#this au was made by me and my roommate if anyone disagrees with these forms or names then uh. idk

[blog-about-daemons]

DRAGON AGE INQUISITION DAEMON AU (Part 1)

Cassandra Pentaghast + Faithe (she/her)

Settled as a Secretary Bird, Faithe's name was taken from the word "Faith". Although both Cassandra and her daemon project a tough exterior, Faithe is often the softer of the two, though she too won't hesitate to protect what she values.

Varric Tethras + Winifred (she/they)

Settled as an Irish Wolfhound, Winifred's name has many meanings, though for Varric's case, her name means "Blessed Reconciliation". Like any dwarf's daemon, Winifred is able to travel great distances from Varric while still being connected to him... though just like Varric, she would much prefer to stay sitting all warm and cozy by the fireplace of Skyhold.

Josephine Montilyet + Ireneaus (he/him)

Settled as a Cotton-Top Tamarin, Ireneaus' name means "Peace". Clever, sharp-eyed, and althogether charming, he matches beautifully with Josephine's equal charm and skill.

Leliana + Kirithan (he/him)

Settled as Superb Starling, Kirithan's name means "Songs of Worship". A strikingly colorful form, he is not what most people expect from Leliana's daemon.

Cullen Rutherford + Leandra (she/her)

Settled as an American Staffordshire Terrier, Leandra's name often means "Lion", as ironic as that is. She carries many of the scars that Cullen tries in vain to hide, though her appearance is deceiving; she is a sweetheart.

[earnestly-endlessly]

Hi! I'm wondering if you can make a list of fics where Erik's jewish heritage isn't ignored? I just came across the fact that a lot of authors don't explore this part of him for some reason and i found it kinda upsetting so i'm wondering if you have any recs! I liked "As They Kiss, Consume" and "Who Shall be King Hereafter" by sherwoodfox, in case anyone who's reading this ask is interested in the same topic.

Hi Anon. I'm sorry for taking so long with this list but your request sent me on a wide search for fics that fit with your request. I tried to find a variety of fics where Erik's Jewish heritage is addressed. Some of them aren't necessarily cherik, but most of them are. I hope you enjoy this list.

Mistletoe, Latkes, and Long-Term Revenge Strategies – pocky_slash

Summary: Charles knows that Erik hates working at a department store in the best of times. Being Jewish in a department store during the holiday season is far from the best of times. He does what he can to help.

A Nice Boy (the Family Matters Edition) – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik's not sure whether the problem is that he doesn't want his parents to meet Charles or that he doesn't want Charles to meet his parents. Either way, he never invites Charles to brunch. Why should he? It's not like they're dating.

A Road Trip to Pennsylvania – Aainiouu

Summary: For a year Charles has nurtured the biggest and most embarrassing crush known to man towards Erik. They are friends and roommates and when Erik asks Charles to accompany him to home on Thanksgiving of course Charles goes.

In the Bleak Midwinter – keire_ke

Summary: It is not easy to find out, well into the second decade of the twenty-first century, that your mother arranged a marriage for you. It is even less easy to convince her that you have no interest in the very fertile Magda, she of the wide hips and lustrous auburn hair. Fortunately, with a good friend at his side over the holiday weekend, Erik is sure he will prevail.

Speech Making – phalangine

Summary: Modern Emma AU- Charles Xavier, accomplished matchmaker and headmaster of North America’s preeminent school for mutants, intends to add another notch to his belt: setting up his friend Moira. His oldest friend, Erik, has doubts about this plan.

Charles doesn’t share them.

This is life (and everything’s all right) – pocky_slash

Summary: Edie Lehnsherr came into Charles' life long before he ever heard Erik Lehnsherr's name, and her death left a gaping hole in the lives of everyone in Charles' family. As the first Purim without her approaches, he begins to get creative in his efforts to bring everyone out of their grief. Kitchen creativity, however, is not quite his strength....

Bashert – AvengingAngel

Summary: Erik and Charles meet and fall in love. I wanted to write a story where Erik had a huge family. Pretty fluffy (for me anyways). I suck at summaries.

Note: The summary doesn’t reveal much but if you’re looking for a fic where Erik is jewish and has a large family with a heavy dose of cherik fluff and angst then this one is for you.

Math Reasons – pearl_o,  pocky_slash

Summary: "Mom says Erik always knows what he wants, it just sometimes takes him a little while to actually realize it," Ruth said.

Charles fell in love with Erik the first night they met, the first week of freshman year. Two years of friendship, adventures, arguments, hijinks, secrets, and summer visits later, Erik is starting to catch up.

Ser

It’s kind of our whole things – pearl_o, pocky_slash

Summary: After two years of best friendship, Charles and Erik thought they knew everything there was to know about each other. They're surprised, then, when their first summer as a couple reveals that they have a lot to learn about each other and themselves.

Sequel to Math Reasons

A Winter in New York – nextraordinaire

Summary: Charles and Erik have been childhood friends for as long as they can remember – Erik, living with his mother in Queens, and Charles in the big mansion in Westchester. For all, expect themselves, it was just natural progression that they'd end up together.

A series of ficlets from the same universe – can be read as separate and are out of chronological order.

Baby, It’s Cold Outside – heyjupiter

Summary: "It's just, this is my first Chanukah away from my parents. And it's--it's like 90 degrees out."

Erik Lehnsherr and Kitty Pryde celebrate a Genoshan Chanukah. It's a little different from the way it used to be in New York, but some unexpected visitors help them embrace the spirit of the holiday season.

Hold Back the Rain (front!strict mashup) – euphorbic

Summary: Charles Xavier: society darling, powerful political activist, well-known professor, and Dominant.

Erik Lehnsherr: anti-social, international motorcycle racer, and defiant submissive.

Erik is at Sepang in Malaysia for the fourteenth leg of the International World Championship. After doing poorly in qualifying, he's furious to find he has to take another VIP around the track instead of meeting Charles at the KL airport.

The Swan – waitfornight

Summary: In 1939 Erik and his sister Ruth are sent to Devonshire, England, during the Kindertransport refugee program to live with Kurt and Sharon Marko as foster children just before the start of World War II. Angry and wishing he could return home on the night of his seventeenth birthday, Erik meets a boy alone in the forest who is cursed to transform each day into a swan, only taking his true form by night.

Swan Lake AU.

The boy with the heart on his sleeve – euphorbic

Summary: Charles loses a high-stakes bet to Raven and is required to get a tattoo. However, when he makes a disparaging remark about the art form, Raven's acerbic mentor, Erik, steps in.

Or, the one where Erik and Raven are tattoo artists.

The Wurst Case Scenario – sareyen

Summary:If anyone asked why Charles, come rain, wind or shine, made the significant trek during his dismal lunch hour to dine at "Edie's Kosher Delicatessen", he would stubbornly say that it was because their pastrami on rye and potato knishes were absolutely to die for. He wasn't completely lying, because the deli's namesake, Edie Lehnsherr, made the best matzah ball soup Charles has ever had in his life. Still, Charles would rather shave his full head of hair off than admit that the real reason he would willingly walk through hail and fire to get to the corner deli was because of Erik, the insanely attractive man working the counter.

Sure, Erik has barely spoken two words to Charles other than "Hello, what can I get you?" or, after the third day in a row that Charles came to the deli, "Welcome back, what can I get you?", but Charles was more than happy to just ogle at the man from afar while devouring the juicy wurst Erik had put together with his (large and very capable) hands.

But, little does Charles know, Erik doesn't usually work the front counter. He only does it when he knows the cute blue-eyed man will be dining in.

This is life (and everything’s all right) – pocky_slash

Summary: Edie Lehnsherr came into Charles' life long before he ever heard Erik Lehnsherr's name, and her death left a gaping hole in the lives of everyone in Charles' family. As the first Purim without her approaches, he begins to get creative in his efforts to bring everyone out of their grief. Kitchen creativity, however, is not quite his strength....

c'est regarder ensemble dans la même direction – melonbutterfly

Summary: Since that day on the beach, Charles and Erik have learned to agree to disagree for the sake of living and working together. Then, for Christmas, and Charles gives Erik Hanukkah back a second time, and their relationship shifts a little further.

Terrible Hanukkah Sweaters and Other Life Challenges – professor

Summary: “Why am I here again?” Erik groans.

“I need you to lift things and glower at people over my shoulder when I tell people that it’s not ‘politically correct’ or a ‘war on Christmas’ to have a non-denominational winter holiday festival,” says Theresa Pryde.

Well, at least those are two things he’s good at.

Shrapnel – librata

Summary: It's late 1940, and tensions between the Axis and the Allies are tightening. Displaced and alone, 16-year-old German Jew Erik Lehnsherr finds himself employed as a servant by some snobby, terrible family in England whose house is far too big and whose money never seems to end. The worst part is, he isn't just mucking stables or cleaning plates–-he's tasked with tending to the whiny, disabled son named Charles, who might just drive Erik into absolute madness.

Or, the World War II fic in which Erik and Charles experience a changing world and a lot of teen angst.

Defying Expectations – Baamon5evr

Summary: Charles and Erik meet each other’s family. Neither of them gets what they expect.

table for three – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik should have known to call ahead to the Chinese restaurant--it's Christmas Eve and he lives in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood, after all. But before he can go home to mourn the loss of another one of his mother's yearly traditions, he's accosted by a teenage girl with a strange proposition--that he should stay and have dinner with her and her mother, instead.

different from all other nights – metonymy

Summary: "This year we are slaves; next year we will be free." Kitty and Erik host a seder for Passover at the Xavier School.

Libertad – ariadnes_string

Summary: Erik knew the look, had seen it his whole life, even before the war.  ”You, with your height and blue eyes and straight nose, you can pass. You can be free of us. You are not marked with your difference.” If you only knew, he’d thought then. He thought the same thing now. And it was that thought, as much as anything, that made him move towards the gate.

Wash Away – sebastian2017

Summary: One quiet, lonely morning, before Yom Kippur, Erik makes his way to the sea in search of forgiveness.

After? There is No ‘After’ – Unrepentant_Marvelist

Summary: Erik knows what he is for. He has known his responsibilities as a survivor since the moment he woke under a scratchy, lice-infested blanket in the Red Army hospital. His world is painted in lucid blacks and whites (so often splashed in red) and there is no room for uncertainty or indecision... until a certain sunburned Englishman throws himself into his world.

The Children of an Idle Brain – Margo_Kim

Summary: Sometimes, when he’s lucky, Schmidt can’t hurt him. It’s like there’s a room inside of Erik’s head that’s he’s usually locked out of, that won’t open no matter if he beats himself bloody against it. On those days, he endures. But sometimes—and Erik doesn’t know why, whether it’s that the stars align or some higher power takes pity or Erik screams loud enough to earn his reward—the door opens. Erik can duck inside and slam it behind him and watches himself through the windows as Schmidt slowly, methodically tortures him to strength.

These days, this past week, there’s a boy in the room with him and he tells Erik, “That’s horrible,” like that means something.

Somehow, across the world, Erik's and Charles' minds touch when they need each other most. They can't be sure that the other boy is real. They suspect that he is not. But that doesn't mean they aren't each other's lifeline until they lose each other and then for a while longer.

Tehillim – kvikindi

Summary: Erik, in Israel, afterwards: another life he could have had. If.

I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) – childishinquiry

Summary: Erik has worn long sleeves his whole life, even before they had to wear yellow stars. Marching along his arm, in neat, black, English letters, are the words "My name's Charles Xavier."

Precious Few Years – sherwoodfox

Summary: Erik and Charles (known only to each other by the letters inscribed on their wrists) are meant to be together, soulmates, destined for the most powerful kind of love and connection a human being can experience.

But they are separated in almost every possible way- by distance, by circumstance, by language, by war. Their chances of success- of finding one another in the labyrinth of the world- are very slim. There is a reason why most people never find their soulmates.

But of course, Charles and Erik aren't ordinary children-

They have their gifts.

[taexual]

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane // JJK (11)

     jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: college au

warnings: some angst and irrational jealousy

words: 5.2k

   chapter eleven

Your presentation with Namjoon the next day was a success – which was almost a given, considering how much work the two of you had put into it – and, to celebrate that it finally ended, you went out for some coffee in the afternoon. The campus café was packed at a time like this but both of you were still buzzing from the adrenaline of having to present in front of the whole class, so you barely noticed anyone else.

“I’m so glad we presented last,” you said and then sighed in content after you tasted your caramel beverage. “That left no time for anyone to ask any questions since everyone just wanted to go home faster.”

Namjoon chuckled. “I know. That’s the only benefit of having to spend the entire class stressed and anxious.”

You groaned at the realization of how many nerve cells you’d lost today. “Thank God that’s over now.”

“Yeah, it’s—” he started to say and was suddenly cut off by a sharp flashing sound from somewhere behind you, accompanied by a bright flicker of light that illuminated—and blinded—the boy in front of you for just a second.

You blinked in shock – both from the flash and from the realization that someone had just taken a picture of you two – and turned around, your eyes widening in surprise.

Behind you, a group of flustered freshmen huddled close to each other as they sprinted out of the café, their phones in hands. They looked back at you as they went, quickly turning away as soon as they caught your eye.

“What the hell was that?” you asked, turning back around.

“Some wannabe paparazzi, I’m assuming,” Namjoon said, rubbing his eyes with the pillows of his index fingers, “with some audacity. They didn’t even bother to check if the flash was on.”

“This whole week has been very weird,” you said, glancing over your shoulder again, so you could watch the group through the window – they had piled together in the front-yard of the café and were, most likely, adding unflattering filters to the picture they just took – and then you returned your attention to your friend, all while shaking your head, “but that still has to be the weirdest thing that happened to me. Why would they do something like that?”

“Hard to find a sensible reason,” Namjoon said, his voice empathetic, “but if I had to guess, then I’d say they’re trying to stir something up with that picture.”

“How?” you asked and then realized. “Oh, because I’m here with you?”

“Yeah.”

You rolled your eyes, finding it hard to believe that you were in your final years of university, and the people around you – albeit younger than you – still behaved like they were characters in a high school drama.

“Jesus,” you mumbled dejectedly and took your paper cup of coffee into your shaky hands, sipping it slowly in hopes that the hot liquid would calm you down. You set the cup back down again after a minute, however, because it had no effect on your nerves at all. “Are there no clubs they’d like to join? Nothing else they would want to spend their time doing? I mean, how bored are they?”

Namjoon cleared his throat, feeling awkward for not having suitable answers to any of your questions and for putting you in this position in the first place. “I, uh—yeah. Very bored, probably. I’m sorry.”

You gave him a perplexed glance – his apology had confused you – and noticed how uncomfortable he looked as he avoided your eyes and drew indiscernible patterns on the table with his finger.

“Why are you apologizing?” you tried asking softly. “This isn’t your fault.”

He knew that, of course, but that didn’t alleviate his discomfort. “No, I just feel like I’m partially responsible for that picture because I suggested we get coffee here.”

“You could have never guessed that people would be weird enough to do this,” you countered, feeling even worse now that this incident has made him wish he hadn’t come here with you. “If anything, it’s me who should be apologizing for dragging you into this. I’m honestly struggling to understand why they care so much but I shouldn’t have—”

Namjoon protested, “no, don’t feel guilty about this.”

You stopped to really consider his words.

The two of you were sitting here, apologizing to each other, when, the truth was, neither of you was responsible for the sheer shallowness of the people around you. You had no influence when they were placing their priorities and you couldn’t be blamed for what happened just because these people valued a good campus scandal more than an A in Calculus.

“Yeah. You’re right. I didn’t do anything wrong,” you declared, “and neither did you. Do you want to take a walk instead of sitting here?” you asked then, relieved that you chose to get your coffees to-go instead of drinking them from those pretty but very fragile-looking porcelain cups that several girls were snapping pictures of a few tables away.

An impressed smile appeared on his face after your suggestion; you knew your self-worth. And Namjoon – in the least condescending way possible – admired that greatly.

“Yeah, that sounds good,” he said with a nod at the window of the café. “The weather’s nice.”

Thankfully, the incident at the café did not repeat itself when the two of you strolled around campus, talking and drinking your coffees in peace. You ended up getting into a conversation so deep – Namjoon was telling you about how his roommate, Seokjin, had purchased an unidentified plant from the flower shop off-campus and was convinced he was now growing marijuana in his room – you didn’t even notice when you finished your drink and it was time for you to say goodbye and head back home.

It was very nice to talk to someone – other than Inna – who shared your point-of-view on most things, but still remained calm and respectful when the conversation turned to something you didn’t exactly agree on. You weren’t used to that. Even Inna, who was normally understanding and open-minded, had a strong opinion on certain things and, sometimes, she got defensive if you disagreed.

Jungkook was a whole different specimen: if someone said something he didn’t like, he was going to defend his stance with impressive – and, frankly, intimidating – fury. Being near him could always make your blood boil, your pupils dilate, and your heart start skipping beats.

Talking to him could sometimes make you wish you could jump off a building – just so you wouldn’t have to look at his shit-eating grin anymore – but it also reminded you that you were alive. It was like bungee-jumping. Like swimming with the sharks.

Apparently, you were an adrenaline junkie, and – as you reluctantly admitted to yourself – he was the adrenaline fix you needed.

When you got back to your building – still thinking about Jungkook even after you’d spent half a day with Namjoon – and entered the elevator, you had your mind set on watching a distracting movie so you could push Jungkook out of your thoughts. You haven’t seen him these past few days and, clearly, it was starting to get to you.

And that was precisely when you nearly fell right back into the elevator cabin after you stepped out and saw the sight in front of you – you thought your abstinence from Jungkook had caused you to hallucinate.

“Oh, you’re finally here.”

Jungkook stood up from the spot next to your door when he saw you emerge down the hall.

You hadn’t expected the boy that haunted your mind to manifest himself right in front of you, so you couldn’t form a single coherent sentence. But you still tried, “w-what are—w-why—”

“I called,” he said as a way of explaining. “You didn’t answer.”

You remembered hearing this when he showed up at your dorm the first time, prompting a very awkward three-way exchange between him, Namjoon, and you. Granted, now that the awkward component was out, this gesture could have made your heart flutter but, really, it felt more like a—pleasant—stab into your chest.  

“I, uh, I left my phone in the dorm,” you said, your hands seeming useless when you had no device to hold. “You have to stop coming here whenever I don’t answer my phone, though.”

A confident grin appeared on his lips but his eyes – the true mirror into his heart – were begging.

“Why?” he asked only half teasingly as his gaze seemed to pulsate with need to hear you say that you wanted him here. “Am I not welcome?”

You remembered – and instantly discarded – your plan to watch a distracting movie, and shook your head.

“No,” you said. You wanted him here. It was any thought or activity, distracting you from him, that wasn’t welcome. “I just feel bad for making you wait.”

Pleased with the answer – and not even trying to conceal it as the warmth on the edges of his pupils spread like honey throughout both of his eyes – Jungkook pushed his hands into his pockets.

“It’s fine,” he said and then added, almost carelessly, “I thought something could have happened to you. You’re not one to forget your phone. So, I came to check.”

“Yeah, I was in a hurry this morning—”

“But then I heard it ring inside when I tried calling you from here, so I figured what happened.”

You blinked at his interruption. “Wait, so you knew I left my phone? Why did you wait then?”

“Well, I still needed to talk to you.”

The unapologetic tone of his voice made you inhale sharply and take an unconscious step back as a protective means so you wouldn’t throw your arms around him like your heart wanted you to. You lowered your eyes.

“Okay, but you could have—I-I mean,” you didn’t know why you were still talking. It was obvious that he didn’t mind waiting. And yet that was somehow so impossible to believe. “What if I would have been gone longer?”

“Then I would have waited longer,” he shrugged like it was obvious, his eyes analyzing your confused features. “Why are you so bothered that I’m here?”

“I’m not bothered, I’m just—” truly, relentlessly falling more and more in love with you. “I was just surprised. Sorry I made you wait. What did you want to talk about?”

You gave him a weak smile as you tried to use the business tone you reserved for almost everyone but your voice still came out sounding meek and uncertain.

Jungkook just chuckled – not at you but, rather, at the the obviously nervous state you were in right now. While he always—secretly— appreciated your witty banter and sarcasm, he couldn’t help but feel proud to have this disarming effect on you.

“Straight to the point, huh?” he ribbed. “I thought that, after I’d waited for you for thirty minutes, the least you would do is invite me inside.”

“You waited for thirty minutes?”

“More or less.”

“Shit,” you were done for and you hated that it took this little – just some dedication to wait until you returned – to win your complete devotion. “I’m sorry.”

You walked past him – trying almost desperately not to breathe but still getting a whiff of his cologne and clenching your jaw as you refused to let the intoxicating smell affect you – to unlock the door.

“It’s fine,” Jungkook said, watching you and marveling at how completely unaware you were about the effects that the smell of your hair – as it lightly brushed against his chest when you walked past – had on him. “I don’t mind.”

You turned the key in the lock, the warmth from inside of the room hitting your already warm face as soon as the door opened.

You moved to a side and looked at him.

“So, uh—come inside, then.”

He did. And the room felt suffocating with him in it – but not in a painful way. It was just unusual: like you’d been transported into a different realm where breathing was no longer necessary to keep you alive and yet your body – so used to the way things were before – was still fighting it.

It was a useless battle.

You couldn’t breathe around him anyway.

“So, I received a picture today,” Jungkook said as he followed after you and took his shoes off by the door.

“Received a picture?” you frowned at his wording, lifting your eyes from your shoes to his face. “I hope you don’t mean in the mail.”

“No—” he paused to laugh. “I mean someone sent it to me. Well, to this groupchat I’m in but they tagged me.”

You placed your shoes in their rightful position by the door but chose not to return your eyes to his because you had a feeling where this was going.

“Right,” you said, not encouraging him to go on but knowing that he would anyway.

“It was you and Namjoon,” he said.

You nodded – which surprised him. “So, the picture reached you.”

For a moment, Jungkook tried to look for hidden hints in your voice – hints that would indicate where your knowledge about this had come from and, more importantly, why you looked so defensive all of a sudden, crossing your arms over your chest as you eyed him from the other end of the hall – but then he settled on just asking.

“You know about it?”

“Do you know who took it?” you countered, surprising him further.

“Uh—no, I just know who sent it,” he said. “Why? What are you going to—”

“I’m going to complain,” you decided.

Even though you’d suspected that the picture was going to be sent out and not kept as a private artifact, hearing just how quickly it reached Jungkook – and that it was, apparently, directed at him but not sent privately to him – pissed you off.

It was like showing the picture to Jungkook was only one part of this masterplan and this part was a small one. Because another part – the big, important one – was making fun of him in front of every person that was in the groupchat he’d mentioned.

“You don’t take pictures of people in public without their consent, not even celebrities,” you began, “and with a flash on, no less! Like they weren’t even trying to be secretive about the whole thing.”

“R-right. That was disrespectful,” Jungkook agreed, puzzled to notice that the same frustration he’d felt when he saw the picture, was now mirrored on your features. “But I mean… we’re supposed to be dating, remember? That’s why they took the picture.”

You entered the bedroom and he hesitantly trailed behind you.

“That’s not an excuse,” you said.

“Of course, it’s not,” he agreed. “But I kind of get it. I mean… well, how do you think it makes me look when you’re—”

You stopped in the middle of the room and turned around, finding it difficult to fathom how he was capable of defending these people, when they were so dead-set on humiliating him by showing everyone a picture of you with “some other guy”.

“Jungkook,” you said sternly. “That’s exactly why they took the picture. To make you look bad.”

“And they succeeded!”

You frowned. “Doesn’t that piss you off?”

“No—I mean, yeah, obviously, it does. I came here because I was pissed off,” he spoke, his eyes jumping from the window behind you to the posters hanging on Inna’s side of the room. “But I had some time to think about this while I waited for you. I’m actually more pissed off about you being with someone else than I am about getting embarrassed in front of others.”

You thought you misunderstood him. “What?”

The last time Jungkook panicked this much was when he’d been caught red-handed stealing his father’s Jack Daniels from the pantry in eighth grade.

“I… I meant—I’m pissed off about you hanging out with someone else,” he said, rolling his eyes for more effect as he tried to make it seem as though he’d just phrased himself wrong before.

Both of his hands were behind his neck as he stretched – a nervous habit – and you watched him battle his inner discomfort for a minute as you debated which part to focus on. Maybe he really didn’t mean to say what he said.

“Jungkook,” you finally said. “With all due respect, I’m not going to stop hanging out with my friends just because your two-faced friends want to mock you.”

He groaned – growing genuinely irritated now – and turned his back to you. “It’s not that they’re mocking me—”

“Don’t defend them!” you protested.

“I’m not!” his voice had risen to match yours. Slowly, he turned around and dropped his hands to his sides with an exasperated sigh. “I’m just saying, it’s not about them trying to mock me.”

You didn’t believe him. “So you’re saying you would have still been pissed about this if they sent the picture to you personally instead of showing it to everyone?”

“I would have been pissed about this even if there was no picture,” Jungkook replied.

“What are you saying?”

He sighed again. He thought it was fairly obvious what he was saying.

“We’re fake-dating, right?” he asked and it felt like he was deflecting. “So that means people are going to do this. They’re going to talk, even take pictures—”

“I know that,” you said. “We already talked about that.”

“Yes, but… I know that this makes you uncomfortable. And I hate that, really, I do. I’m grateful that you’re helping me in spite of it.”

Waiting for him to get the the point, you tapped your foot impatiently. “Okay.”

“I…” his eyes fell to the ground. The creaking floorboards under your feet distracted him. “What I’m trying to say is that, other people are going to be talking about what’s going on. And these types of things,” he meant the picture as he waved his phone around, “are just going to make them even more curious.”

“You’re suggesting that, by hanging out with my friends, I’m giving them something more to talk about?” you tried. “Even if they don’t take pictures.”

“N-not with your—well, they don’t know he’s your friend.”

“Actually, they don’t know you’re not just my friend, too.”

Jungkook winced – but it was a momentary reaction and, afterwards, you weren’t sure if he really did wince, or if it was just a stray ray of sun that passed through the curtains on your window and blinded him – and then cleared his throat.

“Well, exactly,” he said. “They don’t know shit. They assumed we’re dating and we decided to go with it. And now they see you with Namjoon and, remember, they don’t have confirmation that we’re dating, so, naturally, they start to speculate even harder.”

You had to give it to him, he may have had a point. Maybe people weren’t actually trying to mock Jungkook. Maybe they weren’t laughing about how his “girlfriend” was “cheating” on him with someone else.

Maybe people were genuinely curious whether he was dating you or not and, perhaps, they hoped that by pushing him into the corner with this piece of evidence – that was obtained through questionable means but this wasn’t a courtroom, so everyone fought dirty – Jungkook would finally give them some answers that they craved.

“I’m—” you sat down, too overwhelmed to finish a full sentence. “This is so childish, my head is starting to hurt.”

“I’m sorry,” Jungkook said and then took the liberty of sitting down next to you.

“No, it’s—I get what you’re saying,” you told him, turning your head so your eyes would meet and catching the sharp sound of him inhaling as he realized how close your faces were. You flushed and turned away. “I-I was just—I don’t know, I guess I got sensitive because of the way they handled this. I mean, when they took the picture, I knew they were going to show it to you, that much was obvious. But I thought it was going to be one of those “hey, just a warning, but I saw your girlfriend out with some guy today” type of texts, you know? One-on-one.”

He fisted the sheets of your bed when you referred to yourself as his girlfriend. Sitting here next to you – so close he could now make out the specific notes of your scent; he loved the smell of menthol in your hair – was going to kill him.

“Yeah,” he said as he exhaled. “With us, it’s never one-on-one. When they’re not sure about something, they argue about it in front of everyone.”

That sounded terrible. It even reminded you of a prison – with no private space and everyone constantly sticking their nose in each other’s business.

“Why do you hang out with these people?” you asked. “They’re always looking for ways to humiliate you.”

You thought Jungkook was going to defend them again and insist that they were like this with everyone, not just him – and you would have had no choice but to take his word for it, since you didn’t belong to the inside crowd – but, much to your surprise, he just shrugged his shoulders and looked down.

“They’re—yeah, I can’t explain that,” he said, suddenly sad. “They clung themselves to us – to t-the other members and me, I mean – and we didn’t bother to shake them off.”

Of course, they didn’t. Parental Advisory – and Jungkook in particular – loved being the center of everyone’s attention. And it made sense. Who wouldn’t love being loved?

You swayed your head thoughtfully but did not say anything else for a while. When you finally felt his shoulders relax and poke yours, you finally spoke again.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” you said.

He didn’t blame you for it – which was unexpected but perhaps you’d misjudged just how self-aware about the situation with his friends he was – as he smiled softly. “That’s okay. I shouldn’t have come in here, demanding you stop spending time with your, uh, friend.”

He hated describing Namjoon in this way and he couldn’t hide it – not that he tried.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” you told him.

“Thanks.”

You nodded in response, the argument finally settling down. Only, you still needed to make a decision how to proceed – choosing to “just go with it” hasn’t exactly gone very well.

“So, what are we going to do about this?” you asked, careful so as not to make your voice sound too strict.

“You said you were going to complain,” Jungkook reminded you.

“I did,” you nodded, already seeing yourself knocking on the door of the dean’s office in your mind. “But it’s pointless, isn’t it? It won’t change anything.”

There were only so many things the dean could do, and controlling a population of nearly twenty-thousand students on campus wasn’t one of them.

“No, probably not,” Jungkook confirmed.

“So, what, then?”

He looked at you. “I have a plan. But you may not like it.”

You swallowed, aware that there wasn’t anything that you wouldn’t have done for him.

It was scary when you realized just how much control over you he still had, all of these years later. You briefly wondered if he’d ever cease to affect you this much.

“What is it?” you spoke.

“Come with me to our party this Friday,” he asked. “It’ll be a great way for us to express our anger about this in a more socially acceptable way. We’d sublimate, so to speak.”

You looked away. He had the power to convince you to do anything – you did not doubt that – but, God, you really didn’t want him to convince you do to this.

“Jungkook—”

“We wouldn’t have to stay long. Just—”

“Just so they’d see us together?” you cut him off and the sharpness in your voice wounded him because that wasn’t the only reason. “Just so we could respond to their incessant nosiness in this passive-aggressive way?”

“Well, yes,” he admitted. “But also because I want to hang out with you there.”

You thought that was just an excuse – a way to soften the blow after he confessed that he only wanted you to come to strengthen the image of your false relationship – so you didn’t catch the vulnerability in his voice.

“If that’s the case, then we could hang out—” you tried to say but Jungkook beat you to the end of your sentence.

“Here, I know,” he finished for you. “Or anywhere else that’s private. But I’m asking you to hang out with me there.”

You stayed quiet.

You weren’t saying no but Jungkook could see that you didn’t want to do this. He realized, in that moment, that he could convince you to come if he put his mind to it, but that would mean that you’d be doing something you didn’t want, all for his sake.

He couldn’t do that. He didn’t want that.

Standing up from the bed, he said, “I’m going to go.”

You followed him with your eyes, the sudden announcement taking you off-guard. “What?”

“Yeah,” he said, not turning around but stopping in the middle of your room nevertheless, “or I might start throwing things.”

“W-why—?”

“Because I want to spend time with you and you’re rejecting me,” he explained in haste, his words sticking together and making it nearly impossible for you to understand him. Not to mention, your heart was now beating so loudly, you were partially deaf to all other sounds. “I guess, you could say it’s bruising my ego. I have to—”

“No, Jungkook, come on,” you stood up, too, not really willing yourself to. Your body seemed to follow his automatically. “You know I want to spend time with you, too.”

He didn’t know, actually. But hearing this was enough to get him to stop and reconsider – clearly, he didn’t really want to leave.

“But do we have to go to that party?” you asked after he didn’t say anything.

He counted the dents on the wall next to your bed before finally saying, “what have we got to lose? People are talking anyway, so why would we stay home?”

A sad smile appeared on your face – you didn’t like reminding him of this; it felt like you were reminding him of your own name – as you replied, “you might find it surprising, but staying home isn’t actually painful for me. I enjoy that.”

“No, I… I know that,” Jungkook said, bringing a hand through his hair. He regretted standing up now. He worded himself better when he was sitting. “But… Okay. W-we could go to the party, hang out there for a little bit, and then we’ll head back and hang out at your place. What do you think?”

That was supposed to be a compromise but it felt too much like he was trying to do you a favor, but not really succeeding at it. Because the core reason why he wanted you two to spend more time together was still laced with his need to prove a point -- and the point was that you and him were more together than you and Namjoon.

“Where’s the catch?” you asked, not seeing how the return back to your place could have benefited your fake relationship.

“There’s no catch,” he said. “I genuinely wish to be—wish to spend time with you.”

That was a good response – he could tell he’d chosen his words right by the way some of the pressure seemed to leave your shoulders when you exhaled.

“And,” you said, “how much of that wish is influenced by your need to prove to everyone that I’m not cheating on you?”

Jungkook smiled.

“Only a little,” he said.

“Well,” you grimaced – and his smile widened at your obvious dramatics – and then turned around to look out the window, “at least you’re honest.”

“I promised I wouldn’t lie to you,” he said.

You watched the students pass by your building outside while you considered your options. There weren’t many. You could either give in and agree to go with him now or you could spend another ten minutes listening to him try to convince you to come, only to agree then.

It didn’t seem fair to make him beg you to come – you didn’t think your company was worth that much and, in any case, you did want to spend time with him, even if you had no conditions of your own and would have gladly remained unseen by anyone else – so, choosing to give in now rather than later, you turned to face him again.

“Okay, fine. I’ll go to that party with you,” you said and your words lit his eyes up. “But you won’t let this get to you anymore, okay? Because our plan was to let people think whatever they wanted to think. You said so yourself -- they’re going to talk no matter what we do. So, promise me I won’t find you by my door, all frustrated and determined to wait for thirty minutes until I come back so we can argue about this again. Okay?”

He was already burning with anticipation for Friday night – and most definitely imagining all sorts of scenarios of how the two of you were going to arrive to the party together – but he sobered up enough to react to your request.

“I can’t promise that,” he said.

“Jungkook—”

“No, I can’t promise that I won’t care,” he added, not letting you cut in, “but I promise I won’t do anything about it or… ambush you like this again. Or argue with you about this.”

That was good enough – better, actually, as your stomach contracted in tandem with your chest; it was like your entire body was vibrating now – and you decided that the worst was already in the past, so you sat back down on your bed.

You hadn’t gotten him to promise you he wasn’t going to care about the people you spent your time with -- because, what he should have cared about, was the way his own friends treated him -- but partially getting through to him was still more than you expected from talking to someone as stubborn as Jungkook.

“You didn’t ambush me,” you said softly. “It was nice of you to come and, uh, talk to me in person. Nice but unnecessary since there was nothing to talk about. But still, thank you.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook – who loved being appreciated, even as dismissively as this – suddenly turned bashful and tried to do some damage control by finding a yet another excuse for showing up here and waiting for you. He felt like he’d revealed all the most vulnerable parts of himself to you today, and he didn’t know how to walk away from that now, “I just wanted to figure out what we were going to do.”

You scoffed but not cruelly. “I don’t think we figured anything out. We’re still going wherever the circumstances take us.”

“Yeah, I guess, we are,” he agreed and then added the one epic excuse that would always extinguish the burning feelings in your chest, “but, at the end of the day, the only thing that really matters is that my parents believe we’re together.”

You were fine when you heard that his reasons for wanting to hang out with you involved proving a point to your peers. 

But hearing that the “only thing that really mattered” wasn’t actually enjoying each other’s company but, rather, convincing his parents that you were dating, hurt surprisingly much. You knew it shouldn’t have because it was true, that was what mattered, but you still found it hard to breathe for a few seconds after he said that.

“Right,” you muttered, your throat dry as you pretended not to be surprised by how quickly you went from “I want to spend time with you” to “I’m only doing this so my parents don’t disown me”.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, watching you avoid his eyes and fearing that he may have taken his personal damage control too far. “Okay. So, it’s settled then. I’ll pick you up at eight?”

“Yeah,” you said, your chest – so full a minute ago – hollow now, “eight is fine.”

keep reading | masterlist

[whitherliliesbloom]

hello, goodbye

[ ffxivwrite2020 ] ★ [ my writings ] [ prompt #13 (free write) - farewells ]

[ alphinaud/wol ] ★ [ 2,231 words ] ★ [ plastic memories au ]

in a world with declining birthrates and where loneliness is a growing issue, androids named giftias were created for the purpose of forming connections with humans. however, giftias only have an approximate lifespan of about 912 days. the giftia retrieval service is an organization put in charge of the retrieval of giftias that were nearing that lifespan. illya, a giftia working for the retrieval service is given a new human partner, alphinaud.. who soon realizes that illya was herself nearing her own lifespan.

may you one day reunite with the person you love and cherish

Her smile was contagious, upsettingly so. She shone like the stars that hung in the sky, like an angel descended from the heavens. Her smile was more human than most humans - even when she herself was only ever meant to be a creation that imitated the concept of humanity. 

But there wasn’t a single person within the retrieval service that could bring themselves to smile for long in her presence. 

Because they knew - they knew of the truth that laid behind her smile. An expression built on a mountain of lies, of false emotions. And yet it was not because giftias were fake humans.. nor did anyone argue over the genuine feelings giftias could form.. that was, after all, what they were made to do. To emulate and form connections with humans, to fill the void in the hearts of people who lacked the family and friends to do so.

Illya’s smile was but a mask - a well rehearsed act played by the master of faking her own happiness, hiding away the words she truly wanted to say. It was a familiar sight in the office, but one that brought only a scalding pain to those around her. And the pain only grew with every day that passed.

For a long time, it’d remained that way. Her smile however dazzling and bright, was always met with a cursory glance and a curt response by her human colleagues. Even her old partner, a woman whose face wore the wrinkles that spoke of her experience and time in the field turned colder and colder, despite her own best efforts to smile warmer and warmer. But that was fine. A life void of color was most fitting for a machine. 

She thought herself to be fine with not ever seeing the warmth of another person’s smile towards her, resolved herself to being but a doll made to fulfill her duty and naught else. Life is cold as her circuits were. If she did not feel, her impending farewell will taste less bitter. 

But her new partner had contrary plans - a human who was determined to see her smile shatter into pieces, to see her suffer. 

She still remembered the day they met - and the first time she’d seen a human smile as warmly as he had towards her on that day in what feels to be her entire lifetime. And she smiled back, facade unbreaking, as she offered him a warm cup of tea before leading him to his seat. It would only be a matter of time before he too turned cold and looked away from her like the others did. As long as he figured out how much time she had left, realized that he was talking to a machine on the verge of shutting down. 

But that day never came.

“Are you okay, Illya?”

He’d always ask without fail every morning, and it’s vexing how concern towards her was feeling more and more familiar. Unplugging herself from her aged charging station was becoming a chore, one that her roommate and partner ever took great notice of.

“I’m fine.” but she’d always answer, as ever with an unfaltering smile upon her face that was only met with a deepened scowl from him. She was used to her smile bringing pain to others - and yet she’d sensed that it wasn’t quite for the same reason as Alphinaud did now. 

With a soft buzz of life, she turned off her own port, and spared not even a single glance towards him as she saunters towards the kitchen as nonchalantly as she could best act. Giftias had no need for sustenance - eating was but yet another act of human activity to sell their own humanity. But she was always strangely fond of cooking - of preparing food with her own two helpless hands and bringing joy to others, even when she could not herself partake in such a joy. She wouldn’t allow herself to.

“Ah, let me help you.” Alphinaud clumsily tosses aside his blanket, rolling up the sleeves of his pajama shirt and taking his spot next to the bewildered giftia.

“I-I’m fine. I don’t need your help.”

“I will, anyway. It’s the least I can do.” He flashes her a smile at a time when his smile wasn’t at all appreciated, and Illya has to turn away to hold back a frown beneath grit teeth. 

Stop being so nice to me.

She’d always knew him to be different from the others, or at the very least much unlike her old partner who had been more practical than she was emotional. He treated her in a way she never knew she wanted to be treated, he was at once her biggest headache, but also a salvation she never asked for. 

He was her biggest fear realized, a smile that mirrored back at her, and a frown that was birthed out of genuine concern for her feelings instead of his own. 

“You’ve been staring at that flyer for a while now. Is something the matter?” Alphinaud had asked once while they were out on an assignment.

He was also, infuriatingly observant of her behavior, something she’d grown so lax about after getting into the habits of being nonexistent in presence to everyone around her. 

Illya would clutch the hem of her skirt, fiddling with the lanyard around her neck that held her identification card. And when silence would not suffice to appeal him, she’d hide her face beneath the shadow of her bangs and stutter.

“N-nothing.”

“That’s an advert of the coming festival, right? Would you like to go?” He willfully ignores her attempts to brush his question off with yet another infuriatingly radiant smile. 

“No.” her swift answer only comes naturally, accompanied with yet another fake smile of her own. But the muscles of her face aches even more than ever, and she has to force herself to shut her eyes when she feels a burning behind her lids. “I’m not interested.”

What was the point in going anyways? What was the point of seeing the lights when eternal darkness was all that she will see in her near future? She didn’t know life outside of working, and when she hadn’t been working, she would sit perched upon her station with the lights in the apartment turned off, drifting in and out of dreams that she was terrified of having. 

But she wasn’t surprised when he’d turned up in their room that very same evening with two tickets to the festival anyway, loathed how genuinely over the moon she had been when she’d realized that he saw her through her blatant lie and went against her wishes.

“It would be fun.” he’d said with the most awful, joyous voice he could muster, and the incandescent smile he wore upon his face nearly breaks her. 

Why do you want to see me cry so badly?

It truly had been the most fun she’s ever had, and her own happiness upset her. The past two years of practiced nonchalance and lack of a care for her own well being had swiftly been undone within a matter of a mere few fleeting weeks. Weeks filled with a roller coaster of emotions, of dreamlike excitement. 

The fireworks that burst into a kaleidoscope of colors and bright lights in the sky deafened her, the weight of the jacket he’d insisted on slinging over her shoulders felt heavy. And as if it hadn’t been torture enough, twelve curse the man for slipping his hand into hers, knotting his fingers in between her own and pulling her close, forcing her to feel each and every inch of his warmth and kindness. 

She’d assume his attempts to break her was out of ignorance if she wasn’t acutely aware of the pain he was going through himself. If only she hadn’t been eavesdropping.. hadn’t heard of the way his voice shook and trembled when their manager had informed him of her remaining lifespan.

Under the dazzling starmines, were a pair of fools hellbent on hurting one another. 

“Why?” her resolve dashed, she cannot help but to ask with a hushed voice, barely audible in the midst of the booming fireworks and laughter of the other festival-goers rising into the air. “Why are you being so nice to me.. even when you know that i’m..”

For a moment he was silent, and she wonders if Alphinaud heard her. She wouldn’t minded if he hadn’t, perhaps convinced herself for a moment that that would have been for the best. 

“Do you not want to have happy memories before then?”

Illya manages a smile out of habit, but she has no expectations of it managing to fool him this time. 

“If I’m going to shut down, then I’d rather not have any memories at all.”

She remembered uttering those very same words to many giftias she’d spoken to, giftias who were themselves nearing their lifespan, and were due to be separated from their families and loved ones. And as varied in personality as humans were, those giftias gave her different responses to that very sentiment.

A handful had agreed with her, lamented their coming termination and cursed the system they had been born to serve and die under. Many others however had disagreed, and the smiles they wore upon their faces as they’d recounted the joy and love they had been showered with haunted Illya to the core every time she had to watch the lights from their eyes fade.

That should have sufficed as proof that memories formed by plastic would amount to nothing but pain in the end. 

“And leave this world without having truly lived your life? That’s not right, Illya. You deserve to live, more than anyone else in the world.”

Giftias were extraordinary, a true marvel of human invention and technological advancement. And more than anything, they lived up to their namesake of being gifts to mankind - to bring happiness. Giftias never truly needed to be happy themselves, or to live.. as Alphinaud would so insist otherwise. But what difference was metal and wires to flesh and bones if they could feel and think the same? A sentience that could suffer was worthy every bit of happiness they could experience. 

“I want to be part of your life, how ever long or short it may be.”

She could never forget his words, could not drown his sincerity from rippling through her. His voice replayed in her head again, and again, long after the colors of the sky had faded, and naught but faint dots of light hung above their heads.

The pale moon looked so much more sorrowful on that night than ever before as Illya sat upon her station, staring listlessly out the window. The only thing louder than the buzzing of her own circuits was Alphinaud’s breathing and the rustling of his sheets as he tossed and turned. And when her racing mind had finally settled on that accursed number plastered onto the back of her mind, her resolve shatters.

“Alphinaud.” He awakens to the girl standing over his bed. And though his vision is blurred, he could faintly make up the outline of her trembling form. When she speaks up again, the clarity behind her sorrow alarms him. “I can’t sleep.”

“W-what’s wrong?” the young man forces himself to sit up, but so nearly falls onto back onto the bed when Illya throws herself into his arms.

His warmth hurts her, the tight hold of his arms that wrap around her to pull her closer to his chest is suffocating. But she can no longer find the strength in herself to smile.

“I’m scared.” 

She felt like a failure, of a retrieval service employee and a giftia both. She understood fully why the people around her became distant, watched as her world grew colder and devoid of life in the past three months of her remaining lifespan. And she never once bemoaned their choices, because to associate with a dying person was to willfully subject themselves to even more pain.

Yet she’d selfishly and secretly longed to be proven wrong, wished for a warmth and joy that she could take with her past her last moments. And when she’d finally had her wish fulfilled, she could only tremble and cry at this gift, this treasure that Alphinaud has given her that she truly didn’t deserve. She would pay for this honesty with even more pain, she was sure of it. 

“I don’t want to say goodbye.” 

“I know.” 

She feels Alphinaud press his face into the side of her head, and his hand rises to begin stroking through strands of her hair, and she apologizes for the tear stains she leaves upon his shirt with choked sobs, spilling forth months of pent up regrets and sadness. Her last recollection of that day is the feeling of a blanket being draped over her, of Alphinaud pulling her against his chest and allowing the sounds of her weeping to grow fainter as she drifts to sleep. 

Her charging port is left neglected for a bed bathed in a gentle moonlight that watched over them as they slept in each other’s embrace. In the midst of that sorrowful and tearful night, it had been the warmest Illya had felt in a long while. 

[dragonpigeons]

Roommates Part 2

Tags/warnings: Deku x Reader, Deku x Self-insert, Slowburn, SFW, Aged-Up Characters, Roommates AU, Pro Hero Deku, Deku thirst. Other characters to be added in future parts including OCs.

Summary: Riida gets an idea over Deku’s eating habits. Also pizza. Word count: 1959

A/N: Thanks to everyone who read Part 1 :) Here’s Part 2, enjoy! Part 3 is out on my Patreon 🎉

====

Your room was your haven to be free to express yourself. And by expressing yourself that really meant expressing your love for Deku in every corner possible. You had a shelf full of his figurines. The walls were covered in his posters. Your bed covers had his face on. Your deku hug pillow took up one half of your bed along with all the chibi Deku cushions and plushies. And, of course, you had a few Deku hoodies, sweaters, scarves and socks in the closet, not to mention all the Deku charms adorning your Deku bag. You even had a pair of Deku undies stuffed in the back of your drawer which your friends jokingly gifted you for your birthday and which you deliberately chose to forget about.

In short, you were a massive fan of the pro hero. Your love for him extended into the online world where you were a top member of his fanclub and often enjoyed seeing any news about him. The fanclub was the reason for your private collection of images and videos of him in your hard drive and phone. You were often teased for your Deku passion but you didn't really care. What you felt for him was simply admiration as a fan.

So then why, for the past few days, have you been so nervous, and why, on this morning, were you hiding around the corner from where Deku was doing his morning workout?

The answer was this - he was topless yet again but this time he was doing handstand press ups. When you came to the doorway, you were met with a full frontal assault of his back, rippling with glorious muscles. It took everything in you not to scream.

So you dove round the corner to gather yourself, feeling like some higher being was testing you. Your entire face was burning, your chest was palpitating. You never thought in a million years that you would become this way around your favourite hero. Sure, you had imagined meeting him at a signing event or something, but those were very casual and very quick to get it done and over with. There wouldn't be time to feel anything other than a short burst of joy at meeting your idol. Not to mention he'd be fully clothed too and not half as hormone-inducing.

You took a few deep breaths to calm yourself down before emerging into the kitchen.

"Hey," Deku's eyes lit up when he noticed you, pausing his workout for a moment, "I put the kettle on just before so it should still be hot."

"Oh, okay. Thanks."

You ate your breakfast in silence purposely avoiding Deku's sweaty physique, lest you risk giving yourself heart palpitations. He was very dedicated to the cause though. You wondered about his morning habits.

"How early do you get up to do your workout?" you decided to ask him.

"Pretty early!" said Deku, perking up at being asked a question by you. "Around 5am? Sometimes 5.30 if I want a bit of a lie in."

You raised your eyebrows. You couldn't help but be impressed. "Do you work out everyday?"

"Yeah. Except Sundays. They're my days off. It's bad to overwork your body. But I like doing them because it clears my mind for the day ahead."

"I see. Being a pro hero must be quite stressful."

"Not more than any other job, I imagine."

You had your doubts that a pro hero went through the same stresses as someone with an office job but you let it slide.

"What made you choose to live here?" you asked.

"Simple, really. One, I like the space where I can do my daily workouts. And two, it's in a secluded location where I can afford to get some privacy.”

You found you agreed with his reasonings. The apartment was very spacious given the okay price of the rent and it was out-of-the-way from more popular areas. You personally liked it because it meant quiet nights and humble surroundings.

“Oh, by the way,” continued Deku, “don't tell anyone I live here. The landlady knows and she's signed a confidentiality contract. So yeah, if you were thinking of bringing a boyfriend over or-- just let me know and I’ll stay out of the way."

"I don't have a boyfriend," you corrected him.

"Really?? But, you're so pretty. I thought you would have one for sure."

You almost spat out your food, suddenly hit by that bombshell out of nowhere. It was fortunate Deku had his back to you. Your face was burning red hot and there was no way you could face him at the moment. You decided to steer the conversation another way, clearing your throat, "Would I need to sign a confidentiality contract too?"

"Huh? Oh, er, maybe. I'll talk to my agent about it."

Deku finished his reps and hit the shower.

And you went to work with your face almost permanently red for the whole day any time you thought about his pretty compliment. And you thought about it pretty often.

---

Deku installed a pull-up bar the next morning. He had a black sleeveless top on this time but that did nothing to detract from his bulging arms. Furthermore, he looked good in black. Not that you hadn't seen pictures of him in black before, but combined with pull-ups and it was a knockout sight.

You stuttered as you greeted him good morning.

"Good morning!" Deku greeted back jovially. "What's for breakfast today?"

"Toast. And jam," you replied, deliberately opening your fridge.

"And drink?"

"Just a glass of milk."

"You're always so healthy in your meals," appraised Deku warmly.

"I try," you shrugged, "but sometimes I can't resist a ramen cup or a pizza takeout."

"I get you," said Deku, in a way that was like he was proverbially nodding his head, "nothing like a good pizza to satisfy a craving."

You were spreading jam on your toast when Deku suddenly said, "Hey, I know - let's have pizza tonight!"

"P-pizza?"

"I've been craving it lately and then you happened to mention it. Perfect timing, right? How about it?"

And that was how you ended up sharing two large pizzas with the No.1 Hero several hours later after he got back from work. He even went the extra mile and got dessert and cola too.

You enjoyed your pizza, savouring the taste. Next to you, it seemed Deku was enjoying a whole lot more, cramming it all into his mouth like no tomorrow.

"This is so good," said Deku with his mouth full.

"Mm, yes," you agreed, finishing a slice.

"I haven't eaten since 10."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah," Deku wolfed down two slices in one go. "Was busy with a train incident."

You recalled seeing on the news how a villain group boarded a running freight train, wanting to take the cargo for themselves. Deku managed to stop the group in their tracks with the help of a few pro heroes. The whole thing caused a mess for many passenger trains though and services became delayed. Deku and the other heroes had to sort out the chaos working together with the authorities.

You stared at Deku, asking out of concern, "Do you often skip lunch?"

"I mean, yeah. I'm pretty busy with stuff. It's not just the patrol stuff, there's also all the paperwork and side gigs too. But that's why I like to go all out when it comes to dinner--" He finished his entire 18" diameter pizza by himself in five minutes flat. You watched as he downed a two-litre bottle of cola in one sitting too. A trail escaped from the corner of his mouth and slid down his throat, bobbing over his adam's apple. You quickly turned back to your pizza feeling warm all of a sudden. It was probably the jalapenos, you told yourself.

"Hey, do you mind if I have an extra slice?" Deku eyed your pizza box which was still two-thirds full.

"Sure, have as many as you want. I won't be able to eat all that anyway."

"Really?? Thanks so much!"

Deku gorged himself generously on your leftovers. You had to wonder, if he was skipping meals, was he really holding up the best he can? "It seems bad that you're skipping meals as a pro hero, to be honest," you admitted out loud.

Deku nodded somberly, "I know but I can't turn my back on those who need help to go and fill my stomach.”

You personally disagreed with the pro hero. No job was worth risking your own health, even one as well spotlit as his. You were sure other fans would agree, some even commenting their observations on how Deku was looking on the thinner side lately. A little idea started to form in your head which you would check out the next day.

---

The Deku Fanclub forums were lively as usual this evening with all the banter and discussions surrounding the hero himself. There were some truly diehard fans, bordering on obsessive stalker-ness, who provided endless entertainment and 'exclusive' pictures of the green-haired man out and about. Sometimes they got him on his way to the gym. Sometimes he was caught in action. Sometimes it was a shot focusing heavily on his butt. And that wasn't even the worst of it, but you were there for something else.

You clicked on one thread which caught your eye. It was about Deku's eating habits. Many theorised and agreed that he was eating at least three meals a day and snacking on lots of fruits and protein bars in between. One Deku Diehard (it was its own label for the extremely dedicated Deku fan), however, put together an entire hypothetical itinerary of Deku's schedule for the past several days and proposed that he wasn't getting the recommended three meals a day because there simply wasn't time.

You found a reply to this comment that talked about what Deku should be eating in order to attain, and maintain, his good form. Lots of talk about protein and carbs. A chicken breast here, a salmon fillet there, a scattering of beans throughout, and some tasty meal plans. You bookmarked the meal plans.

That evening you cooked too much for lunch, enough for two people. The next morning you took out the extra portion and sat it on the counter, mentally rehearsing what you were going to say as Deku worked out in front of you. This time he was doing one-armed pull-ups, which wasn’t entirely helping your cause to pass this off casually but you had to remain focused.

"Um, Deku," you uttered nervously. "Last night I made too much food for myself, and I was wondering… W-would you like the extra portion? Not that you have to accept or anything--"

Deku dropped from the bar and said, "Really, you would give me your extra food??"

He leapt over to the counter in excitement, picking up the container. "Chicken and potatoes. No wonder it smelt so good in the kitchen last night!" He grinned widely, then with a knowing look, "It's because I said I skipped lunch yesterday, isn't it?"

"Um, well…"

You were seen right through by Deku. You didn’t think he would remember but here he was, smiling at you, eyes crinkling in gratitude. "You didn't have to do that for me. I really appreciate it though. This way I won't skip a meal. I can't let your hard work go to waste so I promise to finish every last bit!"

You gave a shaky smile back, hoping it wouldn’t taste too terrible to him. You were not the greatest cook but you at least wanted to try your best for the hero you admire.

====

A/N: A longer part this time but I hope you enjoyed it! Let me know in the comments your thoughts :D

[bts-fic-collection]

Hi. I was just wondering if you had any demon or incubus au fics? Yoonmin, minjoon, or namkook if possible. If not then any ship is fine. Thank you 💜💜 (not just for this but for all of the other fics you've fed me, even if it wasn't me who asked for them)

Hi! I do :) Thank you ^_^

Category 1: Yoonmin

honey whiskey (deep in my throat) by monbon

Rating: M

Status: Incomplete

Word count:18,654

Summary: “Taehyung!” Is the first thing Hoseok yells. He’s slapping Taehyung in the chest, but he can’t seem to look away from the demon either. “Did you fuckin’ thirst-cast again?”

“No!” Says Taehyung, but there’s an edge of guilt to his protest. He can’t stop staring, either.

“This is why we don’t fuckin’ write our incantations when we’re horny, Tae, Christ.”

or

It’s too easy for Yoongi to be lured into the witches’ summoning, and too easy for the incubus they conjure to wrap him around his finger.

I Accidently Summoned a Demon- Please Send Help by unclassified_senpai

Rating: T

Status: Incomplete

Word count:17,531

Summary: Jimin is a stressed nursing student/intern trying to balance his studies, internship hours, and finances as best as he can. Jimin has simple wants in life. Basic and yet somehow luxurious wants such as more sleep, enough money, and food that isn’t made in the hospital kitchens or from his local 7-eleven.What he does not want is to be thrust into the world of demons and djinns. What he especially really really does not appreciate in any way or form is to have a demon bound to him. And from the looks of it, the bond seems permanent.But life has a way of giving you exactly what you don’t want.But maybe it’s trying to give you something you need.

Category 2: Minjoon

Éloa by eloha

Rating: E

Status: Complete

Word count:18,924

Summary: You have come from that Heaven which sent down lightening to meYet so sweet to my eyes, I know not whyYou come from high against me, beautiful Angel

The Demon and The Angel by jooniepop

Rating: E

Status: Complete

Word count:11,731

Summary: Jimin and Namjoon have been a secret for centuries. Jimin is convinced he doesn’t have the ability to love anyone, Namjoon disagrees.

Category 3: Minjoon

Retrouvailles by koreabooeauty

Rating: T

Status: Complete

Word count:8,354

Summary: Namjoon was used to his friends doing stupid shit, they were college kids, it was to be expected. His roommate (and crush) summoning a demon was not. Neither was him falling in love with said demon and then having a breakdown and avoiding all of his problems. College man, it sucks the soul out of you quicker that the demon living in your apartment.

[claitynroberts]

A Tale of Two Alphas: Chapter 3

Summary: (A/B/O alternate universe) After running from her family, (y/n), a female Alpha, turns to a life of hunting. Answering a call from Bobby to assist Garth and two other hunters on a vamp mission in Branson, she meets Sam and Dean Winchester. Determined, independent, and sassy as hell, Dean can’t control himself around her; causing him to become a not-so-smooth wannabe ladies man. When her family comes after her determined to make her take her place in the familial hierarchy, will (y/n) allow Dean to help out? Or will she give into her family’s wishes?

Word Count: 3102

Characters: FemaleAlpha!Reader, Alpha!Dean, Beta!Sam, Beta!Garth, Beta!Bobby

Pairings: FemaleAlpha!Reader X Alpha!Dean, all other pairings platonic

WARNINGS: strong language, canon violence, a woman not taking shit from anyone, smut (inevitable), A/B/O dynamics (heats, ruts, scenting, claiming, etc.)

(In my A/B/O au all genders are the same as the typical A/B/O rules/dynamics, except female alpha’s, in which mine are not hermaphroditic nor do they experience ruts. Instead they have typical lady parts and also experience heat cycles.)

Read Chapter 2 HERE | Series Masterlist

Chapter 3: If Hotel Rooms Were Like Pie

As the hunters staggered out of the house, Garth emerged from the forest surrounding the home, banged up but in one piece. Jogging over to the scrawny hunter, (y/n) gave him a once over. “You okay, Garth?” Even though she’s only hunted with him a couple times, a major soft spot was forming for this eccentric man.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he winced as he rubbed the back of his head. “I caught up to her, and we fought for a minute but she ended up colcocking me over the head and taking off. I woke up a few minutes later to the smell of smoke.”

“Well, at least she didn’t turn you into a juice box,” Dean said hoping for a laugh. Instead, Sam smacked his arm and (y/n) gave him a withering look; Garth looked like he wanted to laugh but the pity he felt for Dean kept him from it.

“Okay,” (y/n) spoke up. “Here’s what we are going to do. We’re going to go into town, and get a room. We need to blend in with the crowd, especially with a vamp on the loose. No telling what she’s cooking up.”

“There’s a by-the-hour motel jus—,” Dean began.

“No.” She glared at him. “We are not going to stay at some seedy motel. We are going to find a nice respectable place with decent beds and room service and lay low. Tomorrow we blow town and go our separate ways.”

After a short drive, the group of hunters pulled up under the bright green awning of the Palisades Hotel. It was an enormous twelve story building overlooking Table Rock Lake on the other side of town. Private gardens dotted the area surrounding the property, fountains placed here and there along with trellises of purple and yellow flowers brought the design concept together.

“Uh—,” a throat cleared, “um (y/n). I don’t disagree with your thought process, but isn’t this a little—I dunno, conspicuous?” Sam questioned.

“Eighty-nine percent of the hotels in the town are three plus stars. It’s a tourist destination, for God’s sake, there ain’t nothing inconspicuous about this town.” She said.

“Well how are we going to aff—,” Dean began.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of it.” She cut him off as she swung herself down off the bike and strutted in the front doors of the lobby. Several minutes ticked by, leaving the boys nervously toeing the ground around their vehicles as their hackles began to rise, worried about the young woman inside.

A few heartbeats more passed, as she walked out the door, keycards in hand. After parking and grabbing gear and luggage, the hunters were on the elevator ascending the building to the twelfth and topmost floor. “We’ve each got our own key,” she said as she handed the three men an electronic door card.

Frowning, Dean looked at his. “Uh, (y/n), I think we’ve got the wrong cards.”

“No, we don’t.” She snorted. “They’re perfectly fine.”

With that the elevator dinged, signaling their arrival to the floor their rooms were located on. Turning left, (y/n) led the group down the hall. In this part of the corridor, the doors were few and far between. As she stopped in front of a set of white double doors, Garth read the placard out loud. “Presidential Suite,” it read.

Sliding the card and pushing the door open, Dean let out a low whistle. A large living area opened on a contemporary kitchen complete with stainless steel appliances and an island. The large windows at the back open onto a beautiful shaded veranda overlooking the water and forest surrounding the property. Hallways branched off each side of the living area, leading to what he believed were the bedrooms.

“I’ve got the master suite,” (y/n) began as she waltzed toward the larger bedroom. “Boys,” she said nonchalantly motioning to the opposite corridor with her chin, “y’all can fight over the other rooms.” Smirking she disappeared behind the door of the master bedroom, locks clicking into place.

The three men looked between them, and immediately took off for the plush bedrooms. Scrabbling over each other, pushing, biting, and pulling each other’s hair as if fighting over the last piece of cherry pie during a zombie apocalypse. Somewhere in the huddle, Sam’s giant foot ended up hooked around Dean’s ankle, tripping him so he fell face-first into the shag rug. Garth, while scrawny was wily, and landed more than a few elbows to both Sam and Dean’s ribs as they all hustled toward the doors.

By the time Dean was able to climb to his feet, Sam and Garth had each already settled down on the two queen beds in the two spare bedrooms, Leaving him the dog out in the cold. Grunting, he squared his shoulders and stood in Sam’s doorway. “Heya, Sammy,” he began, scratching the side of his nose idly. “Can I, uh, bunk with you? Y’know, like old times?” He grinned hoping the nostalgia will make him cave.

“Hahaha, right.” Sam said with a laugh as he laid on the feathery mattress. “Dean, you’re my brother and I love you, but...no. You cannot bunk with me.”

“Oh c’mon, Sammy. It’ll be fun.” Dean could feel his hope slipping, much like his smile. Sam looked at him derisively. Okay, time to play hard ball. He cleared his throat, “Sam, do you remember all the times I saved your life, thus leaving you in my debt.” Dean matter of factly held up a finger while smirking. “Time to cash that in.”

Furrowing his brow, Sam scowled at him. His mouth flattening into a thin line. “Dude, how many times have I saved your ass?” He asked. Dean opened his mouth to argue but instead ended up looking confused as he tried to think of a come back. “Exactly,” Sam finished. “Think we’re square.” He grinned at Dean as he opened a magazine that was left on the nightstand.

“Plus, Dean. I know what you do at night when you think I’m asleep.” Sam went on attempting to hide his amusement. “So I really, really don’t wanna share a bed with you.”

Dean blushed clear to the tip of his ears clearing his throat. “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh,” Sam put down the magazine. “So if I check your laptop there won’t be searches for Casa Erotica, o-or...bustyasianbeauties.com?” He cocked an eyebrow and grinned so wide Dean thought his face may crack. “Oh! What about the animated Japanese porn you seem to like so much?”

The blush on Dean’s neck and cheeks turned from a light pink to a deep crimson red. He never thought Sammy was awake on those lonely nights he had to occupy himself in the dead of the night. “I-it’s not porn. It’s...it’s art!” He said attempting to save face as he spun on his heel and walked toward Garth’s room; Sam’s laughter bellowing from his door and following him down the hall.

Dean knocked on the doorframe of the room Garth had claimed. “Hey, Garth buddy. You up for a roommate?”

“Sorry Dean, no can do,” he said apologetically. “You see, I been sleeping in the ole Ranchero the last few nights and man, are my joints feeling it. Plus the weather is moving in and I can feel it in my knee.” He groaned as he reclined more on the bed. “Let’s face it Dean. I’m getting old and need the extra space to...what’s the term? Manspread?” He asked gesturing vaguely with his hands.

“Garth, you’re four years younger than me.” He scoffed.

“Yeah, but I ain’t had the luxury of coming back from the dead. You’ve basically got all new hardware.”

“And manspreading, that’s more for…,” he trailed off as Garth stared at him with his big soulful eyes, a smirk gracing his face. “Forget it,” Dean mumbled as he strolled back toward the living room. Throwing his duffel down, he flopped onto the couch and threw his arm over his eyes. Better get comfortable, he thought, it’s going to be a long evening.

————

Once everyone had a chance to clean up, and Dean yet again propositioned everyone with the opportunity to bunk with him, the four hunters made it downstairs to the hotel bar, seating themselves at a table in the corner. Soft rock was playing over the sound system as a young waitress approached their table.

“Hey, guys, I’m Mandy. Can I get you some drinks?” She asked politely to the table.

“Yes, a bottle of whiskey for the table please,” Dean said as his eyes ran up her physique. “Also, Mandy,” he grinned at her in the most charming way, “is there any chance the kitchen is still open?”

“It closes at ten, which is in about,” she looked down at her wristwatch gauging the time, “twenty minutes. Can I put something in for you all?” Her hand came to rest on Dean’s shoulder, giving him a light squeeze.

The boys put in their orders as (y/n) glared the waitress down for flirting with Dean. Imagining all the ways she could disfigure that pretty face came easily. “(Y/n)”, Sam said as he snapped his fingers in front of her face, breaking her out of her homicidal daydream. Coming to she looked around the table, noting the strange looks the boys were giving her, Dean’s quirked eyebrow included.

“What?” She asked.

“Can I get you something to eat, dear?” The waitress asked.

“Oh, uh, bacon-cheeseburger and fries. Condiments on the side please.” She replied sheepishly. God where did that shit come from, she thought. Dean wasn’t hers to be territorial about, and he certainly wasn’t worth the time, she chastised herself.

Minutes later, everyone’s food came and each hunter dove into the meal. The evening passed in polite conversation as they ate and drank, attempting to wind down from the night. Soon after, Sam and Garth decided to turn in, saying the events of the day, plus the bottle of alcohol had done them in. Leaving (y/n) and Dean alone to each other’s company.

“I’m going to go get another bottle of whiskey,” (y/n) stated as she stood up and walked over to the bar.

As she passed Dean, he leaned into her as she brushed by him, taking in a deep lungful of her scent. To him she smelled like grapefruit and jasmine with a touch of steel and gunpowder. And she was most certainly Alpha. The revelation made his cock twitch as his jeans tightened just a smidge. What the hell has gotten into me, he thought.

(Y/n) settled back into her chair, fresh bottle of whiskey in hand, as she refreshed both their glasses. Their fellow patrons had dwindled to a measly handful of people. A couple in the corner trying to seal the deal for the night, a few men hustling a game of pool in the back room, and a few other wayward souls dotted around the bar looking to drown one problem or another. As the two sat there, glasses in hand and looking around to their counterparts, the tension became thick. An awkward silence between two not-so-genial acquaintances filled the moment.

“So…” y/n began.

“Soo…,” Dean replied with a slight chuckle. After a moment he looked up at her. “This is slightly, awkward, isn’t it?”

Y/n looked down at her glass, hiding her face behind a curtain of hair. “Yeah, it is. I’m going to kill Garth for abandoning me.” She snorted.

“Sam knows better, too,” came his reply as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look if neither of us are gonna go up to the room we should at least make an effort at small talk, right?”

Y/n looked at him, her eyes narrowing in contemplation as her mouth twisted to the side. Quickly she knocked back the rest of her drink, leaving Dean in suspense as she refilled it again. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.” Came her guarded reply.

“O-okay, cool. Cool.” Dean said nervously. He could feel his pulse pick up slightly fully expecting her to turn him down cold. He glanced around the room looking for some inspiration to a conversation starter as he tapped his fingers idly on the wooden table top. Geez, I’m normally a lot smoother than this, he thought. C’mon Dean, think. You can do this. Just talk to her like you do all the other women you sleep with...not that you want to sleep with her. Do you? Nah, that’s insane, you just met her. Yeah, well you had ‘just met’ all the others before…

Her questioning voice cut through his internal monologue. “That’s a nice car you drive. Had her long?” She raised her eyebrow waiting for a response as she delicately sipped at her whiskey.

“Yeah,” he nodded his head as he took a swig from his glass, “oh, yeah. She’s kind of a family heirloom. Dad bought her in ‘73, then he proposed to mom in the front seat. We’ve had her ever since. She’s been through, well, a lot. I rebuilt her several times, once from the ground up nearly.”

“Yeah? She looks mint condition.”

“Well nearly. I didn’t have the heart to get rid of mine and Sam’s initials whittled into the rear window deck. There’s also legos in the vents from when I was a kid, and a green army man that Sam jammed in the ashtray.” He smiled. “It’s the little things that make her special.”

“Yeah, it is,” y/n smiled down at her glass as she raised it to her lips once again.

“What about you, huh? A badass chick riding a 1940 Indian Chief? That’s something else,” he replied as he refilled both of their glasses.

Snorting she giggled at his exuberance. “First of all, why does it have to be ‘something else’ when a woman rides a hella cool motorcycle,” she lifted her hands, index and middle fingers of both curling down in an air-quote movement. “And B) his name is Duke.” Y/n finished matter-of-factly.

“Duke,” Dean repeated in a questioning tone as he dropped his chin toward his chest and raised his eyebrows, extending his bottom three fingers toward her on the hand his glass was grasped in. “And I didn’t mean anything bad by it, it’s just not common to see a hot girl driving a classic bike like that.” He shrugged sitting back in his chair.

A wistful faraway look crossed her face as she spun the glass between her fingers. “He’s named for my grandfather,” she replied to his unasked question hanging in the air.

Dean looked at her confused and skeptical. “You grandpa's name was Duke?”

Abruptly she looked at him and cocked her head to the side, lips forming a thin line as she narrowed her eyes at him. He’s getting too close, too comfortable, she thought, I need to knock him down a peg or two. “Well maybe if you could stop enjoying the sound of your own voice for two seconds I could finish what I was saying,” she replied sarcastically, taking Dean aback. He raised his hands in surrender, motioning her to go on.

“I spent my free time hanging out with my grandfather. He was big into cars and bikes and restoring the two. He wasn’t a typical chauvinist like the rest of my family and thought if I was going to spend time out there with him, I could at least learn something practical. So he taught me. All of it. When the weather was bad or he wasn’t feeling well, we’d spend our time watching John Wayne movies. Hence the name ‘Duke’.”

“Good name,” he said as his lips pulled into a line of agreement, eyebrows raised again, “and a smart man.”

Y/n’s mouth quirked up in a half smile as she got another faraway look in her eye. “I always thought so. He passed away last year.” Shit, she thought. I haven’t been able to say it out loud since it happened, now I’m spilling my guts to him? Get ahold of yourself. You don’t owe him jack shit.

“So, what’s your story,” Dean asked as he looked over the rim of his glass.

“What do you mean?” She replied, eyebrows quirked.

“Well, everyone’s got a story,” he gestured. “Sam and I lost our parents to a demon. We were born into the hunter lifestyle. We’ve caused and stopped the apocalypse. We’ve met angels and demons, not to mention God.” He jerked his chin toward her. “What’s yours?”

“What makes you think I have one?”

He sat there for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face. “I think your story is the most interesting of all. A lone hunter fighting the bad guys. Not to mention you’re a female Alpha traveling alone. You seemed to have a great relationship with your grandfather, but you’ve not mentioned the rest of you family.” He shrugged, only scratching the surface with his statements, but as he went on he began clawing at old wounds that hadn’t healed yet. “Plus, you’re either well off enough to afford Presidential Suites in ritzy hotels, you know, daddy’s money type,” he leaned back narrowing his eyes, “or you’re running a real good game of credit fraud. To each his own, but sister, you’re lying if you say you ain’t got a story.” He pulled a swig from his glass.

Emotions she wasn’t sure how to deal with were bubbling under the surface. Unable to pinpoint whether it was truly her need for privacy or her insecurity regarding her family life she blew up on Dean. Chewing him up one side and down the other. “Listen here, and you listen good, Dean Winchester. I don’t make a habit of telling my life story to just any pretty boy hunter who happens to waltz into my life. Yes, I’m a female Alpha, and yes we tend to be a rare breed. As for everything else you presume to know about me, you can shove it up your lily white ass cause none of it is true.” She pushed back from the table abruptly, grabbing the bottle of whiskey off the top. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do believe I’ll turn in for the night.” She said as she marched out of the bar and to the elevator. Angrily slamming her hand against the button she pushed it over and over willing it to travel quicker.

Tags: @captainsherlockwinchester110283 @katsanders @speakinvain

[elfenbensord]

In Which Enjolras Drops Everything

Imagine 1: In Which Enjolras Drops Everything

Summary: College!AU, reader meets fave blond boy at a political rally, friendship goes from there.

Pairing: Gender Neutral!Reader x Enjolras

Warnings: Subtle implies of social anxiety, Enjolras’ hair, sleeping on floor, blaming oneself, Enjolras’ eyes, slight derealisation (?), making out.

Word count: 2614

Credits to me, Victor Hugo and Aaron Tveit.

[Written: 1 Oct, Edited: 2 Oct, Published: 2 Oct/30 May, 18]

[2017]

Update, 30 May, 18: Don’t bother read this it’s literally the first thing I ever posted on Tumblr like wow I was such a smol child

A gloomy flock of grey clouds sailed across the sky, and that was all I saw before I returned my glance downwards. My eyes were like books, and the ground was my library. Books might leave, but they (almost) always come back. I always tried to keep my eyes on my feet whenever I had to walk past one of the many political rallies. The rallies were held by a small group of politics students, and they’d give speeches and hand out fliers almost every afternoon. I didn’t keep my eyes glued to my feet because I felt offended or disagreed with anything they said, it was quite the contrary, but it just felt safer to avoid the sight of anyone. It felt less dangerous, in a way I couldn’t quite understand. It made the slight feeling of panic from the small, yet tight, crowd easier to digest. Easier to push down again. My breathing quickened as I gently pushed past the people in my way. My yellow wellies looked glossy thanks to the rain, and I could almost see the contours of my own face in the rubbery material. I tried to wrap my raincoat tighter around me, as I felt the drizzle becoming heavier and heavier.

The rally seemed to be ending, something I could tell from the cheering and applause of the small crowd, and from the rising voice of the spokesperson. I recognised the voice, having walked past here every afternoon to get back to my dorm. I’d never dared to look up, so I didn’t have a face to attach to the voice. It was when the final cheer signalled that the rally was officially over, and the crowd was scurrying everywhere, that I realised that I wasn’t moving at all. I was standing still, staring at my shoes. I wasn’t sure how long I’d been doing it, either. With a jerky movement, my body woke up, and I started to walk with shaky steps. I could almost feel how my conscious was slipping away, my surroundings seeming less realistic for every second that passed. Taking a deep breath, I focused on a bird in the sky. I clenched and relaxed my fists, trying to feel my own body again.

Before I knew it, several pieces of paper, fliers, were falling from the sky. I could feel how something, someone, collided with my body. My body’s response was to fall backwards, politely following Newton’s first law. A pair of hands gripped my shoulders, steadying me.

“I’m so sorry, are you okay?” a blond man in a red jacket said, before reaching down to collect the fliers from the ground. His voice seemed familiar, and it soon struck me that he was the one I’d been listening to all these afternoons. My body’s response to this realisation was to freeze up, and stare at him. It took a few seconds, and a few hundred thoughts, before I remembered to be polite enough to say: “Yeah, I’m ok.”

Under a quiet second, I caught a glance of some of the text on the paper: Join the cause!

I stared at the blue, white and red colours, and wondered which cause I was supposed to join.

“Did you enjoy the rally?” Blondie asked, watching me with an icy glance from the ground.

“Um”, I said, reaching down to help him, “I wasn’t really listening. I’m just a passer-by.”

That might’ve been a lie. I wasn’t too invested in their doings, but I did catch some things they shouted out. But I was just a shadow. Never seen, never heard. And I liked it that way. Well, at least I thought I did. Not that I had a choice, another option.

“That’s odd”, he commented, raising his head a little, “It feels like I’m seeing you here every other day.”

I smiled a little, brushing a bit of hair out of my face. “I’m just on my way to my dorm.” Blondie nodded, humming a little. He met my eyes, “I suppose you live at the Victor Hugo dorm?”

Nodding, I said: “Yeah. What about you?” This is easy, my head thought. Maybe I’m actually good at smalltalk...

The young man stacked his fliers in his arms, hugging them close to his chest. His red jacket was of a blood-red colour, a stark contrast to his marble complexion. “Same. Victor Hugo, too. I tried to get a single room, but I failed once again. Now I’m stuck with Grantaire during this year too. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a great guy, but his drinking habits can get a little out of hand sometimes, if you get what I mean.”

I chuckled, nodding my head. “Yeah, I get you.” During a quick second, my brain remembered how my roommate of last year had a few strange habits when it came to alcohol.

“I was lucky enough to get a single room this year.” I could feel how my heart was beating. “Feel free to drop by whenever, you could teach me about this “cause” you’re so passionate about.”

Blondie cocked his eyebrows at me, a smirk forming on his doll-like lips. “Gladly.” He reached out his hand to me. “Enjolras.”

I shook his hand. “(Y/N).”

Meeting his eyes for the first time, I said: “You can find me at 710.” My eyes didn’t return to my wellies, but stayed into glued to Enjolras’ eyes. He smiled, but his face remained icy. His eyebrows raised as he winked at me. “I can’t wait.”

He pressed a flier into my hand and walked off.

---

I was walking around my tiny room in search for a pencil. As I searched the many piles of books and papers on my desk and by my bed, I caught glance of a paper of bright colours. It was unusual to have a paper of such pigment, and I reached into the drawer to investigate it further. I soon recognised it as the flier Enjolras had pressed into my hand. A warm feeling erupted in my stomach as I thought of the blond man. We’d not spoken since the last time, which was the first time, but we’d shared a glance or two every time I walked by the rally. I’d even stopped and listened once, but left almost immediately as I remembered the long essay I was suppose to write that evening. Thinking back on how I’d pretty much invited him to my room, I wanted to lock myself in a my wardrobe and never go out again. Maybe Narnia could do with another hero. Then they’d sure be disappointed when little old me strutted into their kingdom.

A knocking on my door blew a hole in the rail of my train of thought, and I quickly dropped the flier back into the drawer. As my hand reached for the door handle, I realised that I had the pencil I’d been looking for stuck behind my ear. With the pen in my hand, I opened the door. I couldn’t help but to smile at what I saw.

A tired blond was running his hands almost feverishly through his unruly hair, but he immediately stopped as he saw the door open. He crossed his arms, balling his hands into fists, and leaned on the doorframe. Under a short second, I could see how his stern face softened. He was soon back to normal, his icy glance sending chills down my spine. After another moment, he said: “Do you think I could crash here tonight?”

It was only now I saw the toothbrush in his other hand, and I notice how washed out the shirt he was wearing looked. He was in his pyjamas, except for his red jacket, and I hadn’t even noticed. Maybe it was because his hair was forming curls at the ends, or because there was a slight stubble on his chin.

My eyes still widened at his request, and I could feel how my cheeks burned. Brushing away some hair from my face, I avoided his eyes again. “Might… Might I ask why?” I crossed my arms and tried to stop looking so lost. Failing, I flushed even more scarlet. Here was a man I’d met once, on my doorstep (well, doorframe), asking to stay the night. It was only now I could see how good-looking he actually was. There was a quite handsome face behind those harsh eyebrows and stubborn expressions. Those thoughts made my face go even redder.

Enjolras coughed a few times, making a series of gestures with his hands. He soon enough cut his flailing short, and pointed towards the hall across of mine, as he stuttered out: “Grantaire-”

“Your roommate?” I cut in.

“Yes, my roommate, he’s kind of… wasted. Also probably making out with Combeferre.” He laughed a little, “And I guess I need to get away from it all. It’s just for tonight, I promise.” His fist flew up to his mouth, as he smiled an apologetic smile. I cursed my brain for not being more awake, more alert, but I was quick with inviting him in. After at least fifty “thank you”s, he finally stepped into my room. He looked around, a bit lost at first, before shrugging his jacket off. My brain was too busy with not spacing out, so it hadn’t occurred to me where he’d sleep. He cut the tension short, turned to me and simply said: “I guess I’ll just take the floor.”

I shrugged hesitantly, my face expressing concern. “I’m afraid so.”

---

Enjolras had made a promise he couldn’t keep. Even though he’d promised to only stay that one night, it became a thing near tradition. He started to spend his nights with me once a week. Then twice, thrice. Soon, it became every other day that he came. I certainly didn’t mind it. He became one of my few, and one of my closest, friends. I didn’t question why Grantaire seemed to be getting drunk almost every night, and he didn’t ask me why I was always alone. It was a friendship of strange harmony.

“Isn’t it strange to think that everything will stop existing?” I turned to Enjolras, who was lying beside me. My head ached a little, feeling how hard the floor was beneath my head. “Is it even worth existing, at all?”

His eyes were closed, and he hummed in answer. “What do you mean?”

I breathed in the cozy air, feeling the calm atmosphere of the small room. “Nothing really matters, does it? We’re all just made of stardust, and that’s what we’ll become in the end; just sprinkles on the dark sky.”

Enjolras laughed a little at my words, before he sat up from the floor. “Stop with your deep nonsense, I can almost feel the semicolons. Anyways”, he stood up, seeming taller than he actually is. “I need to prepare for another rally.” He took my hand and helped me up.

I sat down by my desk, watching him as he put on his iconic jacket. During the weeks, I’d noticed that he never went anywhere without it. It’d made me associate the colour red with late night talks together with Enjolras. He looked at me from his place by the door, almost waiting for me to ask.

I cut his waiting short, “Are you coming tonight?”

“Most likely”, he shrugged on his scarf, leaving me a quick smile. “Bye. See you later.”

“See you.”

---

“How did this happen?” I dabbed his forehead with a wet cloth, trying to get the blood out of his hairline. Enjolras rocked back and forth on my bed, sinking into the bulky mattress. “I’m not sure. We were just doing the usual, then some seniors just…”, he trailed off, his cheeks turning red. He looked so devastated, his face all bruised and eyes glassy as he spoke. “I just-”, he bit his lip, and it was obvious that he was trying hard not to cry. I was well familiar with the feeling of having to cry, but not wanting to. It was an art I was yet to master.

Enjolras let out a shaky breath, and I could see how the first tear escaped. It gently swan down his cheek, and I pretended not to see it. “It feels like all of this is my fault, because I’m the one who arranges these damn rallies and now people got hurt, and they wouldn’t have if I could just keep my damn mouth shut and-” His voice broke in the centre of his rambling, and the rest of his words faded away as he cried. I froze, my hand stuck in the air. Blinking a few times, I tried to wake up my numb mind.

“Hey”, I ushered, “It’s not your fault. Nothing’s your fault.” Throwing the cloth across the room, I slowly lied down on the bed, taking Enjolras with me, and tried to whisper comforting words. (“Everything’s okay; It’s not the end of the world; Tomorrow is another day.”)

My voice went a little raspy before he fell asleep, his shaky breaths kidnapping any peace he could have. I considered getting up from the bed and sleeping on the floor, but it all changed as I felt how his hands snaked around my waist. His face was red and wet from all the tears he’d spilled, and his breath was ragged up from his cries, still, he’d never looked more beautiful to me.

I was awakened by a loud bang, followed by a silent “Damn”. When I opened my eyes, Enjolras was looking at me from the door. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you-”, he started, but I quickly cut him off.

“It’s fine, I’ve been awake for… seconds.” I rubbed my eyes, trying to wake up my spaced out brain. I followed it up with a, “Where are you heading?”

He became scarlet, and muttered something about going to prepare a rally. Clearing his throat, he then said: “Thank you.”

I stood up, choking a yawn, and stretched my stale arms. “You’re welcome. Why are you thanking me?”

“Thank you for letting me stay here. I’m so grateful for… everything. For being my friend, for proofreading my speeches, for being an amazing person.” By his last word, he was blushing just as much as I. “How do I thank you? Ask me anything, and I’ll do it.”

I was tempted to bury my face in my hands, but I chose to meet his eyes. Enjolras’ eyes weren’t pools of colour and emotion. There was no “eyes like stars, a million fireflies in the dark” about them. They were just eyes. But I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, and that was enough. I wondered if he could hear it too, and breathed deep. As I waited for him to speak, I tried to plan what I should do. My mind came out blank, Enjolras being so close. If not existing in the universe threw off my sensed, he did. If I were to follow my so called “instincts”, I’d probably just pass out. He was overwhelming. He was a raging storm of passion and smell, red and black, and I was a tiny boat on the ocean of my room. And I was ready for being thrown off my feet, completely and utterly. I’d been for months now. I took a deep breath, “Could you just… Just kiss me.”

Enjolras didn’t hesitate, he only stepped inside and pulled off his scarf. “I never thought you’d ask”, he breathed, closing the door behind him as he pushed me down on the bed again.

---

taglistsurematelikeifuwannabutmaybeudontimeanidontknowu

[violetren]

I’ve got this weird semi formed au that I’ll probably never get around to writing, but enjoy imagining from time to time anyways.

Rough description: Siobhan fought against the Silver Banshee’s influence and after a lot of therapy and experimental medication it was decided she could be let back into the world but under strict probation conditions. Eg living with someone who could physically prevent her from causing havoc.

Basically it is a vague complicated way of making Siobhan and Kara roommates.

It’s hard in the beginning. Siobhan/the banshee is ready to kill Kara at the slightest provocation but knows that’d be game over for her so she just acts really fucking bitchy instead. Kara is a nice person, but Rao be damned if Siobhan doesn’t push her buttons. And really. How nice can people expect her to be when she’s grudgingly living with a woman that wants her dead just to prove that people can change for the better?

But slowly they fall into an equilibrium. Cohabitation giving each of them an understanding and respect for the shit the other goes through each day.

Things get better. Siobhan is never nice but her bitchiness and Kara’s reactions to it become teasing camaraderie. Over their time together they have learned where the lines are and have stopped trying to harm one another by crossing them. If you called them friends they’d both be offended but yeah. They’re friends.

And I have great fun playing around with the unapologetic bitch and the ray of sunshine. Siobhan being exasperated by people pining after Kara or Kara pining after people makes for some great “go fuck the ___ already” type conversations for any and all of my Kara ships. It’s easy enough to adjust the circumstances of their living together to allow for each new prospective relationship that canon/fanon introduces to me.

The reason I’m telling you all of this because I think there are some people out there that’d enjoy my latest little adventure down this rabbit hole.

They’ve been living together for a while now. Siobhan has been doing pretty damn well at not threatening to murder people. Even Kara the main focus of her ire hasn’t had a threat in the past week.

The only times she’s really come close to slipping have been when Kara has had that daxamite around, trying to help him adjust to life on earth. Mon-el was a fuckboy and Siobhan had said as much to his face.

Watching Sunny D stammer out an explanation to the insult when he’d cocked his head in confusion and asked her what it meant still made Siobhan smile even days later. Oddly enough it was made even better by the fact that while Kara had complained about being put in such an awkward position after he’d left, she had never actually disagreed with Siobhan’s observation.

Unfortunately their shared opinion on Mon-el’s status as a fuckboy did nothing to lessen just how involved he became in their daily lives.

He was everywhere.

At the DEO when she went in for her check up/reports, he’d be monopolizing HER boyfriend.

At the one bar in the city where she could get a drink in peace, he’d be trying to hook up with anything or anyone with any vaguely feminine traits. She’d taken great joy in following his targets into the ladies to offhandedly mention he had some alien STD. Whether it was true or not wasn’t her concern but chances were, right?

Worst of all he was in her living space. Pretending to listen to Kara’s advice on adjusting to Earth (which might not have been stellar but was more than Kara had ever received) and then twisting whatever she had been saying into a way to blame Kara for HIS behaviour.

Even Silver Banshee, constantly whispering in the depths of her mind for Kara’s destruction and demise, seemed to consider his existence in their lives too low a tactic to achieve her desired ends.

Siobhan had been doing pretty damn well at keeping her alter ego in line. Damn great if you factored in the fuckboys incessant presence.

But she’s only human. Mostly.

So when she arrives home from a few too many drinks at the bar with Winn and walks in just in time to hear the fuckboy comparing her friend not-friend to Kryptonite? It’s really not her fault when she screams him through a wall and down onto the street.

It takes Kara a second to process the ringing in her ears, and brick dust swirling around her. It takes her another second to realise she wasn’t the one who had gone flying. Siobhan feels those two seconds as if they were eternity, fully expecting Kara to go full Supergirl on her.

Those two seconds pass. And then another two as Kara looks down to the street where Mon-el is slowly sitting up in a daze. Kara is still and quiet in a way Siobhan hasn’t ever seen her the entire time they’ve been living together.

Finally Kara looks at Siobhan, and Siobhan thinks she could never have imagined Sunny D looking so exhausted.

“How are we supposed to explain a man shaped hole in the wall to the landlord Siobhan? Rao. Did you even think about that?” Kara asks, pinching her brow.

Siobhan just blinks in response.

“There’s an open window right next to it! You couldn’t have taken like a half step to the right to aim for it?”  

She can’t believe it.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” she asks, a hint of hysteria in her voice. “I just used my evil metahuman powers to throw someone out a window and your complaint is that I didn’t aim for the window!?”

“Do you know how much it’s going to cost to fix that wall?” Kara asks in retort. “How many potstickers I’m not gonna get to order because I had to spend the money on fixing the mess your unemployed ass just made?”

“You’re choosing now to get on my back about not having a job? Have you ever tried getting a job as an ex-supervillain in a city practically owned by the woman you tried to kill?”

“Oh please. You were hardly a super-villain. Villain of the week at best.”

“EXCUSE YOU?!”

They’re still bickering when Alex and J’onn arrive with a DEO TAC team after picking up a signal from Siobhan’s anklet monitor that she had used her powers. They stop just long enough for Kara to tell J’onn that Siobhan doesn’t need to get locked in some DEO blacksite in the middle of nowhere before they continue arguing. The topic of the argument having moved on to whether they should use the repair as an opportunity to repaint the common area, and what colour they should paint it.

The exhaustion Siobhan had seen in Kara seems to have evaporated the longer they’ve been arguing. The normalcy of it rejuvinating her not-friend.

Down in the street Mon-el is still propped up against a lamp post, bleeding from the ears, having been completely ignored by the swarm of agents that had rushed up to Kara’s apartment.

[pygmywyvern]

Funky at Heart

Series: Overwatch Pairing: Boombox (Junkrat/Lúcio)  Rating: Teen Words: 1485 Other notes: College AU. Very free form drabble thing. Jamie tries to make sense of his feelings and goes around things in mostly the wrong way. Thankfully Lúcio’s patient with him.   

---------* ---------

“Let’s go somewhere.”

When he’d said that to Lúcio, the older man had looked at him quizzically. It was a fair response really: Jamison might have been one for spontaneity, but usually it was for things like let’s have a firework show or let’s grab bubble tea or possibly terrible ideas involving alcohol. It wasn’t usually something so vague. But of course, Lúcio – patient as ever – just offered a smile as he saved his work, “What you mean Jamie?”

The engineering major merely shrugged as he tutted, fingers twitching a little as hands rested on hips, “What I fucking said, let’s go somewhere. I’ll drive. Don’t bloody care where. Just somewhere.” A pause, before the blond grumbled a little more, realising that he hadn’t really clarified much to his roommate with that, “I just need out of here for a bit, maybe the night, I ain’t thought that far. Just need a fucking change. You don’t got to come with me if you don’t want to, just thought you might wanna.” Was that what Lúcio wanted to hear? Hell if Jamison knew: even if they were friends, he was still learning to read the other.

Perhaps not, as Lúcio only seemed to pause longer, biting his plump, lower lip in contemplation. It had probably been a stupid request, the blond reasoned. Mako said that sometimes he came up with ideas that most wouldn’t just roll with as he would, maybe this was one of those things? Probably was. With that in mind, Jamie just muttered a dismissive comment – ‘forget it’ or ‘never fucking mind’, he couldn’t remember – and started to head out of Lúcio’s room, moving to grab the backpack he’d packed up.

But Lúcio’s hand stopped him. A gentle tug on his jacket to bring his attention to the tender and… something smile, “Gimme a minute to grab some stuff, okay?”

Hours passed, finding the two students in the taller’s old, faded yellow pick up truck, mindlessly following roads and turns that neither really knew, or were particularly familiar with. Amber lights were gently lighting Lúcio’s slumbering face, and Jamie was starting to regret the whole thing. Glancing over to his friend dozing in the passenger seat, he remained silent before giving an aggravated growl and thudding his forehead against the steering wheel of the parked truck. This whole thing had achieved nothing: he and Lúcio hadn’t talked about what he wanted to talk about, nothing had been clarified, and he hadn’t been able to just clear his mind of the questions and what ifs that plagued his every waking moment. All they’d talked about was meaningless, trivial stuff about people he didn’t really give a flying fuck about until the other had dozed off, mumbling about stopping so Jamie didn’t fall asleep at the wheel. But none of that mattered – besides actually stopping, even if they were in the middle of fuck knows where – because that wasn’t what he wanted to talk about. No, needed to talk about. But how the hell was he meant to casually bring it up?

“Jamie?”

Startled, the driver sharply sat up, narrowly missing banging his head on the low hanging roof of his car as he snapped to look at his drowsy looking companion. He was wearing that strange expression again, almost like a pout but not quite. Jamie couldn’t put his finger on what it exactly was. “What? I pulled over, do we look dead to you? Just go the fuck to sleep, I’ll get us somewhere in a bit… or something, I don’t fucking know.”

Lúcio seemed to disagree, starting to sit up more and leaning closer a little, that pouting frown deepening a smidgen more. What the hell was that face? It wasn’t weariness, or sadness, it was something else…. maybe, concern?

“What’s going on man? This ain’t like you. What’s bugging you?” Looked like concern was as good a guess as any now. At first, Jamie just offered a hrmph as an answer, looking out the window at the empty road they’d parked beside. He was planning to just pretend something else had caught his attention – the fact everyone knew and acknowledged his short attention span worked to his advantage sometimes – but Lúcio was having none of it, hand placed gently onto Jamison’s cheek to turn his attention back as the concern became all the more evident. “Jamie, talk to me.”

There was a long moment of silence in the car, as amber eyes watched for any giveaways of what Lúcio wanted him to say. His expression didn’t change. Why did Lúcio have to always be so straightforward with him when he didn’t want him to be?

“What are we?”

“…huh?”

An aggravated growl escaped Jamie before he turned away from his roommate, resting his head upon his folded arms on the steering wheel. He’d started the conversation now, he might as well go the whole ride, have an awkward drive back to campus and just avoid Lúcio in their flat for the last few weeks of the year, “You know what I fucking mean mate, me and you. After you know, last week, what the fuck are we now? You just act like nothing bloody happened and I’m sick of this shit.”

There was a brief pause from his companion, before hesitant words escaped him, “You mean the party?”

“Of course I mean the fucking party! What else could I have bloody meant!?” Gaze shifting to the other, Jamie was kind of thankful that Lúcio seemed to be just as embarrassed about the conversation as he was.

What he wasn’t expecting was him to start laughing.

“Really? That’s what you’ve been getting all upset about?”

“Oh yeah fucking laugh it up, you cock.” Jamie wasn’t even going to hide his annoyance at being the source of Lúcio’s amusement, moving to bring the engine back to life before a smaller hand stopped him.

“Wait wait, hold up babe, sorry, I just thought it was obvious to you.” His eyes held a softness to them, plump lips pulled into a tender smile. Normally such a look would have made Jamison weak at the knees, but all it did was confuse him further.

“What’s fucking obvious!? I can’t read your piggin’ mind mate! If I was just a quick fuck for you, you coulda just fucking said it to my face- you know what, fucking forget it, sit fucking down and just-” Jamison made to turn the ignition, but Lúcio stopped him once more. Not with his hand, but with his lips upon the blond’s.

Now he was really confused.

The pair of them sat there for what felt like minutes, before Lúcio gently pulled back, hand resting on Jamie’s thigh for balance as he leaned over the centre console, eyes focused on the other so closely, “Does that help?”

“…not… not really.”

A small snigger was offered, before another brief kiss was gifted to Jamie, “Then let me spell it out for you, I don’t just sleep with anyone, Jamie. I like you. I want to be with you.”

“…. For real? You ain’t just pulling my leg? I mean I’ve only got one so-”

“Jamie, shut up.” The blond didn’t really get a chance to obey the amused request, as Lúcio decided to silence him in what Jamison was swiftly concluding was the best way possible.

Hands moved away from the steering wheel and ignition, favouring instead to cup a soft cheek and grip at perfectly maintained dreads as lips and tongue became ever bolder, recreating kisses that had plagued Jamie’s mind for a week. No, besting those kisses, because he could pour his feelings in properly, and it seemed Lúcio was doing just the same as moans escaped the two of them. Deft fingers slipped down to finally undo Jamison’s seat belt, before hands pulled him closer, the gear stick digging into his hip. Really though, he didn’t give a rat’s arse about it, as long as Lúcio’s tongue kept doing what it was- oh. He hadn’t noticed the tongue bar the week before, that was for certain.

Slowly, reluctantly, lips parted as soft pants escaped them, hazy eyes locked and soft, nervous laughter finally filling the silence of the car. “So… me and you are…”

“Dating. I thought you knew that, Dr. Engineering major PhD.”

“Well you didn’t exactly say nothing.”

“Neither did you. Now…” the hand on Jamie’s thigh slowly trailed higher, only making the pink in pale cheeks deepen, “…please tell me you’ve got supplies in this old thing.”

“Supplies?”

“You know, supplies.” His tone dropped a little lower, thumb rubbing dangerously close to Jamie’s crotch.

“….oh! …didn’t you wanna get somewhere more comfy or something?” He’d always taken Lúcio for the vanilla sort. ‘Bed or nothing’ sort of thing.

“Come on man, try and tell me it ain’t a little tempting? A little… thrillin’?”

Jamison couldn’t exactly disagree.