#then he gets free stays all expenses on the house for life treatment from all of them lol ]

[cold-neon-ocean]

A thought: post-criminal behavior I could see Baatar getting into designing/building luxury hotels lol he gets to flaunt his modern bougie exorbitant rich man design flare sparing no expense on someone else's dime and get's tell people what to do all day lol

[cherienymphe]

xoxo (Peter Parker x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, roofie use, Stark!Peter, snobby rich people, Peter’s an ass (I believe @opheliadawnwalker3 coined the term “baby Ransom”)

DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU

➥ {page breaks done by @whimsicalrogers}

summary: Peter Stark, the adopted son of the playboy philanthropist Tony Stark, has been a pain in your ass for years. Ever the womanizer, you always brushed off his flirtatious behavior as part of his personality, unaware of just how deeply his feelings ran.

You leaned against the bar with a grimace, nursing the strong drink in your hand as the annoying sound of high-pitched laughs and fake compliments drifted up from downstairs, swirling around you. You glanced over your shoulder to look down at the rest of the guests before rolling your eyes at this soiree that was nothing more than a pissing contest for the rich and snooty.

You truly hated being the daughter of a wealthy CEO more often than not. You’d grown up with the kind of lifestyle that more than half the world would never taste, ignorant to not only reality, but the true inner workings of the business that funded your lifestyle. It wasn’t until your junior year of high school when the rug was ripped out from underneath you, exposing the dark truth.

Now, you detested everything about this lifestyle. From the preferential treatment to the fancy parties, you hated everything that came with it. Despite the fact that you were an adult now, your father still had an iron grip on you no matter how much you pretended he didn’t. It was why instead of going on a humanitarian trip with some friends from college for winter break, you were back in the big apple, the upper east side to be exact, surrounded by a bunch of brownnosers.

“Another please,” you murmured, setting your empty glass down onto the bar.

The bartender was quick in giving you a refill, but before the glass met your lips, a finger slid in between to gently push it away. A sigh escaped you before you even turned your head, the familiar smell of his cologne reaching your nose.

“You’re always off by yourself at these little gatherings…”

You turned towards the voice, eyes meeting his dark ones as a playful smirk danced along his pink lips. His brown hair was neatly pushed away from his face, suit fitting him to perfection. He looked so put together and very much like a gentleman. Too bad that you knew better.

“Someone like me might take it as an invitation to approach you.”

You fully turned in your seat, leaning your elbow on the bar to gaze at him, unimpressed, cheek resting on your hand. He too was leaning on the bar, signaling for the bartender to get him a drink, already sliding into the seat in front of you. You could’ve protested, but he wouldn’t listen anyway.

Peter Stark was the bane of your existence. Adopted by the great Tony Stark when he was just a toddler, a big ordeal that made the papers apparently, the dark-haired male grew up in the same environment you did. The same circles. You went to the best schools together, often times having the same batch of friends. He always had the teachers and just about every other adult fooled, but everyone else knew better.

Peter’s charm was notorious. Those soft brown eyes and boyish good looks could have any girl swooning at his feet. He was so good that most girls didn’t even mind being one of the many. As long as they were a number, they didn’t care. Let them tell it, he had a way of making every single one of them feel special. You probably would’ve been one of them had you not seen his behavior firsthand all those years ago. How he’d tell one girl one thing and say something completely different to the next.

Peter’s constant flirtations with you and your absolute refusal to ever even entertain him had made your relationship…interesting. Could you even call yourselves friends? He flirted with you, and you rolled your eyes at his antics. That was the gist of it. His behavior had only gotten worse once you’d denounced this lifestyle the minute you left for college, a non-Ivy League college at that.

You remembered the surprise you felt that Peter had seemed to be genuinely upset with the 180 you’d done with your lifestyle. You had rolled your eyes as he’d called you all sorts of ‘wannabe’ this and ‘wannabe’ that, biting your tongue as he insulted your ‘low rate school’. Even now, after a little over 2 years, he still sneered whenever he brought up your new life.

“Color me shocked you even showed up today. Last I heard you were going to build houses for children,” he said, nursing his drink.

You smirked at him, fighting back a laugh.

“Last you heard? Keeping tabs on me, Stark?”

He returned your smirk, dark eyes trailing over you, gaze lingering on whatever skin your short dress exposed. You weren’t fazed by his conspicuous onceover, more than used to it.

“Of course. I have to make sure my best girl stays out of trouble,” he told you, leaning in.

You scoffed, looking away from him as you downed your drink.

“Your best girl,” you dryly repeated, standing. “Yeah, okay.”

Peter hurried to stand with you, whistling at the bartender as you walked away. It wasn’t long before you felt his arm being thrown over your shoulder as he pulled you against him. He waved an expensive bottle of champagne in your face as he walked down the hall with you.

“You may have switched up and hate me now-.”

“I’ve always hated you,” you deadpanned.

“…but you can’t deny that I know how to throw a party within a party,” he continued as if he hadn’t heard you. “Ned and I are having a little get together in the penthouse suite.”

He wasn’t wrong, and you sighed as you thought about how angry you’d been to be forced back home for the break instead of doing what you wanted to do. You could honestly use the distraction, at least for a little while until you had to be in your father’s presence again. You sighed again, and by the grin on Peter’s lips, you knew that he knew that he had you.

“Fine. Lead the way,” you said with a flourish.

His grin widened, and he pulled you closer as he took you to the elevator. You leaned against the mirrored wall once inside, staring at your reflection with a frown.

“You shouldn’t frown so much,” he said, pressing the button. “It’ll give you premature wrinkles.”

“Why are you so concerned with how I age?”

He unbuttoned his suit jacket, approaching you as he swung the bottle of champagne in his hand.

“I want you to age as gracefully as me when we get married,” he teased, pressing his free hand onto the wall beside your head.

You laughed, shaking your head.

“I’d never marry you, and you… Well, you’d never get married,” you said with a shrug, shaking your head.

His grin dimmed a bit as his eyes met yours.

“I’d marry you,” he murmured.

You rolled your eyes, head leaning back against the wall as he moved closer, pressing his forearm to the wall, face suddenly serious as he eyed you. It was his turn to sigh now, the sound heavy and drawn out.

“When…are you and I finally going to get together?” he slowly asked, voice low in the quiet elevator.

Your eyes widened just a tad, nose brushing his as he leaned in. Peter hadn’t asked you that for some time now. It was a recurring question of his that you always brushed off, and even though this time was no different, something in his voice made you blink. There was a yearning that had never been there before. Something new lingering in his eyes.

You laid your hand on his chest, pushing him away, and he let you.

“Seriously, Peter? You know the answer to that question,” you said.

He huffed, his grin returning as he shook your rejection off.

“You know I always have to ask…just in case you change your mind,” he replied, quickly scanning your frame.

The elevator dinged, and the doors parted behind him, the low hum of a small party reaching your ears.

“I’m never going to change my mind.”

Without a second glance, you brushed past him to exit the elevator.

“You need to start getting serious about your future, Y/N.”

You stared out of the tinted window, watching the city fly by as your father’s car weaved in and out of traffic. He was giving you yet another lecture on what he thought you should be doing with your future. After all, it wasn’t like you had already decided on a major and knew exactly what you wanted to do with your life, so you could understand his- oh. Wait… You had!

“Dad,” you sighed. “We’ve talked about this.”

“Humanities isn’t a real major,” he argued for the umpteenth time, tone laced with contempt.

You cut in before he could continue.

“First of all, it is. Second of all, it’s my minor-.”

“Oh, of course. How silly of me to forget that- what is it? International relations? That’s the major, right?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, shaking your head.

“You know, I’ll never understand you kids. So fickle with your goals-.”

“Dad, I’ve had the same plan since before I even went to college. You can’t call it fickle just because at 17 I told you I didn’t want to follow in your footsteps. I’ve known what I wanted since then. Its literally the opposite of fickle,” you huffed.

You heard him sigh.

“I don’t understand what happened here, Y/N. I really don’t. Ever since you were little, you wanted to follow in my footsteps-.”

“…and now I don’t. Things happen,” you told him. “I don’t want anything to do with this lifestyle.”

You’d told him this a hundred times. You were so tired of having the same discussion, and you knew that he was too.

“Why can’t you be more like Peter?”

You frowned, finally looking over at him. This was a new tactic. The older man had his eyes focused on the paper as he continued to speak.

“He’s following behind Tony swimmingly, a real successor in the making,” he praised.

You fought the urge to groan and sink down in your seat like a child. Never in your wildest dreams did you think your father would be comparing you to Peter Stark of all people.

“You’re comparing me to Peter now?” you scoffed.

The paper ruffled as he turned it, humming.

“I’m just noting that the two of you came up together, but you somehow deviated so far off track.”

“Well, since you love Peter so much, just pass the company onto him when the time comes. God knows he’ll appreciate it way more than I will,” you grumbled.

Your father hummed at that.

“I actually have hopes that, in some way, the company will be his one day,” he replied.

Your brows furrowed, confusion filling you as you fought to understand what he meant. Your father’s eyes finally met yours, a serious look on his face.

“Peter’s exactly the kind of man you should be considering when you finally get ready to get married.”

Shock poured over you like a bucket of ice water, his words having been the last thing you expected to hear. Marriage? Peter? You blinked a few times, fighting to clear your head enough to articulate what you were thinking.

“You…you can’t be serious…?”

He fixed you with a stern look.

“As a heart attack. What is there to oppose? Peter is young and handsome and well brought up. He’ll be taking over after Tony one day, and you really can’t do much better than that. Unless you’re aiming to be the next Meghan Markle, but no offense sweetheart, you don’t strike me as the type,” he elaborated.

You pressed your hand to your forehead as your mind spun.

“I’m not telling you to marry him or anything. I’d never go so far to participate in something as archaic as an arranged marriage. I’m just telling you to consider it. He’s a good match for you, and I’d like you to be open to it…”

You couldn’t begin to believe how sharply this morning had turned.

“It’s why you’ll be seeing a lot more of him over the break. Just keep it in mind when we meet with them,” he said.

He must have noted the confusion on your face because he continued.

“We’re meeting them for brunch. Tony wants to run his latest idea by me, and we figured it would give you and Peter more time to catch up,” he explained.

The car had finally stopped just as he finished, and you didn’t have time to process anything before you were being ushered out of the car. The brisk air whipped around you as you followed your father into the fancy restaurant.

Your father wanted you to marry Peter? The idea was so absurd that you actually considered the possibility that your father was playing a joke on you. You felt like you were having an out of body experience as you and your father sat down, you across from Peter. As always, he looked absolutely tickled to see you, while you simply returned his grin with a withering stare.

Brunch was a taxing affair. Tony Stark greeted you as politely as he always did before he and your father got right down to business. That left you and Peter with no one but each other to look at. You did your best to ignore the annoying brunette sitting across from you, barely speaking with him no matter how many times he tried to engage you in conversation.

You supposed that your behavior towards Peter was a bit unfair. After all, it wasn’t his fault that your father wanted you to marry him. Although, as you thought back to your conversation in the elevator the other day, you had to wonder if he knew, or at the very least, had some idea. And that was exactly what you asked him once you were alone.

Your father and Tony had gone back to Tony’s office in a hurry to remedy some oversight that had been missed. You’d been left with your father’s car and driver, and you eyed Peter, waiting for his answer, as you made your way outside.

“Not really, no.”

You slid into the backseat, thanking the driver before scooting as far away from Peter as possible as he joined you.

“Not really or no? Those are two different answers,” you told him.

A smirk danced along his lips as he leaned his head back, turning it ever so slightly to gaze at you out of the corner of his eye.

“I had an idea. The great Mr. Y/L/N never came outright and said it, but little things he’d say here and there started to add up,” he explained with a chuckle.

He apparently found this funny while you did not. You crossed your arms over your chest, anger bubbling within you at the thought of your father playing matchmaker behind your back. Peter reached for your hand, attempting to pull it away from your chest, but you jerked it away as soon as his fingers brushed yours. He sucked his teeth.

“Come on. Would marrying me really be so bad?”

You turned to fully face him, not a hint of humor on your face.

“Yes,” you answered, voice steady with conviction.

He simply rolled his eyes, lips twitching, and you shook your head with a scoff.

“Is your father in on this too? God, I bet Tony Stark is just eating this up,” you complained.

The tone of Peter’s chuckle gave you pause, and you eyed him as he grinned at you.

“Quite the opposite actually…”

You frowned, and God help you, because you found yourself…offended.

“He thinks I’m not good enough for you or something?” you questioned, raising an eyebrow at him.

You didn’t want to marry Peter, but you knew that you were more than good enough for a guy like him. The truth was that Peter wasn’t good enough for you. He shook his head, picking at a piece of lint on your shoulder as he hummed.

“No actually. In fact, he’d dare say that you are out of my league, and I’d be forced to agree,” he told you with a shrug. “He thinks you’re too much of a ‘wild card’.”

Now it was your turn to chuckle, nodding as you understood what that meant.

“I see. So he wants you to marry a meek and submissive little thing who will do everything you say and conform to the Stark image. Got it,” you replied with a smirk.

He returned it, finger trailing along your collarbone now as he eyed you.

“He thinks that you march to the beat of your own drum…and you do…,” he said, smirk growing as his gaze met yours. “…but I think I can handle you just fine.”

You slapped his hand away, disgust filling you just as the car stopped.

“We’re at your place. Get out,” you sneered, looking away from him.

“Care to join me? No one’s home…we’ll have the whole place to ourselves…”

You opted for ignoring him and the way his voice lowered, the hidden meaning in his question loud and clear. When some time passed, he finally sighed, and you heard the car door open. When it didn’t close, you turned to see Peter standing outside, one hand pressed onto the top of the car door while the other rested on the hood of the car as he leaned down.

A dark strand fell out of place and brushed along his forehead, dark eyes somehow darker as he trailed them over your tense form. His smirk slowly fell, and you blinked at the less than humorous expression on his face. You could count the number of times on one hand that you’d seen Peter so serious.

“You really shouldn’t try so hard to show your dislike for me…”

You frowned at him, and the corner of his mouth curved upwards just a tad.

“…someone might think you’re playing hard to get.”

Before you could process that, he’d closed the door. He didn’t go inside right away, instead opting for standing on the curb to watch your father’s car drive away.

When your father said that you’d be seeing a lot more of Peter over the break, you underestimated just how determined the old man was to get you and the Stark heir together. Every innocent gathering turned into a run-in with Tony and his wife, Pepper, and Peter. Whether it was brunch or dinner or a shopping trip. Hell, even an innocent day at the park had you coming face to face with who you now liked to refer to as ‘the pain in your ass’.

Had you known that this is what your winter break would entail, you would have fought tooth and nail with your father on it. You felt like this was such a waste of time, one big joke that you’d walked into and you were the punchline. You had no idea how much worse it could get.

You were currently in the hallway of the home that belonged to none other than the Starks. You were killing time by fleetingly looking at the artwork that was hung up on the dark walls, a half empty glass of some brown liquor in your hand. You could hear the voices of Tony, Pepper, and your father drifting to you from the lounge, and you rolled your eyes.

When your father had told you that you’d be joining them for dinner, you thought it’d be in their apartment in the city. Some place that you could easily escape if need be. You never would have agreed if you’d known you’d be in upstate New York hours later, conversing with them in one of their many secluded vacation houses. Dinner was long over, and you had no desire to be privy to anymore of their business talk. Peter had scurried off to only God knows where, and you couldn’t be bothered to care.

Perhaps you should have.

Your mood soured even further as you felt an arm slide over your shoulders to curl around your neck, pulling you back into a firm chest. Peter hummed, and you sighed. The story of your lives.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” he wondered, gesturing to the painting. “I picked it out. I thought it would brighten the place up a bit.”

You threw his arm off of you, and he chuckled.

“Don’t look so glum, Y/N. The grownups are knee deep into stock market talk, which means they won’t even think about us for another hour at the least…”

You looked to the ceiling as he slipped an arm around your waist, praying for some higher power to strike you down. Or him. You’d be happy either way.

“Surely we can find some way to keep ourselves occupied,” he murmured.

You turned to face him and turned your head again just in time for his lips to brush the skin of your cheek. You pushed yourself away from him with a frown, backing up until your back rested against the opposite wall.

“Whatever happened to MJ?” you suddenly asked him, a faint smile on your lips as you took a sip of your drink.

Peter smirked, leaning against the other wall as he stared you down, raising an eyebrow at you, dark suit hugging him nicely.

“Keeping tabs on me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Hardly,” you snorted. “My father likes to bring up you and your personal life every chance he gets. Of course, now I know why. I was shocked to find out that you had a girl in your life who stuck around for more than two months.”

“She was too much like you,” he dismissively said. “She wanted to travel and see the world and make a difference. There’s only room for one girl like that in my life. Anything more, and things would start to get a little…dull.”

You hummed, pushing away from the wall to walk past him. Peter followed, and your mind spun.

“What exactly are you going to do when I finally meet a nice guy to get serious with? Surely, this behavior can’t go on forever, Peter,” you wondered.

He grabbed your elbow and gently pushed you into the wall. His other hand was beside your head, dark eyes narrowed and inquiring. You sharply inhaled, unintentionally breathing in the scent of him, and you blinked.

“What nice guy could you possibly meet at that sad excuse of a school you call-?”

“I don’t know how to break it to you that an Ivy League education isn’t exactly the picture of intelligence you think it is,” you sneered at him.

His own face grew taut as he glared at you, tilting his head to the side.

“Is that why you turned down your acceptance to Princeton? To prove some silly point?”

“For your information, Peter, I turned down my acceptance because I learned that the main reason I got in was because of my father.”

“So what? What is the point of our parents working their asses off for years if not to give us the opportunities they didn’t have growing up? When are you going to drop this holier-than-thou wannabe Mother Teresa act?”

“It’s not an act,” you spat, shoving him away from you. “This world? This way of life and everything that comes with it? I hate it. I despise everything about it. Its sickening that we live like we do while people down the street struggle to keep a roof over their heads. What is it to you, anyway?”

Peter ran his hand through his hair, huffing as he stared you down.

“You and me?” he started, gesturing between the two of you, his other hand on his hip. “We could’ve been unstoppable together. We were supposed to go to Princeton together. We were supposed to leave our mark on that campus together, create a legacy, and make a name for ourselves on our own, and instead I’m doing that by myself while you go off galivanting down south-.”

“Is that what this is about?” you demanded, incredulity filling your voice. “…some fantasy in your mind that we’d be some power couple who’d go on to take over after our fathers and rule the upper east side? Seriously? That’s a new one, even for you.”

Peter’s jaw clenched as he glared at you, nostrils flaring as he ran his eyes over you with the nastiest look you’d ever seen on his boyish face.

“You can run all you like…reinvent yourself all you want…”

His voice lowered as he approached you, and you stood your ground, glowering at him.

“…but you will never escape this life,” he threw at you, and you flinched at his harsh tone.

“That may be true…but I can still try,” you whispered.

The corner of his lips lifted into a mocking smirk.

“Try all you want. Hell, jump into a relationship with the next guy you have some anthropology project with for all I care. We both know that the only guy to give you the life you deserve…to give you what you need…”

He reached to fix a stray hair that had come out of place, smirk smug and eyes smugger.

“…is a guy like me.”

You stumbled away from him with a frown, arms folded over your chest.

“Screw you, Peter.”

You turned away from him to go find your father.

Peter had always been an annoying thorn in your side, but his behavior tonight had reached new heights. It amazed you, really, how far he was willing to go just to finally get you into bed. He had never had any problem being an asshole, but there was a shift in him tonight. His tone was harsher, words meaner, eyes just a tad bit icier than normal. In fact, it almost seemed like it wasn’t his usual cruel teasing.

When you finally neared the lounge, you frowned at the words that reached you.

“She’ll probably be a bit bitter about it at first, but I’m sure Y/N will grow to love it. This will be an amazing opportunity for her.”

You recognized your father’s voice, and you slowed just before finally entering, listening in.

“I was surprised to hear that she’s transferring, which is why I had never initially considered her for the internship. I was under the impression that she wouldn’t be here to do it.”

Your frown deepened at Tony Stark’s words, a sinking feeling in your gut, and although you wanted to hear more, something in you prevented you from staying still and doing so. You stepped into the lounge, greeting them all with a smile before resting your gaze on your father.

“I hate to cut the evening short, but I’m feeling a bit ill,” you lied.

Perhaps it wasn’t a complete lie. Peter’s harsh words didn’t exactly leave you feeling the best, but your father believed you anyway. The two of you said your goodbyes to the Starks, even Peter who had slithered his way into the foyer eventually. He’d sent you off with that stupid smirk on his face, and it took everything in you to resist the urge to roll your eyes.

The ride home was quiet. Your mind was too stuck on the snippet of conversation that you’d heard. You knew that it was about you, that much you had heard, but the talk about internships and transferring had you confused. Again, there was that sinking feeling in your gut, and it wouldn’t go away. You wanted to bring it up to your father, but he’d spent the entire next day in the office.

Your paranoia got the best of you though, and the next evening, you found yourself in his study, mind going a mile a minute as you poured over the papers you found. Shock coursed through you at every reveal, hands shaking and heart sinking in disbelief. That was how your father found you that night, perched in his desk chair, tearful eyes glaring up at him as he walked through the door. He sighed as soon as his eyes landed on the papers scattered all over his desk.

“Tell me this isn’t true,” you quietly pleaded.

You knew that it had to be, but you needed to hear him say it.

“You’ll be going to Princeton for your senior year. All of the paper work has been done and whatever needs to be transferred has been transferred,” he breathed, stepping into the room.

You shook your head in disbelief, tears spilling over. You were shocked to find yourself…shocked. You knew that your father didn’t approve of your new lifestyle and your plans for your future. You knew that it ran deep, and yet it had never occurred to you that he’d do something about it. You had foolishly thought that he’d let you make your own decisions.

This was the main reason you hated this world you were born into. The things that people could buy, could do, if they had enough money to do so scared you. It shouldn’t be allowed.

“…and the internship?”

You didn’t even care that you had revealed yourself to be eavesdropping last night. Your father stepped further into his study.

“You’ll be interning with Stark Industries immediately after graduation…”

You were out of his chair and stomping out of his office before he could even finish. He didn’t even call for you to come back, and why would he? His word was law. You both knew that this was going to happen, and you couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

The night air was cold, and you wished you’d grabbed a thicker coat before stepping outside. After all, the only thing you had on underneath was a flimsy dress. You’d had plans to meet up with some old friends from high school tonight after your talk with your father, but you had never imagined that the talk would reveal this.

A lot of people were out in the city. It was a Friday night, after all. There was some light snow falling, but you could hardly even see it because the tears had finally spilled over. You couldn’t remember a time where you were so angry that you’d cried. You were grateful to be in New York of all places, right now, because a girl crying on the sidewalk was the most normal thing someone would probably see.

You crossed the street to a less crowded sidewalk, still trying to wrap your head around what your father had done, when a sleek black limo slowed beside you. You wouldn’t have thought anything of it had the window not rolled down to reveal none other than Peter.

“Are you drunk?” was the first thing he asked you.

Fed up with this night and having no patience for Peter Stark and all of his glory, you sneered at him.

“No,” you snapped.

You huffed when the limo rolled slowly along the street in time with your steps. Peter called to you, but you ignored him. What was he even doing out, right now? It was a Friday night. Shouldn’t he be at someone’s party participating in at least 2 illegal activities?

You sped up when you heard his door slam shut, but you weren’t quick enough. His firm hands grabbed you and turned you to face him, shaking you just a little as he ran his eyes over you, gaze lingering on your tearful one.

“Hey…”

“Go away, Peter,” you said, fighting to get out of his grip.

His hold tightened, and he stepped closer.

“It’s late. Why are you out here on the street like this? What happened?”

You snatched one arm out of his hold and shoved yourself away from him.

“Did you know?”

His brows furrowed, frowning slightly at your question. His cheeks were red from the cold, giving him a cherubic aura that couldn’t be farther from the truth.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Stark. Did you know that my father was getting me transferred to Princeton behind my back? That I’m supposed to be interning with your father as soon as I graduate?”

You registered the shock on his face, and he slowly shook his head, thrown by what you’d told him.

“No,” he softly said.

You crossed your arms over your chest, more tears falling.

“If I had known…I would’ve told you, Y/N.”

“Would you?” you scoffed.

His face hardened at your insinuation, and he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah, I would have. Look, I may hate this 180 that you’ve done with your life just as much as your father, but even I know that you’re going to do what you want anyway. You always have.”

He whispered the last part, and your gaze reluctantly met his. He pursed his lips, running his eyes over you as he reached for you.

“Where are you headed?” he wondered.

It hit you that you hadn’t really had a destination in mind. Your eyes widened, and you were sure that the panic and confusion was written all over your face. You shrugged, a few tears escaping.

“I…I don’t know,” you pathetically answered.

Peter softly sighed, pulling you towards the limo.

“Well, I was on my way to a party-.”

He cut himself off as you started to shake your head. You didn’t know where you wanted to go, but you knew that a party was not it. He pulled on your jacket, and you stumbled towards him in your heels.

“Hey,” he softly said when your eyes started to stray, and you looked at him. “I’ve got a couple of bottles of champagne in the limo, a full tank of gas, and a driver who’s getting paid by the minute. I’ll take you wherever you wanna go.”

You glanced away, thinking it over. You couldn’t stomach the thought of being near your father right now, and although Peter had shaken you last night, in the end, it was just him being his usual self. Your uneasiness from his words last night you wrote off to sensitivity and overthinking. You suddenly let out a humorless chuckle.

“You promise to get me really, really drunk?” you teased.

You were joking, but you honestly didn’t want to even remember your conversation with your father right now. That familiar smirk of his graced his lips as he threw an arm over your shoulder, guiding you towards the car.

“I promise to get you anything you want,” he purred.

The inside was warm, and you had almost forgotten how roomy limos could be. The L-shaped seating could easily fit 4 more people. True to Peter’s words, there was indeed two bottles of champagne on ice, and he reached for one as soon as the vehicle continued down the dark street.

You leaned your head against the window as he popped it open, getting you a glass. You felt defeated, and you were sure your face showed it as you took the offered drink from him.

“So what are you gonna do?”

You shook your head at Peter’s question.

“What can I do, Peter?” you quietly wondered with a shrug. “I mean… If my father is willing to go this far to get me where he wants me to be…? What’s stopping him from doing so again and again and again?”

Peter leaned back in his seat, eyeing you as you sipped on the bubbly alcohol.

“I’ll never be free of him,” you said, more to yourself than Peter. “God, he really is going to get everything he wants. Looks like I’ll be seeing you in 3 years at our engagement party, after all.”

Peter slid along the seat to get closer to you, rolling his eyes.

“Come on,” he dragged out. “Would marrying me really be so bad?”

You almost choked on your drink, and you incredulously eyed him.

“We’ve been over this before, and the answer is yes. That’s if we can even get you to walk down the aisle.”

Peter sighed, sitting his drink down.

“I would marry you,” he argued, looking at you.

“Come on, Peter. You’re just saying that!”

You took another sip, thankful for the liquid courage.

“It’s all a game to you. It always has been. The minute you finally get with me, it’ll be over. Hell…,” you said, thinking. “…maybe I should sleep with you so you’ll finally leave me alone.”

Peter laughed, resting his arm behind you on the back of the seat.

“If I had you, I’d never leave you alone,” he replied, voice soft.

“Yeah,” you barked a laugh. “Okay…”

“I’m serious,” he said, tone matching his words, and you fought to hold his intense gaze. “When are we finally going to get together?”

You glanced away.

“You’ve asked me this probably a hundred times, and the answer is always the same,” you murmured.

“When are we finally going to stop playing this game?”

Your eyes met his again, brows furrowed.

“I wasn’t aware that we were playing a game-.”

“I want you,” he whispered so quietly that you weren’t sure you heard him right. “You know that, Y/N. I’ve always wanted you.”

There was a frown on his face, and you swallowed.

“You want everyone,” you quietly replied, suddenly feeling very odd.

You scooted away from him just a tad, but he followed.

“When I have you, Y/N, I won’t treat you like those other girls,” he told you.

“Ha! How reassuring,” you sarcastically replied.

His hand rested on your arm, and you squirmed, head feeling a bit light.

“I’m serious,” he murmured, hand trailing upwards to brush along your shoulder before resting on your neck. “You’re my best girl…”

You blinked at him with a frown, and he tilted his head at you, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Why would I treat my best girl like the rest?”

You shook your head, moving away from him some more.

“Maybe…maybe I should just go home after all. I’m not feeling so good, right now,” you told him, alarmed at how slurred your words were.

You watched as Peter reached to take another sip of his drink.

“Yeah,” he calmly said, taking your drink from your trembling fingers and setting it aside. “That would probably be the Rohypnol.”

You slowly blinked at him, trying to clear the fuzz from your head as you processed his words. Did he just say…Rohypnol? As in…?

“Roofie is the common term, also known as the date-rape drug.”

Your mouth felt dry, and you felt like you weren’t sliding away from him fast enough.

“Peter, this…this is a joke, right? You’re kidding…?”

He snorted, and even without his confirmation, you knew that he wasn’t kidding. Your head had been spinning for minutes now.

“Come on, Y/N. When have you ever known me to be a huge comedian?”

You fell against the door as you tried the handle, but it was locked, and that was when you really started to panic.

“Y/N.”

You ignored Peter as he called your name, opting instead for hitting against the partition. You heard Peter heave a sigh from behind you before his arm slipped around your waist, pulling you back. Your movements were sluggish and futile, but you fought against him anyway. He pulled you down onto his lap as he leaned back into the seat.

“Peter…”

Your words died in your throat as his hands clasped around the back of your neck, pulling you down until his lips met yours. The kiss was hungry, Peter a man starved as he moaned into your mouth. He was panting when he pulled away, chest heaving before he kissed you again.

Your hands were pressed against his chest, trying in vain to push yourself away from him. You gasped against his lips, heart stuttering when he flipped you, your frame now between his and the seat. He settled against you easily, fitting perfectly in between your legs as his fingers danced over you.

The buttons of your coat flew as he yanked it open, and you shivered. Peter paid no mind, running his hands over your exposed skin before sliding them under your dress. You felt like you were barely hanging onto consciousness, not even realizing when Peter had started to drag your underwear down your legs until they were already to your ankles.

You feebly kicked against him, but he simply grabbed your legs, spreading them to settle in between them once more. You could feel him hot and hard through his pants, and more tears kissed your eyes. How on earth had you missed this? You cursed yourself for not taking his behavior more seriously. For not listening to yourself last night.

Confident that you could not fight him off, one of his hands worked between your legs while the other worked to release himself. He was right to be confident, because no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t get your arms to work right. You felt like you were underwater, weighed down by sand.

“Peter,” you quietly pleaded again, and he shushed you.

You squirmed beneath him as he pushed his fingers in and out of you, hating how easy it was because of how wet you were. He pressed his mouth against yours, forcing his tongue past your lips, and you trembled as you felt him line himself up with your entrance.

A high-pitched yelp left you as he filled you with one thrust. The moan that climbed out of his throat was low and long, and he cursed as you clenched around him. Your hand pressed against the back of the seat as he pulled back before snapping his hips into you again.

“You feel so good,” he groaned into your mouth.

One arm locked around your waist as he pulled you both into a sitting position, his throbbing cock still inside of you as he held you onto his lap. You pushed against him, but your arms buckled when he lifted his hips up into you.

You whimpered, falling against him, and both of his hands fell to grip your waist, tightly holding you as he fucked you. Your body couldn’t support itself, and you sagged against him, forehead pressing against his as your eyelashes fluttered. Your jacket was barely hanging onto you, and with one hand, he pulled it all the way off. He gripped the bottom of your sequined dress before bunching it around your hips.

You tried to push yourself up, push yourself off of him, but not only was his hold firm, your body was too under the influence of the drug he’d given you. You pathetically whimpered as you fell against him again, a sob caught in your chest. He pressed a sloppy kiss to your neck, the strap of your dress falling, and you shuddered.

He pulled you into another kiss, the taste of your salty tears seeping into your mouth. Your head was light, mind spinning with the pleasure being forced onto you. You pressed your hand against the seat, attempting to push yourself away again when Peter spun you both, your back connecting with the seat as he laid you down, his clothed hips slapping against yours. He moaned into your mouth as you fluttered around him, and with a start, you realized that despite your unwillingness, an orgasm was creeping up on you.

Both of his hands rested on your cheeks as he kissed you again and again. His dark hair was falling into his forehead, sweat coating the strands, and your skin fared no better. You squeezed your eyes shut as you felt your stomach clenching, shamed and disgust coursing through you.

“Look at me,” Peter quietly demanded.

You shook your head but yelped when one of his hands reached to pinch your nipple through your dress. You peeled your eyes open, tears blurring your vision, but your gaze met his all the same.

“That’s my girl,” he murmured just as you clenched around him with a choked moan.

Your climax triggered his own, and he pushed into you a few more times before falling against you with a groan. You were both sweating and panting, and you felt the flames of sleep licking at the corners of your vision.

There was so much that you wanted to say to Peter, to scream at him, but you couldn’t form the words. You could only lay there as he kissed you again before pulling out of you, leaning back against the seat as he fixed himself. Sleep was just in your grasp, but you were scared to close your eyes. Scared of the man you thought you knew.

He spread his arm over the back of the seat, the other pulling your dress down, that annoying playful smirk dancing along his lips.

“I think a winter wedding would look absolutely beautiful.”

~

tags: @bamposworld @mcudarklibrary @darkficreposter @xoxabs88xox @buckybarnesplumwhore @harryspet @coconutqueen21 @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi​ @lokislastlove​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @hurricanerin​

[boldlyanxious]

Love in the Time of Taco Trucks

Jasonette July SC 2: fluff

Part of bittersweet ever after

My masterlist

Marinette had been stuck on a series of buses all evening and she was exhausted. Her work day was long and the subway was backed up. The bus should have gotten her back over an hour ago, but she was not the only person who switched to the bus after waiting too long at the subway platform. She was hungry and tired and didn’t want to have to cook when she got home. Luckily she had spied the taco truck down the block so she had a plan for that.

She smiled as she approached Grant, the taco truck guy. She had been there a few times when her tips were good, so she was familiar with him. He was so proud of having called his taco truck Tuesday so it could always be taco Tuesday. He told her that joke every time. She rushed down the block and waved at him when it seemed like he was cleaning up for the evening.

“Please serve me before you close, Grant. I’m desperate,” she begged.

“Long day?” she nodded at him. “I have just enough for one order.”

He looked to his left and made a sad face at her. Marinette looked over. There was a man with a mask approaching.

“Sorry Marinette, I can’t serve you tonight.”

She didn’t even get a chance to protest because Grant had turned and greeted the masked man.

“Good evening, Red Hood.”

“How is it going Grant? Is it too late for tacos?”

“It is never too late for you. I’ll have them right out.”

“Seriously?? This day sucks.”

Marinette felt silly at the rage that filled her but she couldn’t help it. Her whole day was filled with people expecting special treatment and then her commute home was so long and full of more people who had no concern for the inconvenience they caused others. She had been so happy at the simple solution only to be denied when someone else showed up to get special treatment.

She barely felt the first couple drops of rain when she stepped away from the taco truck. But before she was even halfway down the block the water was pouring down on her. She ran for the nearest awning to get out of the deluge. She dug through her bag but she must have left her umbrella at work. She heard footsteps splashing the wet ground behind her and then stopped. She turned when the man’s voice spoke.

“Hey, Marinette?”

She hadn’t expected him to know her name. She wondered what Grant had told him about her. She was trying to place who he was. She didn’t know all the costumed alter egos in Gotham and always felt awkward when others talked about them. Most Gothamites already knew most of them and assumed others would as well. She supposed it was the same way with how it had been in Paris when Hawkmoth had been active.

“Yes?” she said hesitantly.

“Grant said you had been ordering food but he only had enough for one. I had him make it into nachos to spread out the ingredients so that way there would be enough for both or us.”

He handed her a box. She looked up at him when she accepted it.

“Um, thanks. I was really disappointed.”

“Probably how I felt watching you walk away.”

“What??” Marinette looked up at him quickly.

“Can I walk you home? I have an umbrella.”

Marinette nodded. It may not have been the best idea. She found that out more the next day when she mentioned that she had met the Red Hood. Her coworkers wanted to know how she had gotten away and if Batman had come to rescue her. She chose not to give any additional details. He had seemed very sweet walking her home. They had started off in silence but he asked a few questions and worked out that she had a really rough day. He listened to her and wished her a good evening before he left.

---

She was starting to think that Red Hood was planning their meetings. Grant refused to confirm, but it was the third week in a row that he had just happened to show up when she was walking past the taco truck. Each time he insisted on getting her tacos because he had made her think that she would have to go without on a day she really needed them. The first time could have been a chance. The second time it could have been his routine. The third time was definitely suspicious. But now, she looked down the street and Grant was already closed.

It was a shame. Red Hood had surprised her with tacos three weeks in a row and now she was craving them today. Oh well, she had food at home she could make. Somehow tacos always sounded better. Even if they weren’t free courtesy of the notorious crime lord Red Hood.

She was a little surprised when Grant called to her from behind the taco truck. She had thought he was closed up and gone already. She was really surprised when she rounded the corner and saw the set up. There was a blanket laid out and lights strung around. The area was hidden enough that someone would have to look around the truck to see them. That was probably best for a crime lord who may not like to stay out in the open. He was sitting there at ease, waiting for her, with probably enough tacos to feed an army. Marinette couldn’t help the smile at seeing it all.

“What is all this?”

“Tacos.” he said with a laugh.

“Okay, smart guy. Why did you get an entire taco truck worth of tacos today?”

“Sit with me.”

Marinette tucked her legs under herself and sat in front of him on the blanket. He handed her a plate with tacos and picked up one himself. Neither spoke for a few minutes. Marinette followed his lead and started eating. He stopped eating and watched her for a moment.

“I like you,” he said simply.

She almost choked on her taco. She suspected as much since he kept showing up. She didn’t think he was just interested in her thoughts on how to improve fashion to be useful to workers or how to improve the look or the various heroes and villains in the city. But he stated it so clearly and easily that it somehow made it more difficult to take in.

“Oh-uh-aahh. I like you too.”

“Really? You don’t sound so sure.”

“You just came right out and said it. Who does that?”

“Well, I do.” he paused. “So I guess Jason does.”

“Jason?”

“Yes. Jason. Me.”

“You told me your name. Isn’t that like vigilante 101? Keep your identity secret.”

“Probably. But I don’t want to be a secret from you. I want to know you.”

---

It was much easier for Marinette to date Jason than it would have been to date Red Hood. He had managed to keep his identity and personal life away from his home life because of the mask. Even those who knew who he was by given name had no idea where he lived or that he was dating a waitress. Grant knew but he was very loyal to Red Hood. They may have met through the protection racket, but Red Hood had proved he was worth it when the Black Mask had come knocking. Literally.

They had come on a night Grant’s daughter was running the truck for him. She usually only helped out on busy nights and wouldn’t be alone but Grant had been sick and she set up for him. They must have decided that she was easy to convince and went after her when she was there alone. But she refused to pay so they trashed the truck and knocked her around a bit as a means of convincing her. Red Hood had heard the shouts and crashes and saw her land on the ground after being shoved into the door. She had turned the handle to help her escape the onslaught but she broke her leg in the fall. Her lip was already split from being slapped.

Red Hood did not even need to ask what had happened. He saw Black Mask’s goons exit after her and walk up to her menacingly. He waited until they were fully out and focused on tormenting the girl before he attacked them. He never found out if they survived the beat down he gave them. He didn’t even care. He stayed with Kara until her parents were able to come and get her help. Red Hood visited Grant a couple days later. He assured him that his truck would be in business again and covered all the expenses not covered by the business insurance. Property and injury. Grant never complained about the protection money and Jason never paid for another taco.

It was their first time visiting the taco truck together after officially starting dating. Grant didn’t say anything about the boyfriend Marinette showed up with who had the same build as Red Hood. He served them with a smile, not even a wink when he told them their meals were on the house.

He had even taken Marinette’s favorite picture of them. Jason was teasing Marinette as he snatched her last taco. He was putting it up to his mouth but rather than trying to fight with him over it, she lunged at him and bit the other side. The picture was snapped right as they both were appearing to eat the taco. She cheered in triumph for besting him. He laughed and put her taco down before he leaned in and kissed her for the first time.

---

Jason grasped Marinette by the shoulders and kept her upright. He ended up having to leave her for a few minutes to handle something that couldn’t wait. He was incredibly frustrated at the interruption but she just took the bumps in their relationships as they came. It was one of the things he loved about her. She never shamed him when his work interfered with their relationship. She knew he worked hard to make sure that his work wouldn’t interfere but that their decision to keep her hidden from everything in his criminal life would sometimes take precedence over their plans.

She had been perfectly happy to sit and wait. But she had wanted to wait for him to order food. She had a bit of bread with her drink. Jason had left the instruction to keep her happy while he was out back on the call. He found out when he returned that they might have kept her too happy. Her drink was full when he returned but based on the check she had drunk several of the drinks in the time he was away.

She was drunk. She was teetering on the line between tipsy and happy drunk. He liked her like this. Happy and affectionate. He almost decided to just carry her back home but she squealed with delight when she saw the taco truck. She hadn’t had more than a couple pieces of bread and plenty of drinks. He looked over and Grant was waving at them.

Jason smiled down at her while he let Grant fix them the usual. Marinette turned and kissed him while they waited. She usually didn’t like to be overly affectionate in public but when her inhibitions were lower she cared far less about them being noticed. He could see that Grant was trying not to laugh at him as he tried to keep her from doing more than he knew she preferred before they got home. It was much easier once the food was ready. She clapped in excitement to get her tacos. She probably enjoyed the food more than the fancy dinner he had planned.

He watched her sit to eat, not even wanting to wait until they made it home. She looked back up at him and smiled then looked devastated as her taco dumped out onto her tray. He got up to retrieve her a fork. He didn’t think she would even hear his wistful comment in her current state.

“You silly beautiful woman.” He kissed her on the head before he sat back down. “I was supposed to be asking you to marry me right now.”

He was looking at the small box from the fancy restaurant. He just took it with him, planning to remove the ring and come up with a new proposal plan. He glanced back at her. She was looking at him, frozen. It took him a moment to figure out what had made her react like that. Her eyesb were wide but somehow got even wider when he opened the box. A gleaming diamond ring was displayed in the fancy slice of cake.

“You want to marry me?”

“I have never wanted anything more.” he said seriously.

Marinette didn’t even answer. She lunged at him and hugged him. He tried to stop everything from falling but her tray of tacos and the slice of cake hit the ground. He had to hold himself steady to keep her from knocking him to the ground with the force of her enthusiasm. He pushed her hair back from her face and leaned down to kiss her deeply.

“Marry me?” he asked when he pulled away.

“Always.” she said as she leaned to kids him again.

---

It was a small ceremony. Jason had family but he didn't talk to them and Marinette’s situation was even more complicated. They kept the engagement short and invited only a few people. Jason’s idea was to do it behind the taco truck since it seemed to always make an appearance in their lives. But Marinette wanted some place prettier. She found a park with an old stone stair path that came out of the trees and into a clearing. It wasn’t by the seating area in the park but with a few flowers and battery powered fairy lights it turned out perfect.

They did it at dusk when the city was quiet. Darkness had just settled. Jason almost fell over when he saw Marinette walk towards him. She hadn’t let him see anything of the dress ahead of time but he knew she had spend countless hours working on it. A pale gold dress with thousands of tiny rose gold beads sewn on and tiny fairy lights attached to the dress. Her hair was swept up with glittering jewels and curls cascading down her back.

He was the luckiest man alive. Not even because he was alive for the second time. He had her and he was better for it. He couldn’t even bring himself to think of the 'what if they had never met' or he had never followed after her that first night. He wouldn’t have anything in his life if she weren’t smiling at him like she was right now.

Having the taco truck cater for the small wedding was the first decision made after they found the ring in the cake and dirt. Grant had come out to congratulate them and Marinette had happily declared that they had to have tacos at the wedding. It seemed fitting since Grant had been at all the big moments from the beginning of their relationship. He felt like family.

---

Marinette ventured into their living room to see that Jason had already set out coffee and was bringing a tray that presumably had breakfast if the smell was anything to go on. She sat at the breakfast bar and poured coffee into the two mugs he had set out. She paused with the cream halfway tipped toward the coffee when she spotted a familiar logo on a take out box.

“What’s this?” she asked, pointing at the offending box. “Did you get tacos without me?”

He pushed the box towards her with a grin.

“Open it,” he said.

She looked at him skeptically but opened it like he suggested. There were a couple bits of food in the empty box but not the tacos she was hoping he would surprise her with.

“Gee, thanks.” she said, before pushing it into the trash.

The grin melted off his face and he frantically went for the box in the trash. He pulled it out and opened it before flipping it over and checking the bottom. He stuck his finger through a small hole and wiggled it. He dug back into the trash briefly before dropping the box in the can and tearing frantically around the apartment. Marinette was worried at the unexplained reaction as he crawled along the floor and flipped over cushions. She abandoned the coffees on the counter to follow him when he moved towards the bedroom.

“Jay, what’s wrong? I’m not mad about the tacos. I know you were out late and I was already asleep.”

“It was your gift.”

“You got me tacos and they escaped into the apartment?”

“No, I got you a hamster and it escaped in the apartment.”

“A hamster?”

“I know we said anniversary gifts weren’t necessary and that we both prefer spontaneous gifts but it was. I saw it in the window on the way home last night and remembered that you had always wanted a hamster.”

“Maybe the taco box wasn’t the best place for it overnight.”

“I’m not that ridiculous. I put it in the box just a few minutes ago when I heard you waking up.”

He opened the closet and pulled down a box from the high shelf. It was full of all the things they could think to need with a hamster. The hamster case was set up and looked to have a little snuggly area where it had spent the night. The only thing missing was the hamster. They looked all over. It was an exhausting day and they ended up missing their dinner reservation for their 2 year anniversary. They ended up sprawled on the couch snuggling at the end of the day with no sign of the hamster.

Taglist

@jasonette-july-event | @theymakeupfairies | @emjrabbitwolf | @vixen-uchiha | @trythisagainlove | @trippingovermyfeet | @tbehartoo | @adrestar | @zynna | @laurcad123 | @woe-is-me0

[namunad]

MISFITS

Some things are meant to be and some aren’t.

word count: 5k

Warnings: smut, mentions of mental ilness, smut, switch!jungkook, switch!reader, curvy!reader, angst  (like lots and lots).

It’s 1 a.m the air is cold and breaths puff up as soft clouds in the air, walking in silence you’re feeling the soft buzz of the few drinks that you had leaving you euphoric on this cold night. Jungkook seems to be fighting with the wind to light up his cigarette, the glow of the nearby bar playing on his face, purple and pink reflecting on his cheekbones. He squeals exited when finally hot red flashes before him and lets him drag the smoke to his lungs.

“Why the fuck did I pay 50 dollars for a drink?” his hand comes up to his temple massaging the tense skin frowning his red lips tug downward, his foot tapping on the hard concrete “but most importantly where the fuck is our taxi”. You shrugged not having an answer for his last question, the breeze forcing you to wrap your arms around yourself.

“You asked for the most expensive drink Kook” the soft smile that plays on your lips calms him briefly before he rolls his eyes huffing.

“I asked for the best drink, not the most expensive, and it wasn’t even that good” you laugh knowing that he is lying, the image of his face enjoying the drink impressed behind your eyes. Skin flushed and mouth slightly agape leaving your mind running free, fantasising about what could be wetting his lips like that. Soft petals after a moist night.

“Quit whining, you act like it's the end of the world” he scoffs and gives you a soft push, his lips spreading into a smile, the cigarette lying on the corner of his mouth. Ash falls on the collar of his black coat, your hands move their own accord dusting the soft ash off the fabric and staying above his heart.

Neither of you smoked when you first met, it's a bad habit that college got you into. You remember promises of never drinking, smoking or make use of any illegal substance. You start laughing, the irony of your past floating above your heads. How does one change completely within years?

“You’re lucky we’re friends, keep running that mouth and you’ll not be anymore” you purse your lips and sneak your fingers to the cigarette stealing it from Jungkook. The filter is stained from his lipstick, when it finds a place in your mouth you can’t stop your mind from thinking about where it had been before. Can it be considered as a kiss?

“Lucky me then, I love to open my mouth such a shame you don’t” the implication of what you’re saying is not lost on him. His eyes are dark and heavy, as always he doesn’t reply to your flirting leaving you like a call unanswered. The phone rings and behind there’s only buzzing statics. Suddenly awake, the night seems darker and colder.The sound of air leaving your lungs makes the wait even worse, the cigarette is suddenly unlit and cold. You throw it and step on it roughly.

Fuck him, you think and you almost say it. Stopping you is the tall figure that gets in between you two, the guy which is clearly drunk offers you a lopsided smirk and cocks his head at you.

“What are you doing here alone, pretty lady? Want some company?” as you open your mouth to say that you're actually not alone you stop yourself, mad and uncorresponded you tell him that you simply are not interested. But it doesn’t stop there, it never does with this type of man. The stranger hand finds your wrist and tuggs you against him “Don’t play hard babe, lets have fun”.

“I told you that I’m not fucking intrested” you shove him away from you, receving attention that you dindn’t want -attention from someone who wasn’t Jungkook- made you more upset. The guys face twists into a deep frown gripping tighter your wrist.

“You should be grateful bitch that I’m giving your fat ass a chan...” this time his words die on his mouth the reason being Jungkook. The sound of bones breaking makes you screech in horror, the guy takes a step back but doesn’t fall, doesn’t let go of you. Bloodshot eyes find yours, a wicked feeling gripping you from the inside. Red pops in your mind, it screams danger.

“She doesn’t want you dumbass” he screams with a proud glimmer in his eyes, maybe the feeling of victory, but this isn’t a film and before you can do anything Jungkook is falling on his back holding his face. The blood that gathers on his hand makes you sick, the world spinning beneath you. His vice grip leaves you and you fall against the wall, you bounce from the contact. Hard rubber against the floor.

From then it's just flashes, the tall man swings a fist at Jungkook then he says something and Jungkook is on top of him. When black starts filling your vision you can hear Jungkook yelling, he drags you to the cab and gets you on the backseat. Perfect timing. There you recoil and think.

On the way home you both don’t talk. You want to ask him if he’s okay but the hardness of his gaze stops you. You come to the conclusion that he is mad at you, every night that you had together finishes somehow badly. It's not the first time you get laughed at, the both of you being used to their mean comments you usually just go on, it had never led to a physical fight.

In the worn backseat you start crying. You know he probably hears you sniffle behind him but he doesn’t address it, which only makes you sob louder. He doesn’t care about you, not romantically and not friendly. When the taxi comes to a stop you quickly get out and realize that you’re not in front of your house, the doorsteps to his studio come to your vision making you want to scream.

“Why the fuck am I at your house?” the bitterness of your voice leaves Jungkook gobsmacked, you’re angry at him he understands it. He feels feverish staring at your face, red eyes and runny nose stare back at him. Were you crying for him?

“I thought that given what happened you didn’t want to sleep alone” you nod and relax your shoulders, your body feels at ease like it suddenly hit water and floated to the surface. But your mind seems to disagree, the need to refuse his offer on the tip of your tongue, the goose bumps on your skin convince you otherwise. His apartment is warm, more than yours would be in a night like this, you sigh tired beyond limits. Jungkook disappears in his room, you decide to not investigate to not hurt your feelings further and you sink on the sofa. Sleep getting the best of you and giving you some needed rest.

What wakes you it's him hissing and grunting, making jolt out of your place and run towards him. When you barge through the door you find him facing the mirror his eyeliner smudged and the cut on his lips crusty with dried blood. When his eyes settle on you he quickly avoids your gaze, but it doesn’t stop you from getting the cotton ball full of alcohol out of his hands and throw it. He shrugs and chugs the brown liquid before sighting sadly, as if someone was pushing on his stomach hard enough to make him exhale all that air.

“You should use something else”

“I only have this bourbon” comes his immediate response.

Strangers. You feel awkward telling him to get a chair so you can help him clean up, never in your years of friendship you felt like an outsider but as he settles the chair in silence you can’t help but to feel so. When he sits the lights of the bathroom finally lets you see the damage done to his face, a sigh of relief leaves your mouth. Aside from the cut on his lips and light bruising on his cheek you can’t see anything else.

“Were you expecting worse?” his eyes finally meet yours, you nod cleaning lightly his cheek “You know what you’re doing, it feels better when you do it” soft eyelashes flutter at his words. He is apologising, since you were kids it has been his way of being sorry. Big eyes and a pout is all that took him to be forgiven by you. This time is different, far from the simplicity of a stolen spoon of ice cream, you want to hear him say sorry. To be sorry .“The silent treatment, huh?” you scoff and start cleaning his mouth.

Full lips parted waiting for you, far from his hard stare you let your fingertips touch the soft skin. Jungkook winces slightly as if waiting for the burn of the alcohol not the softness of your caress. He doesn't move after that and lets you indulge in your fantasy, it doesn’t occur to you that your thumb is pushing past his lips to settle on top of his tongue until the wet muscle touches you. You gasp and try to move your hand as fast as possible, his teeth sinking on your finger keeping it in place. His tongue moves around your digit and sucks the life out of it, you tell yourself that he likes the taste of bourbon that is lingering on your skin.

When he opens his eyes his jaw suddenly goes slack but you don’t find it in yourself to drag your finger out of his mouth. So you stay in that position, outside the sun is starting to light up the sky through the curtains. The light reflects on every shiny surface, a snowstorm of dust dancing in the apartment. A car outside honks and you jump surprised clutching your hand, against your erratic heart. How you wished to be outside, under the cold sun.

“I’m sorry” he offers you a sad look, his hands pressing against his thighs as if cleaning all the sweat that they collected. You know better, his anxiety habits being close to your heart. Brown orbits follow your gaze, stopping every movement he was doing.

“I know you are” comes your reply

“I really am”

Jungkook opens his mouth slightly and then he closes it. He knows he shouldn't do it, yet his hand comes to your hips and tug you towards him, fingers digging into the rough material of your jeans. You tip your head making your face hover his.

“For what?” His hands fall on his sides, he has shown you everything that he could.

He offers you his palms up, they say ‘read through the lines about my future’. What does it hold for us? Lovers, friends or strangers?

“Kiss me?” he whispers against you, soft breath warming your lips. The question lingers in the air, it dances between the two of you. Soft limbs press against each other.

“You don’t want me to” his eyes are fierce long lashes bat before you, tongue poking at his cheek. His nose finds yours and swipes against it.

“I wouldn’t ask if I didn't want it” he purrs and presses his lips against yours. The kiss is messy and far from what you had dreamed of in the years. He was ravishing you not tasting you, disappointed and surprised you decided that you liked it. The bourbon tang moves from him to you, and you blame the alcohol for the quickness with which you’ve forgiven Jungkook. His tongue plunges in your mouth, and you find yourself thinking about the softness that you had experienced against your finger in contrast with the rawness of it now. Plump lips work against each other for longer than you think.

“You taste of bourbon” you mumble as he detaches from you, he smiles and grabs your face caressing your cheeks. His lips kiss the apple of your cheeks, and then your eyes pressing lightly against them. He chuckles as you eyelashes tickle him, as you open your eyes you find him smiling so dumbly that if you didn’t know better you’d think this is the most beautiful day in his life.

“I think you taste like me” he says before getting up and pushing you to be the one sitting on the chair.

Switched roles. You gasp when he falls to his knees and starts unbuttoning your pants, his lips plant themselves on your tummy as if sucking the life out of it. His eyes don’t leave yours, your gut twists at the fastness of his movement, when your thighs are free from the tight confinement his face pushes against them. Jungkook closes his eyes enjoying the softness of them, how would he love to sleep on them forever. how easy would it be to die there. Your fingers ruffling his hair are enough to wake him from his reverie and start kissing your inner thigh with a new fund intensity.

He trails his open mouth kisses to your clothed core, which receives a soft caste kiss as if it was the cheek of his mother. Wanting to ask him if he really means that gentle gesture,if he sees you as a delicate creature worth the tenderness. You need to bite hard on your tongue to stop yourself from ruining the moment. His next actions give you an answer.

You never deemed Jungkook as the rough type and neither the soft type, in your mind he was passionate. Hot skin melting under his touch. In the years it had happened that you heard others enjoying his company, dreaming to be them you indulged in the fantasy that he was an intense lover. Not too much and not too little. As his fingers tear your underwear and his tongue finds your most sensitive pearl, you can see how much you were wright. You can feel it in the fervor in which he is eating you out, the hard muscle working on your insides as his nose keeps stimulating your bundle of nerves.

“Take this off” he tugs on your revealing top, that you had worn in the hopes of an event like this “Wanna see your tits”. He doesn’t give you time to think about a mouthy answer diving back to your moist cunt, your legs shake against his shoulders while hard teeth start nibbling at your soft labia. You take off your last garment without any complaints, Jungkook smiles against your heated mound and detaches himself from you. Wet strings follow on his face, a moan leaves your mouth.

The cocky smile that tugs at his face doesn’t surprise you, knowing that Jungkook is used to winning. To be good at anything of that matter, he thrives of what makes him understand that he is the best. He knows he is good and he knows that you love it. The thought makes you shamefully more aroused than what it should.

“You have such a pretty pussy” two of his fingers spreading your wet lips, they move to circle the tight hole collecting your juices and then start pushing inside “So tight for me ...” . Jungkook loses you right there, overwhelmed from the fast pace you don’t hear him saying the last words. “...only for me”

You hum and then scream when his mouth finds your nipple and starts sinking his teeth into it, by the end of his work when he leaves your nipple to move to the other one you feel raw everywhere. From the tip of your sensitive boobs to your insides which are gripping so hard on Jungkook's hand that he thinks that you're going to break his fingers. He sees you nearing your end, the look on your face, the delicate moans that leave your mouth spur him to start going impossibly faster. His lips find your clit, making you cry out loud the lord's name

“I’m gonna cum. Gonna cum right now Guk” you keep chanting his name, the only word that bounces in your brain “Fuck, fuck” you whine as he keps the same pace. Jungkook is amazed when he sees your orgasm face, the lonely nights in which his hand had helped him get through his impossible feelings for you he imagined something else. When you cum your mouth opens to what seems like the most relaxed expression to ever touch your face, he cant help to hope to see you always this rested and calm.

You spasm and cry his name once again. Your toes are painfully curled against his back and your spine is so curved that you think you might develop a disease with how long you stay in that position. His fingers work you through your climax keeping a steady pace, when overstimulation starts to settle in you move from the imaginary cast that you created. As you come back to your senses you feel too naked and vulnerable, your hands come instantly to your stomach as your eyes drop to the floor. You showed your all to him and as he stares at between your legs you almost want to tell him your deepest secrets.

“Don’t cover yourself” he tugs on your arms that are firmly planted to your skin “I love your body”. You give him a tight smile knowing well that it wasn’t about your appearance, if only he loved you.... Is it bad to want something that someone doesn’t want?

He knows why you’re suddenly so tense but he isn’t ready to talk about it, Jungkook wants just to feel you and as he's getting up his hands snake under your arms bringing you flush against him. As if he always did it, his head falls on your shoulder as he holds your naked body, he shifts his weight rhythmically singin so faintly that you find it difficult to even understand him, let alone understand him. His lips hover on your shoulder, hot breath making you squirm in his hands. Again he has succeeded in calming your pained heart.

“You’re so perfect” he whisper against your ear

“but not for you” you breathe discouraged

“yes, for me”. And I’ll show you, he thinks but doesn’t say. As if nothing happened his lips search for yours and they find them waiting for him, you sight on his mouth. The frown that was deeply creasing your forehead relaxes.

He walks backwards holding you until he touches his bed and sits down bringing you on top of him. Painfully dressed, the rough material of his jeans press onto you so harshly that you whimper way too loudly. His hands, that now are resting on your ass, squeeze it and then slap it playfully. He almost breaks his neck trying to get a glimpse of the ripples of your flesh. You pull on his shirt trying to get him out of it, the tight black turtleneck doing wonders for his figure, he shreds the piece of clothing not before making you laugh as he gets his head stuck. Once uncovered he falls back to his back giving you access to his unmarked body, ravishing the sight of him so pliable under you as your mouth presses against his hot skin.

When you notice them, two lines like a railway leading to nowhere. Two long scars. Your heart jumps out of his place with sorrow and what you think is defeat. You arrived too late, someone had already hurt him. Lips aching to kiss it better, at least until the pain is gone. Erased from the face of the earth, you find yourself wanting to hurt who made him think less of himself. You knew of them, of course you knew, after all you were the first call that his mother had made that disgustingly sad day.

“I’m sorry”. I’m sorry for what happened to you. Sorry that you felt so alone to think that no one was going to miss you. Sorry to not have been there, to not have noticed.

“I know you are” his nails are now scratching lightly the skin of your thighs. You know it's not like that, but you can’t help yourself to think that's a punishment. You hope that his finger cut you, digging through your muscles permanently damaging you. So that you could understand what he feels, and he would understand how deeply you feel for him.

“I really am” shame grips you so strongly that your eyes fail to stay open and look at him

“Don’t cry about it”, you gasp as you realize the wetness on your cheeks. “It happened a long time ago”. Birds are chirping outside and he smiles collecting your tears and kissing each of your fingertips.

“Besides I really need you now, please”. Jungkook is impossibly hard and your boiling sex against him, makes him want to tear his closes to tiny peaces until they don’t exist anymore. His fingers force you down on your hips, pressing himself closer to you.

His tongue is reckless in mouth, pushing past your teeth and dancing with you own. Jungkook delivers the sloppiest kiss that he can give you, pushing his, still clotheted, erect cock into you.

“Want to feel you” you huff, your fingers struggling with the tightness of his trousers. More skin comes into your vision; you cannot stop your mind from screaming to worship him. You take in a breath so intense that it tickles your chest, his eyes are waiting for you as soft whines leave his mouth. On your knees you start praying that no one will ever see what you're seeing, will never see him that sweaty and needy. A mole on his knee catches your attention so much that you find yourself kissing it, and so to each of his little beauty marks. You slowly work your way up until you’re kissing him. His bottom lip is as soft as a pillow after a stressful day.

Chest to chest nipples rubbing against each other, you take hold of him. It pulses in your hands as it finally gets the attention that it deserves, it looks painfully pleasurable neglected for so long that when you look at it the tip has a flushed color to it. His hand finds yours and guides your movements, as his thighs tremble. Your thumb plays on his slit as he moans throwing back his head

“So fucking good” he grips your hips and pushes his thigh in between your legs. “Can you ride my thigh? Fuck cherub that would be so hot”. He rolls his eyes so hard that he nearly loses sight as you put all of your weight on the taunt muscle, the wetness in between your legs permits you to move so smoothly that he’d think you’ve done it you’re entire life. You can feel his dick rubbing against your upper thigh.

His finger comes up to your nipples, pinching and rolling them. Your heart starts beating faster, the feeling of a new orgasm building makes you slump forward and press your forehead against his. Jungkook would love to be a sponge right now, just to absorb all of your thoughts. Was he what you had imagined? Your second orgasm is more dull in comparison to the first, still better than any escaparedes that you had in the years. Jungkook bats his eyelashes waiting for your next move, his arms holding your trembling body up.

“You’re so patient” is the first thing that you say “such a good boy” he purrs at your words, nose scrunching at your praise. He is a complete mess from the black locks falling on his eyes, bruised skin to his raw lips.

It would be a shame not to kiss them, you would be disappointed in yourself if your lips didn’t impress themselves on his forever. Profoundly interconnected like time and space. As you whimper against him his hands travel to hold your head against his, even as you start to struggle breathing you keep kissing him. When you feel your lungs screaming for oxygen you break out of his hold but his fingers that now are on your hair tug roughly on your scalp. You cry, pain mixes with pleasure as your head falls back and gives finally Jungkook the access that he needed to devour you.

He wants you to have his marks for a long time, he sucks on your neck as if his life depended on it. His teeth nip on the abused skin and a smile stretches on his face thinking of you the next day checking the damage that he had done. If he could Jungkook would cover you in hickes, from head to toe.

The power dynamic has changed, now you’re the one who is squirming and fighting against his mouth. As he flips you to have you on your back, you can only be impressed by his force and drool over the sight of his biceps flexing. How can someone be so fucking hot?

“Missionary, huh? Isn’t it a bit basic” you ask as he starts rubbing his tip against your sodden folds.

“You better close your mouth cherub” He pushes on your hip making you twist your lower half and give him the perfect view of your ass. A hard slap echoes through the room and then another one, finally Jungkook can see the jiggle of your soft body coming to the conclusion that you’re an otherworldly creature.

He holds one of your legs up and thrust in your tight walls, as he bottoms out you both shiver from the contact. “So deep” you keep blabbering as you squeeze your breast holding them from moving too much. Sweat is collecting on his temples and it shines on his bronzed skin as kisses given from the gods. He is relentless, his crown kissing your cervix with how roughly his ramming inside you dragging his cock so perfectly in you think you're ascending the material world. Your hands leave your chest to find his and quickly pass on his little buds, he growls and lets your leg fall to his side probably tired.

Jungkook drops on you, hips flush against yours, stomach against stomach, heart against heart. Forearms on the sides of your head he picks up a destructive pace, hitting right on your g spot, stimulated beyond limits you can only kiss him. His hands find yours and enterwine, you’re so close that you start feeling claustrophobic. Buried under the weight of your deepest desire.

“Are you going to cum for me?” your spasming also are enough of a response and the screech that comes out of your mouth is so lustful that he starts throbbing inside of you

“Fuck, can I cum inside you”

“yes, please” White stars are spotting your vision, he seems an angel to your hazed mind. The experience is so shocking, that you can’t even call it an orgasm. Your brain floats, intoxicated with his smell.

“Gonna fill you up so good Cherub” you humm at his words as he suddenly stops, he is impossibly deep inside you when he spills, so much that you think you’re going to bear his child. He rolls to your side panting like a dog after chasing his favourite toy in the mud. You feel dirty as the piercing air hits your skin, no longer hidden from his fraim you shiver.

He stays like a dead body for a few minutes, when his eyes open and his chest starts moving you feel oddly satisfied. Your nakedness no longer a concern you reach to kiss him and he welcomes obediently, his hand coming to take you closer to him.

“Can we stay like this forever?” he sighs and squeezes you. Doesn’t he know? How can someone be so oblivious?

“If you wanted we could” you whisper. Finger sinking onto him in the desperate try to not let go of him

“I don’t mean it in that way”

“Then which way?” Which way do you perceive me; friends, lovers or strangers?

Life is beginning outside, you can hear the commotion. Kids screaming, students laughing, the workers hurried steps. You can hear it all, but his reply. Your work is done, you quickly get up straightening your back and turn around. Leaving his warm embrace feels like being born again, being thrown into a pool and not knowing how to swim.

You tug your now cold clothes back to their original place running to the door while he calls your name, scrambling to get your coat and shoes you fall and get quickly up. Your knee sting and you're sure that you'd find them bloody if you looked at them. The fist breath of air feels hot as if breathing through fire, thousands of needles poking at your lungs.

“For god's sake can you wait?” he is scrunching holding himself against his knees “I like you. No, screw that I love you but I cannot do this to you”. Surprise washes over your features over the sudden confession as you try to reach for him he takes a step back and continues. “I cannot let you fall for me because I can’t guarantee that I’ll always be there”

This time when you cry tears are falling freely, the reality of what is happening starts to sink in and you feel like you’ll be crying forever. A tap broken on the hottest setting, so when you try to fix it you’ll be left in excruciating pain.

“You should find someone else, someone who cares so much for you that wants to stay alive”

“But I already love you” you love him so much that the extent of your love scares you. So firmly rooted in your heart that if this love is eradicated from you, you’ll be left as empty soil. Moist land without seeds.

“Then you shouldn’t”

It’s 10 a.m, the air is cold and breaths puff up as soft clouds in the air, walking in silence you’re feeling overwhelmed by what happened in the few hours that you had with him leaving you alone on this cold day.

[tuanyiems]

Cookies and Cream

Yugyeom x Reader (f) fluff x smut words: 4k plot: annoyed by some (really just one) of your gratuitous “self-care” rituals, he decides to teach you a little lesson about indulgence, established relationship!au warnings – dom!gyeom, oral (f receiving), fingering, teasing, overstimulation, praise kink, squirting a/n – sorry for the delay, coincidentally I also had to work overtime for work this week lol now if only I had Gyeom too…but in other news, got7 is coming back in 3.5 more hours!!!!!!!!! I’m so excited y’all!!! // part of Le Chocolatier drabble series, which you can find the masterlist for in my blog. feel free to read this as a one-shot or part of the series, in any order you want <3

It’s 9PM on a Friday when you decide to turn off your work computer and call it quits. When you blink, the blue shadow of your screen still flickers behind your eyes and for the past two hours your right lid has been twitching every few minutes. When you stand up from your office chair, the world spins and you are briefly nauseated. You swallow down the feeling with a huff, throwing on your jacket and purse.

It’s quiet on your floor, everyone else having left already. It’s been like this the entire week ever since your project manager proposed a new venture and put you in charge of actually making it happen. Yugyeom tells you to just quit, but you figure it’s partially your fault too. You don’t know how to say no. 

So instead, you stop by the convenience store next door and buy yourself a couple of bath bombs. As an afterthought you throw in a box of Ferrero Rocher at checkout.

It’s another thirty minutes when you finally get home. Your whole body aches from being crouched at your desk. As you kick off your flats, Yugyeom greets you with a much too eager smile.

“Babe!” he exclaims, his black hair practically bouncing with every step towards you. “The boys are having game night tonight!”

You let out a yawn as you put your things down. “Sounds great, Gyeom, you go have fun.”

He let out a pout, “You don’t want to come with me?”

You answer with a tired smile and only grow even more weary when you see his infamous puppy dog eyes. “Gyeom,” you plead softly.

“I’ve barely seen you all week. Don’t you miss me?”

“Of course I missed you baby!” You pull him into your arms, nestling your face in his chest. You take a deep breath, his distinct warm bergamot tones filling your senses. You truly have missed him. Two years in and coming home to him every night still isn’t enough. Boy, are you in deep, huh?

“Then come with. Someone needs to put Bambam in his place. He bought a PC and suddenly thinks he’s a gamer,” you feel the rumble of his chest as he squeezes you closer.

And you feel your own resolve breaking the longer you stay in his arms, but when you blink, your eyes still sting from the strain of overuse and fatigue.

“But…I bought bath bombs.”

Yugyeom pulls away slightly and you offer up a weak smile. He knows you’ve been working hard this week. He assumed you would enjoy letting go and playing games for the rest of the night, so your rejection blindsides him. He was really looking forward to spending time with you and the guys. From above, he can see the bags under your eyes more clearly and you do look tired.

“Are you sure?” he offers up one final plea and you answer with a firm nod.

“Go and have fun for the both of us,” you assure, pulling away and heading towards your shared bedroom.

“Are you sure?” Yugyeom repeats, following after you like a shadow. “Want me to stay in with you?”

You chuckle, shaking your head as you pull out a pair of mismatched pajamas from your drawers. “Please, I don’t think I can handle all your energy right now.”

“Hey!”

“You are the love of my life,” You press a kiss to his frown and watch how easily the corner of his lips lift. “I love you, I love you, I love you, but please Gyeom, go out and have fun and I’ll enjoy myself at home and when you come back, I will welcome you into my arms and we can have the whole weekend together, just us. Okay?”

Seeing your exasperation, Yugyeom puckers his lips before breaking out into a boyish grin. “Oh alright! Go have fun with your bubble bath, I guess.”

“I will,” you press one last kiss to his lips before shooing him away.

It’s not long before you finally have the apartment to yourself. Humming, you slowly disrobe as you make your way to the minibar, breaking out a glass of wine. And just as you are about to sashay over to the bathroom, you pause and decide to take the whole bottle with you.

Impeccably timed, the water you left running is filled to the perfect level as you enter. Taking in a deep breath, you smile as you sip at your wine. The bath bomb you bought fizzes in the water, dispersing in the hot liquid in pastel purple and pinks, and fills the small room with the aroma of vanilla and lavender. For a convenience store bath bomb, it does its job perfectly, which is great because you honestly needed this one win for the week.

When you finally sink into the water, it feels like heaven on your aching muscles. For the first time in what feels like this entire week, you feel your shoulders untensing from the heat of the water.

You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath. 

And you almost fall asleep right there before you remember the chocolates sitting at the edge of the tub. Picking up one of the golden orbs, you bite at the curve of your lips and admire the crinkled foil before your eyes shift furtively to the bathroom door like a thief. Despite being alone in the apartment, you can’t help feeling like a child up to no good.

Yugyeom has a, well, disliking towards convenience store chocolates. He believes they dishonor the art of chocolate making with their “sick capitalist greed” (even though he happens to own a chocolate store). As a result, you very rarely ever ate chocolates that were not made by Yugyeom, himself, which was great because who doesn’t love free, expensive chocolates? But sometimes, you missed the taste of other chocolates.

Especially, Ferrero Rocher. Back in high school, these were your “expensive” desserts. Almost every month, they were your go-to treat whenever you were nursing your period pains and hormonal mood swings. When you entered adulthood and your self-care treatments became more expensive, so did your taste in chocolates.

But now, here you are, savoring the chocolatey, nutty flavor of convenience store goodness on your tongue while your lover is away like a wife with a dirty secret. Your life has come full circle.

You giggle, hand already tearing the wrapper off another piece before the taste of the first is even fully gone. Man, did you miss this flavor. If you could have it your way, you’d put Nutella in everything! The hazelnut spread was like crack! You make a mental note to buy yourself a jar on your next grocery run. 

With the delicious taste of hazelnut glazed over your tongue, you sink back into the tub and watch mindlessly as the pastel water swirls around you. 

Suddenly, the door creaks open and a hand pops through with your pink bra hanging by the strap on a finger. Yugyeom pushes open the door, revealing his amused face.

“So eager to kick me out that you left a whole trail of your clothes on the floor?” 

You smile up at him before sinking your lips into the water.

“And here I was thinking you’d be so lonely by yourself,” he pouts, setting your bra on the sink counter and approaching you.

You sit up straighter, lifting your head fully out of the water, as he gets closer. “I left a trail so you could find me.”

“Too late for your lame excuses,” he chuckles, sitting at the edge of the tub. His eyes follow your movements as you hug your legs closer to your chest. Most of your makeup has washed off, though the ghost of your eyeliner still tints the ends of your eyes, and though your lipstick has rubbed off, the inside of your lip is awkwardly wine stained. The ends of your hair are wet by the water and the strands stick to your skin in clumps.

And you are so beautiful. Not because you look particularly different in this moment, but because you look so real. It makes him think back to when the two of you first started dating. You had been so nervous, waking up early to put on makeup before he could see you and wearing lingerie every time he slept over. Back then, you’d even refrained from your regular self-care routines because you had been so worried he would think you were too high maintenance. 

But now, he is blessed to have you here, completely bare to him, literally and figuratively. All curled up in the tub, smiling up at him without an ounce of fear—it makes his insides all gooey. You do that to him.

The guys had given him a hard time about leaving game night early, but now that he’s here, he’s sure he made the right choice. 

“Babe,” your soft whisper breaks him out of his reverie. Your eyes brighten when he meets your gaze. “Wanna join me?”

Yugyeom closes his eyes, tilting his head up, and lets out a loud exhale. “You are perfect.”

You giggle, nose scrunching, until you hear the sound of crunching plastic. You watch, in slow motion, as Yugyeom’s gaze drops to the floor and the both of you freeze.

You blink up, swallowing. The residue of chocolate suddenly tastes sour in your mouth.

“Is that…” The words get caught in Yugyeom’s throat. But his silence feels worse when he’s staring at you with wide, accusatory eyes.

“Gyeom, I-I can explain!” the words come jumbling out of you in a rush, your mouth suddenly dry.

“You…You…In our house, babe?” 

“All the stores were closed by the time I left work. I just-I just wanted a quick snack!”

You feel like drowning in your own guilt when Yugyeom looks at you so sadly.

“You could’ve asked me to bring you home chocolates. Unless,” he pauses and a frown forms on his face, “you didn’t want to?”

You hurry to stand in the tub, water splashing from the sudden movement, but you don’t care. You twine your wet, raisined fingers between his.

“Baby, I love your chocolates! They’re my favorite, you know that,” you squeeze his fingers, ignoring the cold air around your bare skin. 

“Do I?” he sulks, looking back at the half-eaten tray of Ferrero Rocher.

You sway to the side, angling your body so your eyes meet his again. “I went into the convenience store to buy bath bombs and grabbed these chocolates at checkout as an afterthought. If I knew I was going to crave chocolates when I saw it, I really would have called you. But it was already late at night and I didn’t want to bother you.”

Yugyeom sighs. “You don’t have to explain yourself. You’re allowed to eat and love whatever you want…but just so you know, you’re never bothering me. I will make you chocolates even if it’s the middle of the night and you’re on the other side of the world.”

“Gyeom,” you pout, endeared by his words even as he’s saying it with a frown on his face. You press your palm to his cheek, guiding his lips to yours. “I love your chocolates, and I love you.”

Finally, Yugyeom smiles and you meet his with your own. It’s not long before he’s edging his tongue through the seam of your lips, tangling in your mouth. It’s been too long since you’ve been able to taste him on your lips like this. The quick morning kiss goodbye could only keep you going for so long.

You’ve missed this so much. You’ve missed him. How long has it been since the two of you had sex? A week? No, ten days? For the both of you, that was like an eternity.

You can feel your hunger stirring against the pliant muscle of Yugyeom’s tongue. You forget to breathe as he sucks at the bottom of your lip until it is red and swollen. It’s not until your lungs feel like they are burning that the both of you break away with heaving breaths.

Yugyeom makes a face of disgust despite the shine of your saliva on his lips. “You taste like that stupid generic crap.”

He kicks at the tray of chocolates on the floor and you giggle.

“I don’t know, Gyeom, it seemed like you were enjoying the taste,” you tease, tongue poking slyly out the corner of your lips.

It’s then that he realizes your bare state and a smirk replaces his frown.

“You wanna have a self-care night, right? Let me teach you something about self-care.” Without another word, Yugyeom taps twice at your thigh and like a trained puppy, you jump for him. Clinging to his neck, you wrap your wet legs around his waist and let him carry you into your bedroom.

You let out a squeak of surprise when he tosses you roughly onto the mattress.

“If you want to indulge, I’ll give you something to indulge in,” Yugyeom grabs at the bottom of his t-shirt and pulls it over his head before flinging it across the room. You watch with hungry eyes as his hands move down to his jeans, veins protruding up his arms as he undoes his button. You can’t help the disappointment that fills you when he stops there.

His brows arch at your expression. “Only good girls get rewarded, baby.”

“I’ll be good for you,” you plead, crawling to the edge of the bed to meet him. He cups your face in his large hands sweetly.

“You promise?” You nod eagerly, making him scoff at your desperation. “Good girls don’t break their promises, so keep that in mind.”

“I promise,” you breathe out as Yugyeom trails his fingers down your cheek before grabbing you sharply by the chin.

“I don’t know, kitten, it seemed like earlier you didn’t even want me in the house. Feels like you didn’t miss me at all.” Your eyes flicker up to meet his gaze, brows arching with concern. He points his nose in the air haughtily, but if experience has taught you anything, there was definitely a hint of hurt in his words.

You touch your fingers to his wrist softly. “I missed you so much,” you utter softly. And contrary to the gentleness of your voice, your gaze is strong and sure. It’s only when Yugyeom’s lips twitch into the slightest of smiles that you relax into his touch again.

He pinches your chin between his thumb, forcing your head to tilt back further. His eyes returning to their dark, demanding gaze. “What exactly did you miss so much, kitten?”

“Everything—your touch, your taste, the way you make me feel wanted and loved and safe and warm,” your eyes glaze over, conflicted between giving into your lust or your love, and feeling it all jumbling inside your gut. Both your chest and your core aches for him and it’s so apparent in the way your body seems to melt into the grip of his hand. “I miss feeling you inside me. No one else can make me feel that good.”

“Oh, I’ll make you feel good tonight, kitten,” he smirks, releasing your chin. “Spread out for me baby.”

As soon as he utters the command, you are rushing to the pillows. With your head sinking into the silk pillowcase, you open your legs wide for Yugyeom to admire. And he admires, taking his sweet time to follow you onto the bed, eyes glued to the heavenly sight of your cunt just absolutely glistening with lust for him.

His mouth waters just looking at you spread out for him. “Pretty pussy, so wet for me already.”

He trails his hands slowly up your inner thighs and you are practically vibrating, careening for more of his touch. Yugyeom smirks as he stares at your pussy. Even in his peripheral vision, he can already tell you’re on edge. Brushing two fingers up your wet pussy lips, he spreads your folds apart with the V of his fingers.

Your shaky inhale is audible, much to Yugyeom’s satisfaction.

“So impatient, kitten,” he chuckles darkly, enjoying the way your cunt clenches around nothing. He lifts his fingers off of you and raises it to his mouth. He watches you closely before releasing a low moan at your taste on his tongue. When you bite your bottom lip and watch him quietly, Yugyeom releases his fingers with a pop and lifts his brow. “You’re really trying to keep your promise, aren’t you?”

You nod fervently, making him laugh.

“Then as I promised, good girls get rewarded,” he smiles, a shine in his eyes that promises mischief.

With that, Yugyeom presses his two fingers back between your legs and you release a loud sigh at the feeling of his fingers stretching your walls. The ache is delicious and you find yourself whining a little too loudly at just his two fingers alone. You’ve been so wound up this entire week, the sudden stretch of his two fingers is almost overwhelming. Already, your walls are quivering around his digits.

You feel your cheeks heat, eyes diverting from Yugyeom’s gaze to the ceiling. When you hear his dark chuckles, you know he’s noticed too. You’re already so close, it’s embarrassing. When Yugyeom curls his fingers into your soft, velvety flesh, a moan releases from your throat as you feel a fluttering straight in your core.

It feels too good too fast and soon you are whining, palms flying to cover your face as the knot in your core tightens.

“Gyeom, wait, I-”

“Aw, is kitten going to cum already?” Yugyeom coos sadistically, fingers curling faster against your walls. “What’s the rush baby? I haven’t even tasted you properly.”

“Please,” you whine, tensing at your abdomen in a sorry attempt to fight off your orgasm. 

“Missed me that much, baby?” he laughs, feeling your walls squeeze against his digits.

“Yes!” you admit, feeling the telltale signs of your cunt contracting, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Your back arches off the bed as your orgasm hits you, making your body quiver with pleasure. Heat spreads across your limbs as you ride out your high. 

Yugyeom’s fingers continue to stroke against your pulsing walls as he watches you cum on his fingers. His smirk grows when you open your eyes again, looking at him with surprise. Your hands come to his wrist.

“B-babe,” you stutter, body shaking from his continued ministrations. “It’s too much.”

“Shh,” he strokes his fingers softly against the swell of your walls while his other hand gently lifts your hand from his wrist. “You can do this, kitten. Be a good girl for me.”

You swallow, letting his fingers intertwine with yours as a thrill runs down your spine. Finally, you give a small nod, and he smiles at you with crescent eyes.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers encouragingly. “You’re so beautiful when you cum, baby. Show me how you cum, okay?”

You nod, squeezing his hand as he presses a third finger into your sopping hole. As soon as you’re stretched by his third finger, you can already feel your core tightening. Your heart races in your chest as Yugyeom curls his fingers into you faster, chasing the delicious high that is just tipping you at the very edge.

You let out a whimper, eyes squeezing as your walls tighten around him for the second time. His fingers dig into the perfect spot inside of you over and over until you are exploding with pleasure. All thoughts leave you as your mind fills with hot white pleasure.

As you ride the aftershocks of your orgasm, the fog slowly lifts from your mind and you are relieved to find Yugyeom’s fingers have stopped moving inside you.

“You did so great, baby,” he praises you and you feel yourself glowing from his words.

And then you feel his fingers move again.

“Gyeom,” you whine weakly.

He chuckles, pulling his fingers out of you. He smiles, coming up to press a kiss to your lips. 

“You’re amazing, baby,” he whispers against your lips. “I love seeing you cum around my fingers.”

You pout, running your fingers through his hair. “Only for you.”

You feel him smile against you before he moves to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You can do one more for me, kitten,” he murmurs, breath tickling the shell of your ear. It makes you shiver, and he can already feel you arching into him. “I missed your taste, baby.”

At those words, you groan. God, you missed his tongue on you.

“That’s a yes, isn’t it?” he chuckles, brushing his wet fingers between your folds. You whine, nodding. “Such a good girl. I’ll make you feel good, I promise.”

“I know,” you exhale, already shivering from his touch. You watch him with hooded eyes as he smiles from your admittance.

Slowly, he makes his way back down your body, tickling your skin with butterfly kisses down your neck and sucking red bruises down the valley of your chest. Planting a sweet kiss to your mound, Yugyeom pulls away to blow air at your glistening folds, admiring the way you shiver at the sensation.

Finally, with eyes on you, he dips down and licks a stripe up your pussy. He smirks with satisfaction as your eyes flutter close. He taps your thigh, bringing your attention back to him.

“Eyes on me, kitten.”

You whimper, nodding, and you rise on your elbows, gaze fixed on him. Pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, Yugyeom gives you one last smile before pressing his lips around your clit. You suck in a breath as he laps at the bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue in intoxicating circles. His mouth feels so warm and soft around you, you can’t help the sigh of pleasure that escapes you.

“God,” you moan, feeling the tightening of your core once again.

Yugyeom answers you with the press of his fingers at your entrance again. You let out a loud moan, feeling your walls quiver at the familiar intrusion. Despite yourself, you find your body clenching around his digits. 

The room fills with your heavy panting and the loud squelch of his fingers thrusting into your sopping entrance. But you can barely hear anything, your brain buzzing from oversensitivity. It almost hurts, how good he makes you feel. When he groans around your clit, it sends vibrations straight to your tightening core.

“Gyeom!” you whine, eyes prickling with tears as he sucks harder.

Your legs shake out of control when he curls his fingers against your g-spot, sending you hurtling into another orgasm. A guttural wail of his name leaves your throat as you squeeze your eyes shut. Tears run down your cheeks as your head hits the pillow and you shake against the mattress, overwhelmed by the wave of pleasure erupting throughout you. Wave after wave of hot pleasure spreads across your skin and Yugyeom watches in awe as your pussy squirts all over him and down his bare chest.

“Fuck, baby!” He laughs when you finally come to. “You just squirted!”

You feel your cheeks heat as you look down at his wet body and the mess on the sheets. “I-I did,” you mutter, suddenly shy.

“Don’t get embarrassed on me now, kitten,” he smiles reassuringly at you. “That’s the hottest thing you’ve ever done, babe. I just want to eat you out forever now!”

You suck in a breath when he dips down and laps at your cum. You shiver at the sting of oversensitivity, pushing his head away. 

“Too much, Gyeom,” you whine weakly.

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your thigh before sitting back up. 

The smirk returns to his face as his eyes darken again. “Too much, kitten? But I’m just taking care of you. I know you love your self-care nights so much.”

Your eyes grow wide as you follow his hands. You swallow, seeing the bulge of his jeans. And despite having orgasmed the hardest you ever have just moments ago, you find your pussy clenching against air.

And the ache for your boyfriend returns, tenfold. 

A shiver runs down your spine as he presses his red, hard cock to your swollen pussy. A little indulgence never hurt anyone right? After all, you had a very rough week. 

[asset35-maya]

Feel free to ignore this if you aren't taking prompts.

But Contina and their first really bad fight. I mean screaming and tears. That sort of thing.

Love you as always Maya

Love you too @rjhpandapaws

Since I can’t see canonverse Connor staying angry for long, I’m gonna set this in my Contina Human AU called “Art of Life”.

//

IMPLOSION

“Goodnight!” “Bye! Thanks for having us!” “Thanks for coming.” “Byeeeeee.” “Bye.”

Their false smiles faded as soon as they shut the door. Connor watched through the peephole to make sure their guests were gone before rounding on her.

“What the hell’s going on with you?”

“I should be asking you that.”

“Stop- stop looking at me like that, Tina. You were looking at me like that the whole damn evening. What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t talk to me like that.”

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Fuck you, I wasn’t looking!”

“Don’t you dare deny it.”

Tina rolled her eyes and walked back into the kitchen to clear up. Connor followed closely.

“What were you doing? Keeping an eye on me? Making sure I don’t drink too much. Say anything weird? Punch your total dick of a best friend in the face and give him another scar?”

She looked alarmed at the sharp rise in pitch and volume of his voice.

“He’s your brother-in-law. He’s family… it’s been years… I don’t understand why you still take everything he says so seriously.”

Connor downed what was left in a beer bottle sitting on the counter top. He threw it into the trash with a vengeance. Tina shot him a reproachful look which he ignored.

“I don’t want to see him around here again. Don’t invite him to these things. Actually, don’t host these stupid family dinners again. I don’t want my idiot brothers and their idiot husbands in my house. Stop trying to fix things.”

There was a sharp clack as Tina put down a serving dish. She looked up coldly.

“Fix things?”

Connor felt his stomach clench but his stupid brain told him not to back down. He’d peeled the bandaid off and he’d pick at the wound if he damn well pleased.

“That’s what you do right? You gotta be useful SOMEHOW! You tried the cop thing, you tried the tattoo shop thing, you tried some tea business bullshit, and none of it fucking went anywhere, so now you’re trying the wife thing. And let me tell you that you’re not very good at that shit either.”

There was silence, as they both processed what he’d just said.

Now he could’ve said sorry. And she could’ve chalked his cheap comments up to cheap alcohol. She could’ve ignored him until the next morning. But neither of them was the type to leave well enough alone.

Tina’s eyes darkened as she stepped away from the countertop and approached Connor with slow and measured footsteps. He stared her down as if she was his worst enemy rather than the love of his life.

“I’m… not good… at the… wife thing?”

He looked away. Hell was coming but he didn’t care to stop it. It was going to be nasty, so he might as well go all the way. He looked back.

“At the WHOLE thing really. I didn’t need to put a ring on your finger for this treatment.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ve been running after me trying to pick up the pieces since day one. Nobody asked you to. It’s getting to be real tedious now. Like is there anything more to our relationship than you trying to be my dead mother!?”

Tina let out the most sardonic laugh.

“It’s not my fault mommy issues keep you from accepting affection like a normal human being.”

“Don’t throw things I’ve confided in you back in my face.”

“You’re the one that brought your mom into this conversation, dumbass. I don’t have time for your narcissistic shit. Go to therapy.”

“I would. If I had the cash. But you spent it on this ridiculously expensive, waste of time dinner party. Did we really need to buy new glassware to entertain the likes of Gavin Reed?”

“What the fuck’s your problem with Gavin? How jealous of him do you have to be to drag him into every single conversation?”

“I’M NOT JEALOUS OF HIM!”

She threw her head back and laughed.

“Obviously you are. If we’re being real here. He’s everything you wished you could be but are too lazy and scared to work for.”

“How dare you.”

“Weren’t we just stating facts, babe?”

She stepped even closer and straightened his rumpled collar.

“You hate anyone and everyone who’s been able to work past their trauma, because you want to keep clinging to yours as an excuse for your mediocrity.”

Tina smoothed his shirt down and released him with a final pat on the chest. The affectionate gesture coupled with the absolute vitriol in her words made his insides twist painfully.

Still, there was no ‘sorry’ on the horizon. Connor’s horrible mind went into overdrive in the few moments it took her to return to the sink and pick up a dish.

He debated what part of the past would be best to dredge up and hurl as a comeback. Her childhood crush on Gavin? Her inability to chart her own path and tendency to follow in her friend’s footsteps… in everything from her law enforcement career to her choice of a Stern sibling as a spouse…

Connor’s lip twisted into a sick little smile just before he dealt the blow.

The dish that was in Tina’s hand fell and shattered in the sink.

She reacted beautifully.

Just like he wanted. Like a wounded and enraged animal.

She then violated every element of his identity with just a few short sentences.

He paid her back in kind.

Voices were raised and tears were shed. Dishes were broken. And so were hearts.

Eyes puffy and red, Tina dragged her blanket and pillow to the couch that night, vowing to rip the ring off her finger and leave it with her keys on the table the next morning.

When the sun rose, she somehow found herself in bed, curled against his chest.

[kureis-writing-hell]

What makes us

First || Previous

This one isn't based on a prompt. I tried to base it and it didn't work and I had to scratch it whole. This is a story of Nao's childhood and what happened to him before his 18th birthday.

A series in which Chisaki Kai goes through therapy

Tw: hinted csa (child sexual abuse, it's really just a tiny hunt but it's there), blood, death

Shit went down when Nikodem was only a few years old. In a fight between a hero and a villain his parents died. People told him it was a miracle he was saved, but later on he would regularry think it was rather a curse. It started a life of misery for him: a foster family that gave him away once his quirk manifested, a dirty, poor orphanage ruled by a man, who liked little boys a little too much, another foster family that used him as a servant, another one and another one. No one really wanted him, no one cared about him anymore. Every year less people were interested in adopting him, creeped out by a frowny kid with a crazy look in his eyes.

Often, Nikodem thought that he would never find home. But then he met that girl.

She was new. Other kids kept themselves away from her, even the staff was reluctant to approach her. It was said she predicted her parents’ deaths then, right before she ended up alone, she pointed out the exact date and hour her grandmother died. It was her quirk, obviously. A shitty, creepy one, that made her see a clock on people’s heads, counting down to their deaths.

They got along well. She was two years older than Nikodem but, contrary to the boy, was a bubbly rain of sunshine. Nothing seemed to be able to break her, not her quirk, not the place she ended up in. Despite that, families still wouldn’t take her in.

She told everyone to call her Mara. It was taken from her name and Nikodem found it pretty. Mara was the only one he enjoyed spending time with. He enjoyed her stories, her future plans, the way she could kick ass and piss the staff off. He enjoyed everything about her and would follow her everywhere.

When Mara turned sixteen she stood face to face with Nikodem and told him they were going to run away. There was nothing he wanted more than that - to leave that wretched place. So they packed, gathered a few other kids that wanted to run as well, stole some food and vanished.

No one cared. There was an article about them in some magazine, a handsome man spoke some words about them in the news but other than that no one cared about a few orphans. They left the city, the district, they ran from a train because they didn’t have money to pay for the ticket and Nikodem for the first time ever felt free. Happy.

They had a house. After running they found an old factory in the suburbs of another city. Quickly they learned how to use their quirks for stealing food, clothes, books and whatever they wanted. Everyone had their place in the gang, someone played with old parts and fixed motors, so they could get around easier, someone cooked, someone learned how to patch up wounds. Nikodem quickly started calling them a family, everyone did.

They danced, laughed, watched stars and loved at that time.

“What would you do if you knew you’re going to die tomorrow?”

They were sitting on the tin roof late in the night, only Nikodem and Mara. The rest had a campfire under them, celebrating nothing in particular. The view from the roof was amazing, the stars and the night sky were swallowed by the lights of the city, but it was quiet. At that hour even the city was asleep.

Nikodem turned to Mara, frowning. Finally something clicked and, with a shocked face, he covered his forehead. Mara laughed.

“You can’t cover it, dumbass! Don’t worry, you still have a lot of time. I’m just asking.”

“You did that on purpose.” Nikodem pouted and lowered his hand.

“Maybe! So? What would you do?”

Nikodem thought, for a moment. He turned his face toward the view and watched the lights. Mara drank her beer, waiting for his answer.

“I’d kiss you.”

The girl chocked on the beer, sputtered and looked at the boy surprised. Nikodem could feel his face getting hot, even his ears and neck were probably red at this point, but the color got lost in the darkness. He didn’t dare to look at Mara and even if he would he couldn’t see how she also blushed.

“Okay,” she said finally.

“What?”

“Okay. We may kiss.”

Nikodem looked at her, finally. He again covered his forehead.

“It was true, I’m going to die tomorrow, right?”

“No you’re not, moron!” Mara pushed him playfully, hiding her embarrassment. “I just want to do it too!

And so they kissed, under the stars, on the roof with the best view ever.

They got good at what they were doing quickly. They wore masks for stealing, they used upgraded motors for moving around, they came in, stole what they needed and then wandered around the city freely, because no one would ever suspect a bunch of children. And now everyone was talking about them. Their masks, something they picked up from dumpsters, were so popular everyone knew how they looked. They had fans and enemies and they had heros after them. Yet every night they had a party in their base. They drank alcohol, ate good food, kissed and made love. And they were free.

She never told him, or anyone else from their gang, when they’re going to die. But once she told them about her own number. Apparently she could see it in the mirror and Nikodem never ever hated quirks more than in that moment. It was just wrong.

Mara was sick. There was something in their family, something too scientific for Nikodem to understand, that killed her mother and mother of her mother. Normally, raised in a normal house, she would survive till her late twenties. With expensive treatment and medications she could maybe live till her forties. Her current number allowed her to stay alive till she was twenty three.

Nikodem didn’t accept it. He couldn’t. It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t afford a better living situation or meds. He was angry and he was determined to get even more money, to allow her the treatment she needed. Everyone agreed to him, except Mara. She didn’t want to draw too much attention to them and she was already used to the idea of dying. She was angry at him, for a while. Then she couldn’t anymore.

Nikodem was sixteen when he told her he loved her too much to let her go that easily.

.

They couldn’t go on the raids when it was raining because it was too risky. They used to store the food for winters because during them it was too dangerous to raid the city. They did only necessary to survive every year. Now, it changed. And now they realised they were way more powerful than they thought. Their gang was classified as rank B villains, with Nikodem deemed their leader, classified as rank A. There was more planning, more stress and way more risk but, surprisingly, it brought them all even closer to each other.

It was just getting warm, the snow still didn’t melt in the darker corners of their base but the days were sunny and bright and hot. And the rain that came wasn’t risky. It was warm, too. It washed over Nikodem’s stress and worries and Mara’s long, pretty dress. And they danced in it, laughed and kissed.

“You’re turning eighteen this year, we should throw you a party!” she said once they were inside, in dry clothes, drinking hot tea.

“It’s still a few months.”

“So? Isn't any reason to party good?”

“But it’s a birthday. We should celebrate it when it comes.”

Mara pouted. She looked so cute, with her nose and cheeks still reddened, wrapped in a blanket from head to toes. He loved her so much.

“Look at you, what made you smile like a dumbass? That’s a rare sight.” Embarrassed, Nikodem turned his face away. Mara laughed and clung to his side. “I like it, you have a funny smile. You should do it more!”

He decided to try his hardest.

.

Blood.

Everything around him was red and it was his fault.

They were so close to getting enough money for Mara that Nikodem got impatient. He wanted to gather enough as fast as possible and he came out with the idea of that raid. It was going to be the hardest one till now, but they had a good plan. They planned it for a month. And it worked out! But then the heroes found their hideout.

“Those are children! I had no idea those were children, I couldn’t know!” lamented one of the heroes, the one that came in first. Under his quirk the roof of the old factory collapsed, something caught fire and the tanks they had stored exploded. Most of Nikodem’s gang was outside, thankfully, but they also got hurt.

They still had masks on when other heroes arrived. They fought. Nikodem got crushed under the part of the factory and couldn’t get out on time to help them. He had to watch how his friends, his only family, fought for their lives and lost. Blood spilled all around him and he couldn’t do anything.

When he finally got out the heroes were searching for survivors. But no one could survive this. They were either crushed under the factory or fought till death. And Nikodem stood in the puddle of their blood.

It hurted to move, it even hurted to breathe but he had to find Mara. He had to make sure she was alive and help her, and anyone else that still could be alive, escape. He was their leader, he came up with that raid, it was all his fault.

Stepping over the body of his friend, someone he ate breakfast with this morning, he went forward. The heroes were arguing, Nikodem could hear his voices, but didn’t pay attention to them. He took off his mask and threw it away, searching for a different one, one that he knew Mara was still wearing.

He found her, laying right by a part of the factory that miraculously didn’t fall on her. There was still a hole in her stomach that Nikodem immediately jumped to, to cover the bleeding. Mara trembled and huffed something that Nikodem didn’t understand. Holding his shirt against her abdomen with one hand he took off her mask.

Her lips were covered in blood but she was smiling. She kept looking at him and Nikodem was glad she was awake.

“That went to shit, eh?” she rasped.

“Don’t joke now, please.” Nikodem couldn’t hold back his tears. It was slowly hitting him, what exactly happened.

“I want to tell you something.”

“You shouldn’t talk, you’ll tell me once you get better but now you have to save your energy.”

She smiled at him and her smiles were never that sad.

“I knew this was going to happen.” Nikodem only shook his head. “Yeah. I did the math when everyone’s numbers started going down. I never thought they could change before.”

“It’s all my fault.”

“No, it’s not.” Mara coughed and spit some blood. “If anyone’s then it’s mine. I should have told you to stop with the raids but I knew no one would listen. And it made me happy to know you all are doing this for me. Selfish.”

“You weren’t selfish!” sobbed Nikodem. “I was, I wanted to spend more time with you and I took your time away!”

“That’s not true.” She managed to laugh a little. “You actually let me live. Everyone else too, but you especially. Thank you.” Nikodem shook his head again. He could feel blood sipping through the material of his shirt. “Can I have one more selfish request?”

“I’ll do anything for you.”

“Live.” Mara lifted her hand and touched Nikodem’s forehead. He grabbed it and helped her keep the arm up, snuggling into it. It was too cold but he didn’t mind. “Your minutes are tickling down but I don’t want you to die because of me. Please, promise me that you won’t die.”

“I don’t want to. How am I supposed to, when everyone is dead? I can’t live without you.”

“You can.” Her fingers brushed just slightly against Nikodem’s forehead. “Please. Do anything you could. Don’t fight these heroes, surrender, do anything you can.”

“Why?”

“I don’t want to die knowing everyone I ever loved died because of me.” She was speaking more and more silently. “At least you. Especially you, Niko.”

For a moment Nikodem tried to hold back his tears. But they didn’t. They started flowing harder.

“I promise,” he whimpered. “I’ll do anything. I swear.”

Mara opened her eyes wider and, after a moment, smiled wide. Her thumb brushed against Nikodem’s forehead and then her hand went limp.

“I’ll ask them, I’ll beg them to help you. They’re heroes, maybe they have a healing quirk, you’ll be fine too!” Nikodem made a crooked smile, one that was meant for comfort but he knew Mara would laugh at it. “I could even pay them, the money should be fine in the safe. We’ll be okay.” Mara didn’t answer. Her eyes kept looking at him and her smile didn’t vanish but she wasn’t reacting at all. Nikodem felt his heart sink. “Mara? Mara, don’t joke, please. Dagmara!”

When the heroes found him Nikodem was still sitting by Mara’s body. He didn’t fight, he surrendered and let them handcuff him. He lost everything but he made a promise. And that promise would keep him alive.

[piermanwalter]

Thinking about the Bayonetta MGR crossover and it’s basically console wars and Mac vs PC with actual human bodies.

It’s the year 2085 and LumenOS by Lighthouse Biotechnology is the most popular engine for coding brain-machine interfaces. It’s biggest competitor, UmbraOS by Left Hand Cybernetics, became free and open source after the Lighthouse and Left Hand CEOs married each other, causing a stock market panic and both of them getting voted off their board of directors for conflict of interest and insider trading reasons. This loss of good leadership eventually led to both companies going bankrupt. To stay open, Lighthouse was purchased by Ithavoll Group. Meanwhile, Left Hand chose to go out of business and posted its source code on the internet as a final goodbye. 

Both engines are coded on the intricate but infuriating fuzzy-logic focused programming language Enochian and are very similar in function if not in construction. Most of their differences come from distribution policies.

LumenOS is suited for bringing injured and incapacitated people to working condition as quickly as possible. To avoid trauma, most commercially available Lumen software is built with emotion inhibition and memory suppression. It can be argued that Lumen uses the human brain as hardware to run its own processes instead of preserving the original person, but it can also be argued that people don’t want to remember getting hit by a truck, or being trapped in a burning house, or years of failed cancer treatments.

Regardless of moral implications, because full body cyborgs running on Lumen can walk and talk within days or surgery, while other BMI engines take years of physical therapy to regain normal function, many medical providers and individuals choose Lumen. 

Lumen is mostly used by Ithavoll and its subsidiaries, since licensing fees for outsiders has been raised to 80 million dollars a year. This insane entry price ensures Lumen-running products are consistently high quality, but are also becoming increasingly inaccessible. 

UmbraOS was originally suited for accurately simulating and enhancing all human senses, but after 30 years of being open source, it’s now used for whatever fuck shit you can get away with. Countless Umbra scripts can be found for free, but there’s no guarantee any of them will be useable. For every treasure like the flight skills and reaction time of a dragonfly or the ability to toggle the taste of hot nachos on and off, there are a thousand scripts that give you diabetes and force you to email your credit card information to make it stop. Lord help you if your UmbraOS implant is connected to WiFi. 

Because the engine is open source, many BMI programmers get their start on Umbra, which has indirect benefits for other Enochian-based engines. Even for skilled programmers, it’s considered best practice to carefully curate your own custom pile of scripts other people made to run your body with, because no single person can do it all alone. It’s also considered dishonorable to charge money for Umbra scripts if you aren’t custom-making it for a single person.

Although Umbra is sketchy and often dangerous, many people unable to afford more legit procedures rely on secondhand implants running Umbra to survive.

Following a period of extended global peace and stability, many cyborg paramilitary organisations, and the various other companies supporting that industry, have gone out of business. 

Cardinal Ventures LLC, once famous for actually affording a legal Lumen license and building bespoke bodies for its enforcers, was barely able to limp along using clout gained from eradicating other mercenaries during the United States Civil War II, but tensions in upper management reached a breaking point when one cofounder, Lucifer, fought the other cofounder, Jubileus, sent her into a coma, and went into hiding. 

Now the de facto leader, Fortitudo tried to keep Cardinal together. He isn’t exactly stupid, but his expertise lies more with melting enemy cyborgs into slag and less in running a business. To avoid falling into inescapable debt, and also tempted by promises to revive Jubileus, and also because vintage cyborgs are vulnerable to parts trafficking gangs, Fortitudo sold Cardinal to Ithavoll Group.

 Initially, the deal was very good since it was made in Vigrid, whose European laws of cyborg personhood were a lot more generous than American laws, which were written in response to repeated ninja and metal gear crises, and also that one time a US senator’s medical nanomachines went haywire and tragically caused him to go insane. 

The deal worsened when it was revealed that the deal was technically made in Isla del Sol, an autonomous region in Vigrid that’s basically a corporate dictatorship. The laws changed and now all Lumen-running cyborgs involved with the deal are legally not human and belong to Ithavoll. With constant Lumen software updates, Fortitudo is literally incapable of feeling too bad about it, but his panic and betrayal come out in more indirect ways. To be fair to Ithavoll, Fortitudo is now in charge of the largest private cyborg army in the world, composed of other companies Ithavoll purchased and dissolved, including Laguna Homefront Solutions, Paradiso Augmetics, and the aforementioned Lighthouse Biotechnology.

At the center of Isla del Sol, the Ithavoll Building is at constant risk of terrorist attack. An individual of unclear origins was converted into a cyborg based off one of Cardinal’s prototypes and tasked to patrol the upper levels. Temperantia’s primary purpose is to do post-disaster search and rescue, aid building evacuation by making his own exits, but can also fight off attackers if needed. Since he has to be in the upper levels anyway, Temperantia argued that might as well get a regular job there. Ithavoll’s CEO Balder gave him an office job as a joke, but Temperantia did well and eventually worked his way up to Ithavoll Building Assistant HR Manager. 

Built after the acquisition, Temperantia has no memories of Cardinal while it was independent, and doesn’t really get the rest of Cardinal’s devotion to Jubileus, but goes along with it to make his coworkers happy. Fortitudo initially saw him as a bastardisation of the Temperantia he once worked with, who ruins Cardinal’s military legacy by being a clueless civilian. They become work friends after Temperantia rips a gatling gun off a UG helicopter and shoots the entire convoy down with it from the Ithavoll Building roof.

Despite his horrifying strength and enormous uncanny mechanical body, Temperantia would prefer to be known as the guy who loves enamel pins and stringently enforces office dress code.

What could drive trained and made killers to sell their rights to a corporation for protection? Inferno is a black market criminal organisation that hunts cyborgs for parts. Catering both to filthy rich collectors and those too poor to afford legit implants, Inferno traps people in insidious contracts by converting the desperately injured into cyborgs whether they truly want it or not, then foisting debts so huge upon them that it can only be paid by acting as spies and informants to find rare and expensive cyborgs. If the debt grows too large or goes unpaid for too long, Inferno recoups their costs.

Typically, once a contractor finds a rare cyborg, they call a local Inferno agent to do the dirty work. Even worse, the contractor has to pay for all the expenses Inferno sustained to kill their target, meaning if the target escapes before the agent gets there, raises law enforcement attention, or is extremely dangerous, the debt may end up even greater.

Experienced contractors eventually learn to corner and incapacitate their targets themselves before calling Inferno. Some of them are so skilled at balancing on the knife’s edge of debt and respect that they leverage their contract into having their own private cyborg hit squad for life. 

After many cyborg PMCs went bankrupt, Inferno gorged on newly weakened victims and flooded the black market with cyborg parts. However, to sustain the same profits now that the easy prey is gone, Inferno contractors now have to go after even rarer and more protected cyborgs to avoid debt murder.

Bayonetta was dredged from the bottom of a lake and restored by Inferno, incurring huge debts. Combined with Inferno debts she apparently sustained before she drowned and lost her memory, Bayonetta is forced to infiltrate Vigrid to go after the most expensive targets, Cardinals, or else Inferno will tear her apart.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Chaos After the Storm

There had been a storm which came crashing down on all, with a name to make the destruction feel that much more humane. The kooks were lucky, they had generators which could reboot their power, dousing their houses back into the light with electricity and keeping them cool by the air conditioning. If you did not live on Figure Eight however, you were residing in the Cut. You were a pogue.

And you were, a pogue that was. The definition was that you did not have masses of money like the wealthy families that lived in luxury. It meant if a storm hit, like Agatha, it took longer than an hour to recover from the after affects. Weeks, sometimes even months it would be before you had to stop using candles as a source and could revert back to the lights that hung from the ceilings.

Currently, you were pulling fallen branches off of the driveway, removing them from the roof of your parents’ car. They were heavier than they looked, and as you discarded another from on top of the vehicle, you noticed a crack in one of the back windows. It was only small, but to cut expenses, it probably wouldn’t be repaired until the damage became worse.

You turned your head as you heard the riveting of a bike. A red bike was driving towards you, its engine slowing before it came to a stop at the start of your drive. JJ dismounted it, not needing to remove his helmet as he never wore one, and in an instant you dropped your duties and ran to him.

Concern was the reason, the day the storm hit, hours prior to its interference, his face had been bare of injury. But now, there was a purple bruise covering almost half of it.                

“That son of a bitch.” You muttered as you let him wrap his arms around you and burrow his head in your hair. It disgusted you that a father could treat his son in such a way. Sure, JJ was a troublemaker, and loud, and liked to smoke and drink despite being underage, but none of that made him deserve such treatment.

“It’s fine.” This wasn’t the first time you had witnessed this behaviour from him. JJ would always try to play the incident as though it was no big deal, but he was wrong every time. It mattered, because he was in pain, and you feared one day his father would go too far, not that he wasn’t already, and kill him.

Pulling away from his desperate embrace, you winced as you studied his face. There was a fearful depth to his eyes, and they reflected that he needed you. And he did, you were his protector, his safe place, his fellow pogue. You were also his girlfriend, but that bit was the least bit relevant right now.

“Don’t say that.” It was not fine, and you could see that as clear as day. “We need to do something JJ, this can’t keep happening. I’m ready as soon as you are to stand up against that man, but only when you give your go ahead.”

To take action against his father, you needed his consent. It was vital. He had to want it just as much as you did, it was his father and it pained you to see how much JJ suffered. If it wasn’t for the storm, you were sure the boy would have snuck into your room that evening or the two of you would have stayed in John B’s spare bedroom. But both of your parents wanted you home, clearly for very different reasons.

“They won’t believe me, the sheriff’s department think of me as a liar.” There were tears collecting in his ocean eyes, and it made your own water in response. A 16 year old should not have been so accustomed to the scolding of pain at such a young age, but here he was, on the verge of crying from the torment he received.

Frowning, you grabbed his hand, squeezing it for the search of giving him reassurance. “There’s evidence.” You looked sadly at his face. He was such a strong guy for how much he went through. You knew he liked to shut it off, but if he gave in he would never have to again. He’d never have to pretend the fading marks meant nothing in front of you and the rest of the pogues, or feel like he meant so little that he could throw his whole life on the line. “And witnesses. You’re a victim JJ, and that’s okay. Don’t be strong for me, okay, be strong for yourself. I know you, and I know that you can do this.”

In response, his bottom lip trembled, a sob wracking through the parting of it. Once again, he attached his body onto yours, needing to be comforted by the contact. On instinct, you allowed your hand to stroke up his back and play with the bottom of his hair. It really was an honour and a curse to be able to see JJ at his most vulnerable.

….

JJ had been in the room for almost an hour. You had kept checking the time on your phone as you sat in the waiting room, nervous for him. The officers hadn’t allowed you in there with him, and you were aware that had made it that bit more difficult for him.

John B sat beside you, wringing his hands and fiddling with the bracelets on his wrist. JJ had asked him to be here with him, he needed the support of the two people closest to him in this scenario. You looked over at the boy, giving him a small smile. He could see right through your minor façade, he sensed you were scared. If Will Maybank was not brought in and punished by the authorities, JJ would suffer more than ever before. Neither of you wanted that, but now he had been willing to take the risk.

That itself indicated that his time with his dad inside during the storm had been different. Worse would be a better word. You didn’t want to imagine what ways JJ had been pained, not only with fists but words. That man had a poisonous mouth, toxic from all of the alcohol that ran through it and tainted his speech.

You felt a hand reach for your own. It belonged to John, and he allowed you to hold it. It reminded you of the old times long before the treasure hunt, or his relationship with Sarah, or even before Pope and Kiara joined your little group. In those ancient times, it had just been you, JJ and John B, and to this day you were all as strong as thieves.

“I’m so proud of him.” The boy spoke, tapping his converse covered shoe against the leg of his seat. The shoes had seen better days, they were still stained from when he was dropped down into the murky water of the well at Crain Estate.

“As we should be.” You kicked his foot with your own to stop the irritating habit he was coercing. Biting your lip, you dipped your own foot ahead of you, deciding whether or not to let your thoughts out. It would be okay if you did, you were speaking to the thoughtful, adventurous, kind John B after all. “The only thing that scares me is what will happen after. Say theoretically Will gets busted for this, what will happen to JJ? We don’t know if he can be as persuasive as you were and avoid child services.”

“No matter what happens,” he began, swallowing in thought for a second, “we’ll be there for him. We’ll fight for him and whatever he wants to do after he’s free.”

“It’s weird.” You spoke. “No matter how many times I’ve came here to try and bail him out, which obviously doesn’t work because of my age and dodgy IDs, I always dreamed of being here for the right reason. This reason.”

JJ had definitely became less afraid of his father after he had fought him for the money that he had stolen, but something had changed during the storm. He had become stronger, and realised how he could really adapt to survive.

As John was about to speak, the door to the room JJ had been taken into opened, and the pair of you quickly stood. The officer exited first and JJ was behind him, looking as though he had seen a ghost. The thought that he had reflect to all of the times he had been hurt made you feel guilty, but as your mutual friend had said, proud altogether. It even made you fear that the plan had not worked, and that there would be no possibility of charges pinned against the abuser.

He spoke to the officer quickly, nodding and then began his route over to you and John. Hope melded into your skin, and you even went as far as crossing your fingers behind your back. JJ gave a small smile, putting his arms around one of your shoulders and the same with John B, pulling the two of you into a group hug.

“They’re going to want to speak to you two, is that okay?” It was the first time that you had seen JJ appear so small in himself, almost as if he was concerned that you would not be willing to do such a thing. That was ridiculous, you would do anything for the boy, and so would John B.

“That’s good with me.” You kissed him on the cheek, noticing how that cheered him up a little. “Now how about we take a little break from this for the day, and go celebrate?”

…..

It had been organised beforehand, that everyone would be waiting at John B’s place, no matter the outcome. If it went sideways, it would cheer him up, if it went good like it did, it was a celebration.

As you all sat around the fire, JJ stood, with a beer in his hand.

“I want to say a toast.” It was very different from one that a kook would do, and that was what made it so special. “Thankyou to everyone that is here, you are the best friends I could have, and Sarah.” He tipped his beer in her direction. “We’re pogues, our thing is living shitty and doing stupid things to get money.”

“You can amen to that.” Pope said, kicking the rock that the little bit of gold left was buried under.

You sipped on your beer, looking up at your boyfriend and taking in every word he said. “I know my life had been pretty shit, but you guys are the good part of it. I never would have done what I did today if you hadn’t been there for me all these years. You guys are my family, my real family. None of you would ever hurt me, instead you will and have helped me heal. And this girl here,” he looked down at you, “has been my rock. We broke the no pogue on pogue rule long ago, and that was the best thing I ever did. But she’s more than a broken rule to me, she’s my shelter, my home, the love of my life.”

Sarah couldn’t help but aw at this and leaned back into her boyfriend as a blush rose up from your neck and onto your face. “She’s the real hidden treasure, she’s worth so much more than gold. If it wasn’t for you (Y/N/N), I’d be searching for something that I would never find. Okay, that’s it.”

He sat back down, frowning at Kiara as she shook her head at him. “What?” He asked, slinging his arm around your shoulder.

“You ruined that beautiful speech, you might want to come up with a better ending.” Even though the initial end to his toast was not as sweet and heartfelt as the rest of it, Kiara did notice how even then you did not stop looking with adoration at the boy. It was good to see the two of you so hassle free and happy.

JJ turned his head to you, worried. “So no macking?” You couldn’t help but laugh. The boy sure knew how to ruin a moment and make one at the same time. You were just glad that was what the chaos after the storm had diminished to, for now at least.

[fuckingthefictional]

sorry to bother but i have a request, could you write a peter parker! x reader, with the reader being the protégé or adopted daughter of the strange doctor? I searched a lot but I didn't find

Must be magic.

Peter Parker x Strange!Reader

Requested: Yes by @celenajulie

A/N: hope you enjoy this! I tried my best- and there will be a part 2 out soon, where Y/N introduces Peter to her dad, stay safe out there! Xx

Y/N never knew her birth parents, she had only been a mere few hours old when she had been left outside of a New York orphanage.

The owners took her in, fed her and let her grow. She was a generally happy baby.

Until one day, a few months later, Y/N took a turn for the worst. She was no longer that happy girl with the gummy smile, she wasn’t herself.

She slept more, she cried more, she vomited more despite eating less and she didn’t interact with the social workers at the house like she used to. She just wasn’t herself.

Soon they found out why. Y/N had a brain tumour, the doctors called it pineoblastoma.

It was rare, it was aggressive and it was killing the young infant- causing her to waste away.

There were several options, the majority of which were expensive and risky. The staff at the orphanage were considering placing Y/N into the care of a hospice.

After all, time was limited and their options were coming to dead ends. What else could they do? They needed a miracle, a doctor something magical if Y/N was to survive and thrive again.

-

Christine Palmer loved her job, she loved the idea of caring and helping those who needed her support.

It didn’t matter what age, gender, sexuality or race someone was- she tried 110% to help them to the best of her ability.

Some said that she cared too much, Christine opted towards the fact that compassion was key in the medical industry. And anyone who lacked it, wasn’t cut out for this line of work.

Compassion was what lead Christine to Y/N.

God- she could still remember the first time she’d met the tiny girl.

It had been in the early hours of the morning, the rain had been hammering down for hours and all had been relatively quiet in ER.

Christine remembered going to the vending machine in the waiting room on her break, in hopes to get a snack.

What she hadn’t expected was to become involved in a small dispute. There had been a small altercation that she had decided to step in between.

It seemed to of been between one of the ladies at the front desk and a tall, slender woman- who Christine had at first assumed to be a wife or parent of a patient.

It wasn’t until the young woman inquired why the argument had begun that she finally understood and jumped into action.

“It’s one of the children that I care for, Y/N- last month we were here and she was diagnosed with a brain tumour, we’ve been getting treatment but she’s taken a turn for the worse.”

It was almost immediately that Nurse Palmer jumped into action and called for support on her pager.

It took mere seconds for a doctor to come forward with the required equipment and a portable bassinet to wheel the baby away in.

But there was a nagging feeling in the back of Christine's head, she needed to call him. Just to be sure, to get support and a second opinion.

Without a second thought, she picked her phone from her scrub pocket and pressed the dial button, it rang for a second before a voice chimed through the other side.

“Christine it’s two in the morning.”

“You owe me that favour- come to the hospital now, I need support on a patient’s case.”

“I’m on my way.”

“Okay.” She paused, licking her lips. “And Stephen- thank you.”

-

It had been an ongoing gag between Stephen and Christine that he owed her a favour.

Ever since the incident in med school, Stephen vowed to give his friend one favour- whenever she needed it, whatever it was- he would be there.

That was why he was getting dressed into his scrubs at 2:30 in the morning (when his next shift didn’t start for another day) in order to help Christine with whatever it was she needed.

When Stephen arrived at the hospital he rushed to where Christine said to meet, Paediatric intensive care unit.

He strolled in, finding Christine sat on a chair next to a tiny infant, no less than a few months old, who was covered in fresh wires.

“She has pineoblastoma.” She explained softly, “You’re the only one I know who can operate and get positive results on this sort of thing.”

Stephen nodded, formulating a plan in his head as he read the baby’s case file.

The poor child had been through a lot in her first few months of life it seemed.

And the doctor didn’t know it yet - but he would soon become her proper family, and give her the life she deserved.

-

It was weird being the daughter of a master of the mystic realm. Like really weird. Nothing was ever ‘normal’ in her life.

Travelling to the grocery store? Her dad would simply use his sling ring.

Wouldn’t get out of bed? The cloak of levitation would drag her out if her dad willed it.

Wanted a slice of pizza? Sure- Wong would just conjure one up.

She lived in the New York Sanctum Sanctorum for crying out loud that didn’t exactly scream normal!

The only thing that may have been normal was her school life, Midtown school of science was perfect for Y/N.

She took after her father on that, she was smart and bright and loved to learn.

In fact, there had been many occasions growing up that she had been caught under the covers, flashlight in hand, reading her dad's old medical school textbooks.

But just because she was bright, didn’t mean that she made friends easily. Being smart often meant she was teased by her peers- it didn’t help that her last name was Strange either.

She had some friends on the debate team (MJ being one of them) and she talked to Peter and Ned too sometimes.

But half the time Y/N avoided it, after all, she’d rather not listen to her long term crush go on and on about how he loved the most popular girl in school.

It was painful- that stuff hurt. And every time she thought she’d taken a step forwards toward him he’d take three more back.

“Miss Strange?”

Y/N focused back in on the whiteboard, in front of which stood the extremely unimpressed bio teacher.

“Pardon?”

“The answer Miss Strange?” The teacher turned around, marker poised ready to write down her answer on the board for the class to see.

Thankfully MJ was up to date and mouthed the question number across the room. Looking down at the sheet in front of her she found the relevant question.

‘Name an example of a gene pool.’

“A population with a known proportion of A, B and O blood groups would be an example of a relevant gene pool.”

The teacher looked unimpressed at the fact that Y/N had been ‘listening’, “That is correct.” He cleared his throat, “Now before this lesson ends, I will be handing out these assignment sheets that are to be used for your upcoming projects- yes, you will be doing them with your lab partner. No-you cannot switch.”

Fuck that meant Peter was going to be Y/N’s partner. Double fuck. That meant spending time alone with him.

While Y/N pondered in her doom, the lunch bell rang and everyone moved around her as they packed up and left the classroom.

“Hey erm Y/N?”

The teenager’s head snapped up, only to come face to face with Peter.

“Peter!” She yelped, “Hi.”

The boy laughed breathily, “Hi, listen since we’re buddy’s on this project i was wondering when you were next free- Y’know to do the project?”

Y/N tucked some stray hairs behind her ears, “Oh I’m free whenever,” she ripped the corner of one of her pages off and scribbled down her number, “This is my number in case you need to call me.”

“Cool,” Peter rubbed the back of his neck nervously, “I should get going- it was nice talking.”

“Yeah of course,” she nodded happily, “I’ll see you later.”

Mere minutes later there was a beep coming from Y/N’s pocket, she fished around in her pocket in an attempt to find her phone.

‘Hey this is peter, are you free to make a start on the project afterschool?’

She typed a quick response back, ‘Sure, where were you thinking?’

‘The library is probably most convenient right?’

‘Okay cool, I’ll see you later.’

By the end of the day, Y/N found herself practically bouncing at the idea of spending time with Peter alone.

She’d managed to snag a table and the required textbooks that they’d need. But minutes turned into hours and there was no sight of the boy that Y/N was falling for.

He’d stood her up.

Or at least that’s what Y/N had initially thought. but as the clock struck half-past five, she was aware that it was time she made her way home.

Despite his no show, the bright girl was almost entirely finished with the first half of the project.

She was in the process of exiting the library’s doors when she heard the familiar laugh paired with a high pitched giggle.

“Seriously though- Thanks for helping me with Chem.” The female voice countered, “I’d be lost without you.”

Y/N was flat backed to the cool, red bricks that made up the library building. Listening in to what was being said.

“No problem Liz,” Peter laughed nervously, Y/N could almost imagine the awkward neck rub that he did whenever he laughed like that, “I really enjoyed it- I-I’m glad I could help.”

So it was Liz that Peter stood her up with. Ouch- that stung.

The sorcerer's daughter felt tears drip down her cheeks, she sniffled quietly and kicked off the wall brushing past Peter and Liz briskly.

But all she could hear was Peter’s voice calling behind her. Shouting desperately for her to stop and let him explain.

But she did what she knew best, she went home to her family.

-

The next few days fell victim to the onslaught of messages that Peter sent to Y/N via text.

Even the sounds of her phone buzzing were beginning to set Y/N on edge. Especially since she knew that the notification coming through would be from Peter, begging to let him ‘explain.’

But once more in true Strange fashion, Y/N worked and worked and worked. Until the bio project was finished- almost four weeks in advance.

The way she saw it was that If the work had been completed, then there was no real to hang out with Peter ever again.

He, however, didn’t seem to have the same idea. As 3 weeks later on Monday, Peter had resorted to cornering the girl in the school's supply closet.

He didn’t want to do it, but Y/N gave him no choice. Peter had to explain himself.

“Peter- what the hell?” Y/N yelped, she was beyond pissed at this point.

“You haven’t been returning my texts and calls,” he shrugged, “I need to explain myself.”

“Like hell you do.” She spat, “Look it doesn’t matter, I’ve finished the damn project- we don’t need to see each other again.”

Peter looked shocked and there was hurt in his eyes, “Y/N...”

“What do you want me to say, Peter? That I’m not hurt?” She pursed her lips to stop the tears from leaking, “You left me for hours in the library all while you were having fun with Liz- how is that fair?”

“Please don’t cry,” He whispered, pulling her into his body in an embrace, “I can’t stand it when you cry.”

“You left me alone Peter!” She fought against his embrace, “Like everyone in my life!”

Peter held Y/N against him, rubbing her back and shushing her. Trying anything to bring her calm.

“I got nervous.”

Y/N lifted her head, “What?”

“I got nervous- I’ve- I’ve liked you for forever y’know. I was outside the library for 10 minutes willing myself to go in.” He laughed softly, “But every time I saw you sat there- I just froze.”

The young girl looked up in shock, “But-But Liz?”

“I was about to get reprimanded for loitering, she got me out of the situation. I was going to call you but my phone died.”

Y/N didn’t realise how close together they were until their foreheads touched and their noses bumped.

It felt like her heart was about to beat out of her chest. It was ironic really because when they finally met in a kiss it felt like all time had stopped.

She could feel every touch on her cheeks, his hair and how it ran through her fingers, how minty he smelt. Everything stood still and for a few moments, you had everything you’d ever wanted in the palm of your hand.

What Y/N had failed to notice was the glowing golden portal that had appeared in the supply closet- even worse the thoroughly unimpressed man standing through it.

“Y/N Strange you are so dead!”

“Shit!”

[abluescarfonwaston]

Shapeshifter Au - 9

Here is our very long Reunion chapter! Part 8 Part 7 

TW for blood, violence, mind control, and temporary memory loss

There were advantages to traveling alone.

He could spend as much or as little time in a town as he wanted- or at least his purse allowed. If he met a pack of wolves or a flock of birds or a herd of deer he could enjoy their company as long as he liked because no one was waiting for him.

He enjoyed the company of every manner of creature that would tolerate another’s company. He made friends and they cared for him and he did his best to care for them back and it was almost enough.

It was almost enough when the crowd beat their feet to his songs and cheered.

It was almost enough when the pack near Oxenfurt greeted him with open mouth kisses to confirm his wellbeing.

It was almost enough when the barn cats curled around him in the stable, rumbling their contentment.

Then winter came- as it always did. The birds flew south, the bears disappeared into their dens and the wolves grew too lean to feed what they all knew was an outsider.

They didn’t say as much. He didn’t wait around to hear it.

He knew what he was.

The animals all knew on some level. That on the edges he wasn’t quite right. Wasn’t quite the same as them.

So he did what he did every winter- because he’d never survive it on his own.

He answered the letters from court bidding him to play.

The Countess de Stael had requested him back this year and he was seriously tempted by the offer but he’d heard rumors of a mage at her court.

He could resist Yennefer’s call so whoever they were was unlikely to overwhelm him. But Yennefer had also never tried to.

Best to stay away. There were other offers.

He accepted a very generous offer from a southern family that lived on the coast. The sea called and maybe in the spring he’d walk out into its depths. Maybe he would love it so much he’d never walk the land again and the hollow space in his chest would fill with the sea.

“You are as beautiful and youthful as the stories say Master Jaskier.” His skin prickled at the young lady’s attention. They were alone in the dining hall, aside from the staff and numerous guards. “There are even rumor you’ve elven parentage. Tell me, have they any merit?”

Even people knew he wasn’t quite human.

“I’m afraid not Lady Nadia.” Where was the rest of her family? The war may have emptied the house somewhat but her mother, her unwed sister, or her brother who should have been far too young for service should have been there. “A good skin care routine can work wonders though. I could show you if you’d like? Not that much could be done to further enhance your radiance.”

He smiled brightly and sent her a quick wink. In her bedchambers there was a chance they’d be alone. He could ask what was wrong.

If not he would leave tonight. No amount of gold was worth his life. Every shape screamed at him to flee.

He hadn’t lived this long by not listening to them.

“Oh come now there must be more to it than that. There are rumors the White Wolf lent you his time in exchange for your company.”

He forced a brilliant laugh and took a long but shallow drink from his glass. “Such is not an ability of Witchers I’m afraid.” Even if it was Geralt wouldn’t share it with him. “But if its stories about The White Wolf you request I am more than capable of providing.”

“Firsthand accounts I hope?” Her voice coy but her shoulders ridged and her knuckles white where they gripped the spoon.

He stood and made his way to her, offering a hand as he quickly bowed. “Shall we retired to a more private local? I promise to tell you all my best stories about him.”

Her eyes met his and he saw the desperation there. A wolf who’d lost her pack. Her eyes flickered behind him and he knew. Knew this day ended in shackles.

He let the performer fall away and knelt before her, taking her hands in his. She was so young. He’d seen countless people do far worse for far less.

“It’s alright dear. Make sure my lute gets back to Oxenfurt will you?” Tears brimmed in her eyes, tremors shaking her small frame. He pressed a kiss softly to her forehead. “I know what we do for the people we love.”

He stood as apologies cascaded from her turning to the guards. Really an unnecessary amount of guards. He knew he had a reputation for being slippery. For leaving empty cages and locked shackles in the night. But really. This was an unnecessary amount of soldiers.

He offered his wrists out to one of them with a smile.

“I do hope you’ll be returning her kin once this is over. I mean really? All this fanfare for a bard? Your higher ups must really need some music. Is the war truly so dull they’ve stooped to holding nobles hostage to kidnap innocent bards?”

One of the other soldiers walked over and snapped the shackles around his wrist. Dimeritium shackles.

“Expensive!” He whistled. No one had ever bothered with Dimeritium shackles before. He wondered if they’d work. “Someone thinks I’m a sorcerer! I must admit, I’m very flattered but my skill and good looks were a blessing of hard work and luck, not magic.” The man yanked the chain, pulling him along.

“I hope they keep their promise Nadia! Care of Oxenfurt University! Don’t forget!”

“Shut up.” The soldier demanded, accented heavily.

He jabbered at him in Nilfgaardian. “Oh you just expect a bard to shut up do you? Want that blessed silence? Well guess what? Never really gone in for that so you can just-“ There was a sharp pain on the back of his skull and the world went dark.

 The floor rocked under him and he suspected it wasn’t just the blow to the head. He was curled in a cage on the rocking seas. Hands still shackled. Feet bound in silver.

They were really overdoing it.

“He’s finally awake. Go get the sorcerer.” Someone whispered from behind him. He curled in tighter and ignored the growing thrumming of a song. It wasn’t as pleasant as Yennefer’s. Not as strong, even when he entered the room. It just made him feel gross.

“So sorry for the harsh treatment Master Jaskier.” The sorcerer stood over him. Voice assuring him that they were not sorry at all. “You’re rather known for being a difficult man to keep and we wanted to make sure you didn’t leave before I could make your acquaintance.”

“Could have just asked. I’m sure Nadia would have been glad to show off her bard.”

“That was the plan but it sounded like you were getting cold feet for your performance.”

I would perform for you any time. It drawled, barely even convinced of the man’s merit itself.

“Did you let them go?” The man made a questioning noise. “Nadia’s family.”

“Why of course we did!” He lied. There was nothing to be done for that lie, so he choose to believe it. “And nothing bad will come to you either if you help us.”

The man crouched in front of him. He curled tighter hiding his face in his knees. “I’m sure.”

“Look at me Jaskier.” He curled tighter. Digging his hands into his legs.

Look at him.

Look at him.

Look at him.

It chanted over and over and over and he curled tighter and tighter and tighter.

“Look at me.”

There was power in those words and his body uncurled to lax. Knelt in front of him with hazy eyes as he beat at the magic manipulating his mind.

Their eyes met.

The man gasped.

He reached his hands through the bar, cupping his face. “I didn’t think there were any of you left.”

Cold dark sludge poured in. Cooling the distant memory of lightning in his veins. Covering the broken tapestry in his heart in something vicious and unpleasant. He did not move.

“Are you the last unclaimed familiar? There are so few of you in this world and you landed right in my lap. Destiny has truly blessed me today.”

The cold flooded him. Chilling every cell to the brittle bone. The hollow in his chest never filled. It Froze and never filled.

“You are mine now. I claim you.”

“Yours.” Someone said.

“Unlock the cage I want to see what he can do.” The others hesitated. He barked a command and they leapt to do as ordered. Do as ordered.

Doors unlocked somewhere and locks dropped free. The man bid him follow. Follow.

He followed.

There was sun beating on the deck but it didn’t warm him. The cold was there and the hollow and the man and that was all. The thick ichor sliding through his being.

“You need a better name familiar. You are no flower are you?” The man stroked his hair.

What are you then?

“Transform for me. I want to see what you can do. What you really are.”

What are you?

The cold was power. He was not helpless. He was not prey.

He spilled into a mountain cat. A predator. Claws long and sharp. Fur dense against the cold that filled him.

He was never enough of any one thing to truly be them.

Wings split from his back covered in long feathers. Claws into talons. Muzzle into beak. Size growing as more and more waves of cold chilled his mind.

“An Arch Griffin.” Awed a man. Hand on his beak. “The things we will do together.”

‘Griffins mate for life.’ A different man’s voice said to him. He didn’t know that voice. But he knew it was right.

His chest was hollow. His mate was gone.

He opened his beak. The cold man smiled.

He closed it and the man smiled no more.

There was blood and screaming and pain.

He collapsed in a clearing. Pulling out bolts that pierced his hide.

They bled. It joined the blood on his face and claws. It stuck his fur together in clumps. Feathers of his wings stuck up at the wrong angles.

He didn’t bother fixing it.

He flew in a random direction. When he was tired he slept. When he was hungry he ate.

Distantly he thought it was sheep’s blood in his mouth but he didn’t care if it wasn’t.

His mate was gone and the world would pay for it.

The smell of death drew him in.

Force knocked him from the sky.

The cold seeped from a crack jarred opened by it.

He shrieked scrambling out of the way of the hunter’s blade. He spit at him and the hunter rolled away quickly.

“Fucking arch Griffin. Not getting paid enough for this shit.” He said dodging around his claws landing a blow to his shoulder.

It burned with cold that rushed out with his blood. His beak snapped closed around the hunter’s white hair as he slipped away.

“How do you like that silver?”

He didn’t.

He leaped to the skies away from the hunter.

Force blast his wing and he spun into the dirt.

He’d broken that wing once. Someone had helped him then.

He spat at the Witcher, acid burning his throat on the way up.

“You’re not much of an arch griffin are you?” He said easily side stepping it. “No wonder your mate’s dead."

He roared talons and sharp beak seeking to tear him apart.

His mate wasn’t dead! His mate just-

The silver opened a fresh river of cold on his chest.

His paw slammed into the Witcher’s side hurling him backward.

Just didn’t want him.

The cold sludge slowed to a drip. His body was warm. Warm but cooling as red heat flowed from him.

“Getting too old for this.” Geralt cursed, standing. Preparing for another attack.

He didn’t move.

His mate didn’t want him. There was no blood to drain from the earth in retribution for their death. He just wasn’t wanted.

Geralt’s face twitched. “How long are you going to make me wait?”

He laid down on his side, stretched his neck long and tried to remember them. The mate who wouldn’t even greet him on the other side.

He remembered Gentle hands on a broken wing.

Geralt stepped forward, blade raised.

He remembered hands gently smoothing down long brown ears.

Geralt eyed his unmoving limbs, stepping around the blood crusted talons.

He remembered a hand in his on a sunny rock by a lake.

Geralt raised his sword above his ribs to plunge it in for one final blow.

He remembered a song. The notes escaping his beak one last time.

Toss a coin to your Witcher.

The sword didn’t come down.

Oh valley of plenty.

“Jaskier?”

That was his name wasn’t it? His chest trilled. Jaskier. A flower.

Maybe that’s what he should be. That way he couldn’t hurt anyone else.

The sword clattered against the dirt. Silver was delicate Geralt would never-

He raised his head to look and Geralt’s arms buried themselves in his thick mane.

“Jaskier.” Geralt said it again. “Jaskier.” Like a desperate prayer finally answered. “Jaskier.”

This form couldn’t purr technically but he didn’t let that stop him.

Geralt sobbed as the rumbles started. “I thought you were dead.”

How long had it been? Weeks? Months? Years?

What was time anyway?

He ran his beak through the tangled mess of Geralt’s hair. Blood chipping off his beak into it.

Geralt shoved his face away. “You need a bath.”

That felt very fair. Everything stuck together and was covered in grime and he stunk.

He nudged Geralt’s shoulder. So do you.

He huffed a laugh and collapsed into his side. “Fuck. I really needed that bounty.”

He screeched as if in the throes of death. Gagged dramatically and flopped into the dirt, sticking his tongue out to really sell it.

“Hm.” He considered him. “Somehow I doubt that would work.”

He gave them a look and then returned to being dead.

Geralt shoved him. He glared at him. Fuck off I’m dead.

Geralt shook his head. Hand running through his mane. The last of the cold sludge slowly sealing the silvered gashes near to closed.

The form was bowing in the center, like it might snap under him, even though he didn’t particularly mind staying in this form. It was a new sensation.

“Shouldn’t have yelled at you.” His hands clung tightly to his mane like he thought Jaskier might run away. Which was stupid. He’d never run from Geralt. Not really. Even in the forest as the bear. He hadn’t run from Geralt.

He rumbled his agreement. Seemed like a bit of an overreaction.

“I didn’t mean to bind you.” Geralt muttered into his coarse, sticky fur. “Believe that I never meant to bind you to this life Jaskier.”

He could feel the form splintering under him. He purred louder. Bound. He wasn’t the one Geralt had wished for. Wasn’t the child of surprise accidentally claimed.

He was Jaskier. He’d chosen this life. He’d loved it. Even when it was awful he’d chosen to love it.

He rubbed his, frankly disgusting, – how did he let himself get so disgusting? - face against Geralt’s back. Soothingly. He hoped.

“I never meant to bind you to me.”

The form cracked out from under him. Geralt’s knees hit the ground as his supporting Griffin shifted into a bard in his arms.

Geralt squeezed him to his chest. “I didn’t know any other way to break it. I got to the bottom and you were gone. Really gone. I knew I’d never see you again. Because you only stayed-“

He reached his blood crusted hand to Geralt’s face – tried very hard not to remember whose or what’s blood it might have been – and cupped the thick stubble of his jaw cutting him off. “Because I wanted to.”

“Geralt that’s why I stayed. Because I wanted to. Because I wanted to be with you. We’re not fucking bound by magic.”

“Yennefer said-”

“Yennefer doesn’t know what the fuck she’s talking about.”

Geralt glared at him and he buried his face in Geralt’s armor to avoid it.

Yennefer knew what she was talking about.

Didn’t mean he had to like it.

“Yennefer said you’re drawn to magic. That you. Were bound to mine. I swear I never meant to.”

“Geralt.” Geralt wouldn’t look at him, eyes locked on the horizon even as his arms crushed him in his embrace. “Geralt look at me.”

Geralt allowed his head to be turned to look at him. He knew he must look terrible. Hair long and matted. Coated in grime and blood and who knows what else. Fresh blood still dripping down his chest.

There was a tapestry of tiny threads, only made strong by how they were tightly woven together.

There was a question forced from his mouth once. Long ago. Because he wanted to stay by Geralt’s side.

“Geralt you did not bind yourself to me. I bound myself to you. Because I never wanted to leave your side.”

“You left my side all the time.” He tried to jest. Face soft with sadness and longing.

“And I always found my way back didn’t I?” He leaned up. Tried to get closer to Geralt’s face. He wanted to be close in every way.

“You did.” He agreed before his face shuttered closed in pain. “But magic. Yennefer said it could compel you to do anything. Love anyone if it was strong enough.”

“Geralt, dear heart?” Geralt’s embrace didn’t let him close enough to his face, so he settled for burying his face in the junction of his shoulder. “I think I bit a man’s head off for trying to use magic to make me love him. And he was far stronger than you. Fuck Geralt you don’t even set off the singing.”

“Singing?” Geralt shook his head slightly before burrowing into the muck of his hair. “Thought you abhorred violence.”

“I do and once we wash this off me I’m going to try very hard never to think about it again.” He was honestly feeling a bit nauseous from even mentioning it. The way his-

Ugh. Don’t. Don’t think about it.

“You do smell awful.” He buried his nose deeper. “Absolutely disgusting.”

“Well I feel even worse so can we maybe go get me a hot bath? I’ll tell them you saved me from the griffin and killed it.”

“With how you look right now they might actually believe it.”

“Hm.” He agreed trying to refill the space Geralt once resided with his scent. With the warmth under his fingers and the too tight embrace. “Geralt I’m sorry.”

“You owe me no apologies Jaskier.” Geralt continued his nuzzled wandering through his hair.

“I’m sorry for binding you to me. For” For the child of surprise. For the djinn. For everything. “For staying when you didn’t want me.”

His mate was gone. Not dead. Just didn’t want him.

“Jaskier I didn’t want you to go.” Geralt’s grip crushed the air from his chest before easing only slightly. “I just didn’t want you to have to stay.”

Tear tracks cleared clean creaks down his face and he turned up towards Geralt. Forced an arm free to turn Geralt face to his. “Can I stay? I want to stay.”

He nodded. “Please.”

Geralt relaxed his grip enough to press their foreheads together. “Please.” He said again.

“What do you want me to be?”

Geralt’s eyes widened slightly, recognizing the musically magical tint he had missed the first time. Or maybe just recognizing the words from all those years ago.

“Jaskier.” He hummed. “I want you to always be Jaskier, no matter the form you take.”

He closed his eyes enjoying the tapestry reweaving itself over the hollow in his chest.

He slowly opened his eyes to Geralt’s soft smile.

His mate wanted him.

He slowly angled his face, closed his eyes, and kissed him. Gently kissed his mate.

He eventually withdrew just a breath. Taking in his mates softly closed eyes and serene face.

His mate. The griffin trilled.

His mate? Oh fucking instincts he’d just kissed Geralt- not even for the first time- because of his inhuman instincts.

And his mate?

His face and neck and ears went hot with blood. Geralt eased his eyes open and chuckled, resuming his scenting nuzzle now over his jaw and face. “I have something of yours.”

“Hm?” He squeaked as Geralt’s lips ran over the pulse of his neck.

“You’ll have to explain to the university I didn’t steal it next time your there of course.”

His lute?

“My lute? She’s safe?” He begged of him.

Geralt’s eyes turned up to him and he nodded before resuming his self-appointed task of scenting every inch of his grimy neck.

“Well then you definitely did steal her because I said care of Oxenfurt not Geralt of Rivia who wouldn’t know proper lute maintenance if his best friend spent two decades explaining and demonstrating it to him.”

“Would you rather I’d left it? You’d have to wait until spring to play it again.”

“And why is that?”

“Because we’re going to Kaer Morhen.” He buried his nose in the crook of his neck and took a long drag of his scent before finally standing them up. “Can you walk? There’s someone you need to meet.”

He leaned against Geralt as the dizziness of standing slowly subsided. “I think so.” He assured.

“If you want me to carry you-“

“I want to stay human a little longer.” He interjected. It had been so long. It felt like it had been so long.

He smirked cheekily. “Then I can. You’re not heavy.”

“Oh.” He leaned on Geralt for a few moments more. “Just an arm for now. I want to walk.”

Geralt nodded hooking an arm under his.

“So who’s this mystery person I need to meet?”

Geralt smiled, leaned over and told him.

[yandere-sins]

And here i thought that you couldn’t be any better- you do arcana and pokemon swsh!! Dang. Can I request a short fic with lucio and valerius deciding to share their targeted darling? High key wanting it to lead to nsfw but it’s up to you!

Hehe, I am glad you enjoy my content! Thanks for requesting ♥

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««

“So-” Swiftly, Lucio brought forth a delicate satin robe, holding it in front of his darling and showing it off to his new partner. “-or so?”

Sighing, Valerius shook his head, having to watch Lucio going back and forth between the two negligees, wanting him to decide which one he liked better. They were both beautiful, handmade, expensive. Too expensive to be torn apart later. But Lucio was almost desperate to satisfy his and Valerius’ taste, much to the consul’s dismay. “Tasteless, both of them,” was his final verdict, making Lucio grumble and pout in return.

“I am trying, Valerius.” Strutting over, Lucio snatched the glass of wine right out of Valerius’s hand, not holding back on swallowing the liquor inside. Now a little offended, Valerius got up from his seat, crossing his arms in front of his chest and clicking his tongue. “And I told you, this was an extraordinarily unwelcome idea.”

Walking towards the bound and gagged darling, Valerius started to untie the ropes around their wrist, huffing as his finger dug to free their limbs, skin still soft despite the bruises. “Wait! What are you doing?!” Lucio quickly caught on, rushing to his side with his hand placing on top of the satin knot.

“They belong to me. In my house, the bedroom I chose for them.”

“And we came to the agreement that we’d share! Did you forget your position, Consul?”

Halting his movements, it was clear as day by Valerius’s expression how much he despised Lucio at this very moment, causing the Count to grin, knowing he had hit a sore spot. If was nothing but an unpleasantry that Lucio had happened to find his long lost darling in the arms of Valerius. If Lucio was good at anything, it was being possessive to something he’d never treat right. Lucio could never treat them like Valerius could; thus they came to this unfortunate idea of his.

“I’m your count. You have to listen to me.”

“That may be true, but it doesn’t change my opinion about you,” Valerius hissed, eyes staring Lucio down with non-existent pity.

“W-Well, my opinion about you is just as bad, but THEY are staying here if you like it or not! They’ve been mine first before you came and took them away!”

“Excuse me? They fled from you, because you-”

Before Valerius could finish the sentence, both of them felt the flinch beneath their hand. Stirring in their seat, their darling drew their attention, gnawing at the shawl they had used as a gag on them nervously. Neither of them had been aware that they already woke up again. After all, Lucio had properly made sure they’d stop screaming and kicking as if their life depended on it throughout the transport. The ruckus would surely have attracted some unwanted attention as they had to get them from Valerius’s mansion back to the palace. The gag had been a precaution for when they woke up, which was now the case.

“Oh, hush, Baby. It’s fine, I’m here,” Lucio immediately cooed, brushing away the tears of frustration and maybe desperation on their face with his mechanical thumb. “No need to be scared now, I’ll take good care of you-”

“Off with your hands!” Envious, Valerius swatted away the metal, immediately having to pull his own hand away again in pain from the hit. “Can’t you see they clearly are scared of you? Also, they wish to speak, which apparently, you can’t even read in their face. So much for being a good partner.”

Untying the knot from the gag, Lucio grumbled in the displeasure of being scolded, finding his consul to be ruder and ruder, if anything. “Please let me go,” was the first thing the stuttered out, strings of spit drooling from their mouth clumsily as the fabric disappeared. “I just want to go home. I want to see my family, Asra-”

At the name of someone neither of the two men were particularly fond of fell from their lips, Valerius shot Lucio a quick look, the scarf falling back over their face. Their darling promptly tried to dispute its use, but the moment they opened their mouth, Lucio took the chance to shut them down with the gag.

“You know that’s no good,” Valerius reminded them, hands falling onto their shoulders. “Those people are just no good, and you deserve better than them.”

“Better like us!” Lucio chimed in, coming back to the front so they could see him better, standing side by side. “Yeah… I don’t like agreeing, but we are better than them. We can give you the things you would never have in life with them, won’t you overthink this thought, [Name]?”

Shaking their head, they had to blink rapidly now, tears running down their cheeks in streams, as they felt where this was going all the way down to all the bruises and scratches on their body. “My, they’ve gotten feisty in your care, Valerius.”

“It’s called giving them a reason to live, which surely, they hadn’t after your treatment.”

Humming thoughtfully, Lucio looked back at them, their eyes switching back and forth from looking at the count to the consul, small wiggles going through their bound body. “Don’t you think they’d be much better off with both of us, though? Think about the possibilities, Valerius. All of them.” Lifting his hand, Lucio brushed his fingers under Valerius’s chin, gaining the faintest sight of a blush on Valerius’s face.

“It’s not like we have never worked on something closely together before, right? Don’t you want to give me a second chance too, Valerius?”

“I swear I’m gone the moment I notice your care slipping again, Count. And I will take them with me!” Valerius hissed after an initial contemplation. Surveillance, daily routines, duties, training. It all was undeniable more comfortable with such a rough person as Lucio could be by his side. Pushing Lucio’s hand away from his face, leaving the count to snicker to himself, Valerius returned to his chair and wine bottle, pouring himself another glass.

“And they are not wearing these awful, flashy things, that’s for sure. They look awful in anything but red.”

“Fine with me~”

[ekleipsi]

-- dancing with demons ;;

--- Another handful of months had slipped by without him even realizing. Time meant so little when you were immortal; trading your soul to stay eternally with the man you loved. Was there ever so romantic a notion? A roll of bright blue orbs met sockets. Neither of them had gotten jobs yet, simply...indulging in a long vacation on saved assets from the hound’s long life- it was nice, but avian had begun to get restless and complacent without doing anything. Any work. 

--- Still, at least he’d recovered from his withdrawals without much fuss...though the trauma induced by the Gonchiye’s captivity had taken quite a bit longer. Taken quite a toll on their relationship as well; the bird had not allowed his wings free for quite some time...another ordeal, after having fallen from the mountain and nearly died when the instinct to survive did not kick in. Hound had saved him then, as he had saved him many times before.

--- When the trauma of wings had eventually been surpassed, then came the trauma of intimacy. Closeness. The months had been generous in Naoto being clingy towards the demon, but any sort of sexual advances had been rebuked with fear, the drive completely erased from the avian for further weeks. It was only until this last one that he’d begun to feel...entirely at ease. Comfortable. Safe. Perhaps that’s why he’d asked the hound for some time alone in the small and temporary apartment they inhabited. Attempts to cook dinner. 

--- Avian had chosen a meat stew- something he could allow to simmer to a long and slow cook so that it didn’t burn quite so quickly. After getting a good sear on the chunks of protein within the pot, he’d followed the recipe quite carefully in removing them and then adding a bit of vegetation. Everything managed to be just a hair overcooked, but not at all burnt at the very least and by the time he’d added the stock to it all to allow it to begin its slow process, the house smelled rather delicious. 

--- Naturally he’d procured two bottle of wine- he’d even asked someone for help in picking something delicious and expensive and not cheap. Only when he’d received a text from his lover about finally returning home, did he pour a glass for the canine and check the food, giving it a stir. A shiver danced up his spine in anticipation, wanting to surprise the other- door creaked open and falcon was quick to leave the kitchen to greet him with a tight hug around the neck.

--- ‘ ...smells surprisingly good... ‘ teasing words left the hellhound’s mouth, a pout affixing to the bird’s lips as petulant huff slipped out. 

--- ‘ I tried really hard not to burn it. ‘ he said, expression shifting into something deadpan as legs lifted from the ground to curl around the others waist, heels digging into lower back as he clung to husband. ‘ There’s wine... ‘ he said slowly, almost embarrassed as cheeks darkened at just how much thought he’d put into this evening, a hand lifting to card through his own tousled locks with a small huff. 

--- Faint smirk tugged at the taller male’s lips, quirking them upwards until a fang nearly peeked through, one palm sliding down assassin’s spine to grope at his rear while the other lifted to brush a thumb along the apple of heated cheek. ‘ How very thoughtful. It’s not our anniversary...what’s the occasion, pretty boy? ‘ he hummed out, pushing gently at the bird’s jaw until head was tilted. Words were quickly mumbled as mouth found purchase against already darkened patch of skin, marred by love bites and a mark to signify their bond as mates. He didn’t hesitate to kiss tenderly over the spot several times before a rough bite had fangs sinking into skin. 

--- Moan was quick to slip free, back arching inadvertently at the treatment while hips bucked against man’s abdomen as he shuddered out half a breath. ‘ No occasion. Just...wanted to surprise you... ‘ he snorted, trying to remain indifferent on the matter...though failing miserably. ‘ To thank you, really... ‘ he mumbled out, tone somewhat shy in a manner that had the hound pulling away with a curious and surprised blink over mismatched orbs. 

--- ‘ Thank me for what? ‘ 

--- ‘ Isn’t...it obvious? For...for being patient with me. T-taking care of me. Shit like that...don’t make me say it, mutt, damn. ‘ he huffed out, angrily glancing away from lovers face with an aggressive and frustrated noise at just how humiliating it was to say things so...vulnerable. So soft. Still, he gave them voice for the sake of mate, still clutching tightly at him and grasped within palms. 

--- A chuckle fell past the canine’s lips, catching the bird’s mouth with his own in a series of chaste but passionate kisses. ‘ I don’t ever need gratitude for minding my baby boy... ‘ he hummed, nosing at a cheek before bird was set upon ground once more. Nao was quick to pull coat form lovers shoulders, telling him to go into the living room and relax a little- wine had been set upon coffee table for hound to drink while he waited for dinner. 

--- It didn’t take long for slender frame to bring the bowl of stew to the hound, settling next to him on the couch and tentatively pulling a fork of the delicious treat into his mouth. He waited with bated breath for the other to take a bite, nearly vibrating in anticipation and leaning just a bit too close to face as he waited- proximity caused Ignis to laugh openly, gently pinching at one of the birds cheeks until he was squirming and pushing at a hand. 

--- ‘ It’s good, it’s good! Doesn’t even taste a little burnt. ‘ he smirked, pleased with the relieved way the falcons shoulders straightened, the bright expression on his features. The way he was all but vibrating in pleasure at the compliment, licking his lips before more ravenously digging into his own food after having waited for the assessment. 

--- ‘ I watched it really carefully! And paid a lot of attention to the recipe... ‘ he explained, nodding and refilling hound’s wine glass the moment it begun to empty. Compliments had even been laid towards the quality of the wine, causing a small wriggle to pale avian’s hips until he was all but preening at the notion. 

--- Ignis chuckled smoothly at just how delighted husband was over something so simple, taking another sip of the full bodied red wine. They ate in moderate silence, intermittently punctuated by the bird asking about how his day had gone, and hound in turn asking what he’d done to occupy himself in the down time between cooking. Conversation was idle and smooth and pleasant, finishing a bowl of the stew each before falcon got them both another one.

--- Before canine knew it, he’d drunk the entire bottle of wine and eaten half of his second bowl of stew before the avian was standing up from the couch and tilting his head, offering a hand to the taller. He stared at it in confusion for half a moment, before taking it and allowing falcon to pull him from seated position until they were both standing, Nao pressing a button on the remote until music had begun to softly play from speakers, dim and low and just perfect to set a comfortable mood. 

--- He hated dancing, honestly. Truly disliked it, but he knew his husband enjoyed it...and since Ignis had been so giving and attentive, so patient. ‘ Would...you like to dance... ‘ he asked slowly, cautiously. 

--- Hound’s expression twisted immediately from confusion and worry, going slack before simply melting into something fond and loving. It was soft, eyes creasing as rubies filled with love and tenderness at the slow, hesitant display, worried that he’d scare the bird off if he waited too long to answer. ‘ I would love nothing more, pretty bird... ‘ he nodded, fingers and palms catching into the falcon’s as the music grew into a slow and comfortable beat for movement around the living area. 

--- Sniper’s cheeks darkened with a blush, delicately stepping atop his mate’s feet and allowing for the taller to lead the rhythm. ‘ You mean the world...to me, Ig... ‘ he said quietly, squeezing tanned palm lovingly before tipping azures up. ‘ I love you...more...than anything... ‘ another soft hum, standing up on his toes atop the others feet so that he could press a slow and loving kiss to warm lips, eyes closing as the hellhound clutching him close, one palm in his own while the other curled tight around his middle. 

--- They swayed gently with the beat, steps a bit intimate and more elaborate than the standard 2am kitchen sways, pulled against chest. Kiss was reciprocated in kind, lazy and filled with emotion and gratitude of his own, his features content and pure in their adoration as he nosed at the bird’s cheek with a noise of approval. ‘ I love you too, geráki. Eísai ta astéria mou, i zoí mou. ‘ he said smoothly, sweetly, feeling husband press face into his chest. The night continued smoothly, the two simply dancing and indulging in one anothers company, exchanging laughs and kisses.

[shadow-sovereign]

1. So, here is another idea: The relationship between South Korea and Japan are bad, so one of the politicans comes up with an idea: a hunter exchange programm between Korea and Japan. Some hunters from Korea stay with the Drawn Sword Guild and some hunters form Japan stay with one of their guilds. Each hunter has a "mentor" in the guild they are staying. Jin-Woo is among the hunters who go to Japan and his mentor is Goto Ryuji who is not happy playing babysitter for an E-Rank hunter.

2. But he has to play nice because of politics. So Jin-Woo is living with Ryuji. Ryuji’s first impression of the Korean is: "weak but kind of cute" and "looks like a puppy". Of course Jin-Woo still goes into Gates (with other D and E rank hunters) and one day the dual-dungeon-incident happens. They suspect that he experienced a double awakening, but their magical power detector says otherwise. Ryuji is still suspicious because Jin-Woo feels different to his senses.

3. As if something about him has changed so he watches him. And every day he feels stronger than before, and suddenly he grows muscles over night. He is like a puzzle Ryuji can not resist solving. They get closer every day. But Jin-Woo’s time in Japan runs out and he has to return to Korea.

This would be a very interesting dynamic. Ryuji as a general rule does not respect Hunters that are weak. He would not have a very high opinion of Jin-Woo at first. Even his reasons for being a Hunter would just be baffling to him.

Putting his life on the line to keep his mother on life support? It would be one thing if it was for life-saving treatment, to actually make his mother better. He could understand making that kind of sacrifice for a parent if it would actually save the person. But to make an indefinite sacrifice for a parent that’s always going to be in a coma?

I see Ryuji as maybe being a dutiful son, but not being particularly close to them. Maybe they were the kind of parents who worked a lot and thought the way to make your kid happy was through material goods. He always had food, nice clothes, and plenty of gifts on his birthday and holidays. Did it really matter if they weren’t always home on time for dinner?

This has led to Ryuji to being distant in general and very self-sufficient. He doesn’t feel comfortable opening up to others or forming attachments to them. That distance from humanity led to feeling superiority to humanity. He convinced himself that he doesn’t need others, so he must be better than them.

Watching Jin-Woo constantly getting hurt for someone else’s sake doesn’t really change his mind, either. Maybe he’ll even try to talk Jin-Woo out of it, as an odd form of pity. He can at least respect how persist Jin-Woo is at working towards his goals, even if he thinks said goals are pointless.

The conversation doesn’t really go over well. E-rank Jin-Woo is kind of timid, but he’s absolutely livid at this self-absorbed rich asshole telling him to let his mother die….because it doesn’t benefit him?? Maybe he goes on a rant about all that his mother has done for him growing up and not wanting her to die is reason enough for his sacrifice.

It could possibly lead to them discussing different philosophies later, assuming I can figure out how to write that. At the very least, I want them to have a discussion about the inherent value of human lives and how people don’t have to be “useful”. It’ll at least make Ryuji introspective, but I don’t think he’s going to have a big change of heart right away. He’ll eventually learn how to care about people, but he’s always going to be a bit selfish.

Now, winding back to the start – how does Jin-Woo get selected for the exchange program? He’s the weakest Hunter there is. ‘Wouldn’t it look bad on Korea for me to get sent over?’, he asks. But the fact that he keeps working as a Hunter despite his weakness is exactly why they chose him.

Unlike Ryuji, other people are quite moved by his story. About how he risks his life every time he steps through a gate to pay his mother’s hospital bills. How he raised his sister after their mother fell into a coma, their father presumed killed in a gate. And how he’s raising money to put her through university.

In addition to what they normally pay him to go through Gates, they give him extra for every day he’s in Japan, plus they pay for his travel expenses. Plane ticket and a decent budget for food. With him staying with Ryuji, he at least doesn’t have to pay for housing in Japan, which is useful since he still has to pay the bills for his sister in Korea.

It’s difficult for him to be separated from her for so long. Perhaps the exchange program could be about a year long. In the beginning, Jin-Woo video calls her every day, but that gradually shifts into 2-3 times a week as they get used to the separation.

Ryuji’s not happy about having someone in his space, but he’s playing along with this situation for political reasons. He understands that public opinion is its own type of power, especially when it’ll determine who’s willing to do business with you.

When he gets Jin-Woo home, he lays out some basic ground rules. Like, no eating outside of the kitchen/dining area. He owns his own apartment on the top floor of some tall building. He doesn’t want his carpets getting stained or food spilled on his couches. But he doesn’t have expensive vases and statues laying around, waiting to give Jin-Woo a heart attack with one wrong move. (He does have some fancy artwork, but you’re a lot less likely to knock that off the wall than an expensive vase off a shelf.)

Basically, Ryuji is reasonable in the house rules he sets. He doesn’t try to intimidate Jin-Woo, but he’s not particularly friendly either. In the beginning, he’ll probably ignore Jin-Woo for the most part. But he keeps getting reports of how Jin-Woo was injured in this raid and that raid (healed before he gets back to Ryuji’s apartment. He’s going on raids with Ryuji’s guild and Ryuji always insists on a healer with every raid, low ranked or not. The healer fees are less expensive than the insurance payouts.)

Eventually, Ryuji gets curious about the way Jin-Woo thinks. How he can keep going on dangerous raids to pay for the hospital bills of a mother who’s never going to wake up. That’s when they start having more regular conversations, trying to understand the other’s point of view.

They’re not quite friends by the time Jin-Woo encounters the Double Dungeon, but they’re close enough that Ryuji visits him in the hospital. Maybe Ryuji realizes that he would be at least briefly upset if the kid died, which is more than he can say for most people.

He notices pretty quickly when Jin-Woo starts changing. Not only is he suddenly doing exercise every day, but he’s gaining muscles and height. The muscles could be hidden by clothes, but he’s not going to miss that the kid he’s been living with for months is suddenly taller.

They start spending more time together as Ryuji tries to figure out what’s going on. Jin-Woo deflects some of the questions, but doesn’t outright tell Ryuji it’s none of his business. Maybe Jin-Woo likes that he’s got more of Ryuji’s attention now. (Though if Ryuji had completely ignored him when he was weaker, he’d be ignoring Ryuji now. He won’t get closer to someone who’s only interested in him now that he’s stronger.)

As Jin-Woo becomes stronger, he becomes more confident as well. He’s more bold in how he states his opinion, no more stuttering or nervous fidgeting. The change makes a remarkable difference. Add that to his changing body and Ryuji realizes he’s starting to become attracted to Jin-Woo. (The real question is whether Jin-Woo will notice on his own. I headcanon him as not having much experience with romance before the Double Dungeon incident. He was too busy going on raids and taking care of his sister.)

Perhaps he and Ryuji spar a few times before Jin-Woo has to go back to Korea? Ryuji obviously notices that Jin-Woo is stronger every time, wondering how this is possible and when Jin-Woo’s growth will stop. He’s both relieved and disappointed that he didn’t get to see Jin-Woo reach his own strength before he had to return home, almost looking forward to sparring with him as an equal.

I’m not sure about the timeline of everything. Perhaps Jin-Woo is in Japan for another two months after the Double Dungeon incident. He doesn’t go on raids during that time, focusing on getting stronger. He’s trying to avoid having his increased strength be noticed until he reaches S-rank.

Ryuji would probably help cover for him, saying that Jin-Woo is recovering from the trauma or something. He doesn’t have anything to gain by selling Jin-Woo out, especially not compared to having an S-rank Hunter as an ally.

So, Jin-Woo goes back to Korea, perhaps in time to save Yoo Jin-Ho’s life? The timeline’s probably going to be slightly off from canon to make everything work, but I’m not sure the Novel ever explained how fast things were happening anyway.

I think I’ll stop here. When I get around to writing this, then I’ll do more brainstorming. (Thank you for this suggestion, by the way. It probably wouldn’t have occurred to me to have E-rank Jin-Woo interacting with Ryuji at all without this idea. But this Hunter Exchange program means that Ryuji will have no choice but to pay attention to him, when he would have otherwise ignored such a low level Hunter.)

And a reminder to my followers, feel free to send in any of your fic ideas! I’d love to see them. ^_^

[hmsjiara]

glitter's sparklin on your heart now, darling (jj + kie)

request by @rcsales: prompts for Jiara!!: 74. “Why don’t you just sit there and look pretty?”, 80. “How do you get your skin to be so soft?” and 92. “Are you sure we should be doing this?”

i figured i should write something fluffy after my last one shot lol, and i aso wanted to write something for pride so here you go :) hope you like it, thank you for the request!

read it here on ao3.

                                      •••

“Are you sure we should be doing this?”

Now, that was a first. JJ, who just last week had done a wheelie with his motorcycle off of the dock at the Chateau, telling Kiara she was being reckless.

“JJ, you endanger your life on a day-to-day basis,” Kiara says, rolling her eyes. “Going to a pride rally is the safest activity you’ve done all week.”

“No, it’s just— I mean won’t your parents be pissed?” He asks, frowning at her from the passenger seat. “I heard your mom— she didn’t sound happy.”

When Kiara had come out as pansexual, her parents had been... supportive. They’d smiled and nodded and said that’s nice, sweetheart. But apparently, her attending a pride rally was taking it a step too far. It had escalated into a screaming match the night before, the gist being it’s fine to like girls, but talking about it publicly is crossing a line. She’d ignored it, because her parents reputations weren’t her concern, but JJ always got weird around shit like this. She’d explained it to him already: parents got mad at their kids, that was normal, they weren’t going to disown her over it.

“It’ll be fine,” she tells him, looking over her shoulder as she backs her car up. It was well past midnight— she had decided it would be best to leave while her parents were asleep. The parade started at eleven in the morning, so she’d booked them a room at a nearby hotel. This way, she could avoid an awkward confrontation with her mother, and they’d be able to get an earlier start the next day. JJ had texted her when he was in her driveway, and she’d crept downstairs with her pre-packed bag and grabbed her keys. She’d parked her car around the corner from her house as a precaution.

Kiara had worked herself up so much trying to figure out how to tell the Pogues that she was pan that their reaction to her whiskey-triggered, blurted confession while they were chilling on the hammocks at the Chateau had been somewhat anticlimactic.

John B had smiled, told her it was cool and passed her a joint, and that was that. Pope blinked once, as if downloading the information into his brain, and then nodded like it made perfect sense. JJ, however, had frowned and said, “Pansexual? What? Did you have like a giant crush on Peter Pan as a child?”

“No, JJ,” she’d said, trying to sound annoyed even as she gave him a fond roll of her eyes. “It means that I’m attracted to people based on who they are, not what’s between their legs.”

“Oh, well we knew that,” he said, shrugging, his eyes glazed and hazy from the alcohol and weed as he stared at her. “So, what I’m gathering is... this means that  even though you were macking on that Kook chic last week at the Boneyard, I still have a chance?”

Pope had shoved him out of the hammock, and JJ had fallen to the ground with a grunt. John B threw a towel at his head, but Kiara just laughed, rolled her eyes.

It was the usual JJ pigheadedness she was used to, but she had felt strangely comforted by it in that moment. She’d been so afraid they’d treat her differently, but the Pogues had acted like her announcing her sexuality was barely news at all.

It was a nice change from her parents, and even though JJ’s initial reaction had been utterly idiotic, since then he’d been nothing but supportive.

So, when Kiara mentioned that she was going to her first Pride alone, he’d volunteered to come and keep her company.

It was sweet, the kind of gesture JJ was prone to masking with cocky remarks and his usual deflections surrounding anything to do with emotions.

Either way, JJ certainly makes the trip more entertaining. It’s late, and the drive would normally be boring and lonely, but he hooks up her phone to the aux and blasts her Pride playlist. He keeps flipping through the songs, unable to choose one, but he finally settles on Born This Way by Lady Gaga.

JJ’s carpool karaoke is actually impressive— he can sing, which she knew, but there’s something about him screaming Gaga lyrics that makes Kiara’s heart jump. Then, Vogue by Madonna comes on, and he rolls down the window and starts screaming the words at passing cars. She has to tell him to stop, uses driver veto power to roll up the window, because he’s distracting, and she doesn’t want to start the weekend off by getting in a car crash.

The drive is already three hours long, but JJ insists that they stop for Taco Bell even though he’s already had dinner, claiming that it’s the least she can do, which Kiara finds ironic since he was the one who offered to come with her.

Their arrival at the hotel is just as chaotic as she expected. Kiara checks them in, her duffel bag on JJ’s shoulder as he whispers comments in her ear about the lobby’s patrons. She has to swat his hand away from the candy bowl, gives the receptionist a slightly manic, apologetic smile.

The woman’s own smile seems genuine, and as she hands them their keys she shakes her head and says, “I hope it’s not too forward, but you two make an adorable couple.”

Kiara opens her mouth to correct her, but JJ throws an arm around her shoulders and steers her away from the desk before she can protest.

“You hear that, Kie?” He asks as they wait for the elevator to arrive, his arm still on her shoulders, his breath warm against her ear. “She thinks we make a cute couple.”

She shoves him away from her, threatens to lock him out of the hotel room as a punishment. He pulls the key card from his pocket, somehow having swiped it from her, and she regrets it instantly when he presses every elevator button in retaliation. She tries to stop him, but he blocks her with an arm, and Kiara refuses to jump to reach the card he’s now holding above his head.

Instead, she moves to the other side of the elevator and pretends to be pissed, giving him the silent treatment.

JJ starts apologizing by the seventh floor, and is looking throughly ashamed by the tenth. She considers it a job well done, but his embarrassment only lasts for the duration of the elevator ride, and he’s racing her to the room when the door opens.

She swears traveling with JJ is like traveling with a five-year-old. Actually, the five year old would likely be better behaved. And she can’t put JJ in time-out if he annoys her.

Kiara had purchased the hotel room before she’d known JJ was coming, upgraded it to two beds when he’d told her. She’d convinced him it was too much of a hassle to split the bill, reminded him he was technically doing her a favor by coming and she should get the chance to repay it. The truth was, she had more than enough money, and she wasn’t going to let him spend his limited amount of cash on an expensive hotel room. It wasn’t like she required this kind of shit, she would have been just as content staying in a trashy motel, this was just safer and closer to the parade.

Still, when they enter the room, with it’s two queen beds and an en suite bathroom, the floor to ceiling windows showing a view of the city below, the PNC Plaza towering above the other buildings, and JJ goes quiet, she understands it’s because he’s never been in a place like this before.

He seems almost unsure of himself and some people might consider it embarrassing, but to be honest Kiara finds it endearing. He asks her which bed was his, and when she tells him he can pick, he beams at her like a child who’s just been given a free lollipop. He flops down on the bed by the window, his boots hitting the white sheets, and Kiara knows that her mother would faint if she saw it.

She had assumed that they would both be tired from the drive, but JJ is as restless as ever, unable to sit still as he examines every part of the room. She takes a shower while he explores, has to forbid him from going to the hotel pool at four am when he asks through the door, reminds him that they have to be up by nine.

JJ had rolled his eyes when she told him, said it was unnecessary to leave two hours before the parade started, but when she came out he was still lying on his bed, scrolling through Instagram on his phone.

She’s brushing her hair when he says, “Do we have signs?”

“What?” She asks, frowning at him.

JJ looks at her, eyebrows raised. “Did you seriously forget to bring signs? Isn’t that like the one thing you bring to a parade?”

Kiara stays silent, and he seems to understand that it‘s an admission of guilt. Okay, so she was bound to forget something, this just happened to be it.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, sighing as he grabs her keys off of the the table and starts typing something into his phone.

“Where are you—“

“Don’t worry about it.”

Kiara wants to tell him that she has to worry, because it involves him, but he‘s gone before she can say anything.

She shakes her head, resigned to the fact that JJ is almost an adult and that she can’t really control him. Even if the idea of her reckless friend driving her car to an unknown location in the middle of the night makes her nervous.

She decides to try and relax, changing into one of the hotels fluffy bathrobes and applying a sparkly face mask while JJ isn’t there to tease her about it.

When she hears the lock click, she’s lying in bed, making a list for the morning on her phone.

JJ bursts through the door, and it takes her a second to comprehend the sight of him with an armful of colored paper, glitter, and markers.

“What did you do?”

“Posters,” he says with a shrug, as if that explains it. “I went to a drug store to get supplies, since you were unprepared. ‘Cmon, Kie, get your ass over here.”

It was the same quiet, subtle consideration that had made him come with her, and Kiara had always admired that about JJ— his life was hell, but he hadn’t let that damage his character, his natural instinct to help the people he cared about.

So, she pats the spot beside her on the bed, let’s JJ lay out his supplies, and spends the next two hours telling him to put caps on markers and fighting over tubes of rainbow glitter.

She ends up making her sign the colors of the pan flag, writes the words Pan and Proud on it. JJ is strangely secretive about his, and she starts to get nervous when he is hiding it from her, but she smiles when he turns and she sees the words Hearts Not Parts written out in different shades of glitter.

He grins at her reaction, starts searching for a marker to sign his name, and she has a moment where she is studying him: lounging beside her in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants, blonde curls mussed from running his fingers through his hair, his lips between his teeth as he focuses on writing his name, and she thinks about how easy it would be to lean over and press her lips to his.

But she ignores that urge, excuses herself to the bathroom and splashes cold water on her face, and when she returns JJ is in his own bed, finally ready to go to sleep.

The bed seems colder without him, but she resists the desire to ask him to join her again. Because they were just friends, and she wasn’t going to ruin the weekend by being selfish.

The problem, ironically, she thinks as she stares at his sign, is that JJ’s heart is exactly what’s made her like him so damn much.

                                     •••

The next morning is more hectic than she wanted it to be, but with JJ, she should have expected it.

Kiara had built an extra hour into their schedule just for this purpose, but she sleeps through her alarm and wakes up thirty minutes before the parade starts.

She trips on JJ’s discarded boots when she stumbles out of bed, swears as she almost face-plants on the hotel floor, shakes JJ a little harder than necessary to wake him up.

They end up sharing the bathroom as they’re getting ready, and Kiara complains about the steam from his shower ruining her hair, yells at him for getting in her way. JJ is still ready twenty minutes before her, and he lays on the bed while she’s panicking, infuriatingly calm.

Kiara’s so flustered that she forgets her car keys, but JJ grabs them, pushes the elevator button with a pointed look at her wedged heels.

Okay, so they’re not the most parade appropriate attire, but at least they’re cute. Kiara’s shirt, which reads easily distracted by all genders, is tucked into her jean skirt, and her hair is braided with rainbow beads,  her eyeshadow a blended version of the colors in the pan flag.

She spent a good deal of time selecting her outfit, but when she gets to the car, she realizes that she’s overlooked one crucial thing: JJ.

Besides the sign, there’s nothing to distinguish him as a member of Pride, so she insists on pulling out her glitter when they’ve arrived at the parade and parked on the side of the street.

She thought he would refuse, but JJ just says he’ll do it if he can do hers as well. She agrees, and then they’re brushing rainbow glitter on each other’s cheeks, leaning over the console so that their faces are inches apart. JJ keeps moving, tapping his fingers against the seat, bouncing his legs, reaching up to itch his nose so that Kiara has to swat his hand away.

She just tries not to think about his fingers on her face, how the blue glitter on his cheeks makes his eyes pop.

JJ is adorably focused, eyes narrowed as he applies the glitter, and then he says, “How do you get your skin to be so soft?”

Kiara shivers as he brushes a finger over her cheekbone, as if he can’t help himself. “It’s called moisturizer, JJ,” she explains, smirking at him as she starts to list all of the skincare products she uses. JJ loses interest soon enough, applying a little more blue and pink glitter and then declaring that his work is finished.

To her surprise, they make it to the parade with time to spare. It was as if a rainbow had exploded on the streets of the city, everyone was carrying signs and laughing and dancing and getting brightly-colored drinks from the stands lining the sides of the road. The sun is shining above, and Kiara starts looking at the UV index on her phone, tries to make JJ put on sunscreen. He refuses, says it will mess with the glitter, let’s out a cry of outrage when she presses dollops of it onto his cheeks anyway.

She thought he would be uncomfortable surrounded by all of it, but JJ seems perfectly at ease, studying their surroundings with genuine interest and curiosity. They buy drinks from the vendors who barely glance at Kiara’s fake ID, which makes sense since the alcohol is basically water compared to what the Pogues ingest on a daily basis.

A few people compliment their signs, and music is blasting from the speakers, and Kiara finds that she’s actually able to relax, laughing as JJ spins her around with an arm.

They get food from the trucks, JJ buying anything with the word meat in it while she opts for fish tacos. He chugs from the water bottle she brought them, the one he insisted they didn’t need, makes Kiara do a Jell-O shot.

It escalates from there, until they end up at a bar, exhausted and sun-soaked, and Kiara takes off her heels and rests her sore legs on JJ’s lap under the bar while he orders them drinks. He claims the beer will help with the ache in her feet, and it does, because thirty minutes later Kiara has pulled him away from the bar and onto the dance floor. They’re both a few drinks in at this point, and although Kiara hates it, her weight means she gets drunk faster than he does, so she’s reasonably tipsy.

It’s a blur of laughter and bright colors and rainbow face paint, all writhing limbs and bodies bumping hers. Someone calls for shots, and Kiara screams at the top of her lungs, slips her hand into JJ’s and raises their arms into the air.

Eventually, a girl with a warm smile and tan skin, her blonde curls dyed pink, grabs Kiara’s hand and starts dancing with her, hips rolling and tongue out between purple-lipstick painted lips. JJ just watches them without commenting, sips from his drink, raises his eyebrows when Kiara starts grinding on her.

The girl tugs her towards the bar, and Kiara follows, tells JJ where she’s going over her shoulder.

“Kie,” he whines, pouting at her. “What am I supposed to do? Just stand here while you go hook up with her in the bathroom?”

“Why don’t you just sit there and look pretty?”

He glares at her as she shoots a pointed look at the glitter on his face, but Kiara just laughs, leaves him standing in the middle of the dance floor.

She returns a few minutes later, a purple lipstick print on her cheek, and JJ pretends to be pissed at her, gives her the cold shoulder as the girl lays her arms on Kiara’s shoulders and starts swaying her hips.

But then a boy with black shorts and no shirt appears, a rainbow painted on his chest, screaming as he runs his hands through his brown curls and knocks back a shot of tequila. He’s obviously hammered, but it doesn’t make it any less hilarious when he wraps an arm around JJ and hugs him, presses a kiss to his cheek. “You’re adorable,” he whispers in his ear, nuzzling into JJ’s neck. “Wanna fuck?”

“Uh, no, er, I’m good thanks—“

Both Kiara and the girl she’s dancing with start cackling as the boy stumbles away, giggling at JJ’s dumbstruck expression.

Kiara throws herself at him, wraps her arms around his neck, the buzz from the tequila allowing her to whisper the words wanna fuck? in his ear.

He doesn’t push her away like she thought he would, instead he tugs her closer and let’s her take a sip of his drink, press a kiss to his cheek.

In fact, after that, they don’t stop touching.

JJ stands behind her at the bar to keep people from bumping into her, and Kiara sits on his lap when they return to their seats, clings to his hand when they eventually stumble from the bar and into an Uber. They’ll pick up her car tomorrow, she thinks faintly, when the world stops spinning.

Kiara has rainbow glitter in her hair and her feet feel like they’re about to fall off her body, but her chest is filled with this strange, warm feeling that only grows when she rests her head on JJ’s shoulder and says, “Thank you.”

“For what?” He asks, glancing at her, his blue eyes heavy with exhaustion and alcohol, his voice softer than usual.

“For this,” she tells him, gesturing to herself, the signs at their feet. “For today. For always accepting me for who I am.”

It’s cheesy, and they don’t do cheesy, but she’s drunk and JJ doesn’t seem to mind as he presses a kiss to her forehead. “Always, Kie. You don’t have to worry about that.”

[96thdayofrage]

Last summer, after the killing of George Floyd ignited protests around the country, Brown got more calls from reporters than she’d received in her entire career. By the time President Biden promised, on his first day in office, to identify and dismantle systemic racism perpetuated by all federal departments, staffers on Capitol Hill were already consulting Brown about the Internal Revenue Service’s impact on racial disparities. “Suddenly people wanted to talk about race and tax,” she says.

With The Whiteness of Wealth, Brown has turned a notoriously boring topic into a surprisingly accessible and lively 288-page book, relying on examples from real families, including her own, to guide readers through the intricacies of a tax code provisioned for just about every milestone in a person’s life—education, marriage, homeownership, childbearing, death and inheritance. Generations of lawmakers have optimized the system for White people, she argues, with the result that in the U.S.’s supposedly progressive and race-neutral tax code, Black people end up paying more than White people with the same incomes.

The challenge for Brown’s research has been all the greater because the IRS doesn’t take race into account when it analyzes its giant trove of tax data. So she had to laboriously stitch together information from dozens of other sources to prove her book’s thesis. The best evidence that the system is unfair to Black people is the sheer size and persistence of the racial wealth gap. The median White family has a net worth eight times the typical Black family’s wealth. According to Federal Reserve figures, that’s the same size gap as in 1983, despite higher incomes, educational gains, and extraordinary progress by individual Black people, including to the highest office in the land.

The book also serves as something of a primer on how wealth works in America, showing how the rich pass assets to their children and why those starting from the bottom face such a difficult climb. Brown devotes her final chapter to advice for Black readers trying to navigate a system that disadvantages them at every turn. “Black Americans need to be defensive players,” she writes, “choosing strategies in their educations, careers, and family lives that compensate for oppressive practices and policies.” She also pushes for major tax changes to erase biases toward Whites and to assist all people, especially Black ones, who are trying to build wealth. Never again should politicians discuss tax reform without considering race, she says. “I literally want to change how America talks about tax policy.”

One afternoon in the early ’90s, Brown pulled out an essay she’d been looking forward to reading by her friend and mentor Jerome Culp, the first professor of color to receive tenure at Duke University’s law school. She’d been feeling isolated at her first academic job, with White colleagues who she says seemed clueless about race, at best. And here was Culp arguing that race should no longer be overlooked in important areas of the law. “There may be an income tax problem that would benefit from being viewed in a Black perspective,” he wrote by way of example, “but until you look, how will anyone know?” Brown called Culp and promised to try.

It took several years for her to publish her first research on the question, focusing on the taxation of married couples. Black Americans are more likely to be single, and if they’re married, it’s more likely both spouses will be working. These considerations wouldn’t have mattered when the income tax made its debut in 1913, because all earners were treated the same regardless of marital status. But in 1930 a rich White shipbuilder named Henry Seaborn persuaded the U.S. Supreme Court to lower his tax bill by imputing half his income to his wife. Congress eventually went along, and ever since, couples with only one high earner have paid less. Brown realized this policy had meant higher tax bills for her parents: The tax code essentially treats a plumber and a nurse who are paying for child care and commuting expenses with after-tax dollars the same or worse than it does a banker earning their combined salaries whose spouse stays home with the kids.

In the next 20 years, Brown went on to systematically catalog other ways in which, when Black families like her own tried to hoist themselves up the economic scale, the U.S. tax system pulled them down. Her colleagues, who were overwhelmingly White, expressed skepticism, however. “Dorothy, everybody knows your work is irrelevant, because Black people are poor and don’t pay taxes,” she says one professor told her, rudely laying bare an assumption she’s confronted countless times. (Four-fifths of Black households don’t fall below the poverty line.)

Brown’s father, James, with her nephew Jamaal in the early ’80s.

Brown’s early published work “caused her lots of professional grief,” recalls her friend Mechele Dickerson, a law professor at the University of Texas at Austin. “People thought you were just trying to be controversial—that you’re just making stuff up.” Those on the left asked if this was about class, not race. Conservatives posed a different question: Wouldn’t these disparities disappear if Black taxpayers just acted more like White ones?

Brown’s answer to both is that your class may change but your race can’t, no matter how differently you behave. “Blacks graduate from college with more debt, do not get jobs as easily as Whites, are not paid the same wages as their equally qualified White peers, are steered toward lower paying jobs, and have an unemployment rate twice that of Whites—yet are more likely to provide financial support for extended family,” she writes in her forthcoming book.

These present-day disparities are piled on top of a shameful history of Black Americans being purposely excluded from landmark federal legislation and programs. “For Whites, there were government interventions that created a middle class,” says New School economics professor Darrick Hamilton, an adviser to Senator Bernie Sanders’s 2020 presidential campaign who considers Brown a mentor. He points to the Homestead Act in the 19th century and much of the New Deal and the GI Bill in the 20th. “When Blacks were able to amass pockets of wealth, it’s been vulnerable to confiscation, theft, and terror,” he adds, citing the devastation wrought in Black neighborhoods by predatory subprime lenders as an example.

Brown argues that “tax policy adds insult to injury” by magnifying the financial toll of Blackness. The tax treatment of housing is a textbook case. Interest paid on mortgages is deductible, but there’s no comparable perk for renters, who are disproportionately Black. Also, White homeowners tend to pocket gains upon resale, which are largely tax-free. In contrast, Black homeowners are very likely to lose money on their investment, because homes don’t usually appreciate much in diverse neighborhoods that are shunned by White buyers. And losses aren’t tax-deductible.

Or consider tax incentives the federal government offers on 401(k)s and other types of retirement savings plans, which add up to more than a quarter trillion dollars per year, according to the Tax Policy Center. Only about half of U.S. workers have a retirement account, and they’re disproportionately White. Meanwhile, Black people are far more likely to have jobs that fail to provide 401(k)s and other corporate benefits, such as health care and flexible spending accounts, that are heavily subsidized by the tax code.

These discrepancies are nothing new—Brown’s father, locked out of the plumbing union for the first 20 years of his career, was employed by a small private company that offered no retirement or health-care plan. Now, though, the gap between different classes of workers might be widening, with the rise of the gig economy and corporations outsourcing more work to contractors. Brown is wary of the trend, seeing it as a “new form of occupational segregation” that’s ensnaring a disproportionate number of Black workers.