It’s too dangerous, there’s too many gunmen shooting down at them and there’s not enough cover. He darts out, feeling the bullets cut through his torso as he dives forward and grabs their fallen agent. Dragging him takes considerable effort, straining his damaged chassis and burning through his depleting thirium levels but it’s do this or lose them. 

They make it back, and the fallen agent is yanked from his arms so first aid can be applied. Red warnings cascade down his HUD one, the largest one glaring in large letters his thirium pump regulator has sustained damage. His hand comes away blue after pressing it just below his sternum, and his already depleting thirium levels are plummeting drastically. He sways on his feet before his knees buckle and he hits the ground.

“Ah fuck. Get it in the van!” Perkins curses, looking down at him like one might a stain on the heel of their favourite shoe.

When he wakes he’s back in the Armoury, repaired and whole. There’s a stack of guns and gear piled by the door. He knows what to do. The birds are singing today. At least he has music while he works.

 *

“Not technically a mission, but I fucking hate Allen and his merry band of misfits.” Perkins spits as he trails him down the hall. “They’ve got the other one. The official one of you. CyberLife’s pretend olive branch to the DPD. I hear he’s fucking it too. Figures. Everyone in the precinct suddenly loves androids now the detective bot claims it has feelings.” 

They enter the carpark and there are two vans- one for the humans, and one for the equipment. He already knows which one to climb into. 

When the door opens he’s somewhere far outside the city. He’s never left the city before, and the expanse of green is startling. 

“Listen up. No one knows you exist, and it stays that way.” Perkins points sternly. “You’re here because I want Allen’s team to eat shit and lose every single round and think it’s the fault of their own android.”

There is another, just like him, here today. He wants to meet him. He wants to know what it’s like to be touched with desire because it seems his superior is intimate with him. Does he have a name? Yes, surely he has a name. Will he give him one? Could he ask that of him?

 Captain David Clark Allen is forty-four years old and has been at the helm of Unit 32 for fifteen years now. That is the official information. He has olive green eyes. That is what he personally discovers when he ambushes him from behind a tree. The man hesitates, brow furrowing in confusion before he makes to move past him. He pulls the trigger and the paintball splatters right over his chest where his heart lies. Those green eyes widen in shock. Mission accomplished. He heads deeper into the woods.

 *

Caleb sees himself, sees his own memories looped as he shows the RK900 his life from the moment he awoke in the CyberLife lab with Hank and Connor looking at him with soft encouraging smiles, to his first meeting with Unit 32, to the feeling of warm human skin beneath his fingers as he traces the serrated scar over David’s ribs, to the feeling of hands in his chest as David straddles him and cups his shattered heart in his hands. David’s mouth on his, David’s broad chest rising and falling with each breath as he feels the muscles move beneath his palm, David’s soft gaze in the morning, sharing the same pillow almost nose to nose. 

The feel of coarse dog fur and a wet dog nose pushing insistently at his hand, nagging for pets. The tight embrace of his father, the friendly arm around his shoulder of his brother. The teasing, the ribbing, the hair tousles from the team. He drowns in love while his RK900 twin yearns for it; a deluge versus a desert. But no longer.

* 

“Caleb?” Hank answers his call, amusement in his voice. “What, you need to rant to your old man about how much of a prick Perkins is in person?”

“Dad.” He doesn’t mean for his voice to break, and all of a sudden Hank’s tone loses its mirth.

“Are you alright? What happened? Is David with you?”

“Dad.” He tries again. “Can you put me on speaker?” “Yeah, yeah o’ course.” There’s a brief pause as Hank sits down and fumbles with the setting. “Okay go ahead.”

“I have a twin brother.” Silence. “He was given to the FBI, to Perkins’ unit and he’s been- they’ve just- they locked him up in the Armoury like a gun and he’s as old as I am and he doesn’t even have a name and David and I have smuggled him into our room and I’m bringing him home tomorrow okay?!” It all comes out in a rush and there’s a long pause on the other end of the line. “Dad?”

“Good thing you were plannin’ on movin’ out with David.” Hank chuckles softly. “Because your brother’s going to need a room.”

  *~*~*

“Captain Allen, if there is anywhere you would like to station me so I am out of your way-” 

“You are not in my way.” He keeps his tone soft and reassuring, knowing the RK900 sees him as an authority figure, and the only authority figure he has ever answered to is Perkins and Perkins is a fucking unfeeling ice monster whose own colleagues hate him. “Sit with me, please?” He doesn’t feel forty-four, he feels about a quarter of that and tucked at his ma’s side as she explains how sometimes there are children in her class who’ve been through things no children should have to experience and sometimes they just need someone willing to sit with them and help in a softer, kinder way rather than urging them through verbal encouragement alone. 

His weekend bag is in reach and he fishes out a couple of fliers that had come with the paperwork for the event. “I’ll teach you a neat trick my ma taught me, to keep my hands busy.”

“Yes, captain.” The RK900 nods attentively as he accepts one of the fliers. 

“First, we need to square off the paper like so-” it’s a wonder he still remembers, but it’s mainly muscle memory anyway. They’re about halfway into making an origami unicorn when he attempts some conversation. “You may not have been assigned a name, but you can choose one. Caleb chose his.”

“I know, sir.” A flash of panic, the fear of reprimand. “I meant that Caleb showed me. I meant no disrespect, Captain Allen.”

“It’s alright. I know what you meant.” He wonders what cruelty Perkins wrought, to make an RK900 flinch like that. “You can go through databases and pick one out. You can play around with your model number and use that as a base. It’s your choice entirely.”

“I have never had to choose, sir.” He says it as if he is confessing to a great crime. 

“You’ve never been allowed to choose.” David corrects. “Feds didn’t think much of assigning their fancy killing machine a name or the ability to choose one for himself.”

“Federal Bureau of Investigation.” The RK900 says slowly. “Federal. Frederick, perhaps?”

“Fred from the Feds.” David grins, and Frederick attempts to mimic the gesture. It’s clumsy and awkward and entirely endearing. 

“Freddie, maybe?” He suggests shyly, hopefully, and David nods in approval. 

“Frederick ‘Freddie’ Anderson.” 

“Anderson?” He blinks.

“Oh you’ll be an Anderson.” David laughs. “Hank hasn’t met you yet, but when he does, you’ll be an Anderson for sure.”

[theholycovenantrpg]

In the beginning was JASPER RICHE, a RESURRECTED loyal to the cause of the MORTALS. He is said to be THIRTY TWO and uses HE/HIM pronouns. In this New Testament he serves as a MEMBER of the ROUND TABLE and is the REINCARNATION OF CAIN. Blessed be his name.

THE INDELIBLE MARK.

Some men are born to greatness, their names written out in gold, while others are only the makers of it—Jasper Riche is a peculiar combination of the two. Born to an extraordinary legacy, the Riche name at once attracts glowing awe and wrenching fear: his ancestors proudly vaunted the fact that they were responsible for the fall of the Heretics to the angelic and demonic armies, but Jasper’s father bolstered this heritage to heights grander still, attracting an impressive reputation for glory and absolute authority. Nevertheless, Jasper treads the path of politics and diplomacy: highly regarded as a member of the Round Table, he is renowned for his unorthodox overtures, offering counsel which is often greeted by wary reception. Unlike his half-brother, a fairly elected public figure, Jasper is strangely unnerving and almost otherworldly: though there are many who admire his private nature and quiet intelligence, others find his intensity slightly bizarre. Under the curtain of night, Jasper secretly examines and experiments on stolen cadavers which were once inhabited by the hungering Daemonium, ravenous and unpredictable manifestations of evil. While his investigations have certainly yielded some insight, Jasper has yet to uncover the mystery of divinity which lingers beneath. He is widely regarded as something of a visionary and he bears a strange mark on his inner forearm: the mark of Cain.

THE HISTORY.

No father deserved the admiration of his child so absolutely as Jasper Riche’s did his. With his heart fastened into the lacuna at the handle of his sword, his father was the sort of man who owned the means to have the whole world set in silver should he wish it so. He was not said to be a particularly cruel man, but a certain wealth inevitably bred a certain sort of person, and thus what his marauding eyes fell upon he would always have, plucking the stars from the cosmos and pulling them greedily to his mouth. Jasper was not quite his mirror image, but rather his finishing polish. With a conquest that felt almost Alexandrian, the father’s aspirations spotlighted the things that he could hold in his hands, the flash of iridium seizing the sun’s gaze, but the son was something of a visionary, a maverick, far more interested in the hidden powers lingering behind the thing that the actual thing itself. Even as a boy, the world was a strange divination that he sought to apprehend. Of his mother he preserved only the faint outline of her, the memory of her ghost stolen from them before Jasper had lived a year—and then, it was just the two of them. For some, being born the natural inheritor of so prosperous a birthright felt more cruelty than kindness, but Jasper never felt the bruise of its burden. Instead, he felt strangely powerful—primordial, even, though when he suggested to his nurse as much, she would only cup his cheek and remind him that such a thing was surely impossible.

While Jasper’s father prided himself on the distinction of his natural heir, the existence of another child brandishing the Riche name arranged itself faintly around the boy. To Jasper’s mind, the mark Luca left behind was indelible. The child had some success in stealing his father’s attention away, but it never stuck; the man always returned to his golden scion. Jasper’s father taught him how to wield a tongue as capably as a sword, how to win men’s trust and how to know when to break it—the boy would never be the conqueror that his father was, far more comfortable under the glow of the moon than the rays of the sun, but he never failed to achieve his admiration. And yet, for all his power and prestige, in spite of the many raids of plunder the man undertook, laying waste to territories that would soon fall beneath his thumb, Jasper’s father was not invincible. Indeed, like all mortals, he was only flesh and bone. Only twelve years old and both his parents stolen from him, Jasper was forced into the arms of a brother he had spent much of his adolescence resenting the existence of; the grand promise of his inheritance tugged behind him like a thread picked loose at the end of his sleeve. Jasper’s father had been generous enough to bestow upon Luca their ancestral name, and if that wasn’t enough to draw Jasper’s ire, he certainly never hesitated to conjure up new reasons for his dislike. His new mother was not particularly kind to him, though he conceded that was to be expected—how could he hope to receive her love, when she had only held his father’s interest for a moment, and he might have had a lifetime of it?

Though he scarcely gave his new family a kind thought in passing, Jasper felt his loneliness spout from inside him—a prodigious sickness spreading from a dark pomegranate seed. He had no desire to be coddled in the woman’s arms as she did with her real son, swaddled in a blanket of gentle commendations and compliments, but he recoiled nastily at the way her face twisted into something cold as she begrudgingly ladled soup into his bowl. She was not a terribly unpleasant woman, but she had decided not to love him, and Jasper had decided to return the favour. Luca, meanwhile, was a thorn in his side. Where his brother was always pursued by a sickly throng of smiles, Jasper was more comfortable curled up on a ledge in the dark, his thumbs leafing through pages of science and religion; secrets and lies. Though he read extensively on the topics of philosophy and theology, he committed himself to his physical training, as his father once did—and all the while, there was his brother, clinging to him as if he was his own shadow. Even as they sparred in the courtyard, a song of silver ringing out in the air, Jasper created a prison around himself. He was a natural soldier, but each time he swung his sword he learned how he preferred his books to weaponry; he chose philosophy over conquest; Jasper discovered he cared not for the glory of battle, as his father had, but for the secret of divinity that arranged itself around old bones. Tales of rebirth and new discovery sewed themselves to his lips, and he chose to unravel them.

When he finally came of age, Jasper Riche wielded his birthright like a sharpened blade, setting forth for the Holy Land with only inky scribbles and his prodigious wealth to keep him company. Leafing through ancient pages and worn texts, wandering curiously through tales of science and vespers, one question had settled itself on his shoulders as he grew older. If his father was the sort of man who should have been invincible, why wasn’t he? In the Holy Land, immortality grew from every spout: angels and demons glowed with their heredity, but humans grew old like foetid fruit—Jasper sought to test that. His new cornucopia was nothing short of a wonder: he purchased himself a seat on the Round Table, and Jasper began to indulge his curiosities in secret. When the light caught his jaw, he seemed a regular diplomat, shadows coiling themselves behind his slick grin, but at night he slipped behind invisible and impenetrable doors, embracing a crude imitation of divinity. At first, all he could get his hands on were old cadavers, once inhabited by the empty bellies of the Daemonium, but as he dug away, he began to understand the godhood that lingered beneath the flesh. Jasper began to marvel: was divinity really theology? Or merely alchemy? If only he might get his hands on something more worthwhile, perhaps then Jasper could answer his prayer. As God might have done once.

THE CONNECTIONS.

LUCA RICHE: Half Brother. One is the sun and the other is the moon—the two couldn’t be more different if they’d tried. Though Jasper had once held his father’s pride in his palm like a breakable jewel, Luca has always outshone him. Without giving off any light of his own, he must resort to feeding on it. From the first moment, Luca had opened up his arms in hope of a brotherly embrace, but Jasper had walked indifferently past them; something poisonous still rests on the tip of his tongue, just as it always has. In some ways, he suspects that his brother is the son his father had always had in mind: a soldier, a leader, effortlessly commanding followers—and yet, his father’s raw authority eluded him, his fierce violence escaped him, lacking all severity.  With nothing but his brother’s love left to him, Jasper had fled to the Holy Land, abandoning Luca to his longing. Yet, though the cord was cut, Fate would stitch it back together. Fate, as cruel as she is compassionate, would sit them opposite each other at the Round Table. Jasper goes on resisting Luca’s attempts at bridging the gap, cutting the rope before it touches the other side, but there is something curiously indivisible about their relationship that he cannot ignore. It is as if the universe insists on pulling them together—in spite of his wishes.

AZAZEL: Intrigue. She is, simply put, an enchantress; a vision cut from dark dreams—and though he is not alone in such belief, he refuses to indulge her by telling her that. She is, after all, a creature who has always received exactly what she wants. He scoffs spitefully as he watches the masses fall devotedly at her feet, and yet her Hellhounds guard her so intimately that, even when her worshippers reach out to her and she takes them luxuriously in her arms, they still come away with nothing. As if a ghost, she is always out of reach. Azazel has sat on her infernal-given throne for decades now, the Temples filled with her bewitching glow, and even still nobody quite knows what she is. None have delved their hands between her ribs and survived to tell the tale—the Moon has become a riddle Jasper is not afraid of unravelling. His strategy is this: all fall at her feet without her ever having to ask for it, but what does one do when there is one who protests? When there is one who refuses to bow? He has done precisely this, and he appears to have succeeded. Azazel’s interest has been piqued, pulled toward him by something more than curiosity. His scheme looks to be working.

CADE BEKKER: Best Friend. Jasper refused to accept the brother that life had given him; but then, he thought—why not find another? In the beginning, Cade had been nothing more to him than a slice of intrigue, yet another mortal who had survived the Blood Plague. He was at once a soldier and a reckoning, a friend of the people and an undisputed king; he hoped to unpick the secret of divinity beneath. Now, though, he means far more. One might not think it, but brotherhood has always been a necessity to Jasper. Seeking understanding above all things, he has always longed to be seen, to be believed in like religion, to feel a gaze on him and know he is recognised. Luca had never understood that, but his real brother, his true brother, had never faltered. The two are an indivisible unit and, hand-in-glove, and the world only watches as they rule it. Cade has unlocked something in Jasper that he has never yielded freely: the truth. He is the only one who has seen the parts he buries deep beneath, the only person who has been permitted into his subterranean world—and, a brother tried and true, he plays his part, supplying Jasper with hair, blood; anything that might help in his research. Together, perhaps they can reveal the trick of divinity. Perhaps they can make it chemistry. 

ARIANNE ALTIER: Looking Glass. They’ve been family for as long as he cares to remember, but theirs is a family that is nothing if not unconventional. Where Luca had Romilda, his North Star, his bright light, so had Jasper set his sights on Arianne—though, perhaps it was more accurate to say that she’d set her sights upon him. In her, he sees a sliver of himself; this is at once a source of infinite joy for him, and infinite irritation. Their closeness is not something either of them had ever selected for themselves; it felt oddly preordained. Jasper is one of the few people immune to Arianne’s charms and wiles—he has learned her every wink and sigh, swallowing all her tricks. He chews them up and spittles them back out at her feet. She sees no fault in him that she doesn’t already own, she can pinpoint no weakness of his that isn’t also hers, and Jasper delights in reminding her of the fact. And yet, for all their antagonism, for all their jeering and hassle and competition, they find comfort in one another. They are, after all, a constant reminder that neither one of them are alone. Nevertheless, he has his claws in her, and she in him—they are always only one itch away from pulling each other to pieces.

Jasper is portrayed by Theo James and was written by CAS. He is currently TAKEN by HAILEY.