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trickstump · 2 years

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OFFER YOUR THROAT / STARVE WITHOUT ME

CHAPTER FOUR // (read it HERE on AO3)

It's funny, Steve thinks, how fast you can get used to pretty much anything.

He wakes up, defrosts a steak and pours a hefty glass of blood into a cup like those are two entirely normal things to do on a Saturday morning, and heads back up to the guest room. He feels far more awake than any normal man running on about five hours of sleep should- but, then again, Steve thinks he might’ve missed the mark on being a ‘normal man’ around his coming of age anyway. He’d made it a full seventeen years on the straight and narrow, only to be thwarted from coming into the well earned title of Average Smalltown Shithead at the last second.

He thinks it’s shitty to be grateful for the Demogorgon, with all the things it had wrought. All the people who’ve died, keeping Hawkins safe from the things crawling out of the Upside Down- all the people who’d died for no reason, not even having a chance to fight.

Still, though, when he thinks about who he’d have been without it, if he’d been able to convince Nancy to let him let it go like he’d wanted to? He hates him. He hates that Steve Harrington, who had only the slimmest chance over him of getting out of here and going to college, but still might’ve managed. He hates the Steve Harrington who’s probably Sigma Alpha Asshole, who would probably be waking up face down in a frat house toilet this morning, hungover, and would probably be falling asleep there that night on his way to being hungover again, because that’s what everyone else around him would be doing, because that’s how he’d get the most attention, make the most people like him, smile at him, think he was funny and cool and interesting, and–

“Harrington?”

He didn’t even realize that he had been standing in the threshold of the guest room the entire time he’d been spiraling, but when he comes out of it, Eddie’s staring at him, features drawn together with concern. “Something up?”

“What? No, totally good.” Steve pulls himself together, slots an easy smile on his face, and moves into the room like he hadn’t just had what he thinks has to be the beginning of a quarter life crisis. He’s barely twenty, it’s a little sad he’s already up on that milestone.

“Really?” Eddie sounds skeptical as he sits up so Steve can untie him. “Because you kind of went spaceman long enough that I was pretty sure you were having an aneurysm.”

“Totally good,” Steve says again. He doesn’t look at Eddie when he says it, just sets the plate and glass aside to undo his ankles first, because he thinks that he’s gonna break a little bit if he has to see Eddie give him sad puppy eyes. The plan backfires when he shifts up onto his knees to undo Eddie’s wrists, though, and he tips his head up to find them almost nose to nose.

They share breath for a moment, eyes locked. Steve’s brain shuts down.

“You just did it again,” Eddie says, breaking the moment. He knocks on Steve’s forehead a few times when his wrists are free. “Hello, Earth to Harrington!”

“I am fine, cut it out.” Steve pushes back and stands. “You still feeling alright, from last night?”

“Hungry,” Eddie says. “But, like. Basically the same level I was at last night.”

Steve lets out a relieved sigh. “Good. Means we’re not gonna be cutting through our supply too fast. I’m thinking if we can, like, keep the tank almost full, then we’ll be good until we figure things out.”

“I’m not a car, Harrington,” Eddie says. His tone is dry, but there’s still concern in his gaze. Steve’s stomach lurches.

“No, you’re a Gremlin,” Steve shoots back. “Gotta keep you fed or you’re gonna turn all wrinkly and green and evil and shit.”

Eddie snorts and narrows his eyes, and Steve’s relieved he doesn’t have to look at the softness anymore, or he might actually have an aneurysm. “Wasn’t the point of that that you’re not supposed to feed them?”

“You’re a reverse Gremlin, then.” Steve shrugs. “I didn’t pay a lot of attention to the movie. The little guys freaked me out.”

“I thought they were kinda cute,” Eddie offers with a shrug of his own.

“Of course you did, Munson,” Steve says, starting back towards the door. “I’m gonna get ready for work. Take the plates and stuff downstairs when you’re done?”

“You got it, boss,” Eddie says, and Steve shuts the door behind him.

He’s back to feeling as normal as he can ever manage after a shower and fifteen minutes spent on his hair- fuck you very much, Robin - and just slings his shirt for the day over his shoulder after jumping into some jeans. A pretty normal occurrence- no shirt means no weird stains if breakfast gets dicey- when he’s living on his own, but he realizes a few seconds too late when Eddie turns from where he was putting his dishes in the sink and stares that maybe it’s not such a normal thing when you’ve got someone you barely know staying with you.

“Sick scars, man,” Eddie says, nodding toward Steve’s torso. Steve doesn’t have to look to know which ones he means- the pucker of scar tissue on both of his flanks, faded pink after half a year of healing, from where the demobats had taken chunks out of him.

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah. Real fucking babe magnet.”

“I bet so,” Eddie says- purrs, almost, and Steve shoves that descriptor out of his mind and makes for the pantry. It’s another cereal day. “You tell the hero story with it?”

“For sure,” Steve drawls, dry, as he moves around the kitchen for the necessary supplies. “Because I wouldn’t sound like an absolute loser, going around telling everyone I got chunks taken out of me by monster bats- a loser at best, if they don’t think I’m just a total nutjob.”

Eddie hums. “So you’ve gotta wear all these scars, and you don’t even get to brag about them a little?”

“That’s just how it goes,” Steve says. “You save the world a time or four, and no one gets to know, and you just have to pretend you got bit by two dogs at the same time for the rest of your life when you’re taking your shirt off in front of girls.” Not that Steve had been taking his shirt off in front of girls a lot recently. Or- a lot at all, since their last excursion to the Upside Down.

“That’s such bullshit.” Eddie’s frowning, when Steve turns back around to go grab a bowl. “People should know, man. You should get- I don’t know, a fucking key to the city, or something.”

“Do you want a key to the city?” Steve asks. He has to reach right above Eddie’s head to grab a bowl, and it puts them in each other’s space again, and he feels completely normal about it. Everything is normal. This is his normal.

“Fuck no,” Eddie declares. “But, you should get something. You’re a fucking hero, Harrington; don’t tell me you don’t want a little credit for that. Save the world, get the girl, right?”

Steve can’t help but laugh at that. “No girl to get, Munson.”

“Wheeler?” Eddie suggests. “Or Buckley?”

Steve wrinkles his nose, disgusted. “Ew, I’m not dating Robin.”

“Wheeler, then,” Eddie says. “You two were getting kinda cozy- and, you dated before, right? I remember that, from school. Gonna rekindle the flame?”

And, it’s not like Steve’s never thought about it, but the thought of it right now seems entirely laughable. “No fucking way,” he says. “That boat has, like, long sailed. She’s way too good for me, and whatever she and Jonathan have going on is good for her. Good for both of them.” He wasn’t jealous enough that he couldn’t see that- or, maybe he could see it because he doesn’t think he’s just jealous of Jonathan, like he used to be. Now, he’s jealous of both of them, in his more woe-is-me moments. Jealous that they’ve been able to build something that’s good, and strong, and lasts through all the bullshit. That they’ve been able to find someone that understands them. Sees them, and stays.

“You’re going spaceman again,” Eddie says, snapping Steve out of it. “Seriously, Harrington, did I concuss you when I got at your throat or something?”

“I’d know if I was concussed,” Steve says. “I’ve been concussed before. I’m fine.” To be fair- he was also coming down from the world’s worst high, at the time, so maybe he didn’t know as much about the symptoms of concussion as he thought he did, but. He knew enough to know he wasn’t, now. Probably.

“I didn’t mean to get you in your head about your lack of game,” Eddie says, patting him on the shoulder and reminding Steve at the same time that he was both still half naked and very close to Eddie.

“I don’t lack game.” He, finally, reached above Eddie’s head and took down the bowl he’d come over for in the first place, and stepped back. He was at once both relieved to be able to breathe properly and missed the closeness. He chose to focus only on the first part. “Fuck you.”

“Of course you don’t, big boy,” Eddie says. “Far be it from me to ever think that King Steve has performance issues.” Steve can’t tell if he’s being condescending or not, so he just flips him the bird and makes his cereal.

From there, it’s back to things feeling startlingly normal; Steve eats his breakfast and puts his shirt on, Eddie flops onto the couch, and he’s out the door with the promise to be back home after work and the assurance that Eddie will call him if something’s up.

Robin’s staring at him again while he restocks last nights’ drop offs, but this time she at least gives him until he’s finished and back to leaning on the counter before she asks: “So, how’s Eddie?”

“Again, watching soaps,” Steve says. “And doing fine. We think the blood from the butcher’s working, since he can get more of it in him than he can with the steaks? Hopefully, that holds.”

“Good to hear,” Robin says, and Steve can feel that she’s waiting for more, which makes something twist in his stomach. He doesn’t know why; it’s just Robin. It’s just Robin.

“You gonna be okay handling the kids with Nancy on Sunday?” he asks, because it’s a good topic shift.

“God, you really do sound like their mom,” Nancy snorts. Steve can’t even protest, at this point; some of those kids spent more time with him than they did their real mothers. He’d truly contemplated trading his car in for something sturdier so he could haul them all around. “Yeah, Steve, I think we can handle them.”

“You say that, and then you actually try handling them,” Steve says. “You’re going to be radioing in in an hour, tops, and begging me to come along.”

“Nancy was right, though,” Robin says. “Eddie can’t come, and someone does need to hang back with him.”

“I know Nancy’s right,” Steve says, a little frustrated. “I get it, really, I just- don’t like that we’re all treating him like he’s some kind of criminal.”

“He did try to, like, bite you. Twice,” Robin points out.

Steve makes a noise. “I know that, but he’s also just Eddie. He doesn’t- he’s never actually hurt anyone, and we all know that. I don’t see where we can get off acting like he’s some kind of cold blooded monster who can’t control himself now because he’s got- what? Fucked up teeth?”

“It’s more complicated than that,” Robin says, and she’s right, again. Steve knows she’s right.

“He’s already fucking scared enough of himself, Robin,” he says instead of admitting that, though. “I’m not gonna be afraid of him for him.”

He can’t pin the look Robin gives him, then, and he doesn’t like that. It’s somewhere between- pity, sadness? Something in that ballpark, and again, that dawning ‘oh, man, I know something you don’t ’ and he hates it . Hates not knowing.

“You two gonna do anything special on Sunday, since you’re not coming along?” Robin asks, finally, and Steve isn’t sure if that’s an olive branch to keep him from frowning at her, or just a swift topic change from something loaded.

He shrugs. “I don’t know yet. I mean- fuck, Robin, it’s not like we can go out and watch a movie or something.”

“You’ve got a television and you work in a video rental store, dingus,” Robin says, rolling her eyes.

“I don’t know what he’s into,” Steve says. He’s sort of realizing, now, how little he actually knows about Eddie as fact, rather than just assumption. “I was super joking about the monster movie thing, I don’t think that’d be a funny joke.”

“Then ask him,” Robin shoots back. “Figure it out. Have fun, get to know him.”

“You sound like you’re trying to set me up on a date with the dude, Robs,” Steve says, dry. He doesn’t know why the words feel a little loaded coming out, and chooses not to think about that in conjunction with the way that Robin’s eyebrows raise momentarily.

“I’m just saying,” she says, hands up in a ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ move. “You’re roomies, now, and for the foreseeable future. It’d probably be a good idea to figure out the basics.”

That sticks with him until he gets home, and finds Eddie still on the couch- or, half on the couch, half on the floor, in a position that can’t be comfortable, but he seems to be doing just fine with. “Do you like movies?” he asks, and Eddie jumps a little, flailing for a moment as he fully slides onto the floor.

“Hi, Harrington, don’t fucking sneak up on me like that,” Eddie says, twisting to sit up and cross his legs under him, glaring at Steve without much heat. It puts warmth in Steve’s chest, and he files it with the laughs. “I thought we established that it wasn’t a good idea to sneak up on me?”

“I made, like, so much noise getting in,” Steve says, rolling his eyes as he hangs up his vest. “Aren’t vampires supposed to have, like, super senses or something, anyway?”

“I don’t.” Eddie’s almost pouting now, and Steve can’t look at that, so he digs around in his pockets looking for his keys for longer than he strictly has to. “Or- just the smell, as far as I know.”

“Lame,” Steve says, even if the super smell on its own is still a little cool. He flops down onto the couch. “You didn’t answer my question, though.”

“What was the question?” Eddie twists a bit so that he’s got his back against the couch, tipping his head back onto the cushion so that it’s resting right next to Steve’s knee. He’s got those doe eyes again- or. Eddie sort of always has doe eyes, Steve thinks. Wide and- curious and shit. Bright. Pretty, his mind summons, and he breezes right past that.

“Do you like movies?” he asks again.

Eddie snorts. “Yes?” he says. “What kind of question is that, who doesn’t like movies? Do you not like movies?”

“I work at a video store,” Steve says, even though that’s not technically an answer. “What kind?”

“Horror,” Eddie says, and yeah, Steve should’ve figured. “Slashers and thrillers and stuff. Evil Dead - did you see Nightmare on Elm Street a few years ago?”

Steve shakes his head. He’s currently fighting the impulse to thread his fingers through Eddie’s hair, half tuned out of the conversation he’d started in the first place. He tucks his hands under his thighs, and zeroes back in. He’s on a mission. “Horror movies aren’t really my thing, unless I’m, like. On a date.” That sounded sleazy. He winces.

Eddie just laughs, though. “You seem like that kind of guy,” he says, and it’s a tease, but not an insult. He’s smiling when he says it. “Act all macho and protective when you’re really shitting your pants as much as the chick is.”

“I am not shitting my pants,” Steve says. “I just don’t like them. I’ve lived through enough horror.”

That sucks a little of the air out of Eddie’s smile. Steve regrets it. “Fair enough,” he says, shrugging it off easy enough, and slots the smile back again, though Steve can tell it's not as earnest as the last one. He misses it. “What’re you into, then?”

“Uh,” Steve says eloquently, because he still hasn’t thought of a good answer to that since Keith had asked him. “I don’t know. Funny stuff? I like shit with a happy ending.”

“Of course you do,” Eddie says, and there’s the real smile again. Steve feels almost proud to have brought it back, even if he doesn’t understand how. “Why’re you even asking?”

“You said we were gonna have to make our own fun Sunday,” Steve says with a shrug. Eddie seems surprised he’d remembered. “I figured, since we shouldn’t really go anywhere: pizza, movie. Hang out.”

“Hang out,” Eddie echoes, sounding skeptical.

“Hang out,” Steve says again, like he’s putting a stamp on it.

“We’ve never hung out before,” Eddie says. “Like. Not unless it’s under duress, and I don’t think that counts.”

“We’re kind of hanging out now,” Steve points out, and Eddie lifts a shoulder as if to say ‘ touche .’ “I just kinda realized at work today that we don’t… like. I don’t know shit about you, and we should probably- change that.”

“Because we’re friends now,” Eddie says, and there’s something in his tone there that Steve can’t read, and it reminds him a bit of the unreadable expression on Robin’s face earlier. It’s gone before he can start picking it apart again, though, replaced once more with a smile. “Alright, Harrington. Movies and pizza and braiding each other’s hair and playing sleepover games it is.”

“I didn’t say any of that last bit,” Steve protests, even though he thinks that braiding Eddie’s hair might be at least a little fun. He’d never tried it before, so he’d probably fuck it up, but- it’s an excuse to touch his hair, he thinks, and then shuts it down.

Can’t unthink it, though.

“I don’t even know if I can eat pizza,” Eddie muses, thankfully not catching whatever emotion might’ve just flicked across Steve’s face. “Bummer.”

“Do you think you can get drunk?” Steve asks, because he thinks if he’s going to even attempt doing the getting to know you thing with Eddie Musnon, he’s going to have to have a little bit of social lubricant in him.

“Maybe,” Eddie hums, face twisted like he’s really thinking it over. “If we, like, cut it with the blood? It all goes to the bloodstream anyway, right? What’s the worst that could happen, I puke it all up? Normal drinking stuff.”

There’s so much there that Steve can’t choose whether he should point out that killing him could be the worst thing that happened or that drinking until you puke is not, in fact, normal drinking stuff, despite a partying history that told him otherwise. He ends up going with neither and just says, “Yeah, man, for sure. I’ll bust out the booze and we can give it a go.”

Eddie seems pleased by the idea, and Steve’s sent off to his shift the next morning with a list of horrendous sounding movie titles and at least something of a vision for the night ahead. Robin called out for the Indy trip, so it’s just him at the desk that day, slowly stockpiling VHSes to take home with him. They’ll all be back Monday; Keith won’t even know they’re gone.

He gets a call at about noon, the only one of the day, and is pleased to hear Nancy’s voice when he picks up and not someone’s mom calling to see if they have The Goonies in yet, again. “How’s it going?”

“Just wanted to let you know we made it to the school,” Nancy says. If he strains his ear, Steve can hear the kids behind her talking about something. He doesn’t hear Robin, but he’s sure she’s close at hand. “How’s everything over there?”

“Totally perfect,” he says, twisting the phone cord around his finger a bit. “We’re gonna see if Eddie can still get drunk.”

He can hear Nancy’s frown without having to see it. “Do you really think that’s a good idea? Lowering the inhibitions of a guy who’s already having self control issues?”

“Okay, first of all, he’s not having self control issues,” Steve huffs. “He tried to bite me once -”

“Twice,” Nancy corrects, and Steve lets her have it because yeah, okay. Everyone seemed really hung up on numbers all of a sudden, when it came to Eddie’s teeth at his throat.

“Twice, but like he’s totally good now. The blood from the butcher got it sorted; he was just, like. Really hungry.”

Steve imagines that Nancy’s frowning sound gets more prominent. “And being drunk can make you hungry, Steve.”

“We’re mixing it with blood! That’s, like, killing two birds with one stone!” Steve figures this debate is going nowhere fast. “Look, Nance, I cross my heart, hope to die, pinky promise that we will be so, so totally safe, but like. Come on. The guy’s gotta have a little fun, you know? Imagine how you’d feel if you were, like, basically trapped in someone else’s house, and you couldn’t go outside, and you couldn’t see your family, and you were dealing with all the shit he’s dealing with. I know I’d want to get drunk.”

There’s a bit of silence before Nancy sighs, and Steve just barely holds himself back from fist pumping. A small win. “Seriously be safe,” she says, and before he can give the ‘oh for sure, absolutely ’ she cuts in. “I mean it, Steve. Don’t get blackout drunk with a vampire, and like- keep something you can fight with nearby incase something happens.”

“Still Eddie,” Steve snorts. “I could take the dude out with a light breeze or a table lamp, Nancy, come on.” Even if it’d been a struggle getting out from Eddie the first time. He doesn’t tell her that; she’ll just hop right back to worrying.

“And don’t be too hungover, because we’re probably going to come over first thing tomorrow and let you know what we found,” she says.

“You got it,” Steve hums. “No worries, Nancy, promise. Good luck.”

“You, too,” Nancy says, and before Steve can say he doesn’t need it, she hangs up.

Steve does, at least, keep his promise to Nancy and brings his heavy flashlight inside with him with his pile of tapes, when he gets home. He figures he won’t need it, but just in case Nancy asks tomorrow; he doesn’t like lying to her.

“I sincerely doubt we’re gonna watch all these tonight,” he says, dropping the armful on the coffee table. “But I got, like. Ninety percent of your list.”

“Beautiful, Harrington,” Eddie crows, picking up Poltergeist and holding it to his chest like a child would a teddy bear. “You change your mind on the booze?”

“I don’t think my fake’s gonna work around here, and I’m a year out from being able to legally buy, now,” Steve says with a shrug. He’d gotten all of one year being able to do it before the law changed. Universal bummer to every partying eighteen year old in Hawkins. “I figured I’d just break into my dad’s stash.”

“Yet another reason it’s a tragedy I can’t go out,” Eddie sighs. “No one gave a shit about selling to me, even if they knew I wasn’t old enough.”

Steve’s not sure why this makes him a little sad. He pushes on. “Well, tough. I hope you like scotch.”

“Who the fuck actually likes scotch,” Eddie whines.

“No one,” Steve says, moving back to the kitchen to call the pizza in. “But, you drink it anyway.”

They’re both grimacing through it when the pizza comes, and they’ve made an attempt at mixing the booze in with Eddie’s blood. He gags the first time he tries drinking it, but swallows anyway, which Steve is both impressed and disgusted by. It is, at least, doing its job at getting them somewhat tipsy, and Steve feels a little proud of the fact that they figured out how to get Eddie drunk. It feels like a monumental scientific achievement.

“We used to go see these for my birthday,” Eddie says about halfway through the fourth Friday the 13th movie; Steve hadn’t seen the first three, but he figures that he gets the gist. Bad guy in a hockey mask.

“Yeah?” He turns to look at Eddie, happy to turn his head away from the bloodshed on screen for a second or two. They’ve got the whole couch, but Eddie’s still sitting on the middle cushion, legs crossed under himself. Steve’s got his arm slung over the back of the couch; if either of them moved a little closer, he’d have his arm draped over Eddie’s shoulder.

Steve hasn’t moved. Eddie hasn’t moved. Steve sort of wishes he would.

“It’s Halloween,” Eddie says, and then clarifies. “My birthday. It, like. Worked out really well, back when I could trick or treat, because it meant that my uncle didn’t really have to worry too much about getting me a gift when we couldn’t afford it. I was happy with just a shit ton of free candy. Then, when I got older, we started going to the movies, seeing whatever was out. Was usually a horror movie, some kind of slasher, and I’ve always been kinda into them, so.” He shrugs. He’s got his hair twisted around his finger again, making it fall like a curtain in front of his face. At his angle, behind the curtain, Steve can see him worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, and is a little worried he's gonna shred it with the fangs if he keeps it up.

“Sounds like fun,” he says, dropping his hand to Eddie’s shoulder, finally, and squeezing it once. Reassurance.

“I fucking miss him, man,” Eddie says, soft, and ah. Steve sees; they’ve dipped right by giggly, happy drunk and into the deep, sad kind. Shit.

“I’m sorry,” he says, because what do you say to that other than that you’re sorry?

Eddie shrugs, and shifts, and now he’s back to leaning against Steve’s shoulder the same way he had been the night before. Oh. Steve’s not sober enough to not think about this. “I just… I’m not upset for me, right?” he says, and then backtracks. “Or. Okay, yeah, I am, because this fucking sucks. But the biggest part that sucks is- he doesn’t deserve that, man. To have to- mourn me, and deal with all the bullshit. He was good to me. Believed in me, even when I totally didn’t deserve it.”

“It’s not gonna be forever,” Steve says, and god, he’s so lucky he got anything out, he’s so pinpoint focused on Eddie’s weight at his side. There’s warmth there, and Steve’s not sure if its his imagination, or that Eddie’s just getting warmer the more blood he gets in him. “Just… until we figure this out.”

Eddie snorts. “And then what, Harrington? I just- pop up back from the dead? No one’s after me anymore, everyone just forgets that they think I’m a murderer? It’s never going back to normal. I’m gonna have to hide no matter what.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Steve says again, and tucks Eddie a bit tighter into his side, like that could protect him from any of it. “It… I’m not gonna blow smoke up your ass and tell you it ever goes away entirely, man. Shit- never goes back to normal.” He thinks about the pool in the backyard, covered for fall. He’s never gotten back in. “But, it gets. Easier. I promise, it does.”

“You wanna know what’s fucked up?” Eddie asks, and goes on before Steve can reply. “When you say it, man? I can almost believe it.”

Steve doesn’t know what to do with that other than let it make its own home in his chest alongside all the other bright things Eddie’s handed him, so he lets it, and settles further into the couch.

There’s silence but for the sound of shrill horror movie screams and revving chainsaws for a few more moments before Steve’s tongue loosens again, and speaks before he can stop himself: “Mine’s Christmas.”

“What?” Eddie tips his head up to look at him. His lips are, predictably, bright red from where he’d been biting them. Steve wants to bite them. Maybe vampirism is contagious.

“My birthday,” Steve says. “Or, like. It’s not actually Christmas, it’s the twenty-third. Too close to, like, celebrate it on its own.” All his friends, growing up, usually had plans; grandmas and grandpas to go see, aunts and uncles and cousins in town that they had obligations to hang out with. His parents had business parties and Christmas dinners at their social circles’ house, and once Steve got old enough to handle himself, he stopped being young enough to go to those. He got his presents on Christmas, pulling double duty.

“Miracle baby Harrington,” Eddie hums. He’s got a wide, bright grin on his face, and he nearly giggles with it. Maybe they hadn’t skipped giddy drunk, then. “Mommy and daddy’s little Christmas gift come early, huh?”

Steve snorts, and there’s a little ache to it, but not much. It’s hard to ache, when Eddie’s smiling at him like that and he’s got something warmer than alcohol thrumming through his veins. “Yeah, I’m a real treat.”

“I think you are,” Eddie says, and Steve’s surprised by how earnest he sounds. Eddie’s still got his head tipped back, long line of his throat exposed, and Steve’s drunk enough that the word twinkling comes to mind when he thinks about how the low lamplight they’d kept on for ambiance is reflecting in his dark eyes.

“Yeah?” he asks. He shouldn’t.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, low, and oh, Steve feels like he could pass out.

“I think,” he says, because he can’t stop thinking, now, and he needs to say something. “I think it’s been way too long since I’ve drank. I’m fucking- three sheets to the wind already, man.” Was he, though? This didn’t feel like any amount of drunk Steve had been before.

Eddie laughs, and Steve feels drunker. “Cannot believe you can’t hold your liquor, Harrington; did all those high school parties teach you nothing? You were supposed to be building up a tolerance.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, well, kind of goes out the window when you haven’t been to a party in like two years.”

“I’m sure you could waltz into any house party in Hawkins and be hailed like good ol’ King Steve again if you wanted to, Harrington,” Eddie says, and it makes Steve feel a little ill.

“I don’t want to, though,” he says, maybe with a bit too much feeling for the tease, because Eddie lifts his head off his shoulder a bit, and there’s concern in his gaze, now.

“No?” Eddie asks.

Steve shakes his head. “First off, I’d be- a weird twenty year old showing up to high school parties, which, like. I hang out with enough high schoolers as is, I don’t need more,” he says. He’s never really been a drunken rambler, but he thinks maybe instead of vampirism that’s contagious, it’s Eddie that’s gotten into his veins. That, or he’s been hanging out with Robin too much, and their weird twin telepathy is making him do this. “And, second, I haven’t been King Steve in like. Years, now. Wasn’t King Steve anymore by the time I graduated.”

“You still felt a little bit regal,” Eddie says, dropping his head back to Steve’s shoulder but still keeping his face turned up towards him. “After your fall from grace, whatever the fuck happened with Hagan and the crew that made you fall out. Like a… prince cast out of his kingdom, or some shit, the way you walked around that year.”

Steve snorts. “You make it sound so dramatic.”

Eddie shrugs. Steve feels the motion more than sees it. “It felt dramatic. Like… Watching you come down from your cloud and shit, move among the normal people for a couple months. You almost looked fucking approachable when you didn’t look- fucking depressed.”

“Sounds like you were doing a lot of looking,” Steve says, and it’s with a laugh, something he’s willing to brush off, but he feels Eddie lock up a bit beside him.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and it’s almost defensive. “So what if I was?”

So what? Steve’s own mind echoes, and tacks on its own bit. So, what does that mean? What could that mean? “I can’t have been that approachable,” he jokes, trying to push past it. “You didn’t approach me.”

“Approachable to normal people,” Eddie says, and there’s almost a laugh there, but not enough humor in his tone to make it happen. He’s not looking at Steve, now; he seems like he’s looking anywhere but at Steve, while Steve can’t look anywhere but at him. “I’ve never been normal people.”

“I wish you had, though,” Steve says, and he doesn’t know where that’s coming from. There’s a pit of guilt in his stomach when he remembers it, like there is a lot of the time when he’s thinking about his high school days, but he didn’t used to have a lot of kind things to say about Eddie Munson. Not that he said them to Eddie; usually, he just didn’t even notice him. Pretended he didn’t even notice him.

Why had he had to pretend? There’s a million different inflections to that question, a million different reasons to ask it.

“I wish you had,” he says again, because even if he doesn’t understand it, he means it. “I think I could’ve used less normal people in my life.”

Eddie does laugh this time, and it’s somehow stuck in between the bright laugh and the dark one. He’s back to looking at Steve again, and the way Steve’s looking down at him, it puts them in a position where they’re sharing air again.

For a second, Steve thinks something is going to happen. He wants, so, so badly for something to happen.

What happens is that Eddie nearly punches him in the face with an exaggerated stretch and yawn, and the moment bursts like a bubble. “You know what, man? Maybe the alcohol is hitting me kind of hard. After all, I’m apparently six months sober.”

Steve does not feel disappointed. Steve tells himself he’s not even a little disappointed. Why would he be?

“We haven't even finished your movies yet,” he says.

“You want to end up hauling my ass upstairs, Harrington?” Eddie asks, and before Steve can tell him that he’s already had to haul his ass upstairs this week, he waves him off. “Come on. You really want to be sleepless and hungover when the kiddies come over tomorrow with their medical findings?”

Eddie has a point. Steve doesn’t want him to have a point, because the place at his side feels empty, and something Steve hates having to label as familiar loneliness is clawing in his throat and it’s so, so stupid. “Let’s at least finish this one. It’s almost over, and I kinda liked it.” A lie. An obvious one, probably.

Eddie shrugs, though, and settles back onto the couch, though he’s squarely on his own cushion. “If I fall asleep here, Harrington, it’s your ass. Truly.”

Steve had thought that Eddie was bullshitting, just a little bit, but by the time Jason’s dead and the dude who’d just hacked him to bits is giving his thousand yard stare there’s quiet snoring beside him, and Eddie’s starting to droop a little bit, neck turned at an odd angle so he can rest his head on the back of the couch.

Steve should take him back upstairs.

Steve feels sleep settling into his bones too, though- or, at least, that’s what he tells himself. It’s been a long day, a long week, and he’s drunk, and the couch is comfortable. That’s why, of course, he grabs the blanket from the back of the couch and tosses it over Eddie, and then slides under the remainder himself. That’s why he pulls Eddie a bit into his side, and that’s why he wills his pulse to stop beating so hard in his throat so that he can close his eyes.

The drink is what makes his eyes fall shut sooner than they’d normally be able to, he tells himself, or the hour. It’s late. It has nothing to do with the weight of Eddie pressed into his side, the slight warmth between their bodies, nothing at all.

He thinks that until he’s thinking nothing at all.

#steddie #steveeddie #vampire eddie munson #eddie munson #steve harrington #oyt/swm #jack writes

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samuelasche · 1 year

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First Artifact - IFE Research Proposal

Research Question: What is the relationship between demographic factors such as race and income/economic status when it comes to access to healthcare in the United States?

Working Title: Access to Quality Healthcare: Low Income and Minority Communities

Project Summary: In my project, the topic that I want to research is access to healthcare in the United States. Specifically, I want to learn more about the challenges of being a minority or growing up in poverty and how that can make access to healthcare even more challenging. While people are usually quick to come up with what they think is a solution, I know that the healthcare system is much more complicated, which is why I want to learn more details about the challenges first. Some specifics that I would like to research are which demographics specifically lack access to quality healthcare, and why those specific demographics cannot escape a cycle of struggle. Playing off that last detail, I also want to research proposals for solutions to the healthcare system in the United States that would benefit everyone and provide a fair chance to all people regardless of their race or economic status. Some key terms that come up frequently from my research are life expectancy, mortality, economic status, poverty, financial instability, out-of-pocket costs, Medicare, and Medicaid.

Some questions that I am going to use to guide my research are:

What demographic(s) in the United States would benefit the most from universal healthcare or more accessible healthcare?

What is the relationship between race and access to healthcare?

How does income affect access to healthcare?

Why is healthcare so expensive in the United States?

How could the government do more to help those that struggle with being able to afford quality healthcare?

How does the quality of healthcare in the United States compare to that of other countries?

What specific problems make it difficult to obtain proper healthcare?

4. Reason for choosing topic: For most of my childhood, my mom was a single mother, and she did not receive much financial help from my dad even though he was legally obligated to help. My mom worked tirelessly to give us a good life, but medical expenses for my sister and I were challenging to pay even with the plan provided to my mom by her employer. As healthcare costs were something that my family struggled with growing up, I have always been interested in learning about ways to solve the healthcare crisis and become more knowledgeable about the topic.

My aunt, who I was always close with growing up, worked in the healthcare industry, and she made good money but was not particularly wealthy. Even being someone who worked in the industry, she still struggled to pay off her bills when it came to medical expenses. Growing up, I have watched so many kind and hard-working families fall into thousands of dollars of credit card debt simply because of insurmountable costs.

5. One of the biggest challenges that I have faced so far in my research is understanding the different government healthcare programs that already exist in the United States such as Medicare and Medicaid. I know the basics of each system, but many of the online articles I have read go into detail about the programs, and I get lost in the sea of medical and financial terms. Although, I believe that with more research this will not be an issue.

Another worry that I have about my project is that the topic is too broad. I think that to find more valuable information when I am researching, I need to narrow down the questions to find articles that specifically answer questions about specific information. My research-guiding questions have helped me a lot, but I think that I underestimated the degree of specificity that is required for such a popular topic like healthcare.

My comments: In my previous English classes, I had completed assignments that are somewhat similar to this, but I had never created a proposal that is so in-depth. This proposal helped me properly prepare for the essay and visualize all of my ideas in an organized manner.

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favefandomimagines · 3 years

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I Bought A Ring (e.b.)

Summary: Abby’s back and Buck doesn’t know how to handle the news. And neither do you.

AN: i’m still PISSED that abby came back even if only for an episode, my poor buck was so hurt ): this was something i had deep in my drafts and now that buck is blowing up it seemed like a good time to post it!

there is a buck fic similar to this and i just wanna say that i did not copy or steal the idea. i’ve had this in my drafts for months since season 3 ended so no one stole anyone’s idea! if you wanna check out their fic their username is @lotsoflovefromlea and the fic is titled ‘Second Best’ it’s really really good

You didn’t think you’d have to face the day when Buck’s past came back to haunt him. You were hoping it would stay in the past and you would be his future. But life has a funny way of putting us to the test.

After the train crash, and Buck saw Abby again, he had been acting distant. Distant enough for you to notice that something was wrong. It wasn’t hard to notice, especially when the two of you live together.

He would rarely talk when you had the same shift at the 118, there was no conversation during dinner and he’d come to bed long after you had already fallen asleep.

It had gotten to the point where you didn’t even remember the last time he kissed you or touched you. And you had enough of the maltreatment.

You exited the shower and saw him standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. You walked down the stairs and stood across from him, the tension between the two of you painfully obvious.

“What’s been going on with you?” You asked, breaking the ice. “What do you mean?” He asked, not meeting your gaze. “Seriously? Buck, you’ve been acting like I killed your dog for three weeks since the train crash. What the hell is going on?” You explained.

Buck sighed before looking up at you. He knew he couldn’t keep secrets from you. Including ones that could possibly change your relationship.

“Abby reached out to me. She wanted to meet up to talk.” He said. Buck could tell by the way your right eyebrow was raised and your eyes narrowed that you were not happy. “Really? And you went?” You asked. “Yeah.” Buck answered quietly.

You laughed bitterly before walking around the counter back towards the stairs. “God, you just can’t seem to let her go, can you?” You started. “It’s been, what? Two years? Two years since she left you for her ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ experience and got engaged? And who was the one who never left your side? Me. It was me, Evan and even now, you can’t seem to realize how terrible she was to you. Face it, you were her midlife crisis and you fell in love with her and never fell back out. All while making me fall in love with you.” You finished.

Sure you were a tad bit cruel, but it was what he needed to hear. No one wanting to be the one who had to pop his perfect bubble when it came to Abby.

“I stayed with you when you were suing the department for christ sake! And I can’t do it anymore, Evan.” You added. There it was again. His dreaded first name. The name you never used unless you were beyond angry with him. And he hated hearing it come from your lips. “Y/N, what do you mean?” He asked.

Fear was coursing through his body as he waited for you to finally leave him. After everything he put you through, Abby was the last straw.

“I mean, maybe we should take a break. Until you figure out what it is you really want.” You answered. It wasn’t something you wanted nor did you think it would ever happen. “No. No, no, Y/N, don’t do this.” He begged, walking towards you. “I have too. Since she came back, this relationship has been one sided and I don’t deserve that.” You said.

“Please, Y/N, I love you.” Buck told you. “Do you? Because you have a funny way of showing it.” You replied. You swiftly grabbed your keys and your purse and made a path towards the exit. “So this is it? You’re breaking up with me?” Buck asked, causing you to stop.

“I don’t want to. But you seem to have unresolved feelings for Abby and you can’t claim to love one person wholeheartedly when you clearly don’t. Figure it out, Buck. But remember who was here when no one else was.” You answered before leaving the house.

You didn’t know where else to go after you left. So you decided to go to Bobby and Athena’s. Bobby was like a father to you when you joined the 118 and you trusted him more than you trusted most people.

After trying to straighten yourself up and wipe the tears from your face, you got out of the car and headed to the front door. You knocked a couple of times and waited for the door to open.

When it did, Athena’s face softened when she saw you and instantly knew something was wrong. “Y/N? What’s wrong? What happened?” She asked, ushering you inside. “I didn’t know where else to go.” You answered.

Bobby, wondering who was at the door, turned the corner and saw you standing in the entryway. “Y/N, what’s wrong?” He asked. “Buck and I got into a fight. He went to meet up with Abby and he didn’t tell meand I just, I just don’t understand why he won’t let her go. Am I not enough?” You explained.

Athena shushed you and pulled you into a hug to comfort you. She knew Buck was stubborn but not so much that you felt you had to leave. Bobby was furious. He hated seeing you so upset and he was frustrated with the young man for making you think you weren’t enough for him.

After a few minutes, Athena made up the guest bedroom for you and said you could stay as long as you needed. But you hoped it wouldn’t have to be for long.

Bobby arrived at the station in search for Buck and found him sulking while Hen and Chimney were grilling him about his mood. “What’s wrong with you today?” Chimney asked. “Him and Y/N got in a fight last night and she walked out on him.” Bobby answered for him.

Buck looked up at his captain with wide eyes, wondering how he knew about the prior events. “She stayed at mine and Athena’s last night.” He added. Buck let out a sigh of relief, mainly because he was worried sick about you. You didn’t answer a single one of his calls or texts and he didn’t know where you went off to.

“Why did she walk out on you?” Hen asked. “Because I may have went to meet up with Abby the other day. And apparently I had been acting distant towards Y/N and she confronted me.” Buck explained. “Seriously? You still have feelings for Abby?” Hen asked. “No, Hen-” Buck tried to explain but was interrupted by his coworkers.

“Y/N is the perfect girl for you and you’re throwing her away for someone who left you?” She continued. “Hen,” Buck started. “You’re stupid but not this stupid.” She said. “Hen! I don’t have feelings for Abby anymore. I wanted to give her a chance to explain why she left and to thank her. Because if she wouldn’t have left, I wouldn’t have met Y/N.” Buck interrupted.

“And I,” He started before he stopped himself, not sure if he wanted to tell everyone his secret. “You what?” Eddie asked. Buck looked up at his friends before sighing. “I bought a ring.” He answered. “Wait, what?” Chimney asked. “I bought a ring. I was going to propose but then I got all in my head after Abby showed up. I thought Y/N would say no and she’d leave me just like Abby did.” Buck explained.

The rest of the 118 crew was silent as they looked down at Buck. Hen sat down across from him before speaking. “That girl is head over heels in love with you, Buck. She has been since the first time she met you and the last thing she would do is leave you like Abby did. Though, because of Abby, she felt she had no choice.” She said.

“I need to get her back. I didn’t even know what to do this morning without her.” Buck said. “When does she come in for her shift?” He asked Bobby. “She was supposed to be here by now. She left before me.” The man answered.

Before anyone could form a theory about your whereabouts, the bell went off signaling they had a call.

They soon arrived to the scene of a car accident, one car completely flipped upside down.

The 118 stopped short, however, when they noticed who’s car was upside down. It was yours that was hit by a guy texting and driving and ran a red light.

“Y/N?” Buck called, running to the driver side door. “Buck, you’re too close to this.” Bobby stopped him. “We’re all too close to this, Bobby.” Buck rebutted. Bobby looked at Athena and gestured for her to keep Buck away from the scene. “Keep him away from her.” He instructed his. wife.

Eddie began trying to get the door off and Hen and Chimney noticed you were still conscious, struggling to get out and stay awake.

“Y/N, can you hear me?” Hen asked. “Yeah. I-I can hear you.” You stammered. “I have a piece of shrapnel between the third and fourth intercostal space. Mild to severe concussion and around three broken ribs, and a possible pulmonary contusion.” You told them.

Both EMTs were surprised that you could still diagnose and recognize your symptoms while having a concussion and actively bleeding.

Once the door was off the car, Hen and Chimney set down the backboard and Eddie began cutting your seatbelt.

“Where’s Buck?” You asked him. “Bobby won’t let him help. He’s too close to this one.” Eddie answered. “Aren’t you all though?” You joked. Eddie laughed dryly as the seatbelt was cut free. “Can you move?” He asked.

You looked down at the piece of metal from the seat and back up at him. “You have to pull it out.” You told him. “Y/N,” Eddie started. “Eddie, you have to pull it out or I won’t be able to move. I have a concussion, I’m already bleeding and in about five minutes I’m going to pass out. I will slowly bleed out from the inside if I don’t move. Pull the damn thing out.” You snapped.

Eddie looked at you for a moment before glancing over at Buck, arguing with Athena. As Eddie pulled the piece of metal out of your side, Buck broke free of Athena’s grasp and fell to his friend’s side.

“Y/N, baby, are you okay?” He asked frantically. “I’m going to pass out in a couple of seconds so I’m sorry, Buck. For what happened last night.” You spoke, your breathing becoming shallower. “Buck we gotta move her.” Eddie told him.

Your eyes fell closed slowly and the heart rate monitor attached to you started beeping rapidly. “We gotta get her out now.” Hen instructed. Bobby pulled Buck back as he watched in horror while his friends began giving you CPR once they pulled you from the car.

Your heart beat thankfully went back to normal and Chimney and Hen loaded you into the back of the ambulance.

Buck took the liberty of joining you considering he was your emergency contact, having no other family in LA.

Once the ambulance arrived at the hospital, Buck, Chimney and Hen were forced to stay at the ER bay, not being allowed to go with you.

Buck watched as the doctors took you away and this quickly became his worst nightmare. What if you didn’t make it? What if the last conversation you had was a fight?

Bobby’s hand rested on Buck’s shoulder as they all watched you disappear down the hallway.

It had been hours. Hours of the 118 sitting in the waiting room for you to come out of surgery. Buck was a nervous wreck and no amount of consoling from Maddie or Eddie made it any better. He knew she should have told you about meeting with Abby but he was afraid of ruining everything. But not telling you made it ten times worse.

“Evan Buckley?” A doctor called, alerting the entire crew. “Th-That’s me. I’m Evan Buckley.” Buck replied. “Y/N is going to be okay. We repaired the damage to her lung as well as the other internal damage she received from the car crash. She still had a major concussion and she’ll be out of commission for a while, but she got incredibly lucky.” The doctor explained.

Buck let out a very visible sigh of relief, as did everyone else. “Can I see her?” Buck asked. “She’s in the ICU so only a couple of people at a time.” The doctor said. “You go, Buck. We’ll see her when she’s moved to a normal room.” Bobby told him.

He nodded his head and followed the doctor to your room. He saw you lying in the hospital bed, multiple IVs in your hands and arms and an oxygen tube in your nose.

Your eyes were still closed but he could tell you were awake, though hearing the doctor’s voice alerted you.

“Y/N, someone’s here to see you.” You turned your head slightly and saw Buck standing in the doorway. “Hi.” You said quietly, your voice still hoarse from the breathing tube in surgery.

Buck sat in the chair next to you, his eyes red and watering. “I am so sorry, Y/N,” He whispered. “I should have told you about Abby but I met with her to get closure. And to thank her because if she wouldn’t have left me, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.” He added.

“It’s okay. I should have let you explained.” You replied. “I have something else to tell you.” Buck said. “Oh no, now what?” You joked. “I bought a ring.” He said. “Like, a ring ring?” You questioned. “Yes, a ring ring.” Buck laughed. “Where is it?” You asked.

Buck let go of your hand for a moment and fished the piece of jewelry out of his pocket.

“You have to put it on for me.” You said. Buck looked at you in disbelief as he smiled, sliding the ring on your left finger. “I’m assuming that’s a yes.” He said. “Of course it is. I’d be stupid to say no to you.” You told him with a smile.

Buck squeezed your hand gently as he looked at the ring on your finger. “I never want to come that close to losing you ever again.” He muttered. “You won’t. I don’t plan on leaving you for a long time.” You said. “Good. Because I really don’t know what I’d do without you.” Buck said.

He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on your forehead as you looked down at the ring. “You did a good job.” You commented. Buck laughed at your comment, causing a smile to grace your face. “Hen and Maddie helped.” He said. “I figured as much.” You replied.

The rest of the evening, or whatever time of day you thought it was, Buck stayed by your side. Even when the doctors were running their tests and looking over your condition. After almost losing you, there was no way you were going to get rid of Buck even for a moment.

#imagine #imagines #911 imagine #911 fox #911 lone star #evan buckley #evan buckley imagine #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley oneshot #oliver stark

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kuroliondragon · 3 years

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You are not getting away! (Ace Trappola x Reader)

Υou have a crush on Ace and keep on avoiding him. Until he finally has enough and confronts you about it…

Warnings: slight angst, fluff

“We will wait for Ace-chan and then we can all go to the cafeteria together!” Cater chirped cheerfully.

The moment you heard your friend’s name, you instantly turned to face Cater with blushing cheeks. “W-Wait! We are going with Ace?!” A cloud of panic was visible all over your face.

“Well yeah. It would be bad if we let Ace-chan alone.” Cater explained.

“Ohh, yeah…guess your right.” You awkwardly swallowed, hoping you didn't sound suspicious.

You looked at all your Heartslabyul friends, sweating as you thought hard for an excuse. “Oh! I just remembered!” you squealed as you found the perfect excuse.

Everyone turned their attention to you while wondering what has gotten in to you all of a sudden. “Is something the matter Perfect?” Riddle's silver eyes flashed at you with concern.

“Yeah… you see…I have left my notes for Crewel’s Alchemy class back at the dorm!” You nervously exclaimed.

“I see.” Riddle said as he placed a finger on his chin thinking. As he remebered something, he reached for his bag.

“So… I should really go.” With a shaking voice you signaled your head towards the other end of the hallway while hoping your little lie had worked.

“No need.” Riddle lifted his head, holding a notebook in his hands. “You can have mine instead.” He kindly offered.

“But are you not a second year?” You titled your head in confusion.

“This one has notes from my first year." Riddle held the notebook in the air. "I often lend it to Ace, Deuce or any other first year when they forget theirs.” His expession darkened a bit as he clicked his tongue in annoyance . "We wouldn't want to violate a rule now would we?" Riddle said while giving an intimidating smile to Deuce.

Deuce let out an embarrassed laugh while kept apologizing to his dorm leader with pleading eyes.

“Anyway, you can have it.” Riddle offered you his notes with a soft smile.

“I’m sorry. I can’t.” You nervously declined, clenching the hold of your bag. The truth was that you hadn't forgotten anything. Your notes for Crewel's class were safely secured in your bag but you― no matter what― needed an excuse to get away from Ace. You had to get out of there fast, and even if you wanted to be close to him you couldn't. After realizing your feeling for your dear friend, you couldn't be near him not even five minutes without being nervous or blushing red.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed Perfect.” Riddle spoke softly, placing his hand on your shoulder in an encouraging gesture. But his silver eyes suddenly narrowed, giving off a threatening aura that soon was matching his face. “Ace is the one who should be embarrassed, for making us wait for so long.”

“If he keeps this up, he’s going to violate rule 366: 'You shouldn’t be late more than 10 minutes before going to lunch on Wednesdays'. The dorm head gritted his teeth, his patience was running thin.

“Dorm leader!” A voice yelled, in your mind it sounded familiar― way too familiar for your liking.

All of you turned to the unexpected shouting, to find Ace running towards your group. “Dorm leader!” he shouted, his heartbeat rapid as he tried to take a few deep breaths, finally reaching you. "Dorm leader, there is a crisis at the dorm!"

"What crisis?" Riddle raised an eyebrow.

Ace gasped for air. "The flamingos are loose!", he panicked.

"What?!" Riddle,Trey and Cater yelled in unison.

"Yes! You need to head there fast!" He pointed towards the Mirror Chamber at the other end of the hall.

Without a second thought they all rushed to Heartslabyul to resolve the situation, while leaving you and Ace alone. Once they were gone, you slowly turned to face your friend― sweat was already forming in your forehead. "You know…I really have to go." You nervously voiced as you tried looking anywhere but Ace's red eyes, "So…it would be best if you followed them." You suggested, praying to any of the seven get him as quickly as possible off your back.

You hurriedly took a few steps towards the other end of the hall. But Ace grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks as he stared at you, "I lied."

"What?" You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

"I said, I lied." He gave out a sigh. Observing your still confused expression he decided to provide you further context. "The whole flamingos incident…is a lie. I made it up, there is no crisis."

"Then why did you-" you couldn't believe what you were hearing. Why would he do such thing?

"Because I needed an excuse to be with you…You were about to run off again." He confessed with a sadden expression.

"I wasn't. I was just-" you tried to make an excuse.

"-trying to get your Alchemy notes that you left in your dorm?" He sarcastically asked. "Yeah, I know", his voice sounded more and more disappointed as his red eyes travelled to the ground.

Your eyes widen as you gasped in shock. "How did you know that?" You imidiatly shifted your body and faced him. He was still holding your hand. Maybe he had no intention of letting go...

"I overheard your conversation." He said as he kept his gaze down and for the first time you thought you heard just a bit of shame in his voice. Shame...Ace…Ace Trappola being ashamed… This must have been the greatest joke of the century! There is no way that compulsive liar would be ashamed for anything! He wasn't ashamed when he challenged his dorm leader in a duel for the dorm head position. Why he would be now?

He swallowed hard. "Why are you avoiding me?", he frowned. Oh no…

"No, no, no, no. NO!" You cried in despair. "Why?! Why are you asking me the one question I can't answer you?!" You said trembling as you lowered your face in your hand― hiding from Ace's view.

For a few moments there was pure silence. None of you spoke, only the wind and the chatter of some students was heard. What could you say?! What he could say?! This had turned out a mess. There was no saving your situation. You could just tell him your feelings. The idea appeared in your mind like a flash of lightning. But Ace was a bit of a special case. Yes, he was your friend. Yes, you two may or may not have done some awesome pranks together. Yes, you have also been in a lot of trouble together. But that did not mean that you could just confess to him! He would laugh at you in no time. Once he knows, he will never stop. He will keep teasing you until you two graduate, if you are lucky! Because if not, he would tease you until you die. So, why would you pour your heart out to him?

All of a sudden you heard a deep sigh and a pair a hands pushed yours away, revealing your troubled expession. "What?" You snapped at him, your voice stained with melancholy, while you turned your head away from him.

"Hey!" He slightly slapped your cheek to make you face him.

You did face him but with an expression he had never wished to see on your face. You were about to shed tears.

"Hey…don't…don't cry." He slowly placed his palm on your cheek as he cupped you cheek with a sincere gaze. "I'm just worried."

"I know. I know." You reassured, placing your hand on the top of his. "But it's hard to say what I feel…" you pressed your lips together in a tight line.

"Then say it. Don't hesitate because of me. " He encouraged with a smile.

"You will laugh." You twisted your gaze to the side, hoping he would leave the matter alone.

Only for him to brought your face to look at him once again, "I won’t."

"You will because you are a little shit." You almost laughed yourself.

"True." He gave you a small giggle. "But I want to know." He sofly stared at you. You still refused to give him any information about what you wanted to tell him. So he moved onto plan B. "Alright then, how about this: I will try guessing and you will tell me if I am close or not." He gave you a toothy grin.

You let an exasperated sigh, "Fine, because you are not going to leave me alone either way."

He gave you a mischievous smile. "Is it about..." he thought a bit, "...that you don't want to be friends with the best prankster of NRC?" he said playfully.

You bursted out laughing, "Cold, very cold."

Oh, now it was beginning to be fun! His red eyes twinkled craftily. "Is it because you are in love with some one?"

You bit your lip, averting your gaze from him, "Warm."

"Is that person close to you?" He suddenly brought his face close to yours.

"Warm, very warm!" You yelped, turning red.

"Is this person me, perhaps?" He cooed.

Your nervousness reached it's peak after Ace had asked the question. Something inside you, a gut feeling, was whispering to you that Ace knew exactly what he was asking, as well as, what the answer was. So, you shallowed and opened your mouth to answer. But you had no time to; without a warning you were met with Ace's lips on the top of yours, forcefully wanting access to the inside of your mouth.

Once he pulled away, you were left dazed, staring into thin air, while trying to catch your breath like a fish gasping for air. Ace laughed at your silly expession. "I surprised you, didn't I?~", he gave you a playful wink.

Still dazed as you were you could only utter one word, "Warm." You still couldn't believe the fact that Ace Trappola had just kissed you.

"And it's about to get warmer." He huskily whispered, grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and diving for another deep kiss.

"ACE TRAPPOLA", a furious shout was suddenly heard.

You and Ace quickly pulled away from each other, dread filling both of you as you realized whose heels were angrily tapping in the halls.

The two of you turned towards the sound, finding a Riddle seething with rage while being followed by a concerned Trey and Cater. "Dorm leader, I can explain!" Ace cried out as he saw Riddle marching towards him.

"Riddle at least let him explain." Trey pleaded.

"OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!!!" The dorm leader screamed as he unleashed his unique magic.

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sweetestlamb · 3 years

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Walk Through A Storm

Author's note: Honestly, like I could help myself from doing this. it's short because I need to actually get my life together but enjoy. Oh also I don't wanna think anymore so someone give me title in the comments lol I'll pick the one that fits the best. (Thanks for actually giving suggestions, one really spoke to me!)

Summary: "I'm not ready to stop kissing you yet."

"I thought you were going to reject me." She whispers in between the small space between them, their lips are close enough to meet again in another soul burning kiss and he's tempted to close the gap again. They can talk later so for the second time in his life he wants to be selfish, she brings that out in him; makes him hungry for more than he thinks he deserves. She's been doing that since he first met her.

"I'm not ready to stop kissing you yet." Her eyes widen at his whispered words and without pause he leans closer softly pressing his lips against hers. She tastes sweet like the best candy he could never get as a young boy. Her little hands slide up his back dragging him closer and he goes easily, his walls are saw dust at this point and she's a windstorm. Wrapping his arms fully around her body he pulls her closer, cupping the back of her head as he swipes his tongue at the seam of her lips. She gasps in a way that makes his blood bubble and flow southward. The sea roars besides them providing the soundtrack to their first cognizant kisses. Hopefully the first of many.

The kiss drags and overlaps, her tongue persistent in his mouth and her hands busy stroking and rubbing at his back. It takes all of his willpower to sever their connection but he's starting to feel light-headed (and horny). This all still seems like a dream ever since he saw her running over to him, when she was supposed to be in Seoul. Leaving without telling him. Making him think the worst.

"Why do you look like you want to cry?" She cups his cheeks and he's reminded of that unforgettable night. She looks so concerned that he wants to disappear not used to being on the receiving end of such looks.

"Nothing. I'm fine." He tries to brush her off, viciously wiping at his eyes but she doesn't let him push her away, grabbing his hands tightly in her own. "Tell me what you're thinking. I told you everything in my head."

He almost chuckles at her expectant gaze. She sounds like him demanding payment.

"People usually leave but you're the first...to come back early." He smiles sadly thinking about all the people he'll never see again, and how he considered that she might go back to Seoul and realize that she was much too big for the pond that was Gongjin. He wouldn't have stopped her, she deserved the whole world.

"The first hm. I like that." He stares at her face, grinning at the satisfied grin and the enveloping dimples on both sides of her face.

"A daughter with your dimples would be dangerous, I think I'd understand how Chun-jae feels then." She pauses at his words mouth gaping and it hits him just what he's implied about their future. It's presumptuous and he should correct it but his tongue feels too heavy and her bright eyes suck the air from his lungs.

"Where's Mi-Seon? How did you get back so quickly?"

"Oh." She jumps cutely, suddenly hitting him on the shoulder and he winces ready to scold her for hitting him so close to his injury. But then she starts hitting herself on the head and instinctively he grabs her, stopping the self inflicted abuse.

"Stop that. I like that head." It's cheesy, something he would have cringed at if he heard another utter it but once he sees the smile she rewards him with none of that matters anymore, he'll say anything to make her beam like that.

"You're such a flirt." She fails at sounding bothered. "Oh and I left her in Seoul. It started raining and I realized you were it for me so I ran into the rain and left her on the sidewalk. Crazy right?" She starts snickering at her own words and he stares at her taken aback laughter forced out of his lungs at her infectious giggles.

She comes into his house like she belongs there, going to his fridge without permission and grabbing a bottle of water. He feels parched watching her drink it, never before has he wished to be a plastic bottle. So many firsts with her.

"What are you staring at?" She tilts her head like a bunny and he can't get the image of her with floppy ears out of his head.

"Cute."

"What?" She blushes furiously at his accidental slip and he clears his throat before grabbing his phone, desperately needing a distraction.

"Nothing. I'll call someone to pick up Mi-Seon."

"Who are you calling?" She asks walking over to him, sitting far too closely for his brain to function at maximum capacity. When a deep familiar masculine voice answers she squeals, bouncing in her seat and giving him thumbs up. He feels so proud he could burst.

"Don't say no. She's all alone and abandoned. What if something happens to her? Could you live with yourself?" He replies to the stuttering officers weak refusals and those are the right words to get the meek man moving, it's comical that he would be playing matchmaker for anyone else.

"You're a master manipulator." She accuses and he stares in surprise, "Does it upset you?" But she surprises him by leaning closer, spread deliciously across his compact couch. "No. It's sexy." Her face is glorious under the soft lighting in his living room and he swallows the drool collecting in his mouth, embarrassed when it starts a coughing fit. She thumps his back firmly before thrusting her water at him, "Drink." He listens obediently.

He gulps at the bottle, taking a deep breath before collapsing backwards into the couch.

"Am I making you nervous?" Making. As if it's only a present occurrence, as if she hasn't been making him swallow his words and expectations from the very beginning. He shifts looking at her through narrowed eyes.

She's far too innocently twirling her hair blinking up at him with wide eyes.

"You're doing this on purpose." She smiles serenely at the claim, leaning back onto the couch and by default his arm that's strewn across the top. She presses her body into the side of his body and he tightens his hold on her shoulder. It all feels too natural.

"I'm surprised it's working. You never seemed affected by me. You denied liking me so easily. Biological crisis, my ass."

He jumps at her cursing, she sounds too much like her father. It makes him smirk.

"I thought I had to. You were right, we are so different. I thought it was something fleeting for you, you told me you're someone who gets curious."

"Pfftt. You think I get curious about just anyone? I have high standards. I'm quite a catch you know?" Her signature bravado, but this time he can see through the veil better. Can spot the cracks and tears and it makes him want to protect her even more.

"I know. You're the best thing I've ever caught."

He'll never grow tired of being the reason that face turns so pink and flushed. (Immediately pushing aside an image of her beneath him.)

"Wait here. I have something for you." He wants to argue as she starts to leave his embrace but she's too quick for his grabby hands and he pouts at her unwanted departure. He moves to follow her but she's back before he's even finished putting on his shoes.

"Where did you go? We could have gone together."

"What? Did you miss me?" She teases, dimples flashing up at him.

"Don't be absurd." He denies but his cheeks burn yes.

"Whatever. I went to get this. Here." She thrusts a large bag at him, looking excited and embarrassed all at once. He takes it confused, prying it open and feeling more confusion wash over him.

"These are men's shirts." He says dumbly and she stares unimpressed at him, rolling her eyes before nodding.

"Yes. I got them for you in Seoul. Keep them even if you don't like them. They're a gift." She looks so small and... scared that he reacts without thinking, dragging his shirt over his head and throwing it to the side. The sight that welcomes him as his head pops out of the hole is not a new one, but it's still as effective as the first time. Hye Jin looks desperate, eyes locked on his now naked chest. His skin raises under her intense gaze.

"Miss Dent--Hye Jin ah?" His call doesn't do anything, well that's a lie it doesn't knock her back to reality like he'd expect instead it seems to be the siren call that lures her closer to him. Her hand outreached before landing on the tense muscles in his stomach, with one touch he already feels devastated.

"What are you doing to me?" He aches to feel and touch and kiss and fuc-

But it's too soon for all that. They haven't even defined this yet and despite all the lines they've crossed he wants to do this right.

Taking a step back he escapes her torturous touch and pulls a shirt from the bag, ready to cover himself back up from her too penetrating gaze.

"Wait." Her voice is so raspy and longing he has no choice and he watches mesmerized as she watches him hungrily, eyes darting all over his naked skin dissecting him. He swallows hard when he sees her little hands balled up in fists by her side. Disbelief swirling in his belly. "Okay. You can do it. That's enough....for now."

His cheeks flare at the seductively spoken words and to stop himself from devouring her like a starved man he slides on a smooth button down shirt. It fits him perfectly and gulps as he buttons it up. Nobody besides his grandfather ever bought him clothes.

"It's a perfect fit." Hye Jin echoes his thoughts smoothing a hand across the soft material. He stands ramrod straight at her ministration.

"Thank you. I'll wear it well." His throat is thick and he has to blink to chase away the tears pooling there, dangerously close to falling. She hums before stepping forward into his space again, that kiss effectively tearing down all the walls and lines they had both erected and drawn.

"You're already wearing it so well. But...it looks even better off. I can't wait to see it on my bedroom floor."

A scandalized squeak is all he's able to get out before she's diving at him and devouring his lips so roughly that they tumble onto the floor.

The pain in his shoulder is worth it as she kisses him senseless systematically driving out every doubt and insecurity. At least for tonight.

#hometown cha cha cha #hong du shik #yoon hye jin #sikhye #I was screaming kiss kiss omg #i was actually hyperventilating #i thought things would fall apart #I'm traumatized #episode 9 made me wanna write angst #but then 10 came and said nah b

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years

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Title: Dissonance.

Word Count: 3.0k

Commissioned by the lovely @arthurtheghostmechanic.

[Part One]

TW: Kidnapping, Captivity, Emotional Manipulation, Unhealthy Power Dynamics, Non-Graphic Violence, and Suffocation.

Every morning, Diavolo would help you get dressed.

It was a daily ritual, one that’d begun the first time you’d shown more interest in burning his gifts than wearing them, and he’d realized he liked the way you squirmed as his fingers brushed against your collarbone, his palms pressing against the dip of your back and his hands tracing the shape of your waist under the guise of fastening a row of clasps that’d been sewn in more for exorbity than security. You supposed this was how he intended to ‘court’ you, as he put it, or it was his favorite method, at least. The others came and went, and although he still occasionally took the time to bring you flowers from the castle’s garden or refuse to feed you at all until you let him feed you by hand, he always had an outfit waiting for you by the time you woke up, he always knew exactly how he wanted you to look, and he always helped you get dressed. Always. It was one of the few constants you could count on, with a man as busy as Diavolo.

Today, he was taking his time. Swabs of silky, scarlet fabric had already been draped over your form and adorned with just the right amount of black and gold to outweigh any individuality you might have retained, and yet, you could still feel warm breath ghost over your skin as he toyed with the strings of an already-bound corset, making you unsure whether he was still contemplating how to perfect it, or if he wanted to undo the intricate knots altogether. You could easily step away, finished or not. He’d positioned you to face a full-body mirror, one of the many scattered around the corners of his bedroom, but there was space, and he wouldn’t stop you, you were sure he wouldn’t stop you. Of all the things he was willing to do, raising a hand was where he drew the line, even if your stubborn neutrality often left him gritting his teeth and appealing to your sense of defeatism. It should’ve been a reassurance, it should’ve been a god-send, but in practice, his self-restraint only made you feel like the villain. If he wasn’t going to shove you away, then you’d have to shy back on your own. And if you did that, then you’d be the one to blame for his subsequent disappointment.

So, you stayed in place, glared at the floor, and wordlessly willed him to grow tired of watching you squirm sooner, instead of later.

Diavolo, however, was not as content with the silence as you were.

“You’ve been quiet, today,” He started, unprompted, unasked for. There couldn’t have been classes, that day. Clearly, he didn’t have anything better to do than draw your suffering out. “Is something wrong, my love?”

You could’ve told the truth. It would’ve been easy to, but there was some twisted, contorted part of you that still thought of Diavolo as someone distant, someone you shouldn’t upset, if only because it was so difficult to dampen his spirits, and he seemed so determined to keep them up. Even after he’d taken you away from the brothers, taken you away from the life you’d wanted, locked you into a gilded cage, and told you to sing for him, you still had to remind yourself to hate him. Fearing him was second nature, but loathing him was another burden entirely. Rather than spouting out the obvious, you let your eyes wander, past the mirror and to the well-decorated wall that lay beyond it. “I’ve been… with you for two weeks, and I haven’t seen anyone besides you and Barbatos,” You starters, letting your gaze fall onto a portrait of a young boy with gold eyes and crimson hair. It had to be Daivolo, but that wasn’t the surprising part - there was only Diavolo. No parents, father or otherwise, a theme that carried into many of the other decorative pieces, as you were beginning to notice. “Is it just the two of you?”

“Is that what’s been bothering you?” He chuckled, shrugging off your flat tone with all of his usual carelessness. If it was a sensitive topic, you couldn’t tell, but you could never tell, not with Diavolo. You’ve only seen him truly, genuinely affected a handful of times, and you doubted something as simple as a conversation would be the thing to finally leave a permanent impact. “If you’re worried there might be a lack of guests, don’t be. The only reason you haven’t met a diplomat or an ambassador or someone new and exciting is because of our budding arrangement.” He said it as if it were nothing, as if you’d just signed yourself into a contract you had yet to realize the full scope of. In his eyes, you might’ve. You were still trying to work out what exactly Diavolo thought your ‘arrangement’ was. “I thought it would be best to give you time. Humans can be such fickle creatures, and not all demons are as understanding as I am. I don’t want you saying the wrong thing to the wrong person while you’re still new to playing host.”

You should’ve known better than to press. You should’ve, but you pushed forward regardless, another singular pair of eyes in another all-but empty portrait working to spur you forward, despite your better judgment. “Still, you’re only a prince. Your father--”

“My father is asleep.” He spoke with the calm, practiced tone of someone who’d used the same excuse one too many times, of a child, scared and alone, trying to convince himself of something he didn’t really believe. “He has been, since the day he decided I was capable of ruling on my own, and while I’d be honored, I doubt he’s going to disturb his slumber to meet my chosen mate. He’s not a factor you should concern yourself with, darling.”

You were beginning to think there was nothing you should concern yourself with, not here, not when Diavolo thought of himself as so honorably, valiantly reliable. You hadn’t thought you’d miss that, about life with the brothers. You were left exhausted more often than not, in over your head with Mammon’s scheme’s or Lucifer’s standards or the twins’ insatiable habits, but at least you’d had enough to do to warrant exhaustion. You never thought you’d long to trip over a cursed book on the floor of Satan’s bedroom or find the door to Leviathan’s room blocked off by a dozen too many boxes, and yet, you found yourself waiting for it, sometimes, listening for an out of place scream, anticipating the next crisis. Diavolo said it was too much strain, for you. He said you shouldn’t be held responsible for a family so unpredictable.

He didn’t think you could handle it, so he sought out a way to handle you.

You bit down on the inside of your cheek. “That sounds lonely.”

There was a slight pause, a hint at a trace of hesitation. The closest thing you’d come to one, during your time with Diavolo. “It was.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Taking kind of prolonged stillness was unlike him, but Diavolo managed to redeem himself with a heavy sigh, a shake of his head, an arm wrapped around your waist as he slumped gingerly against you, leaning down as he slotted himself against your back. It was a heavy sort of tenderness, the type a desperate man might seek from a remorseless stone pillar, but your resolve felt a little less solid with every drum of his fingertips, every shaky breath he let echo against the back of your neck. You were the one to speak, though. If only to stop yourself from breaking first. “And that’s why I’m here, right?” You asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Because you’re lonely?”

You felt him stiffen against you, going rigid at the suggestion alone. “(Y/n), I never--”

“You have other people.” It was more frustration than anger, the sudden awareness that you’d been taken by him, because of him, for him, despite all the luxurious, loving ways he tried to dress it up. “Your father might be gone, but you have options. There’s an academy full of students who’d be happy to find themselves at your side, there’s a kingdom of subjects you could choose from, if you wanted to. Is that why you ran the exchange program? You just didn’t have enough options, you wanted to see what the other realms had to offer. Were you going to kidnap Solomon, if I wasn’t good enough?”

“I wasn’t looking for company,” He countered, his hold becoming a little more secure, growing a little more controlling. It was oppressive, one arm crossed over your stomach and the other over your chest, making it more difficult to inhale as you struggled to keep your breathing even, but somehow, his affection did little to comfort you. If anything, it just made you want to rip yourself away from him more. “When I found you, I wanted you. There’s no one else I’d consider--”

“You have Barbatos,” You went on, letting your hands curl into fists at your sides. “He’s your friend, and you have him, and you shouldn’t need me, too. Even if that wasn’t enough for you, Lucifer’s still there. He looks up to you, he’s loyal to you, if there was anything you needed, he’d go to the ends of the Earth to find it. You have him--”

“I used to have him,” Diavolo hissed, the words nearly muffled against the nape of your neck. “I had him, once, but it seems that someone has caused his attention to stray.”

Your jaw clenched shut, instantly, but you made a point of narrowing your eyes at his reflection. It was a small rebellion, one he barely seemed to notice, but it felt too right for you to really care about whether or not he deserved it. “I’m sorry,” You muttered, frantic irritation fading into mild, blatant displeasure. “I didn’t realize how much you hated it when your toys find other people to play with.”

Diavolo went tense. He went tense, he took in a sharp breath, closed his eyes, and with little more fanfare than that, he relaxed again, as calm and composed and infuriating as he always was.

This time, when his attention returned to your attire, it centered around the ribbon choker around the base of your neck, the fabric as soft as a newborn lamb and as dark as the Devildom would be, in the dead of night. His fingers slipped underneath the strip of material, and for a moment, you thought he’d tear it off completely, but he’d never been that kind.

Rather, he took his time, untying the loose knot and speaking, as he did so. You were beginning to hope he’d talk himself to death.

“Lucifer’s interests align with his heart. He’s smart, and I do value him, but he’s a sentimental creature. He only pledged himself to me because of Lilith, and now that you’ve given him something of Lilith, he’s satisfied. He doesn’t have a need for me, anymore.” The choker was pulled taunt, for a moment, cutting you off halfway through an inhale. It wasn’t suffocating, but Diavolo made no move to let go. “And while Barbatos will always be my closest companion, he is a servant. His loyalty to me is a loyalty to the crown, and there’s no doubt in my mind that he’d put a knife in my back, if he thought it would benefit the realm.”

It took you a moment to respond, your voice coming out weaker than you would’ve liked. “I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“It’s because I want you to be more than that,” He started, the words nearly a plea. Despite his tenderness and his airy tone, the choker was still biting into your neck, still making it harder and harder to breath. If anything, the task was only growing more difficult, one of your hands unconsciously finding its way to your neck, following the indents where the fabric cut into your skin. “You may choose not to believe me, but I’m not looking for power. I’m not looking for somone I have to chain to my side, if I want them to stay. I want you to love me. I want you to look at me and see someone who you couldn’t picture yourself going on without.” A pause, a ragged exhale. Again, you felt him shake his head, Diavolo leaning forwards just enough to kiss the top of your head. “That’s how I feel about you.”

By now, you were pulling at the choker, prying at it, trying desperately to put a hair’s width of space between your neck and that noose. It was barely a scrap, just a strip of material, and yet in Diavolo’s hands, it became a vice, a chain, a collar attached to a leash just couldn’t stop yanking. You kicked blindly, scrambling to throw your elbow into his stomach or tear at the choker or do something to make it a little easier to breath, but Diavolo only laughed, the sound low, throaty, warm and heavy and fatal.

“I do want you to love me. If nothing else, I want you to care for me. Worry about me, if you have to. I know beggars can’t be choosers in a situation like this.” When he released you, letting the choker fall to the floor and pulling away from you completely, saving your dignity wasn’t an option. You stumbled forward, gasping, choking, trying to cough air into your lungs as you groped at your now-tender skin, reddened bruises already forming a tight ring around your neck. Diavolo watched you passively, letting you stumble forward and brace yourself against the standing mirror. “I want you to love me,” He went on, slowly. There was a step forward, a footfall softened by the slightest trace of reluctance, and Diavolo’s hand came to rest on your shoulder. “But I’ll find a way to live with it, if you have to fear me.”

It was all you could do to close your eyes as you fought to catch your breath, to rest your forehead against the cool, welcoming surface of the mirror. You couldn’t see your reflection, but you didn’t have to - your throat ached, throbbed, and when you forced yourself to give him a reply, it was raspy, as jagged as all the many things you wanted to drive into your kidnapper’s anatomy, at the moment. “I can’t believe I ever felt bad for you.”

Diavolo only grinned, letting you catch the edge of the expression in the corner of his eye as he stepped forward. A firm hand came to rest on the small of your back, but it was fleeting, chaste, as far from comfort as the light, almost unnoticeable kiss he pushed into your temple. “I’ve never been one for pity.”

With that, he stepped away from you completely, leaving you hunched over, your body shaking and your pride stomped so far into the ground, you doubted you’d ever nurse it back to its full health. You should’ve stopped there. You should’ve let him go, given yourself time to recover, and resigned yourself to spending the rest of the day sobbing your eyes out into satin sheets, but there was something burning in your chest, something hot and rough and ruthless, as it urged you to speak, to yell, to scream. You didn’t know if barking after Diavolo like his disloyal mutt would do anything to sate it, but there was a chance that it might, and that was a chance you were willing to chase after like your life depended on it.

“You can’t keep me here.” That was enough for him to pause, to glance over his shoulder as he moved to tell you that he was already doing just that, but you faster than him, this time. “I won’t let you keep me here. I’m going to get out, and once I do, I’m going to put myself so far out of your reach, you’ll be lucky to remember what I look like, by the time I’m done.”

He wasn’t facing you, but he didn’t have to be. You could hear his expression drop, his smugness not disappearing, but dampening. “I’ve told you, (Y/n), the brothers think you’re in the human realm, and the other exchange students have yet to express their concern. There’s nothing Lucifer or his--”

“Fuck Lucifer.” That earned you the slightest flinch, a subtle delay as he finally turned towards you, but you were past the point of patiently waiting for his reaction, for his approval. It was almost sickening, in retrospect, how you’d given him the benefit of the doubt after he’d kidnapped you, after he’d failed to have the decency to show a shred of remorse. He thought you were going to sit pretty and wait to be impressed, and you had to prove to him that you wouldn’t be so spineless. Brothers or no brothers. “I’m not locked in a tower. I’m not helpless. I don’t need to wait around for someone else to save me. I’ll crawl out of here, if I have to. I’ll claw my way out. I don’t care what I have to do, I will get away from you.”

You almost expected him to lash out. You might not blame him after that, but to your relief and your disgust, his composure never faltered. He didn’t raise a hand, did storm out or take you by the hair or do something violent and ugly and expected. It didn’t matter, though. His aggression was repressed, but that didn’t mean it was concealed, not when you could make it out in every clench of his jaw, in the way his head cocked just a little too far to the side. In the stretched, seamless, sadistic smile that soon found its way to his lips, only reassuring you that your new resolve would’ve been necessary, whether or not you were the one to provoke him.

“I’d like to see you try.”

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ljbrary · 3 years

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Sicktember Day Six: Nebulizer

uhhh *silently slips in the door and hopes nobody notices how late this is*

yeah, here i am, perfectly on time like always 👀

ao3 link :)

from this list of prompts

Day Six: Nebulizer (okay this one is like barely touching the prompt but whatever)

Title: you won the battle (but what did you lose?)

Word Count: 929

Anakin Skywalker is selfish, in the most selfless sense of the word.

Rex watches the kid fiddle with the mask over his face, the one keeping him breathing, making sure her master is as comfortable as he can be while drifting further and further away from consciousness.

Rex looks away; he can’t stand to see the tension in her shoulders or the shadows etched under her eyes.

Rex’s general is selfish for the sole reason that every act of heroism is so damn selfless that he ends up like this . Hanging on to life by a thread; the same thread that ties him to the people he sacrifices himself for, the same people who become old friends to grief and sorrow the more familiar this situation gets.

Ahsoka straightens out his blanket; Rex has watched her do it at least four times since he’s walked into medbay. He exchanges a look with Kix; this isn’t healthy.

“How’s she doing?” He asks the medic lowly. Normally, he’d be afraid of Ahsoka's Togrutan hearing catching his words, but she seems a bit preoccupied at the moment.

At Kix’s raised eyebrows and pointed look, Rex quickly adds “I mean physically, is she alright. It was a tough battle.”

Kix glances over at their teenage commander, a minuscule shake of his head precedes his words. “Haven’t checked her over yet, sir.”

And Rex is about to get mad — how could their medic not check over their commander post battle? But then Kix continues, and Rex feels his spike of anger sizzle into a low kind of worried rage directed at a different man instead; the one barely clinging to life merely feet away.

“She won’t leave his side, Rex.”

And kark it, his self-sacrificing general is too intrepidly altruistic for his own good.

Rex watches Anakin’s chest rise and fall methodically, unnaturally steady, and the sight should provide some comfort, but instead all he finds himself looking for is the stutter in his breathing that seems imminent and ominous and looming over the medbay like a shadow.

Even less reassuring a sight is the Commander, still covered head to toe in grime and dirt, blood and sweat and Maker knows what else, fervently standing sentinel over her Master’s waning strength.

It is finally when she reaches out to fix the mask of the nebulizer over his face again that he decides enough is enough; she can’t go on like this; not when he is like this, not when she is like this.

He approaches steadily, an attempt to force some normality into the crisis permeating the air in the form of forced breathing and laborious attempts at staying calm. But then, Rex supposes this is pretty normal for their General.

“Kid,” he begins. He doesn’t think she wants to be called Commander now, when the red rim around her eyes stands out so starkly against the grime painting her face.

Standard procedure is to administer her a post-battle medical examination, and it has already been delayed by hours of her stubborn nature coinciding with her loyal roots, and her Master’s bedside becoming a permanent residence.

But Rex can still see the dried blood taunting him from under swaths of dirt and dust that coat her skin in tandem; can make out with a worrying lack of effort the gruesome discoloration of her skin that she is dutifully ignoring.

“Kid,” he says again, and she finally looks up.

Rex swallows hard. Her eyes are at war as he stares into them, childish expressiveness seeking false reassurances being pushed out by stark realization and firm determination, and despite her worn down appearance on the outside, Rex recognizes the hint of what makes his Commander his commander in the battle taking place in her gaze. She doesn’t give up easily; she will hope and will Anakin to recover, but she grasps the concept of failure all the same.

It’s as difficult as it is gratifying to see how far Ahsoka has come since Christophsis; she’s matured. Rex just wishes she could’ve had the opportunity to grow up first.

“Kix is waiting for you; Anakin’s not going anywhere.”

Ahsoka purses her lips.

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?” She tells him derisively, miserably, stubbornly.

“Kid,” Rex tries again. “He’d want you to get checked out.” Rex corrects himself. “He’d need you to get checked out.”

Ahsoka’s lips are a thin line as her grip tightens on Anakin’s limp hand.

“I’m not leaving.”

Rex stares. It seems the part of her that is still a teenger, still a child, has won the battle inside of her this time.

“You’re injured,” he tries again, but he knows there is nothing else he can really do; she has to make this choice on her own.

“I’ll be fine, Rex. Anakin won’t.”

Rex studies her; her taut muscles, narrowed eyes, tensed shoulders, a string about to snap if any more force is applied; like she’s expecting either her to be torn away from her Master by a tangible outside force, or her Master to be torn ruthlessly away from her in the jaws of something that leaves grief as a sour aftertaste and eats one from the inside out.

“I’m not leaving him, Rex,” she says, and Rex can almost taste her desperation in his own mouth.

Rex presses his lips together; Ahsoka tightens her grip on Anakin’s hand.

“There’s nothing you can do, kid,” he whispers, begging, pleading.

There’s nothing we can do.

And she knows this, he can see it in her eyes.

“But he would never leave me .”

#Anakin Skywalker #Ahsoka Tano #anakin and ahsoka #rex #captain rex #hurt anakin #ahsoka needs a Hug #sicktember

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bbrandy2002 · 3 years

Text

Happy Birthday Jessica!

Title: Twinsane

A/N: Jessie, You already know Burns and I are big fans of your characters and stories, in particular your Leo and Drake. The three of us made our big writing debuts at the same time in the Summer of 2019 and became fast friends that have continued through every high and low we’ve each experienced in our lives. You’ve always been a great and supportive friend with a big heart and a bit of a funny bone. We both hope you have an amazing birthday and we wish you all the best in the coming year.

This story takes place in a universe created by @jessiembruno.

Palace -- Throne Room

Liam paced the ancient throne room, site of their infant daughter’s upcoming anointing and baptism. Everything seemed to be in place; Regina had made sure of it despite the cast on her arm from her latest sex injury.

Still, he worried.

Not because of terrorist threats, not because of Lilyana possibly blowing out her diaper and ruining a $2,000 christening gown. No, he had two concerns:

His brother and his brother-in-law.

His wife tried to console him about it, but every time she did, the new father threw his hands up in the air and said, “I don’t want to talk about that stupid pendejo. I just can’t with him --” and the fights they had afterward weren’t worth it.

Leo had passed two kidney stones on the day Lilyana was born. Liam felt bad for him; he really did. Everything he’d heard about passing kidney stones was that it was a truly painful ordeal.

But Leo, as always, had taken things too far.

First of all, he’d named them: Rocky and Peter. He referred to them as “the twins,” and everywhere he went, that goddamn jar went with him. It was embarrassing to be somewhere with him in public and then to hear the telltale rattling as he adjusted change in his pocket.

That was nothing, though, compared to when he’d bought “the twins” a Silver Cross Balmoral pram at the eye-popping price tag of seven grand. It was both nicer and more expensive than Jessica and Liam’s $2,700 Bugaboo by Diesel stroller; Liam had thrown a fit. And not just because Leo had charged them both to Liam’s credit card.

“We are carting around a royal baby! You spent seven thousand dollars on a grocery cart for your goddamn kidney stones?”

Leo, puffing out his chest, had merely clutched the jar of medical waste to his heart. “My children are royal adjacent, thank you very much.”

At least Drake understood that the elder Rys brother was off his rocker, but since Drake flew all the way off the handle every time the subject was mentioned, Liam tried to avoid the inevitable blowups. Just last week, there had been an … incident at a formal dinner.

“Drake, will you watch the boys while I take a piss?” Leo had extended the jar toward the surly dark-haired man.

“Get those fucken things away from me, Leo! Those were in your fucken dick! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Liam had tried to calm Drake down -- Princess Lesedi looked absolutely horrified at the outburst -- but as usual, Leo just made things worse.

Huffing loudly, he proclaimed, “Lilyana was in Jessica’s bacon hole, and I don’t hear you complaining about that, Drake. You hold her all the time, but you never take the twins when I ask! I am through with this open favoritism!”

Only Alyssa, quietly intervening and taking the jar, had prevented a full-on brawl from breaking out. But since she started to cry when Drake refused to hold her hand afterward even following a thorough handwashing, the crisis hadn’t really been averted in the end.

Thinking of Drake only led Liam to ruminate on Mateo, his brother-in-law. Nearly a year before, when the four friends had attended a Yankees game with Jessica’s brothers, Mateo had made a sloppy pass at Alyssa without knowing she was in a relationship.

Well, to be more precise, he’d actually talked about Alyssa in front of her face, not realizing she spoke Spanish, and told his brother “Alyssa can sit on my face.”

The only thing that had saved the weekend from devolving into complete anarchy was that Drake didn’t know enough Spanish to translate. But someone -- probably shit-starting Leo -- had explained Mateo’s words to Drake, and now Alyssa’s new husband was out for blood.

If any of them ruin my little princess’ day, Liam swore to himself, I will murder them. I’m king. I can pardon myself.

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

Palace -- Ballroom

Lilyana was properly anointed and baptized. At the head table, overlooking the large gathering as he cradled his daughter in his arms, Liam looked over the party with a sigh of relief and scooped up another forkful of chicken tagine. Everything had gone off without a hitch, and now they just needed to feed all these people, hand the princess off to Regina or one of her doting aunts or uncles, and he could spirit his wife away to take his “royal scepter” anywhere she wanted it.

His eyes tracked to Leo, who was in rapt conversation with Penelope across the room. When Leo pulled the jar out of his pocket, Liam threw back his entire scotch in disgust.

Jessica, resplendent in a new Ana de Luca original, came back to the table. “God, these fucken people are intolerable, Liam. How much longer --” Her words were cut off when Liam wrapped his hand around her wrist.

“My love, give our daughter to her grandmother. Te necesito. Ahora,” he added, eyes locked on hers. (I need you. Now.)

She took the baby from his arms and brought Lilyana to Alyssa. “The princess needs some time with her Auntie Lyss.”

Alyssa smirked as she kissed the infant’s sweet-smelling head. “And the queen needs to get her back blown out?”

Jessica tossed her hair. “Fuck yeah.”

Alyssa high-fived her before she walked away.

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

Palace -- Liam and Jessica’s Quarters

“You’re so gorgeous, love,” Liam grunted, gripping a fistful of Jessica’s hair and tugging her head back, exposing her throat to his lips and teeth.

She shuddered at the feeling, reaching for his thick length. “We don’t have a lot of time …”

“We have as much time as it takes.” He unzipped the dress and slid it down her body, admiring the curves that had only become lusher with motherhood. Lowering her to the bed, Liam’s lips moved over Jessica’s breasts and stomach. He toyed with the waistband of her underwear.

“Liam, please --”

The panties dropped to the ground, and her plea melted into a throaty groan at the first swipe of his tongue. “Fuuuuuuuuck.”

“Yes, love,” he said against her, working her with his hands and mouth. “Dámelo.” (Give it to me.)

She was still shaking with her release when Liam crawled over her, his rigid cock probing between her thighs. “Now, muñeca.”

Something crashed against the door.

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

Palace -- Ballroom

To his delight, Leo had reunited with Miss Willoughby, his fourth-grade teacher. Though she was no longer as perky as he remembered and had grown an unfortunate goiter, she listened attentively to Leo’s stories about his children.

She had had a lot of champagne.

“Do you have a picture?” she asked at last, after Leo had regaled her with the tale of taking Peter and Rocky grocery shopping for the first time.

“Even better than that.” Leo proudly reached into his jacket pocket. “Boys, I’d like you to meet Miss Willoughby.”

The teacher shrank back with concern. “Leo … what -- what is that?”

“They are Rocky and Peter.” He pointed to each stone as he introduced them. “Their birth was excruciating, but it was worth every moment of pain.”

Miss Willoughby rubbed her misshapen throat lump. “Are those --”

He heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Technically they are kidney stones. But the word ‘kid’ is right in there! Love makes a family, Miss Willoughby. Not your status as ‘human.’” He punctuated the last word with finger quotes of disgust.

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

On the other side of the room, Drake’s gaze narrowed on a familiar face. “Devereaux!” he hissed.

Alyssa looked up from where she had been singing “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star” to Lilyana. “What?”

“Is that Jess’ fucken brother?”

She bit her lip. It was Mateo, but no way was she letting Drake get involved in a brawl at the princess’ anointing, for Christ’s sake. “I don’t remember.”

“What do you mean, you ‘don’t remember’?”

Waving a breezy hand, Alyssa hastily tried to defuse the situation. “Oh, I was drinking a lot that day.”

“A lot for you. Not for your average 15-year-old,” he snickered, agreeing.

To Alyssa’s relief, the man had slipped out of sight. “Well, be that as it may, you should let that Mateo thing go. Everything’s cool.”

He scowled. “It is not. I know he’s here today! I’m going to find him and kick the shit out of him.”

-----------

“You should call me Roberta.”

Leo raised his eyebrows. “Miss Willoughby -- Roberta. I would be delighted to.”

She set down her flute. “You certainly grew up handsome …”

Smoothing his blond locks back into place, Leo gave her a rakish grin. “Why, Roberta. How forward of you.”

“Is there somewhere we can get away?” She reached out and gripped his ass with surprising strength.

“I guess that depends on how much you’ve had to drink.”

“The perfect amount.” Her hand slid around to the front, grappling with the front of his pants.

“Whoooooooa. Well, in that case, yes. We can get away.”

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

Alyssa handed Lilyana to Drake in another attempt at distraction, nervous about the way he was pacing the room. “Uh, I have to use the bathroom. Can you take the baby?”

He was already cooing at Lilyana, assuaging Alyssa’s nerves until she made out the words. “And Uncle Drake’s gonna beat the fuck out of your Uncle Mateo ... yes, he is! Yes, he is!”

“Drake!” she gritted.

“Because nofuckingone talks about your Auntie Lyssa like that; no, they do not!” he continued in a singsong voice, ignoring Alyssa completely.

She rolled her eyes and headed out of the ballroom, content that he at least wouldn’t start any physical fights with a baby in his arms.

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

Palace -- Liam and Jessica’s Quarters

Jessica sat up with a start, unfortunately bending Liam’s manhood at an awkward angle. He screamed.

“Who the fuck is at the door?” Her shrewd eyes, trained to find danger, scanned the room. She threw Liam’s jacket on -- their size difference meant it fit her like a gigantic robe -- and grabbed her taser.

“Love, wait!” Liam struggled up from the bed, wincing at the pain in his dick.

“Goddammit, Leo!” Jessica screeched upon throwing the door open.

Her brother-in-law’s bare ass, driving rhythmically toward a faceless someone who was pressed against the opposite wall, greeted her.

“Jess! Fuck!” Leo slowed. “Sorry, Roberta, hang on.” Continuing to hold her against him as a shield, he craned his head around to look at her. “I’m a little busy right now. What?”

She slammed the door closed. “Liam, get dressed.”

“What the fuck is going on?” The king complied, his good mood completely dissipated.

“Your fucken brother is banging someone outside our door. I’m pretty sure his ass is the crashing sound we heard. His naked ass touched the door. I’m having maintenance replace it tomorrow!”

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

Palace -- Hallway Outside Liam and Jessica’s Quarters

Leo struggled back into his pants, grateful that his partner had kept her dress on. “Miss W -- Roberta, I’m really sorry, but we’re going to have to cut this short. Er, not that anything about me is short, obviously. But I’m pretty sure my brother’s about to come out here --”

The door flew open. “LEO, YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” Liam raged.

“Run!” Leo grabbed Roberta’s hand and took off running down the corridor, jacket in his other hand.

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

Palace -- Ballroom

Alyssa hadn’t come back, but the more Drake stared at the man he had noticed earlier, the more he was convinced it was Mateo Garcia.

That fucker.

Lilyana had fallen asleep against his chest. He wasn’t going to disturb her or put her in danger, but …

Drake looked at the abandoned plates of cake on their table. Steadying the baby with his left arm, he picked up a handful of cake and squeezed it experimentally in his fist. Maybe he hadn’t played ball with Liam and Maxwell in a few years, but he still had a decent arm.

He rose, stalking closer to his target but staying close to the exit for a quick getaway.

Drake raised his arm and fired.

The handful of cake exploded against the man’s face. Spluttering, Mateo whipped his head around and roared, “What the fuck was that?”

Drake and Lilyana slipped out the nearest door, almost colliding with a sweaty Leo, panic in his eyes.

Leo grabbed Drake’s shoulders, careful to avoid Lilyana’s head. “Drake! We have a crisis on our hands!”

He listened to Leo with only half his attention; his other ear focused uneasily on the new commotion of screaming and -- was that breaking glass? -- inside the ballroom.

“So I need you to come on the search mission with me,” Leo finished.

Drake shook his head to clear it, registering an older woman with a prominent goiter slinking back into the ballroom. “The fuck are you talking about? Did you just finish having sex with that woman?” He jerked a thumb toward Roberta.

The blond man scowled. “I didn’t get to finish, and neither did she, thanks to Jess and Liam’s drama.”

“But the --” Drake gestured to his neck.

Leo waved it off. “I hit it from behind. No distracting visuals that way.”

“You, dickhead!” Drake grimaced. “Thanks for the mental image.”

“My pleasure. Now, we need to go. Find someone to take the baby. I need you completely focused.”

“On what? Where the fuck are we going?”

“Have you not been listening to me? Jesus, Drake! I need you to help me find the twins!” Leo raked his hand through his hair, making it stand on end as his blue eyes burned with obsessive fire. “I took my jacket off when I was nailing Miss Willoughby -- er, Roberta -- and the jar must have fallen out. My children are missing, Drake!”

Drake nestled Lilyana against his chest and covered one of her ears. “You -- you have lost the fucken plot, Leo. I am not searching for your -- your -- dick rocks!”

“You were there at their birth, Drake. It hurts me that you take no interest in your godstones.”

“Stop calling them my ‘godstones’! That is not even a goddamn word --” Drake broke off his rant as Alyssa appeared in the hallway, covered in red. “Jesus Christ! Baby!” He thrust Lilyana into Leo’s waiting arms; the baby woke up and began to cry. “What happened?”

“Huh? You made the baby cry!” Alyssa went to take Lilyana, but Drake grabbed her.

“Look at you, Devereaux! Where are you bleeding from?” Frantic, he tugged the neckline of her dress aside, exposing her bra. She slapped his hand away.

“Stop! I’m not bleeding!”

“But --” He gestured to the bright stain marring her light blue dress.

She looked down. “Oh, that. Someone dumped gazpacho on me when I was walking through the ballroom.”

“What?”

Alyssa pointed. “It’s anarchy in there; didn’t you notice?”

The men peered into the room. Roughly 40 people, most screaming, flung food at each other, ducking to avoid flying lunch items and using plates and -- in several concerning cases -- overturned tables as shields.

“What happened?” Leo looked concerned.

Alyssa noted the guilty look on Drake’s face as she rocked and tried to shush Lilyana. “I think this baby needs to eat. Have you seen Liam or Jess?”

The question seemed to snap Leo back to reality. “You should look for them, Lyss. Head them off --”

“What do you mean ‘head them off’?”

But Leo continued, “And in the meantime, Drake and I need to find the twins!” He grabbed a loudly-protesting Drake by the arm and dragged him down the hall.

A moment after they turned the corner, Alyssa, still rocking the baby, was startled by her voice from behind her. She turned her head to see Liam and Jessica stalking rapidly toward her. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re back!”

Jessica took Lilyana, cuddling her. “Let’s go eat.” Stepping into the ballroom, she shrieked, “What the fuck?”

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

“I need you to help me file a missing persons report,” Leo said 15 minutes later, after they had repeatedly combed the hallways looking for the jar of kidney stones. “My children are in danger!”

“Stop calling them your fucken children!”

Leo pressed his lips together with frustration. “I went through two hours of labor and five minutes of pushing, all for your GODSTONES! The least you can do is help report the twins’ disappearance and bring them back to their Papi Chulo.”

He was saved from Drake’s wrathful retort by a notification on Drake’s phone. “Oh, no you don’t,” Drake muttered, typing furiously on his keyboard.

“What are you doing?” Leo huffed impatiently.

“Someone outbid me for this lure I really want.” Drake finished typing and sucked in a breath. “Ohhhhh shit.”

“What now?”

Raking a hand through his hair, Drake extended his phone toward Leo. “Uhhhhh, I think you better look at this.”

“HOberta69? Drake, don’t buy anything from a seller with that name -- holy shit!” he exclaimed as he looked closer.

He clicked the link; the phone screen filled with his own image. “Yeah,” video Leo said, “it hurt like a son of a bitch when I pushed these li’l fellers out, but that’s parenthood!” He held up the jar and shook it. “The rascals.”

Drake covered his face with his palm. “You are so fucken embarrassing.”

“This fucken kidnapper! I give her the best two-pump-chumpin’ she’s ever had and this is how the old bag repays me? Oh, the fucken humanity! I will hunt her down! I will throw her in the dungeons! I will --”

“She’s basically holding them for ransom,” Drake said reasonably. “Maybe if you message her …”

But Leo had already clicked the “buy it now” option. “Thank God I still have Liam’s credit card saved to my account.”

Drake’s eyes widened. “You paid for the dick rocks? With Liam’s credit card? You know he’s gonna fucken kill you?”

“Calm your tits, Drake.” Leo heaved a heavy sigh. “You and Alyssa haven’t created a family yet. The first lesson you’re gonna learn when the time comes, though, is that parenthood is full of bullshit sacrifice … and Liam is the lucky guy who gets to make that sacrifice.”

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devilmaywrite · 3 years

Note

if your taking requests... how bout some valen and kai angst over how he was in the cult 😈

I'm so sorry that this has taken me so long jfkdslf. I did actually write something like this a while back. But I think I'm gonna revise the part where Valen actually finds out or whatever so I hope this suffices

“Blood magic to hurt a vampire? Impressive."

The voice is different this time. A woman’s but not the dunmer’s. It’s sweet and silvery and Valen can’t help but to want to hear more.

Valen turns her gaze up at her and the Breton woman is unlike anyone she’d ever seen. She’s absolutely ethereal with her dark waves of hair framing her soft features. She’s almost ghostly in a way with her pale skin and features, she’s obviously ancient despite her soft features saying otherwise. There's an element of elegance in everything she does, even as she just simply strides across the snow towards her companions before helping the man to his feet and having the other woman help him stand, even though he’s vomiting up blood and staining the snow in front of them. Clearly Valen’s spell had more of an effect than she anticipated.

"That’s the leader of the Dark Brotherhood, Valen.” Kaidan whispers, gripping her upper arm.

“The Hero of Kvatch? Helena Motierre?” Valen asks in astonishment.

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard that title, but yes. Most people don’t refer to me as that anymore. It’s also been a while since I’ve seen you, Kaidan." Her voice is velvet but his tone is mocking as Helena stares at the red-eyed swordsman.

"You two know each other?” Valen asks, looking quickly between the two of them.

“Well the four of us do, but yes, the Brotherhood and the Blooded Dawn have long since been friends, my dear Dragonborn. Since the Oblivion Crisis ended, I’ve made sure of it.”

The Blooded Dawn? This is the first time Valen was hearing of any of this. She quickly turns her questioning gaze to Kaidan, desperate for answers. But it doesn’t seem she would get any from him. He’s nearly catatonic next to her. His jaw is clenched, his demeanor clearly tense as he keeps his gaze to the snow covered ground in front of them.

“Kai? Surely she has you mistaken for someone else?” Valen says, a nervous laugh escaping her lips. “You can’t be part of that atrocious cult."

"He’s not,” Helena answers for him, clearly delighting in the conflict. “At least not anymore. He was for quite a while. It seems your beloved is not who you think, Dragonborn. He was quite the model member."

"Oh, and Kaidan? Rosalind sends her regards."

That seems to snap Kaidan out of his daze as he quickly looks up at the ancient woman in front of them, his expression full of confusion and disgust.

"Rosalind…?"

“You’re shaking like a leaf, Kaidan. Surely you didn’t think you got rid of her that easily.”

Helena says nothing more but shoots a wink at Valen before she and her companions dissolve into black mist, disappearing before their very eyes, though not before Felria sends them a wave goodbye. Valen turns to look at Kaidan, anger quickly bubbling in her abdomen.

"Care to tell me what that was about?” Valen asks through her teeth.

Kaidan can’t seem to find words as he looks at her desperately. This only fueled Valen’s anger further. She tears away her arm that was still in his grasp and steps away from him.

“You lied to me, Kaidan! This isn’t just some petty shit you can keep from me. You were a Daedric puppet and just never fucking cared to tell me! I can tell you everything but you can’t be fucking bothered to tell me you that had Dagon’s hand up your ass? Are you kidding me!? I trusted you but I can clearly see that was a mistake."

The silence between them is deafening at they simply stare at each other. Valen’s anger was rare, even rarer when it was directed towards him. So to see her expression filled with rage, towards him, nonetheless is crushing. Kaidan’s still holding his hand out from gripping her arm and his eyes momentarily brimmed with tears that he quickly blinks away before finally dropping his hand.

"Nothing to say? Really?” Valen asks with a bitter laugh.

Kaidan shakes his head before responding. “I am not that man anymore, Vay. You have to believe me. I need you to understand that before I tell you anything else. I know you’re angry and I’m sorry for keeping this from you.”

Kaidan can’t seem to keep his voice steady and the desperate look in his eyes makes Valen’s heart drop slightly. She wants to stay mad at him, she knows she should. But she knows herself well enough to know that she just can’t.

Valen blows a deep sigh, wiping a hand over her face. “Who’s Rosalind?”

The question floats around in Kaidan’s mind for a moment while he asks himself how exactly he wants to answer that question. He thought he knew who she was, at least for a short time and maybe he still does know who she is, at least the person she is at her core. Though he figures just saying that she’s a psychotic bitch wouldn’t make the cut right now.

“You know how you asked me if I’d ever been in love and I said a lass had been… trouble? Well, that was Rosalind. I met her while I was in that cult. She was the clan’s priestess, very talented in conjuration magic."

"So what happened between you two? Or I guess with the whole group in general."

“I met them when I killed their leader, believe it or not. He had a pretty good bounty on his head, and I wanted it. I expected the others to retaliate but they actually commended me, twisted, eh? But that’s how it all started. I was alone in the world and killing people for money and they gave me a place to belong. At the beginning, I think I was actually happy. And then the farm happened…”

“The farm?”

“It was a small estate outside Leyawiin, we were raiding it for supplies but everyone got out of control. The things that were done to that family… I wish I could forget it, but perhaps I don’t deserve to. Night after night I couldn’t get their screams out of my mind till the only thing I could think to do was, well, destroy the cult itself.”

Valen almost asks what happened to the family but quickly decides that she doesn’t want to know. Specifically, the things that Kaidan is truly capable of...

“That’s how you got away?”

“Aye, sort of. It didn’t exactly go as planned. I didn’t want Rosalind to die with the rest of them and I thought she’d be on my side - stupidest assumption I ever made. I wanted to know if her magic could make me stronger, she said it could… well, she turned her magic against me instead. When someone you think you love tries to burn you alive in the fires of Oblivion and summons Dremora to tear the flesh from your bones, it tends to change how you see them. The hideout was destroyed in the fight; I don’t know if anyone survived.”

“And this is all how you knew those assassins?”

“Aye, though I saw Helena and Lucien the most. Felria, who I assume was the Dunmer, never stuck around long. Helena kept ties for centuries, insisting that it would benefit both groups. It probably does though I never saw how.”

Valen sighs again. “They value the same things at their core, they just worship different deities. It makes sense. Helps keep both of them afloat.”

“I guess…” Kaidan trails off.

The silence hangs heavy in the air, quickly becoming uncomfortable but neither of them bother to move away from each other despite barely being able to look at the other. Thankfully, Valen is the first to speak.

“I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that… I know who you are now and that matters more than what you did in the past.”

“You were justified,” Kaidan is quick to brush off her apology. “I shouldn’t have kept something like that from you. I just didn’t want you to think any differently of me…”

Valen frowns at that. “I don’t think any different of you, contrary to anything I said. It’s rare that I get that upset and I snapped, I guess. I think you’re a good man, Kai, I always have.”

Kaidan simply closes his eyes, sighing in relief as he steps closer to her to pull her into his arms. “Thank you, Vay.”

Valen simply smiles at him, reaching up to cup his face and planting a soft kiss on the new scar on his cheekbone from their recent battle. She leans back with a more serious expression on her face which makes Kaidan frown in concern.

“What is it?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you think Rosalind will come after you now?”

Kaidan’s frown deepens into a scowl as he seems to ponder the question, absentmindedly running his hands up and down Valen’s sides.

“It’s possible, especially now. But that’s something I’ll have to face if it comes to it.”

“You won’t be alone in that. You know that right?”

“I will be, if it means keeping you out of Dagon’s reach. I don’t want you getting hurt, not because of me.”

Valen’s expression drops once again as she narrows her eyes as him. “We’re a team, remember? We do things together?”

Kaidan simply chuckles at that. “I should know better than to fight you on these things by now.”

“Damn right you should.”

#not much of a change tbh but i didn't wanna leave you hanging after so long fjkdlsjf #my ocs #skyrim #kaidan mod

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pitiless-achilles-wept · 4 years

Text

2020 Can Take My Hair, But Not My Hope

My hair started falling out on election night.

I thought at first it might be the anxiety, that I was literally pulling my hair out with worry over numbers I already knew were not going to be definitive before the night wore into morning but which I stayed up until 3:30am watching anyway. I tweeted rapidly, reassuring my jittery timeline that not only had we all known that the night would bring no results but that we had even expected Trump to lead in key states because of the greater number of mail-in ballots from urban areas that would largely count for Biden. We knew. We all knew. But we were all terrified, flashing back to 2016 and already dreading another four years of living life on high alert, in constant survival mode.

I posted a selfie with a tweet that read, "Could be the last presidential election I vote in (blah blah stage 4 cancer blah blah) and I wish it were better and clearer than this but it's a crucial privilege to have voted. Remember, whatever the outcome, the last thing they can take from you is your hope."

To me that last sentence has been a mantra for these years and for my treatment. I have consistently refused, despite overwhelmingly terrible odds, to lose hope. The story of Pandora's Box tells us that the very last thing left inside was Hope--that even once all the demons were out in the world there was that tiny, feathered creature left to hang on to. It hasn't been easy, but I am one of the most stubborn people you will ever meet (and if you doubt this just ask anyone who's ever fought me on anything!) and it has turned out to be a saving grace rather than an irritating personality trait. Feeling like the world was trying to take my hope away made me angry. And when I get angry I will fight back.

I know I'm not alone in feeling like we entered some kind of alternate nightmare timeline on election night 2016. To that point, despite periods of immense personal difficulty, nothing truly terrible had happened to me. Then, in short order, my marriage ended and I was diagnosed with and began being treated for a terminal illness, all against the backdrop of a regime so deliberately hateful that it was truly incomprehensible to me. Then, a global pandemic and national crisis swept away the small consolations I'd found in my new life with cancer. The temptation to feel hopeless was strong and I struggled with it, particularly in the isolation of quarantine. I'm struggling with it now, facing a winter of further lockdowns, social isolation, continued chemo, and the added indignity (and chilliness!) of not having any hair. But somehow the coincidence of my hair loss with election night seemed like a good omen for the future, if a sad thing for the present.

I heard the news that they had called Pennsylvania for Biden at a peaceful Airbnb in the Catskills after stepping out of a shower where lost hair in handfuls. It felt oddly like a sacrifice I had made personally. I joked about this with friends on the text chains that lit up and that (despite my promise to myself and my writing partner that we'd "go off the grid") I responded to immediately. Instant replies, with emojis and GIFs, participated in the fiction: "Thank you for your service!!!"; "We ALL appreciate your sacrifice!"; "Who among us would NOT give up their hair for no more Trump?". The feeling was real for me, though. It was as though the good news demanded some kind of karmic offering. You never get something for nothing, I thought, and really it was a small price to pay.

The rest of the weekend passed too quickly, with absorption in the novel I plan (madly, given that I also work full-time) to work on for "National Novel Writing Month" (NaNoWriMo), walks in the unseasonably warm woods, and nighttime drinks on the back deck under the stars, watching my hair blow off in fine strands and drift through the sodium porch light. My friend and I read tarot and both our layouts contained The Tower, the card for new beginnings from total annihilation, the moment of destruction in which (as the novel's title says) everything is illuminated. "This might sound dumb," he said, "but maybe yours is about your hair." It did not sound dumb.

[shaved heads, the 2020 election, and a couple pics under the cut]

There is probably no more iconic visual shorthand for cancer than hair loss. It happens because chemo agents target fast-proliferating cells, which tend to inhabit things that grow rapidly by nature (hair, fingernails), or that we need to replenish often (cells in the gut), as well as out-of-control cancer cells. But not all cancer treatments, not even all chemotherapies, cause hair loss. In my 20 months of being treated for cancer and my three previous treatments (four, if you count the surgery I had) nothing had yet affected my hair beyond a bit of thinning. This despite the fact that my first-ever treatment (Taxol) was widely known to cause hair loss for "everyone." I had been fortunate with this particular side effect in a narrow way that I have absolutely not been on a broader scale. "Maybe," I had let myself think, "I can have this one thing." The odds were in my favor too; only 38% of people in clinical trials being treated with Saci lost their hair. I liked the odds of being in the 62% who didn't. But--as we all felt deep in our gut while they counted votes in battleground states--odds aren't everything.

I had come to treat the "strength" of my hair as a kind of relative consolation (though as with everything cancer "strength," "weakness," and the rhetoric of battle have nothing to do with outcomes). I treasured still having it, not just out of vanity (though I have always loved my hair whatever length, style, or color it has been) but because it allowed me to pass among regular people as one of them. I had no visible markers of the illness that is killing me, concealed as first the tumor and then the scars were by my clothing. "You look wonderful," people would tell me, even when I suffered from stress fractures from nothing more than running or sneezing; muscle spasms in my shoulder and nerve death in my fingertips; nausea that I swallowed with swigs from my water bottle that just made me look all the more like a hydration-conscious athlete; and profound, constant, and debilitating fatigue. Invisible illness had its own perils but I would take them--take all of them at once if necessary!--if only I could keep my hair and look normal.

It was not to be. A part of me had known this, since a lifetime with metastatic cancer means a lifetime of treatments a solid proportion of which result in hair loss. But I had hoped. And I had liked the odds.

The hardest thing for me is having to give up this particular consolation before knowing whether or not my new treatment is also working on my cancer. Unfortunately, there really isn't a correlation between side effects like hair loss and effectiveness of treatment. If it is working then I will feel that--like the election to which I felt I had karmically contributed--it was all completely worth it. Yet, even in this best case scenario, there's a new reality for me which is that while I am on this treatment I will stay bald. When you are a chronic patient you hope for a treatment that will work well with manageable side effects. And if this treatment works--and if the other side effects are as ok-ish as they are now--then I will remain on it.

It's that future that I am furious about more than anything else. I want to continue to live my life, of course, but I don't want to have to do it bald! In part that is because I don't want to register to people constantly as an archetypal "cancer patient" when I know that I am so much more. It is also in part because I don't want to think of myself as being ill, and living every day having to disguise my absent hair will make that all the tougher. I have already noticed that I feel, physically, as though I am sicker because of my constantly shedding hair. How could I not, in some ways, when every move I make and every glance at myself (including in endless Zoom windows) shows me this highly visible change?

For that reason, I'm shaving my remaining hair tomorrow (Wednesday). It's a way to feel less disempowered--less like hair loss is happening to me--and wrest control of the situation back. I will try to find agreeable things about it: wigs, scarves, cozy caps, bright lipstick, statement earrings, and a general punk/Mad Max vibe that is appropriate to 2020. But I don't want anyone to think for a second that I find this agreeable, or even acceptable, or that I don't mind. I mind a whole hell of a lot. My hair was my consolation prize, my camouflage, my vanity, my folly, and my battle cry.

I dyed it purple when I was first diagnosed because I knew (or thought I knew) that I would be losing it soon. I didn't, and I came to cherish it as a symbol of my boldness in the face of circumstances trying to oppress me, to make me shrink, to tempt me to become invisible. I refused and used it to "shout" all the louder in response. Because of what it came to mean to me, I'm nearly as sad about losing the purple as I am about losing the hair itself. It both symbolized the weight I was carrying and also that I would not let that weight grind me down. It was my act of resistance and my sign resilience all at once.

I sent a text to my friends, explaining this and offering, as an idea, that I could "pass the purple" to them in some way, small or large. It would feel more like handing off a torch or a weight (or the One Ring) than anyone shaving their head in solidarity. (After all, if they did that it would just remind me as I watched theirs grow back that, in fact, our positions were very different.) You're welcome to do it if you'd like too, internet friends, with temporary or permanent dye or a wig or a headband or one of those terrible 90s hairwraps or whatever. But I don't require that anyone do it because I feel support from you all in myriad ways, all the time. (But if you do, please send me pictures!)

It's November 2020. The election is over and Joe Biden has won. I still have cancer and I'll be bald tomorrow. I hope it's a turning point, both personal and global, because it feels like one. We've given up a lot in the last four years and I cannot say that I feel in any way peaceful or accepting about having to give up yet one more thing. But in losing my hair I absolutely refuse to also give up my hope.

(On our walk we did also seem to find a version of The Tower, all that was left of an abandoned house)

#life update #my life as a cancer patient #stage 4 #mbc #metastatic breast cancer #losing my hair #unfair things #election 2020 #I just have a lot of feelings #the tower #us politics

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baby-gremlin18 · 4 years

Text

Teen Idle

It's short, but I promise, the next chapter will be longer ^^

High School AU

Part 1 Part 2

Part 3 :

The arrival in the alleyway of the Boleyns' house was calm for Anne and Cathy.

After this day filled with strange emotions that she could not even explain, Anne had only one desire, it was to dive into her bed and sleep soundly.

When the two teenage girls arrived, they noticed that Mr. Boleyn's car was already waiting for them.

None of the girls spoke, their only movements were to take off their seat belts as Anne continued to stare at her father's car, wondering if she should still be able to endure one of her hypocrisy crisis today.

"What a day," Cathy breathed, removing her seat belt.

"I couldn't have said it better," Anne replied.

Cathy's eyes fell on Anne's bare wrist.

"Do you think we should talk to your father about it?" She asked her, eyes on Anne's wrist. "I mean ... about Henry. He hurt you, Anne "

Anne turned away from Cathy, her eyes narrowed in a glare which made it very clear that she was not interested in the conversation. But whether she liked it or not, they were going to have this conversation. It wasn’t just something stupid that Cathy could get out of her head.

"No, he didn't," Anne mumbled, selflessly, dismissing the concern as if it was nothing.

The frustration of Anne’s challenge to the truth was almost unbearable. Cathy raised her hand to Anne and turned it over so that she too could see the purplish bruise forming on her arm.

"It's a fucking bruise, Anne," Cathy reminded her, in a dominant tone that usually didn't belong to her. "We have to talk to someone! "

Anne withdrew her hand and placed it on her knees so that the mark was covered.

"Fuck," she retorted immediately. "I'm not afraid of him, and I refuse to give him the impression that I am running towards my dear Dad because of a little bruise. Please trust me, it would only make things worse "

Cathy's instincts scream at her not to obey Anne's request. But maybe she was right. Sending someone like Thomas Boleyn to the Henry Tudor case was probably not the better way to go.

She sighed loudly and nodded dryly.

This girl will be her death

-----

Objectively speaking, going to class with the tenis ball sized bruise hadn't been a great idea.

Even though she had hidden it under her green flannel, she couldn't help but be afraid of being questioned about it.

Anne was used to the looks that followed her down the halls. It was not a new thing for her. Her… "popularity" meant that she caught the attention and anger of her classmates, especially boys, who did not know her and generally did not try to get to know her. They based their rumors on the assumptions of the half-truths they heard, and in turn, they spread their own rumors. Arriving in class today, the same list of titles followed her like a shadow. Whores, anorexic, manipulative, darling of teachers, French whore, perfect little miss ...

It may have been hard to believe, but that last insult hurt her the most.

All of these titles were fake, but would never be erased. All she could do was go on and pretend to be fine, as if she didn't mind. Even if, more than once, she ended up in the theater club toilet, or in her bedroom, crying as she tried to swallow everything she heard every day.

So the slightest change on her would only increase the rumors and she didn't want to.

Leaving the French class, she paused for the time to make a sign to Anna across the corridors.

There were few people in this school for whom Anne had a real attachment. Anna of Cleves was one of these few people. More than once she had helped her get through a crying session in their first year. She was someone important in Anne’s life.

She went to her theater class when she felt someone touch her shoulder, startling her. She immediately turned to see a blushing Cathy.

"Hello, theater partner"

Tags List :

@everything-insanity

@radcowboyalmondtree

@parrlyn-4life

@jane-seemore

@annabanana2401

@homosixual-dumbass

@dont-lose-your-queerhead

@percabeth15

@whenallthestarscollide

@calpicola

@obliviousasheck

#anne boleyn #catherine parr #parrlyn #parrleyn #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical fic #fanfiction

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gasp-iwrotesomething · 4 years

Text

Sanctuary (SFW)

Summary: Caleb North is callous and reserved and irking to just about every person he meets--including MC. But as she begins to understand and explore Cal’s heart beyond the thin film he had set into place, MC starts to believe that surely there’s more to those stunning blue eyes than what’s on the surface. When MC becomes more than someone he’s in debt for, will Cal come to embrace her hospitality or will he deny himself sanctuary?

Word Count: 4,344

Genre: Fluff (SFW)

Warning(s): none, just straight detective Cal evaluating the feelings he’s conjured for MC

A/N: This is based on the song Sanctuary by Joji, I highly recommend listening to the song while you read this; it’s very beautiful!

Cal couldn’t sleep.

Too many thoughts purled in his mind and staved the heaviness that was supposed to settle in his eyelids. Even when he attempts to close his eyes tight and focus on slipping off into his dreams, nothing happens except for more thoughts to herd together in his head. Groaning, Cal drags a hand down his face grudgingly. This didn’t happen very often for him; being restless because of emotions. Emotions. There was a lot the bittersweet gunslinger was known for and displaying--hell, even struggling with--emotion isn’t one such example. He wasn’t sure where the ache in his heart stemmed from--maybe faulty wiring? A fluke in his cardiovascular system? Chemical imbalance in his head? Whatever the reason, Cal didn’t like it. He recognized the sense of longing parading in his heart, jerking his heartstrings like a pampered child throwing a tantrum. The feeling caused a frown to flip Cal’s expression inside out. He hated that feeling. It made him vulnerable--unlocked the heart he had bolted and chained and boarded shut hundreds of times over. Why now, out of the 27 years he’s been alive and kicking, did his own heart and emotions betray him like this? Then, like an epiphany transmitted from an ethereal being overseeing his moping, a mental painting of MC winks in his thoughts and Cal scoffs reflexively, skeptical. There was no way that MC--a tiny inept girl who acted like she had already had her mid-life crisis seven times over and worked in a bike rental shop alongside her mom--was the cause of his emotional contusion.

Not only did the idea seem unruly and misplaced, Cal disliked it because, deep down, he knew that there was some waft of truth to it. She’s not that bad of a person for someone who works at a small bike shop... The trick shooter almost groans again but he stifles the noise, remembering that Avi was fast asleep just a few feet away from him. He rolls onto his side instead. But somewhere along the journey of executing his plan something falls through; a minuscule detail that nettled him more. The memory of MC curled up in bed beside him explodes into his mind, alongside the glitter bomb of emotion that sparkled and danced and spun in spirals within his rib cage. Frustration follows and Cal’s nostrils flare, crystalline eyes rolling. Why can’t she just be another civilian that Cal meets, forgets, and never sees again? A whole galaxy of regret and longing and some other irately balmy emotion unravel inside of him. Cal grasps a pillow and crushes it against his face and groans, the noise long-winded and muffled as it tickles his face. MC shouldn’t be allowed to have this all encompassing effect on him--both legally and morally. Lock her up for finessing her dainty little way into the brash and emotionless Caleb North’s heart--don’t forget to throw away the key for good measure.

Go ahead and bark after dark

But even through his fit of annoyance and denial, the one thing Cal couldn’t deny was the distance the two of them had breached--pared. The bland, snapping turtle of a woman had gained her character arch in Cal’s eyes. Now she was more than just the naive and narrow-minded girl Cal had to repay--now she was MC and nothing less than that. It was hard to place a title upon her head beyond anything other than her name; like she’d grown into the name ‘MC’ and earned her dish of respect. Cal thought so at least. Over time, her actions and dialogue told the gunslinger that she had more depth and required more than just a once-over to understand thoroughly--she wasn’t an easy puzzle to decipher. Maybe that’s what appealed to him most--the idea of being totally cognizant of her as an entire person and not just a voice that twittered this and that. Of deciphering something complex but so easy to dissect; swift access beamed into his hands. Cal’s eyes trace the pattern of the ceiling ahead as his thoughts follow a curved and callous rail, all dedicated to the feeling Cal kept aloof in his jumping heart. What was this emotion--this sun that shone in his chest? What did it mean? Why do I kind of, sort of, possibly not mind it?

Fallen star, I’m your one call away

Despite the wisps of confusion wound around his subconscious, Cal knew that it eluded to something bordering fondness--affection. The word sounds like a roll of barbed wire spiking his thoughts and he resists the urge to smack himself upside the head. Damn it all, why did she have to make it so much harder for him? Can’t she just bask on the throne of the person Cal disliked most and keep the crown structurally sound on her head? Again, the convulsing tangle of emotion sprawling throughout his body wrestles the irked retort down, defeating it unconditionally. He didn’t know a thing about requiting feelings and he definitely didn’t know a thing about harboring strong feelings for anyone outside the same six people--er, five if you discount Ripley as an animal--he’s known for years.

Cal only allowed himself to become attached to people who he could count on and trust--people who had his best interests at heart. Meeting a new person, much less dating, was too big of a step for the gunslinger to judge. Too much of a risk to take. He’d rather leave the whims up to whoever spectated his life and let them call the shots on his destiny. Of course thinking this revives his knowledge of the prophecy and the staccato of his heart trudges, suddenly faced with something almost as staggering as MC. But not exactly. Nothing could match MC’s oddities. How was he going to tell her about what he learned? About what fate had whispered in his ear, alluding that he was destined to die? That Avi was to replace him?

MC wouldn’t be game for that--who would be? Like a fallen star, MC is all his mind comes to center around, orbiting tireless circles around her. Somehow, in a cheesy, lovey-dovey sort of sense, she made the dazzling superficial lights of Vegas seem like they’re not shining as bright as they could be. Like MC was naturally able to emit something that could outshine the nacreous luminescence even without the use of actual light. Yuck, that was grossly romantic thing to think, Caleb. Though he cringes, his heart nods against his rib cage. And then too late does Cal realize that his face is freckled with the color of embarrassment--sheepishness. God, I hate that I just admitted that to myself. Didn’t I swear I’d never become a cheap hopeless romantic? But this didn’t feel like romance--it felt natural. Something too instinctive and pure to be labeled as ‘romance’ or even the more costly term: ‘love’. MC was a good person to know and a fun person to playfully debate with; someone who could turn even the most shallow subjects into an ocean of chortle-worthy discussion. She deserved more than she had and if Cal could, he’d give her what she wanted--all she had to do was give him a call and he would be there. Whenever and for whatever.

Motel halls, neon walls When night falls, I am your escape

Cal sighs. Maybe now wasn’t the best time to analyze the gallery of warmth strewed in his chest. But--as misfitting as it sounds when describing Cal North--he found himself wanting to explore the profundity of what he felt for MC. The more he knew about himself, the better after all. Like a reel of film shuddering to life in a cinema, memories of all that’s happened since he met MC flicker and coalesce grainy in his mind. There was the encounter in the store with the glue, then the coincident meeting to buy the medical textbook. After that, MC had saved him and in doing so had uncoiled a road of ruched destiny between the two of them. If she hadn’t risked herself to save Cal that day, would they even still know each other the way they did today? Cal doesn’t linger on the question, already knowing that the answer wasn’t tuned to the rhapsody of his emotions.

But what was the war in his heart became the enlightenment of his mind, casting in potential realities that made the ceiling’s textures swirl before his very eyes. Swimming in denied fates, Cal clutches the pillow he had just used to smother his grumbles and groans close to his chest. In that moment of thoughtlessness--or rather of moving out of reflex and not out of sole subconscious will, Cal experiences a scintilla of desire for something he didn’t immediately recognize--something that seemed close but so far form achievable. Like a pleasant fever dream reminisced in the heart of euneirophrenia. He found that the desire was wanting to hold MC the way he held the pillow; close and intimate, warm and comforting. His face burns again but he so does his heart, flustering as hot as a glowing coal in a furnace. But again, like a hero from some bootleg comic books, the sense of their connection being too organic to be love swoops in and saves Cal from dying form sheer embarrassment. Apparently even Cal North didn’t know what resides inside of Cal North’s heart.

The irony is more jeering than uplifting to the baffled gunslinger. It was easy to pretend to be suave but to naturally act cool and collected? Cal wasn’t the top of the field when it comes to that sort of spiel. But as if a nighttime pleasure he could rely on, MC’s presence in his mind sweeps aside the bitterness fogging his conscience. Like an escape of sorts, used to skirt around the hardships of being in love. Being in love? I’m not in love with MC--It’s not the way I am! Cal almost shouts the unsaid thought out loud just to wipe away all of the confusion and fuzziness clogging his chest. “I’m not in love.” Cal reiterates quietly. Maybe voicing the misgivings of how he felt would make the godly being overlooking him commiserate and wave its wand to make the sappy feelings maturing in him eviscerate. Maybe him rationalizing the way he felt made him a coward. Maybe Cal was in over his head and this was all just a conclusion he jumped to--and if that was the case, he might have beaten the world record for farthest jump. Having a heart capable of emotion is hard. Can’t I just be an insentient gunslinger who stars in a circus and doesn’t indulge in the world of romance?

When you lay alone, I ache Something I wanted to feel

But Cal was dodging the truth. He would be lying to himself if he said he didn’t like the way she made him feel; the constant ray of heat that melted the ice encapsulating his heart. The only other person ever capable of that was Avi--and he was his kid, for god’s sake! And now with the way Cal wanted MC here with him, when had anyone else been able to have that effect on him? His history of partners wasn’t exactly the flashiest or the longest but he hadn’t felt an ache like this one. Like when he was on the rooftop with MC and he stopped her from jumping--the pang had been evident there too. Why? At the time they had only known each other for under a week and Cal felt like he was letting a precious artifact slip from his grasp. Almost as if her importance was too dire to him to risk it. Cal whirls around to face the fireplace and watch the glowing flames thrash against ruddy brick. How many more questions are you going to ask, Caleb? What are you taking this to be--some sort of funky game show about your love life struggles? A self-funded therapy session? It all flabbergasted him--why was he still investigating when he was supposed to be going to sleep?

Somewhere in between evaluating the choices he had made in thinking about MC and wondering why in the world he felt the way he did, Cal tiptoed off into a surprisingly peaceful slumber. Almost immediately, a dream formulates and engulfs him--foggy and thick like mist floating through the air. The first thing he’s greeted with is a familiar room that had a mellow blue palette of colors--bicycle tires line the walls of all sizes, family photos cling to the desk sequestered in the corner... Wait. With a jagged start, Cal recognizes the setting he was thrusted into. This is MC’s room! Moonlight flowed in through the window, casting the shadowed room into a silverish blue hue.

If you’ve been waitin’ for fallin’ in love,

On the bed, shrouded in the glow of the night sky, is MC. Her posture is relaxed, careless, and for some reason Cal’s pulse skyrockets. What is wrong with me? This feeling...

Babe, you don’t have to wait on me

Cal felt disdain at the implications it gave--the faint stench of love. Of something romantic, something he didn’t want to ever feel. Enthralled in his rancor, he doesn’t notice that he’d been speaking the entire time, saying something that felt teasing as it left his mouth. He felt detached from himself as he moved to sit beside MC, casting her a side glance without will. It was as if he was possessed by something else--unable to move but able to freely think and perceive the situation. In response, MC’s eyebrow hikes and her lips lopside; gently sloped. Again, that hauntingly pleasant ache rips through his chest--salt in a scratched open wound from years ago.

Cause I’ve been waitin’ for Heaven above,

Her lips moved and a sentence stemmed from her tongue, but it all slips from his mind. All that was certain to Cal was the continuous thump of his heart rattling his rib cage.

But an angel ain’t what I need

Nothing seemed surreal--everything felt fluid, easily coordinated to flow as easily as a trickling stream. Cal found himself holding on to everything she did, everything she said--despite the fact that he understood none of it. Suddenly he was bewitched with her and everything she was. A symbol of restored security.

Not anyone, you’re the one

Cal’s turn to contribute to their boneless conversation comes and he watches the way her features dip with contempt--the way they coalesce into something fond but certain. He found himself noticing more about her than he had first realized. Times when her smirtle dropped off were substituted by the scintilla of softness wading through her brown eyes, noticeable only when Cal wasn’t focused on what to say next. On autopilot, controlled by something unseen tugging him along on strings, Cal could marvel each expression she allowed to show. Each one was almost as breathtaking as the last with the specific emotion it was based on bringing it to life. He found himself wanting to bury himself into her very essence, wanting to meld with her like she was pool of everything he wanted--a pool of endless comfort, secluded from the world in her bedroom. A safe place. A sanctuary.

More than fun, you’re the sanctuary

Weirdly enough, Cal got the strangest itch that she felt similar--not exactly the same, but alike enough to be considered mutual. A common feeling shared but not prescribed the same title.

'Cause what you want is what I want Sincerity

And for a while, their mindless repartee continues on with empty words and fortuitously pretty expressions. Cal had never been one to daydream much--there was more important things to do than wish the world turned the other way--but it was hard not to fantasize about what could be. About what would it feel like to release the warmth bouncing in her chest--unleash the feelings he so desperately wanted to be fictitious. What would MC do? Would she sink his serendipitous boat or row it with him? How would a world like that look like? Just like this one, with pointless bickering 24/7, or something completely different? Caught in a web of effervescence, Cal didn’t notice that the steady heat cradling his hand was MC’s. An anchor that grabbed him from his active imagination, Cal notes the gentleness of her skin and the way she gripped his fingers carefully--like they’d fall off if she let go. And to be honest, Cal thought they might too with how he couldn’t will them to move even the slightest inch.

Souls that dream alone lie awake,

He hadn’t felt this at ease for a while--not since he had met MC, that was for sure. There were moments of rarity where he could escape all of the hardships of demon hunting and being a parent; moments where the world fell away and a bubble hid them away. Like a disguise in plain sight, it seemed any peace was turned to ash too soon--grains falling from grip. Cal knew this was a moment of that--a ripe example of being content with solitude together. His eyes memorize the gentle angles and sharp swoops characterizing MC’s face. Who knew Caleb North could find someone that soothing to latch onto?

They chatted and bickered and then chatted again, their faces obtuse with sly and challenging smirks. Even though he felt his mouth move and he understood that there were comprehensible words strung out, Cal’s head couldn’t perceive the meaning of it all; like a memory to foggy to make out, or a dream so pleasant that seconds after awaking, it’s lost on you. A weird sort of tension befell their repartee and an even weirder string of anticipation and need foam his thoughts. Like a psychic link between them, Cal could sense that the same thing was actively happening to MC as well. Suddenly, without seemingly any provoking required, Cal wanted to kiss her. He wanted it to happen so badly that it seemed like his heart would crash out of his chest and hop around the room.

I’ll give you something so real

MC’s eyes were intense as they bore into him, searching, seeking for something Cal didn’t understand. The tension between them is hot enough to burn, thick as sunny humidity and as tempting as the aroma of sweet cooking. Like a flower introduced to spring, the tension grows and thrives, winding vines of temptation around them. Without thinking, Cal leans into her personal space, blue eyes roving her face for signs of approval; permission. Fully expecting her to pull away, Cal is astonished as she mirrors his movements until their breaths mingled together. His heart might as well have ascended to overdrive as his thoughts melted into puddles of goo. There was a pause of recollection--consideration of what was about to be done--before the wall between was downed.

If you’ve been waitin’ for fallin’ love

Cal swayed towards her and their lips connected.

Babe, you don’t have to wait on me

The clock on the wall seems to silence and the seconds cease ticking by--almost like time was freezing to keep them swathed in this moment. She felt like velvet caressing his mouth--just the way he had imagined she would. As if choreographed, their tongues dance together in perfect harmony, their lips embracing over and over again.

‘Cause I’ve been waiting for Heaven above,

Cal perceived her taste as something sweet--a pinch of sugar sinking into his taste buds, something he’d never be able to get enough of.

But an angel ain’t what I need

Her teeth gently scrape his bottom lip and he’s caught in the moment, basking in the rejoice he felt here in her arms, kissing her passionately. She began to drown his senses and soon Cal started to wish things he’d never admit aloud.

Pull me oh-so-close,

He wished this kiss would never end--that he could live off her breath, off her lips, off of her kiss hugging his mouth for the rest of his days.

Cause you never know

He wished he could dwell in the sanctuary her proximity granted him and that she’d always give him permission to.

Just how long our lives could be

Their kiss remains platonic and affectionate, not a boundary crossed and not a checkpoint untouched. He pulls her closer, reigning in her warmth, just as all of it is sucked away and he’s left blinking sleepily at a distant crackling flame. It takes a moment for Cal to realize why MC wasn’t with him, enthralled in their own little world of kisses. It was a dream.

The disappointment is debilitating as Cal sits up, frowning to the point of almost pouting. Why couldn’t it have been real? He wanted it to be real. To be wrapped up in the vivacity of MC unrestrained--unguarded. Cal’s head swims with the tangible memory of MC’s mouth on his, exploring him intimately. It had felt so real and so right--like an event meant to happen in the forgoing future. He goes florid as a ripple of heat sounds within his body, loud in the way it made his heart squeal. There was no way, no way that was true; Cal refused to believe it. Was the future paved the way he wanted? That he’d live through the harsh destiny of the prophecy and come to grapple the idea of telling MC how he felt? Thinking this brings the prophecy back the to the forefront of his mind and it ricochets off all of the pleasant thoughts Cal had conjured. What was he supposed to do about that? He had already thought of a solution but it was insanely risky and if they had failed... well, there would be no more Caleb North beyond written on a granite headstone in some graveyard. He swats away the thought almost as fast as he thinks it, frowning to himself. That kind of thinking was going to jinx him in the end; he had to stay strong for the people around him. For Avi, for the troupe, for Ripley... For MC... What if he never got to say what he wanted to?

What if the emotion pulsing in his chest, sheltered by a bone enclosure, never saw the light of day? What if he let MC go without even trying to tell her the storm raging on in him? Cal shoulders the staggering idea aside and sighs, running a hand down his face. Maybe MC would be his cause of death; that’d be something he’d oddly be able to stomach. I’ll just write a note--in case this plan falls through. So she knows what was happening between us is real. Cal swings his legs off of his bed and stands, stretching drowsily. Maybe writing this was going to be the death of him too--except it’d be gruesomely embarrassing and would make him cringe even in the afterlife. Maybe I say too many ‘maybe’s to be surprised when they don’t happen. Cal quickly retrieves a scrap of paper and a pen and returns to his bed. Though the inflation of inspiration he had caught had been enough to motivate him, now it was nothing more than a shriveled echo in his head. Now he was faced with the doubt and uncertainty of writing the actual note.

If you’ve been waitin’ for fallin’ in love,

Cal uncapped the pen and stuck the end of it between between his teeth. What could he write? There was so much that he wanted to say--an avalanche of unsaid desires and feelings sprawling throughout his mind--and yet he didn’t know what to say. Do I go the poetic route and write some sort of evasive and cheesy poem? Do I be straight to the point and write what I want from her? Do I pull it off as a goof and just slide in my feelings? Cal ponders approach after approach, individually weighing the pro’s and con’s of each. Almost all of them seemed too dumb to even fathom except for one. I’ll just be blunt. Nothing’s more powerful than the truth, right? Cal swallows. Execution was solved and now came the hardest part: what words would he scribble onto this note? It was small so nothing like a novel in length. A sentence or two sounded the most reasonable and--even though he doesn’t have a plan set into place--Cal presses the tip of the pen against the paper, mulling over what he should write. Desires of all sorts stream through his head and Cal writes the first that shuttles to the front of his mind.

I want to kiss you.

Babe, you don’t have to wait on me

Blushing, Cal moves to scribble the phrase out and toss it aside; start anew. But he hesitates. It was blunt and didn’t betray the emotions his heart sang for MC so what was the harm in leaving it be? He visualizes a scale in his head and weighs the pro’s and con’s yet again, finding staggering disparity in weight between the two of them in the favor of the pro’s. It’s what I want and besides, it was innocuous. Acquaintances kiss when they want to all the time, right?

‘Cause I’ve been waitin’ for Heaven above,

The sharpshooter struggles to rationalize his feelings for the fifth time that night and just proceeds to give up, folding the note in half before tucking it inside the envelope. Whatever happened happened and if his true feelings are unveiled, then so be it. But oddly enough, he finds solace in the idea of watching her reaction--seeing what emotions she let show. Beyond the stereotypical surprise, of course. Maybe that’d help him understand the depth of her feelings and, coincidentally, his own too.

Maybe he’d find sanctuary right where he was in life--right where he wanted it.

But an angel ain’t what I need

As begrudgingly as Cal confesses, his opinion of romance changed:

Maybe it wasn’t so bad after all.

~FIN~

#cal north #sin with me #lovestruck voltage

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softyoongiionly · 5 years

Text

Fear and Dumplings: Chapter Fourteen

(GIF isn’t mine)

Confronting your fears for a final grade sounds unappealing but, with Yoongi as your partner, things might not be so bad.

Summary: You’re in your final semester at University when your Abnormal Psychology professor assigns you a partnered project surrounding your greatest fears. Lucky for you, your partner just so happens to be a cute boy named Min Yoongi.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Genre: Underground Rapper! Yoongi, Soft!!! Yoongi, Fluff!!!, some moderate angst (later), smut (later later), slow-ish? burn.

Word Count: 10.3k (lol, i wanna die)

A/N: please scream along with me as I drown in a pile of emotion. I’m sorry the last three chapters have been so emotional, yoongi is a complicated boi and, needs roughly 25k to get out all of his feelings. ALSO, the next chapter will finally feature Jimin’s showcase, please send him love and good luck. Not like he needs it lmao

I LOVE YOU

Warnings for this Chapter: moderate angst, SMUT (oh my god its alot), mentions of anxiety and hardship, language, too many feelings.

Warnings for the Fic: mentions characters confronting their fears, characters in uncomfortable situations, emotional moments between characters, mentions of bad parenting, explicit language throughout the fic, moderate angst, and very explicit smut later in the story.

Chapter 14: Angels and Angels

“Jimin, if you move again, I’m going to shove this needle into your perfectly sculpted butt cheek…” You mutter, pinching Jimin’s ass, the sweat on your brow growing significantly.

This causes a giggle to erupt from your best friend, who is currently contorting his body so that he can stare at himself in the mirror.

“Yah! Do you miss your little boyfriend that much that you have to take your sexual frustration out on me?” Jimin wiggles his ass in your face and, you admonish him with a smack to his hip as you try your best to finish sewing his costume.

Jimin called you that morning in a panic after he had ripped his showcase outfit during rehearsal so, you had quickly rushed over after your morning classes to resolve his crisis.

“He’s not my boyfriend…” You counter, a smile threatening your mouth, “I do miss him though…”

Jimin stalls his movements, allowing you to finish up, “You really like him don’t you?”

The smile comes in full force but, thankfully Jimin is facing away from you when it does.

“Maybe…”

He rolls his eyes but, allows your vague response, turning slightly to examine your handy work, “You should invite him tomorrow, I still haven’t met him…”

There is a flutter in your stomach at Jimin’s suggestion. You know that Jimin gets extra credit for the number of people that attend and, having Yoongi there would fill an extra seat.

All the more reason to invite him…

“I mean, it’s a big night for you Minnie, if you’re ok with him being there then, I’ll see if he’s free.” You attempt to keep your tone casual but, you’re slightly nervous at the thought of Yoongi being there as your date.

Professor James cancelled Tuesday’s lecture due to illness and, Yoongi texted you Thursday morning that he wouldn’t be in class that day. Not seeing him for an entire week didn’t exactly sit well with you but, you were determined to not read too much into his absence.

Jimin smirks, smoothing his hands over his hips, head tilting side to side in the mirror, “It’s my fourth showcase Y/N, it’s not that big of a deal…”

A scoff leaves your lips, “Um??? It’s your senior showcase, you’re the reigning champion and, you’re about to make history as the only collegiate dancer to win the showcase four years in a row; of course it’s a big deal!”

He giggles as you shove him playfully, a bit of nervousness creeping into his gaze, “You really think I’m going to win again?”

“Jimin,” You turn him towards you, holding each of his wrists in your hands, “I know you’re going to win again.”

His beautiful smile graces his lips as he thrusts himself in your arms, the white sequins scratching against your skin. You hold him anyway though, you know he needs it.

“Thank you…” He mumbles into your hair, “I don’t know what I’d do without you…”

You smile into his neck, the warmth of Jimin’s words filling your heart, “Oh Jimin….I don’t know what you’d do either…”

He pinches your side, “YAH! Don’t be mean! I would survive…maybe…”

Squirming out of his hold, you giggle, patting his hip gently, “I don’t know what I’d do without you either Park Fairy. I’d probably die…”

He points at you,” Exactly, don’t be a brat…” His tone his firm but, the smile on his lips is hard to miss. Jimin turns his attention back towards his full length mirror again to examine his costume.

It’s a beautiful piece, skintight, covered in white sequins and, thin pearlescent lycra that hug Jimin’s body perfectly. You wondered if this was his entire costume as Jimin was known for quite an elaborate set up.

“I love this costume by the way, it’s beautiful,” You marvel, putting all of your sewing tools back in their box, “Is the theme still a surprise or can you end my suffering and tell me?”

Jimin smirks, eyes carefully scanning over his backside,” It’s still a surprise, my leotard is only the base piece, I have a lot more in store…”

“RIP my mascara…” You lament, snapping your sewing kit shut before grabbing your phone off of the coffee table, “Should I text him now?”

He giggles, amusement coloring his face as he turns to you, “Why do you look so nervous?”

“I’m not nervous.” You grumble, thumbs tapping away at your screen to get to your message thread with the dreamiest rapper on Earth aka Min Yoongi.

The last message that you sent him was wishing him luck on the rest of his composition, which he has been working tirelessly at for the last half of the semester. He only responded with a thumbs up emoji and, that was yesterday at 7:49pm.

Suddenly, as your fingers hover over the keys, you feel slightly insecure at the lack of communication between the two of you. Last weekend had been amazing and, Yoongi made sure that you arrived back at your apartment safely and during the week he had said something to the effect of ‘I miss you’ without actually saying it.

Jimin notices your hesitation, “What’s wrong?”

Your teeth find purchase on your lip but, you avoid his gaze and focus in on your phone.

“Nothing…I just_” A sigh leaves your lips as you tap the screen to keep it from going black, “ I don’t know… Yoongi and I had a really good time last weekend and, I’m used to not really hearing from him but, I kind of thought after everything that happened between us, there would be a little more communication. I don’t expect him to text me all day or anything but, we both agreed that we liked each other….a lot so, I thought he’d…”

“Act like a boyfriend?” Jimin offers, a bit of his playfulness diminishing, focusing in on your emotions.

The word sends butterflies through your stomach but, you shove them out, trying not to drown in your emotions.

“No…I mean yeah but, like we aren’t together yet so, I can’t expect him to…I don’t know…” Articulating your emotions is not always your strong suit and, for whatever reason, you seem to become especially impaired when Yoongi is involved.

“Jagi…” Jimin begins, sitting beside you, the sequins scratching your skin as he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “…you’re allowed to want his attention regardless of whether or not you both have a title. Titles are nice but, the feelings are much more important…”

You deflate a little bit, leaning into Jimin, your teeth still working against your lip, “I really like him…like I want to wake up next to him and, make him breakfast and do cute shit with him and, I’m not used to feeling like this and, I want to crawl into a hole and, never come out…”

Your pink fairy giggles, pressing a kiss to your head “Yah, you’re not allowed to crawl into a hole, my showcase is tomorrow…”

“Can I do it after your showcase?” You mutter against his leotard, your thumb tapping your screen again to ensure that it doesn’t go black.

Jimin scoffs, “I literally just told you that I can’t live without you, do you want me to die?”

His brows are raised in playful accusation and, you try your best not to get to distracted by how adorable he is.

“No...” You grumble, lips fixed in a firm pout

He chuckles now, nudging your hand towards your phone, “Okay then, text him.”

With a roll of your eyes, you unlock your phone for the third time and, begin typing your message.

You: Hey, I’m not sure what you’re up to tomorrow, I know you’ve been working on your composition but, my best friend is performing in a dance showcase in the main theater. Do you want to come? I figured we could carpool and, maybe get dinner afterwards or something? Let me know when you get a chance!

By the end of your message, you feel your heart doing somersaults beneath your sternum. Why the hell were you so nervous? Shouldn’t you be passed this by now?

“See? I knew you could do it...” Jimin cheers, kissing your head once more before moving to carefully take off his costume.

“Yes, now I just have to endure a slow painful death while waiting for him to respond...” A sickly sweet smile is on your mouth which causes Jimin to throw his head back in laughter.

“Aren’t I supposed to be the dramatic one in this friendship?”

“No Jimin, you’re the beautiful and talented main character and, I...”You gesture to your chest, “...am your socially inept, quirky side kick...”

This earns another boisterous round of laughter from your best friend who is currently checking out his nearly naked body in the mirror.

“Okay, first of all, thank you for calling me beautiful. Second of all, you’re can’t possibly be the sidekick...”

Your eyes narrow, “Why not?”

Jimin whips around in your direction, bubblegum hair a disheveled mess ontop of his head, a brilliant smile on his pretty lips,

“Because you’re my hero...”

With a mouth parted in shock, you process just how ridiculous your best friend is. At your expression,

Jimin rushed into another fit of laughter as you respond.

“Alexa, play Hate That I Love You by Rihanna...”

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

After Jimin leaves, you wait approximately 5 hours before getting a response from Yoongi. The response does nothing to aid in soothing your nerves:

Yoongi: Hey sorry it took me so long to respond. I’ve been working, I think I may be able to go but, I was wondering what you were doing right now. I’m having some trouble sorting through something, I know it’s late though, so I understand if you’re sleeping.

Your brow furrows. His message seems odd but, you don’t want to pass up an opportunity to see him. Plus, you definitely wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing that he’s having an issue.

You: I can come by, what’s the address? Are you ok?

5 more minutes pass before another message comes in,

Yoongi: I just want to hang out, this week has been kind of rough.

Yoongi: 8294 Han Road. I’m in the 4th studio space. Just ring the front and, tell them you’re here for me, they should let you through. Sorry it’s so late.

You frown at his admission, wanting nothing more than to be with him now that you know your suspicion is correct.

You: Don’t be sorry, I’ll be there as soon as I can.

His message comes through within seconds and, you can’t help but feel a little nervous at seeing him in his studio. There’s also this feeling; a feeling that indicates that something is wrong. Yoongi has never asked you to come see him and, that paired with his odd behavior this past week has your stomach in knots.

What if he didn’t want to see you anymore?

You both agreed that you liked eachother but, life was busy for the both of you. The conversation on the Ferris wheel inches its way back to the forefront of your mind. Yoongi said that you two getting together would be a bad idea, was he returning to that conclusion?

He never explained why he felt that way in the first place.

The Uber ride to Yoongi’s studio costs you $9.78. You didn’t realize how close he was to your apartment and, as the car pulls up to the faded brick building, you feel your heartbeat grow to an alarming level.

“Thank you, have a good night…”

“No problem, have a good one.”

The exchange with the driver is short and, given that he didn’t talk to you the entire car ride, you decide to rate him 5 stars.

As you approach the front entrance, you notice the soft blue neon sign hanging off of the door that reads: SoundCrowd.

Clever.

You’re definitely in the right place.

The door swings open effortlessly and, you’re met with an empty lobby. Tables, chairs and, various flyers containing the studios information are the only things that greet you when you walk in. The clear glass that separates the lobby from the reception desk make the whole place feel like some sort of medical clinic; it’s not exactly a beacon of creative energy. You hope Yoongi’s studio space was less clinical.

“Can I help you?” A deep but, friendly voice calls from behind the glass.

The receptionist is an older guy, maybe in his mid-30s, wearing what looks to be a ghost busters pajama set.

“Yeah, I was looking for Yoongi? He said he was in the 4th studio space…”

The man smirks knowingly, “You’re here for Min huh? Tell you what, I’ll let you through but, you have to promise me you’ll try to get him to go home. The dude’s been here for like four days straight…”

Your brow furrows, “Four days? Are you serious, he hasn’t gone home or anything?”

The man clicks his tongue, “I live upstairs, and his car’s been here since Monday. He used my shower about an hour ago but, other than that, I don’t even think he’s left the room…”

A sigh leaves your lips at the information, “Jesus.”

“Are you his girlfriend?”

The word makes your heart go fuzzy and, your first instinct is to say yes but, the last thing you need is for Yoongi to find out that you made your relationship official without him.

“Uh no, we’re just_” You trail off, searching for the right word, “we’re dating but, he’s been a friend of mine for quite a while…”

He smirks, waving you over to him, “No need to explain, I’m just happy Min is getting some sort of human interaction. He’s been a god tier introvert ever since I’ve known him. I’m Sejin by the way…”

A hand is extended through the opening in the glass and, you accept it graciously, bowing your head.

“Y/N,” You smile, “it’s really good to meet you. How long have you guys known each other?”

Sejin squints his eyes for a moment, tilting his head in thought, “Oh geez uh, let’s see, Yoongi’s 25 this year…uh…ten years maybe?”

Your brows go up, “Oh wow, are you from Daegu too?”

At your seemingly normal question, Sejin grows visibly uncomfortable, as if a realization just crossed his brain. You fear you may be asking too many questions but before you can amend, Sejin speaks up again.

“Uh, Yoongi’s never mentioned me has he?”

“No, he hasn’t, I’m sorry…” You smile looking towards the buzzer near Seijin’s hand, wishing you would have just asked him to buzz you in.

“Oh don’t be sorry at all,” A soft smile is sent your way as he sees that you may have gotten the wrong impression. Sejin nods toward the door, “Yoongi lived with me for a while when he first came to the city, I’m a friend of his older brother. I’m sure he’ll tell you more about it if you ask; Here let me buzz you in, he’ll be straight down the hall to your right.”

Confusion swirls in the forefront of your mind but, you smile nonetheless, turning towards the door, “Thank you so much, it was nice meeting you.”

He bows his head, offering a small smile, “Nice meeting you too.”

There are rooms lining either side of the long hallway, some of which emit a low hum of music through their barriers. Yoongi certainly isn’t the only night owl plugging away in the building.

Turning right at the end of the hall, you’re met with a black door boasting a sign that read “#4.” The irregular heartbeat is back as you raise your hand to knock at the door but, your desire to finally see Yoongi after nearly a week overruns the nervousness that you feel.

“Come in.” You hear his voice through the door and, quickly, you turn the knob and, let yourself in.

You’re met with a confusing sight.

The studio space was dimly lit with a low hanging turquoise fixture that sends a calming wave of light throughout the small room. The walls contain various speakers and, electrical equipment and, along with a work desk, you notice a giant monitor, nearly the size of a flat screen and, every production tool that any musician could ever dream of. However, there was also several indicators that Sejin was right about Yoongi never leaving this room. There’s a black pull out couch on the right side of the room that looks like he hasn’t been slept in, a few pieces of Yoongi’s clothes scattered on the floor and, perhaps the most disturbing thing is the overflowing trashcan in the far corner of the room containing nothing but empty coffee cups. From what you can tell, there isn't a single take out box so, that either means that Yoongi has been taking his food trash out or, that he hasn’t been eating at all.

And then there’s Yoongi, who’s just turned to look at whoever just came through his door. He’s sitting in the black desk chair, dressed in a pair of torn up black jeans and a grey hoodie, his formerly platinum hair is a faded brown now and damp from his shower. He musters a small smile for you, his normally cat like eyes are sunken in, clearly from a lack of sleep and, his lips are chapped, another indicator that he hasn’t been taking care of himself.

“Hey you…” You smile, setting your purse down by the door, trying to gauge what’s going through his mind.

“Hi…um thank you for coming…” He rasps, his eyes shifting nervously over you, fingers itching to reach out for you.

You shake your head, “Of course, is everything ok?”

Yoongi opens his mouth immediately as if he’s already has an answer prepared but, he deflates soon after, looking at you helplessly, “No, not really I-“

He takes a deep breath, looking away from you, trying to keep it together. You don’t say a word as you close the space between you, moving to stand in front of his seated figure. Instantly, you pull him into a warm hug, holding him tightly, not needing him to explain just yet.

Yoongi feels so much of the tension melt away from his body as he feels your embrace, his arms coming up to reciprocate, burying his face into your hip.

The two of you don’t speak for a few seconds but, you feel Yoongi shake silently, not daring to untuck his face from you as he lets the tears spill over his eyes.

This causes your heart to shatter but, you don’t break the silence yet, allowing him to process his pain how he needs to. You keep him close though and, rub his back soothingly as he collects himself.

“I’m sorry…” He mumbles into your yellow sweatshirt, regretting that he’s staining the material with tears, “I should have texted you more, I just…this week’s been really hard.”

You shake your head, holding him tighter, “Don’t be sorry, I knew you were working on your project this week, it’s completely ok…”

This is said for his benefit of course, you didn’t want him to worry about your fear that he had lost interest when he clearly had something much more pressing going on.

“I wanted to text you…the first night I got like this but-“ He cuts himself off to sniffle, still not releasing you from his grip. “I didn’t want to bother you, or freak you out or anything…”

“Hey-“ You tilt his face towards yours, thumbing away one of the tears that is attempting to roll down his face, “-you’re never a bother to me, especially if something is wrong…”

He turns his face to place a gentle kiss against your thumb before sighing out shakily against your skin, “I can’t get this fucking song right Y/N. I’ve been at this for 5 months now and, it always comes out wrong, I’ve rewritten it like 10 different times and, I can’t do it. It’s shitty. I’m not cut out for this, I’m not good enough to go pro, I should’ve_”

He trails off, his eyes reddening as the tears collect once more at the corners of his eyes, “ I should’ve listened to my father, he told me to major in business, he said this would happen and, he was fucking right.”

His words create a deep ache within your heart.

How could someone so talented, doubt their abilities so much?

It’s not the first time you’ve seen it but, you’ve yet to understand it.

“I know you’re upset, I know that this seems impossible right now and, you’re unbelievably frustrated but, Yoongi…” You tilt his head back towards yours, your gaze growing firmer, “You were born to do this. You are the most talented musician I’ve ever known and, the quality of your stuff? The way you write, the way you think, it’s a sign. It’s a sign that this is what you’re meant to do. You’re not meant to be in a suit, slaving away at a corporate job you don’t even like, that’s what everyone else is doing. Yes, it may be more stable, it may provide a steady income and, give your parents something to brag about but, it isn’t you. Your happiness is in music, I can see that. You light up when you talk about it, you lit up on that fucking stage, and had half the city eating out of the palm of your hands. You are so incredible, you have no idea…”

Yoongi feels his heart swell in his chest, no one has ever spoken to him about his music like this, not with this much passion. But then again, Yoongi’s never known another person like you, he’s never known another that can make him feel so good.

“But jagi…the song…it’s not coming together, my professor is going to hate it…” He urges, anxiety still squirming around in his stomach. He wraps his arms around you tighter though, feeling a bit of comfort at your words.

“Did you think the crowd at Glacier was going to hate your song too?” You point out and, as you do, he bites his lip, sniffling again.

“Yeah…I did…”

A hand is carded gently through his damp hair as you smile down at him, “And look what happened Agust D, you became the city’s champion underground rapper. Did you lock yourself up in this studio and live off of Americanos for weeks on end then too?”

A smile threatens his lips, “You remembered my order…” he sighs, nodding reluctantly at your question, “I do this a lot…”

A breath is released through your nose as you smile gently at his observation but, the frown between your brows remains, “I don’t want to tell you how to live your life Yoongi but, you can’t do this to yourself. I know self-doubt can be borderline parasitic sometimes but, you have to try and cut yourself some slack. I know how hard anxiety can be, I know it can make you feel like the world is coming to an end but, please know that you are so much more capable than you realize. Sometimes it helps to step away from something and, revisit it when you’ve had time to clear your head. I have to do that with my proposals all the time…”

Yoongi moves back slightly to wipe a hand over his face, taking a deep breath as he nods in consideration of your words, “You’re right…I know you’re right. It’s just hard for me not to fall into this cycle sometimes. I got help when I started school, for my anxiety and, it helped but, old habits die hard you know? I just start overthinking everything…I can never get rid of that part.”

You lean down to press a kiss to his forehead before slowly helping him to his feet. “You might not ever get rid of that, you’re only human. Overthinking is my first reaction too but, over the years, I’ve slowly learned to not trust every crazy scenario my brain comes up with.”

He smiles and, this time you see it reach his eyes, the sight calms you significantly. “You’re…”

Yoongi shakes his head, “I knew you’d say the right thing, you always do…”

“Come here.” You smile, pulling him into a hug, tucking your face into his neck, “I’m sorry you’ve been going through this…try to reach out earlier next time ok? So this doesn’t go on so long, you know I’m here for you.”

He nods sagely, rubbing his hands on your lower back, “ I will, I promise…”

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

Roughly an hour later, after you’ve gotten Yoongi to eat a good meal, the two of you start indulging in one another, the lack of contact starting to get to both of you.

Your lips peck against Yoongi’s gently, just as a means to soothe him, your hands placed firmly on his shoulders.

“I just...” He whispers against your mouth, attempting to melt away against your touch.

He needs it, now more than ever.

“Hm?” You hum gently, combing your fingers through his hair, nails scratching tenderly at his scalp.

“I just don’t want to think anymore.” He breathes, responding more and more to the kisses placed against his lips.

The column of his throat is eagerly arching towards your lips in a silent invitation. At the sight of his swallow, tender flesh, you frown at the lack of color there.

“Your marks are gone.” You murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth

Yoongi swears he wants to cry. He's kept his distance all week, trying to make sense of his emotions, trying to perfect his composition. But now, with you here, touching him, loving on him, he realizes how desperate he is for you; for relief.

“Make new ones please...I just want to stop thinking...help me.” He practically keens his response but, he keeps it in check for the most part, not wanting you to consent for the wrong reasons.

You bring your eyes to his, holding his desperate gaze, a smirk beginning to play on your lips.

“How do you want me to help you?” You tease, encouraging him to articulate his desires.

His cheeks flush even more, his Adams apple bobbing as he attempts to swallow back his nerves.

He doesn’t know what’s come over him but, your tone compels him to his knees and, as his jean clad limbs touch the tile, he speaks, “You know...you know me, you know how to take care of me...”

The response goes straight between your thighs; his small voice, his display of respect, you can tell this is something he’s had on his mind or awhile and, after the week he’s endured, you conclude that he needs to let loose.

A finger is curled under his chin, directing his cat-like eyes up towards your own. You can tell he’s nervous but, the way he shifts eagerly on the floor tells you he’s more than ready for you.

“You think so?” You coo, thumbing over his chin, smirking down at him

He nods eagerly at the conclusion of your first sentence but, continues to nod throughout your teasing.

“Use your words...” You urge, tightening your grip on his chin, admiring how beautiful he is on his knees.

“Ye--...” His voice is already shot so, he clears his throat attempting to speak clearer, “Yes...”

Your teeth press into your bottom lip, as your hand moves from his chin to push his faded brown hair away from his forehead.

“You want me to call the shots so you don’t have to?” You’re taking your time to rile him up, knowing it will pay off for him in the end.

Another eager nod comes from Yoongi as he pushes against your hand, his doll-like lips going dry from his heavy breathing.

“Yeah...I trust you; I’ll be so good for you, I promise.” He vows, lips brushing against your wrist, his dark eyes never once leaving yours. “Please…”

You tug on his hair then, drawing a whimper deep from within his chest. Yoongi feels his nipples harden as the pain pricks deliciously against his scalp.

“You like this right? When I pull on it?”

“Yes.” He breathes, shivering as your fingers brush across his lips and, down over his neck.

“And...” You whisper, keeping your tone gentle as your hand wraps around Yoongi’s throat.

This causes him to exhale shakily, his cautious eyes widening like saucers as he stares up at you.

“Wh-…"

You attempt to finish your sentence but, Yoongi’s shaky voice beats you to it, his request tumbling clumsily past his lips.

“Fuck...please choke me...”

He sounds so weak and, yet so sure of himself at the same time. You two had just begun breaching your sexual interests but, stepping into true dominant/submissive roles is something you’ve yet to do.

Whatever is about to happen, is going to be completely new territory for the both of you.

The tightening around Yoongi’s throat makes him see stars; he feels like one of those cartoon characters that’s just been hit with a ton of bricks. Its intoxicating.

“Oh-” Yoongi’s voice is raspier underneath your grip, his dick plumping up painfully against the zipper of his jeans.

“You like when I choke you?” You coo, still holding his throat but, decreasing the pressure slightly.

He nods, gasping as you tighten your grip again, testing the waters. Yoongi can already feel the dampness in his jeans but, he doesn’t care, he wants so much more tonight; he wants you to ruin him.

“Use your words...” You remind him gently, urging him to open up as your free hand combs back through his hair.

He exhales shakily once again, “Yes...”

A fond smile is on your face then as you take a moment to run your fingers through his chestnut locks. You slowly urge him towards you so that he’s close enough to rest his chin against the center of your stomach. Yoongi stares up eagerly, awaiting instructions, his breathing uneven and, you take the small moment of silence to tug on his hair again. This causes his hands to come up and grip your outer thighs in desperation and, if he wasn’t already suffering in his jeans before, he definitely is now.

With a salacious smirk you slowly bend at the waist so you can brush your lips against Yoongi’s, holding his gaze all the while, “I need a safe word from you...can you think of one for me?”

Yoongi can’t think of anything aside from you at the moment along with his painfully hard dick threatening to bust out of his jeans but, he tries his best to wrack his brain for a suitable answer.

“Dragon.”

He scans your face for approval, hoping his choice was sufficient and, if you weren’t fulfilling the role of caretaker, you would be melting onto the floor right now.

“Dragon it is...” You smile, combing a hand through his hair again, resisting the urge to tug on it, “You use that word anytime you need to ok? And we’ll stop...”

Yoongi returns your smile, exhaling at the touch of your fingers, “Ok...”

“Good boy.” The words are spoken into his hair when you lean over to kiss the top of his head. His hands haven’t moved from the outside of your thighs and, at the touch of your lips, he squeezes them again, “Stand up for me.”

At your request, you move away from him, offering your hands as support. Yoongi looks at them tentatively before interlocking his fingers with yours and, slowly moving to his feet. Through the holes in his jeans, you can see how red his knees got from kneeling on the floor.

You want the rest of him to match...

“Come here...” You practically coo at him, curling a finger in your direction, beckoning him towards you. Yoongi never takes his eyes off of you as he takes the three steps necessary to reach you. As he stands before you, you keep his eye contact and, curl your fingers underneath the hem of his grey hoodie.

“Arms up.”

He obliges immediately, raising them high above his head, allowing you to slowly pull the material off of his body. Yoongi feels the hairs on his arms stand at attention as the cooler air of the studio hits his exposed skin. Without instruction you hook a finger underneath his chin and, silently bring his lips to yours. The two of you kiss, slow and sweet, taking time to lull deeper into one another. Your tongue slips in first, laving against Yoongi’s timid but eager mouth, as your hands begin slowly moving up the sides of his torso. A smirk is pushed into the kiss when Yoongi shivers at your touch, his whole body on fire for you.

“You trust me to take care of you right?” You murmur into his mouth and, not two seconds go by before he’s nodding. “You’re gonna be good for me?”

A half of a whimper slips out of Yoongi’s swollen lips, his hands come out to touch your waist as he nods again.

“Yes, I’ll be good...”

You smirk again, deciding that one of your goals tonight is to get Yoongi to feel more comfortable talking dirty to you. It’s a quality he possesses and, you can tell it’s something he’s into but, it takes a certain level of lust to send him there.

“Why are you gonna be good for me?” The question is spoken between a few kisses and, you can’t express the delight you feel when he’s cheeks go red again.

“Because-” His words are cut off as you slowly start to tickle your fingers over his ribs, the pads of your thumbs inching toward his erect nipples. “…. you deserve my respect. You deserve my obedience...”

Good answer.

“What makes me so deserving hm?” You coo against his neck, sucking gently against the sweet spot at the juncture of his collar bone. Before he can answer, you swipe your thumbs over his nipples. Yoongi swears he already feels like he’s going to pass out but, he does his best to answer coherently.

“All women deserve my respect but, you...” He breathes, his head falling back on his shoulders, exposing his skin to you,, his hips rutting forward as you continue brushing your thumbs over his nipples, “you’re the best woman I know...you always take care of me, you’re always so nice to me. I wanna give you everything I can, so I’m worthy for you.”

Yoongi is more than worthy enough for you but, given his history with insecurity, you can’t say his answer surprises you. However, if you weren’t melting into the floor before, you certainly are now.

“You are worthy angel, come here...” The whispered command brings Yoongi’s mouth back onto yours as he swears he could cry at the particular pet name you just chose.

Do you really think he’s an angel?

He can’t imagine why...

With your bodies pressed together and, your lips delicately tending to his, you speak again, initiating the rest of your plan, “Are you ready to play Yoongi?”

Another nod comes from the angel in question, his nose nudging against yours as he does,

“Mhm...”

God, you didn’t know you’d be this into his submission but, here you are, completely drenched and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

“Sit down on the chair for me, hands on the arm rests.”

He follows orders, sitting down on his desk chair, spreading his legs to accommodate the throbbing erection pushing against his zipper. His long fingers curl over the edges of the arm rests as his chest rises and falls with his increasing heartrate.

You watch him carefully, mulling over multiple options that will hopefully make him cum so hard he can’t think straight. The first move you make is removing your hoodie, baring your black lacy bra to him: an article of clothing you chose specifically because you knew he liked it.

The thing is though, Yoongi is no ordinary man. When he’s truly submitting, he does nothing without permission, not even look at you. Even as you step in front of him, Yoongi’s eyes stay glued to the floor but, the ever increasing motion of his chest gives away his reaction.

“Didn’t you miss me Yoongi? Why aren’t you looking at me?” You grin, knowing the answer already

He shakes his head, not wanting you to misunderstand him, “I missed you, so much, I just hadn’t asked permission to look at you yet. May I look at you?”

“You may.”

He doesn’t need further coaxing. He immediately brings his eyes up to your body, scanning over you eagerly, wincing as he feels his dick twitch in his jeans.

“So pretty...” He murmurs, eyes full of adoration, “thank you for letting me see you...”

“Don’t look away.” You demand softly, smirking in his direction as you slowly unclip your bra, revealing your breasts to him. As the cool air of the studio hits your sensitive chest, your nipples harden causing Yoongi to finally lick his lips.

He wants them in his mouth so badly but, he wouldn’t dare question your plan. He knows you’re going to do right by him.

“Jagi...” Yoongi pulls in another deep breath to calm himself, resisting the urge to gawk at you, “you’re so beautiful...”

You’ve moved in closer to him, standing between his thighs in just your leggings before dipping down to kneel on the floor.

As your nails slowly slide up his legs, you respond, “I wish you knew how beautiful I think you are...maybe then you’d be able to see what I see.”

Yoongi’s lips part in awe of what you just said, feeling very overwhelmed before the two of you have even started.

“You think_” He exhales, eyes fluttering with the sensation of your fingers inching closer to the inseam of his jeans, “…you think I’m beautiful?”

Your fingers tickle over his inner thighs before crawling over his unstable hips and towards his zipper. As you reach his erection, your eyes travel to his, catching a glimpse of his fucked out expression. His pupils are dilated, his lips are swollen, cheeks pink and puffy like fresh cherry blossoms, his fingers twitch on the arm rests; he’s growing desperate with anticipation.

“You are the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen Min Yoongi. I wouldn’t be caught dead on my knees for any other man…” You whisper, holding his gaze as you yank down his zipper, the motion causing a gasp to leave his lips. The relief is minimal but, Yoongi is grateful that his swollen dick finally has the room fully stand at attention.

You deserve his full attention.

“You’re beautiful…” Is all he manages, his ability to form coherent sentences slowly slipping away.

His hips are lifted at your instructions as you pull his jeans and boxers from his hips, leaving him completely exposed to you. Yoongi feels a little insecure, his got a bit of a tummy on him as he’s been skipping the gym and, eating nothing but takeout the past few months. He didn’t shave either and, he’s waiting for some sort of negative reaction from you but, instead he feels the sharp pull of arousal in his stomach as you start kissing up his thighs.

“I should punish you for the way you’ve treated yourself this past week…” You admonish before taking the tender flesh of his inner thigh between your teeth, sucking hard enough to make him squirm.

Yoongi’s breath catches as he winces from the pain, his thigh jumping away from the sensation, “I’m sorry…I’m really sorry.”

Your tongue laves over the battered flesh before you make your way to the other thigh, taking time to blow cool air over his engorged dick. He shivers whilst thinking of what he would give to be in your mouth right now but, he won’t beg. He won’t try and sway you in any direction; he wants your full control.

“I told you last weekend not to talk shit to yourself didn’t I? So you can imagine my surprise when I come in here tonight and, you’re doing just that…you don’t want to disobey me do you?” You coo, pouting your lips before sucking his skin back between your teeth, creating an identical mark on his right thigh.

“Ah-“ He whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut, feeling rather tipsy at the sensation of pain, “No…of course not. I want to listen…”

A dark chuckle leaves your lips as you start placing kisses up his thigh, a wicked sense of delight coursing when his dick twitches towards your mouth, “Oh he wants to listen now does he? Is it because my lips are so close to your dick?”

Yoongi grips the arm rests, his fingers slipping off due to the sweat created by his palms. Despite the cool temperature of the room, he feels like he’s on fire, he doesn’t think his ever been this turned on in his life.

“No, that’s not the only reason…” His hips jerk along with his stomach trembling when he feels your nails tickle their way over his hips, “I want to be good for you.”

As your nails conclude their teasing over his lower stomach, you let them rest against his hip bones as you ask your next question, “Mm, then you’ll sit there like a good boy while I have my way with you then won’t you?”

Before he can answer your question, a ragged whimper leaves his throat when you scratch your nails harshly across his soft pale skin, leaving aggravated lines of red as you do.

“Oh my fucking god…” He mumbles, eyes watering when his dick does the impossible and swells further, “I’d sit here like a good boy no matter what you wanted to do to me…”

He confesses, his faded chestnut hair sticking to his forehead, his eyes completely blown out with lust.

You prepare your nails to scratch him again and tickle them up the sides of his body, taking a moment to brush your fingertips over his pert nipples. Yoongi’s body is really sensitive but, his chest in particular always garnishes a special reaction from him. Your nails settle right where his heart is and, you can actually feel it pounding against his chest, “I want you to touch yourself for me…can you do that?”

Yoongi lets out a shaky breath and, once again you interrupt his answer by dragging your nails across his chest, digging in harder this time.

He actually feels his dick leaking at the sensation whilst his body arches off the desk chair, craving more of your touch.

“I have to go slow…I’m so hard right now, I don’t know how I’m gonna last….” He warns, his eyes shifting in uncertainty and, you take the time to admire how utterly innocent he looks.

Yoongi may be intimidating to those who don’t know him but, to you, with you, he is the softest man you’ve ever known.

But now isn’t the time for tenderness, you know what he needs.

He needs to be ruined.

So you’ll do just that…

Your hand comes out to wrap around his neck which elicits another gasp from his pink lips, his body going limp at your touch. You squeeze gently, just enough to slow the air circulation and lean in so your lips can brush against his.

“You’ll last because I tell you to last, because this dick belongs to me doesn’t it?”

Yoongi’s face is weak with pleasure as he nods eagerly, a small whimper leaving his lips, “Uh huh…”

A smirk forms on your lips as you squeeze his throat a little tighter, his dick jumping in response, “Say it…”

“My…my dick is yours jagi…” He gasps when you use your free hand to brush gently over his aching nipples, the sensation a huge contrast from what you’re doing to his throat.

“Your cum is mine…” You egg him on, dragging the pad of your thumb gently over either of his nipples.

“Ugh fuck…” He curses, his eyes locking onto yours and lull in and out of focus, “My cum is yours…everything is yours…”

Licking your lips, you loosen your grip slightly, giggling wickedly as he tries to reach for your lips, “You want me to hurt you while you jack off baby?”

Yoongi swears you must be sent from heaven, or maybe hell, either way, he’s dancing on the edges of euphoria at the moment. It’s like you know exactly what he’s thinking, he’s never known anyone who can anticipate his desires so well.

“Mhm…” He hums, the sound edging very close to a coo.

There is something that crosses your mind, something you hadn’t thought of before this began: was Yoongi capable of going into subspace? Because the glossy eyed expression, the yearning look, the pliant posture and slack jaw, everything about him looks like he’s heading in that direction.

“Yeah? You want me to hurt you really good?”

His mouth falls open as soon as you slide your cupped hand up his throat, your thumb brushing tenderly against his lips, “Yeah…please hurt me…”

Oh fuck, he’s right there…

“Suck…” You command gently, staring into his eyes, which have started to glaze over at your touch. He takes your thumb in his mouth, sucking eagerly, holding your eyes for approval, laving his tongue against the tip of it. “show me how you touch yourself baby…”

He nods, still sucking on your thumb before removing his sweaty hand down to his aching length. Yoongi’s eyes squeeze shut as he slowly curves a fist around himself, and, his leg twitches when he starts stroking his dick.

The relief is instant and, you feel the vibrations of his moans against your thumb. As he works himself up, you move away from him to kneel back between his knees.

His breathing is heavier, his toes are fidgeting against the floor but, his eyes refuse to leave yours, even as they threaten to close from pleasure.

You slowly tease your nails down his chest, over his ribs and hips, dangerously close to his dick, over his now bruised inner thighs and, all the way down to his ankles.

He brushes his thumb over his tip, a small whimper leaving his lips as his eyes squeeze close at the sensation. He’s already close, you’ve been winding him up for the past 45 minutes but, he holds on desperately, not wanting this to end.

“What do you think about when you touch yourself Yoongi?”

He takes another shaky breath and, does his best to swallow properly, despite his mouth being completely dry, “Lately, all I think about is you…I don’t even watch porn that often…”

Before you ask another question, you dig your nails into his calves and slowly begin dragging them up his legs. His whole body jerks in response, his hand faltering over his tip, he has to pull away for a moment, he almost came right there.

“ohmygod….” He keens, mostly to his self, his wide eyes looking away for a moment while he desperately tries to get a hold of himself.

“Oh but, you do watch porn? You’re cumming for other women then?” You tease and, Yoongi would panic that you’re actually upset but, the playful smirk on your face tells him that you’re just giving him a hard time.

“I don’t watch women…” He breathes, a ghost of smirk now playing on his own lips, “I watch men mostly, women in porn are annoying…they’re all annoying honestly…”

This makes you giggle but, you feel yourself growing wetter at the thought of Yoongi, getting off to men.

“So you think of me sometimes?” You’re still teasing him and, he knows you’re fishing but, he’s so into you he doesn’t care; he’d write a fucking thesis on you if he had the time.

He shakes his head, stifling a moan as you drag your nails over his hips when his hand reaches the tip of his dick; he really doesn’t know how he’s going to last.

“No…you don’t get it…” His breath is fucked and, his dick is so hard he wants to cry, it takes everything in him not to beg, “I think about you all the time…I’ve been thinking about you, ever since I came to your house that first time…”

Lust swirls deep in your panties; you don’t know how much longer you’re going to be able to do this either, his dick looks so good, hard, swollen and aching to be fucked. But you haven’t finished ruining him yet, you want him completely desperate before you give in.

“When I pulled your hair the first time?” You smirk, your hands travelling up his body once again as he nods, licking over his lips.

“Ye…yeah…that’s why I left so quickly, you made me hard…” He gasps again as your hand makes it back up to his neck, “…I…are you gonna choke me again?” His eyes look wary, almost frightened, the motions on his dick slowing again, “I don’t….jagi, I don’t know what to do…I don’t want to disappoint you but, if you…if you choke me again, I don’t…”

You smirk, tightening your hand around his neck before he can finish his sentence, “You’re gonna what baby?

“Oh fuck-“ He squeaks, his eyes starting to water when he squeezes over his tip, trying to halt his release, “Jagiya…I can’t…I can’t hold it, you have to stop…”

“Hold it, or I’ll tie you to this chair and leave you like this…” You hiss into his mouth, and his brow furrows in desperation but, his balls tighten further at your threat. The hand around his neck doesn’t cease its constriction and, his hand actually begins to move faster on his length.

His starting to learn…

“Good boy…don’t stop…” You kiss at his lips but, not long enough for him to respond to you, his whole body on fire and shivering at the same time.

Yoongi nods in determination, a shaky breath leaving his nose as he follows orders. He tenses however as you stand up, your left hand coming up to comb through his hair, which is matted against his forehead with sweat.

“Please…” He whimpers but, its not for permission to cum, you know exactly what it’s for.

Curling your fingers around the roots of his hair you tug hard enough to push his head back against the desk chair and, before he can even react, you use your other hand to tighten around his throat.

That’s it, that’s what breaks him.

Tears collect at the corner of his eyes as they widen like saucers, his mouth falling back open as he tries to cry out but, he’s too hoarse to do so.

“Y/N please…baby…baby please, pleasefuckme, pleasefuckme, I can’t…I need you...“ He’s completely lost it, he’s rambling, his eyes aren’t even in focus.

He isn’t even really looking at you but, you know you’ve got him, he’s made it there.

In less than ten seconds, he’s out of the desk chair and onto the pull out couch. He trembles beneath you; his hands reach up as if the lack of contact is painful.

Leaning down to him, you press a tender kiss to his lips to which he responds like a starving man.

“Please jagi…please I need you so bad, I’m sorry I need you, I need you…I really fucking need you…” He sounds like his about to cry and you nod, your tenderness returning just as quickly as it left, your panties pushed haphazardly off of your hips

“Hey…hey...I’m coming angel, I’m coming, just breath for me ok? I’m going to make it better…” You coo, pressing him gently into the squeaky mattress of the pull out couch, the cool sheets welcome against his hot skin.

He nods, not fully able to focus as he wraps his hands around your hips. You press another kiss to his lips before your final command is given, “As soon as I sink down onto you, I want you to cum ok? Can you do that for me?”

Yoongi’s bleary gaze finally locks onto your eyes, his body weakened with desire, “I’ll do anything for you…”

You can’t even recognize his voice, it’s so small, so weak and, so in…

You can’t say it.

Not yet.

But you can feel it, its bubbling right underneath the surface.

As soon as you sink down on him, you give him a few good strokes of your drenched heat before his whole body arches off the bed. Yoongi’s face is buried into your neck, his dull nails dig into your hips as he lets out a cry that shatters you.

You can feel how much he’s cumming as shot after shot of his release paints the inside of you. He’s cumming so hard that he starts crying, his silent whimpering enough to send you over the edge with him.

“don’t stop…don’t stop…” He cries into your neck, holding you so tight to him that it restricts your movements.

All you can do is nod as white hot pleasure takes over your senses, your orgasm just as intense given the events of the last hour.

Yoongi completely loses himself, he cums again, his hips glued to yours as he cries for you. Part of him would feel embarrassed but, he’s too fucked out to care. He’s too in…

Not yet.

He can’t say it, but it’s in his throat.

Its in his heart.

God, he’s never felt so good in his life, he never knew it could be this good.

“Y/N…” He croaks when your hips start settling down. His face doesn’t leave your neck but, he starts sucking gently on it, trying to ground himself.

He feels like he’s floating.

“Baby…” Yoongi practically coos, hands glued to your skin, still sniffling as his tears slowly come to a halt.

The smile that graces your face is brilliant and full of adoration. You slowly pull off of him, “I’m right here angel, I got you…”

You want to get him in a more comfortable position so you can hold him but when you try to pull away to do so, he panics, his glossy eyes widening in fear.

“No…no…” He tries to protest but, you kiss his forehead to reassure him

“Shh…I’m not going anywhere, I just want to hold you…come here for me…” You murmur, kissing his forehead again.

He’s suspicious, not thinking clearly but, he trusts you, not moving more than an inch away from your body as you shift the two of you to sit against the back of the couch. Yoongi scrambles to get closer to you, making himself smaller as he lays his upper half into your chest, tucking his face back into your neck.

“I got you baby boy, I got you…” You whisper, hoping the soft blue light in the studio will soothe him further along with gentle kisses pressed to his skin, “You did so good for me angel…”

Silent tears fall down his cheeks as he tucks further into you, “I did good?”

He checks again, feeling so vulnerable and, yet so safe at the same time.

You smile, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead, your nails gently combing his hair back, “You did amazing. You were so good for me.”

His small mouth curves in a dreamy smile, still trembling but, feeling slightly more grounded, “You keep calling me angel….you’re the angel…my angel.”

“You can’t steal my nickname…” You giggle, causing his small smile to turn into a gummier smile as he nuzzles your neck.

“So pretty…” Is all he can think of to say but, you know he’s talking about your laugh.

God, you feel like crying right now though, you could have never guessed that you could feel this strongly about another person.

When a comfortable silence falls over you, you take a moment to notice how banged up he really is. His body is decorated with pinks and purples, scratches, bites, a hicky or two; you really did a number on him and, you want to take care of his skin before it gets too uncomfortable.

“Yoongi? Baby, I need to put something on your scratches, I have cooling gel in my bag-“ You begin to say but, his eyes quickly widen again and, the same panicked look returns.

“Don’t…don’t go-“ He urges, holding you tighter.

You know it’s a symptom of him being in subspace, he doesn’t actually think your leaving but, a lack of contact with you makes him nervous.

“I’ll come right back, my bag is on the floor…” You assure him gently, pressing a kiss between his eyes.

His eyes flutter shut at your kiss and, his hands tighten on you one last time before, he kind of gets a grip on himself.

He knows he’s being a little unreasonable but, he’s never felt like this before, he feels intoxicated and so incredibly needy.

“Ok…” He reluctantly agrees

Another kiss is placed to his forehead before you move quickly to retrieve the gel from your purse. As soon as you sit back down with him, he immediately wraps himself around you, hiding away in your neck as you start to apply the gel to his skin. His breathing is beginning to even out as he melts into you, letting you take care of him.

Like you always do…

“How do you feel?” You whisper into his hair as you smooth the substance over his neck, which has reddened slightly.

“I feel high…” He muses, sounding a little bit more like himself.

His response causes you to giggle, “I’m that good huh?”

Yoongi smirks, kissing your neck slowly, “You invented sex…”

Another giggle bubbles over your lips, as you pull the sheet over Yoongi’s body, “Do you feel better then?”

“Mhm…” He hums into your neck, kissing up the length of it before finding your lips. A soft kiss is placed there before he speaks again, “I wish I could articulate better but, you fucked me stupid jagi…”

Smiling into the kiss, you comb a hand through his hair, scratching gently at the scalp, “Don’t worry about it, take your time, I’m right here if you need me…”

The two of you stay like this for quite some time, holding each other, as you slowly settle back down. Yoongi stays quiet for the most part, doing his best to center his thinking which proves to be quite easy as the only thing he can really think about is you.

A half an hour passes before he finally speaks up, feeling the need to explain something to you.

“I used to live here…” He murmurs, face still tucked into your chest

Your brow furrows at his statement, “Here? At the studio?”

He shakes his head, “It wasn’t always a studio, ten years ago it was a halfway house for troubled youth…”

The beating of your heart stalls but, as you open your mouth to respond, Yoongi continues, his voice stabilizing finally, “My parents are not supportive of what I do. When I was a teenager, we used to fight all the time about it. They tried to force me to stop but, I never listened. I snuck out to do music all the time and, started failing out of school. One night, my father came in and freaked out on me, he destroyed my lyric pages and, threw everything away. The next day, I came home from school and, they had kicked me out. My older brother tried to stop them but, they wouldn’t listen...”

Your chest feels tight as you try your hardest not to let your emotions overflow; you never knew how much Yoongi has endured.

“Sejin, the guy at the front desk, he’s a friend of my older brother,” He rasps, placing another kiss to your skin as a means to soothe himself, “he took me in with nothing but my old laptop and, the clothes on my back. My parents wouldn’t let me take anything. I finished school in the city and, ended up landing a scholarship at our university, that’s where I met Hobi and, reconnected with Namjoon. Once he found out what happened to me, he insisted I move in with him while I got my degree. The rest you already know…”

You hold him tighter, kissing his forehead for the 100th time, “I’m so sorry Yoongi, I didn’t know you went through all of that. You’re so strong for pushing towards your dreams despite everything being so hard for you…”

He smiles gently and the wise look has settled back into his eyes as he looks up at you, “You see why I get a little nervous sometimes now…I’m so worried that my parents are going to be right.”

Nodding, you thumb over his cheek, “I do but, please know that you’ve already proved your parents wrong. After everything you’ve endured, you still keep pushing and, as long as you keep dreaming, you’ll never fail…”

A sudden kiss is pressed to your lips then, which Yoongi turns slow and sweet.

Just like him…

“On my worst days, I tell myself that all of this will be worth it someday…” He whispers against your lips, continuing to kiss at them

“It will be, everything will pay off...”

“It’s already started to…ever since my classroom switched…” He smiles, brushing a piece of hair from your face.

Intense emotion blooms fully in your heart when he responds and, you have to shake your head to keep yourself from crying, “Does that mean you’ll be my date tomorrow then?”

He chuckles, his eyes brightening up significantly as he leans into your lips,

“Tomorrow and, any other time you’ll have me.”

if you let me, here’s what i’ll do: i’ll take care of you

562 notes · View notes

queerbutstillhere · 4 years

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Hi, honey!! I'm back on Tumblr hohoiii 😆 If you still accept prompts can I ask you for: Damian and Jonno's children (a boy and a girl, God knows why😶) are sent to the past and met their daddys who are recently dating. ((Please, make it extremely awkward, some Batfam too)) tysm😙

(Once again, thank ya for giving me a chance to work with these kiddos! I hope you like this!!)

The portal dumped them out in the middle of the air. Because of course it did.

The two screaming kid vigilantes grabbed at each other as they plumpted through the air. Zaina willed her fluctuating powers to kick in, and sure enough, the adrenaline caused the surge and she snatched her brother out of the air, slowing their fall.

"Oof! You're heavy!" She exclaimed, scowling down at him.

"I am not!" The younger teen, built like a rugby player, said with a scowl.

"Yes you are!"

She looked around, flying to the nearby roof and touching down on it, she "gently" dropped her brother to the graveled roof of the tall building.

"Where are we?" Malik asked, popping up and looking around.

"Ummm."

He was already activating his lenses, which were glowing blue now. He looked around, turning a full circle.

"I think we're in Gotham," Zaina asked, walking to the edge and looking down.

"Really? Did he just teleport us away."

"... No, look."

Zaina pointed across the street to billboard on the side of a building, one that had Bruce Wayne, and something about Wayne Industries.

"Oh my God," Malik exclaimed. "Sis. I think we were sent back in time."

Zaina and Malik Wayne-Kent were the children of Damian Wayne and Jon Kent, they had been adopted at 5 and 3, respectively, and had lived with their parents for thirteen years now. Both were born Arabic, but had met Jon during a crisis in their Homeland, their mother having been killed in it, and Jon took very quick steps to make sure the kids were okay, and not long after, he and Damian decided to adopt them.

Zaina was eighteen now, and yet still shorter then her brother. She was only 5'5", and fairly muscular from having done gymnastics almost her whole life. Her black hair was cut short in a shoulder length bob, and she had darker skin like her father. She had, a few months ago, been exposed to platinum kryptonite, and had thus gained the powers of Superman. Only they were still on the fritz. It made her wince to remember the weeks when her hearing was changing, and when her eyes evolved. The good news was she didn't need glasses. Her father had wanted to take them away, but Zaina had begged and begged and made full persuasive essays and finally convinced him to allow her a trial period.

Malik was only sixteen and but he was tall, and broad in the shoulders. He played lacrosse and worked out and ran and all those things, and yes, he was in a rugby league. He was already a hottie at sixteen, and Zaina could not count the amount of girls she had chased away from her brother. His dark hair, more brown then black, was kept short, shaved on the sides and just a little bit of fluff on top. He had no powers, just his wicked sharp intellect and skills with technology.

They had both become teen vigilantes a few years back, having adopted adaptations of some of the previous heroes in their family line. Zaina had become Robin, with a bit of a twist on the uniform, it was more solid black, with splashed of color here and there, her boots, her belt, her cape, her gloves. So on. Soon she probably would switch to a Super title when her powers fully developed. Malik had made his own name, Batboy, until he felt he had earned the Batman title from his father. His costume was a lot like the Black Bat costume, and his cowl didn't completely cover his head, just came up his neck and around his eyes, his hair sticking out the top, and the classic bat ears poking up from the sides.

Their parents had both stepped down from their vigilante rolls for the most part while they were raising the kids, but when the siblings had started sneaking out, they decided to pick the rolls back up so they could properly train them, and watch their backs until they were ready to go out. It's doubtful they ever thought this would happen.....

Their game plan was simple. Find Batman or one of their uncles. Explain. Get taken back to the batcave, and then to the Watchtower so Waverider or someone can send them back to their time.

They split up after Malik resynced their comms, going to opposite ends of the town. Zaina was flying, scanning the streets, listening for the sounds of her family. And then, as it tends to do, her powers just gave out. She screamed as she started falling, scrambling for her grapple gun, which Malik wisely made her keep. And then she landed on something with a small thunk.

"Hey there, you better slow down a bit, shouldn't jump without a grapple in hand."

She recognized that voice. It was a bit younger, a bit more innocent and lively, but she recognized it all the same. She twisted in her savior's arms, looking up at Superboy.

"Pops!" She exclaimed joyfully, throwing her arms around his neck and hugging him tightly.

She probably shouldn't have done that.

Jon chuckled nervously, keeping his hold on her.

"I think you have me mistaken for someone else..."

"Oh. . . No. It's a long story, we need to find ba- Robin, or errrrr....." She paused, considering how she should do this. "What year is it?"

"2019?"

"Okay. We need to find Robin."

".... Who are you?"

"I'm also Robin, but from the future."

Malik had similar luck. He had been poking around the narrows, secretly hoping to find Red Hood, when the screaming hit him. His sensors started going crazy seconds before he could hear it, and then he took off, running through the streets and weaving between cars and signs to reach the source.

He burst around the corner and found a full on gang street fight going down, a couple kids stuck in the middle.

"Hey!" He yelled, his voice projected slightly by his tech.

A couple people paused and turned to him. He grabbed his Bo staff, fully expanding it and hitting a button to send electrical currents through it.

"Back away from the kids."

One of them scoffed, stepping forwards.

"It's one of them batkids. Soak 'em, boys."

Malik easily knocked out the first two, flipping off the third to get back out of range of their bats and knuckles.

"Oh ho! He thinks he's hot shit!"

More thugs rushed at him, but Malik was used to this, he easily beat them all down. Until one got behind him, arms wrapping around his upper arms and squeezing. Another grabbed his Bo at the insulated section, preventing him from hitting anyone.

Then there was a thump and the person behind him let go. Malik reared forwards, headbutting the person in front of him. He judo flipped them quickly before turning back to find the kids. They were huddled against the wall. He took a running start and flipped over some thugs, ducking past others until he was at the kids. There were three total, two younger ones, and a teen, not much younger then him.

"Hi," he said with a smile, smacking another thug with his bo. "I'm going to get you children out of here okay?"

They nodded rapidly. Malik considered his options and then looked at the oldest.

"I need you to carry the smaller one."

She nodded, quickly getting him on her back piggyback style. Malik picked up the other kid the same way. Then he produced his grapple and aimed for the roof. Once it was hooked, he put away his baton, and grabbed the girl with his free arm. They quickly were yanked up and swung over the crowd of gang members to the end of the Street, where it was clear and safe. His shoulder complained greatly, but it was fine.

When he landed, set down the kids and turned around, everyone was gone. Except a vigilante. Robin. His baba.

He recognized his father instantly, having seen enough pictures to know, even with the significant difference.

"Oh thank God."

Robin eyed him warily.

"Who are you."

"I think we best wait for-"

His sensors beeped in annoyance at the detection of two Kryptonian's. He turned and found his sister and a much younger version of his pops landing, Zaina on Jon's back.

"Sis! Are you okay?!" He exclaimed, ditching Damian to run to her. She jumped off and ran over, meeting him and grabbing his face, scanning him over.

"I'm fine! I heard all the fighting!"

"I'm okay, did your powers give out again?"

"Yes! I was up four stories and they dropped and-"

"I told you not to get that high!" Malik protested.

"Hey! Don't lecture me!" Zaina glanced to the side and froze. "You found Baba?"

"Yeah."

"Are we going to tell them?"

"What else do you have in mind?"

"Doesn't that break time travel rules?"

Malik gave his sister an annoyed face.

"No- God, that's not- no, Z, no."

"Excuse me. We have questions," Jon said, stepping up.

"Police are almost here," Malik shot back, the lenses of his mask slightly blue. "We'll talk after."

After they cleared things up with the police, they headed to the batcave, and Malik immediately felt more relaxed in the familiar, yet older interior. He didn't hesitate to pull his mask off, looking around, noting the differences.

"Robin what is this?"

He glanced over to see Batman and immediately went still.

Bruce had died with they were young, they had barely gotten to know him, and Malik especially had very few memories of him... Zaina, on the other hand, gave a sob like noise and smacked her hand over her mouth. Everyone looked at her, confused.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, composing herself. She too reached up and took her mask off.

"You would like an explanation?" Malik questioned, even as he tapped at the screen attached into his glove.

"We would," Damian responded, eyeing him warily.

"I'm Malik Wayne-Kent, this is my sister, Zaina Wayne-Kent, and we're from the future."

Silence hung over the cave after his words and Damian looked thoroughly shocked.

"I'm sorry," Jon said, speaking up. "Did you say, Wayne-Kent?"

"Yes."

Damian opened his mouth, shut it once, and then spoke. "Please tell me you are Drake's children?"

"Afraid not," Zaina said with a head shake. "You're our baba."

There was another several beats of silence, and then Bruce seemed to put two and two together.

"And your other parent is..... Jon?"

Malik nodded. "Pops."

"Which makes me your grandfather."

Another nod from Zaina.

"You're kidding me. If you're joking right now I'll-" Damian clenched his jaw and looked up at Jon.

"Wait, are you two.... What half of 2019 is this?" Malik asked. "Have you not started dating yet?"

Bruce opened his mouth, looking at his son, and then back at his future grandchildren.

"Oh, dear," Zaina said softly, leaning into her brother. "I don't think they have."

"Oops."

"Wait so you're telling me we get married?!" Jon exclaimed, shocked.

"Uh, well in our timeline you do. When we got spit out here, we created a separate time line from ours."

"And. She . . . She has powers," Jon said, pointing at Zaina.

"I was given them by Platinum kryptonite," Zaina explained. "You wanted to take them away, baba, but I managed to convince you otherwise."

"Sounds like something you'd do," Jon said, nudging Damian.

"Shush, Jon, this is important. We have to get them back to their timeline before we change anything else accidentally."

Bruce was sitting there in silence and then he looked to his son.

"Damian. Are you two dating?"

Damian winced slightly. "Just a few weeks ago...."

"... Okay. I'm going to go prep the jet. We'll head to the watchtower."

The four watched him walk away. Then Zaina looked at Damian.

"It's really odd seeing you guys do young," she said, smiling lightly.

"I imagine so... We really let you two be vigilantes?"

"You didn't really have a choice. I hacked into the cave and then we snuck out every night until you decided to just train us."

Damian and Jon didn't quite know what to do with their children, just kinda awkwardly looked at them.

Malik finally turned and walked away, over to the dino. "Man, this thing is so old."

"Okay, you young pup," Zaina said with a laugh, following after.

"So whose all what in this time line?" Zaina asked, looking over to Damian and Jon, who were whispering softly.

"Pardon?" Damian asked in a cold tone she wasn't used too.

"Uncle Dickie, he's.... Nightwing?"

Jon nodded, his arm was around Damian now.

"Dick's Nightwing, Jason is Red Hood. Cass is Black Bat, Barbara is Batgirl slash Oracle, Steph is Spoiler, and Tim is .... Drake," their pops explained. "Obviously we're Superboy and Robin, and Bruce is Batman."

"Bruce is dead in your timeline isn't he?" Damian asked, walking away from Jon and torwards them.

They exchanged a look, and then Malik nodded.

"There was an accident.... No one could stop it. I'm sorry," he said softly.

Damian shook his head, gently hugging Malik.

"No. I'm sorry. How old were you?"

"I was only five, Zaina was eight."

"I remember him more then Malik," Zaina offered, looking sad now.

Malik, hugging his baba back, looked up to Jon, who looked contemplative.

"But, again, we accidentally changed your time line, so that may not happen. Just like you two may not get married, and you may not adopt us."

"... As far as I'm concerned those seem like fixed points in time," Jon said.

Damian sighed and pulled back, giving Jon a look, and then he hugged Zaina.

"Who am I? In your time?"

"First and foremost your our dad," she answered. "But you're also a businessman and Batman. Once Malik is old enough, you're going to give him Batman."

Damian nodded as he considered this, but went silent, stepping back to stand next to Jon.

They had a very awkward flight to the Watchtower, Zaina and Jon quietly chatting about their powers, and what Zaina had developed so far. Malik sat next to Damian, silently working on his tech, as always. He was obsessive about keeping it updated, always changing the programing. Some of his features didn't work due to the lack of connection to the Wayne Satellites of the future, but enough of them did that he could still preform scans, bouncing off nearby cell phone towers.

"What's that?" Damian asked, watching him tap at the screen on his forearm.

"It's my control panel."

"For what?"

"My OTL."

"What."

"It's. . . Optical lenses in my mask, look."

Malik held it up, flicked on the blue lenses and then turned, looking at Zaina. On his screen, a digital display of a file popped up.

"I can also do this."

He triple tapped it and it was projected up into a hologram.

"Oh."

Zaina leaned forwards, arms on her brothers shoulders. "Malik's a genius. He programs all his tech himself. Even uncle Tim and Aunt Babs can't keep up with him."

Malik flushed, looking down. "I just like programming."

"You'd never guess it, from his public appearance, but he'd a major nerd. Jock Nerd type."

"Okay Prep Jock, shut your mouth."

Zaina giggled.

"So, what are you two's vigilante names?" Bruce asked from the cockpit.

"I'm Robin," Zaina answered, looking up to her grandfather. "But pops and I have agreed once my powers and are more consistent, I'm going to take up another name, Supergirl or something."

"And I'm Batboy, for now."

Bruce nodded slightly.

"I know you guys have a lot of questions, but I am afraid we won't be able to answer some of them," Malik said. "There's somethings I don't dare mess with, timeline wise."

"We understand," Bruce answered. "this isn't our first time messing with time travel."

The rest of the flight was awkward silence. They got to the watchtower and confused everyone they talked to.

"Where's Waverider?" Bruce asked J'onn, who was on duty at that moment.

"He has not been around for several-"

There was a burst of sparks and then suddenly Waverider appeared in front of them. He gave Malik and Zaina a startled look. They waved.

"You two are much bigger," he remarked.

"Well, that's what happens when you aren't hoping around the time stream," Zaina said with a grin.

"Your father's are probably waiting for you," he said, walking over to them. "Let's go."

"Wait!" Zaina backed away, and then spun to Bruce. "I know you don't know me. But... Can I just give you a hug?"

Bruce chuckled and nodded, opening his arms. "Come here."

She ran over, crashing into his body, hugging him tightly. Bruce gently hugged her, rubbing her back.

"It's okay, I don't know what happens, but I understand," Bruce said softly, kissing her head.

"I love you, grandpa," she murmured softly.

"And I can not wait to meet you again, little one."

Zaina pulled away, reaching up and adjusting her mask. Bruce looked to Malik and held open his arms. Malik immediately gave in and ran over, hugging him. They exchanged no words, just hugged. And then Malik stepped back, and Waverider grabbed onto both of them.

"Goodbye, and thank you," Zaina said to the younger versions of their fathers.

"Bye! Be safe!" Jon said with a grin.

And then they were gone.

They appeared back in their time, right in front of their fathers at the batcave. Damian jolted slightly, and then raised an eyebrow.

"Waverider?"

"Hey, Damian. Jon."

"What's up?" Jon asked, setting down his cup of tea.

"Oh, not much, found your kids in 2019. Figured you might like them back."

"Indeed we would."

"Well, see you around."

Waverider disappeared again. Malik sighed and pulled off his mask, walking forwards and hugging his baba.

"It's been a weird day, and I'm ready for bed. Good night baba, good night pops. I love you," Malik said, heading towards the locker room.

"Love you too, kiddo," Jon called after him.

They looked at Zaina. "So what happened?"

"I'll explain over some hot cocoa and smores."

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