#you can’t imagine the number of times I’ve had to refrain from saying ‘see you next Tuesday’ when replying to comments

[klikandtuna]

HOWWWWWW do you once-a-week authors handle this?? Seven days feels soooooooo lonnnnnnnng 😩😩

But I do get the draft all ready to go the day before the update, so all I have to do when I wake up tomorrow is hit “post” 😁

[the-wild-wolves-around-you]

hear those bells ring deep in the soul (a katsuki bakugo/reader fic)

Summary: Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. He'd worked hard to achieve his position, his fame. And now it was all going down the damn drain, along with his hearing.

~*~*

Bakugo is suffering from hearing loss as a side effect of his quirk, and he struggles with how to face this new challenge. Enter Reader with a healing quirk.

Pairings: Katsuki Bakugo/Reader; Katsuki Bakugo/You

Rating: M(ature)

Warnings: Blood & violence. 

A/N: No spoilers or anything. This is just a self-indulgent AU fic with aged up characters. Everyone’s in their mid-20s. Fic title is from a song called “Achilles Come Down.” 

Ao3 Link: Here 

*****A/N Part 2: This post has now been updated to include the links to Ch 2

Ch 2 Tumblr Link: Here 

Pro Hero Dynamight was Japan’s Number Two Hero. Actually, he’d argue he was tied for first place with the current Symbol of Peace, Shitty Deku. Their victory statistics were basically the fucking same, the only difference was the freckled idiot was made of smiles and sunshine and stupid fucking sugar or something. The whole world ate out of his scarred, fucked up hand, and Darling Deku ate up all the media’s attention in return. 

In contrast, Bakugo wasn’t a “people person,” as Deku loved to put it, but… he also wasn’t the same fifteen-year-old brat who got muzzled on live national television. Pro Hero Dynamight was known for his crass, blunt language, his vicious streak of justice when it came to villains, but people also looked up to him. Extras cheered for him in the streets as he exploded past mid-battle. Children ran up to him on patrol and asked him to sign their books, their photos, their Dynamight merch. On one memorable occasion, that he may or may not have saved on his computer, a national news channel ran a live clip from a disaster site, a villain attack turned rescue mission after a building collapsed. The soundbite was only thirty seconds, a close up of a pale, dusty woman with a shallow cut on her brow. The splash of crimson and her bloodshot blue eyes were the only spots of color on her, everything else washed out in white plaster and cement dust, tear tracks carving grooves down her cheeks. 

But the smile on her face could have lit up goddamn Tokyo. 

“Dynamight saved us,” the woman had said to the news reporter, her voice full of awe and tears. “I-I got stuck under some debris, but I heard the moment Dynamight arrived, and I just knew we were safe. The battle was over a minute later, and then he just… pulled me out of the wreckage. He pulled us all out. He’s… the greatest hero I’ve ever seen.” 

That was a nice stroke to his ego. And the dazed woman had been right. He had pulled everyone out of that building, and not a single person died that day, which only confirmed what he already knew: 

Katsuki Bakugo was the best of the best. Deku might have been the better show pony, but Dynamight was an undefeated hero, fierce, fearless, ferocious. 

Except right now… he was fucking scared out of his mind. 

This couldn’t be happening. 

“What?” he snarled at the extra in the white coat standing before him. 

The man flinched and visibly recoiled, shuffling back a step and partially ducking behind his tablet device. When he spoke again, he’d raised his voice an entire fucking octave. 

“I-I’m sorry, sir,” the doctor stammered, but then he seemed to regain his composure and lowered his voice a little. “I… I wish I had better news for you, Dynamight, but…” 

He trailed off and swallowed, the jut of his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath the thin skin of his throat. 

“But what?” Bakugo spat, something like magma roiling in his veins, pops of heat crackling against his palms like splatters of hot oil from a stove. 

“B-But this… can’t come as a complete shock to you,” the doctor said as he glanced back at his tablet. “Other physicians before myself must have warned you of the risks.” 

The risks. Bakugo bared his teeth in a silent snarl. What did this fucking extra, with his soft hands and softer body, know about risks? The heat in his palms grew until he could see their red-hot glow out of the corner of his eye. 

“Well, who and how much do I gotta pay to fix it?” Bakugo demanded as he shoved his hands in his pockets. 

“That depends,” the doctor hedged and adjusted the square black glasses perched on his stupid face. “There are a variety of aid types—” 

“I don’t want fuckin’ support gear or aids,” Bakugo sneered. “I want mine fixed.” 

Now, the doctor’s face grew pitying. “I’m afraid that’s just not possible, given a number of factors, most importantly your current occupation.” 

“My current occupation?” the hero seethed, teeth bared again like a wounded dog, a cornered wolf, snapping at the world. “Are you fucking KIDDING—” 

A hint of fear sparked in the doctor’s eyes, but he suddenly raised a hand, palm out in the universal symbol for stop. “Dynamight, sir, I know this is distressing, but there are other sick patients in these walls, so please refrain from using your quirk.” 

“I’m not usin’ shit,” Bakugo snapped, but then the doctor’s eyes flicked downward, and Bakugo followed them to his hands, wreathed in sparks and flares of flames, lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. 

The breath stuttered in Bakugo’s lungs. 

He hadn’t even felt himself call upon his quirk. 

Even worse… he hadn’t heard it when he did. 

He dropped his hands quickly, shoving them back in his pockets. Bile rose in his throat, but he washed it down with blood as he bit through his tongue. 

“There has to be… something,” he gritted out, curling his hands into fists in their confines. “A healer—” 

“Healers are rarer than you think,” the doctor sighed and shook his head. “And what’s more, they’re usually specific and limited. Their abilities are tied to blood types or restricted to relatives or even limbs. One nurse here can only heal femur bones.” 

“Bullshit they’re rare, I’ve met at least two goddamn healers just this month,” Bakugo spat. “These paramedics—” 

“And how strong where they?” the doctor cut him off again, raising an eyebrow. “You said paramedics, so I’m going to assume their talents mostly lie in the superficial and basic: triage, stopping the bleeding, knitting skin back together, etc.” 

“What’s your fucking point?” He was this close to punching the asshole right in the glasses. 

“My point is the inner workings of your ear are much more delicate than a broken rib or lacerated arm,” the doctor said in a really condescending tone that Bakugo did not appreciate. “But let’s say you do find a healer specific enough and skilled enough to restore the hearing you have already lost without damaging anything else in the process. What then? I don’t imagine Japan’s Number Two Hero retiring less than ten years after his debut and hanging up his quirk.” 

Bakugo scowled, heart kick-starting in his chest, his gut tying itself in a knot. 

No. No, that wasn’t possible. Katsuki Bakugo was a hero, the best of the best. It was all he’d ever wanted, and he would be damned if it was taken from him. 

The doctor must have seen as much on the blond’s face because he sighed and adjusted his glasses again. “Exactly. Which means you’re just going to keep destroying your ears again and again, and even if say Recovery Girl was still alive, the repetitive healing sessions would destroy your own body’s healing factor, and after a while, you would still lose you’re hearing.” 

“Tch.” Bakugo looked away and gritted his teeth so hard they ached. 

The doctor sighed. “You’re already at moderate hearing loss, Dynamight, so while we do still have some options, they are limited. Honestly… I’m surprised you didn’t come in sooner.” 

He should have. He fucking should have. He’d been noticing little things for years, but he just brushed it off, yelled at Deku to speak the fuck up and stop mumbling, told himself his phone must be a piece of shit and that’s why he didn’t hear a call or message. The low persistent ringing he’d been experiencing since UA was harder to write off, but after a while, it was also easier to ignore. 

Then, on his last mission, Bakugo was shoving some weak ass villain at a couple of cops. The battle had lasted less than five minutes, and he was still itching for a fight, his quirk burning just beneath the surface of his skin, like embers waiting to explode back into flame. In the next moment, a hand had suddenly clamped down on his shoulder from behind, and he’d reacted out of reflex, flipping his attacker over his shoulder and nearly blasting them in the gut for good measure. 

“Whoa! Fuck, dude, it’s me!” Kirishima had yelped, his skin rippling and hardening in an instant. Wide, red eyes gaped up at him, and Japan’s Number Three Hero even looked a little worried. “Didn’t you hear me? I called your name like five times.” 

Bakugo had dropped Red Riot like he was on fire. No. No, Dynamight hadn’t heard his patrol partner. In fact, all he could hear in the moment was the muted wailing of sirens, the low murmur of shouting extras, and the blood roaring in his head. 

Now, two days later he was standing in front of a doctor who was telling him there was nothing more they could do. 

But that was fucking unacceptable. He couldn’t lose his hearing. What kind of shitty hero would he be if he couldn’t hear where the villains were in battle or where stupid extras in need of saving were in rescue situations? 

He wouldn’t be a hero at all, just a fucking liability. 

Bakugo tried to imagine having to retire, to hang up his hero costume, to leave Shitty Hair in charge of their joint agency. What would he do? He’d wanted, and planned, to be a hero since he was five years old. He had no other skills, not really. It wasn’t like he could work a damn desk job. Well, UA might throw him a bone, offer him a pity faculty position. 

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth. 

“What… are my options?” he asked haltingly as he snapped his eyes up and locked gazes with the doctor. “You said I still had some.” 

The man in the white coat blinked in surprise, but then he straightened up and tapped at his tablet. “Currently, you have a few options, but you’d receive the best outcome if we did them all together. First, we can get you fitted for some hearing aids for you to wear while you are off duty. They would significantly increase your hearing capacity in your normal day-to-day life.” 

Bakugo felt his face pull into a scowl. “Off duty? I need them while I’m on duty!” 

“If you wear them while using your quirk, you’ll ruin the rest of your hearing in one blow,” the doctor said with a straight face. “Hearing aids amplify sounds. Amplifying your explosions is the last thing we want.” 

“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do then?” the hero snapped, heat flaring through his body with a supernova. 

“Since I assume you’re going to continue your hero work, I would recommend contacting a support gear company.” The doctor made a note on his tablet. “We’ll email you the contact information for several companies the hospital has connections with, and once you chose one, we can send them your file. There are numerous noise-cancelling devices out there, but given your situation, you will probably need to collaborate with them for something custom. The goal is to having something to protect your ears-- a helmet, headphones, anything really—while you are using your quirk. Between such a device and the hearing aids, I hope we can preserve what’s left of your hearing and maybe give you a little bit back. But I will warn you… you’re hearing will never be as it was. You should know that now.” 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

You’re hearing will never be as it was. 

The words cycloned through Bakugo’s head, round and round and round, destroying every other thought in their path. He felt detached from himself, the doctor’s voice fizzling out into a muffled drone. His vision seemed to narrow and darken, like he was viewing the world at the end of a very long and dark tunnel. One minute, he was standing there in that examine room, and then he blinked and was on the street, people rushing past him like a river unbothered by the boulder in its current. 

He glanced down at his hand, at the paperwork for his follow up appointment and his fitting for the hearing aids. Heat squirmed under his skin, in his veins, like something living, something that wanted to get out. 

Bakugo bared his teeth, crumpled the paper in his fist, and let the heat rush through his body, down through his arm, and into his hand. He didn’t hear the crackle, but he saw the flares of light, trapped between his palm and the paperwork like fireflies. 

Then he opened his hand, and he watched the wind catch the ash and carry if off down the street, out of sight. 

He needed a fucking drink. 

~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Several hours later, Bakugo stumbled out of his usual dive bar, the taste of whisky still burning a hole through the back of his throat. The night was colder than he anticipated, colder than it should be for the beginning of autumn, and he grumbled and cursed as he hunched against the wind. He squinted at his phone, debating on whether to call a car, but in the end it was too much trouble. He was less than a half an hour’s walk from his apartment, and it was late, so he wouldn’t have to worry about extras coming up to him for photos or goddamn autographs. 

Besides, the whisky hadn’t helped to quench the heat writhing through his veins, in fact the alcohol only made it worse. Bakugo felt restless, all pins and needles and ants, so maybe the brisk walk would burn off some of that energy. 

Decided, Bakugo turned in the direction of home and began the long, stumbling journey through the midnight streets. 

Time passed as sluggishly as his feet, which he made sure to stare down at so he didn’t trip over them. Like he anticipated, he passed no one on the sidewalks, and few cars rumbled past him. It wasn’t surprising, this neighborhood was mostly shops that closed by sundown and a few residences. The dive bar he’d left was a holdover from past decades when this side of town was rougher, but Bakugo suspected the old man who owned the joint would live on for at least another decade, if only to spite the development companies that kept trying to buy him out. The ornery bastard was half the reason Bakugo loved that bar, the other half being their decent whisky and usually empty stools. 

“Shit,” he mumbled as he suddenly slipped, tittering on the edge of the curb. 

He shook his head and managed to regain his balance, but when he took another step, he wobbled again. 

“Come on, you drunk idiot,” he hissed at himself as he stumbled once more. 

Except… he’d been standing still that time. 

“Hah?” Bakugo squinted down at his feet. 

The pebbles around his shoes rattled and jumped. He didn’t think he was that drunk, but he slapped his cheek with a bit of heat to his palm. The snap of warmth and pain woke him up a little, but when he glanced back down at the ground, everything was still moving. 

“What the fu—” 

Then the road undulated under his feet like a living thing, and the shockwave hit him a moment later. 

Bakugo barked a curse as he was bucked several feet into the air, twin explosions blooming from his palms so he could right himself and land on his feet. He snapped his head up as he skidded to a stop, and the breath stilled in his lungs. 

Up ahead, a man stood in the middle of the intersection, staring down the road to Bakugo’s left. Black rubble and goo floated around him like asteroids trapped in a planet’s orbit, and even from a distance, Bakugo could see the crazed smile on the man’s pale, black-streaked face. 

A moment later, several heroes lunged out from around the corner and barreled straight for the villain, only to be blasted backwards as the villain flung out his hands and commanded the black debris and goo to slam into the idiots. 

The villain threw back his head and seemed to laugh maniacally. Bakugo couldn’t hear it, but that didn’t matter. Lava was starting to boil in his veins, burning off the last of the whisky, and Dynamight felt an equally crazed smile stretch across his mouth. 

This idiot had chosen the wrong road to fuck up tonight. 

Heat condensed in his palms like collapsing stars, and then he was exploding forward, the taste of ozone and nitroglycerin on his tongue. 

Within moments, Bakugo was able to determine the villain’s quirk revolved around asphalt. The bastard was able to pull large chunks of it out of the road and then liquify parts of them until they were scalding and sticky. 

The other heroes—whoever they were, Bakugo didn’t even care to check—struggled to evade the villain’s attacks, but evasion wasn’t Dynamight’s style. He came at the bastard head on, exploding every rock and tar puddle in his way. 

Of course, asphalt was flammable, so flames were flaring up all around the street now, but Bakugo wasn’t stupid enough to get burned. If the other heroes were, that was on them. 

Dynamight was here to get the job done. 

“Come here, ya sonvabitch,” Bakugo snarled as he blasted apart a chunk of asphalt aimed for his head. 

The villain shrieked out something high-pitched that Bakugo didn’t catch, and then the fucker was swinging out his arm, a blob of black tar following the arc. 

Bakugo let out a controlled burst toward his feet and backflipped through the air, crunching down on the roof of a parked car. He could see some of the other heroes waving at him from the corner of his eye, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying over the wailing of the car alarm below him. 

The villain’s sneer was a white slash on his black, goo-streaked face, and Bakugo bared his teeth back in an expression halfway between a feral grin and a beast’s snarl. He could feel the heat crackling along his palms as he contemplated his next move, but then the villain shouted something, and all the asphalt floating in the air rocketed back towards him like the fucker was a magnet. 

As Bakugo watched, the debris and goo coalesced into a singular shape, liquifying and hardening in turns until a giant black arm the size of a semi was hovering over the road. The fingers wiggled in a jaunty little wave as the villain shouted something again that was lost to the car’s still wailing alarm, and then the giant hand curled into a fist and dropped down on Bakugo like the hammer of some god. 

He exploded out of the way and up into the air right before the fist smashed into the car he’d been standing on, and the siren cut out with a muffled crunch. 

Bakugo had barely landed before the arm was shooting out again, but this time it wasn’t aimed for him. 

A stupid fucking extra had stumbled out of one of the buildings and stood gaping like a goddamn moron on the sidewalk. Several of the on-scene heroes rushed forward, but the hand swatted them aside like annoying flies. The idiot civilian was still just standing there, though, and Bakugo found himself airborne before he could even process the thought. 

“Run!” he roared as he reached the extra and shoved him out of the way, but an instant later, he felt stony fingers wrap around his torso and squeeze. 

Bakugo wheezed out a curse as the giant hand lifted him into the sky, the pressure around his ribs increasing with every second. The asphalt was hot in some places, too, scalding the skin of his left arm where it was pinned against his hip. He wrenched his right arm around and tried to aim at the wrist of the asphalt appendage, but the angle was off, and the few chunks he was able to blast were quickly replaced by more rubble and boiling tar. 

“Fuck!” Bakugo screamed as the fist clenched down around him. His ribs strained, his lungs unable to expand, pain licking at him like the flames flickering in his peripherals. 

Distantly, he heard the villain’s laughter below him, and as the arm swayed to the side, Bakugo realized he was right above the bastard. His vision swam, his ribs screaming, his arm burning, but Bakugo gritted his teeth as he aimed his right palm down. He concentrated every ounce of his quirk into his hand until it glowed white-hot, and the asphalt around him began to liquefy again. 

The villain’s eyes widened as he realized what the hero was doing, and the fucker wildly swung out his arm in a last-ditch effort. The giant asphalt limb responded in kind, but Bakugo unleashed his quirk right before the arm flung him through the air. 

A massive explosion rocked the street an instant later, and the subsequent shockwave slammed into his back and propelled him through a window. 

He felt the impact and pain as he struck the glass, and then… 

Nothing. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Ouch, fuck!” you cursed as your pricked yourself for the millionth time. 

A red drop of blood beaded up on the pad of your index finger, and you scowled before you sucked the smarting appendage into your mouth. It was more of a reflex than anything, since by the time you pulled your finger out, the pinprick of a wound was already healed. Healing such a small injury would usually barely even register to you, but the clock above your desk was inching closer and closer to midnight, and you’d been up since 6am. You also skipped dinner so you could finish altering the dress you were currently working on, which didn’t help your energy levels, but you were just a few stitches away from completing your task, so you hunched back over and powered through the next five minutes. 

When you were finally done, you sat back in your chair with a sigh and threw down your needle and thread. The sewing table before you swam and doubled as your vision struggled to focus on something, and you rubbed at your tired, burning eyes. You always tried to work reasonable hours, have a healthy work-life balance, but somehow you always found yourself slaving away into the dark hours of the night. You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t your fault. You’d lived here less than a year, so you didn’t know many people beyond your few neighbors and the old ladies who frequented your alterations shop. 

You were also trying very hard to keep your grandparents’ business afloat. 

Your grandfather had been a tailor, your grandmother a seamstress. They’d opened a shop together over fifty years ago, and if your parents hadn’t moved to America before you were born, you were sure you father would have taken over the family business. In the end, though, after your grandparents passed, you were the one to take up the needle and pull up your roots. You’d always loved making your own clothes, and you’d always felt… disconnected in America. Nothing had ever felt… right, no matter how many jobs you hopped around to. The US had been the only home you’d ever known, but when you and your parents spoke Japanese together, it had made something ache deep in the center of you, something you couldn’t name or place. 

So, when your father said he was taking a trip to the homeland to sell his parents’ shop, you’d gone with him and somehow convinced him to sign everything over to you. Which was more than just a little insane. Your prior work history had been in food service and clothing retail, and your degree was in linguistics for fuck’s sake. You had no idea how to run a business, let alone in another country. Thankfully, you spoke Japanese fluently, so that had been one less hurtle to overcome, but everything else had been a dramatic learning curve. Getting to know the new city, figuring out the currency, hell even navigating the vastly different social norms of Japanese culture was daunting, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t have numerous fumbles along the way. 

It, everything, had definitely taken some getting used to. 

Now, a year later, things were just starting to really look up. You had used most of the money your grandparents left you to renovate the shop, get new equipment, and fix the upstairs apartment you lived in. About two dozen loyal customers helped to pay your bills and keep you afloat, and one-to-two new customers walked into your shop each month just on word of mouth. You weren’t rich by any means, but you weren’t struggling like you did in America. You felt… happy here, if a little tired. Fulfilled. 

That might also have had something to do with your little… side business. 

You bit your lip as your eyes shot to your window guiltily, like someone was watching you. You weren’t doing anything wrong—right now, anyways—but for the last six months, it’s been hard to shake off your paranoia. 

And your guilt. Which was ridiculous. You weren’t hurting anyone. In fact, you were doing the exact opposite. 

But it was still against the law. Here in Japan, at least. 

That was another thing that took some getting used to. The Japanese government had strict laws on quirk usage, unlike in America where everything was about individualistic rights. In Japan, only heroes were given almost free reign, but even they had some restrictions on when and how they could use their powers. 

For the rest of the Japanese populace, using quirks in day-to-day life, without official permission, was frowned upon at best and illegal at worst. 

Because of your specific quirk, you leaned more toward the illegal side of things. 

Healing quirks were rare. That’s what you’d been told all your life. Your mother’s quirk was the ability to lower fevers by somehow using her own body to regulate the temperature. Nothing super special or powerful, but she’d gone on to become a pediatric nurse, so she had used her quirk to its fullest and made a long, happy career for herself. 

When you were young and your quirk manifested, you thought you would follow in your mother’s footsteps. 

But as a teenager, you’d come to some hard realizations about yourself. 

One, you weren’t strong enough to be a hero. You’d tried to get into a hero course in the States, several in fact. One course rejected you solely on your application, and then you failed two entrance exams. It had been a devastating blow to your youthful dreams and self-esteem, but your mother encouraged you, said being a hero wasn’t the only way to use your quirk for good. 

So, you turned your focus to medicine… and quickly discovered that wasn’t right for you, either. Your mother hated when you said this but… you just weren’t smart enough. You had tried, really did, but everything was such a struggle, like Sisyphus slogging uphill through the mud. It just didn’t click for you like it did for your mom. You also hated to admit it, but you were a little squeamish. You were fine with small stuff, cuts and bruises, broken fingers, but once you had to dissect a large pig in an anatomy class, and the smell and weight of the pig’s slippery organs in your hands made your lunch rise up into the back of your throat. You somehow managed to make it through the class, but directly after you ran to the bathroom and emptied your own guts into the toilet. 

With your dreams of being a hero and doctor dashed, you’d been a little aimless in college, taking random courses to fill your time and see if anything spoke to you. Then, during an 8am linguistics lecture you signed up for on a whim, something ignited inside you. Languages spoke to you like science and medicine never did. So, you’d changed your major to linguistics, minored in Japanese to feel closer to your parents, and took ever other language credit you could get your hands on. In between classes, you’d taken up sewing again while you listened to your audio assignments. It was just something to keep your hands busy at first, a skill your father taught you as a child until you abandoned it, but then your roommates complimented your work and started asking you to hem their jeans or take in their skirts. They offered to pay you, but you always declined, saying it was no trouble, you liked the work, and you liked being able to help. 

At some point, you realized that was all you had ever wanted to do. Help people. And if you couldn’t save them as a hero, you would find some other way to make yourself useful. 

So, you studied languages in the hopes of being able to help others communicate. You altered your friends’ clothes and made them small things like a monogrammed scarf or mittens. And, occasionally, you healed your roommates’ hangovers or food poisoning, stopped the bleeding when they cut their fingers making dinner, pushing through their pain to make them whole again. It wasn’t a lot, nothing really, but it was something, and it made you feel purposeful. 

When you moved to Japan, you mourned the loss of being able to use your quirk on others, but you shoved the thought aside and focused on your work and the shop and figuring out how to settle down in your first home on your own. 

Then, six months after you took over the shop, Mrs. Kojima, a little old lady in her seventies, had brought in her grandchildren’s uniforms to be patched and altered. She’d known your grandparents for many years, so she was always kind and had a story to share with you about your father in his youth or the gorgeous dresses your grandmother used to make. You always looked forward to Mrs. Kojima’s visits, and she always had a way of making you feel younger than you were, but not in a bad way. She just made you feel… nostalgic and safe, like you were listening to your late grandma talk over the phone. 

This was probably why, when Mrs. Kojima slipped and fell in front of your counter, you reacted without thinking. The old lady barely had time to hit the floor and cry out before you were hovering over her, a green aura illuminating your hands. Her pain hit you a moment later, like a heated slap to the face, a bone-deep ache in your leg, but you gritted your teeth and pushed through the discomfort. Then you moved your fingers over to the hip Mrs. Kojima was clutching, and a moment later you felt the drain as your energy siphoned into the elderly woman’s body. Thankfully, it had only been a fracture, not a full break, so you barely even felt the difference in your strength, but as Mrs. Kojima gaped up at you, realization struck you like a freight train. 

You had used your quirk, without a license, without permission, hell without the consent of Mrs. Kojima. Healing quirks were illegal for a reason, so many things could go wrong, and you weren’t properly trained. Your breathing hitched as panic seized your heart, squeezing like a vise, and your entire world had just begun to crash down around your ears when Mrs. Kojima sat up and threw her arms around you. 

“Thank you,” she’d sniffled into your hair in Japanese. “Thank you so much.” 

After the initial shock wore off, you had helped Mrs. Kojima into a chair, and she’d continued to thank you over and over again, saying how money was tight and she would have hated to be a burden to her children with hospital bills and a long recovery. She talked about how a lot of her elderly friends were in similar positions, dealing with perpetual aches and pains but having no way to pay for treatment or seek relief. 

The sadness in her face had twisted something in your chest, an ache you were all too familiar with. It was the one you felt after you failed the hero course entrance exams. The ache you felt when you realized you could never be a doctor. The ache of being helpless in the face of suffering. 

Your mouth had opened without your permission, and you told Mrs. Kojima that you would help her, and her friends, whenever they needed it. The elderly Japanese woman tried to wave you off, saying she didn’t want to get you in any trouble, but you had just smiled and said, “I’m fine with making a little good trouble.” 

You didn’t know where your courage had come from, but you let it carry you past your fears and doubts. 

So, for the last six months, Mrs. Kojima had brought all of her friends, and sometimes their children and grandchildren, to you when they were in need of healing. They always brought dresses or pants or blouses for you to fix as a cover, and you did do alterations work for them, but you also eased flaring arthritis, cataracts, fevers, and scrapped knees in the backroom. You refused to take payment for these secret services, it just felt wrong, but the little old ladies somehow always snuck large “tips” into your register when you weren’t looking. 

Mrs. Kojima and every one of her friends and family members swore to their ancestors to keep your secret, and you trusted them, but you still couldn’t help proverbially looking over your shoulder, holding your breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop and for the police to barge in and take you away. 

It hadn’t happened yet, but the worry of it kept you up most nights, which was maybe another reason why you threw yourself into your work until you were so tired you just passed out. 

You sighed again as you stretched and felt your back pop, releasing some of the tension in your spine. Glancing at the clock, you saw it was just past midnight, and you winced. You had to be up at five tomorrow—today, now—because Mr. Akane wanted to come in early before you opened the shop. His bad knee was giving him trouble again, an old injury he’d obtained as a boy. You were unable to fully reconstruct the joint—that took more strength and stamina than you currently possessed—but you were able to soothe his pain for weeks at a time, which he was immensely grateful for. He always brought you fresh fish when he came by, “gifts” he’d emphasized when you reminded him you didn’t take payment, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t appreciate the gesture. You weren’t exactly hurting for money, but you also didn’t normally splurge on fish caught just that morning, and you told yourself you deserved the small treat. Besides, the protein helped boost your energy and stamina levels, which meant you could heal more people, so really Mr. Akane was merely investing in his future treatments. 

Your stomach grumbled at the thought of food, and you dragged yourself out of your chair before picking your way across your messy apartment to the kitchen. The apartment wasn’t very large, one large space for kitchen, dining, and living room, with one small bedroom and one bathroom down a hallway to the right when you walked in the front door. But it had been your grandparent’s home for many years before they bought a larger house after having your father, and it sat right above the shop, so you never had to worry about running late for work.

Bolts of fabric, some client pieces, and a few of your own personal sewing projects were strewn over every available surface of the main room, but you had the cleared path through the chaos memorized, so you were tossing leftovers in the microwave barely thirty seconds later. The warmed-up curry and rice—another “gift” from Mrs. Kojima—tasted as good as it had the last several days, and you hummed as the spiced meat slid down your throat and settled in your belly. After the first bite, your hunger seemed to hit you in full force, and you scarfed down every last bite in a matter of minutes. When you were done, the minor headache that had been pulsing behind your eyes abated, and you yawned as you rinsed off the dishes. 

You set the damp plate on the edge of the counter as you reached for a towel, but then a sudden tremor, followed by a loud boom, seemed to shake the building, and the plate tittered on the counter’s edge for a moment before it crashed to the floor. 

“Fuck!” you gasped as you jumped back and away from the ceramic shards, but another tremor-boom combo had you stumbling, and you scrambled to grab the back of the couch so you didn’t fall on your ass. 

Your wide eyes took in the broken plate scattered at your feet before they jumped to the window on the opposite side of the room. The night sky was dark beyond, cut only by the dim street light just beyond the window’s view. You held your breath as your heart hammered in your ears, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, sweat slicking your palms. 

What the fuck was that? Your first thought was earthquake—you hadn’t experienced one yet, but you knew they were common in Japan—but then you remembered the booms. 

Maybe… maybe an electrical box blew? But no, the lights were still working. A car crash? 

Then another boom vibrated you down to your very bones, and you fell to one knee as the breath hitched in your lungs. 

That sounded… closer. 

With your heart in your throat, you half scrambled, half crawled the last few feet to your window, and you peeked your head over the sill just as a flash off white-hot light lit up the night sky. 

“Shit!” You squinted your eyes against the glare as you leaned back from the window, but then you saw a shadow streak through the air before it crashed into a car just at the edge of your peripherals. 

You had the distant thought that Mr. Takeyoshi’s vehicle was very obviously totaled before you realized the thing that had crashed into the car was a person. 

Your jaw gaped open as a hero pulled himself from the wreckage and shook his head groggily. The shadows—only broken by more flares of light as more explosions and fire seemed to erupt along the street—made it difficult to tell how injured the hero was. You didn’t recognize their yellow and teal costume, but you saw patches of blood along the hero’s bulky frame, and bile burned at the back of your teeth. 

Holy shit. This wasn’t an accident. It was a villain attack. 

Just as you had the thought, another explosion rattled your windows, making your ears ring, and you snapped your head to the side to see a man standing in the middle of the road about half a block down. 

The man—villain, you realized quickly—swung his arms around like a conductor of an orchestra, but his instruments seemed to be the black rocks and liquid swirling around him. The debris glistened like an oil slick in the light of the flames, and as you watched, the villain shouted something and slashed his arm through the air. 

Then a figure suddenly exploded onto the scene, lunging out from the shadows in a flare of white-hot light. It moved too fast for you to track, but the villain swung his arm again, and rocks and viscous black goo shot toward the figure still in mid-air. 

A futile scream of warning caught in your throat, but then the figure seemed to explode and backflip through the air, landing on his feet but crushing the roof of a car beneath his boots. The wailing of the car’s alarm split the air, and you clenched your teeth until they ached. 

The flames illuminated this new man’s face, a snarl of white teeth against the flames and smoke, but only the barest hint of recognition flared through you before everything exploded into chaos again. Another shout from the villain had all the rocks and black slime streaking back towards him, and you watched in horror as a stony black arm fifty feet long formed above the ruined street. 

You knew you should be running, trying to find cover, calling the police, but you were glued there, on your knees before the window, you fingers digging grooves into the sill. 

The next fifteen seconds seemed to simultaneously happen in slow motion and at hyper speed. 

The giant rocky hand wiggled its fingers before it curled into a fist and slammed down on the wailing car and the man atop it. 

The man—hero, you distantly thought, although your chaotic thoughts still couldn’t place him—launched up into the air with another explosion that rattled your windows, the car alarm cutting off as the vehicle was crushed an instant later. 

The blond skidded into a landing half a dozen yards away, but then you suddenly saw Mr. Takeyoshi standing on the street, a ghostly apparition framed by smoke and flames. 

You blinked, and the giant hand shot toward Mr. Takeyoshi, batting away several more heroes who tried to intervene. 

Then the explosive hero was just there, pushing Mr. Takeyoshi out of the way, right before the hand wrapped around him. 

You could hear the hero’s anguished scream through your window as he was crushed in the fist’s grip, and the sound hit you right in the solar plexus, knocking the breath out of you, bruising your insides, the pain settling into the familiar ache of being helpless in the face of suffering. 

You watched uselessly as the hero was lifted up into the sky, struggling, setting off explosions left and right. Then the massive arm seemed to pause in the middle of the road, right above the villain, and your eyes locked onto the hero, his pale hair and skin stark against the black, rocky hand that held him trapped. 

In the next instant, a white light, like a star going supernova, bloomed to life around the hero, illuminating the white slash of his snarling teeth before it became too bright for you to take. You slammed your eyes shut against the burning light, and the hair on the back of your neck stood on end, like the moment before lightning struck, as you dropped to the floor below your window. 

Then the world exploded, the building shaking to its foundations, right before the window burst into a million shards of glass.

[forever-rogue]

Hello Sunshine

A/N: Hello! I’m here with a 7am shower idea that I couldn’t get out of my head. It’s just a little sweet and soft Frankie. Enjoy! As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx 💕

*Bold - Frankie ; Italics - Reader

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: none

FRANKIE MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“Hey! What time did you want to meet up tomorrow for brunch?” you stared at the number you’d typed in and compared it to the one that the man you’d met the evening before had given you. You had been absolutely reluctant to go to the local bar’s speed dating evening before, but your best friend had convinced you to go. She was going to go as well, so you figured if you ended up suffering, she would likely too - solidarity in its finest form. Much to your pleasant surprise however, you ended up having a fun time...the multiple rounds of drinks probably didn’t hurt either. 

Marcus had been your last round for the evening, and he had been kind and charming; easy on the eyes and easy to make conversation with. He asked you questions and you were able to ask him ones back. Definitely a sharp turn from what you were expecting; and by the end of the night he’d offered you his number and asked you to for brunch on Sunday. You’d been...elated; it had been some time since anyone had actually managed to capture your eye.

Before talking yourself out of sending the message, you hit send and put your phone onto your nightstand. You weren’t too nervous in general, but there was something about sending that first message that always caused butterflies to erupt into your stomach. It wasn’t but a few minutes before your phone vibrated to signal a new message. Trying not to get too eager and excited, you reached for it and quickly opened the new text.

Who is this?

Your brow furrowed in confusion at the seemingly hasty denial of acknowledgment. It was no matter, you groaned at yourself, you probably should have included your name in the first place. No big deal, you quickly typed out your name and added, “we met at the bar last night? For the speed dating event?”

Your stomach flipped nervously as you wondered what he would say; hoping it was just a misunderstanding and he would realize exactly who you were. 

I didn’t go to any bars last night. I don’t know who you are.

Oh. Your throat constricted as you reached for the napkin with the phone and compared it again to the number you had texted. There was no way you’d mistaken any of the numbers. Sighing heavily, you slipped out of bed and edged towards your bathroom and tossed the offending object into the can. Things had seemed like they’d gone so well...you’d genuinely liked Marcus and thought the attraction and chemistry was there on both sides. Apparently you’d been made a fool once again. Heat flooded your face in embarrassment as you contemplated whether or not to text again. To hell with it, you decided, you might as well apologize if nothing else.

So sorry. The guy I met must have given me the wrong number. I hope I didn’t ruin your night. Sorry for wasting your time.

After that bit of failure, you decided you might as well get back into bed and watch a show until you fell asleep. You felt beyond embarrassed and just wanted to forget about the whole thing. Needless to say, it surprised you when your phone went off again.

No worries. Sorry if I was rude too. It’s happened to me before with a couple of girls. It  sucks. 

At this point, you found yourself smiling at the sentiment, and decided that one more little text wouldn’t hurt anything. 

Seriously! Why can’t someone just tell you if they’re not interested? It's so much easier. Either way - thanks for understanding and have a good evening. 

You too. Hope things look up soon for you.

His response had been instant almost as if he had been watching you type it all. Whoever this stranger was - and you weren’t even sure if it was a man or woman - they had turned out to be kinder than Marcus. But it didn’t do well to dwell on it; Marcus would get what he deserved and this stranger would get some good things. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Frankie put his phone on the charging pad he kept next to his bed, turning it on silent before crawling under the covers. Catching a glance of himself in the mirror, he was surprised to see that he had a smile on his face. Not that was perpetually frowning or mad, but usually he wasn’t just smiling for no reason. 

Although he had a feeling he knew the exact reason as to why he was actually happy for once because of...you. The random stranger that texted him and sent a happy shiver up his spine. He wasn’t happy because of your little predicament, knowing the exact feeling of having been duped and given the wrong number several times. But the short conversation had been pleasant enough and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d hear from you again. 

Doubtful, he reminded himself, it was just a one off type deal and that was that. And yet...that didn’t stop him from quickly grabbing his phone again and saving your name and number as a contact. You know...just in case. 

Francisco Morales had sweet dreams throughout that night. He couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Frankie practically bounced into work the next morning, a smile on his face and spring in his step. So he seemed so out of normal form that his best friend and coworker, pointed it out to him and everyone. Frankie played it off like it was no big deal; in reality it wasn’t. You were just another stranger out in the world that flung into his orbit for a moment before leaving again. 

But that whole week felt different and somehow the world was a little brighter - filled with sunshine. Even if it wasn’t everlasting, he didn’t mind the feeling it gave him for the moment; the positive energy was nice for a change. 

Little did he know that across the city, you were existing in your own little world, going about your day to day in a similar manner. What a small world it was indeed. You had been incredibly tempted to look up his phone and see if you could find anything out about your mysterious stranger, a name, some sort of profile - anything  - but refrained. What if it was someone you ended up attracted? A beautiful woman or a good looking man that caused you to start all sorts of fantasies? No - you didn’t need all of that. You’d let it go or let whatever happened happen. 

Which likely was nothing. Right? Right. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Imagine your surprise when you found yourself at home with leftover pizza and a bottle of wine, resigning yourself to a quiet Saturday night when your phone vibrated. Figuring it was probably just one of your friends, or some sort of useless notification, you picked up your phone and found your jaw dropping. This wasn’t seriously happening, was it? 

Hey stranger. Hope this Saturday is better than the last one. 

Maybe they had the wrong number...or something. But no - they acknowledged the fact that last weekend had been shit and called you stranger. This had to be intentional. Setting your phone down for a moment, you grabbed your glass of wine and sipped on it, trying not to let the excitement of a single text get you too excited. They had done what you’d dreamed about all week...why not indulge in it? If nothing else, it might be nice to have someone to text with on occasion. 

Hi stranger. This Saturday involves me, the couch, pizza, and wine. I guess I really can’t complain. Hope yours is a good one too!

As soon as you hit send, you wanted to ban your head against the wall; was it too much? Not enough? Did it even warrant a response? Now you were just overthrowing everything. Shit, fuck, damn. 

But you weren't able to wallow in misery for too long before your phone went off again. Huh.

Sounds pretty good. Can't complain either, just at home with a beer and a movie. Missing the pizza though. Maybe I'll order some.

Definitely recommended! I don't know if this is odd, but you know my name and I don't know yours...do you have a name, stranger?

Not weird at all! Maybe I should have started with that. Francisco - Frankie.

Well Francisco-Frankie, it's nice to meet you. What movie are you watching?

Nice to meet you, no- longer-complete-stranger. Die Hard. A classic.

Oof. I'm afraid it ends here. Hot take - Die Hard is...notthatgood.

It's been a good but short time…how can you not like Die Hard!? What could you be watching that's so much better?

The Office. A modern classic and clearly superior to anything you're picking if you think Die Hard is good.

Fun fact - I've never seen a single episode of the Office. And never plan on it. Tell me, mystery girl, what should I get on my pizza?

I now make it my plan to convince you to watch The Office. Pepperoni, jalapeños, and tomatoes. Regular crust, none of that thin crust bs.

Challenge accepted. An odd combination but I'll give it a try. Results tbd.

Already listening - I'm a fan of it. I'll let you get back to your movie and order your pizza. Have a good night Francisco-Frankie.

You too, mystery girl.

There was an undeniably giant grin on your face as you set your phone back down. Had this actually happened? Surely this was some sort of dream; a random stranger actually striking up a conversation? And seemingly enjoying it? Out of this world.

As you downed your glass and got ready to refill it your phone vibrated once again. This time you didn't even bother to let a moment pass before picking it back up and opening the notification.

Can I text you again sometime?

Yeah...I'd like that.

You just about melted into the couch, happier than you had been in a long time. And all from texts from a man you still hadn't met. Who knew if you would ever meet him? Either way, this Francisco aka Frankie had proven to be a welcome disturbance in your life.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The next couple of weeks passed in the same blissful fashion. You'd go about your day with work and other responsibilities and obligations but you had your pocket companion with you. That's what you nicknamed Frankie anyways. 

What has started as some texting here and there soon turned into conversations throughout the days, slowly becoming more personal and introspective with each passing day. And despite still knowing what he looked like or anything...you thrived in it. You'd wondered if he'd looked you up - he hadn't for the same reasons as you - and that's why you got along so well. 

The two of you had a lot in common but still managed to have your differences. One thing that never failed to make you smile was what had turned into his version of a good morning text.

Hello Sunshine. 

Hi Fly Boy. 

Stay dry today, its supposed to be a pretty bad downpour. Talk later?

Of course. Be safe too.

The small sentiment was enough to send you reeling; it was funny how easily conversation flowed between the two of you. Like in some ways you'd always known each other, but still were finding out things constantly. You weren't sure where it would lead to...if anything but for now you appreciated your new found friend.

»»————-　♡　————-««

I have a work party this weekend and it's formal. Do I go for an lbd or something colorful?

Depends - do you want people to approach or admire from the distance?

From the distance, so I can leave fairly quickly but people still know I was there.

Definitely LBD then.

My hero! Perfect idea!

»»————-　♡　————-««

How do I get out of a camping trip this weekend?

Why would you try and get out of it? You said you loved camping.

I do but...just not feeling it this weekend.

Tell them you're feeling or that your new girlfriend wants to spend the weekend together.

New girlfriend? I wasn't aware I had one…

Its called a white lie Frankie. Use me as an excuse if you have to.

You're the best! A real lifesaver, sunshine.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Okay, here's a tough one. Coffee, tea, or hot chocolate?

All three. But if only one - coffee.

How do you take it?

Black with a little bit of sugar.

That's kind of the vibe I got! But you're wrong - the best answer is coffee in the am, afternoon tea, and then sometimes a hot chocolate for dessert.

Let me guess - salted caramel hot chocolate? 

How did you know?! Alright, Fly Boy, you know me too well already.

Just a hunch, sunshine. Okay - favorite color?

»»————-　♡　————-««

Do you think if I pretend to be dead I can leave work early?

Dramatic! I love it. How about a migraine? Last minute emergency?

Probably better. Migraine it is.

Just a thought. Beers with the guys tonight?

Yup. Girls night?

Yes! Talk tomorrow?

Of course.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Soooo I might have gotten myself into a predicament…

What happened?

Umm, I might have lied and told my friends that I started seeing someone…

Oh no.

Yeah...all because I couldn't admit that that guy had given me the wrong number. How do I explain?!

Maybe just don't say anything and then later say it died down or something? No need to drag it further.

You're right and I am an idiot. 

Nah, it happens to the best of us.

Hmm sure. Anyways, onto important things. Dogs or cats?

»»————-　♡　————-««

If you could only have one type of food for the rest of your life, what would it be and why?

Hmm, that’s a hard one. I’m torn between Mexican (the good stuff of course) and Italian and sushi. You? 

Pizza!

That’s not a type of food, Francisco!

It totally is. There’s different varieties, it can count!

That’s a cheap way to answer the question, but I’ll accept it because you’re cute. 

You think I’m cute? And just how do you know? Do I have a stalker?

Nah, too much effort. Besides, I’m usually busy talking to you. It would be kind of obvious if I was, wouldn’t it? I just have a feeling. 

Very funny, sunshine. I’m positive it’s the other way around. 

You’re the stalker? What am I wearing right now?

You know what I meant!

Of course I did. I’m the smart one in this duo, don’t forget. 

You’re too much. Want to watch a movie tonight? We start at the same time? 

Yes! Anything but Die Hard or other shitty movies along those lines.

You’re killing me here. One day I will convince you to watch it with me.

I look forward to that - but not tonight. Name your top 3 ideas.

»»————-　♡　————-««

Over the weeks, Frankie became an everyday part of your life. The two of you texted back and forth throughout the day as time allowed. It was nice - comforting to have him there despite the fact that he could have been anyone in the world. Well, you knew he was local to you from his area code but otherwise...a mystery.

You wondered if you’d ever encountered him out in the real world before. It was a definite possibility, but you would never know. Not unless you somehow actually ended up meeting him in person. The idea of proposing such a notion hadn’t seemed far off, especially since your days were filled with each other and there were undeniably flirty texts and insinuations. The few times you’d actually gotten the nerve up to just ask him, something always seemed to come and keep you from doing it. Namely - nerves. 

What if you were reading all wrong into this? What if he really wanted nothing more than a friendship? What if texting was the extent of it all? 

Naturally, you’d know your answer if you’d just fucking ask him. But that seemed like a momentous and herculean task and you weren’t sure if you’d ever be up for it. Perhaps things would just...happen one day. Despite getting to know him, he was still just this enigmatic aura. For all you knew you might as well have been fighting a robot. 

When then...one random night, a Wednesday evening when you’d just walked in the door with fresh produce from the downtown farmer’s market, your phone name. Shifting the large bags in your arms, you managed to fish your phone out of your pocket and answer it without looking at who it was. 

“Hello?” you kicked the door shut behind you and shuffled into the kitchen, unceremoniously dumping the bags onto the counters. At first you didn’t hear anything on the other end of the line besides some shuffling, but then eventually you heard a distant voice say something indiscernible. In confusion, you pulled the phone out from between your ear and shoulder and glanced at the contact. The name was enough to have your breath catch in your throat as you realized that your mysterious Frankie on the other end. He’d never called before...perhaps it had been a mistake? Even if it was, you were going to take full advantage of it, “Frankie? Hello? Come on Fly Boy, it’s me. If you can hear me, let me know.”

It was a few more seconds of shuffling and almost static like noise before you were positive you heard a quiet fuck. But then, in a moment that made your heart almost stop, you heard him, loud and clear, “h-hi….sunshine?”

“Hi Frankie,” you repeated as you felt your heart melt and legs turn to jelly, “I’m going to guess this wasn’t an intended call?”

“Umm, shit no,” he admitted with what you could only describe as a nervous laugh, “accidental pocket dial.”

“It’s 2021 and you’re pocket dialing people?” you snorted with laughter as you grabbed your earbuds to sync up the bluetooth so you could talk to him while putting away all of the fresh fruits and veggies you had acquired, “that’s such an old person thing, Frankie! What are you 50?”

“It’s not that weird,” he insisted with an indignant scoff as you giggled, “it can happen easily if you don’t lock your phone when you put it away and yeah...here we are. And for the record I am nowhere near 50! I am only 36.”

“Oof,” you opened the fridge and popped the veggies into the drawer, “I’m afraid that things end here, Grandpa.” 

“Very funny! How old are you then, huh? Oh my God - please don’t tell me I’ve been talking to and flirting with a teenager,” for a moment he sounded genuinely nervous as you almost doubled over in laughter at his panic. The fact that he had admitted to flirting was lost on you in your amusement he was so worried that he didn’t even notice the gaff, “sunshine!”

“I’m almost 30,” you reassured him and he instantly sighed in relief on the other end, “don’t worry. Besides, I told you I met the man I thought I was texting at a bar - at least I would have been 21.” 

“That still would have been weird,” he admitted as you made a small sound of agreement, “this is better.”

“Ha! Thanks for the sentiment,” you  rinsed and crunched on a carrot before hopping onto the counter to get comfortable. You hesitated for a moment, wondering if you should say your next words or not...but you decided to just do it, “this is...nice. I like hearing your voice. Makes you more real.”

“I like it too,” he agreed softly, a tinge of pink rising up in his cheeks, despite the fact that you couldn’t see it, “you sound like I thought.”

“Oh? Like an annoying twelve-year-old boy?” 

“Okay, okay, dramatic much?” he snorted, “just accept the compliment!”

“Fine,” you huffed, being very overdramatic indeed, “what are you up to tonight, Frankie? Want to cook together?”

“I’m yours - free, I mean free,” he corrected himself as you relished in his little mess up, “I’m afraid I’m not much of a cook. I’m a better baker.”

“Ooh, excellent,” you slid off the counter in excitement, “how about this - we’ll make something simple for dinner - I’ll walk you through it step by step, and then you’re in charge of dessert. Deal?”

“Deal,” Frankie felt a rush of excitement surge through him as he stepped into his kitchen and reached for his apron - the same one that Santi always made fun of him for, “what’s on the menu?”

»»————-　♡　————-««

And just like that texts turned into texts and phone calls. There was something so thrilling, like a huge surge of electricity shot down your spine and throughout your body every time you saw his name up pop or heard the sound of his voice. Frankie was...slowly turning into your constant companion and if you were being honest with yourself he was everything you had had ever wanted. 

And oh - how scary it was to be falling for a man you still hadn't met in person. Slowly, surely it would happen. Gods, you wanted it to happen so desperately. But you were painfully shy when it came to the idea of asking him out and little did you know, he was feeling exactly the same way. Frankie wanted nothing more than to finally ask you on a proper date, to spend all those times laughing with you in person. But he just...continually talked himself out of it.

He was just so shy, so nervous and he thought it would be impossible that someone like you would actually go for a guy like him. He was just...fly boy and you were his Sunshine. Frankie had given you the name early on, deciding that it was appropriate because you brought a little bit of sunshine into his life every day. It had almost brought you to tears - not that you'd admit that to anyone - not yet anyway. His nickname was simple - he was a former military pilot and now a part time ‘whenever he got the chance pilot’ - Fly Boy. It was perfect and he adored it as much as you.

And yet neither of you, pining silly fools had been able to make that final move. One day, you both reminded yourself constantly, one day.

And one day turned out to be sooner than either of you expected...

"Mmhmm," you murmured into the phone as you scoured the bookshelves of your local little bookstore. You had a rare afternoon off and to treat yourself to a nice coffee and searching for a new read. You'd fallen out of reading regularly and had made it a point to get back into it, aiming for a book month. Naturally, your friend had called you at that exact time, "of course pizza is always a good choice."

Frankie hummed under his breath as he walked through the aisles looking for the book you had recommended to him. He hadn’t thought much about the woman he saw a few rows over with a coffee in one hand and her phone in the other. He did note, however, that the tone of her voice was sweet - not that he was trying to listen in on her conversation. 

“Yes it is!” you laughed into the phone, trying to keep it down when you noticed the man in your peripheral vision and aimed to keep from disturbing him, “pizza is good for whenever you don't know what to make. And you know the best - pepperoni, jalapenos, and tomatoes. No contest.”

Despite not trying to listen in to your conversation, as soon as he heard you describe pizza, his perked up and immediately his heart started pounding. A nervous rush of energy flowed through him as he tried to get a better look at you without making it obvious. Holy shit - was this actually it? Was he about to meet his Sunshine?

“I even told Frankie,” you insisted with a small smile as you took a sip of your coffee, “he liked it too. Yes...of course I’m still talking to him...I-I really like him. I hope that one day I can meet him. I keep wanting to ask and then I get so nervous and talk myself out of it. He’s just...lovely.”

This definitely couldn’t be a coincidence, right? The particular type of pizza, Frankie, wanting to meet - this had to be you. And the more he listened, despite his initial efforts, he couldn’t help but zone in on you. And now, hearing your voice unfiltered and unaltered through the phone, he knew it was you. He just stopped in his tracks as he watched you, a silly little smile on his face as he realized that somehow the universe had decided to throw him a bone. 

“Mhmm,” you murmured into the phone, “of course. I’ll talk to you later!”

Ending the call, you shoved your phone into your pocket and reached for one of the books that had piqued your interest. Sliding it out and reading over the back, you quickly got lost in your thoughts until you heard a throat clear behind you. Assuming you were in someone’s way, you shuffled to the side without glancing at who it was. But then you heard it - quiet and shy but clear, “Sunshine?”

At the sound of the nickname you’d been given by only one person throughout your entire life, your heart fluttered wildly in your chest as your body froze. Surely..surely this couldn’t be happening…

Turning around, slowly, painfully slowly, you found yourself staring at a face both brand new and immediately familiar. You’d never seen him before, but instantly it was like you knew him, all of him. In some ways you supposed, you did. 

“F-Frankie?” almost getting choked up, your voice was barely above a whisper as the handsome man in front of you slowly nodded. A smile tugged on the corners of his mouth as his whole features lit up with excitement. His brown eyes were soft and crinkled in the corners as his grew grin and a one singular dimple appeared. You weren’t really sure what you had pictured when you’d thought about your mysterious friend, but somehow this was right on the mark. You blinked a few times, trying to hold back your tears of sheer excitement, “you’re real after all!”

And then he laughed. A beautiful, glorious sound that caused a surge of warmth to rush through your entire body. He really was just as lovely as you’d dreamed. 

“Did you really think you were talking to a robot this whole time?” he asked as you flushed with warmth but stuck your tongue at him, “I can’t believe it’s really you. After all these months...finally. I’ve been wanting to ask you for so long but I didn’t think…”

“Me too,” you agreed, “me too. Small world, huh?”

“I was just looking for the book you recommended last night,” he admitted as you practically glowed with excitement. Holding up a finger, you turned around and quickly found the book in question and displayed it for him, “I didn’t think I’d find the book and the woman I’ve been talking to for months.”

“How did you know it was me?” you asked as you walked over to him and he offered up a sheepish grin.

“The pizza.”

“The pizza!” you snorted with laughter, “I should have known. Too obvious.”

“I like to think that everything happens for a reason,” he tried to take the book from your hands but you just shook your head, “what?”

“This is going to be from me to you,” you insisted as a tinge of pink welled up in his cheeks, “a souvenir from the day we met!”

“I’ll treasure it forever,” he promised and you could tell he meant it, “what are you doing tonight? Now?”

“I dunno,” you feigned innocence, “I was planning on going home to cook and talk to this guy I’ve been falling for for months, but that seems a little weird now.” 

“Will you let me take you to dinner -  a date? A real date?” he asked as you beamed at him and nodded. How could you ever say no. 

“Only if you take me to that Italian place you told me about!”

“Whatever you want, Sunshine,” he promised as he reached for your hand and gently laced your fingers together. It felt so easy, so effortless, and you didn’t even have to think about - natural. 

“You,” you couldn’t stop yourself from kissing his cheek, “just you, Frankie.”

“Sweet Sunshine.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[sundaysundaes]

Whispers

Lee Donghyuck/Haechan X Reader | Smut, Fluff | 5k | Idol AU

Summary: Donghyuck has been busy promoting his new album and no matter how much he misses you, he can’t see you in person due to his schedules. Desperate for your touch, he begins to call you late at night.

Warnings: Phone sex, masturbation (male and female), dirty talk (but is it still called ‘dirty talk’ if Donghyuck is just being honest and saying whatever that comes to his mind?), no plot with a lot of dialogues

The vibration of your iPhone wakes you up from your dream. Being thrown back so suddenly to reality makes you feel slightly lightheaded but it’s all worth it the second you see his name written on your screen. Rubbing your eyes away from sleep, you answer his call, “Hyuck?”

“Hey, Noona.” The airiness of his honeyed voice sounds familiar and pleasant in your ears that it instantly paints a smile on your face. “Did I wake you?”

You refrain yourself from yawning. “Yeah, I fell asleep reading.” Narrowing your eyes irritatedly at the brightness of the fluorescent light hanging on your ceiling, you decide to switch it off and uses the dim glow of the bedside lamp instead.

“What time is it?” He gasps when he notices the time on his screen. “Three AM?! Shit, I didn’t realize it was this late. Sorry.” 

“It’s fine, I shouldn’t be sleeping anyway. I still have to work on my papers, so it’s actually good that you woke me up.” You nuzzle close to the pillow, holding your phone to your ear with one hand, blinking sleepily. “Did you just get back from schedule?”

“Yeah.” He sighs wearily. “I’m dead tired right now. I wish I could just take a day off, you know? I mean, performing is fun, but promoting a new album can be so hectic. I’ve only been sleeping for, like, two hours per day since last week.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” You bring the teddy bear he’d given you on your birthday close to your chest, pretending like you were embracing him. “I wish you could take some days off, too.”

“Yeah?” Somehow, he sounds like he’s smiling. “Then do what?”

“I don’t know, play games, I guess? Or just lie around in bed, doing nothing.”

“I’d rather be doing something, actually.” He chuckles softly, a hint of teasing in his voice. “Or someone.” 

“Gross,” you retort but you can feel your lips curving upwards. “It’s okay if you want to rest, Hyuck. You don’t have to force yourself to call me every day. Your health should be your number one priority.”

“What, you don’t want me to call you?”

You freeze. “Of course I want you to call me. I just—”

“I thought you’d be excited to hear my voice.”

The sudden bitterness in his tone makes you sit up from the bed, eyebrows adjoined in confusion. “What—Hyuck—”

“You know what?” He exhales loudly. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have called. It’s late anyway.“

“Can you please just listen—”

“I’m tired. Let’s just talk tomorrow.”

“But—”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Hyuck—” But you’re only answered by silence when the line gets disconnected. You stare at your phone, eyes wide in disbelief. 

What the hell just happened?

Upset and vexed, you dial his number. You wait with your jaw clenched until he picks up on the fourth ring. “Can’t you listen to me for one second?!” Not sure if it’s because of the drowsiness or exhaustion, but you find yourself shouting even before he says anything. “Of course, I want you to call me, you idiot! It’s the only thing I’ve been waiting all day. Every day, Hyuck, I wait for your call every day. I keep catching myself checking on my phone every ten minutes, waiting for your texts, wanting to call you. I miss you, of course, I miss you—you’re—” You turn stiff when you hear him cackling from the other side of the phone. “Are you laughing?”

“I’m sorry.” His laughter is contagious but you put up your best effort not to get infected. “You’re so cute when you get all riled up. Isn’t it obvious that I was just joking?”

“Right. I’m hanging up.” 

“Wait, Noona—” You listen to him with your eyes throwing ice daggers to the wall. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I promise.” There’s a small pause where you’re too irritated to talk and he’s too unsure to start but he tries. “So, like… you miss me?”

“Not right now.”

“Aaw, come on, I was just messing around.” You can imagine him puckering his lips, batting his eyelashes for forgiveness. “Please, tell me. Tell me how much you miss me.”

You throw yourself back to the bed, huffing. “I don’t think I want to.”

“You get cuter when you’re angry, you know that?” He sighs to the air. “Aaah… I miss you. I miss you so much, Noona, you don’t even know. Probably more than you miss me.”

I don’t think that’s possible. “Of course,” you reply, holding back a smile from breaking on your face. “Since I only miss you a little bit.”

“A little bit?”

“A tiny, tiny bit. On second thought, maybe I don’t miss you at all.”

“Is that so?” You can tell he’s exhausted by the way he lets out his chuckle, but it doesn’t mean it’s less sincere. “It really has been a while since we last saw each other, hasn’t it?”

You nod to yourself. “Four months.”

“You keep count, huh?” His teasing tone makes you flushed. “Love me that much, do you?”

“Around four months,” you correct him, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible when the truth is, you can practically hear your heart hammering against your ribcages. “Or maybe three? Five? I don’t know.”

“Why are you so cute? Seriously, how can you be this cute?” Donghyuck sits on the edge of his bed, lips forming so widely that it nearly splits his face in half. When his chuckles have receded, his eyes begin to soften. “I love you, Noona. You know that, right?”

People might be thinking about how lucky you are to have a member of one of the most prestigious boybands in the world confessing his love for you at 3 AM, but honestly? You’re just so grateful for the fact that Lee Donghyuck, a boy who stole your heart nearly a decade ago when you were too young to even understand the word love, finally realized that your entire relationship with him was deeper than a mere friendship. It took years for both of you to finally gain enough bravery to act out your feelings, especially when he managed to shine brighter than you could ever imagine being. You were afraid of it—afraid that you would be burnt by his fame, afraid that he would discard you for he had everything and you only had him. But Donghyuck didn’t want anything. He only wanted you.

You love him. You’ve been loving him for as long as you can remember so hearing him say the words, no matter how often he has mentioned it already, still sparks fire through your veins. You’ll never admit that out loud, though.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot these days,” he sheepishly adds. 

“More than you think about yourself?” You snort. “I’m shocked.”

“Eeyyy, I’m serious.” The sound of your giggle makes him sigh, longing to hear it in person. “I wish I could be with you right now. I thought about you a lot during today’s photoshoot too.” He lies down on the bed, running a hand through his hair. “I thought about our last date. About that red dress you wore. Man, you looked so cute in that dress.”

You half-buried your face in the pillow, heat blossoming on your cheeks. “Now this is the topic I like to talk about.”

Donghyuck scrunches up his nose. “Aren’t you gonna say I looked nice too that day?”

Even the slightest thought of him—any version of him, whether it was him dressing handsomely on a date or him waking up in the morning with a bird’s nest on his head—never fails to send butterflies swirling in your stomach, but again, you’ll never admit that out loud. “Meh,” you jeer, even adding a shrug when you know he won’t be able to see. “Could’ve dressed better. I mean, ripped jeans? Really?”

“Yah, yah, yah. You said I looked good wearing those jeans!”

“We were going to a fancy restaurant and I wore a semi-formal dress, Hyuck. They just didn’t match my outfit. They didn’t match anyone’s outfit there, really.”

“Really? You’re gonna say that? Even after you spent the whole night stealing glances at me with drool on your face?”

You wish you could say he was lying, but you indeed spent the entire night drooling at him over the sight of his black leather jacket and the way his jeans just wrapped his thighs so perfectly. “I have lost interest in this topic.” It’s for the best before you combust into flames. “Where are you right now?”

“Back at the dorm.” He softly yawns. “In my room.”

“Alone?”

“Yep, since Johnny-hyung is filming out of town.” When you stay quiet, unsure of what to say, Donghyuck grins mischievously. “Why, do you wanna sneak in? I think I can afford to lose some sleep tonight, if you know what I mean.”

Flustered, you retort, “After Johnny caught us cuddling last time? No way.”

“Yeah, about that,” Donghyuck says a little awkwardly, “After you went home he said to me that he heard the whole thing—”

“What do you mean the whole thing?” The horror in your face and your voice is clear.

“I meant, the whole thing. Us having sex and stuff.”

You could practically feel the exact moment when your soul is leaving your body, but Donghyuck continues as if he’s simply talking about getting caught cheating during a test. “But it’s okay, he’s cool. He’s got my back.”

“Oh my God.” You nearly faint. “I will never show my face in front of your roommate, ever again.”

“Yeah, about that—“

“Are you fucking kidding me, Hyuck—”

“Jaehyun-hyung heard us too.”

“What?!”

“And he told Mark-hyung about it later on, and that’s the reason why I had this bump on my head for three days.” Donghyuck pouts, rubbing the back of his head, lean fingers carding through soft brown locks. “He hit me with a book, lecturing me about bringing you to the dorm as if he never did that himself.”

Not trying to overreact about it, but you’re suffocating by this point. “Why are you so chill about this?!”

“They heard us having sex, not murdering the innocents.” He rolls his eyes but seems amused at your reaction. “To be honest, I hear a lot of stuff happening in our dorm that I’m sure you don’t wanna know. Like, a lot a lot. Way worse than what I did with you.”

“And does Taeyong know about this?”

“Taeyong-hyung needs his beauty sleep so we agreed not to tell him stuff.”

“I feel sorry for him.”

“I just feel sorry he’s not part of our antics.” Donghyuck shrugs, kicking off his shoes and socks before he leans against the headboard. “How about you? Are you alone?”

“Yeah.” You heavily sigh, still feeling quite dizzy after hearing the truth he just blurted out. “My roommate’s gone for the weekend.”

“Oh…” He taps his fingers against his stomach, a weird feeling swirling inside his chest as a thought begins to form. “That’s… great…”

Donghyuck’s tongue lays heavy in his mouth, suddenly loses the ability to form a simple conversation as his mind begins to focus entirely on something else. It all started that one night when he pretended to be asleep, when in fact, he was listening to his roommate, Johnny, speaking to his girlfriend in hushed whispers. The way the older man was chuckling to his phone was suspicious, and the more he tried to listen intently, the more he realized that Johnny wasn’t conversing. He was giving orders with a voice thick with seduction. The sensual words Johnny used made Donghyuck’s ears turn scarlet, and he buried his face deeper behind his blanket. Since then, the curiosity within him has been rising more and more, nearly suffocating him sometimes when he desperately yearned for your touch but his schedule never let him take a goddamn break.

Not knowing the dirty thoughts that flit across his mind, you carry on your conversation like usual. “I guess, but it does get lonely sometimes when she’s not around. I actually like having a roommate.” The sandalwood aroma from your diffuser, combined with his velvety voice, comforts you and you’re finally able to relax. “Have you been eating well? I’ve been craving for strawberry—” 

“What are you wearing?”

“—pancakes—what?”

“I…” Donghyuck heaves out a heavy breath, biting the corner of his lip, unsure yet not ready to give up on his desire. “I just… I was wondering—Are you wearing pajamas?”

“Umm…” The way he asks about it sends heat rising to your cheeks. He doesn’t sound as innocent as the words he uses. You look down, fingers curling at the hemline of your clothes. “I’m wearing one of your shirts, actually.”

Donghyuck throws his head back, eyes tightly shut as he curses silently into the air, his phone pressed against his chest. The sight of you wearing his oversized shirt has been one of his most recurring fantasies and not being able to see you, but knowing that you are wearing his shirt, kills him. 

“Hyuck?”

Donghyuck brings his phone back to his ear. “Sorry, there was a… Mark.” He mentally slaps himself on the head. 

“There was a Mark?”

“I mean, Mark-hyung was here—but he just left so—" 

“Are you drunk again?”

“No!” Donghyuck rubs his temple. This is not going well, he shouts in his mind. “Why—” He winces when he hears his voice crack. Clearing his throat, he tries again. “Why are you wearing my shirt?”

Because it smells like you and it helps me sleep better. “Just because,” you quietly mumble, eyes locked to the ceiling. “Why are you asking me this exactly?”

“Just because,” he mimics. His breathing sounds more prominent as if he’s in the same room, only a few inches away from your ear. It’s the reason why you enjoy talking to him this way instead of taking video calls. You can focus solely on his honeyed voice, almost like a lullaby to your ears. “Can you tell me…” he continues, laced with both hesitation and anticipation, “What else you're wearing?”

“Umm…” You take a deep breath, trying to keep yourself composed. “I don’t think I want to say.”

“Please, Noona.” The sudden desperation in his plead startles you as if he’s losing control of himself, little by little. He seems to notice that too because when he speaks again, it’s steadier, almost formal. “I just… I want to know. If that’s okay.”

“Well…” You curl your toes. “Aside from your shirt, I’m…” Just say it, for God’s sake. He’s your boyfriend. He’s seen you naked. “I’m only wearing my panties.”

There’s a pause that makes your heart thump. “Not, uhh…” Donghyuck wets his lip. “Not even a bra?”

You fiddle with your fingers. “N-no.”

“Fuck.”

You nearly drop your phone. The guttural groan he just emitted from the back of his throat catches you off guard. “Hyuck..?”

“Noona, there’s—” Donghyuck sits up straight, nails nearly sinking to his jean-clad thigh. “There’s something I want to try.” There’s a sense of urgency mixed with minimum self-control. “I-if you don’t mind…”

You know where this is going. “What is it?”

“Just—Just follow my lead, okay?”

You shakily nod your head. When he calls out your name again, you remember that you have to say it in words. “Okay.”

“Can you…” Donghyuck’s heart is beating out of control.  His mind desperately tries to answer how the fuck do I start this?! “Can you, umm, lie down on the bed for me?”

You can tell he’s nervous and it’s both reassuring and endearing to know that he’s never done this with anyone else before and probably not mentally ready to do it with you, but tries to go all the way because he knows both of you need to find a way to release all of these pent-up emotions. 

You follow his order. “I’m…” You take a deep breath so your voice won’t tremble too much. “I’m lying on my bed.”

Donghyuck always takes a few seconds before answering, as if he’s battling inside his head as he tries to sort out his thoughts. “Is your light turned on?”

“Yes.”

“Turn it off.”

You switch off the button on your bedside lamp. “Okay, it’s off.”

“Okay, mine too.” Then all you can hear is his slightly ragged breathing. “It’s… a bit awkward, isn’t it?” He chuckles nervously, followed by an inaudible, “Fuck, why am I so nervous,” as he’s straying away from the phone. 

A smile paints your lips. “You’re adorable.”

“What?”

“Nothing.” 

When silence strikes, Donghyuck scratches his cheek. “Do you… want to know what I’m wearing?”

You gulp. “S-sure.”

“Well…” Donghyuck takes a look at himself. “I’m wearing a denim jacket, a white shirt, a pair of jeans—I just got back from a photoshoot so—”

So he must look good. “Take them off.”

He’s probably as startled as you are when you hear the words tumbling down your mouth. But even if he is as embarrassed as you are, he doesn’t make it as obvious. “Sure.” A rustling sound can be heard, and you let your imagination wander. You can tell he’s taking off his jacket and soon, his shirt will follow. Donghyuck would always take his shirt off by grabbing the fabric from the back and yank it over his head, instead of crossing his arms at his waist. There’s something masculine about it, but you tend to get more distracted at the way his muscles would contract in his lean stomach. His silver necklace would dangle around his neck, and he’d smirk whenever he caught you staring at him for a second too long. 

“My shirt’s off,” he quietly states, snapping you out of your reverie. “Now take yours off—wait! Wait. Leave it on. I want to imagine you wearing my shirt. Just take off your panties.”

“I’m—” It’s so damn hard to focus when you feel so ashamed just by hearing his instructions. “Okay…” Your fingers are quivering when they slide down your stomach, thumb hooking around the hem before you pull your lingerie down to the middle of your thighs.

“Lie down,” he whispers, “Prop a pillow behind your back. Are you comfortable?”

“Y-yeah, just…” You sigh, head going dizzy. “Embarrassed.”

The airy laughter that flows from his mouth is too innocent to be heard in this kind of situation. “So cute. Me too, actually. I’ve never done this before.” When his chuckles have receded, the nervousness grows vivid in his voice once again. “Do you, umm... Do you want to stop?”

You’re supposed to say yes, or at least a bit conflicted about it, so it shocks you when you immediately answer, “No,” without hesitation.

“Thank God.” Donghyuck sighs, smiling softly against the phone. “‘Cause I wouldn’t know what to do if you said yes.” He unbuckles his belt with one hand, taking it off as his heartbeat soars through the roof. “Then, umm… can you spread your legs? As wide as you can.”

You feel so exposed even when no one is looking. Following his guidance, you question, “What about you? What are you doing?”

“I’m…” Donghyuck swallows hard, looking down at the way his hand is pressing against his semi-hardness. “I’m rubbing myself over my pants.”

Fuck, you mentally groan. “Why aren’t you touching yourself directly?”

“Cause I want to wait for you.” He has his eyes closed, hand slipping under the hemline of his jeans, stroking himself over his boxer. “I want to picture you rubbing your fingers on your clit. I want to hear you moan my name when you do.”

Oh my God. “Then guide me,” you plead. There’s something so irresistibly sexy about him touching himself while picturing you pleasuring yourself with your fingers. “Tell me what to do, Hyuck.”

He runs his tongue over his lower lip. The excitement of being able to act as a puppeteer, tugging on your strings, sends all blood rushing south. “Can you push your shirt up? Don’t take it off, just—” He exhales, taking a moment to collect himself after a certain obscene thought of you touching yourself entered his mind. “Just make sure it’s not in the way.”

“Okay.” You grip the hemline of your shirt, pulling it up until it pools above your chest. “Now, what?” 

“I want you to touch your breasts.” You’re more aroused by his breathy voice and lustful tone than embarrassed at this point. “Imagine me, Noona,” Donghyuck whispers, and he sounds so close, as if he’s lying down next to you. “Imagine me with my hands on you, caressing your breasts. Can you do that?”

You squeeze your breast, mumbling out a weak, “Yes…” The memory of Donghyuck, embracing you from behind, his naked chest pressed against your spine, hot mouth lazily pressing wet kisses against your nape suddenly comes alive in your mind. You still remember how sexy he sounded moaning out your name as he rocked his hips forward, his fingers exploring around your chest, rubbing and pinching at a certain spot to make you press closer to him in desperation for more of his touch. 

“Suck on your fingers, make them wet, then bring them back down.” Donghyuck’s hips are bucking against his hand, his fingers tugging his zipper down. “Imagine my mouth latching on your nipple, sucking it the way I always do. The way you like me to do.” 

You bring your fingers to your mouth, coating two of them with saliva before you bring them back down to pinch your sensitive bud. With your eyes closed and his heavy breathing in your ear, the wet sensation of your fingers gives you a clear image of his tongue flicking against your nub. 

“Tell me how you feel.”

“It’s not enough,” you croak out, “I want to feel you directly on my skin.”

Donghyuck takes a sharp breath. “You don’t even know how much I want to be there and touch you.” The way his voice suddenly becomes deep sends shivers down your spine. “I want to suck bruises on your skin. I want to mark you everywhere, again and again, so the bruises will last for days. I want you to remember me every time you see yourself in the mirror.”

You sheepishly smile, though your heart is still racing. “I always remember you even without that, Haechannie.”

The sudden change of his name warms his heart. “I wish you’re the only one who calls me that. You make my stage name sounds better, special. I could have thousands of people screaming my name but none of them makes me feel the way you do.” As he slides his hand under his boxer, finally making direct contact with his skin, Donghyuck becomes desperate once again. “Bring your other hand down. I want you to touch yourself, Noona, please.”

You slide your hand between your legs, tentatively rubbing yourself between your folds. “Hyuck…”

“Does it feel good?”

You nod, eyes shut, and your mind wanders. “Yes…”

“Rub your clit for me. And imagine I’m doing that with my tongue.”

You can picture him with his head between your legs so perfectly behind your closed eyelids. He has done it several times and you remember how he would always start slow, placing open-mouthed kisses on the inner part of your thigh before dipping his head down and swipe his tongue along your folds—all the while never breaking eye-contact. He would press a kiss against your clit, and lick you slowly because he’d want you to beg for it. He never directly told you but you could tell he liked being in control because the second you whispered “Please, Hyuck,” he would immediately indulge you with everything you wanted and more. 

Donghyuck would suck hard on your clit, doing it so suddenly that you’d nearly crush him by wrapping your legs too tightly around his head. Amazed and delighted by your reaction, he would break into a smile with his tongue still darting out to taste you, mouth pressing harder against your skin until he plunged his tongue inside your heat.

You moan out his name at the memory, directly to the phone.

“Fuck, baby, you sound so perfect…” Donghyuck nearly whimpers and the word baby stirs something within you as he never called you that before.

“Call me like that again…” You rub yourself harder on the spot you like the most. “Please, Hyuck…”

“Baby…” Donghyuck’s fingers are curling harder around his length, pumping himself in accordance to every gasp and moan you’re emitting. “I wish I could see you—I wish I could lock my eyes with yours as I eat you up. I want to see your face, every single expression you make—I bet you look so cute, so goddamn... erotic.”

Your hold around your phone loosens but fortunately for you, the pillow pressing against it keeps it close to your ear. “Touch yourself,” you breathily murmurs, “I want you to touch yourself too.”

“I am, baby,” Donghyuck softly moans, his fingers tightening around his length. “What else do you want me to do?”

“I want you to stroke yourself harder and run your thumb over your slit.” Donghyuck zealously follows, cursing under his breath at the pleasure. “And I want you to keep doing it until my name escapes your lips.”

“God, I want you.” He repeats your name over and over again, as ordered, with him stroking himself faster each time. “Noona, I want your mouth on me. I want to see you hollow your cheeks around me—like how you did to me when we were backstage, that time after the concert. You looked so pretty that night, so eager—so desperate for me—”

“Me too. I want to make you feel good too. I—” You nip at your bottom lip, feeling goosebumps creeping up your skin when he moans out your name. You’ve always loved his voice, loved it more than anything else in the world, and the sounds he makes when he’s in bed with you is the sexiest thing that even your poor mind can’t even begin to imagine. And now, focusing solely on his voice, listening to his filthy, sinful words, he’s driving you to the edge of your sanity.

“I’ve touched myself before at the thought of you,” he confesses breathlessly, “Several times, even way before we started dating.”

You’re trembling at the thought. “Haechannie—”

“You don’t know just how much—” The sound of him trying to stifle down a moan only makes you crave for him more. “—how much I wanted you back then. How much I want you now. Even during high school, I just—I wanted you—wanted to touch you—wanted—ah fuck,” a whine slipped out his lips, “Wanted to hold you so bad, to make love to you until—”

At the rustling sounds, him whimpering at his touches, and you rubbing yourself on the perfect spot, you know you won’t last long. “H-Hyuck, are you close?”

“Just a little bit more, Noona, ah—” He thrashes his head against the pillow, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows hard. “Fuck, I need to be inside you. I need to feel you clenching your walls around me.” At the memory of you gazing at him with anticipation building inside your seductive, half-lidded eyes, as you parted your legs to give him permission to ravish you the way he wanted, Donghyuck quickens the pace, thrusting vigorously into his hand. “Fuck yourself with your fingers, baby, please.”

You’re more than keen to follow, inserting one digit inside your heat with another one following soon after. You can visualize him bringing your legs in the air until they dangle over his shoulders, his hips slamming hard against yours with each thrust. “Hyuck—”

“If you were here right now,” he nearly growls, “I would fuck you so hard until you’re mewling my name against the sheets. And I won’t stop, I won’t stop even if you beg me to. I won’t stop until I’m done with you.”

Donghyuck doesn’t sound like he’s trying to dirty talk which only makes it even more arousing to your ear. It’s as if he’s losing control of his mouth, just saying anything that comes to mind. The honesty, the urgency, his breathy, desperate calls of your name between lewd words—

You choke out a sob. “Hyuck—I’m close—”

“Me too—N-noona—Kiss me—”

It’s one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever felt and it’s funny because you never really enjoyed touching yourself before. Donghyuck follows a few seconds after, moaning your name so erotically that will probably give you a hard time falling asleep for days at the thought of it. You’re left dazed, staring at the ceiling with half-lidded eyes. Your phone lays forgotten on the pillow next to you. Mustering all the strength you have left, you reach out for it. “Hyuck…?”

You can hear him breathing heavily. “I’m here,” he says. “Are you okay? Did you get to come?”

“Y-yes.” Now that it’s over, you begin to feel self-conscious again and the heat that blooms on your cheeks nearly wash every bit of your orgasm away in an instant. “Did you?”

“I made a huge mess.” He chuckles, sounding just as embarrassed as you are. “Fuck, didn’t realize it was going to be this good when we started. What would’ve happened if we had Face-Timed each other instead?”

Your head nearly explodes at the thought. “One step at a time, Hyuck. I’m practically dying from shame right now.”

He laughs a little at that. “So, you don’t really oppose the idea? Man, I have something to look forward to then.”

“Shut up, you’re gross. Is this the reason you called me?”

“No,” he hastily says, “I swear, I called because I missed hearing your voice.” Then he thinks about it again. “Well, I mean, I have been thinking about doing, uhh, these kinds of things with you but trust me, it wasn’t the reason why I called.”

“Sure,” you flatly reply, teasing him.

“Yah, yah, yah, it’s your fault for saying that you were wearing nothing but my shirt!”

“It’s your fault for asking me what I was wearing!”

It’s always like this with him. You’re bickering at one point, having sex at another time, then goes back to bickering once again. But it’s endearing, you suppose, because after this, you’ll be murmuring loving words, and just when you begin to think about it, Donghyuck whispers into the phone.

“I love you, Noona. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

And you smile. “I love you too, Haechannie. You’re the second best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“What the hell is the first one?”

“Chicken nuggets.”

“You’re so dead.”

***

[archived-kin]

diluc ragnvindr and the secret spouse

note from kin: i was running around dawn winery looking for any chests i might have missed when this idea suddenly popped into my head. honestly i was tempted to do this similarly to the obey me solomon piece i did a while back and give diluc a husband but then i figured i should probably keep it gender neutral for both the girls and the gays

this is super short but i’ve had writer’s block for AGES so at least i got something out! i hope this isn’t so awful it burns your eyes out :,) i tried my best okay

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, diluc, aether, paimon

pairing(s): diluc/reader

warning(s): none

genre: fluff!!

You wake to the distant buzz of household conversation and a distinct absence of the usual presence beside you. Slightly disoriented, you sit up, rubbing at your eyes as the morning light peeking around the edge of your heavy velvet curtains casts the creases of the sheets around you into sharp definition.

A still-steaming mug sits on the bedside table, indicating that it hasn’t been long since your dear husband got up and made you your usual morning cup of tea. There’s a little red flower sitting on the saucer - a Windwheel Aster, which, if the flower language the two of you have developed over time still stands true, means that he’s still at home. He’d have left a Snapdragon if he was going out, a Calla Lily if he’d be gone for the day, or a Cecilia if he’d be away for an extended period of time. Of course, he tells you these things in person when he gets the chance, but, well - duty calls, and duty certainly doesn’t wait for a sensible wake-up time.

You throw your arms up and stretch, limbs trembling slightly as all the knots and cramps that have built up throughout the night finally straighten out. Windwheel Asters usually herald a good day in your household - though with Diluc, they can become Snapdragons and then Calla Lilies in the blink of an eye - and you’re looking forward to spending some time with your husband. It’s been a busy week for the both of you, what with an unexpected increase in the number of Abyss Order attacks cropping up around Mondstadt as well as several sudden unexplained deaths of hunters from Springfield, and you’d really like to have twenty four hours to just relax.

Diluc’s usual coat is still draped over the chair beside the desk, so, after a moment’s thought, you pull it on over your nightclothes. You have the weekend off, anyway - all your pending cases have been essentially solved and are ready to go - so you don’t see any need for donning your usual detective garb, though you do feel tempted to put on your trademark scarf to ward off the morning chill.

You take a few minutes to make the bed and open the curtains before you sit down in the armchair by the window to enjoy your tea. You can see several of the usual workers milling about between the grapevines, as well as what looks like a carrier balloon being docked just by the road. That’s new - deliveries to Dawn Winery usually come by carriage, but then again, the fact that the balloon also appears to be smoking extensively and is being accompanied by a very dishevelled-looking man who looks close to tears indicates that this probably isn’t a delivery,

On further inspection, you realise that your husband is standing nearby the smoking balloon, conversing with a young man with long golden hair tied back in a braid that you’re not particularly familiar with. You’re sure you recognise him from somewhere, though - in the same way that you might recognise the general composition of a painting you’ve seen in passing.

You don’t have time to continue contemplating the boy’s identity, though, because next thing you know, Diluc is leading him inside. You drain the remainder of your tea to the dregs with one gulp and pull yourself to your feet, resolving to go down to greet the two.

While you don’t bother with changing into something more formal, you do take a moment to wash your face and freshen up your breath with some of the mint-water Diluc keeps in the bathroom. You’re not fussed about keeping up a ‘respectable’ image, but you do at least want to be presentable.

Diluc is sitting with his back to you when you slip into the front room, still dressed in just your nightclothes and his overcoat, now with your feet tucked into a comfortable pair of slippers as well. The boy he’d invited in is the first to notice you, looking up from the map in his hands and face steeling slightly as he registers your presence.

An odd little fairy of some kind is bobbing about behind him, chewing on what looks like a large slice of cake. Her eyes widen to the size of saucers as she spots you, exclaiming so loudly that she sprays crumbs all over her unsuspecting golden-haired companion.

“Who’s this?!” she shrieks, alarmed in an almost comically exaggerated way. Her shock sends her even higher into the air, and she threatens to hit the ceiling head-on. “Y-you don’t look like a maid!”

You raise an eyebrow, mildly amused. “That would be because I’m not a maid.”

Diluc finally turns around, eyes lighting up slightly when he sees your choice of attire. A small smile curls at the corners of his lips as he moves to the side, leaving enough room on his seat for you to settle down beside him.

His young friend’s eyes dart between the two of you rapidly as Diluc continues droning on about something to do with transport balloons and the influx of monster activity in the area without a word as to your sudden appearance. He’s certainly quick-witted, you’ll give him that - he seems to deduce your relationship almost immediately.

Still, he asks about it in a polite and roundabout way - bless the boy. You can imagine that he’s a little afraid of making assumptions, especially about a man like Diluc.

“Is that your coat, Master Diluc?”

Diluc pauses in the middle of his explanation, eyebrows lifting slightly. You don’t know why he seems so surprised by the boy’s question - after all, the impression of the prideful Darknight Hero he has probably doesn’t incline him to think of him as a relationship-y sort of man.

“...yes.” He says finally. You don’t miss the way he steals a glance at you through the messy fringe of his red hair.

“Why so surprised?” You chime in, smiling at the boy as he straightens up slightly at the sound of your voice. “Surely you’ve deduced our relation already?”

He looks thoughtful for a moment. “Are you two… partners?”

You laugh. “Well, you could certainly put it like that.”

“You’re so clueless, Aether!” complains the boy’s fairy companion. “They’re obviously dating or something!”

Aether shoots her an unimpressed look. “That’s what I meant, Paimon.”

“Your name’s Aether, then?” You note. He nods. “Good name, Aether. You seem like a smart boy.”

“Hey!” The fairy glares at you, but it doesn’t really have much effect when she’s got the face of a baby lamb and crumbs still decorating her lower face to boot. “Don’t forget about Paimon!”

“Paimon’s a lovely name too,” You comply with a smile. “Very trustworthy.”

She looks appeased by the compliment, crossing her arms with a smug grin aimed at her taller companion. “See? Paimon’s trustworthy.”

“I heard them, Paimon,” sighs Aether, wearing the kind of expression that tells you he has to put up with this sort of thing a lot.

“What are you doing up so early?” Diluc asks you, and you start slightly at his sudden question. “Normally you sleep til noon on Sundays.”

You shrug and give his thigh a firm pat, taking great enjoyment in the way his ears flame up slightly at the gesture. “Guess I just missed your lovely face.”

The red of his ears darkens. “...you’re ridiculous.”

“You’re cute,” you counter with a smile, leaning forward to kiss the tip of his nose. He chuckles in spite of himself, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile that he rarely lets anyone but you see.

“You’re both gross,” Paimon decides with a pout, and the two of you suddenly remember the presence of the two other people in the room. Aether is pointedly staring at a painting on the wall, but at Paimon’s words, he hurriedly turns back.

“No, no, it’s fine,” You laugh, waving off Aether’s apologies for his fairy friend’s comment. “The maids often say the same thing.”

“The maids wouldn’t say such things if you didn’t insist on being so affectionate everywhere,” Diluc comments, though the smile still tugging at his lips tells you that he definitely doesn’t consider that a bad thing. “If you don’t want them to talk, perhaps you should take it down a notch or two.”

“Who said I didn’t want them to talk?” You counter, inching closer to him again. You'll refrain from kissing him right in front of Aether and Paimon, but that doesn’t mean you can’t tease him a little. “Besides, you’re one to talk. You’re the one always hanging off my shoulders whenever you get the chance.”

Diluc, however, doesn’t seem to have the same qualms as you about abstaining from affection in front of guests. His smile widening almost playfully, he gently lifts a hand to your chin. “Oh? Are you complaining?”

“Who said that?” is your response, and you lean in and kiss him.

It isn’t until the two of you pull away that you realise that Paimon has started making gagging noises as Aether frantically tries to shush her, all the while determinedly refusing to look in your direction. You almost feel bad for the kid - he clearly isn’t the best with affectionate couples.

“Sorry, sorry,” You say airily, moving away from Diluc, though you keep a hand resting on his knee.

“Is this what all married couples are like?” Paimon says, still wrinkling her nose in disgust. “If so, Paimon doesn’t want to get married, ever!”

Aether, still avoiding direct eye contact with both you and your husband, mutters an exasperated, “Bold of you to assume anyone would want to marry you.”

She immediately kicks him in the head, nearly knocking the poor guy right off the sofa. “Paimon heard that!”

“What a rowdy pair,” You comment cheerfully as Aether retaliates by flicking Paimon hard in the head, sending her spiralling halfway across the room with an indignant yelp. “You really do make strange friends, Diluc.”

He makes an odd chuffing sound in response to your words. “They aren’t any stranger than you.”

You shake your head. “You still married this strange detective, didn’t you?”

“I suppose I did,” He smiles softly again, setting his right hand over the one you have on his knee. “I wonder if I made the right decision?”

You give his knee a reproachful pinch and he gives short, sharp laugh in response - something that you don’t hear nearly enough from him. “Of course you did!”

You move to jab him in the sides, knowing exactly where all of his sensitive spots are, but he stops you quickly, seizing both your hands in his and firmly refusing to let go. You struggle for about a second before giving up and slumping against him with a dramatic huff.

“You’re too strong,” You complain, though your affectionate nuzzle into the side of his neck directly contradicts your pseudo-annoyed words. “I don’t like it.”

Diluc chuckles, knowing full well that you love the fact that he can lift entire tables without breaking a sweat. “Whatever you say, darling.”

The look that you give him as you raise your head nearly knocks all of the breath out of him. The adoring grin on your face doesn’t relent as you lift a hand and brush his cheek, your touch feather-light and sending shivers down his spine.

He finds himself leaning in again, overwhelmed by your presence. You smile knowingly and reach up to meet him - only to be interrupted with a start.

Paimon complains, half-disgusted and half-resigned, “They’re doing it again!”

[m0srael]

Drunk Texts

For the @drarrymicrofic prompt: Love Letter

One balmy night in June, Harry’s lying in bed wide awake--unable to sleep again--when his mobile lights up on the nightstand. The only people who ever contact him on his mobile are Teddy (“All the cool wizards have them these days, Harry, please get one so I can send you memes!”) and Hermione, and neither of them would be texting this late.

Friday, June 6 2008, 1:27 AM

+445195555555: I’ve been hopelessly in love with you since we were sixteen, won’t shut my bloody mouth about you actually, can I take you on a date? I’m still very rich, all things considered, and know all the best restaurants in Wizarding Britain.

+445195555555: Maybe just a shag, then?

Harry: bloody hell, who is this??

Harry: This number is unlisted, I don’t know how you got it but I’m blocking it now. Kindly, fuck off.

+445195555555: WAIT

+445195555555: What do you mean, who is this? I thought muggle mobiles know who you’re talking to already.

Harry: Not if a strange person is texting in the middle of the bloody night from a number I’ve never seen before!

+445195555555: If you don’t want to date me or shag me just say so, Potter. No need to play hard to get and toss around insults

+445195555555: Unless that’s a thing for you, cheeky ;) ;)

Harry: Last chance, tell me who this is or I’m blocking your number.

+445195555555: Draco

+445195555555: Obviously ;)

Harry: Draco...Malfoy?

Harry: You expect me to believe Draco Malfoy is confessing his love and hitting me up for a shag at 1am. On a *muggle* mobile.

+445195555555: Believe it scarhead, now answer the question do you or do you not want to shag me

Harry: Look, you’ve obviously read one too many Prophet articles…

Harry: Somehow found my number...did you confund someone I know??

Harry: And thought that...pretending to be Draco Malfoy, of all people, would entice me to meet up with a total stranger?

+445195555555: Ooh, the logic of it all, Potter ;)

Harry: Stop doing that

+445195555555: what ;) ;)

Harry: The emojis. Malfoy would never use emojis.

+445195555555: You don’t know what I would or wouldn’t do anymore Potter. Would you like to learn? ;)

Harry: Fuck

Harry: Even if I believed you, I’ve never given Draco Malfoy my number. My *muggle* mobile number.

Harry: I’ve never given him my number because Draco Malfoy would never use a *muggle* mobile.

Harry:...among other reasons

+445195555555: Always so preoccupied with blood purity, Potter, haven’t you learned anything?

+445195555555: And there you go again, assuming that you know what I would and would not do

+445195555555: It really would be much more efficient if you just let me demonstrate

Harry: oh my god

Harry: I can’t believe I’m still messaging you

Harry: ffs, you have one chance to convince me that you’re really Malfoy otherwise I’m blocking you immediately

+445195555555: You are a tetchy one, hm?

+445195555555: Fine. You cornered me in a bathroom in 6th bc you were *obsessed* with me and tried to murder me using sectumsempra (which you claimed not to know the effect of, pft) but only because I tried to Crucio you and I would have died if Snape hadn’t found us and cleaned up your mess (again)

+445195555555: They definitely didn’t print THAT in the Prophet. Unfortunately.

Harry: Bloody hell um...okay…

Harry: Look, about that, Malfoy…

Harry: Wait, unfortunately…??

+445195555555: So you see, Potter, it is in fact I, Draco Lucius Malfoy, confessing my love and “hitting you up for a shag at 1am” as you so elegantly put it.

+445195555555: ;)

Harry: Okay. Malfoy, then. Jesus.

Harry: How exactly did you get my number?

Harry: For that matter, when did you get a mobile?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I got it from Pansy, who got it from Ginny, you recalcitrant twat

Draco Sodding Malfoy: See, I can do the sexy insults thing, too :*

Draco Sodding Malfoy: And if you must know, Potter, I purchased a mobile years ago to stay in contact with my cousin, Teddy. Teddy Lupin. I think you’re acquainted? The little brat refuses to owl, apparently it’s “sooo medieval”.

Harry: Oh. That...actually makes sense. He said the same thing to me.

Harry: Hang on, Teddy isn’t a brat. I thought you two got on rather well…?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Whatever, the point is I’m mad for you and I never told you because, well, there was the whole war thing and then the whole trial thing, and since then I’ve become a bit of a self-righteous coward. Also, I fancy myself something of a martyr. I think the constant pouting makes my mouth look more kissable, don’t you?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: We could do the dinner thing if we must, or you can just come round mine I can meet you there right now

Harry: Oh. You’re drunk.

Harry: Never pegged you as the type to get sloshed and text your ex-childhood-nemesis for a hookup

Draco Sodding Malfoy: not with that attitude you haven’t

Harry: Hah

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Not drnk

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Honestly, Potter

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Harry

Harry: weird

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I’ve seen the way you watch me when you think I’m not looking. You look at me like some lovesick teenager. Why deny what *literally everyone* can plainly see?

Harry: I do not look at you like a...lovesick teenager, Malfoy.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Draco ;)

Harry: I do not watch you, DRACO.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I only notice because I’m watching you too, Harry. All the time. I’ve been watching you for as long as I can remember.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: You’ve practically been the center of my universe since I was eleven years old, for Merlin’s sake. I think about you all the time. I miss you all the time, even when we’re in the same room.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I mean I LITERALLY do not shut up about you I wasn’t exaggerating about that. It drives Pansy and Blaise, who have the patience and constitutions of actual saints and who are very, very good friends, absolutely mental and they’d like nothing more than to hex my mouth shut permanently.

Harry: um

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Admit it.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: You’ve wondered what it’d be like.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Imagined it.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Us

Harry: Malfoy…

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Draco

Harry: Draco…

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Yes, Harry? ;)

Harry: I...could do dinner.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: You could “do” dinner? That’s all, after everything I’ve just said, you can “do” dinner??

Harry: For the love of Merlin

Harry: Fine. You’re right, Draco. I...have wondered

Harry: About us, I mean

Harry: Ahh and actually Draco sometimes when I look at you I just want…

Friday, June 6 2008, 2:15 AM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: what

Draco Sodding Malfoy: you want what

Friday, June 6 2008, 2:48 AM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: harry

Friday, June 6 2008, 3:09 AM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: harry, bloody hell

Saturday, June 7 2008, 6:45 AM

Harry: Draco, I’m so sorry

Saturday, June 7 2008, 8:18 AM

Harry: My mobile died and I didn’t have my charger

Saturday, June 7 2008, 9:23 AM

Harry: Draco

Saturday, June 7 2008, 11:47 AM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Potter, why on earth are you contacting me so early on a Saturday?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Scratch that, why are you contacting me at all? Where did you get my number?

Harry: Oh, so you were drunk

Draco Sodding Malfoy: How is my present or past level of intoxication any of your concern?

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Oh.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: No.

Harry: Draco, what’s wrong? What happened?

Harry: Draco…?

Harry: I’m sorry, if I said something…

Harry: Look, YOU’RE the one drunk messaging ME at all hours of the night looking for a shag!

Saturday, June 7 2008, 7:08 PM

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Dear Harry,

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I hereby formally apologize for my previous messages. They are inappropriate and entirely out of line, do forgive me. Although it appears that Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson absconded with my mobile yesterday evening to, “have a bit of fun”, I take full responsibility for what has transpired. Do not report me, or something. I do hope you were not too offended. I will henceforth refrain from contacting you by this, or any other, means. I assure you that my traitorous, juvenile, back-stabbing, inconsiderate, so-called friends have been soundly reprimanded. You may expect their formal apologies via owl, posthaste.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Apologetically, Draco L. Malfoy

Harry: Wow, uh, ok. I’ve never gotten a formal apology over text before. Did it take you...8 hours to write that?

Harry: And for the record, I knew something was up. We may not be best mates or anything but I know you wouldn’t use emojis like that.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Oh, bugger off, Potter you had no idea it wasn’t me. You were ready to spill your innermost desires to a stranger on your mobile! Stupid Gryffindor.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: Ah.

Draco Sodding Malfoy: I mean, goodbye! So sorry, again, for the inconvenience! We will never speak again from this moment on!

Harry: Draco, wait

Draco ;): Merlin, what, Potter?

Harry: Harry

Draco ;): No.

Harry: Fine. Look, if you accept full responsibility, does that mean your offer still stands?

Draco ;): What offer?

Draco ;): No. It doesn’t, whatever it is.

Harry: Your offer to take me on a date.

Harry: ;)

Draco ;): Bloody...Potter, that wasn’t MY offer!

Harry: Perhaps not, but I’ve seen the way you watch me when you think I’m not looking...Draco.

Draco ;): Who is this? I’m blocking this number. I’m going to ask Pansy how to block a number.

Harry: Draco, I’m serious.

Saturday, June 7 2008, 9:14 PM

Harry: Draco, I can tell that you didn’t block my number.

Saturday, June 7 2008, 11:47 PM

Harry: Fine.

Harry: Draco, could I take you out for dinner some time? I know someone who knows all the best restaurants in Wizarding Britain.

Draco ;): …..

Harry: ?

Draco ;): If you must

Harry: If I must?

Draco ;): It's true that I'm still rich, all things considered, but you’re paying

Draco ;): ;)

[sir-subpar]

Where have you been? (Part 2)

*Warning: Blood/Gore*

Five weeks. That's how long Boyfriend had been missing. Five weeks with still no sign of the blue-haired man, it was starting to drive Pico mad. The longer this went on, the harder it was for Pico to think positively. He was starting to struggle with sleep, sometimes going days without so much as a wink of rest. His fiery orange hair was messy from him constantly running his fingers through it. It was hard to relax when someone you care about was unaccounted for. Whitty and Hex were still helping out, which Pico appreciated, but it did little to ease his fears. The three of them met up and searched for Boyfriend as often as they could.

It was late in the afternoon, another day going by with no luck finding Boyfriend. The trio had resorted to putting up missing posters for Bf, splitting up to scatter them around town. It did little to help, especially when random vandals would tear them down or draw all over them. Every time Pico saw one of the posters being ruined it pissed Pico off to no end. He didn't think it was possible to want to strangle a graffiti artist as much as he did. By some miracle of willpower he refrained from doing so (that, and he didn't know who was doing it). Pico sighed angrily as he hung another poster, his thumb turning white as he pushed the tacks into a wooden pole. His gaze lingered on the poster. In the picture, Bf was smiling. He looked so happy.. Pico felt his chest tighten around his heart. It felt hard to breathe, but not impossible. He clutched the front of his vest, fidgeting with the teeth of the zipper. Pico could only imagine what Boyfriend was going through, and his imagination was not kind. As much as he tried to ignore the worst possibilities, he struggled to stay positive. 

What if Boyfriend was dead? 

He hated the idea. He didn't want to think about it. Surely he was alive. He had to be somewhere! Anywhere! He couldn't be dead! Pico tried to ground himself by thinking of other possibilities. Maybe Bf was just hiding from everyone because he didn't want Gf and her family to know where he was. Pico grit his teeth as more anger suddenly rose from his core. Girlfriend… he was honestly starting to resent her. Sure, most people don't want to see their ex after a breakup. Pico understood that, sure, whatever. But when someone goes missing, it's good to help find them. Especially when you're the last one to have seen them…

Pico was suddenly brought back to reality when he heard his phone buzzing in his pocket. Whitty was calling. The two exchanged phone numbers after they went to that diner weeks ago. Pico tapped the green icon to answer, and brought the phone to his ear. "Hey Whitty. What's up?" Pico asked, his anger faded a bit, now being distracted with the sound of Whitty's voice. "I just wanted to let you know that Hex can't help us for a few days. He's got some computer virus that's apparently been a bitch to remove." Whitty sounded agitated. Pico figured he was probably worried about his best friend. "Is he gonna be ok?" Pico asked, he was already missing one person, he didn't want to lose another. "Yeah, some tech guy's helping him out. He should be fine soon..." Whitty paused. "Hey, do you want to meet up? I'm out of posters to hang." Whitty's tone changed a bit, Pico couldn't quite figure out why, but he brushed it off. It didn't matter anyway. "Yeah, I'll pick you up. Where are you?"

…

Pico drove in silence as Whitty sat in the passenger seat. He felt a little bad for the bomb man as even with the seat pushed all the way back, he barely fit in the car. Pico's car just wasn't designed with people over 8ft tall in mind. Whitty had the chair leaned back so he wouldn't hit his head on the ceiling, his knees were bent just so he could fit in the car. Whitty's hands were in his pockets, despite the lack of space in the car, he seemed like he was relaxing a bit. 

"Hey Pico." Whitty broke the silence. Pico let out a hum, signaling he was listening. "I had this random idea for the next place we should check."  "Hmm?" Was Pico's only reply. He was tired, but he wasn't gonna quit for the day just yet. "You know that bridge close to the freeway? The one over the ditch?" Pico had to think for a moment before he caught on. "You think he might be hiding out in the ditch?" Pico asked, a little glimmer of hope making itself known. Whitty shrugged. "Maybe. I dunno. It's a common place to hide." Pico turned on his blinker, he had to drive to the opposite side of town to get there but at this rate it wasn't a big deal. If there was even a chance of Boyfriend being there, he had to take it. He had to make sure Bf was safe. 

…

After Pico parked the car, he and Whitty climbed down into the dry ditch. It was now night, the darkness making it hard to see anything. Except Whitty's eyes, that is. In the complete darkness, Pico noticed Whitty's orange eyes were glowing. He could partially see the tall man's body as the warm light from his eyes reflected off of him. Pico found it fascinating. It was oddly comforting, like a fireplace. Pico found himself getting lost in them.

 "... Pico?" Whitty's voice interrupted Pico's stupor. Turns out the inside of Whitty's mouth glowed too. "Huh? What?" Pico asked, a little lost thanks to his little daydream. "Are you alright? You seemed out of it." Whitty asked, shifting awkwardly as he stood. Pico felt uneasy, did Whitty see something in the dark that he hasn't noticed yet? Were they alone? Pico quickly shoved his hand in his pocket and whipped out his flashlight. As soon as he turned it on, and the light flooded the ditch, he realized no one else was near them (at least no one was close enough to see). So why was Whitty uncomfortable? Like someone was staring at him? 

Wait… 

Pico had almost physically face-palmed. He was staring at Whitty. He just stood there in silence and stared at this dude's face in the darkness. From Whitty's point of view, that probably came off as creepy. Now he felt a bit guilty for being so weird. Damn it, he had to say something to break this weird silence! But what? Should he apologize? Or just brush it off so they don't have to talk about it? 'Damn it Pico, say something! Anything!' He mentally chastised himself. Just when he was about to blurt out what probably would have been nonsense, Whitty piped up. "Did my eyes creep you out?" Whitty asked, sounding disheartened. Pico suddenly panicked, speaking before his brain could filter it. "What- No! No. Not at all. Your eyes are cool! Like a jack o lantern or something. They're neat! They like.." Pico cleared his throat to compose himself again. He had to give a rational response. "I think your eyes are fascinating. I didn't mean to offend you, I just got distracted. I'm sorry." Pico's face turned a light shade of pink out of embarrassment. He hoped his disjointed response would somehow make the situation less awkward. Whitty's eyes widened, and his cheeks glowed a bit as his expression shifted from surprised to bashful. He started rubbing the back of his head, a nervous habit, Pico assumed. "I… thanks. I've had people say my eyes remind them of Jack O lanterns before, but I think this is only the second time someone's used it as a compliment. Bf was the first." Whitty confessed, his tone sounding fond. Pico smiled a bit, of course B would say something like that. Pico snapped out of his trail of thought before he got more distracted with reminiscing. "Speaking of… we should get back to looking for him." Pico stated, bring their focus back to the task at hand. Whitty nodded. The two chose to walk throughout the ditch, hopefully they'd eventually find a sign of Boyfriend under these bridges. 

Each step they took echoed off of the cement around them. It was a little eerie. Pico was glad that he wasn't alone, Whitty seemed like he could hold his ground. It was comforting. After a few minutes, they came across a blanket laid out next to a few plastic water bottles. They couldn't necessarily say they belonged to Boyfriend, but it felt like they were on the right track at least. They continued their walk, hoping to find more signs of Bf. A few more mostly uneventful minutes went by, then they saw someone not too far ahead of them. Pico lowered his light a bit so it wasn't shining in their eyes, but he could still see them pretty clearly. They were leaning their back against the wall of the ditch with their arms crossed. They had what appeared to be a goat skull for a head with long horns er.. Horn. Pico noticed that one of their horns had clearly been broken off. Their face had multiple large cracks all over it. He wore a dark blue hoodie that matched his hat. His jeans were either a darker shade of blue or black, Pico couldn't quite tell. The skull-faced stranger had turned their head to look at Pico and Whitty, clearly having noticed Pico's flashlight. His black eye sockets with glowing yellow pupils staring them down. Pico admittedly got a shady vibe from him, but he was accustomed to shady people due to his type of work. He decided to approach the man, but not get too close, he just needed to know if he had seen Boyfriend. "Hey. Mind we ask you something?" Pico called, hoping the stranger would cooperate. "What do you want?" The horned stranger rudely snapped in a clear Russian accent, he was clearly agitated. Pico wasn't that fazed by the man's rudeness, again, he was used to that kind of behavior (not to mention he wasn't all that polite or well mannered himself). "We just have some questions. We're looking for a friend of ours, maybe you've seen him around." The man appeared to relax a bit after hearing that. His expression was less aggressive. "What does your friend look like?" He asked, his tone a bit less harsh than before. Pico pulled his phone from his pocket and scrolled through his gallery until he found a picture of him and Boyfriend. He turned the phone around to face the man. As soon as he saw the photo, his eye sockets widened, and he tilted his head back a bit in surprise. "Boyfriend?" The man questioned.

Now it was Whitty and Pico's turn to be surprised. "You know him?" Whitty asked, bewildered at the man's recognition of Bf. "Yes, we are… acquainted. I see him a lot lately." That, admittedly, made Pico angrier than it probably should have. This guy knew where Bf was while no one else did. B had trusted this guy instead of Pico? Or Whitty? Pico once again asked himself the question that plagued his mind for weeks. 'Why didn't he come to me?' Pico tightened his grip on his flashlight. He should be glad. They finally had a potential lead. Pico forced the irrationality down for what felt like the 100th time that day. "Do you know where he is?" 'Please. Tell me you know where he is.'  Pico begged internally. The man nodded his head in a 'sort of' fashion. "I know where he's been hiding lately. It's not too far from here." He looked around a bit, as if checking to see if they were alone. "You know that little theater on Chavez road? The closed one? He's been around there lately. You'll find him if you go there." Pico suddenly felt a small rush of relief. That sounded promising. "Thank you, Mr..?" "Tabi" "Thank you Tabi. We appreciate it. Oh! I'm Pico, by the way. This is Whitty." Whitty waved, and Tabi nodded in acknowledgment. Tabi bagan to walk away. "Take care of Boyfriend you too. He's fragile right now." He called before departing. "We will," Whitty replied, "Thank you." Pico mumbled one more time before he and Whitty rushed towards the car. 

…

For the first time in weeks, Pico felt hope. He felt almost giddy in a sense. Soon this nightmare could be over. Soon Bf could be safe. But there was still a chance that they wouldn't find Bf. There were a lot of emotions running rampant in his head. Nerves, excitement, doubt. He couldn't remember the last time he was this conflicted. Various 'what ifs' both positive and negative coming forth to give their piece of mind. Pico gripped the steering wheel of his car tightly, his knuckles turning white. 

Tabi's words echoed in his head. 'Take care of Boyfriend, he's fragile right now.'   

Was this all really because of Bf and Gf's breakup? It just felt extreme. Most people don't go missing for weeks after a breakup. Especially Boyfriend. This was out of character for him. He hated being alone. There was more to it. There had to be. Pico was sure of it. 

Pico pulled over as the old theatre came into view. The decorative walls were a bit worn, but still beautiful. He knew this old place fairly well, it made him a little sad when it was shut down. Pico and Whitty stepped out of the car. Whitty stretched his arms, glad he could stand at his full height again. The bomb man looked at the various posters on the theater's walls, each one advertised some sort of play or performance. "Huh." Was all Whitty said. "What's up?" Pico asked. "I don't know why, but I thought this was going to be a movie theater. I didn't realise it was one of those performing arts places." Whitty replied. Pico turned to Whitty. "You've never been here before?" Pico asked, genuinely surprised. Whitty only shook his head in response. "Aw man, that's a bummer. This place was nice. It was family-owned, a local theater, ya know? It went bankrupt, but when it was open it was cool… B loved it here." Pico's tone shifted as he reminisced. Going from casual to bittersweet. Whitty tilted his head curiously, waiting for Pico to continue. He didn't make eye contact with Whitty, instead focusing his gaze on the theater's doors. "Ya know… sometimes, after a show, the owners would let B and I use the stage. We'd sing there for as long as they let us. We did it almost every week." Pico couldn't help but feel nostalgic. He remembered those times so well. It was years ago, back when he and B were together. They were memories he cherished. "Sounds like it was fun." Whitty commented briefly. "It was." Pico's tone continued to be bittersweet. Deep down, he hoped that he and Boyfriend could have what they did back then. He always regretted letting B go, but never said anything. Once Boyfriend found someone else, he figured he'd never have a chance again. Pico's vision started to blur slightly. 'Goddammit Pico! Now's not the time!' He mentally chastised himself, he didn't want to cry. Not when Bf was still lost. Not in front of Whitty. He was able to bury this before, he could do it again. Pico did his best to refocus on the task at hand. He needed to stop doing this. 

Pico cleared his throat.

"A-Anyway, we should look for Boyfriend. He's probably around here somewhere." Whitty nodded. Pico was thankful that Whitty didn't pry into his emotions. He'd rather NOT talk about that at the moment, thank you very much. "Let's check inside." Whitty proposed, Pico gave a brief sound of agreement before pulling the front door's handle. Surprisingly it was unlocked. Was Tabi right? Was Boyfriend here? Did he unlock it? Pico made a mental note about the door and continued inside, Whitty following just behind him. Once again he needed his trusty flashlight. The theater was usually dark as is, but it was extra dark with it being the middle of the night. While in said darkness, Pico was briefly reminded of earlier that night when he stared at Whitty's eyes for an uncomfortable amount of time. Pico's cheeks flushed with embarrassment. This was definitely going to be one of those memories that kept him up at night whenever he thought about it. Then, Pico had another thought. "Hey Whitty." "Hm?" "How come you haven't been using a flashlight too? I mean, I don't mind sharing mine, I'm just curious." Pico hoped it wasn't a rude question. "Oh, well, uh.." Whitty began, Pico once again noticing how the inside of Whitty's mouth glowed like his eyes. "I don't really need a flashlight. I can see in the dark." Whitty's cheeks glowled orange a bit, now Pico was convinced that was how Whitty blushed. He found it kinda endearing, to be honest. "That's really cool. Wish I could do that." Pico said and chuckled a bit, feeling a bit lighter in spirit. Whitty also laughed coyly, feeling a bit flattered. "Let's check out the stage first." Whitty directed, already walking towards it. "Yeah, good idea." Pico agreed, following suit. The 'house' was dusty, and the seats clearly hadn't been used in a while. Well, most of them hadn't. Pico paused, getting a better look. He quickly noticed that a few of them had been folded out, the armrests were raised, and what looked like a shiney red blanket was draped across them. Someone had been using them as a makeshift bed, Pico realized. Someone was definitely here. "Psst, hey Whitty." Whitty turned around to face him, Pico waved his hand in a 'come here' gesture. Whitty nodded and approached him. 

The tall bomb headed man leaned over Pico, looking down the same row of seats he was. It didn't take him long to catch on. "We must be on the right track. Wait, is that a curtain?" Whitty reached over Pico to pick up and hold the 'blanket' which was, in fact, part of a stage curtain that had been cut. Pico felt his heart clench. B was using a curtain for a blanket, he must be cold. Pico looked at the chairs/bed. One of the seats had a pile of clothes/costumes haphazardly bunched together, probably being used as a pillow. This was just… sad. Bf didn't deserve to live like this. 

While Pico looked at the seats, Whitty took a second to inspect the curtain. It was red on one side, and white on the other side- wait, no, the other side had red too. In weird splotches and smear-like patterns. Whitty held it stretched out in front of him, the white and red patterned side facing him. The patterns looked inconsistent not just in size and shape, but in hue as well. Some of the red splotches looked darker almost..wet, while others looked faded, like stains. Whitty touched one of the darker red spots with his thumb, surprised when it was actually wet. Realization suddenly dawned on him, this wasn't a pattern. Now he was worried. "Hey Pico?" His scratchy voice quietly called, Pico turned around to look Whitty in the eyes. Whitty held the curtain in a way that only let Pico see the shiney full-red side and not the 'patterns'. "I'm not entirely human, so correct me if I'm wrong but… human blood is red, right?" Pico gave him a confused and worried look, then nodded hesitantly. "That's what I was afraid of." Whitty admitted, turning the curtain around so Pico could see. Pico's white eyes shot open wide, before giving Whitty a panicked look. Pico's heart dropped.

Just as Pico was about to say something, there was a loud *CRASH* from a distance. 

Pico and Whitty's attention snapped towards the stage, it looked like a shelf had fallen over from backstage. Frantic footsteps could be heard. Neither of them had to say anything, they both bolted towards all the noise. Running up the small stairs to the stage. They ran towards the backstage area. Their own footsteps echoing as their shoes hit the wooden floorboards. Whitty, with his longer strides, took the lead ahead of Pico. Once they arrived at the backstage room, they saw the metal Exit door slowly closing. Whitty slammed it back open, dashing through it, Pico not far behind him. Once outside, they had stumbled into a fenced in parking lot. Street lights illuminated the empty lot, now they could see the other person running away from them. They were short, around Pico's height. They had a black hoodie on, the hood was up so they couldn't see their head. Even so, Pico was sure that it was Boyfriend. It had to be. 

The hooded person ran into the parking lot's locked gate. Attempting to climb over it, but they weren't fast enough. Pico and Whitty were on their tail. They still tried, though. They were clearly struggling to get up the fence's bars, it looked like they kept slipping, like they couldn't grip the bars. Just as they were about to make another attempt to climb, Whitty caught up to them. The tall bomb man swiftly wrapped his hands around their torso, easily lifting them off the ground. Like holding a kitten. They helplessly swung their arms and legs, attempting to free themself from Whitty's grip. Amidst all their wild flailing, the hood came down, revealing a familiar face with blue hair. Boyfriend. They found him.

"N-no! Let me go! P-Put me down!" Boyfriend yelled, his voice filled with panic. His eyes were closed, and tears soaked his cheeks. Whitty knelt down to bring Boyfriend closer to the ground, still not letting go. "Hey! Hey… Boyfriend, it's just us. It's okay." Whitty did his best to keep his scratchy voice steady, hoping to calm down the terrified bluette. Despite not having the most soothing voice, it seemed to help a bit. Bf stopped flailing and yelling for the moment, his eyes snapped open. He seemed to have come to a sudden halt. His fearful eyes scanned the environment around him. Pico tried to approach him slowly, he didn't want to spook the poor guy more, but he too, was shaking. He had seen Boyfriend scared before, sure, but not like this. This was a new level of absolute terror. He looked so… fragile. Like if someone so much as flicked him, he'd fall to pieces. This was a far cry from the Boyfriend Pico knew. The dumb, reckless, confident man was no where to be found. What really struck Pico though, was the noticeable dampness of Boyfriend's hoodie sleeves. Pico figured he must have been injured, and he had to help. 

In the moment though, he was overwhelmed. He was happy that they found him. He was also worried about him. Part of him was angry. After all the weeks spent searching for Boyfriend, after spending those weeks bottling up all his frustrations, fears, grief, worry. He had reached his tipping point. He couldn't hold back anymore. The tears in his own eyes couldn't be stopped this time. Pico threw away his inhibitions, and just ran up to hug Boyfriend. Pico buried his face in the crook of Boyfriend's neck, and dug his fingers into his blue hair. He was there, they actually found him. And he'd be damned if he lost Bf again. His own face was wet with tears. "G-god Damn it you- you fucking idiot. Don't scare me like that again. F-fuck." Pico's voice shook, sobbing, his cries making it harder to speak. Whitty let go of Boyfriend's torso, instead wrapping his arms around both Pico and Boyfriend, trying not to cry himself (emphasis on tried). A few of his hot, orange tears fell onto the other two boys, but neither seemed to notice.

After a few moments, Whitty and Pico pulled back from the hug. Pico kept his hands on Boyfriend's shoulders, he didn't want to let go. His attention was once again brought to the dampness of Bf's hoodie, he knew it had to be blood. "B… let's go home." Apparently that was the wrong thing for Pico to say, as soon as he did, Boyfriend panicked again. "I-! N-no! I don't want to see her again please Pico-! Don't make me go back!" Pico rushed to ask what was wrong, startled by Bf's reaction. "B, who are you talking about?" Pico gently grabbed Boyfriend's hands, he wanted to be comforting, but that changed when he noticed Bf heavily flinched, and his hands were wet. Pico gently brought Bf's hands into the light. His hands were cracked and bleeding. Badly. The skin and flesh looked like it was just barely holding on to the bones. Some of the blood was dry and crusty, while some of it was fresh. Pico furrowed his brow. "B… what happened?" Bf began crying again. "Gf.. She.." Bf's voice trembled, his lip quivered. He started sobbing. Whitty's orange eyes widened, in a spur of the moment, Whitty gathered both the shorter males in his arms. Lifting them off the ground and standing at his full height. "Hey Pico, why don't we all head to your place?" Pico nodded, still holding Bf's hands. "You can stay with me, B. I promise I won't take you to Girlfriend. She won't even know we found you, okay?" Bf looked into Pico's white eyes, then Whitty's orange ones, before slowly nodding and letting out a barely audible "okay". 

Whitty carried them to Pico's car, he decided to sit in the back with Boyfriend so he wouldn't be alone while Pico drove the car (they moved the front passenger seat as far up as they could to make more legroom for him). Bf was huddled to Whitty's side, the tall, warm, bomb man made him feel safe. Whitty had one of his arms wrapped around Boyfriend, hoping to comfort him. The bluette was still crying, but not as much as before, he seemed to have calmed down slightly. No words were exchanged during the car trip to Pico's house. 

Once they arrived, Whitty gently carried Bf into Pico's house and carefully set him down on Pico's couch. Pico ran off to grab his first aid kit from his hallway closet, mentally preparing himself for how wrecked the rest of Bf's arms might look. He didn't want to end up freaking out and scaring Bf more. Pico moved to sit next to Boyfriend on the couch. "Okay B, show me what hurts." Boyfriend seemed hesitant, Whitty, who was sitting at Bf's other side, rubbed his back. The small gesture seemed to comfort Bf a little, and he removed the black hoodie he was wearing, hissing as the fabric pulled away from his wounds; he was only wearing a tank top under it, so the damage to his arms was revealed easily. Boyfriend's arms looked worse than his hands did somehow. Cracked and bleeding, in some places, it looked like the skin had stitches only to fall apart more and undo them. He could see the bone in Bf's elbow and shoulder. 

Pico felt sick. It was a mystery how Boyfriend wasn't just screaming in anguish. Pico took a quick glance at Whitty, who also looked appalled at the gorey sight before them. Pico looked into Boyfriend's teary eyes, then back at his arms. "We should take ya to the hospital." Pico said nervously, his gauze and hydrogen peroxide couldn't fix this. "I-I already tried that. They couldn't- *sniff* they couldn't stop it. I-It's magic." Bf confessed, Pico noticed Whitty's expression changed from shock to sympathetic. Whitty gestured to Bf's arms "Was this Girlfriend's magic?" Boyfriend nodded. Pico felt rage bubbling in his core. His attempt to keep calm and collected was thrown out the window. "Did she do this on purpose!? That's it! Imma beat her ass!" Pico whipped out his gun. Furious. "I'm gonna pump that bitch full of lead!" Pico was about to storm out his house when both Boyfriend and Whitty stopped him. "PICO DON'T!" Bf and Whitty said in unison. Whitty gripped Pico's arm (which was super easy seeing as his hand was big enough for his fingers to wrap all the way around Pico's forearm), and Boyfriend hugged him, burying his face in the crook of Pico's neck. "Why the fuck are you two stopping me!?" Pico shouted, still undeniably pissed. "Please don't go, Pico!" Bf cried. "Listen dude, as much as I'd love to see ya give that girl more holes than swiss cheese, if you even try it, her family will kill you. Plus, if ya went to her now, they'll know we found Bf, and who knows what they'd do to him then!"

Pico hated to admit it, but Whitty was right. He'd just make it worse by confronting Girlfriend. Her family was powerful, her parents would definitely come after all of them if he tried to do anything to her. His anger was screaming at him to go and blast her with his Uzi, but reason objected to it. Pico sighed, and put his gun on the table. "Alright. Yer right. I'm sorry." Bf hugged him tighter. "Thank you." He said quietly. "Well, if I can't shoot that bitch, let's at least try to solve… this." Pico gestured towards Bf's arms, which were bleeding all over him in the hug. Whitty rubbed the back of his head, unsure. "Well, demon magic did this in the first place, maybe another demon can undo it?" Whitty offered, Pico thought about it, it made sense. If hospitals couldn't treat a curse, might as well try magic. "I can't say you're wrong, the issue now is finding a demon who would be willing to help. The only other demon I know I wouldn't trust as far as I could throw her. Do you know anyone?" Whitty shook his head. The three stayed quiet. Pico wracked his brain for anyone who might be helpful. Maybe his dad knew someone who could help? Probably not. His brother definitely hung out with demons and whatnot, but most people his brother hung out with were bad news. Not to mention he hasn't spoken to his older bro in a long ass time. That was a no go. Who else could he ask? Pico glanced at Whitty, he appeared to be going over various options in his head too. They were silent until Boyfriend chirped in. "I might know someone. Maybe tomorrow we can find her?" Pico shrugged. "I guess that's just what we gotta do. For now though, you should go get cleaned up. You remember where the shower is?" Bf nodded, and started walking down the hallway. "I'll bring you some clean clothes you can borrow!" Pico called, Bf replying with a distant "Thank you" before disappearing around the corner. 

Pico made eye contact with Whitty. He might not have known this guy too well, having only met him a couple weeks ago, but the time they spent working together trying to find Boyfriend made Pico appreciate him. He wanted to know more about him. Whitty was so helpful, even managing to calm Pico down when he was two seconds away from snapping. He found the gentle giant fascinating and comforting. "Hey Whitty?" Whitty let out a curious "hmm?" 

"I just wanted to say thanks.. For everything. You've been really helpful and great and.. I really appreciate it." Pico's earnest tone made Whitty's cheeks glow slightly. "It's no problem. You don't have to thank me or anything. I just.. Wanted Bf to be safe too, ya know?" Pico nodded understandably. "I wish we coulda met under better circumstances. You seem like a great guy, I uh… I'd really like to keep hangin out with you. Maybe once we get this whole curse thing sorted out, we should do something together? Maybe all three of us should." Pico felt color flooding in his own cheeks now, feeling somewhat nervous. Whitty smiled. "I'd like that." Pico let out a small chuckle. "Cool. Cool. Sounds good." 

An awkward lull took the conversation, neither saying much. Whitty eventually stood up and stretched, feeling a bit sleepy. "Well, I should head out. I'm gettin tired. Want me to meet up with you guys here tomorrow?" Pico hesitantly nodded, he almost offered to just let Whitty stay the night, but if he had plans to go home, who was Pico to stop him? "Sounds good. Imma uh.. Get some clothes for B." Pico attempted to make the situation less awkward, he was never good at goodbyes. "Yeah, that'd be good. I'll see you tomorrow." Whitty and Pico parted ways after that. Now, Pico just had to help Boyfriend. Hopefully this woman he was talking about can reverse whatever demon spell was on him..

Pico let Bf borrow his spare pajamas, and threw Bf's clothes in the wash. He wasn't sure if the washing machine was gonna be able to get all the blood out. As he was going through it, he noticed that the inside of Bf's jeans were bloody too, the curse must've been affecting his legs as well. Pico kept the 1st aid kit out, that way he could bandage what was left of Boyfriend's limbs. While Pico tended to the bluette's wounds, he made small talk with Boyfriend, hoping it would put him at ease. It seemed to help. Eventually it became time to turn in for the night. Both boys were exhausted.

 "Hey Pico?"

 "Yeah B?" 

"Can I sleep in your bed with you? I don't wanna be alone."

"... Yeah. C'mere."

"Thanks Pico."

"No prob. G'night B."

"Good night Pico."

[ryuu-to-sobakasu-hime]

Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime (Belle) Novel | English Translation | Chapter 4

**This is a machine translation. I put it together by extracting text page-by-page from a .pdf version of the Japanese novel, and running it through Google translate. I have only minorly edited some of the more confusing lines to make it more read-able. It is still a very rough translation, but it’s good enough to understand what’s going on. If there is anyone out there who wants to properly translate the novel, I am more than happy to edit it, if you’ll contact me.**

———————————————

Chapter 4: U

I went home and opened my MacBook. While shivering in the cold, I clicked on the link sent by Hiro-chan. The letter "U" slowly emerges on a pitch-black screen with a wave-like sound. ".......U?" My tattered face covered in vomit was illuminated by the light of the monitor. The invitation page will be launched and a message will be displayed.

[ "U" is another reality

"Az" is another you

Reality cannot be redone

But with "U" you can start over

Let's live another you

Let's start a new life

Let's change the world ]

I forgot about the cold and was looking forward to it. The smartphone placed next to it was linked and the app started automatically. A registration screen appears on my MacBook monitor. It says "NAME".

"Name...."

I hesitated. There was a feeling of resistance. However, contrary to my feelings, I reach out towards my keyboard.

"S" "u" "z" …….

I type in steadily.

"U".

At that moment, a strong anxiety arose. I impulsively press the delete key. I slammed the keys to erase it and closed my MacBook.

[............]

I curled up and sighed, shivering. "I'm next to Luka" I found Luka on the bench in the courtyard. The girls are gathering together and surrounding Luka-chan. The first grade is almost over, so it seemed like everyone was going to take a picture.

"Mr. Watanabe's Yokozaro"

"Eh~? No fair!"

"I like Luka-chan's soba." Ako was envious of the shining Luka-chan from behind the pillars of piloti. I was jealous of the girls who could be photographed with Luka.

"Mr. Watanabe, look over here. I'll take a picture," urged the girl who played the role of the camera, and Luka looked in front of her. Then she waved towards us as she suddenly noticed.

"Ah. Suzu-chan!"

"Eh?" Luca beckoned to me, who was scared.

"Suzu-chan is also included!"

The girls looked at me all at once. Why? Is written on the face. I'm in a hurry

I hid in a pillar, then I looked a little and turned my palm.

"No, no, I", but Luca continued to beckon me.

"It’ll be fast!” Later, the image was sent. A group photo of girls with cute V signs, centered on Luca. There is my face full of freckles mixed with it. The position just behind Luka. Like the spirit behind her, I have an awkward V sign. When I tried to register for "U" again, I was asked for a photo of my face. I don’t have a photo of my face. I don't bother to point the camera at myself.

So, I used the image at this time for registration.

Face recognition markers are displayed on everyone. Which one are you? I moved the cursor and selected the freckled face behind Luka.

The text "A / I automatically generates a new Az" appears. At the same time, there is an annotation, "What is Az?". << The name of the avatar in "U" and another you >>

Another you.

Soon, the rendered Az was displayed.

"That ...?" There was a terrifyingly beautiful Az, far from me. You can say it's just like Luka-chan, not me. "Luka-chan? Why ..."

AI was confused with Luca, who was right next to my image. If so, what an awkward artificial intelligence! While the difference must be corrected. I hit the back button repeatedly.

"No. Back, back. Cancel ...", but suddenly I stopped pressing the button. Red spot-like patterns were clearly drawn on both cheeks of the Az.

"Freckles ..." I put my hand on my cheek. Isn't it my freckles? "Maybe I .....?" I slowly typed in each character in the "NAME" field of the registration screen. This time it's not "Suzu".

"B" "e" “l” “l” “e”

"Bell" = “Suzu”

When I decide on the name "... Bell", the Az in front of me suddenly seems to be adorable. "Cancel" and "OK" buttons are displayed on the screen, prompting you to make a selection.

"What should I do..…"

To make this beauty Az me, I'm not courageous and I'm afraid. On the other hand, no matter how far she is from me in reality, I also think. Rather, it is the world of the Internet that is far away. There are many examples of flashy names and icons on SNS.

"U" is a virtual world and Az is a virtual personality. Privacy is strictly protected. It claims that anonymity is strictly guaranteed. Then no one should blame you. Then, at the next moment, I'm at a loss. In the first place, why did AI of "U" automatically generate such a beautiful Az for me? Is it just a coincidence created by uncertainty? Or is it deep inside my heart? Are you seeing through your true desires? Or ...

It's time to select "Cancel or OK".

A late-night study room with only desk lights. In front of the MacBook screen, I decided to take a slow breath and trim. --Now, let's live another you-in my head, the message of "U" was refrained. "Click" I clicked OK.

At that moment, as if you were preparing, the "U" app on your smartphone started automatically. You can hear the announcement of a calm tone voice.

"Please attach the device"

As per the instruction screen, take out the earphone type device from the case and take it out. I put it on my ear.

"I'm reading your biometric information ..."

The letter "U" on the device glows blue and shimmers. With just one vise, you can get all the information about human beings as living things. It seems that you can do it. And in a very short time. "Done," the announcement said. Then I continued as if I was checking.

"Start body sharing"

It sounds like something is spinning at high speed. Head circumference. There was a feeling that the surroundings were covered with dense air. It seems that it was brought about by the strong magnetic field developed by the device, and perhaps because of that, the hair lifts up softly as if it were in a weightless space.

"First, vision comes under control."

The feel of the magnetic field seemed to concentrate on the back of the head. I slowly open my eyes. "Ah!" A dazzling white light rushed into my eyes.

It's a cloth. White cloths that were more than 10 meters long overlapped, fluttering and fluttering in the wind. I looked at my body as if I were checking my body, and was shocked. My feet are floating in the air. The announcement echoes, as if it were an announcement from heaven.

"Other cognitive functions and deep limb sensations come under control."

What do you mean? There were no words in that unrealistic space. Sweat gushes from the whole body, and the heart beats.

"The feeling of physical independence and physical possession moves to your registered Az." Something slowly approaches from behind. Pink hair. It was the "shadow" of Az that I registered earlier. However, it’s face is flat and white like a plate with nothing on it.

[.........]

I'm just stunned. "Shadow" overlaps. The feeling that another body gets inside me is unpleasant. The shadow of Az was fine-tuned by moving the position back and forth so that it would be in focus, but it fits perfectly immediately. Immediately, the discomfort I had just disappeared somewhere. Beyond the fluttering white cloth, I saw a large white door. I reach out my hands as I slowly approach. The announcement announced. "Welcome to the world of 'U'"

I pressed my hands against the door and opened it vigorously. When I jumped out, I saw a group of skyscrapers that filled my view. "Ah!" On the bustling boulevard that intersects three-dimensionally, a large number of people, not humans, Az-- are floating in the air. Az that imitate animals, insects, marine life, vases and set squares, Az that imitate bicycles, half-beasts and goddesses that are likely to appear in fiction, Az that imitate warriors ... , Az in all kinds of shapes are flying around while chatting loudly. When I look up at the night sky, the lights of countless windows blink, not from the twinkling stars, but from the skyscrapers hanging upside down. Another reality. Another world. Is this "U"? Powder snow is dancing. It's a little chilly. When I opened my hands to take the powder snow in the palm of my hand, I saw a white arm and long, thin fingers in my eyes.

[...]

I was surprised at the difference in physical sensation and looked as if I was checking my body. Her slender body and long legs are wrapped in a white dress that looks like a newborn.

Is this me?

Let's live another you.

The message of "U" was refrained in my head.

[............]

There, I noticed multiple eyes and looked forward. Some Az in the crowd are looking at me. However, as soon as I glanced at it, I went there. You may be a little beautiful, but this is "U". To that extent, nothing is unusual here. That was convenient. No one cares. Then you might be able to do what you've always wanted to do. When I raise my face, I take a deep breath and try to speak out.

The voice was undeniably my own voice. It's much more relaxed than I expected. I tried humming so that the nasal cavity would resonate instead of stretching. Sounds smoother than I imagined. Is it conveniently corrected because the body is virtual? But I don't feel that the sound is far from my consciousness. Is it because the scanned biometric information is accurate? Anyway…

I can't believe it. "I could sing ...!"As the powder snow dances fantastically, my voice rebels against the skyscrapers. It is echoing. How many years has it been since you sung properly? It was irresistible that I could immediately make a voice as I imagined, even though there was a blank and I hadn't done any preparatory movements. It feels like I've got a lot of freedom, and at the same time I'm a little scared. How is biometric information transformed into this output? What is Az? Anyway,

"Oh, I finally sang ...!"

I was very happy about this. I decided to sit down and sing a song with the lyrics properly. Of course there is no accompaniment, but is it okay?

[ I want to see a world where such a small melody pierces through a happy song

I wake up every morning and look for a future without you

I don't want to imagine the unpleasant singing ]

The lyrics translated into various languages ​​around me. Many languages, it surrounds me as a belt. Gaelic, Thai, Persian ...

All languages ​​overlap. If a song is detected, will it be displayed automatically without any settings? In addition, the synthetic voice singing in some languages ​​sounds faint, although the types are limited. Maybe because of that, "Hmm ...?"

Az and others who should have ignored me, suddenly look back and look at me.

"Ah ...?" Many Az in the building area are standing in the air one after another. I didn't mean to do that. I was just trying to check the condition of the technology called body sharing. However, it seems that more Az are gathering and listening than I expected. It's very embarrassing to think of myself as a street musician in a virtual world. However, it cannot be stopped on the way. Let's sing to the end, for myself. I continued thinking so.

[But I don't know the correct answer anymore.

It seems that it's going well except for me. Will it still come tomorrow?

Song, guide me, whatever happens, song, beside me, love, approach ]

From the Az who were listening, balloons displaying comments one after another appeared.

"What is this?" "Who is singing?" "Mysterious song"

At first, the content was cautious, as if watching the situation.

However, it gradually became less reluctant. For some reason, the only people who made comments such as "noisy", "strange songs", and "don't be pretentious" were Az with a cute appearance that I couldn't say such a thing. Wearing a frilly pink dress, a little animal, or a baby holding a teddy bear.

"Her looks aren't bad" "What's that freckled face (laughs)" Various tweets fly while singing. I do not mind. I'm singing for me. However, I was hurt by the words thrown at me. It ’s hard to say that only a small number of people will say

You can see it from here as well. hard. It may have appeared on the face. Furthermore, the words escalated. "I feel bad" "Stop it!" "Stop it!" I managed to finish singing before my feelings broke down. The noisy Az sighed and sighed, sighing and leaving. I had no choice but to see them off with disappointment,

"Belle"

Called my name, I looked up.

"……ah"

Something slipped in, "Eh? ... Ah," once I sprinkled the glittering scales, and once I went all the way down, it slowly stopped on my hand. It was a mysterious Az, like a white fairy, like an angel, like a clionidae. If you look closely, you can see that the body is transparent with the delicacy of warabi mochi. While swaying the wings of both hands, he said in a slightly traumatic tone.

"You are wonderful. You are beautiful."

That said, I felt saved.

"....... Fufufu. Thank you."

When I woke up, it was morning. Before I knew it, I was lying on my bed. Was last night a dream? It still has a fresh feeling. I looked at my smartphone to make sure. I have a profile page for Belle. It wasn't a dream. If you look under the bell icon, there is a column showing the number of followers.

《Belle: 0 followers》

That number is zero.

"There are no followers ....." I muttered while staring at the screen. "The world doesn't change anything." I didn't ask for it, but I felt a little disappointed.

When I thought, a beep sounded. The number of followers became "1" in front of me. That angel Az. A comment balloon appears. It was a blank space with nothing written on it. I laid down my smartphone, lay on my back on the bed, and remembered last night. There were many unplanned things. However, "But I finally sang ..." Above all, my heart was refreshed. The light of the winter morning looked dazzling. It's been a while since I've had such a refreshing feeling. Then there was a second follow-up notice. It was Hiro-chan. A cute bird-shaped Az with a round hat.

In the comment of "Re: I tried it for the first time"

<< This is Hiro. Belle is the best. I'll do anything >>

-------------------

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Dcx2NedPVBEdbfQaU-WC0pJMRmn20ASn7HSC0KY9R7E/edit?usp=sharing ~ Google Doc of the English-translated novel.

ryuutosobakasuhime.wordpress.com ~ English fan-site for Ryuu to Sobakasu no Hime where translations, scans, and other content is posted.

[detectivereyes]

happy wip wednesday! i haven’t found a wip that i’ve really hit my stride on lately but this is a piece of something i wrote a few days ago (if you’ve heard me mentioned the 2b phone call fic... yeah) i’m not sure when i’ll feel inspired enough to write the rest, but here’s a little taste - or big taste since it’s actually the whole section bc why not. (also a big cw this is like... super sad, dealing with a lot of feels around 2x13)

TK’s startled by the ringing of his new phone on the counter. He had wanted to wait a bit before replacing the one he lost in the fire, needing to be disconnected for a bit after everything. But he could only borrow other people’s phones so much before it was more inconvientant than it was worth, and two days later he had a rectangular box in his hands with a brand new iPhone inside.

That had been the day before and he had barely taken the time to set it up. His contact list so far only included Carlos' number, the only person he had taken the time to send a text to. So when a number pops up on the caller id instead of a name, he isn’t too surprised. And instantly recognizing the New York area code, it doesn’t take too much thought to realize who would be calling him.

“Hello?” TK answers though, refraining from his normal greeting just in case.

“Hey sweetheart,” his mother’s soft voice coming through the phone speaker brings him comfort he didn’t even realize he needed.

The last time they had talked, he had still been pretty raw after the fire. He had said he would call her later when he felt more up to talking, but before he knew it the universe threw another tragedy in his face and time slipped away.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call. How are you?”

“I think I’m supposed to be asking you that,” she replies plainly. “I heard about Charles.”

“Yeah, he was a good husband and father. It’s been hard for Tommy.”

“What about you?” Gwyn replies without missing a beat. “I know you, TK. And I know how hard you take these things. How are you holding up?”

His chin quivers and it takes all of his willpower not to break down into tears at that. Despite how much he knows the people around him care, and sure they’ve asked how he’s doing after what happened to his home last week, and dealing with the knowledge that it was Owen’s fault, no one has taken the time to see how he’s dealing with the grief of his captain’s husband. Everyone’s focus, including his own, has been on Tommy, as it should be.

However, he may have only met the man a few times, he still felt like a piece of him broke when he got the news. He knew the other man had been preparing to reopen his restaurant, and that he took the time to make breakfast for Tommy before every shift, no matter how early it started, and have dinner waiting for her whenever she got home, no matter how late. He also knew that Izzy and Evie idolized him the same way he idolized Owen growing up, and now they are living out the thing he feared most; growing up without a father. 

He’s not sure how to convey what he’s feeling to his mom. Making Charles’ death about him seems self-centered, but he knows that’s exactly why his mom is calling. Like she said, he always takes these things hard and there’s no use lying about it.

“It’s hard to see her in so much pain,” he settles on. At Gwyn’s hum on the other end, he continues, “I can’t even imagine the kind of pain she’s feeling. It’s so intense that I feel it too. And I feel guilty for it because I barely knew Charles, yet I can’t help it.”

“You don’t have to feel guilty about empathizing with her, TK. You’ve always had a big heart and the emotions of those around you will always affect you.”

He sighs. “I just think that this year’s been so rough on everyone, yet it doesn’t stop. Things keep getting worse and I don’t know why and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

“You’re right, and there’s nothing I can say that will make any of what happened okay because none of it is okay. I know it seems like everything just keeps getting worse but you have to believe me that there will be a light at the end of this very dark, very long tunnel.”

He nods instinctively even though he knows his mom can’t see him. 

“But TK?”

“Yeah?”

“I know that, like your father, you tend to bottle up these emotions and that’s not good. Promise me you’ll talk to someone about it. Carlos, your therapist, any of your friends, it doesn’t matter. But I hate to think that a phone call from me is the only support you’re getting after this. Talk to them. Let them in. Okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees. “Thank you, mom. Love you.”

“Love you too, baby.”

[imagine-darksiders]

Old Timer.

Chapter 3 - An Old Friend.

----

The maker's footfalls are almost lost beneath the swishing of long grass that sways and whispers in ripples all across the valley, swathes of moonlight turning their blades silver as they flow with the wind. Were it not for the rhythmic thuds sending tremors through your body and coinciding with each step he takes, you'd almost think he was gliding across the vale. You've never known a maker to walk so smoothly.

Unbeknownst to you, even he isn't sure if he's ever trodden so softly before.

Then again, when was the last time he'd held something in his hands that felt as though it might shatter at the slightest jolt or jostle? He can’t help thinking that all it would take is one trip, just one stumble and he might accidentally... A loud gulp disturbs the relatively peaceful walk, and though the sound of it garners your brief and curious gaze, the maker manages to cover it by clearing his throat and keeping his eyes fixed straight ahead.

Your skin feels like silk beneath his inelegant fingertips and it takes more conscious effort than he'd like to admit to refrain from letting his fingers wander up to your bare arms. Even having you pressed gingerly against his pectorals sends an unexpected shiver racing up his spine.

He can't help but beam proudly when he notices that your head is on a constant swivel, staring around at the hills and valley with a look of astonishment plastered on your face, which gets him wondering what in the world your realm must look like. He imagines it must be somewhere beautiful, to produce such beautiful people.

Chuckling warmly, he twitches his thumb against your hip and asks, “So, what're you doing in the Forge Lands anyway?”

He's rewarded by a fleeting glance from strikingly intricate irises. “That's... a long story,” you mutter.

The maker's chest rumbles with an intrigued hum. “My favourite kind!”

His enthusiasm proves contagious and after indulging him in a smile, you look skywards and reply, “Well, since you ask, I'm afraid I'm not exactly here on purpose.”

“You mean you didn't travel here just to get a taste of the local flavour?” he smirks, flashing you a wink.

In spite of yourself, your exasperated smile only grows. “Lewd. And, no, what I mean is... All right, what do you know about portals?”

Okay, so maybe he doesn't need to know that you've come from another time entirely, but perhaps there isn't any harm in telling him the manner in which you came to be here. You're aware that most species in Creation – Humanity notwithstanding – have utilised portals as a means of travel between the connected realms. An unconventional method of getting about for humans maybe, but commonplace for a maker.

He may even be able to help you figure out what went wrong and why Death hasn't come to fetch you yet. Because you're one hundred percent certain that the Horseman wouldn't just leave you here.

...

Would he?

'No.' You tell the doubting voice sternly, giving your head a shake to throw the thought from your mind. He wouldn't do that to you. Nor would he have been bested by a couple of constructs.

So, that can't be the reason you're still here.

The maker's contemplative hum draws your attention and you glance up at the underside of his beard as he muses aloud, “Portals? Mmm, beyond stepping in them and getting to the other side, there's not a whole lot to them, why?”

“Well, that's how I got here,” you explain, “Through a portal in the woods. It wasn't supposed to bring me... uh, here though.”

“Oh?” The maker raises an eyebrow and steps into the entrance of a long, spacious tunnel, “Where were you expecting to end up then?”

“Well, that's the thing,” you say glumly, “It wasn't supposed to happen at all. I... fell into it.” Just then, you find yourself awash in the soft, blue glow emanating from dozens of glow stones that have been dotted along the tunnel walls. 

Slowly, he nods, his hair shimmering silver in the ethereal light. “Right. So, erm, where did you fall into it?”

You open your mouth, hesitating for an awkward few seconds before you manage to reply, “On Earth.”

“Hmm.” Carefully sliding a hand out from underneath you, he raises it to scratch at his chin. “Well, portals can be fickle things, depending on who created them in the first place. Mostly, they take you where they're s'posed to lead. Sometimes, they take you where you want to go, but then there're those times when they'll take you where you need to go.”

“Oh great. All the portals I could have fallen into, and I fall into the one with a degree in psychology.”

“Hey, you fell into it by mistake,” he points out, “can't blame the portal for bringing you here.”

“No..” You feel him slip his hand beneath your legs again. “No, I suppose I can't.” 

Because you didn't fall into it by mistake, did you? Death had activated it under your feet. He meant to send you... somewhere. For all of his unpalatable qualities, privately, the Horseman is remarkably intelligent. You have no doubt that he did a thousand calculations in those few seconds before he shot you back through time, weighed the pros and the cons, considered all the risks... He's loathe to admit it but he makes it quite obvious that he cares about what happens to you, if not through words then through his actions. He wouldn't have left you here. Not if he didn't think he could get you back again.

“Hold tight,” the maker suddenly murmurs, drawing you out of your thoughts and you instinctively latch onto his thumb, despite being held in perhaps the steadiest hands in the known Universe. As it turns out, he simply steps up onto an elevated section of the tunnel. 

Anticlimactic.

Shaking your head with a snort, you turn your gaze to the far end, where a soft, orange glow is seeping in through the arched entrance. Apprehension has you drawing your uninjured leg up to your chest and you’re quite firmly reminded that this isn't the Tri Stone you've come from, and these aren't your friends. They're strangers. You are a stranger.

You take a couple of deep, nervous breaths, stilling when the maker's thumb bumps hesitantly against your side. “Not nervous, are you?” he asks, teasing.

You are, as a matter of fact. Though perhaps not for the same reason he suspects. Truthfully, the prospect of seeing your friend again after you'd watched him die puts the fear of God into you.  How on Earth will you react? What will you say to him? Should you warn him? What if you say the wrong thing and he ends up disliking you? What if Death comes to take you back and you find you can’t say goodbye to him again?

Swallowing, you wet your lips and admit, “A little, I guess.”

Your admission brings a guttural murmur to the maker’s throat and his hands cup a bit more securely around you. Whether the reaction is conscious or not, you aren't sure. But you decide not to mention it.

“You think I'd pull you out of trouble, just to let you get hurt on my watch? In my village? Some of this lot might be a bit boisterous, but they're good folk, and any friend of mine'll be a friend of theirs.”

“Oh? And who said I was a friend of yours?” You shoot him an impish grin, which he returns, peeling his lips back to reveal the extent of his gleaming, ivory tusks.

“Seem to recall it being you, you little smart aleck. Called me a boddy, didn't you?”

“A buddy.”

“S'what I said.” 

A snort explodes from you before you can lift a hand to catch it.

Encouraged, the giant lifts you closer to his face and continues, “You can laugh, sweetheart, but naming me a friend was your mistake. You'll have a hell of a time getting rid of me now.”

At the back of your mind, a voice that sounds suspiciously like Death's instructs you not to go and start making friends in a place you'll probably, hopefully, be leaving soon - a tricky feat when you're faced with an incorrigible maker who keeps flashing you charming grins and coy remarks. Besides, you're not going to be cold just because you might not stick around. You're a human, not a Horseman.

Dropping your leg back over the side of his hand, you clear your throat to smother a chuckle and say, “You must have no end of friends if you make them that easily.”

It only lasts for a moment, but you don't miss how the hands you're pressed into go stiff and rigid. Then, as though it had never happened, the maker juts out his chest, chin sticking high in the air. “Course I've got friends,” he declares, “But I'll have you know, I'm very selective.”

You raise a skeptical brow. “Really?”

“Aye, really!” Chuckling nervously, his eyes dart away from you and back again and he's a little too quick to point out, “Oh, wouldja look at that! We're here!”

Sure enough, as you turn to follow his gaze, you suddenly find yourself awash in warmth and light. Squinting, you raise a hand to shield your eyes after the tunnel's comfortable darkness, blinking out at a distantly familiar, yet unrecognisable scene.

It's the village of Tri Stone all right, only it looks almost new, at least compared to the village you'd left behind. For one, there's a lot less space between the buildings now. Grey, stone huts are packed almost on top of one another in clusters, running up and down the left and right of the bridge that stretches over the seemingly bottomless gorge below. In the place where Muria’s gazebo will stand, there is instead an enormous, open walled garden, bursting with herbs and flowers that stand much taller than you do. 

There are lanterns and glow stones strung up like bunting over the village, leaving everything bathed in that warm, orange light that drapes over you like a comforting blanket. At the far end of the bridge, you spot the distinct doorway leading to the maker's forge and part of you wants to breathe a sigh of relief, drawing small comfort from the familiarity of the stone face carved out of the very mountain itself. 

The village's architecture, however, is not the reason for the gasp that escapes you. 

Milling about between the buildings – in greater numbers than you've ever seen before – are dozens of makers, all shapes, sizes and ages. There are those clothed in lush, richly coloured robes, those wearing leathers and furs and even some who are fully decked out in silver and gold armour.

Older makers gather in small groups, some of them talking animatedly amongst themselves, though the tones are such an amalgamation of low, gravelly sounds that you can't pick out any specific words from your vantage point at the top of the village. In an instant, you begin to rake your gaze over the crowd, searching with a hesitant desperation for that familiar flash of white beard or sweeping prongs protruding from an intricate headpiece.

Then, you spot something that gives you pause. 

Dashing between the adults, almost lost amongst the sea of vast legs, you catch glimpses of far smaller creatures, and it isn't until one of them suddenly emerges from behind a maker's boot that you realise exactly what it is you're looking at.

Without warning, your jaw practically comes unhinged.

They're.... younglings. Proper younglings - not like Karn, who was only called as such because he happened to be younger than the others. These are quite clearly children. And while they'd tower about you by a few feet, some of them hardly seem to reach their elders' knees.

Enraptured and knowing full-well that you're witnessing something secret and precious, you watch them chase each other between long legs and weave around the huts, brandishing wooden swords at one another, save for a few of the smaller ones who cling to the older giants and observe their playmates with shy reticence, content to wait until they're big or brave enough to join in.

It's a community. An entire community of makers.

Your throat is tighter than a vice when you try to swallow.

There's a soft and proud smile tugging at the maker's lips as he observes you, revelling in the dumbfounded expression on your face. 

After giving you a few more moments to soak in your surroundings, he leans down and lets his warm breath wash over the back of your neck. “Welcome to Tri Stone,” he murmurs.

It's beautiful, in a tragic way, only because you've seen it in its future state, and compared to this - this lively, bustling village – the Tri Stone you've come from seems so much like a ghost town. To think... one day, most of this will be gone, and in its place will stand a comparatively lonely and melancholy place. At some point in the future, though you can't hazard a guess as to when, your friends will lose it all....

A single tear wells up in one corner of your eye, but you're quick to deftly swipe it away before the maker can see it.

“Here.. Why don’t I... ” His thick, smoky voice trails off and flutters into your ear and you find yourself being lifted up. You don’t say a word as he gingerly tips his palm and watches you all the way onto his shoulder until he’s satisfied that you’re situated securely upon it. At the questioning glance he receives, he merely shrugs, explaining, “Thought you’d prefer the view from up there.” 

He neglects to mention that he’ll feel much better the further away you are from the ground, and any, wayward boots that might stomp just a little too close for his liking.  

“Now,” he adds, clapping his palms together and already missing the subtle weight of having you held between them “Let’s go and find -” 

“Ah. So, you've returned, at last.” A rasping and admittedly rather grating voice rings out above the village's gentle ambiance and the maker below you groans upon hearing it, turning himself to face the empty staircase on his right and subsequently giving you a better view of the haggard, ancient being shuffling towards you.

Honestly, you can't help but to stare, having never thought you'd get to see a person who could make Eideard look young.

It's another maker, a very old maker, draped in stark, white robes that wash out his pasty complexion and leave him looking sicklier than you imagine he really is. There's almost no colour to him at all, in fact, as though all the life has drained out of his body and left him as little more than a pale ghost, dragging himself towards you on crooked legs, helped along by a staff that resembles the limbless trunk of a birch tree, all mottled and white like its wielder.

As he draws closer, you start to make out the muffled grumbles spat from his thin, drawn lips. Without really meaning to, you shrink against your maker's neck, one hand squeezing around a lock of his silken hair. Why couldn’t he have worn a cowl for you to duck behind?

“You're late,” the old giant wheezes, coming to a halt in front of him, raising a gnarled finger and jabbing it sharply into the younger maker's chest, “You were told to return before the suns fell. Your duties have gone neglected. Again.”

Undeterred by the accusing tone, your new friend turns his head to catch your eye and throws you a wink, plastering on his signature grin before he faces the newcomer once more. “Ah, Cruim! Just the maker we wanted to see-”

“That's Elder Cruim to you, boy,” the other maker sneers, stroking his nails down the long, silver beard that hangs from his chin all the way to the ground, “Where have you been? No doubt getting yourself into trouble, as usual.”

“Oh, you know me. I can't help myself!” he replies with a shrug, accidentally jostling you on his shoulder and causing you to let out a soft gasp at the sudden motion.

Unfortunately for you, although this 'Cruim's' eyes resemble the colour of sour milk, they manage to find you without difficulty and once they do, they widen in visible surprise, his mouth falling open to reveal crooked teeth and a missing tusk.

Shyly, you lift one of your hands and give him a tiny wave. “Uh... Hi?”

His razor-sharp gaze snaps to the younger maker and he subjects him to a scathing glare, hissing, “What... is that thing?”

“Errr..” Your friend's smile droops and he shares another quick glance with you before he admits, “Actually, we were hoping you might have some idea.”

Gradually, your heart begins to sink as the old maker gives you another, suspicious look, recognition never once alighting in his eyes.

“It's um, good to meet you, Sir,” you venture weakly, trying not to sound as though you're desperate, “We just thought... someone as ol – uh, worldly as you would have seen someone like me before. In your travels?... Perhaps?” Already feeling small, you let your voice fade into nonexistence. 

If nothing else, getting at least a general idea of the epoch you're in might be incremental in getting you back to your own timeline. On the off chance that Cruim has heard of humans before, then you can safely narrow the date down to... oh, within the last four and a half billion years.

You sigh.

One of the giant's wispy eyebrows lifts and he wrinkles his nose, but doesn't otherwise respond to your question, instead electing to squint at you dubiously, sending your heart-rate up a few notches.

“This here's a hoo-man,” the young maker encourages, hoping to perhaps jog his memory, yet all he receives in response is a skeptical 'harrumph.'

“It... it's hyu-man,” you correct him softly, enunciating the word whilst you privately long for the interaction to be over so that you can get back to looking for Eideard, and if not him, then Muria. The pain in your leg may be less severe, but you’re conscious that the wounds still need seeing to.

“A human? Pah! There's no such species!” the old one spits, “Whatever that thing told you, it's lying.”

Beneath your legs, you feel the maker's shoulder tense as he draws himself up, hackles raised. “That thing,” he says slowly, erring on a growl, “happens to be a friend of mine.”

He doesn’t notice the soft, ‘Huh?’ that slips from your tongue, nor the surprised wonder shining in your eyes as you turn to stare at him.

In contrast, Cruim evidently couldn’t care less, and with an exasperated huff, he throws his eyes up to the sky and tuts, tossing his hand out towards you aggressively. “I swear, you always were soft-headed as a youngling. Nothing much seems to have changed with age...” He pauses to reaffix you with a glare, still addressing his younger counterpart as he adds, “It's a glamoured demon, you fool. Nothing more. Now, get rid of it before it causes mayhem in my village.”

Suddenly, a gut-wrenching pit of fear opens up in your stomach. You know exactly what makers think of demons, but just as you try to sputter out assurances that you most certainly are not a demon in disguise, the young maker grunts, twisting himself sideways so that the shoulder you're sitting on is moved further away from his elder, partially hiding you from view behind a waterfall of golden hair.

“Just hold on a whit. This little'un is no demon!” he declares, swelling to his full height until he's looming over the old maker, “You think I wouldn't recognise glamour magic if I sensed it? Now, I might not know what a human is, but I'm inclined to believe that I've met one today - one who needs our help.”

Despite the distant hum of the village, you feel as though you're sitting in a silent bubble of existence miles away from everything else, locked in this one, single moment as the pair of makers stare one another down whilst you watch with bated breath.

Somehow, you get the impression that this isn't the first time they've locked horns.

Your maker stands at least two heads taller than his older counterpart, but the latter has the advantage of being a respected figure, one whose authority is rarely, if ever questioned or challenged. And makers are nothing if not an honourable lot. It's difficult to believe that the younger one is standing up against his own elder in your defence. You, a stranger in their home.

You fully expect him to back down first.

So it comes as a huge surprise when it’s the old one who breaks eye contact and shakes his head, disappointment and contempt radiating off him in tangible waves. “I miss the days when you younglings would listen to your elders.”

“That was 'fore I learned that my elders are capable of being wrong sometimes.”

Cruim's fists clench tightly around his staff, but he takes a step back, levelling the maker with his icy sneer. “Fine. You won't be told... Blind yourself to my warnings. But mark me...” Trailing off to heave his rickety bones around, he begins to shuffle away once more, heading for the staircase that sweeps down towards the lower tier of the village. Upon reaching the top step, he twists his head over a shoulder and calls, “If your little stray causes any trouble, I will be holding you personally responsible....” Then, with a sigh, he lowers his voice and turns away once more, but not before he adds in an uncharacteristically soft murmur, “You can't keep trying to make friends with every creature that catches your fancy. One of these days, your heart will be the thing that gets you killed, Eideard.”

And just like that, with the utterance of a single word, the realm around you grinds to an abrupt and dizzying halt.

The soft-eyed maker doesn't seem to realise that the tiny being on his shoulder has stopped breathing. He continues to watch Cruim descend the staircase until he's out of sight, and only then does he lose his rigid stance.

“Ah, don't pay him any mind,” he huffs dismissively, “Time's made him bitter and suspicious. I know you’re telling the truth.”

But you're barely listening to him. Suddenly, you don't care that the elder hasn't heard of your species. You don't give a damn that you're lost between the fabric of time, billions of years separated from Death and the rest of your friends. Even the ache in your leg is forgotten, drowned out by the cruel knife of grief that lodges into your heart and gives a vicious twist, stealing the breath right out of you. Everything threatens to hit you all at once, disbelief first, then confusion and shock, misery, hope, guilt. It all leaves you numb as your brain tries to sift through the nauseating torrent of emotions until it finally settles upon the one it can most easily comprehend for the moment. 

Apprehension.

Stiffly, with your heart jackhammering against your ribcage, you twist yourself around to face the maker properly, the beginnings of a sob catching in your throat. “Wha...What did he just... call you?”

“Hmm?” The maker pivots his neck in your direction, taking in your haunted stare for a moment before he suddenly realises that... That's right. He'd never actually introduced himself to his new friend. 

“Oh, maker's bones, look at me, forgetting my manners.” Beaming, he fixes you under his warm, blue gaze which is now so, jarringly familiar that you can hardly believe you never recognised it in the first place.

“My name's Eideard, little one. At your service.”

[redrosesartcabin]

Self indulgent series part 1

At home where everything seems fine

(Kenji x female reader, first perspective) (This story was originally written for me about me, which is why it’s called the self indulgent series. But because I’ve written so god damn much I decided to edit it a little, edit some things out as well etc and share some of it with you, I hope you’ll enjoy it!)

The horrors were over.

Where day after day, week after week we had to fight for our survival.

It was finally over.

Setting foot on land was a dream come true for us all, though it was also a heart wrenching goodbye as we went off home.

We had longed for home for so long, but we had also found a family in our new friends.

I especially felt that Kenji took the goodbye hard. Maybe even the hardest.

After all this time I knew all too well, that despite all the wealth he has, despite all the things he owns and the comfort he enjoys in life, there was no family he was going home to.

He was an only child with no known mother in the picture and an absent father. It tore me apart as I had to release him from the tight hug he had me in. It was the kind of hug that begged you to never let go. But I had to. My family was waiting. I had that luck.

I turned around with pain in my heart for him but the utmost joy as I saw my parents and siblings with tears in their eyes, seeing their long-lost daughter and sister alive and well.

I felt infinite warmth as they brought me into their embrace and we finally went home.

 Before going home, we had told each other’s socials (none of us remembered our phone number after all that time) so we would stay in touch.

In the beginning we would talk to each other every day whenever possible for us. We all had a hard time especially when it came to getting into daily school life again, since we had to start over with the grade we had already started and thus weren’t with our old friends again, who had on top of that moved on as they had thought we had died and thus it was hard to reconnect.

Luckily, we all somehow found new connections again (many people took pity in us for what we had lived through) and we could move on.

As we did, so did our chatting.

No: of course, we didn’t lose contact. We were all a second family to each other and there was no way in hell we’d ever be able to live without each other ever again. Not after what we’ve been through.

We however lost the need to tell each other every little thing and could live on our own. Much like when a child moves out from their parent’s house. The child is used to seeing their parent every single day so the parents (if they are good parents that is) will feel the need that the child writes them every day and the child will feel the need to write and connect every day. But as they learn to be independent, they will lose their need to be connected to their parent and the parents will start trusting the child and not need them to write every day or all the time.

That was the case with us all: Except when it came to Kenji and me.

 As unbelievable as it would’ve seemed in the past, we both became best friends. We would send each other stupid memes and laugh about animal videos and Tiktok or vine compilations on Youtube, or, on the other hand of the spectrum, we’d talk through the nightmares we sometimes had about what we lived through and the permanent trauma our time in Jurassic World had caused us. Somehow, we felt the most comfortable talking to each other about that as well as laughing about the same things.

We seemed to have a similar psyche, despite him being extroverted whilst I was introverted and him acting like a jerk to appear cool, whilst I would often refrain from talking and try to appear cold so people wouldn’t know who I was.

But on the insight, when you’d look past that outer shell, it turns out we are very similar people with very similar views. Kind of an opposites attract thing where we both had qualities that we both could benefit from and grow together as a person whilst holding the same principals and morals.

Though quicker than I could blink, that opposites attract thing turned into a huge, massive, enormous, gigantic crush.

 I should’ve known that this would happen. Right after I figured it out for myself, I just had to groan. I had always found him very pretty, though I would’ve never admitted that: He had enough of an ego, I didn’t need to feed into that act any more than necessary.

During our adventurous time on the dino-island, I hadn’t had too much time to think about my own feelings. But now that I was safe again in my comfortable home, I had finally realized my dreaded crush.

I didn’t dread it, because it was him. I didn’t even dread it too much because we didn’t live in the same place (though that was quite annoying too). I dreaded it mostly, because of the simple fact that I probably wasn’t his type. And I hated that my first deep friendship with a boy had turned my head upside down after all. But he was just too beautiful not to crush on.

Or maybe I was even in love.

And so, I kept on dreading it, until one crazy day.

 I was exiting my school around lunch time on Friday, idly chatting with a bunch of my newfound friends, when I detected a helicopter on the schoolyard.

“No way”, I whispered

“Might that be your little rich boyfriend?”, one of my girl friends asked me teasingly

“Oh shut it”, I gave her a jab in the side but had to giggle nonetheless.

And indeed, it was him. I mean: What other person would make such a grand arrival on a schoolyard?

Kenji had seemed to have detected me and got out of the helicopter.

“Y/Nnnnnnn”, Kenji yelled, stretching my name as he did

“Kenji!”, I screamed back and ran into his arms he opened wide for a loving embrace.

I didn’t care that everyone was looking or that they thought we both were lovers and that this might be a tad bit embarrassing and overboard: I had missed him too much to give a damn.

“Kenj’ my dude, what are you doing here?”, I asked, getting out of our embrace to take a good look at him. He was well dressed and styled as always.

“Sightseeing”, he answered with a sarcastic undertone which made me raise an eyebrow (I of course knew why he was here, it was a rhetorical question), “…Visiting you of course”, he explained anyways, “can’t I miss my best friend?”, he asked and I could feel my cheeks grow red.

Yes… best friend.

“Of course,”, I smiled back, “I missed you too, ya dingus. Though why did you come with the helicopter? Don’t you think it’s a little…much?”

“Well first of all: No, never. Secondly: It’s faster to fly here with the heli, and thirdly: I talked to your parents and they agreed you can come to my crib for the weekend”

“Really? You’re not messing with me?!”

“I swear”, he said, lifting his hand to make the swearing sign to show his uncrossed fingers, “and if you still don’t believe me you can just check your phone”, he added as he had pledged is truthfulness.

I tucked it out of my backpack and there it was: A message from my mom wishing me a good time over at Kenji’s. Plus informing me she had packed me a little luggage that Kenji already had in his helicopter. I wrote her thanks and a heart before facing Kenji again with a content smile.

“Ok then: What are we waiting for? Let’s go!”, I laughed, “Later you guys!”, I turned around to my friends who were giving me cheeky smiles and a thumbs up.

 The flight lasted three hours in total. Though it felt like no time at all as Kenji and I caught up on things. And even when we were done with that, we found a way to talk about anything and nothing at all or sometimes even just sit there in a comfortable silence and looking out of the window. I had never flown in a helicopter and was in constant awe of it all. Kenji had made a little bit fun of that and called it “cute” which however made me fluster more than anything else. Him calling anything I do cute just made the butterflies in my stomach swirl like crazy.

 We arrived on top of a huge roof that had a designated helicopter landing spot.

“Wow damn. Your house really is big!”

“Y/N: That’s the helicopter Garage”

“WHAT”

As we got out a tall man in a black suit, who carried my luggage, accompanied us through a trap door on the ground down to a huge hall with several helicopters in different colors and sizes.

My mouth was wide agape as I looked at it all.

“And where in the ever-loving f*ck is your real house then?”, I asked

“We are gonna be brought there by the limo in a sec”, he explained as casually as someone saying they were going grocery shopping.

Though that was probably more unusual for anyone in his family than it was for me to drive in a limousine.

 We got out of the garage and waited on a small patio. Only a couple of seconds after we had exited, surely enough, a pitch black, perfectly cleaned limo appeared. A chauffeur exited the driver side opening the door, way in the back, “welcome Sir Kenji and Madame. Please enter”, he said in a very British accent and motioned us to get into the car.

“Wow” is all I could say at first but then could muster up a “thank you” without sounding too flabbergasted.

 The drive from the helicopter Garage to the actual house (if you could call it that) was only a couple of minutes, but boy what a couple of minutes!

I was looking out of the window yet again. This time I was looking at a huge, very well groomed, garden. It had huge rose bushes, ponds with statues spewing water, a maze… just like you’d imagine the garden of a king to look like.

“Kenji: This is batshit insane. You live in a freaking palace!”, I exclaimed.

“Well: Did you think I was exaggerating when I said I was filthy rich?”

“Yes! Kinda!”, I answered, feeling my voice heighten, still not being able to process the sight before me, “it’s hard to believe that people can live like that”.

At that he just laughed, and we kept on just enjoying our company in silence.

 And finally, we truly arrived.

We were let out again by the chauffeur. As I exited, I noticed a red carpet being rolled out in front of me.

I turned to Kenji arching an eyebrow at him.

“A red carpet? Really?”

“What? I just wanted the lady to feel welcome”, he grinned, and I couldn’t but laugh and feel my cheeks redden again.

I everted my eyes from his, because of how flustered I got, but mostly to look at the house… or well: Mansion.

It was a very modern construction. Mostly white and looking futuristic. It was the kind of construction you’d expect a man, owning one or the other huge corporation, to have.

It was almost a disappointing contrast to the old seeming garden, but it was impressive nonetheless. I felt like I had jumped forward in time to the year 2030 or something.

After analyzing the mansion for a bit, we walked towards the dark gray double door that was opened by what seemed to be a sort of butler.

I was now faced with the entrance hall. It was all paved with a grave shiny stone and had a big, golden chandelier on the exaggeratedly high ceiling. In the back of the hall were two gray stairways going up to the left and right with glass barriers. On the front were clothe holders made of ebony wood and hanging hooks made out of fine steel.

“If this visit gets anymore incredible, I’m gonna faint”, I whispered

“Please don’t, ‘cause it will get better, but I’m glad you like it”, he whispered back, and I giggled like a little schoolgirl.

 Honestly, I could go on and on about everything he showed me in that building, but that would probably be twenty pages long, so I’m going to summarize with bullet points:

 ·      The west wing, like in Beauty and the Beast, is off limits: Except it’s because Kenji’s father was working there and harboring some kinda lab or something. A little shady if you ask me but I didn’t further question that

·      The east wing is full of fun rooms: A swimming pool room, a swimming pool patio outside together with a Shakuzi, a small private cinema room and of course, deep down in the cellar (at least he calls it that, for me it feels more like a casino), the bowling alley.

We spent the most time there, playing round after round where I didn’t let him win. Funny enough (though not the haha kind of funny) he almost cried tears of joy as he lost against me

·      The middle part, one could say, had the entrance hall, the kitchen, as well as the living room that had a ginormous couch and a huge 3D Tv with a Nintendo, Xbox and the newest Playstation. We played a couple of games in which I always lost because my parents never allowed me to have a gaming console and thus I was a bit inexperienced with most of the games, except in the case of U-sing: I played that with my ex best friend from primary school when we were little, plus I have a good voice whilst Kenji, well… he could work on his vocals. We however had fun either way.

·      And the third segment is the upper rooms with three bathrooms (one of which was Kenji’s), a spa room, a sauna and the bedrooms (that were strangely far apart from each other. A very bad gut feeling told me, that was on purpose).

 As we arrived in Kenji’s room, I already saw my small red suitcase laying on the white, very comfortable looking carpet. It was one of those carpets with the long white fur like texture. I sometimes wondered what hid amongst the long fur, but knew in Kenji’s case, this room was kept squeaky clean by his father’s staff so I wouldn’t have to worry about that.

‘The guy cares a little I guess’, I thought as my thoughts wandered to Kenji’s father.

 Kenji’s room itself indicated no personality at all. It was extremely odd. It looked like it came right out of a magazine. It had a big bed (usually such a bed a married couple in their 40’s would have), a white, of course, big wardrobe, a black colored dresser with a less impressive, yet still pretty modern Tv and another small dresser beside the bed, that had a very boring looking nighttime lamp on it where you could regulate the light by tapping on the bottom part. And a couple of steps away, parallel to the entrance door, was a big glass wall with an integrated door which led to a wooden balcony that had a small table, two chairs and a sun-umbrella.

‘Or maybe’, I continued the thought from before, ‘he simply cares about his son’s image’.

 “Nice room”, I said, so it wouldn’t seem suspicious that I wasn’t as exited this time about what I saw. But I hate hiding the truth and when I try doing what I hate, I don’t come off as a good liar. So, one can imagine: He noticed my hesitation.

“Is something wrong y/n?”, he asked, genuinely concerned, “is there something in here you don’t like? I can remove-“

“No”, I interrupted him, “there is nothing wrong with it. That’s just the thing: It’s immaculate”

“And why is that… bad?”, he asked a bit confused. Not angry confused, but just plain old confused. I felt sorry for him: I simply just think too deeply about things sometimes.

“It’s not bad”, I answered, “I’d just say its extremely weird: Don’t you have any posters you wanna hang up? Or pictures? Photographies of memories with your friends? Books or magazines you like to have at your bedside? It’s just: You have so much personality, I sometimes fear you’ll implode if you fail to show it even for a second. I can’t imagine that you don’t want to decorate your room in any way at all”

“But what if I do?”, Kenji asked, though his confused expression had turned into a cold glare that made me wish he would look confused again. I felt a lump built in my throat and my heart race in fear. Not because I was scared of him: But more so of what he was trying to hide by pretending.

“Kenji”, I said softly, letting a concerned frown adorn my face, “it’s ok. I’m your best friend. You can talk to me about it. And before you ask: I know what this is all about as much as you know that I know. But I won’t say it because at the end of the day, it’s your choice, but just know: I’m there for you, I won’t judge”

There was a moment of deafening silence as Kenji seemed to contemplate whether he should react defensive and angry, that I brought it up, or tell the truth.

I was glad when I could visibly see his guard drop as he looked at me with saddened eyes.

It was heartbreaking, but I’d rather have that than a stupid fight. I’d rather have that, than him being arrogant and prideful, trying to push me away as he had in the very beginning in Jurassic World.

He sat down on his bed, and I right beside him, looking at him concerned as he stared on the floor.

“You’re right: It is because of my father.”, he began, “You see: He wants me to become like him. Keep the business going. I’m like the first born to a king. And so, he decided there was no room for me to be too much of an individual at some point. He wanted not only the house to always look presentable in case one of his strange buddies appeared, but also for me to start being presentable. It only got worse after I failed algebra. He pushed the role of being him more.

My father might not be the worst: He does gift me a lot of things, makes sure my room is clean and that I get transported to whatever place I want with whatever vehicle I want and buys me whatever I desire. But it’s a disguise, you see? Trying to cover up that I’m just a trophy. Just the predecessor. He wants me to favor and admire him so that I will be him one day. He doesn’t care about me like a dad cares about his son. We are no family”, his voice got quiet as he tried hiding his tears. I said nothing and decided to just embrace him. I felt him become weak in my arms and sob so touchingly, I almost cried with him.

 A few minutes passed before his crying became hiccups and eventually quieted down.

“I’m sorry”, I murmured, “I shouldn’t have brought this up”

“No”, he answered, his voice still veiled in a layer of sadness, “it felt good. I haven’t cried like this in years. Thank you”

“You’re welcome”, I softly spoke back. I was glad he had relieved himself of that sadness he had seemed to hold in. I also immediately felt that this had also been the thing to finally have us come closer.

 After that, we figured we watch something lighthearted to cheer us up again.

It was a rom com called ‘L.A. story’ we both found very amusing.

Though at some point, as the love story came to its highpoint, I noticed my mind drifting away into a side space in my brain, where suddenly the main characters were him and me.

 My cheeks reddened for the third time that day (I almost feared he’d think I got a fever) and I could swear I felt his hand in mine… wait.

Was that real?

My gaze travelled from the screen to my hand and really: His hand was in mine.

Was that an accident or intentional?

‘Screw it! It’s now or never’, I thought as I felt daring for once.

I inched closer and leaned onto his shoulder. My heart was racing a hundred miles per hour it seemed as I waited for what his reaction would be. At first, he got stiff, but then everything happened at once and it happened fast. He lifted his head to look at me and I looked back into his deep, dark brown eyes and in one motion he leaned in and… kissed me.

At first, I couldn’t believe it, I was frozen in place, but soon enough before it could get awkward for him, I leaned in as well. Though I decided to just stay put and let my lips feel his carefully: It was my first kiss after all, I didn’t want to ruin it by getting sloppy.

We staid like that for a couple of seconds before deciding to part.

 “You like me too?”, is the first thing I asked, amazed by what just happened.

“What are you talking about? I’ve liked you since I saw you! You are the one who likes me too”, he answered. My eyes first widened but then I couldn’t but laugh out loud.

“And I always thought I wasn’t your type”, I admitted flustered at his words.

“Really? You are a pretty, talented girl with a super nice personality and you didn’t think you were my type?”

“I mean, I always assumed you’d be more into the mermaid type”, at that he raised an eyebrow and let out a sigh with a single laugh

“You are mermaid enough for me y/n”, he said, cupping my face with his right hand, putting a hair strand behind my right ear, “you are better, even”

...

[night-fallz]

Jason Todd x Avengers Crossover

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ao3 // Wattpad

previous II next

Unexpected (part 2)

Two days have passed since Clint was saved by Jason. And for some reason, he still can't get the vigilante out of his mind.

Natasha teased him about it but he knows that if she sees Jason in action, she would be intrigued as well.

The way he fought was mesmerizing. Every bullet that was shot was so precisely aimed that the wounds weren't deadly.

Sure it knocked them out, but they weren't gonna die.

That form of marksmanship was only earned through years of hard work. And Clint's worked with Bucky enough times to know that Jason somehow predicted the next move of the attackers, aiming at the non-lethal body parts.

He has a feeling that Bucky and Jason would make an incredible duo.

Which is why he needs them to meet.

Clint doesn't usually do this but the more he thought about the bucket-wearing vigilante, the higher his list of questions got.

He took out his phone, leaning against the couch as he searched for the man that saved him.

vigilante wearing red bucket

He scrolled through google trying to find a decent article on the guy.

After thirty whole minutes of barely finding information, Clint wanted to throw his phone across the room. So far, all he's figured out was that Jason's territory was in Gotham and that his vigilante name is 'Red Hood'.

Which was... creative in a way?

At least it wasn't 'Red Bucket' or 'Bucket Head' or anything like that. It was definitely better than 'Green Arrow'.

After another failed search, he decided to finally give up. There was nothing about Red Hood. All the articles were mainly about Batman, Nightwing, a restaurant place, and a Robin!

He groaned and put his face in his hands. He doesn't care about those overrated heroes, he wants to find out more about Red Hood.

The guy was so cool... he wonders why there were barely any pieces written about him. The few sentences that he's read about the vigilante almost always depicted him in a bad light.

Which was honestly unfair.

He stared at his phone, contemplating on whether or not he should ask Natasha.

On the positive side, he knows that the assassin would have information on Red Hood. Natasha has information on everyone.

But...

Clint didn't want Natasha to tease him even more! If she keeps up with the sarcastic comments then the other Avengers would be curious. And curious Avengers meant nosy people.

He felt himself shiver, really nosy people.

He swears that if he had a sister— older or younger, they would act exactly like how Natasha was acting right now.

He could practically imagine the smirk she was wearing on her face when she picked up.

"Hey, Clint." she casually greeted, "How are you?"

He refrained from gritting his teeth, "I'm doing good." he paused, eyes closing as he took a breath in, this hurt to admit. "I need your help."

"I know."

"What do you know about the Red Hood?"

"The Red Hood?" she hummed under her breath, "Let's see."

Clint heard her moving things around, then he could distinctly hear the noise of paper being flipped. "Do you just have documents of random vigilantes lying around your room?" he couldn't help but ask. "Is this an assassin thing?"

Does Bucky do this too?

"I'm getting you the information you need." she reminded, "How I keep track of the data I have is none of your business."

"Okay, okay." he surrendered, a smile making its way onto his face. "But why don't you just keep it on a computer? Wouldn't that make things easier for you?"

She ignored his question, "Red Hood is an excellent marksman," she stated. "He made his debut as a crime lord by showing a bunch of people a duffel bag filled with the heads of notorious criminals."

Clint let out a whistle, "That is an intense introduction. He's even better than I thought he would be."

"Yeah," Natasha agreed. "He's easily one of the most dangerous and capable vigilantes in Gotham. In a matter of months, he's managed to bring crime down Crime Alley by at least fifty percent. Something that Batman himself, couldn't do. His methods were vicious, but they worked. Extremely well. He's killed a lot of child molesters, human traffickers, and rapists."

Even though Natasha couldn't see him, he tilted his head to the side, biting the inside of his cheek. Clint could care less about what methods Jason used. If they worked, they worked. And it's not like those criminals didn't deserve it. It's just-

Killing takes a lot out of you. Especially when you're young. Clint would know.

He had no doubt in his head that Jason was an incredible fighter. Not to mention that he was also huge— in both height and muscle.

He can see why he has a majority of Gotham fooled.

But, for about a minute, after they won against the ninjas, Jason removed his helmet in order to get a breath of fresh air.

A mask might've been covering his eyes, but Clint's been in the vigilante business for years now. He remembers clear as day, just how young the vigilante looked under the sun.

When Clint first started, he was thankful that he had Natasha to talk to whenever things got hard. Whenever he felt guilty for taking someone's life. No matter how much they deserved it.

Hell, he's still thankful for Natasha now. Without her, Clint would probably be dead. His body found bleeding out in an abandoned area, a neat row of scars on his thighs and arms.

He hopes that Jason has a friend like Natasha. Someone who'd be there for him no matter what. Someone who'd remind him that he was worth it. That he was loved.

Cause if not, then there is no way that the kid is okay.

Natasha's sharp voice interrupted his thoughts, "That was a few years ago. As far as I know, he doesn't kill anymore. The farthest that Hood would go now would be to permanently cripple someone. And even then, he would only do that when the person did something unforgivable."

After a few seconds of silence, Clint opened his mouth. "Is that it?" he couldn't help but question.

"Nope," Natasha admitted. "But it's all I'm willing to tell you."

"Fine then," he smirked. "Keep your assassiny secrets. I got more than I expected anyways."

"What did you get yourself into, Clint? Why all the sudden interest in him? Why all the sudden interest in a vigilante in Gotham?"

He knows that Natasha was just looking out for him. She was worried. "Do you remember a few days ago when I was saved by this Jason guy?" he asked.

"Yeah? You've been talking about him nonstop. He saved your ass and you gave him your number." she paused before adding, "Your private one."

He nodded, "Yeah. Well, he's the Red Hood."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. I searched him up and he had the same costume and everything."

"And he actually said that his name was Jason?"

"Yep." he tried to casually say, "It's probably cause Jason's a popular name and stuff."

"Maybe." Natasha hesitantly agreed, "But anyway, since you gave him your number, I think you should know that I've always wanted to meet him so if he texts you soon..."

Her voice trailed off and Clint couldn't hold in his sigh, "Yeah, yeah. I'll arrange a meet-up or whatever."

Her voice automatically brightened, "Actually?"

The corner of his mouth lifted, "Sure. But I wanted to introduce him to Bucky first."

Natasha made a shocked sound of betrayal, "Wha- but Clint!" she whined, "I'm the one who's asking. Not him."

"I know."

It took everything in him to stop the laugh from escaping his mouth.

Complaints about how unfair Clint was being made their way onto his ears and he relished each and every one of them. It wasn't often that he had something Natasha wanted.

Revenge was sweet.

After a few minutes, he let out an incredibly fake gasp. "Sorry, Natasha. I gotta go. I have a kitchen emergency."

"What the fuck, Clint." she demanded, "You don't even know how to cook. Remember the omelet incident? What emerg-"

He hung up.

Clint's definitely going to regret ending the call later. He knows it.

But right now, he could care less.

He has something Natasha wants, so she won't murder him.

... hopefully.

He hopes that he runs into the vigilante soon. Jason was cool and pretty fun to talk to. Clint definitely won't mind fighting at Red Hood's side once more.

They worked really well together.

While they were fighting, he knew that Jason was gonna have his back. He knew that Jason wasn't gonna let him get hurt. It was weird, considering that was the first encounter he's ever had with him.

He doesn't know when Jason is gonna decide to use his number, but he hopes that it'll be soon.

He has questions. And whenever Jason was ready, Clint hopes that he can answer.

Starting with the one that's been clouding his head; why did the Red Hood stop killing?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

notes:

okay, I didn’t expect to write a chapter this soon. but reading all the comments you guys left on the previous chapter motivated me. to be honest, I didn’t expect this fanfic to get as many hits as it did.

I don’t know when I’m planning on posting this chapter but right now, my goal is to write as much as I can.

I also don’t know exactly how busy my sophomore year of high school will be, but I feel like it’s better to be safe than sorry. Especially if I make the school volleyball team.

I finished writing this chapter on August 8th, and I have tryouts on the 9th through the 11th from 4-6 pm. (wish me luck!)

like always, please, please, please, leave a comment. i love reading them and they just motivate me so much! Whenever I get author’s block, I just re-read them and they help so, so much. If you don’t wanna leave a comment, that’s fine. If you liked this fanfic, please hit that kudos button though.

and if you just wanna chat or if you want to request any ideas or prompts, just message me here.

ooh, and if there’s anything specific you want to read in this series, please tell me. It never hurts to have any extra ideas. plus, I really want to make this fic more enjoyable for everyone.

[hookedonapirate]

Book Sneak Peek

A/N: For those of you who don’t know, I’ve been converting A Helping Hand to an original novel. After months of frustration from not knowing what to leave and what to take out because of the ridiculous length of this story, I’m finally close to being finished with it. It’s currently in the process of being edited and polished. This is a sneak peek of my new book. Unlike my first novel, this one is set in "The Big Apple” just like AHH. It features Harper and Audrey (Emma and Elsa in AHH) from Follow My Lead, and Derrick, Elisa and their daughter, Gracie, make an appearance at the end. 

I also wanted to let everyone know I will most likely be taking A Helping Hand down, even though I’ll be self-publishing. I know I said I wouldn’t, and actually I’m really sad about it, but after going through it, I realized it’s completely full of errors, misspellings and whatnot. Plus, I didn’t just change the names of characters and remove ouat elements; even though it’s the same story and the scenes pretty much follow the same sequence, apart from what I took out or added, I’ve made A LOT of changes to it, and I don't really want another version of my book out there. I encourage you to download A Helping Hand while you still can. But I will definitely let everyone know before that happens.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy another sneak peek!

I groan into the fluffy pillow my face is burrowed in. My head’s pounding, I feel like someone drilled a hole through my skull, my throat is dry and nausea lingers in my stomach. Slowly dragging my arm away from under my face, I open my eyes to a dim room, the curtains shielding any sunlight trying to burst through.

I take a minute to roll over, my eyes adjusting to the room as I lift my head slowly, taking in my surroundings. 

Nothing seems familiar. 

Granted, the guest room in my brother’s apartment is not very familiar either, but at least it reminds me of Brady. This room does not. It’s too pink and girly.

“Where the hell am I?” I grumble hoarsely.

I’m surrounded by pale pink walls and white furniture—a chair decorated with pink, frilly pillows, a bookcase lined with romance novels, a vanity and a nightstand with a pink, furry lamp. The curtains are made of white lace and there’s a large wall hanging that reads in large, cursive writing, Be your own kind of beautiful. 

My eyes scan the comforter, which is also pink, along with more frilly pillows.

This is definitely not my brother’s guestroom.

This is definitely a chick’s room.

My eyes widen in horror at the revelation.

This cannot be happening.

Gathering further evidence to solve the mystery as to how I ended up in some woman’s bed, I sharply lift the covers and peer underneath them, seeing that, yep, I’m bare-ass naked.

“Fuck.”

I let my head sink back into the pillow as I drag my hands over my face. I can’t believe my first night in New York, I hooked up with some random woman.

I went to the bar with those intentions in my dispirited condition, but I don’t recall picking up anyone. In fact, I have no recollection of last night beyond the bar. Which means I was way too smashed to hook up with anyone.

I need to leave. I’m not the type of guy to fuck someone and run off the next morning without at least buying her coffee or getting her phone number. To be honest, I’m not the type of guy who does one-night stands, but I’m in no shape to be involved in anything resembling a relationship. 

 Judging by the breakfast she’s making, this woman has other plans. The door is closed but I can hear dishes clanking around in the kitchen. And as I spot my clothes across the room, I doubt a woman expecting nothing more than a one-night stand would go to the trouble of picking up my clothes from the floor, folding them neatly and setting them in the chair. She certainly wouldn’t be making me breakfast.

I sit up slowly and place my feet on the floor, hoping this will stop the room from spinning around me. I drop my face in my hands and groan. I haven’t felt this hungover in years. I eventually stand up and grab the knitted blanket I’ve been sleeping on, securing it around my waist. I go to the window and pull back the curtain.

I’m on the third floor, judging by the number of windows beneath her unit. I remember little about the surroundings, but I do remember seeing the pancake house directly across the street and I remember thinking about how much I missed my mom’s chocolate chip pancakes. I also remember the bar I went to last night and seeing the barbershop next to it and thinking how badly I need a haircut. The names of the establishments are all the same. Which means only one thing. 

The woman I slept with last night lives in the same building and floor as my brother. 

Fuck.

I have a feeling this won’t end well. I let the curtain fall into place and turn around when I hear a gentle knock on the door.

Shit. 

I swallow thickly as the door opens. Panic flares inside me as I try to think up a way to get out of the pickle I’m in. I scramble toward the chair which holds my clothes.

“Owen, you awake?” 

I whirl around until I’m face to face with the most beautiful green eyes and golden hair I’ve ever seen in my life. I drag a hand through my disheveled hair, my eyes traveling down her body. She’s wearing a thin, pink bathrobe, exposing a pair of long, sexy legs that go on for days.

Legs I can definitely imagine wrapped around me.

Damn, I hit the jackpot last night. 

She’s beautiful, which is either a relief or extremely dangerous; I can’t decide which one.

She strides over to me, bearing a glass of water and a cheerful smile. I’m still stunned by how beautiful she is. “Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?” 

She’s teasing me and I like it.

How in the hell did I forget a night with a woman like her? I must’ve been out of it. “I have a splitting headache and the room is still spinning.” I press my fingertips against my temples, feeling them pounding underneath my touch, “Other than that, I’m perfect.”

“I can imagine,” she says with a giggle. 

Her giggle is the most delightful sound I’ve ever heard in my entire life, even with a splitting headache. 

“Here, I got you something that might help with that.” She offers me a glass of water and some aspirin.

“Thank you.” I graciously accept the aspirin and water, deciding this isn’t so bad. 

“What, no ‘thank you, beautiful’? Guess you’re really not feeling well,” she says playfully. 

Fuck. I even called her beautiful, which means I was laying on the charm pretty thick last night. I offer a frail smile, despite feeling terrible. Not only because of the alcohol. I feel terrible for getting her into bed while I was inebriated and miserable from my breakup. And she was probably drunk too, which makes me feel even worse. Although, she doesn’t appear to have a hangover. Maybe she’s one of those people who doesn’t get hangovers after they get drunk. If she is, she’s pretty lucky.

I swallow the pills, and as I wash them down with water, I know the right thing to do is tell her I’m not ready for a relationship or a woman in my life, but how can I? I don’t really want to see her smile dissipate, especially since she turned out to be so nice and sweet and beautiful.

I lower the glass and close my eyes briefly, the coolness of the liquid feeling quite soothing against my cracked lips and dry throat. Damn, if only I could remember exactly what I did to this woman with my mouth as my tongue slashes along my lips. If only I could remember what she did to me with that lush mouth of hers. A shiver skates down my spine. I try to shake the thoughts from my mind and try to speak but struggle to find the words. It’s difficult when this woman is staring at me with those intense green eyes. I desperately want to scoop her into my arms and kiss her senselessly, creating new memories of having her in bed, but I know that would only end very badly. Even more so than it’s already going to. The last thing I want to do is lead her on.

Somehow, I manage to refrain from kissing her. “Listen...I don’t remember much about last night and you’re…” My hand makes a grand, sweeping gesture down her form, “drop-dead gorgeous...and I’m sure last night was incredible...but my girlfriend just dumped me and my head’s a mess right now, so, I...” she eyeballs me in confusion as I will myself to continue, “I think we should just be friends.” At the same time, I reason with myself that we’ve already done God knows what, so there’s no harm in a quick kiss on the cheek, right? Besides, I may not be ready for a relationship, but I’m still a gentleman.

I step into her space and casually lean in to kiss her cheek. She smells like strawberries and cream and I can hear her breath hitch as my lips brush along her skin.

“Whoa, what are you doing?” She places her hands on my chest to push me away.

I quickly pull back to give her space, apologies leaving my lips. “Sorry, I just figured since we had sex—”

Her eyes practically pop out of her head. “Wait, you think we had sex?!” 

Well, duh. I shrug. Why else would I have slept naked in her bed and why else wouldn’t she be fazed by my nakedness underneath the blanket? “Didn’t we?”

She dissolves into laughter, to my complete and utter humiliation. “Oh no, no, no, no! We did not have sex.”

Please let me know if you would like to be added or removed from the tag list for future updates and sneak peeks.

@onceuponaprincessworld @teamhook @artistic-writer@ilovemesomekillianjones @hollyethecurious @gingerchangeling@ultraluckycatnd @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @snowbellewells @let-it-raines @wellhellotragic @itsfabianadocarmo @lfh1226-linda @sophiaaz @becausetheyrehappythisway @thislassishooked @hookedmom @resident-of-storybrooke @kateroselin @kday426 @sals86 @lawgeeks @yasbio2015 @xsajx @delightfully-difficult-pirate @snowbellewells @wanderingjpg @squidvisious @tenaciouskittynight @biefaless @animatedshorts @lassluna @melsbels @meat-pie-with-sauce @roseyflush @tiganasummertree @nowforruin @qualitycoffeethings @nikkiemms @oncechicagolove @theonewiththeory @lostinwonderland314 @darkcolinodonorgasm @carpedzem @maguilar1028 @mayquita @courtorderedcake @shady-swan-jones @timeless-love-story @laschatzi @officerrogers @spartanguard @andiirivera @ouatpost @jarienn972 @winterbythesea @winterbaby89 @distant-rose @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree​

[ojcobsessed]

oliver jackson-cohen for flaunt magazine, by jessica romoff, july 2019

***

The first horror movie I ever saw was The Exorcist on my grandmother’s RCA console TV, midnight on Christmas Eve. My grandmother is a Catholic Portuguese woman who was devout to cross stitching and Jesus Christ, resulting in crucifixes nailed into every wall of the living room. So, as every flash and jolt from the TV screen would animate the tortured figurines with chilling white light, I prepared in panic and thrill for each one to flip upside down.

Not only did this movie ignite my passionate love for horror, but actor Oliver Jackson Cohen’s passion as well. Mine lead me to accumulating random 70’s slasher movie memorabilia and sporadic nightmares, while Cohen’s lead him to eventually being the star of hit Netflix horror miniseries The Haunting of Hill House as his character Luke Crain, with a few nightmares as well. The 10 episode show is a modern reimagining of Shirley Jackson’s novel “Hill House” and follows the Crain family during the summer they lived in the haunted home, and flashes forward on their lives decades after the tragic events.

During a phone interview with him, I learned Cohen is much more than just a dedicated actor with a jawline that can cut glass; Cohen is a whirlpool of empathy, an artist who gushes his heart into everything he does, and demands that his character Luke, and those battling with similar struggles, are portrayed more than just their addiction.

With your role in last season, I was really impressed by how you portrayed a character with drug addiction, and how you refrained from making him a stereotypical, one dimensional person - and I was wondering how you avoided leaning on this cliche when approaching Luke?

Thank you, number one, I think we all have seen drug addicts portrayed in movies and tv shows before. Most of the time, they are always portrayed as their addiction, and I don’t think that’s very true for anyone who knows anyone who has substance abuse problems; there is actually a fucking person there. So it was very clear from the get-go that I had a responsibility to present a fully formed human being, and they actually brought in a specific writer to write Luke’s character- who was a heroin addict in recovery. I said to Mike, the director and creator of the show - before we even started that it’s very important that Luke is the sum of all his parts and is not just his addiction. So I think that the way I approached it, is that when I first began doing all the research and the pre-work before we started filming, I started looking at documentaries, because I had never done heroin before, so I thought, Oh I’ll start looking at documentaries - but then I realized quite early on that that was putting a judgement on him. And I don’t think it’s fair - because behind anyone who has fallen into this trap is someone who is deeply struggling. And I felt it - I felt a huge amount of, not pressure, but a need to show the person behind the addiction and show the person who is actually struggling, and why he had become an addict. So I focused on that - so I spent no time whatsoever seeing Lucas as a drug addict; I saw him as someone who was struggling to come to terms with everything that he had experienced and happened in his life. And so I focused on anyone who is trying to numb themselves, that know they’re running away from something. So I built up the terror of that, instead of focusing on “I need my fix.”

Was there something that happened in your own life, that was out of your control and not your fault, but regardless someone judged you because of that - perhaps driving your connection to Luke’s character?

Oh 100 percent, and that’s what is so interesting, because I don’t have a substance abuse problem - but I think that out of all the characters I have ever played in the past 10 years, there’s the most of me in Luke. Like, all of that stuff of just trying to function, and the vulnerability, and just trying to be normal, and being so ashamed - all of that is my own shit, and so [laughs] I didn’t need to be a heroin addict to understand the pain that he was going through, so, so much. I think it’s incredible getting to play someone like that because, in a weird way it felt like therapy - I was able to go to work everyday and just be all the parts of myself. I think it’s interesting as well for men, there’s this whole thing about having to be a certain way, having to always be strong, and I think inherently a lot of people do feel incredibly fragile. So all of that stuff of Luke is me, and my stuff, and I didn’t have to pretend - I just got to go to work and be as vulnerable as I feel. You know we all have incredibly complicated lives and incredibly complicated upbringings,  and I used all of my stuff: I was diagnosed with PTSD a couple of years ago so all of that is in there with Luke - and it felt incredibly cathartic to be able to kind of put it all out there and be there.

When your work is something that is so emotionally rigorous, and strenuous, it must be very draining dedicating yourself to a character who is really struggling his whole life  - How do you unwind and decompress from this intensity?

[Laughs] I….you know what, I’m not very good at it. I feel like I’m one of those people, I’m sort of with the school of thought that you either go to work and you fucking do it  - and you do it for real, or go home. I’m not into this whole I’ll just pretend! thing, so it’s probably not the healthiest way of working. But I feel it’s necessary, and then I don’t know how to handle it. There were a couple of days on set where specifically we were filming all of Luke’s episodes or the stuff where he’s sort of roaming the streets - that got way too intense. We would rap at 6 am and I would go back to my house and sleep for a bit, and then wake up and just be so out of sorts: I would have to call people at home to reassure me that everything was okay.

I imagine the intensity can be overwhelming

Yeah, I mean, it sounds really wonky - but I think that when you’re messing around with stuff like that, and you’re tricking your brain into thinking something is real, and then on top of that you’re drawing from your own personal well of shit that probably should be kept untouched - it’s gonna be messy at times. So yeah, it gets… it did get a little hairy. But again I felt that it was important - and I think all of us across the board in the cast felt that it was so important to do that - to give Luke a voice. And what’s been so interesting when the show came out, it was so overwhelming, the response, specifically from people that have struggled with addiction. And it was so warming to hear these stories from people, so I think it was necessary for all of us as actors to go to those dark parts of ourselves, and put that out on screen.

Is there something that you wish you knew before you began acting in a horror TV series? Or about a TV series with intense family drama with horror influence?

Hm..I don’t know. Just… it’s all good. [laughs] it’s gonna be all good.

Honestly, that’s pretty solid universal advice. And I was wondering, are you a fan of horror in general?

Yes! Huge

And is this a genre that you want to continue with?

Yes, I had never done anything horror before, so this was a dream. I remember I watched The Exorcist when I was like eight or something, and it completely terrified me - and I still to this day have nightmares about it. I think what’s so clever about horror, and I think specifically with what Mike has done on our show, it becomes a metaphor for something else. So specifically with Hill House, if you take away the house and all the ghosts and all the horror elements, it’s about childhood trauma. So you can swap out what all those kids went through, the horror they experienced, can be swaped out for sexual abuse, or physical abuse, or anything like that. So you manage to kind of navigate all of these horrific things we kind of don’t want to look at, in the veil of ghosts, so it becomes palatable for an audience. I never knew this, Netflix told me this, that horror is the most watched genre in the whole world.

Really!?

Across the board, yeah! I thought it would be comedy. But that’s why Netflix made the show. Because they realized that actually there was such a massive market for horror. So yeah, a really long winded answer to your short question - yes I was a fan of horror, I always have been.

Me too! I’ve never thought about how horror can be a metaphor for trauma. That’s so fascinating. Just one last question - I know that you can’t say too much about the second season… right? Or they’ll shoot you.

Right [laughs]

So, see if you can answer this: if Season 1 and Season 2 were mythical creatures, what would they be?

[Laughs] What would they be… ahhh...I genuinely don’t know how to answer that question. They’re both just beasts from the darkest corners of our minds. Season 1…. Uh… what I can say - is that season 1 I believe was amazing, and with what they’re doing with season 2 is even…. More incredible.

[lovely-ateez]

Cold Ice & Warm Hearts~

ꕥPosted: 12/24/20

ꕥGenre: College!au, Christmas Imagine, Fluff

ꕥPairing: FemReader! x Jongho

ꕥWord Count: 1.8k

ꕥWarnings: None

ꕥA/N: I’ve been watching a shit ton of ice skating videos lately so this is the result lol

Ice skating was my favorite part of the holiday season without a doubt. I was always able to skate more around December since I had a month off from college, which was fantastic. Not to mention that more people would skate than usual, meaning the more people I could teach to skate, feeling pride swell in my chest as I saw them improve.

I was recently gifted a pair of beautiful white ice skates by one of my friends as an early Christmas present. Although the holiday was right around the corner, she said she just couldn’t wait to give them to me, knowing how much I needed new skates.

“You’re completely wearing out your old ones,” She told me, “These will treat you much better.”

Although I very much loved my old pair, I had to admit she had a point. The laces were tearing and the soles were wearing down, making it very difficult to skate without having to stop and adjust them every few seconds.

Tonight I was walking to the outdoor skating rink only a few blocks from my apartment. I lived in a relatively busy city so I expected many people to be there, but I never minded that. It made me happy to see so many enjoying it.

As I walked with my ice skates, my mind wandered. It had been a few months since I last skated and I had been dying to get back. I was slightly nervous; however. I always was if I hadn’t skated in a while. Part of me worried that I would fall as often as I did when I began or forget how to skate all together.

I sat on the benches next to the rink to put my skates on when a deep, attractive laugh caught my attention. I turned my head to the right of the rink, observing the young man it came from. He was about average height and had one of the most endearing smiles I had ever seen. His dark brown hair swayed in the wind as he slightly picked up speed. His long, tan jacket looked warm and for a brief moment I had to refrain myself from thinking about how it would feel to cuddle up next to him.

He was surrounded by four other men, some obviously more skilled than others, but he, himself, wasn’t bad at all. He could skate relatively well and I wondered if he grew up skating like I did. Or maybe he was a natural talent?

His build was strong. I could tell that even with the several layers he was wearing. He certainly wasn’t hard on the eyes, to say the least.

One of the men near him stumbled and fell, the others laughing while the man wearing the tan jacket helped him up, a slight smile on his face but still expressing concern.

He seems kind.

I shook myself from my thoughts and tied the soft white laces of my skates. There were more people on the rink than I expected and it made me smile. Maybe some would find passion in it like I did.

I stepped out on the ice and made several strides, feeling silly for being nervous before. Ice skating was so ingrained in me that I had no reason to be. I moved to the rhythm of the Christmas music playing overhead and felt the world fading away. My worries, fears, stressors—all of it—melted from me as I made laps around the rink, occasionally adding a spin or two.

I was only slightly aware of the people looking in my direction and the gasps in awe being directed towards me. Because honestly, it didn’t matter. I never cared much for the compliments. Sure they were nice, but I skated for myself. To improve myself, not to impress others. Although, perhaps tonight I had a  motive to impress a certain man. Only perhaps.

I slowed down to look at the sky above me. The lights surrounding the rink only a slight distraction from the twinkling stars.

How gorgeous.

Smiling to myself I leisurely spun around, eyes still locked on the sky. I didn’t need to constantly look at the ice to keep my balance. It took some practice, but it became second nature to keep my balance no matter where I was looking.

“Miss?”

The slight disappointment I had from being interrupted only lasted for a few seconds until I saw the man I had been admiring in front of me. I blinked a few times, his handsome features up close catching me off guard.

“Yes?”

“I hope you don’t mind me asking, but where did you learn to skate like that?”

A wide smile spread across my face at his question, “I grew up skating. I practiced nearly every weekend.”

He nodded, “That’s impressive. Think you could teach me?”

“Teach you what exactly? You seem to have a good grasp on skating already.”

He chuckled and looked down, confidence faltering for only a moment, his gummy smile emerging, “Okay if I’m being honest, that was my best attempt to ask if you’d like to skate with me.”

I raised a brow and looked over to his friends who were giggling in our direction until they were caught off guard by my gaze, quickly averting their eyes.

“Do your friends have anything to do with this?”

“I mean, I suppose a little. I wanted to approach you so they encouraged me. It wasn’t a dare or anything like that if you were wondering.”

“That’s cute of them.” I cocked my head for a moment, “I don’t mind, but are you sure you can keep up? I can’t promise I’ll slow down for you.”

“I can certainly try.”

I nodded and skated off, not waiting for him to join by my side, but knowing he would, and he eventually did.

“So,” I began, “May I have your name?”

“That would probably be useful information, yes.” He laughed, “I’m Jongho. What’s yours?”

I introduced myself and he nodded, a slight smile still on his face.

“You’re really attractive, you know that?”

He flushed, “Wow. Are you always this blunt?”

“Usually,” I shrugged.

“I admire that. I am too, most of the time.”

“Yeah?” I skated slightly ahead of him, turning around and skating backwards, still facing him, “You give off the vibe that you would be.”

His eyes became playful, “What other vibes do I give off?”

“Hmm. You look strong, so maybe you work in construction? Or some other profession that requires physical strength,” I raised my hand to my chin, “Also, I feel like you play an instrument. Maybe you sing? Either way I think you’re musically inclined.”

“You’re wrong with the profession. I’m a college student but I’m on a dance team so it requires strength. Plus I just like working out. You were right about the singing, though. It’s a hobby of mine.”

Jongho once again smiled, but it quickly disappeared and his eyes widened. He reached out towards me grabbing my arms and pulling me close.

“What are you-”

A little girl skated past us at a fast speed, right where I had been before.

My heart was racing, almost to the point of not being able to form words, but I had to thank him, “Oh my gosh thank you.”

“Hey it’s no problem.”

I noticed how close we were, my hands placed on his chest with his arms locked on my back. All at once I felt as if my breath had been taken from me as I looked into his dark eyes. I felt myself being drawn to him, unknowingly leaning in closer.

And then he let me go, skating away from me, “Are you gonna catch up?”

I brought my hands to my cheeks, feeling their heat before shaking it off and skating next to him.

Jongho looked in my direction when I reached his side, “Your cheeks are awfully pink, darling. Are you feeling cold?”

His cocky voice and the pet name caught me off guard and I looked anywhere but him, trying to avoid eye contact.

“Oh don’t get shy now. What happened to the blunt and confident girl I met earlier?”

“She’s blushing right now. And feeling nervous because she thought you were going to kiss her.”

He titled his head, “Did she want that happen?”

“She might have...” I bit my bottom lip and nodded, “She did.”

“Well you’ve gotta take me out to dinner first.” He laughed, “But, I might make an exception for you. On one condition.”

“Which is?”

I noticed he stopped skating and I stopped as well, curious as to what he might want.

“I want to go on a date with you.”

I narrowed my eyes, “You aren’t a player, are you?”

“No, not at all!” Jongho raised his hands in defense, “I just think you’re really beautiful and I’d like to get to know you better.”

I giggled at the compliment, feeling shy, “In that case, I agree to all terms and conditions.”

“Come here, then.”

I skated slightly closer to him, placing my hands on his warm cheeks as I felt his hands rest on my hips.

“I haven’t kissed anyone in a hot minute.” I confessed.

“That makes two of us,” Were his last words as he placed his lips on mine. His lips felt so warm and inviting and only until that moment did I realize how badly I had wanted to kiss him. I pulled him closer to me and kissed him harder, leaving me breathless. Too soon we pulled apart, eyes finding the other’s.

Jongho’s gummy smile appeared and I felt my heart skip. The cheer of several men brought me back to my surroundings.

“Yeah,” Jongho rubbed his neck, looking in their direction, “They’re a bit crazy but you get used to them.”

“I’d like to.”

His eyes warmed and he took my by the hand, “So when are you free? I know a great restaurant that just opened up a week ago. We’ll have to hurry though, Christmas is right around the corner and I’m sure we won’t be able to get in for the next few days.”

“Oh yeah? How about this Friday?”

“Perfect.”

“What’s your favorite flower?”

I furrowed my brows, “Why?”

“Well if you think that I’m going to show up at your place without bringing you flowers, you’re sadly mistaken.”

I bit my lip again and looked down at the ice, “I tend to like peonys.”

“Noted.”

We exchanged numbers and said goodbye far too early for my liking, but his friends began to complain about being hungry, and he caved.

Watching Jongho walk away I decided to head back home. Originally I planned on skating for a while after, but I couldn't seem to concentrate with all the butterflies in my stomach.

Not even halfway back to my apartment I received a text from Jongho, making me smile. 

‘Don’t forget our date!’ He wrote.

‘I’ll be looking forward to it :)’

The butterflies in my stomach returned. Feeling childish with these new emotions, I skipped the rest of the way home with a smile on my face. All but holding my breath for the next time I would see him.

[broadstbroskis]

four times matthew tkachuk tried to use a pickup line plus one time it worked

big shoutout to the anon who went around dropping pickup lines one night for some inspiration for this. you da real mvp. also i’ve now written three fics for this mofo and they’ve all been plus ones. not sure what this says about me but but i’m certain it’s something.

-----

1. Sorry, but you owe me a drink. [Why?] Because when I looked at you, I dropped mine.

It’s a Saturday night in September and you’re out with your friends celebrating the fact that every single one of you have finally landed jobs after graduation. The weather’s starting to cool down, but it’s not so cold that you can’t enjoy one of your favorite rooftop bars still. 

Around you, your friends share your excitement. The whole squad (well, the whole squad that had remained in Calgary, you’re still bitter about Lauren leaving you all for Vancouver even if the opportunity had been amazing) is partying like you’re back in school but with the paychecks you’ve all got now and you’re certain you’re going to be feeling it in the morning.

Laughing on the dance floor with Kath, Will, and Claire, you push your way through the crowd once the song ends to refill your drink. You can’t help but shimmy your shoulders a little at the song that follows it, while you wait for the bartender to fill your whiskey sour.

There’s a tap on your shoulder and you turn, to find a guy with curly hair and dimples smiling at you. His face looks so familiar, but you can’t quite place it.

“Sorry.” He tells you. “But I think you owe me a drink.”

“Oh yeah,” You ask casually, sure you know where this is headed, especially since you’ve managed to place his face. Matthew Tkachuk, star forward for the Calgary Flames and perpetual pest. “Why’s that?”

Somehow, his grin widens even more. “Because when I looked at you, I dropped mine.”

The bartender hands you your whiskey sour and you think about it for barely a minute. “Well let me help you with that!” You dump your drink on him, taking only a moment to relish his shock, before walking away to find your friends.

There’s a huge spot of laughter behind you and it’s only when you reach Kath again that you turn around to realize that it’s Matthew’s friends that laughed. Tucked under the arm of one of the guys still snickering at him is a pretty blonde girl, eyeing you with interest, until she catches you looking back, and gives you a smile and a thumbs up.

2. Do you like raisins? How do you feel about a date?

“Oh my God!” The voice, quite frankly, kind of scares you. It’s too close, much higher than you were expecting, and doesn’t sound anything like Kath’s, who’s due to meet you and Claire any minute but certainly wouldn’t greet you like that.

“Can I help you?” Claire asks, pretty rudely, but you’re not inclined to scold her for it at the moment, when this tiny blonde is standing super close and staring at you with huge eyes.

“You’re my hero!” She exclaims and then covers her mouth. “Sorry! You don’t know me.”

“No, I don’t.” You agree.

“We were all here a couple weeks ago and you threw a drink on my boyfriend’s friend.” She grins. “I’m Sam, and you are my personal hero as well as all of our friends.”

After you and Claire introduce yourselves, you ask, “If he’s that much of an asshole, why are you guys friends with him?”

“He’s more of a pest than an asshole.” Sam says immediately, which does mildly reassure you that Matthew Tkachuk isn’t a total dick. “He’s actually a really nice guy, just cocky as shit.”

“Yeah, I got that much.” You say dryly. “Couldn’t you tell?” You continue, which sends all three of you into giggles, until Kath finally arrives. 

Sam orders a drink with the three of you, hanging around the bar to chat for a while. “I’m stealing all of you.” She declares, after a while, that the four of you have mostly spent laughing. “We have a table in the back, come on.”

“I don’t really know.” You hesitate.

“Honestly, don’t even worry about that. Matty’s totally over that. Honestly, he’ll be more annoyed about the boys chirping him than you turning him down.”

And how’s that saying go? Speak of the devil and he shall appear? Right over Sam’s shoulder pops his head; she’s just missing the angel and she’d be every cartoon you’d ever seen. “Here you are.” Matthew says. “Mony’s looking for you.”

“Perfect!” She grins. “We were just coming back over”

He looks over at her use of we and grins as soon as his eyes meet yours. Just like Sam, he hasn’t forgotten you either. “Hello!”

“Hi.” You return politely.

“We’re going to head over; you coming?” Sam asks Matthew. He points to the bar. “‘Kay, see you there.”

“Hey wait,” All four of you stop, looking over at him, but he’s only got eyes for you. “Do you like raisins?”

You know this is a line, but you can’t for the life of you imagine where the fuck he’s going with it. “No?”

He grins, cheekily, that same one from last time you’d met. “How about a date, then?”

You grin back. “I’m allergic.” You pat his cheek mockingly and then move past him to follow Sam back toward that table in the corner to meet the rest of her friends.

3. Do you know what my shirt is made of? Boyfriend material? 

Matthew’s brother is in town for a game, which means his whole family is in town for a game, which apparently means there’s an after party in his apartment with members from both teams and whoever else they want to invite.

You’re not quite sure how or why you managed to be invited, were honestly planning on turning down the invitation, but Sam insisted you show up, so here you were, rolling up to Matthew’s condo, with her, Sean, and Noah, shortly after the Saturday afternoon matinee.

The party already feels like it’s in full swing when you arrive and yet, people continue to arrive after you. You get caught up chatting in the kitchen for a few minutes with a lovely blonde woman, who you only later learn is Matthew’s mother, and then spend the next five minutes denying that fact completely as Sean and Sam laugh hysterically. “But she’s so nice.”

“You should see her roast Chucky; she gives it pretty good.” Sean’s still laughing.

“Which is pretty much Matt.” Sam adds pointedly. “Come on, YN. When he’s not being a total pest, he’s a pretty great guy.”

You took a sip of your drink instead of answering her. You certainly started to see the great guy side of Matt as you and your friends had started to spend more time with Sam-who frequently came with varying numbers of a hockey team, about as often as she came with just herself-and it was definitely getting easier to see that he actually could be a nice guy. One who was always there for his friends, who adored his family, who’d drop anything the second one of his people needed help.

But a lot of the time, you still just saw a cocky mofo who was used to getting what he wanted. You couldn’t think of a time you saw him that he didn’t at least send a wink at you. He still frequently tried to make some kind of cheesy pass at you, with the biggest shit-eating grin on his face, like it was all some kind of game. 

Sam takes your silence for the reluctant admission that it is and pulls you over to play some wild drinking and card game that you never quite get the hang of and abandon quickly (you hate losing too much to play for long). But that much losing means your drink is empty already and so you head for the kitchen again for a refill.

Just your luck, the only people in the kitchen are Matthew and Brady. You would have been able to pick his brother out of a line up instantly, even if Noah hadn’t pointed him out to you when you guys first walked in. Matthew grins immediately, the same as always, and you just roll your eyes, preparing for what’s to come. “Knew this day would come.”

“And what day is that?” You return. “The one that I’m here, in your apartment?”

“And you know, you don’t have to leave now!” He holds his arm out to you as you look on unimpressed. “‘Cause you know what this shirt’s made of? Boyfriend material.”

He’s grinning that dimpled grin at you and for once, you actually refrain from rolling your eyes at him. “Shame your whole family’s in town right now or I could take it off to confirm that.” You trail a finger down his chest, stopping just before it reaches the button on his pants and grinning widely as he chokes on air, before turning to grab your drink and leave the room immediately afterwards

The sound of Brady’s laughter almost catches you for a second, since you’d actually completely forgotten he was there

4. Hey, you’re pretty and I’m cute. Together we’d be Pretty Cute.

You just needed one more afternoon pick-me-up. One more coffee would do it, right? And then this stupid project would be done? Before deadline? 

You put the order in. Your favorite barista at your favorite coffee shop promises she’ll bring it over when she’s finished with it and you settle back into your table to get back to work.

An arm drops onto your shoulders. “How’s my favorite girl doing?”

You tense immediately. At the voice, at the arm, at the words. “I doubt.” You say, hearing the coldness in your voice that is only reserved for the man who’d dropped himself into the seat across from you uninvited shortly after removing his arm from your shoulders. But at least his arm was gone. “That I could ever be considered your favorite girl, considering how many girls you cheated on me with when we were together.”

“Come on, babe, don’t be like that.” Kyle says.

You stare at him in disbelief, unable to even respond. “Don’t call me babe.”

“Who, me?” You’ve never been so grateful to see Matthew before, let alone to have him slide into the seat next to you so closely. 

You smile at him, actually moving your chair closer to him-literally anything to get you further away from Kyle-and are impressed when he doesn’t even flinch. Just throws his arm around the back of your chair and returns the grin  “Well, you too.” You tease.

 Matthew grins. “Nah, babe, you know I like riling you up too much.” You can only roll your eyes at that.

“Well this has been fun, babe.” Kyle says, finally standing up, reaching out to pat your hand resting on the table.

“She told you not to call her that.” Matthew intercepts his hand, pulling yours toward him. His voice is flatter than you’ve ever heard it.

“Be fun to do this again sometime.” Kyle continues like he hasn’t heard a word Matthew said, but you can tell from the look in his eyes that what he’s going to say next is going to hurt. “You know, if your boyfriend can share you better than you could share me.”

Your jaw drops and you can feel tears spring to the corners of your eyes as he finally, finally walks away. Next to you, you feel Matthew tense, like he wants to get up and follow him, and you reach for one of his arms. “Don’t.” He pauses. “He’s not worth it.”

“He’s a real dick.” He grumbles.

“Yeah.” You say quietly. There’s nothing really to add to that that you or your friends haven’t already said and so a long moment of silence follows that admission.

“Hey.” Matthew nudges you.

“What?” You ask grumpily, reluctantly meeting his eyes.

“You’re pretty and I’m cute.” You give him a look, like get on with it. “So together we’d be Pretty Cute.” 

For once, his cheesy pick up line brings a smile to your face, turning your mood around instantly. And the second you start to smile, Matthew does as well. “There we go, there’s that smile.”

+1. Kiss me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?

Perched on the counter of Johnny’s breakfast bar, legs dangling off, you cheer loudly as Elias sinks another cup. He throws his hands up victoriously, looking over at the paper bracket that you and Sam had spent hours working on, only for someone to splash beer all over it when they’d thrown their hands up in outrage over a ruling.

It was the Flames’ annual Beer Olympics and you were still managing to enjoy yourself, even though your elimination had come early after Noah had thrown the game because he’d spotted the girl he’s been talking to recently rolling in the door. He hadn’t even been phased when you threw your half full cup of beer at him, or when it nailed him in the back, and he still doesn’t look upset about his wet back, smile seemingly permanently fixed on his face as he continues to chat with said girl.

For your part, after elimination, you’ve become both a personal cheerleader and trash-talker. You’re an equal opportunist, you know? Someone makes a bad shot, you’re going to call them out on it.

Newly eliminated, you’re not entirely surprised when you feel a new presence by your side. It wasn’t like things had abruptly changed after the run-in with your ex at the coffee shop, but the energy was definitely different. 

Gone was the cocky grin, replaced with a softer, dimpled smile that you’d always return. The pickup lines were cheesy jokes, a thing between the two of you, said with a little bit of questioning and a tiny bit of hope as each time he waited for you to laugh.

And each time you did, enjoying the smile it brought to his face. More and more you saw the genuinely great guy he was- in fact, it was the dominating trait over how much of a pest he was, how cocky he was, how annoying he could be.

Of course, it’s possible you spoke entirely too soon on this as his first move upon coming to stand next to you is to poke you in the sides repeatedly. “Why’d you have to do me dirty like that?” He whines.

“Elbows!” You repeat simply, calling him out for the same thing you’d shouted at him earlier. 

Matthew comes around in front of you, resting his cold drink on your leg in what you can only assume is payback. “You’re wrong.” He tells you. 

“Maybe,” You say with a grin. “You’re wrong.”

“Oh I’m never wrong.” Matthew assures you, and then a familiar grin appears on his face. “In fact,you can kiss me if I’m wrong, but dinosaurs still exist, right?”

He’s waiting for your laugh, you can see it in his face. But you don’t want to, is the thing. 

So you reach forward, grabbing his face and pulling it toward yours. There’s just enough time to register the shock on it before your lips meet, but Matthew pulls his shit together enough to return a breathtaking kiss, so when you do finally pull away, you’re practically gasping for breath. 

“Um. You’re wrong.” You manage, finally.

“Don’t even.” Matthew grins, stepping forward into your thighs, and kissing you once again.