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honeyabyss · 3 years

Text

Different ways to say I Love You (minus Luke)

Lucifer:

Lucifer isn't the best at saying what he actually feels due to his pride getting in the way, but he makes it up with small gestures

he is very observant and often knows what you need before you know it

putting on the fireplace in his study when he notices you start to rub your hands or shift your legs to warm them subconsciously

refilling your cup/glass while he pours something himself

"You should have dressed better, I can see you're shivering..."

his snarky side comments might sound like he's annoyed, but he actually cares and worries

he will most definitely put his cloak around your shoulders and keep you close to him with a hand on your waist

he's conflicted between staying subtle and showing you off all the time

"Aren't they looking amazing today? Haven't you stared enough yet? You're making them uncomfortable!"

when you're in private he becomes more open and affectionate, but still tries to play it down

him moving with his work away from his work desk to the small coffee table, sitting side by side with you, just to have you close

when he's feeling stressed he tends to intertwine his fingers with yours, seeking the comfort and familiarity of you

Lucifer tries to give you the same he feels when he is with you comfort, peace, a place to hide from the rest of the world

"You are my save haven! I don't always have to be at my best when I'm with you!"

Mammon:

"Hey! Look what I've brought you home. Ain't I the best?!"

small gifts are a regular occurrence with the Avatar of Greed, which don't always have to be the most expensive, extraordinary or thoughtful ones

"I was on the way home when I saw this and thought of you...you needed this right?"

it could have been the most ridiculous thing like a single paperclip, but he'd be so proud to have noticed and remembered you were having troubles organizing your papers yesterday

him being a tsundere makes it hard for him to openly admit or show his love for you sometimes, his thoughts are full of you and he is constantly complementing you and how much he wants to hold you in his arms or kiss...but actually vocalizing or holding and kissing you seems to be way harder

though that doesn't hold him off to keep you close and hold hands in front of others, you're his human and everyone shall know, you're his and his alone, they'd be mad to try and steal you away

as his sin is Greed, hoarding stuff happens often, most of the times he sells them to be able to get money, but every single thing you'll give him will hold a special meaning in his heart, will show off your gifts to brag

but material love isn't the only thing he can give, he'll also gladly give you all his time

he'll randomly invite you to go take a drive with him, just get in the car and go, no set destination, just Mammon and you away from his brothers and all the others

when you're alone he'd still be nervous, but cuddling will happen a lot, though he is always blushing a bright red

"If I could choose to have one treasure in my whole life, I'd choose to only treasure you!"

Leviathan:

being the Avatar of Envy, he is quick to loose his temper when you're talking or even dare touch other people, he'd be rather alone with you, but that doesn't always work, so being open and mindful about his sin is a must

"Soo what did you two talk about? Not that I mind...but you can also talk about everything with me, you know that right?"

he knows that his social skills aren't the best and that he doesn't know about to many normie topics, but he'll try his best to listen to you and come up with responses and ways to keep the conversation going

he wants to make sure you know he loves you so badly, but all he knows about love is from animes or games, so he often tries to recreate romantic scenes only to get thoroughly embarrassed

"d-d-don't laugh! This i-i supposed to be ro-romantic...."

he tries to keep you close to him as much as he can when you're outside

he knows how anxiety inducing it can be for him, when someone suddenly touches him, so he always asks you first, as embarrassing it is to ask you to hold hands or kiss, he feels better knowing you want this too

when he is playing his games, he dislikes it when you disappear out of his vision, wanting to make sure you're still there and letting you know he hasn't forgotten about you even though he is currently concentration on his gaming, he'll keep you in his lap with a furious blush on his cheeks and he might see the game over screen more often but it's definitely worth it

"You make me overcome my weaknesses, just give me time and I'll make you happy!

Satan:

"The weather is nice...do you want to take a walk with me?"

Satan enjoys spending his time with you in any way possible, a simple walk, reading sessions, visiting your favourite places, discovering new cafés, exploring galleries and museums, as long as you're around he is open to try anything

lazing around in his room cuddled up next to you with a good book will stays his favourite though, he has you for himself and it feels reassuring to know you stay with him even on the normal and eventless days

Satan isn't too handsy, but he does keep your hand in his wherever the two of you are, even if you only making your way to the kitchen, he is not exactly jealous just happy to call you his and show it

the subtle intimacy of handholding speaks volumes to him, to others it may seem like the most ordinary couple thing, but he likes to experiment and if his stupid idea of only holding 2 fingers makes you laugh then it was a full success to him

no matter how much control over his sin he has sometimes he breaks too, after getting out all his anger, he tends to be exhausted and feels vulnerable, he'll just sit down with your hands intertwined and his head resting on your shoulder, seeking comfort and affection

"Have you smiled yet? I smile every time I think of you!"

Satan will leave small notes to make your day or send you messages on your DDD when he can't be around you

"Did I ever tell you that you feel like home to me? I hope I can be your home as well!"

Asmodeus:

so many praises and compliments, like you can just sit there looking at your phone and Asmo just coos

"You look sooo pretty!~ let's take a picture together to remember this moment!"

he will take a lot of pictures of you and him, just to look at for himself when he misses you, to show off to his brothers and Solomon, or to the whole Devildom through posting it on Devilgram

he simply enjoys to look at you, though it always ends in a warm hug , kisses and praises

he may not be very poetic or thoughtful with his touches, but he always gives it his all, some feelings he just can't describe in words so he just holds you close to show you his feelings

spa days, shopping tours and going into the club happen often, though he understands if you're not up to it some times, but he will whine and demand to spend you day differently with him

he can't help it he wants to spoil you and show you off, he's is almost never jealous, rather proud even when someone flirts with you, that doesn't mean he'll give you away

"Come here, let me just hold you. You fit perfectly into my arms..."

as the Avatar of Lust, physical touch means a lot to him, not only in the sexual way, but most in importantly in the way of craving affection, he wants to be hold and to hold you, give him all your attention and he'll be happy

"Thank you for staying and accepting me!"

Beelzebub:

sleepily walking through the hallways into the kitchen to keep Beel company while he has his midnight snack and just sitting next to him talking about your day

"Thank you for staying awake with me, do you want me to get you food as well?"

with Gluttony as his sin, food is big part of his daily life, but he doesn't just eat to satisfy his hunger, but also because he enjoys the food, no matter how hungry he is, he'll offer you even the last piece to make you happy

sharing new food and old favourites of his alike, Beel likes to share his food with you, as he feels less hungry in your company anyway

seeing you happy and full makes him happy and full as well, so he puts you first most of the times, letting you choose what you want and going along with your preferences

"Anything is fine with me, you can choose for us."

Beel is also very active, playing Fangol, training and etc, he often invites you to train with him or tries to teach you new stuff, if you don't want too that's fine as well, you can watch and he may try to impress you a little bit, but he won't train much when you're around wanting to rather spend time with you

bear hugs. just you walking basically anywhere and Beel suddenly hugs you tight against his chest, nuzzling your face and having a huge grin plastered on his face

his affectionate hugs and kisses come out of nothing, surprising but welcome, some times he forgets his strength and you'll have to remind him, he'll hold you very carefully then asking if this okay

"I feel complete with you, so just stay by my side!"

Belphegor:

"Lay down with me, I nap better with you at my side!"

obviously nap time with lots of cuddling, he just drapes himself over you, holding you close and sharing his warmth with you...if you're lucky you'll even get a small goodnight kiss, but only if he's in the mood

Belphie is a bit too straightforward with his words and sometimes ends up being a bit mean when he doesn't really want to, so in crucial moments with you he tends to become quiet and seek out to hold and hopefully show you his feelings

Belphie isn't handsy but he loves to cuddle, he may not always hold your hand when taking a walk but as soon as you two sit down he'll hug you close without saying a word

when he finds you sleeping somewhere without him, he is a bit hurt at first but he recovers quick, he'll make sure you're resting comfortably, the pillow is soft enough and that the blanket keeps you warm, even going to the length to bring you his own blanket if fell asleep anywhere but you're room, without a doubt he'll feel tired after taking care of you and will fall asleep right next to you

"Sleeping without me...unbelievable...I'll just have to squish myself next to you then.."

his other passion stargazing always ends up with him hugging you and telling you about the different constellations and it's stories until you fall asleep...only when he is sure you're dreaming he dares to run his fingers through you hair and lowly hum a lullaby into the otherwise silent night

"Let's dream our life together and promise to make it true one day!"

Diavolo:

as the prince of Hell, Diavolo only ever knew people who treated him with respect, always leaving him to feel lonely and out of place, but then you came and you weren't scared neither did you treat him like a prince, you made him your friend and soon more

with you he feels finally complete and he tries to show you his appreciation and affection any free moment of his time

he'd buy you anything you want not caring about the price, but please tell him that a small and thoughtful gift makes you just as happy as anything else

being with you always has him giddy and bursting with love, he can't hold back and will shower you in attention or at least watch you do your thing

"You're looking radiant my love! I can't believe you're mine!"

similar to Beel he has these affection attacks where he'll just suddenly have the urge to hug you and shower you in kisses

being prince requires a lot of paper work, which he dislikes, when you're around he'll indulge himself in a few more breaks than he should, ending in him having to work overtime much to his dismay

"Will you stay up waiting for me at home?"

He knows it's a selfish thought, but he loves the feeling of coming home to you and getting greeted, he feels at peace when you're there and wait for him

"I'll never have to feel lonely again, when I have you!"

Barbatos:

as a butler time isn't something he has much of, so he some times feels like he can't give you enough, he'll try to meet as often as possible but often it's only for an hour or so a day

"Do you need anything else? More tea? Anything?"

He'll probably be stuck in his butler role and try to serve, completely disregarding himself, just grab him and make him sit down

Barb isn't used to physical touch and feels less comfortable to hold you in public, handholding is the maximum for him, he probably needs some time to get used to the more affectionate things

but when in private gentle touches, soft hugs and small kisses are his thing, just small reassuring stuff while you two relax and talk about daily life

he is more of a listener and he enjoys listening to your voice, it's one of his comfort things, hearing your voice means you're safe and that helps him keep calm a lot...he may not show it, but on the inside he is always worried for you living in between demons, he's on of them he knows how dangerous it can get

phone calls while he works happen more and more often as your relationship progresses, the need to see you gets stronger, but he can't just leave work, so you'll talk over the phone

"I missed you so I had to call. How is your day?"

night-time is his favourite, no work, no on watchers, just you two and your love for each other, if only it could be always like this

"One minute with you feels like eternal bliss, imagine our happiness if you'd stay with me forever!"

Solomon:

Solomon has watched many people die in his life, so he got used to not getting attached too much, falling in love with you wasn't planned, but he can't help feeling clingy with you now

he'd play it down, aloof as he always seems, but on the inside he is screaming at you to not go at the end of the day, just one more hug, one more kiss, maybe stay over the night?

he'd never say it out loud and every time he does say something affectionate something teasing or a 'just kidding' follows, scared he might seem too clingy

"You're my everything, without you I feel like I'm suffocating...just a joke I'm breathing fine, see?"

he's always touching you in some way, holding your hand, arm around your shoulder, his hand on your waist, back or knee, whatever he just wants to feel the warmth of your skin telling him you're still there

he has lived through so many human lifetimes and experienced so much, he's happy to share all the good stuff with you and show you the most wondersome places in all three realms

the bad stuff though he keeps to himself, guides you away and hopes you'll never experience it

"Hey! Surprise I was close by and I thought we could take a walk?"

Solomon loves spending his time with you in whatever way, just whisk him away to whatever activity you'd like, surprise dates are his favourite, he doesn't want to plan out his whole life

"Now is my favourite moment with you. Why? Because I'm with you!"

Simeon:

Simeon as an author has his way with words, being able to spin them just right so every moment will become perfect, but he's more used to writing than talking and he'll use that to his advantage

"Even in the darkest of nights, your beauty lightens the room!"

expect love letter, sweet notes and poems written by him, hidden your schoolwork, waiting for you on your desk in RAD, on your pillow at HoL, anywhere he can sneak them to he will

and trust me he'll get so happy when he finds out you kept every single one of his writings

he also loves cuddles but only in private, in public he'll restrain himself to simple handholding or guiding you through the streets with your arms linked together

he enjoys to spoil you with attention, doing whatever you want, often it leads to cooking where as Luke likes to join in too, long walks, reading sessions, late night movies and cuddles, or even just long conversations about everything and anything you two can think of

"My lamb, may you come over and help a poor author who has lost his inspiration to write?"

when he is stuck with his writings he likes to take a break with you and hold you tight in his arms listening to your suggestions until he feels inspired again, no pressure though he can keep writing any time he doesn't have to come up with something on the spot, just distracting him for a bit works too

"I may have found paradise in your arms tonight, do you think your heart may be so kind to let me stay?"

#obey me swd #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #swd obey me #obey me #obey me beelzebub #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me solomon #obey me simeon

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stetervault · 3 years

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Hiii! Been delving into Steter now, in the year of our lord 2021, even though I never really did when I was active in the fandom years ago and I was wondering if you'd have some longfic recs for the ship? Like, fics that are Classics(TM)? But happy endings! And I'm not super into those in which Stiles is still underage 😬 do u have any recs? Thanks!

Welcome to the Steter fandom! I definitely have some long fics to rec, some of them are super old lol, and I'll stick to ones around 20k or over, and most of them are finished. And hmm, considering the ship, and a lot of fics like to start off in season 1 where Stiles is still technically a teenager, I'll try to limit these to ones with Stiles being at least 16/17 before anything starts happening, and only 18+ if there's explicit content. I hope that's okay.

drowning in the sea of you by Corpium

Beacon Hills was perfect for Stiles growing up, but now, with werewolves, hunters, and an anxious best friend running around, it's turning into a place too chaotic for an empath like Stiles to handle alone. And pain killers can only go so far.

Wake Me Up by ToAStranger

Stiles has been in a coma for six years. Now he's awake.

Tremors by Corpium

(Stiles has a taste for him now. All Peter needs to do is wait.)

Surviving Peter and the Zombie Apocalypse by Nopennamesleft

Its the end of the world and Stiles has run out of luck. He saves a werewolf from certain death. Will they begin to rely on each other to survive or will the wolf just eat Stiles for a midnight snack?

Bite Down by EclipseWing

In which Stiles is forced to survive the zombie apocalypse with a sociopathic murdering werewolf for company.

as you are by veterization

Stiles runs straight into a tree and suddenly, things are... different. Namely, he's in a world where Peter Hale is his boyfriend.

Call My Name by KouriArashi

After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.

Devil of Mercy by KouriArashi

Peter's heard people talk about what it felt like when they saw their mate for the first time, from those who actually believe in the mystical bullshit. Like a magnet, like gravity. Peter just feels... sharply curious.

Whiskey is My Kind of Lullaby by taylorpotato

Peter is a simple saloon owner on one of the outer planets between the Aaru Belt and the Olympus Galaxy. He’s done with trouble. Done with adventure. So fucking done with rustlers. That is, until a cute young outlaw named Stiles wanders into his bar. Peter has this problem where he can’t seem to resist charming narcissists (perhaps because they remind him of himself). And when said narcissists turn his life upside-down, the worst part is he’s not even that upset about it.

Proposing To Strangers by moonstalker24

At the end of a strained relationship, crime novelist Stiles chooses to hide from the world inside a bar with far too many motorcycles outside it for comfort. Here he'll meet the man of his dreams, eat food and propose marriage, all within the first five minutes.

Peter doesn't know who this kid is, but he's cute and looks like he could use a break. So he feeds him. He's not expecting a marriage proposal, but with what comes after, he doesn't really mind.

Stiles Stilinski, Disaster Chef by Guede

The zombie apocalypse forces Stiles to learn how to cook.

The Will by Guede

We are gathered here today for the reading of Gerard Argent’s will.

On the Importance of Lunar Influences in Gardening by Guede

“Oh, it’s you again,” Stiles sighs. He puts down his basket and drops the bunch of onions into it, and then dusts off his hands. “Can’t you get your own strawberries? I mean, I have it on good authority that wild strawberries? They’re a thing. They exist. They’re out there.”

“But Stiles,” says the werewolf dangling by one foot from the tree, sticky red smears around his mouth and all over his fingers. “Your berries are so juicy, so ripe. Those ones in the woods are mere passing indulgences compared to the royal feast you have in your garden.”

Genii loci Stiles and his father run a community garden, and it’s all good, except for the werewolf who keeps sneaking over the fence to raid Stiles’ strawberry patch (and the hunter who’s constantly hanging around his father).

Runes and all kinds of things by FeelingsDusk (WIP)

Enough is enough. Stiles is tired of being always a last choice when he always tries to do his best for his precious people, so they better get their act together or face being left behind.

The things in the Argent's basement get nearly fatal, the Sheriff finds about the supernatural, Allison can have a wicked, wicked mind and Peter Hale appears to be everywhere.

Oh, and Stiles can't seem to stop breaking the laws of physics with his magic.

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

Out Of The East, Never See The Sun Rise by neglectedtuesday

In the beginning, there are three absolutes.

One. Stiles is a god, forged of starlight and collapsing galaxies and he is eternal.

Two. Peter is human, fragile bone and viscous blood and he is temporary.

Three. Stiles and Peter are in love; love that claws its way inside one’s heart like fish hooks; all encompassing love that is beautiful but dangerous.

Stiles is a god. Peter is human. They love each other.

Three absolutes.

You Had Me at Canapes by LadyArinn

Stiles doesn't mean to sneak into the Hale wedding, and he certainly doesn't mean to have cliche coat-room sex with the bride's uncle, but what had happened, happened, and it wasn't like he could just leave. At least, not until he got to have some of that cake.

Infinite Space by DiscontentedWinter

Stiles needs Peter's expertise to help stop the latest threat to Beacon Hills. And, as the pack falls apart around him, he might even need Peter for more than that.

Hook, Yarn, Sinker by pprfaith

Stiles is happy with his store, his hobbies, his friends. Peter's just trying to figure out how to raise his nieces and nephew without fucking them up too badly.

Paths cross.

Open Wounds by Guede

Talia got out of the fire with Peter, but everyone else died. Years later, they’re still struggling with injuries, but they’ve at least settled in with oddball werewolf Stiles. And then other werewolves start showing up. Familiar ones.

Bittersweet Creek by Guede

When Stiles finally steps off the westward trail to California, he’s the last of his pack. He starts building a den, but then he finds a dying man next to a burnt-down house and it turns out he’s not really much of a settler, after all.

For Great Justice! by Green

Stiles is a vengeance demon, drawn to Peter just as he's waking from his catatonia.

"Whoever did this? We will make those fuckers suffer. I promise you."

Bone Deep by ShippersList

A body in the woods, a mate, and a long-awaited revenge.

Peter had no idea how his life would change when he followed the strange pull in his chest.

Love What is Behind You by KouriArashi

Basically what it says on the label. Hunger Games type fusion. Stiles doing way better than anyone anticipates. Peter finds him intriguing. Ruthless, devious assholes working together to ruin bad guys, as the Steter ship is meant to be.

Soothing the Burn by Therapeutic_Steter (WIP)

Peter is burnt out and breaking down. Stiles notices and offers him solace, along with the one thing he wants most: Pack.

Til Death by Bunnywest

“How long do we have to find him someone?” Stiles asks. “Two weeks,” says Derek, eyebrows pulling down even further. The fierceness of his expression tells Stiles just how concerned he is. “He marries, or he goes to the camps. And you know what your father told us,” Scott reminds her. The camps……aren’t camps. Peter either finds a wife, or he dies.

Ink Blossoms by Triangulum

"So, you're going to ruin your niece's baby shower with flowers in the wrong color?" the florist, Stiles, asks when they reach the counter. He pulls out a binder and starts flipping through it.

"Not ruin. Mildly inconvenience," Peter says.

"Right, messing with a hormonal pregnant woman seems like a great plan."

"To be fair, her fiance and the father of her baby is my ex-boyfriend," Peter says. "And we weren't broken up when they started 'dating'."

Stiles looks up at him in surprise. "And you're still getting her flowers?" he asks.

"It's under duress, I assure you," Peter says. He absolutely wouldn't be here if his alpha hadn't ordered it.

"Well, shit, yeah, let's get you some purple revenge flowers," Stiles says.

After You by FlyAwayMeow (rjaejoo)

It’s true that sometimes what you want the most, you can’t have and that you’ll miss what you once had all along when it’s finally gone.

After breaking his engagement to Chris, Peter heads to New York to start over. He meets Stiles, a young author at his publishing house who helps him piece his confidence back together. When tragedy strikes, he discovers how to finally let go of his past and have the family and future he's always wanted with the pieces already in his life.

love me lights out by veterization

Stiles and Peter get snowed in together. (Or: what happens when you accept phone calls from people you haven't spoken to in over five years.)

Uncle Peter Doesn't Date by Mellow (SweetCandy) (WIP)

“Oh don’t lie, you love it.” Peter purred and winked at his newest arm candy, who spluttered for a few seconds, before blushing like a 16 year old virgin. Considering how young he looked Laura wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually 16. “Shut up Peter!” Bambi squeaked, still flushing and averting Laura’s eyes. “Well, anyways, I’m,” ‘Bambi’. “Stiles. Stiles Stilinski, pleasure to meet you- again.” Stiles smiled sheepishly, obviously nervous. Stiles Stilinski. Definitely a stripper then.

Or: Laura was prepared for whatever piece of armcandy her uncle had decided to show up with, what she hadn't been prepared for was Stiles Stilinski...her uncle's boyfriend.

Under the Songbird’s Wing by mia6363

Captivity easily destroys the will of escape. It can break the fiercest of animal. It can strip the most regal man and woman down to nothing but animal needs.

Captivity can, if met with unwavering determination, shape a person into something unimaginable.

Stiles is sixteen when he's captured. Stiles's first thought is, "I won't die here."

Baby Whisperer by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

“What. Is that.”

Scott looked up at him, apprehensive.

“Her name’s Lily.”

Stiles stared at the fuzzy head peeking out of the papoose.

“Her. Her name. That is a real live human baby. Oh my God-”

“Actually I don’t know if she’s human?” Scott said with a confused frown. “Becca didn’t say.”

“Who the fuck is Becca?!”

Sacrificial Lamb by Bunnywest

The Alpha has a scruffy beard, unkempt hair and dazzling blue eyes. The scar on his face is raised, running down his cheek like a twisting, gnarled rope. Stiles knows that it came from the blade of Kate Argent herself, and that the Alpha got it fighting in the battle where Kate killed his lover, cutting his head clean from his neck, if the stories are to be believed.

The Alpha lets Stiles look his fill, before indicating that Stiles should take the other couch, and Stiles does so, his father’s words echoing in his ears. He can do this, can be pleasant and amenable. The lives of his people may depend on it. The Alpha spends long moments surveying him, before saying, “I like you, Stiles.”

You don’t know me, Stiles wants to blurt out, but he bites his tongue.

The Various Triumphs of Mischief Bilinski by Whispering_Sumire (WIP)

"Hello, Chris," sings a honeyed voice from behind.

Chris' attention snaps toward the intruder, his gun already out of its' holster and aimed at whoever it is — a boy, apparently, with braided russet hair, a red jacket, and wise eyes. He's wearing a gas mask, but Chris can tell by the way his eyes crinkle around the edges, the way sun-burnt sand swirls in his irises, that he's smiling.

Chris cocks his gun.

"You killed my father," he says.

"No offence, but he totally deserved it," the stranger agrees with cheerful solemnity.

"What the hell are you doing in my home?" Chris demands. The kid is perched on a windowsill in Chris' office, as nonchalantly as if this were something he did every day, as if they were familiar.

"I was just wondering," the kid speaks softly, fond amusement sewn through with a peculiar resignation, "how you'd feel about putting down some nazis?"

[Or: The one where Stiles goes back in time and subsequently fucks with everything.]

A Curious Magic by Triangulum

Overall, Stiles is very well-known in the supernatural community. It’d be hard not to be, not with how his reputation has grown like wildfire. He knows and is on good terms with nearly all the fae that reside in the preserve, the asrai that live deep in the lake, the Ito pack, the vampire couple that lives over in Beacon Valley (they buy an ethically-sourced food supply from Stiles), as well as almost every other supernatural entity in the area. But Talia Hale doesn’t like him, and a werewolf pack tends to do what their alpha tells them to.

So it’s a definite surprise when the wards at the edge of his property trip, the tingling down his spine telling him it’s a werewolf, the lack of burning sensation letting him know there’s no hostile intent. Stiles, in his office in the second floor turret, sets down the amulet he’s packing up for Marin and moves to the large window overlooking the front of his property. He’s expecting to see an Ito packmember, even though they nearly always call in advance, and is surprised to see a man that he recognizes as Talia’s brother, Peter.

Light in the Dark by cywscross

It still surprises Stiles sometimes, how easily he’s adapted. Seven months in a world filled with train tracks and soul-sucking fae, and it feels like he’s never known anything else.

Or, the one where diverting the Ghost Riders from Beacon Hills to prey on a different town only succeeded in setting them free.

Vengeance Looks Good On You, Sweetheart by cywscross

Just because Scott refuses to see the Argents for what they truly are - prejudiced serial killers sitting proudly on a mountain of innocent corpses - doesn't mean Stiles will. It's about time someone did something about the Argent Empire anyway, and what a coincidence - summer vacation is just around the corner.

Or, the one where Gerard Argent kidnapped the wrong fucking person to torture. Stiles has never subscribed to the policy of forgiving and forgetting anyway, not when razing the problem to the ground and salting the earth for good measure has always been a far better solution in the long run.

He doesn't expect to have company.

#rec list #teen wolf #steter #stiles stilinski #peter hale #fanfic rec #akielosrises #ask

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

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I’m not sure if you have something planned for this already but wouldn’t it be the height of irony if Tooley got monched on by a starved Chris when he forgot to drug him? Just opens the door and whoops! He eaten!

CW: Whumper death, drunkenness, some dehumanization, blood drinking, bit of gore, vampirism, some very light catholicism

New York City, 1936

KING EDWARD VIII ABDICATES THRONE British Monarch to Wed American Socialite Wallis Simpson

Tooley kicks at the sodden, half-frozen newspaper stuck to his shoe, grunting with the effort it takes to dislodge it. His hands are buried deep in the pockets of his thick woolen coat, and he ignores the envious stares of others whose threadbare outfits are patched, whose gloves are little more than rags wrapped around their not-quite-frostbitten fingers.

Instead, he pulls his scarf up higher, tucks his chin beneath its knitted warmth, and finally manages to send the scrap of paper with its water-stained black-and-white image of a stern-faced soon-to-be ex-king and his Baltimore lover into the street, where it sticks in a puddle and soaks clean through.

The old-timers say a heavy rain is coming, citing their aching joints and bones. It's been a wet winter already, and the absolute last thing New York needs is more rain.

Tooley plans to be holed up in his nice warm little house for the whole of it. He's sold three paintings in a month, and he can spend the next few weeks on the next one until his hands want to drop right off his wrists without having to distract himself with petty concerns like money.

The liquor bubbles warm inside him, and even with the frigid air he's broken a sweat along his back, trickling to his waistband, almost a tickle. He stumbles a little, catches himself, coughs out a laugh as the cold air burns deep into his lungs. It can't penetrate the hazy heat of the drink, though.

Mel's always has the best whiskey, and Tooley has the green these days to pay for the very best indeed. He's spent what might be a whole month's pay - if he weren't the luckiest artist in New York - in a single night.

You might say he's made a deal with the devil.

He pulls the brim of his fedora down, shielding his brow from the bit of freezing moisture speckling his cheeks. He struggles not to giggle like a child.

"Got a bit to spare for a hungry man?" A rasping voice calls out from an alley as he passes. "Help me feed my family, sir? I'm out of work, sir! Got three little ones with hungry bellies!"

Tooley ignores him.

There are crowds like that everywhere these days, always pressing for help, for a little something more and more and more. Men out of work, men in bread lines, women with tired faces and sad children. He's had just about enough of it.

They're calling it a depression, and he finds the term apt enough, considering it seems the whole country's been tumbled into a hole and can't find its way out.

He'd take his muse to Europe and paint there if it weren't for the echoing tension that bleeds over across the sea. Every nation he's idolized for their arts is trying to posture at each other. Rattling sabers while the people sigh heavily and keep washing their laundry, like always.

Tooley was a child when the Great War tore his own family apart - losing an older half-brother to the pointless trenches, a father to the mustard gas that ate his lungs to pieces, a mother to her desperate, sharp grief at her husband and stepson's loss.

The War had rendered him alone in the world before he was even twenty, though he'd been too young to hardly understand it and it had had nothing to do with him.

Wars were for rich men to send poor men to fight in, and Tooley is hoping to have enough wealth to maybe just float right past a new one, if the rumors beginning to swirl came true and Europe is going to erupt. Surely, though, no one would let a second war as horrible as the last happen.

Surely not.

Still, even so, he can simply disappear if they try to call him up to fight. He has no one left to lose, after all. No one to fight for, no one to care for. No one but his pretty little model, all locked away, his to keep.

Tooley takes a sharp left and the streets begin to change from the harsher gray of the city proper into neighborhoods, houses crammed tightly together. It's not the best part of town - Tooley's parents weren't the wealthiest, and he doesn't live like a gentleman, he's got no need to, it's not how he thinks a proper artist should live anyway. Have to keep up the image of the nearly-starving creative genius, after all.

There are still lights in some windows, despite the late hour. Tooley isn't the only one drunk at midnight and still moving.

It's a mile or so from the start of his street to where his house is nestled between two others, close enough he could reach out his kitchen window and touch the brick of the home next door. He smiles a little. His nose aches with the cold at the tip of it, but that's nothing to worry himself over.

He's home.

It takes him four tries to unlock his front door, the key jabbing into wood and brass too far to one side or the other. He laughs, breath puffing white clouds into the air, his ears burning with the cold where his hat doesn't quite cover them.

Good thing he's not with a woman, tonight, if his aim's so bad with just his hands.

The thought makes him laugh harder, nearly a guffaw, loud enough that he's sure he's woken a neighbor or two. It's not the first time.

Finally, the key slides home and the lock clicks and Tooley moves inside. The house is chilled in the entryroom, but as he slides his coat and fedora off to leave them on the coat rack and moves into the kitchen, towards the back, he can feel the warmth slowly trickling from the ticking radiators along the walls.

He's due for a coal delivery in the next couple of days, and boy, he's going to need it with the weather the way it's been.

Tooley heads for his perfect little secret, the vampire held in the backroom, once a sort of servant's bedroom for some family that had owned the home even before his own parents did. It's his studio, now, and the place where the little vampire boy is kept.

He unlocks that door, too. A key, a deadbolt, a little sliding lock at the top for added safety.

"Here, kitty kitty kitty," He slurs, and laughs again, delighted at his own little joke.

There's a scrape and a rustle, and Tooley steps back to let the vampire boy move forward, out of the freezing unheated room - Tooley only turns the radiator on in there when he himself is working, it's not like dead things care about being warm after all - and into the kitchen proper, with its little two-person table.

The boy is looking dirty - he's due for a bath, long overdue honestly. Good things he doesn't sweat enough to stink.

His hair hangs lank in his eyes, closer to dark copper than the new-penny shine Tooley prefers. There are smudges along his cheeks, marring his perfect freckles. He's draped in a sweater patched badly where his elbows have worn holes right through, pants that are tied with a rope since Tooley sure isn't going to waste money on a belt for a corpse.

"Is, did, did you, um, did you bring me food?" The vampire boy looks up at him, eyes glinting a little in the dimness, that unsettling cat-like glow-in-the-dark effect. His little fangs flash, too. "I'm... I'm, I'm hungry, Tooley."

"I know you are, bloodsucker."

"It's, it's been, um, it's been weeks, Tooley-"

"I know, I know. Shut your trap." Tooley ruffles his hair, then pulls his hand back with a grimace as he remembers how dirty and greasy it's gotten, walking away to go to the sink and wash his hands. "We'll get t'that. I met with someone very important at th' bar tonight, and first things first, you and I are going to celebrate."

The boy moves slowly, staying half-crouched - he's been hit before, when Tooley didn't want him to stand all the way up. He settles himself against the wall, head tilted to the side. His cheekbones cut sharp angles in his face, edging down to his narrow chin.

Those big green eyes follow Tooley everywhere he goes.

"Celebrate what?" He asks, and Tooley wonders just how old the ridiculous little thing is. He'd said early aughts, hadn't he, on when he was turned? So he'd be, what, in his forties really?

Funny.

Was he locked up during the Great War?

He's still a pretty teenager, but he's probably closing in on fifty. Tooley's twenty-some years younger and looks infinitely older, in his own estimation.

Tooley should look into vampirism, seems an excellent way to hold onto your looks, doesn't it? He wonders if the boy knows how to turn him. They could make beautiful work forever...

Hm.

Something to ruminate over when he's hungover in the morning.

"New commission. I'm taking a few weeks off, give us both a break, but I've got the basic details. I'll pick up a broad, get her all set up for modeling, we'll make us a mint, sweetheart." He moves to the counter, picking up the half-full bottle of gin he keeps there, taking a swig and grimacing, coughing. There's a rattle in his lungs these days he doesn't like much.

"You'll, you'll kill her?" The vampire watches him. He looks hungry, with all those sharp lines emphasized, as though he were a painting himself still in progress, with the outline still written in graphite showing through the colors. He's pale, painted in wash, not yet turned to vivid velvet intensity with oils.

"'Course. You think any of my models would stay alive anywhere near you?" He laughs at the very idea, missing the vampire's little flinch as he turns away. He pulls a loaf of bread from the breadbox, already starting to stale but that's all right, he's going to toast it over the stove anyway. The world swims around him from the liquor, and he catches the counter with one hand to keep himself upright.

The feeling brings another laugh out of him.

The little vampire smiles faintly in echo of it. He has to work to get the stove to gas, narrowing his eyes as it struggles, sputters, before finally a little flame flares up. Just enough to give off a little heat for the toast.

"Fuck. Drank too much. Or not enough." He laughs again, and pulls a knife from the knifeblock, the sharp serrated thin blade best for slicing through the heavy sourdough he buys from a woman down the block. Bit of toast, pat of salted butter, that'll get him through to morning when he can head down for eggs and bacon at Paulie's diner.

Maybe he'll even buy some extra for the hungry men who hound around the doors. He can be a philanthropist.

As he slices, the knife slips off the stale, hard crust and cuts right through the back of his hand, a long line immediately welling with bright red blood. He groans, irritated, and sets the knife down, turning to run cold water over it as the pain flares bright, but slightly muted from his drunkenness.

There's a rustle behind him, and Tooley's mind only belatedly begins to allow alarm to trickle through the warm fuzz of the gin and whiskey. He slowly turns around.

Where the vampire boy had been curled against the wall, a bundle of skinny bones and too-big clothes, there's... nothing.

Tooley glances to one side and sees the boy crouched on the floor by the edge of the lower cabinets, his hands pressed into the ground. He moved five feet in less than a second.

His eyes are flared, wide and with pupils burying the iris in black. He clicks, softly, tongue against teeth in an inhuman way.

Click-click-click-click.

click-click-click.

How'd he move so fast?

"Shit," Tooley whispers. "When's the last time I fed you?"

The vampire doesn't answer, only stares, unblinking, muscles tensing and relaxing, tensing and relaxing. He clicks again.

His lips pull back from his teeth and those fangs that seem so cute and little on every other day suddenly look long, like daggers, dripping a shimmering venom to the ground.

Tooley tries not to blink, too, but his eyes dry and dry and dry and eventually he can't help it. His eyes close, a fraction of a second, and flare open right away.

Not fast enough.

The vampire leaps and Tooley grunts at the impact of the small bony body against his own, his lower back smacking into the line of the counter with a flash of pain. The bread and knife both clatter to the ground.

Panic comes, but it doesn't help. He's still groping to get at another knife when the vampire's fingernails dig into his scalp, grip into his hair and jerk his head to the side to bare his throat.

"Hungry," The vampire boy hisses. "Hungry, Tooley. Hungry."

"I-I know, just, just don't blow your wig, gimmee a minute, I can get you something, just hold on-" Tooley's voice is thin from the harsh angle his neck is being held at, and he swallows, seeing in a bleary haze the way the vampire's huge eyes are focused on the movement of his adam's apple, the bob of his throat.

Can he see the blood pulsing there?

He puts his hands up against the vampire's chest to try and push him off, but it's like pushing against rock. He thinks about painting the vampire as a kind of young Prometheus for a dandy from Boston, tied naked to a rock to be pecked at by eagles, and wonders if the mythological man ever tried to push the rock itself, and if it failed as miserably for him as it does for Tooley now.

"There's blood in the shed out back, just let me go and I'll grab it for you." He pitches his voice soothing and slightly patronizing, like speaking to a whining dog. "Okay, kitten? Just two minutes and you'll be fed, right as rain."

The vampire pauses, hesitates, and Tooley feels his hands working at Tooley's hair and one shoulder, like a cat kneading into your lap before they settle. His little stray. His breathing starts to ease, his heart to slow down, the first rush of panic subsiding.

The world still spins a little, but the rush of adrenaline is settling things into something more solid, wiping away the liquor.

"I'll put you back in your room and go get it for you, it's right outside, good and cold," Tooley coos, and realizes too late it isn't what he should have said.

"There's blood right here, and and and, and, and it's living," The vampire boy says, eyes wide and inhuman, and he's absolutely gorgeous. "Your, your, yours is hot."

Tooley would paint him like this, all feral instinct overwriting the living corpse of an anonymous Irish immigrant who died dozens of years ago. A metaphor, maybe, for the way some of the children who come here lose all their European culture and get boorishly American, and-

The vampire bites down, and all thoughts of art and culture flee from Tooley's mind.

The liquor holds off the pain so long the venom hits before he even feels the way those sharp teeth have breached his skin. He goes limp, dropping in a heap to the floor. He thinks he hits his head on the loaf of bread before it knocks into the floor.

They feel about the same level of hardness.

The knife is right next to his head, lying there, shining in the yellowed lamplight, with its carved wooden handle.

All he has to do is move his hand a few inches to reach it.

Just a few inches.

He tries, desperately, to tell his fingers where to go.

The vampire sucks hard at the wound in his neck, pulling blood from his veins like a man drinking an egg cream after a long hot day's work, and Tooley groans. He can feel the press and pull without the pain, and it's the strangest thing he's ever felt. Stranger than those he's gone to bed with.

The venom makes his limbs feel like stones, weighed down to motionless. He struggles even to swallow saliva, to take a deep breath. His heart never races again with panic. He isn't able to feel it any longer.

Those sharp little fingernails dig hard into his shoulders, the weight of the vampire settled on him, straddling him. A little flirty thought - at least buy me dinner first - makes its way across his mind, barely coherent, slow as molasses.

The vampire starts up his soft rumble, the vibration filtering in through into Tooley's body. It seems like it makes him feel even more frozen, heavy as the ocean and weightless at once.

His eyes are on the ceiling, and he realizes how long it's been since anyone cleaned the corners where cobwebs have grown and grown. They need swept away.

Funny how he never noticed before. Too busy with his art.

There's a moment where Tooley is surprised to look down at himself, as if he's floating somewhere near the ceiling staring down at his own open eyes. When he needed not to blink, he couldn't stop himself, but now the body he is looking at just stares and stares and stares, unseeing, unblinking, unbreathing-

Oh.

As soon as the realization hits, Tooley's awareness of himself as a body he can observe is gone.

There is darkness, and then a point of terrible final light. He feels the grasping of bloodied hands.

And he's gone.

The vampire drinks until the blood stops pumping, until the heart beneath his kneading hand is still. Then a rough tongue laps at the wounds, finding the last few droplets there that still sing with life.

The vampire pulls back, skin flush with life, no longer white as snow. His freckles stand out, scattered like constellations of stars over his skin. The dead man beneath him has all the paleness he had before, they are switched, swapped death for life.

He wipes the blood from around his mouth and looks slowly upwards, breathing in deep gulps he doesn't need but which feel so, so good.

He moves to the stove, to turn it off, but he doesn't quite turn it off all the way. An odd smell fills his nose and the vampire's nostrils wrinkle, but he doesn't know what the scent is, and he simply pulls Tooley's coat on before he leaves, door unlocked.

A few minutes later, a man with his hands over a barrel fire looks up to see a redheaded teenager in a woolen coat far too large for him move under a streetlamp, pausing to look up at it as if surprised by how bright its light is.

He blinks, and the man squints.

The young man's mouth is open, as if scenting the air by letting it roll over his tongue. Before the man can quite understand what he is looking at, the boy's mouth closes and he turns to look at the man. As his eyes shift from being lit by the lamp to draped in shadow, though...

They glow.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," The man whispers, crossing himself hurriedly. "Saint Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle, b-be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil-"

The boy looks right at him, head tilted. The flames of the barrel flicker, hissing a little when raindrops start to fall. His lips pull back from his teeth and there are an animal's fangs there, plain as day.

The man feels pure horror at the sight of a demon walking free and unfettered in New York City. He grabs at the cross he wears around his neck and holds it out, his voice trembling. "May G-God... rebuke him, we humbly pray-"

"I, I, I hope that works for you," The boy says, and his voice is soft, and there's almost a lilt of the old country there that the man recognizes, not quite his own but not far off. "It never d-did for, um, for me. Don't worry. I'm... I'm full. You're, you're, you're in no danger from me. When, when, when, when... when did you come here? To this place?"

The man swallows around a lump in his throat, and yet he finds himself compelled to answer honestly. "Two years past, give or take. Came with m'wife and baby girl."

"From where?"

"... Kerry," He says, against his will. He can't seem to hold back the words. "And my wife grew up in County Cork."

The boy smiles, and his horrid teeth disappear when his lips press together. He looks for all the world like any other young man, a bit skinny perhaps and in need of a good meal or three, but no danger to anyone.

But the man has seen the demon that he is, and he finds himself grateful for the fire between them and the cross still in his hand, the shield of St. Michael and the cloak of Christ Himself.

"My, my, my, my parents were from County Cork," The demon boy says, lightly. His lilt is slightly stronger. "Wonder if we're cousins, your your wife and I. Maybe so. Stay home, um, after dark. Don't, don't, don't work when the sun is, um, is down."

The boy turns and walks away.

The man realizes with a start that in the midst of a chilly December night, the boy's feet are utterly bare. He steps over ice like he could walk on water.

There was blood smeared on the back of his coat.

The man flinches as he hears a sudden boom, close enough that he feels it in his chest as well as hearing the sound. A moment later a woman runs by shouting that a house has caught flame, to call for help.

The man looks back at the way the boy went.

He's gone.

@mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump

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makeste · 3 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 296: Ngl, This One Pissed Me Off

Previously on BnHA: Deku was all, “p.s. I actually activated yet another quirk several chapters ago when Kacchan got stabbed.” Compress was all, “[gets captured and passes out].” Spinner was all “[rifles through Tomura’s pockets and slaps a random Charbroiled Hand onto his friend’s unconscious face].” Tomura was all, “SOMEHOW THAT ACTUALLY WORKED” and woke up again, except it wasn’t really him, it was everyone’s favorite Final Villain, AFO. AFO was all, “time to escape finally” and summoned a bunch of Noumu and Absconded with Spinner and the DabiMarble in tow. Skeptic was all, “Horikoshi forgot I existed, but I’m actually Absconding in marble-form as well.” Deku was all, “ATTENTION WORLD, I WOULD LIKE TO ANNOUNCE THAT I OFFICIALLY WANT TO SAVE SHIGARAKI TOMURA.” And then the arc just sort of ended lol.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi is all, “but when you think about it, do we really need literally any female teachers at U.A. at all?” and for whatever reason doesn’t stop to wait for an answer. Midnight, who absolutely did not need to die, Dies, and I’m pissed about it. Ochako wanders the ruins of Jakku for what feels like hours, rescuing small children while her adult hero compatriots fall to pieces around her, because apparently the U.A. kids really are the only people who have their shit together. The citizens of Japan are all “damn that’s wild, wonder how fucked we are now,” but are actually super casual and chill about it which is oddly realistic. The chapter ends with AFO in Tartarus being all “lol time for the prison break arc,” without giving us so much as a chance to catch our breath, like holy shit. Are we on the clock or something now, goddamn.

lmao it’s like 7pm on a Sunday night and this is out already. this is like the worst possible timing lol. there goes my nice, relaxed evening. unless of course this turns out to be a nice, restful, soothing chapter, as chapters coming on the heels of traumatic, earth-shattering battles so often are. yeah, break out the Pina Colada song and the little drink umbrellas, I got a good feeling about this one

(ETA: I mean, I was obviously being sarcastic here but damn, Horikoshi.)

-- fff why did I laugh

it’s the crumbling city ruins in the background that really does it, I think. JUST LOOK AT THIS MESS THAT YOU HAVE MADE, EVERYONE. FOR SHAME

also, the title is dramatic af and I am so fucking excited you guys, like holy shit. BnHA’s In-Between arcs have always been my favorite part of the series, because it’s when all the character development and angst and/or catharsis happens. just, those little breathing spaces in between the action when everyone gathers to recuperate and compartmentalize their fresh new traumas lmao. bring on that angst!! but also, let’s please have some Comfort to offset all of this Hurt too, please and thanks

blah blah blah so the survivors were evacuated, good good, can you actually show us though?

AHHHHHHH

PIXIE BOB SURVIVED!!!! WASH IS STILL ALIVE LMAO HOW. THIRTEEN’S FACE, OMG SHOULD I LOOK AWAY. IS IT LIKE MANDALORIAN RULES. IDK HOW IT WORKS

HOW THE FUCK ARE THEY ALIVE. LOLS ANYWAY I’M HERE FOR IT. FEEL FREE NOT TO KILL ANYONE ELSE HERE HORIKOSHI, I THINK WE’RE GOOD

(ETA: it’s like talking to a brick wall.)

oh my god do we really need exposition about how the heroes tried to stop TomurAFO from escaping and OF COURSE failed completely because they suck lmao. oh my god I am shocked, that is such shocking news

wow they only managed to defeat three of the Noumus. holy shit. again, all of the Not-Kid Heroes are only slightly more useful than cardboard cutouts of heroes at this point, MORE AT ELEVEN

so Tomura may have lost the PLF, but he still more or less has an army then, huh. I really don’t know how anyone could expect a timeskip with that threat looming over everyone’s heads

oh nvm lol there are only seven Noumus left. wait so you’re telling me there were only ten Nearly High Ends in that last chapter?? felt more like fifty but whatever lol I’ll take your word for it

COMPRESS YAY YOU’RE ALIVE TOO

MAYBE THEY CAN EVEN REATTACH HIS ASS. I’M SERIOUS LOL, BECAUSE HE STILL HAS IT, DOESN’T HE? OR IF NOT, THEY CAN REBUILD HIM WITH A PROSTHETIC ASS. he’ll be more powerful than ever

WHAAAAAAT YEAH BOIIIII

WOOO, EDGESHOT, WOOOOO. THAT’S HIS WAY OF THE NINJA

YEAHHHHH SUCK IT, PLF

(ETA: for the record I don’t think Cementoss is dead here, just badly wounded. if he had died he would have been included in the forthcoming In Memoriam page along with the others.)

GET BENT LOL. TRUMPET I FOR REAL FORGOT YOU EVEN EXISTED. I NEVER WANT TO SEE ANY OF YOU LOSERS AGAIN PLEASE. ONLY INTERESTING CHARACTERS MAY PROCEED PAST THIS POINT

dsflksaldkh;l

that’s... holy shit. that’s a bigass mansion, that’s what that is. also so does this mean there are still eighty thousand PLF members still at large, because that’s a plot line I very much do not care about in any way whatsoever lol. can’t we just retcon to say that Re-Destro was exaggerating? I mean hell, a CEO criminal pulling some Enron-type bullshit is pretty believable, isn’t it? those poor bamboozled shareholders

“makeste, here’s an idea, what if you scrolled down to read the rest of the page” lol gtfo of here with your logic and your sense

well those 132 people have made it onto my enemies list, but at least it sounds like they more or less took care of the rest. good riddance

and Toga escaped, as we knew already, and is now on the lam. hopefully she reunites with the League again at some point. although her doing her own thing could also be very interesting. idk what I want lol

anyway so there’s another big panel showing how fucked up the city is, just in case it hadn’t already been hammered into our skulls yet. there’s a car dangling off a roof somehow. how does that even happen. did Machia pick it up and put it there or

NOOO OMG RANDOM SMALL CHILDREN IN PERIL WHAT IS THIS

OCHAKO PLEASE SAVE THEM OMG

“if it falls on me, I want you to have my Endeavor pouch” OH MY STARS. HIS MOST PRECIOUS POSSESSION. NO MY CHILD YOU CAN’T GIVE UP HOPE YET

LMAO

“FOR THE LAST TIME NOBODY CARES ABOUT YOUR DUSTY-ASS POUCH, KYLE” fffff these children are dying and I am cracking up so hard my eyes are tearing up what is wrong with me

YAY THEY SAVED THEM

but listen. not that I don’t love seeing the girls kick ass, because you know I do. but I also really, REALLY need to know what’s going down with the Musketeers, and I’m not looking forward to waiting three whole weeks for that so please Horikoshi. please hurry this along so we can get to them

goddamn it Tsuyu is saying she’ll take the boy to the shelter to get first aid, and I was all “okay great because that’s probably where Kacchan and the others are too”, but now someone else is shouting for help and Ochako’s all “I’ll go” and it’s like OKAY BUT PLEASE? this chapter is already more than half over omfg. ‘bout to start wringing some hands here

oh my god

is this Toga again??? WHAT THE HELL, THIS CREEPYASS HALF-DEAD DUDE BETTER BE LEADING UP TO SOMETHING INTERESTING, I AM REALLY GETTING IMPATIENT

OR, I GUESS, WE COULD DO THIS INSTEAD

“SO AS IT TURNS OUT, NOT EVERY CHARACTER WHO NEEDS HELP SAVING THEIR SPOUSE FROM FALLEN RUBBLE IS ACTUALLY TOGA IN DISGUISE” HUH, OKAY. DULY NOTED. FILED AWAY FOR FUTURE REFERENCE

but fucking... okay, look. I love Ochako, I do. but I like her a whole lot more when she’s interacting with other characters I actually care about, as opposed to running around in the rubble rescuing random people while the fate of my other children is still up in the air. like okay, I get it, shit’s bad, now if you don’t mind we really don’t have to spend all day here though

...anyways but nope, we’re still staying with her. she’s bouncing around rescuing all of these other people. omg. I literally have no patience here at all and it’s terrible, I know, but oh my god

omg finally something interesting is happening!!

look at that, an adult hero standing around being useless while the kids are busy getting shit done. why is this becoming a recurring theme

MY DUDE, THIS IS SERIOUSLY NOT THE TIME THOUGH

I GET THAT IT’S OVERWHELMING AND THAT YOU’RE TRAUMATIZED AND SHIT, BUT GUESS WHAT, SO IS EVERYONE ELSE. THAT’S WHAT YOU SIGNED UP FOR. JUST LOOK AT OCHAKO! SHE’S SO EXHAUSTED HER HAIR HAS EVEN LOST ITS FLOOF, AND YET SHE’S STILL OUT HERE DOING HER BEST. ONE SAVE AT A TIME MY MAN. GET IT DONE. LITERALLY A SMALL CHILD IN THE BOTTOM RIGHT CALLING FOR THEIR MOMMY AND YOU’RE JUST STANDING THERE ALL “WAHH IT’S TOO MUCH” LIKE COULD YOU PLEASE POSTPONE YOUR CRISIS UNTIL AFTER YOU SAVE THEM PLEASE

OH MY GOD

MAYBE YOU SHOULD!! oh my god I really cannot, like wow. oh no I actually have to save people and do my job, god forbid. jesus christ, at least the other heroes tried. but Moping Hero: Bellyache here is just throwing in the towel and fuck everyone who still needs his help I guess. you are like the anti-Deku my dude

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD NO OH FUCK

THAT’S MIDNIGHT’S HAND OH FU -- SHE BETTER NOT -- HORIKOSHI I SWEAR TO GOD --

I’M GONNA LOSE IT I REALLY AM!!!!

HOLY SHIT HOW INTENSE OF A RAGE DO I NEED TO BRACE MYSELF TO BE FEELING HERE. THIS CHAPTER WAS ALREADY TRENDING TOWARDS DISAPPOINTMENT, DO WE REALLY NEED TO GO AND COMPOUND THAT

WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON

you’re telling me Tomura wasn’t brought back by that electric shock, but by his “fuck you” attitude? why are you explaining this to us now, again??

......

HEY, SO UM, FUCK ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS, THOUGH. (: OH MAN. OHHHHHH MAN. I HAVE... I HAVE GOT A LOT OF WORDS FOR THIS AND HERE ARE SOME OF THEM

FUCK

THINGS THAT SHOULD BE IN THE DICTIONARY NEXT TO “SOME BULLSHIT”: THIS

FUCK

GET FUCKED HORIKOSHI

AND ALSO PLEASE FUCK RIGHT OFF!!

AND SERIOUSLY THOUGH FUCK YOU

NO BUT YOU KNOW WHAT THOUGH!! YOU COULD HAVE KILLED OFF ANYONE. LITERALLY ANY CHARACTER. YOU HAD TWELVE FEMALE PROS. TWELVE. YOU COULD HAVE MADE MORE OF THEM. PROBABLY, IF THERE ACTUALLY WERE SUPERHEROES IN REAL LIFE, THERE WOULD BE MORE THAN TWELVE OF THEM IN AN ENTIRE NATION. BUT NO, YOU WERE ALL “TWELVE IS MORE THAN ENOUGH.” AND THEN WHEN IT CAME TIME TO KILL PEOPLE OFF, YOU WERE ALL “WELL ALL RIGHT THEN, LET’S SEE, I PICK... THESE 18 RANDOM SIDE CHARACTERS WITH LITTLE TO NO DIALOGUE, PLUS THE ONE SINGLE FEMALE U.A. STAFF MEMBER WE ACTUALLY HAD. YEAH THAT OUGHTA DO IT”

AND BY THE WAY, HORIKOSHI, I PICKED SOMETHING UP FOR YOU ON MY WAY HOME, HERE IT IS, ┌П┐(・＿・) do you like it it was on sale. I saw it and was like, “Horikoshi would really like that.” so there you go. sorry it wasn’t gift-wrapped

p.s. I hope y’all can tell that that’s supposed to be a middle finger and not... something else lmao. er. anyway

(ETA: so I got a few asks from people who were really put off by this part of the reaction post, and so I’m just adding an extra note here to make it clear that I do not actually wish harm on Horikoshi in any way or even particularly dislike him. I wasn’t happy about Midnight’s death and I wanted to convey that, and so I went with my usual LOUD CAPSLOCK REACTION tone, but looking back on it I can see that it’s kind of a lot, lol.

so just to be clear, the “fuck you” stuff is almost entirely tongue-in-cheek. that’s on me, I forget sometimes that there are people who share these sentiments unironically and so I didn’t think to make sure my intended meaning here was clear. anyways, killing Midnight was still a really problematic decision for numerous reasons but it is what it is. Horikoshi is not perfect, the story isn’t perfect, and I’m not gonna pretend like it is, but again just to be clear, I don’t harbor any actual ill will toward Horikoshi here.)

shit. and wow this man really went and killed off fucking Mystic too on top of that. have you ever seen a character fail so spectacularly at living up to their hype. r.i.p. Mystic you were like the Star Wars sequel of characters

(ETA: I have no fucking idea why I keep thinking Majestic’s name is Mystic lol. rest in peace you old scarecrowy bastard.)

and poor Momo, though. fuck. lost two mentors in a single day. and do not even get me started on Aizawa holy shit

so now we’re cutting to some random townspeople who are gossiping about the Todoroki drama. this is actually interesting in spite of my newfound determination to hate this chapter lol

ngl I am kind of heartened to see that not everyone fell for Dabi’s bs hook line and sinker though. Jeanist returning from the dead literally two seconds after Dabi was all “I SWEAR ON MY HONOR AS A VILLAIN THAT HAWKS MURDERED HIM” probably helped with that a bit! but there will doubtless be many other people who do believe him, or are at least still inclined to side-eye the heroes in general either way given how much they sucked in this arc. very, very interesting

so it seems though that even more than the whole Endeavor reveal, at the end of the day it’s going to be the heroes failing to live up to their end of the “put your faith in us and let us use our quirks and in return we’ll protect everyone and keep them safe” implied social contract that’s going to have the biggest impact on people’s opinions moving forward. basically this was always going to be a disaster no matter what

OH MY GOD FINALLY AHHHHH

Horikoshi really tapped into some of the real-life political energy of the past few years huh. Fuck Him Still for killing off Midnight, but I will admit that so far this is hella intriguing and I am really, really curious to see where things go from here

OH MY GOD THE LITTLE KIDS FROM THE BABYSITTING ARC

“FIVE PEEPEE MAN WOULDN’T LIE TO US” YES CHILDREN YOU’RE ABSOLUTELY RIGHT. at least the little ones still have faith

( •̀ へ •́ )

that’s great. that’s really keen. all we need right now, amirite

GOOD FOR YOU, YOU PIECE OF SHIT

let’s just wait for him to explain what he feels. you know he likes to drag it out

is that Dabi crouched down there next to Spinner? looks like they got him out of the marble after all. but why has his hair changed colors again lol what

anyways. your turn to what??

:’) excuse me what

hahahaha are you fucking kidding me. and that’s where we’re going to end the chapter then. lol okay

so let’s recap. Midnight died. we spent ten hours watching Ochako dig people out of rubble for no apparent reason and were then introduced to my new least favorite character, and because Ochako is so nice she didn’t even punch him in the face even though she really should have. we did not get any Kacchan or Shouto. we got one panel of Deku, who is Finally Asleep. and the chapter ended with AFO ordering his Noumus to go set free, AND I QUOTE, HIS “MAIN BODY.” and now I gotta wait an entire week for Caleb’s translation to confirm that last part. omg

but it sounds like a prison break is imminent, which is very, very interesting. ...and actually, is it weird that I’m actually rooting for it to be a success? I have no idea what this guy is planning, but I do know that as long as the main part of his soul is still residing in Tomura’s body, Tomura’s chance of surviving the series is close to zero. and villain though he may be, I’m still rooting for his redemption (nice to have Deku on my side now too), and so yeah. so like if AFO feels like using some latent Exorcism Quirk or something that he’s been saving for just such an occasion, be my guest lol

meanwhile this doesn’t bode well for All Might though. or anyone else aside from Tomura, really. shiiiit

anyway. [slaps roof of chapter] this baby can fit so much bullshit in it

#bnha 296 #midnight (bnha)#uraraka ochako #all for one #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #sorry this took so long to post lol #I really need to learn to add an extra 2-3 hours to any time-sensitive estimates I make #anyways

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whumpmatsus · 3 years

Note

Hi! 👋 Two things! First, a fic request (again Ichimatsu whump because I'm sorry but I have to): Ichimatsu takes a hit meant for one of his brothers (be it accidental or on purpose) and is pretty badly injured. Cue the rest of the Matsu Bros. to the rescue!

And second, um...would you be okay with it if, let's just say hypothetically, I made fan art of some of these fics? 😺

FIRST OF ALL thank you for this because it's LITERALLY the longest thing I've written on this blog so far!! so I hope u enjoy it fully uwu

Matsu Bros plus a cameo by Mama Matsu!! <3

second... YESSSS THAT IS ALWAYS DEFINITELY OKAY!!! aaaaaaa you flatter me <3 <3 <3

When Ichimatsu first wakes up in the hospital, he doesn’t remember why he’s here. Hell, he barely even remembers who he is.

All he really knows initially is that he’s in a lot of pain. It hurts to breathe, his face is kind of numb in spots, and his leg feels weirdly positioned, plus heavy and uncomfortable. His shoulder feels kind of sore… as does his wrist.

There’s also some strange fog drifting around his mind that’s making it difficult to really focus on anything.

He feels a hand in his own. Not very tight… he thinks it’s someone giving just enough pressure to let him know they’re here. That he’s not alone. That’s comforting, he thinks.

Then he starts to remember things.

He was out walking with some of the others; Karamatsu and maybe Totty? What they were doing is a little fuzzy and isn’t coming to him instantly. He just recalls they were together, walking on the sidewalk. They came to a crosswalk and waited their turn. Karamatsu, as the eldest out of the three, stepped forward first to cross.

Ichimatsu thinks Karamatsu’s intention was that he would hold Totty’s hand to keep the youngest safe while they crossed, and Ichimatsu could follow after them. He doesn’t believe Totty had any objections.

They waited. They followed all the rules they were supposed to. The crosswalk light told them they were allowed to go.

It was someone else who broke the rules, tearing through a stop sign, the car headed right for his brothers. He… thinks he remembers Totty had only just come forward to grab Karamatsu’s hand, so he wasn’t quite there yet. Karamatsu was the one in the most danger.

He doesn’t remember much else. Running forward, pushing his baby brother behind him and yelling for his big brother to move.Then an impact. A lot of pain. Black and nothingness and warmth.

Now he’s awake. Putting the pieces together, he’s pretty sure he shoved Karamatsu forward and ended up getting hit by that car.

He thinks, in his haze, that the car should have hit Karamatsu, because he was the one who went first, because things happened so fast. But he’s glad it didn’t happen that way.

A couple groans catch the attention of whoever’s in the room, and he gets a squeeze to the hand. “Ichimatsu? Honey? Are you awake?”

“Mmh…” It hurts a little to move his head. He does it anyway, getting a glimpse of his mother. “… Mom…?”

It looks like she’s smiling… relieved, maybe. “Yes! Yes, my sweet boy, Mama is here.” She reaches her free hand over to gently stroke his hair. It feels nice. “Thank goodness. How do you feel?”

He closes his eyes. “I hurt.”

“Well, I should hope so! I’d be worried if you weren’t in a lot of pain right now. Do you remember what happened?”

Although he tries to move around, it’s difficult simply because it’s so painful. “Uh, yeah, kind of… I got… hit by a car, right? ― H… hey… Karamatsu and Totty… where are they? Are they okay?”

“Yes, dear, they’re both fine. Karamatsu has a couple of scrapes, but nothing serious. You, on the other hand, are lucky, young man. You’ve got a broken leg, a couple of broken ribs, and a broken wrist. You did have a dislocated shoulder, but they got that back into place. The doctor said it could have been much worse. She said you got off easy compared to some people who get hit by a car.”

She combs his bangs back in a way that mitigates any anger or frustration in her next words. “What were you thinking?”

“The car was coming for Karamatsu…” He frowns as the memory surfaces again, in slightly better detail. Damn. “… And Totty didn’t see it… he was gonna step out, too…”

Everything seemed to happen so fast. How the hell did he manage to get his older brother out of the way and keep his younger brother out of the way when everything happened so fast?

Matsuyo sighs and continues stroking his hair. “Oh, I know… they were both in tears when we all arrived. Totty was inconsolable… saying that Karamatsu would be dead if you hadn’t run forward and that he thought you were dead because you weren’t responding. I should be mad that you scared your brothers… but…”

She leans forward to kiss his forehead. “… You did a brave thing, Ichimatsu. Mama is very proud of you. I just don’t like any of you boys hurt… if you’re inclined to do this again, pull the other person back instead of taking their place. You silly boy,” she adds with an affectionate smile.

“Hah…” he laughs weakly, wincing at the pain in his chest. “Sorry, Mom. Everything hurts… I wanna go home.”

“Mhm, they’ll probably let you go pretty soon now that you’re awake. That’s the main thing they were waiting for, I think.” She moves her hand down to pat lightly at his forearm.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be home before you know it, and your family will take good care of you.”

Coming home is kind of weird.

Ichimatsu can’t really walk on his own. Since his leg is broken, the doctor gave him a crutch that he can use with his good hand, but it’s an awkward movement and leaves him feeling unbalanced. It’s just easier to lean on one of his brothers to walk ― in this case, Choromatsu has volunteered to help if Ichimatsu needs to walk somewhere. Though… he gets the feeling that the others would be more than happy to volunteer if the third eldest were somehow busy when he needs to get up.

Every motion, from sitting up to reaching for things to just breathing, is painful thanks to the broken ribs. There’s nothing that can really be done for those, so he’s evidently got to just suffer. He remembers the doctor saying they should feel quite a bit better in a couple of weeks. Most of this is going to take a month or more to fully heal, which is… according to Osomatsu, a ‘major boner-killer’.

Sitting around doing nothing but being in pain is going to be the end of Ichimatsu. He’s sure of that. He can’t go outside to feed the cats, and it’s difficult to cuddle with them inside with all his injuries. That alone is pretty depressing.

The pain medication they sent him home with is also a little frustrating. The first time he takes it, it makes him so tired he sleeps right through dinner.

He falls asleep on the couch in the spare room, he knows, because it’s where he has to be set up for now. There’s noway he can sleep in the futon with everyone else while he tries to heal; that runs the risk of running into someone, or having one of his brothers accidentally run into him.

His leg’s in a cast and his wrist is in a splint, to protect them as they fix themselves, but if those areas have someone roll onto them, it’ll probably result in more damage. Which means more pain and more time added to his recovery.

It’s apparently a bad idea to sleep on the couch. When he wakes up, everything is sore and screaming in pain. Justified, unfortunately, since he fell asleep in the same position he was relaxing in.

Someone else… is here? There’s something warm pressed up against his side.

He glances over to find that he’s evidently been resting on Karamatsu’s shoulder, likely for a while given that Karamatsu’s eyes are closed too. It looks dark out, and Ichimatsu’s foggy mind busies itself wondering what time it is.

There’s a soft chuckle beside him, and looking over reveals one of his big brother’s eyes is cracked open now. It’s swiftly followed by the other one, then the sudden absence of a pressure around his shoulder makes him aware that Karamatsu had an arm around him. “Awake, hm?”

“Yeah…” He tries to stretch, stopped short when a jolting pain in his chest reminds him that it’s definitely a bad idea. “Oww. I don’t even remember falling asleep.”

“That’s alright. You started to get a bit drowsy about half an hour after Osomatsu-nii-san gave you your medicine. We saved you a plate from dinner, though, if you want me to go warm it up.”

Ichimatsu blinks. “I slept through dinner?? Shit. How late is it right now?”

His brother shifts a bit more to take out his phone. “Hm… a bit after midnight.”

“Midnight?” Well, fuck. Although he can justify an hour nap or so, he’s just slept like six hours. He missed dinner, he missed going to the bathhouse, he missed maybe a game of cards before bed.

Karamatsu laughs again, his hand tousling Ichimatsu’s hair fondly. “That’s right, my brother. Don’t worry. Osomatsu-nii-san said fatigue is a side effect of your medicine, and your body needs sleep right now, anyway. So, are you hungry? Mommy made soba and yakitori for dinner, but if you’d rather have something else, just say the word. Your wish is my command!”

Honestly… he’s not really that hungry. He knows he should probably eat; his stomach is just trying to tell him not to have anything heavy. Another side effect of the medication, maybe. “Are you… sure? I kind of just feel like plain miso and rice. Other stuff doesn’t sound good.”

“Of course! I’d be delighted to go heat some up. You simply rest and I’ll…” When he goes to stand up, something catches Ichimatsu’s eye, and he grabs his brother’s hand, weakly, with his own injured one. It’s painful, but…

Karamatsu’s eyes focus on his younger brother, brows furrowing. “Ichimatsu? What’s the matter?”

It’s… that cut on Karamatsu’s face. Ichimatsu didn’t notice it before. Now that he’s a bit more alert, it’s practically all he can see. It’s not very big, maybe the length of one of their little fingers, and not deep. It looks like a scrape from falling off one’s bike or something. He thinks maybe it had a bandage on it at one point. The color has faded into something dull; the skin around is still bright pink, though, suggesting that it’s irritated despite not being cut.

His gaze shifts down to find similar wounds on Karamatsu’s hands. On the palms, where he probably got a sort of road rash when he tried to catch himself after Ichimatsu pushed him out of the way.

His own wrist protests with a violent throb as he reaches to let his fingers graze lightly over Karamatsu’s wrist. Image after image of what might have happened to him if Ichimatsu wasn’t fast enough comes unbidden into his head. Karamatsu could be the one with a broken leg or broken ribs, or it could have been worse.

“Y… you’re okay… right?” As soon as those words are out of his mouth, tears start spilling. All at once he’s pulled into a hug, loose fists resting against his back. He can’t stop himself from leaning in, pressing his face against Karamatsu’s shoulder.

He can feel the soft rumble of mirthless laughter his big brother gives. “You’re the one who was hurt, Ichimatsu. I’m only okay because of you. If you hadn’t seen… I wasn’t paying attention…”

The words, “It should have been me”, hang heavily in the air even though Karamatsu doesn’t say them.

He brushes a delicate kiss over the side of his little brother’s forehead. “Heh… you would have been a better big brother than me. You kept us all safe when I failed. You probably saved my life, you know. Thank you.”

Ichimatsu isn’t sure why it’s now that the full weight of everything has hit him. Now, when he’s home and out of danger, when everything is okay. Shouldn’t he have been falling apart when he first woke up in the hospital? It shouldn’t have taken seeing Karamatsu’s small injuries to remind him that they all could have died when he’s the one in a cast.

It’s hard to keep himself together, to keep his breathing normal so he doesn’t completely go to pieces. (Though, if he did, what better place to do so than in his older brother’s arms?) “… You’d do the same for me, right? So it’s only fair.”

“I would,” Karamatsu hums. “Without a second thought. You’re my little brother and I love you very much and if I could save you from being hurt, I would. I’m… sorry I was so careless that I couldn’t do it this time.”

Ichimatsu grunts, slipping his good arm around Karamatsu’s waist in an effort to be closer. “Don’t feel too bad. The next car’ll be yours.”

After eating as much as he feels like he can, Ichimatsu allows Karamatsu to help transfer him to the floor. It’s already set up with a spare futon, a blanket, and a pillow, probably because someone guessed that sleeping on the sofa wouldn’t be comfortable.

He’s still in so much pain. The shoulder that was reduced back into place aches like an old war wound, and his chest is sore even when he’s lying still. To say nothing of his wrist and his leg. His whole body feels like one giant bruise, except worse.

Although Karamatsu insists he’d be just fine to stand guard all night, after a few minutes Choromatsu comes in and sends him back to the bedroom. Ichimatsu doesn’t hear too much of the conversation ― mostly whispers that Karamatsu needs to go get some sleep, that Choromatsu is glad to take a turn.

Soon enough, though, Karamatsu relents and comes to tell Ichimatsu goodnight before he leaves the room. Ichimatsu gets one more kiss on the head and a reassuring squeeze to his good hand and exchanges another round of “I love you”s with his brother, then heads into the bedroom.

Choromatsu came prepared, setting his own pillow up on the couch and tossing a blanket at the end just in case he needs it. “So… how are you feeling, Ichimatsu?”

“Mm… like crap, kinda.” He looks over to where his brother is trying to get settled in. “I can’t believe I slept six hours and I’m still tired. What kind of shit did they put me on?”

“Hah… y-yeah, it’s the good stuff, probably. Is it at least helping the pain a little?”

“A little. Like Mom said before we left the hospital, I… guess it’d be more worrying if I wasn’t in pain right now. I did get hit by a car.”

Choromatsu leans forward and places a cautious hand on his little brother’s head. Once that earns him no punishment, he gingerly combs through Ichimatsu’s hair. It certainly feels relaxing. “You sure did. I… I can’t believe you kept both Karamatsu and Totty safe. Adrenaline’s a… a weird thing, huh? I’m glad you’re all okay. Hopefully the pain medicine will work better once you’ve had a few doses.”

“Mh. I hope so.”

“Yeah. For now, just, uh… just try to get some more sleep, okay? Your body needs a lot of rest while you’re healing.”

Yep, that’s what Karamatsu said, too. Two of his brothers saying the same thing can’t be wrong. … Well, they could be, but it would be weird. “I’ll try. Thanks for… being here. I dunno that I’d really want to sleep alone for the whole night. Guess Totty’s rubbing off on me.”

A low chuckle leaves Choromatsu as Ichimatsu closes his eyes. The sound of rustling suggests that his older brother has laid down and pulled a blanket over himself as well.

After a moment of quiet between them, Ichimatsu becomes keenly aware of a sensation that definitely isn’t going to allow him to sleep. “Uuuugh. Shit.”

“Huh?” Choromatsu is sitting up in an instant, ready to practically spring out of his skin. “What’s wrong, Ichimatsu?”

“― My leg itches.”

“O-oh. So… scratch it??”

He throws his head back in frustration. “No, the one with the Goddamn cast on it.”

“Ohhh. Okay, uh, well…” Choromatsu gets up and rummages through one of the drawers for a few seconds.

After that, a pencil is pressed into Ichimatsu’s good hand with a smile. “Here, try this. Stick the eraser end down in the little space between your leg and the cast, then keep moving it. If the itch is high enough up, it should help.”

Ichimatsu raises an eyebrow at the advice. Well. What’s he got to lose, after all? He spends a moment trying to get the itch scratched after slipping the pencil down, and finally he sighs in relief. “Fuck, that’s a lot better. How’d you know that was gonna work?”

Choromatsu grins self-consciously, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Ah, well… remember when I broke my arm? When I went for my checkup, I had this itch inside the cast that was driving me nuts. So the nurse showed me this trick. It doesn’t always work, but…”

“Huh… well… thanks.” After everything, he’s just really tired and ready to sleep now. He would cross his fingers that nothing else disturbs him if he felt like moving at all.

“Heh, no problem. All good now?”

“I think so.” When he sees his brother straighten up to head back to the couch, his brain evidently thinks it’s good to say something. “H… hey. Choromatsu?”

Choromatsu looks back down, concern etched on his features. “Ah, yeah? What’s up?”

His heart is hammering so fast it feels like it’s trying to break more of his ribs. He doesn’t really want to embarrass himself. It’s just… he feels… “Can you… can you… stay for a minute? Down here?”

“Oh… yeah, sure. I can’t stay too long… I-I can’t sleep next to you. I might accidentally hurt you.” Even so, he lowers himself back down, sitting cross-legged and reaching to stroke Ichimatsu’s hair.

He nods. That’s part of the problem. Even though he normally wouldn’t have much complaint about being left to his own devices… he’s used to sleeping next to his brothers. Right on the end beside Karamatsu. When he’s not feeling well, being absent from them is apparently not doing him any favors. “I know. It’s just…”

His eyes drift closed once more. It must be the medicine making him feel out of it and way too honest. “… I think I’m gonna get lonely sleeping like this.”

“O-oh… gosh.” He can practically hear the frown in Choromatsu’s voice. The other man’s hand combs through his hair, a rhythmic and repetitive motion that makes him sleepy again. “I can probably… sleep like this, propped up against the couch. Is that okay?”

“Mmmh… I don’t want you to have to do that… you’ll make your back sore.”

He chuckles. “Ah, I-I think I can handle it. Even if that’s true, it’d be worth it to me so you don’t have to feel lonely. It’s the least I can do for my little brother.”

“I can’t stop you,” Ichimatsu mumbles. Sleep is scrabbling its tiny, strong fingers at him, trying to pull him down. It’s getting hard to resist. “If you want…”

“Yeah… yeah, I wanna do this for you.” Choromatsu leans down to press a small kiss to the top of Ichimatsu’s head. “Hey. Love you, Ichimacchan. Try to get some rest, okay?”

He doesn’t have to tell Ichimatsu twice. Within a minute of Choromatsu’s urging, he’s fallen back into a peaceful darkness.

When Ichimatsu wakes up the next morning, Choromatsu’s presence has been replaced by Jyushimatsu’s.

As much as he loves his immediate older brother, he doesn’t have any complaints. He and Jyushimatsu are very close, and his younger brother being here is pretty soothing to wake up to.

He’s uncharacteristically quiet, though that’s not to say he isn’t his usual energetic self. He appears to be flipping through baseball cards, maybe organizing them in his little album, humming to himself. There’s also one hand free to play with Ichimatsu’s hair, which he supposes is why he still feels relaxed.

“Hey, Jyushi.” His body reminds him why stretching is a bad idea right now, so he settles for arching his back a little in an effort to make something pop. Everything is sore. Even that little bit of movement hurts his ribs enough that he has trouble catching his breath for a minute. “Fuck… morning.”

“Oh! Yeah, it is morning!” Jyushimatsu is chipper as always, though when he leans in for a hug, he’s surprisingly gentle. “How’d you sleep, Ichimatsu-nii-san?”

“Okay, I guess. I still hurt a bunch.”

“Yeahhhh, you were crying in your sleep! But it’s okay! Because guess what? Jyushi is here!” He grins, nuzzling his cheek against Ichimatsu’s. It’s a bit weird, but par for the course as far as Jyushimatsu is concerned. Besides, the hug is nice after the fear of being lonely last night. “Did you have nightmares, huh?”

Now that he mentions it… yep. Ichimatsu’s dreams, or what he remembers of them, were filled with horrible things. The memory of being hit by the car, or the images of either Karamatsu or Totty being hit because he wasn’t fast enough.

He recalls one piece of a dream which involved looking into his own chest and seeing the end of a fractured rib shatter his glass heart.

A shudder runs through his body, prompting Jyushimatsu to tighten his grip just slightly. “Oh, you’re cold! It’s past breakfast, ‘cause you slept for a really long time, but I’ll go get you some tea!! Sound good?”

Given that his appetite hasn’t come back from war, that sounds better than anything else. Though he did manage to choke down that rice and miso last night, he’s not sure if he wants to eat even anything bland. “Yeah, sounds good. Put just a little bit of agave syrup in it for me?”

“Yeah! Anything for Ichimatsu-nii-san! Be right back, okay?”

With Jyushimatsu, ‘be right back’ is typically how it goes. He’s only gone for a few minutes, or at least it only seems like a few minutes.

Regardless, Ichimatsu has a cup of tea in his hand relatively quickly. Almost as if his brother predicted that it would be difficult to hold something very hot with only one hand, the tea is warm, not boiling hot.

It’s easier to balance it with one hand, plus this means it’s pretty much the perfect temperature to drink. As he starts to sip it, he feels Jyushimatsu’s hand, covered entirely by his sleeve, rubbing affectionately between his shoulder blades. “It’s good, huh?”

He swallows and gives the other a nod. “Yeah, pretty good. Thanks.” Thankfully, it should wake him up, too. He’s still feeling kind of groggy.

“Good!! Osomatsu-nii-san said he’s gonna give you your medicine in a minute, since I told him you were up and hurting.” Jyushimatsu shoves his binder of cards away, shifting up to sit on the sofa. “Do you want me to move you up here after you’re done drinking?”

“Probably, yeah. You got anything you wanna do today?” Another sip, and he sighs in relief feeling the warmth flow through him. Damn.He can’t believe he could take something as simple as a cup of tea in the morning for granted. “I can’t really help with baseball practice… but we could watch TV together or something.”

“Sure! We can watch whatever you want!” After only a few seconds, Jyushimatsu wiggles himself back down and leans against his big brother’s shoulder. “Hey, Ichimatsu-nii-san… I’m really glad you’re okay. Even though you’re hurt and everything, you’re home with us instead of… being not home with us!”

The least he can do is let his head rest gently against Jyushimatsu’s. “Yeah… I’m glad I’m home, too. Don’t think I’d rather be anywhere else.”

Jyushimatsu nods eagerly, making a brief, dull wave of pain wash through Ichimatsu. However, he’d rather have that pain than not have his little brother close. “We’ll take really good care of you! Just say if you need anything, okay? I’m really strong and I can get anything! … And if I can’t, Osomatsu-nii-san probably can!”

“Heh.” Ichimatsu takes another gulp of his tea. “You guys are the best.”

True to Jyushimatsu’s word, Osomatsu is in pretty soon to give Ichimatsu the painkillers. For whatever reason, even when he can’t be trusted with literally anything else, the eldest is pretty good at monitoring medicine when one of the others needs it.

All things being equal, Ichimatsu has a lot of faith in taking medicine when Osomatsu keeps track of it. He knows how much was dispensed, how many Ichimatsu is supposed to take and how often, how many are left, and all the related things. He’s like some kind of idiot savant who was put on Earth to be a pill counter.

After he takes it, he expects to start getting tired again, so he silently begs Osomatsu to stay on the couch with him. They’re all supposed to be hanging out anyway, based on what Jyushimatsu said, so right now he decides he wants to be close to his oldest brother for a little bit.

Osomatsu seems all too happy to oblige, snuggling Ichimatsu as close as he dares to. It’s probably not a good idea to use normal force, so the touches are… lighter than usual. It’s not so bad.

He settles in on Osomatsu’s shoulder, trying to get his eyes to focus on the show Jyushimatsu turned it to for him. It’s kind of unfortunate that he’s almost certainly going to fall asleep on it. “You guys are taking really good care of me,” he sighs, letting his eyes slip closed. “You want my allowance? Or, like… a bag of sardines?”

Osomatsu snorts. “What? You’re nuts, man. We’re taking care of you because we want to and because you need it. I mean, if I was sitting here with a broken leg, a broken wrist, broken ribs, and had to have my shoulder cherry popped back into place, wouldn’t you all be like, ‘Wow, maybe we should give the poor bastard a hand’? We’re just doing the same thing for you that we’d do for any one of us.”

Ichimatsu huffs. “Yeah, well… you’re all doing a lot. Karamatsu went in the kitchen past midnight to make me miso and rice, Choromatsu probably fucked up his back sleeping against the couch so I wouldn’t be lonely, Jyushi’s waiting on me, and you’ve got my medicine on a damn schedule or something.”

“Yeah, well,” Osomatsu grins, “I can’t leave it up to you, crackhead.”

He can’t help but chuckle at that. Even so, it’s not going to make him totally drop this. “I’m serious. You guys are…”

Osomatsu nudges him carefully. “We’re being brothers, you boner. I know we suck at showing it sometimes, but… you know we all love each other, right? I guess it’s easier to show it when one of us is sick or hurt. Just so happens you’re the hurt one right now. And also your ass is on painkillers, so everything seems weird to you.”

… Okay, so maybe he can’t fault that logic. Still, though.

They’re both quiet for a long moment while they watch the screen, then Osomatsu lets out a soft hum. “You did good, you know. I don’t like that you tried to get yourself killed, but you did good.”

“I wasn’t trying to get myself killed,” Ichimatsu retorts with the nastiest facial expression he can muster right now. “I didn’t wanna get hit, either. But Karamatsu and Totty weren’t paying attention… I didn’t want them to get hit. I was trying to get us all out of that way… I just wasn’t fast enough.”

Osomatsu scoffs before reaching his hand up to ruffle Ichimatsu’s hair. He appears to be getting a lot of pets like that lately, not that he’s complaining. It feels really good and is one of the biggest comforts he has right now. “You protected them, anyway. I can’t say too much, because you didn’t do anything I wouldn’t have done if it were me.”

Ichimatsu offers a low, mocking wail. “Oh, shit. I’m turning into you. I think I’d rather be a cat. If I were a really bratty cat, you’d still be nice enough to feed me sardines and scratch behind my ears, right?”

“Uhhhh, I guess. You’re changing the subject, you dick.” A small puff of laughter makes his bangs move. “I just… wanna say I really respect you, man. Sometimes I remember the days when you would kick Karamatsu in the leg just for breathing the wrong way. And when you used to blow Totty off to hang with your friends in high school.”

He gets a shrug in response. “People change. We’ve all changed a lot.”

“Yeah, sure. I know.” His arm shifts down and he squeezes Ichimatsu’s good hand in that reassuring, proud way only an older sibling can. “They haven’t all been good changes. But seeing you trying to keep the others safe… that’s a a good change. Just gotta give you your props, Ichimacchan.”

He’s too tired to really argue with Osomatsu. Despite the fact that he knows he’s the shittiest of them all, he has to at least silently acknowledge that what he did prevented one of his older brothers and his baby brother from being in the same pain he’s in right now.

Instead of saying anything meaningful, he just presses himself in more against Osomatsu and mutters, “That’s nice. I’m tired.”

Osomatsu snorts and Ichimatsu feels a light kiss on top of his head. “Alright, dumbass, get some sleep. The pills are probably kicking in. Let me know if you need anything.”

Ichimatsu thinks that, right now, all he needs is his big brother to be the perfect pillow, and he’s doing a pretty good job of that.

Although it’s not dark at all the next time Ichimatsu wakes up, it’s significantly later than he meant to sleep. 3 P.M., meaning that once again he’s slept through a meal ― lunch, this time.

Just like last night, he finds that he’s not really all that hungry. Even so, it might be a good idea to eat, so probably he ask Osomatsu to get him something small.

When he shifts and looks over, though, Osomatsu isn’t there anymore. Instead, there’s Totty…

… Oh.

He’s holding onto Ichimatsu pretty tight. Ichimatsu isn’t sure he can move too much with the way Totty is holding him.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Totty? Everything okay?”

His little brother stiffens, wide eyes suddenly turning up to look at him. Unlike what he noticed about Karamatsu, Totty doesn’t have any physical injuries, but… the skin around his eyes is red and puffy. “Y… yeah, it’s all good. Sorry, am I hurting you?”

“No… not really hurting.” He doesn’t remember having seen Totty too much after everything happened. He visited Ichimatsu in the hospital, all teary-eyed and not talking, before they were all allowed to take him home. Once he got home, though, he can’t recall Totty being around a lot even though everyone else was.

He assumed Totty was freaked out after everything and avoiding him just because he’s emotional right now. Seems Ichimatsu was right about that.

He maneuvers his good arm to put it around Totty’s shoulders, pulling him in closer. “Have you been crying? You sure you’re okay?”

Totty sniffles and dips his head down. “Yeah, sorry… I just…”

“Don’t be sorry, dumbass.” Even though it hurts a little to move so much, Ichimatsu cuddles his brother in against him. “It’s fine, you big crybaby. I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”

“I should be the one making sure you’re okay.” Regardless, Totty nestles in, tucking his head under Ichimatsu’s chin. It’s a bit of a weight on his hurt ribs, but it’s not that bad. “… H-hey. I, um. You know. I… I love you.”

Huh. It’s been a while since Totty has said that point-blank to any of his brothers, Ichimatsu thinks. It’s kind of nice to hear. He closes his eyes and offers an appreciative hum. “I love you, too. That it?”

Totty lets out a frustrated sigh, and Ichimatsu can just imagine the pout he has on his face. Kinda cute. He can’t really help himself; the youngest is always gonna be the baby, always gonna be adorable, even when he’s acting like a little bitch or if he wants to deny it. “I wanted to… say I’m sorry.”

“For…?”

“For… everything! Y-you know, for almost getting hit and… I mean, you got hurt trying to protect me and Karamatsu! If I hadn’t tried to follow him without even looking… you wouldn’t have had to worry about me. And… and I haven’t been with you too much since you got home…”

He nuzzles his head against Ichimatsu’s collarbone, kneading his hand against the top of his brother’s good leg. “I’m sorry about that. It’s just… I’ve been… really upset. It was scary, seeing the car hit you…”

The hum Ichimatsu gives this time is lower, pensive and understanding. “Yeah. Mom said you were crying a lot when she got to the hospital. ‘S okay to be kinda freaked out, you know.”

“Yeah, I know… and I was… am.I was scared the whole time… Karamatsu tried to wake you up, but you were just lying there and you wouldn’t…” Totty sniffles and his hand curls into a weak fist against Ichimatsu’s knee. “I didn’t wanna lose you, Ichimatsu-nii-san, and I was really afraid you were gone. I’m happy you’re okay… I just… I-I was pretty sure I was gonna cry the first time I tried to take care of you, so I… wanted to be alone with you. Crying in front of all you guys is…”

Ichimatsu nods to quiet his brother, ghosting a kiss over the top of Totty’s head. “I get it. It’s okay, Totty. C’mere, okay… you don’t have to be sorry for being freaked out and not wanting to cry and all that shit. I’m sure Karamatsu’s freaked out, too. And everyone else. Don’t apologize for your feelings, stupid.”

An indignant huff is the response he gets, before Totty presses in against Ichimatsu’s uninjured shoulder. “It just makes me think a lot,” he finally confesses.

Ichimatsu smirks. “Right. And you’re so out of practice with thinking, it’s hard. I know.”

“Th-that’s not it, you jerk!” Totty whines and brings his arms in, curled against his chest. His knees come up onto the couch, folded under him, as he tries to get comfortable. “It makes me think… anything could happen, at any moment, and that… might be it.And I know we’re all shitty to each other a lot of the time, but… but I love all of you.”

He sniffles, snuggling against Ichimatsu when his big brother pulls him even closer. “The thought that one of us might… die… I-I didn’t… I didn’t know how afraid I was of that… till I thought it happened. If one of us wasn’t here… it… it wouldn’t be the same anymore.”

“… Yeah.” Ichimatsu gives Totty a squeeze that’s maybe a little tighter than necessary. It’s not like he can pretend that Totty is wrong. He’s right. Even though they’re all assholes and treat each other like crap sometimes, the last thing any of them want is for their family to be… incomplete.

They sit quietly for what feels like a long time, holding each other. Breathing. Just existing in sync, in perfect understanding for a while.

Sometimes, it’s true, Ichimatsu is kind of a death seeker. Sometimes he really does want to die. Sometimes he doesn’t care about anything, and just wants it all to end so he doesn’t have to deal with the weight of life anymore.

Sometimes, though… sometimes he fights death with all he has. He thinks maybe that’s what happened after he got hit by the car.

It would have been easy to die then. To just let his injuries swallow him up and put out his life like blowing out a candle.

He’s in a lot of pain right now, but he’s not dead. There must be a reason, right?

He thinks this is the reason.

Holding his youngest brother and realizing how broken his absence would leave his family, thinking about how broken it would be if anyof them were gone, how much they love each other…

… For once, he’s happy to be alive.

#Osomatsu san #whump #Ichimatsu #Allmatsu #Iromatsu #Nenchuumatsu #Suujimatsu #Parkamatsu #110matsu #car accident #broken bones #medication #caretaking #HEY LOOK AT THESE AWESOME BROTHERS BEING AWESOME #SORRY THIS GOT SO LONG BUT I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF.........#PLS ENJOY THE FOOD <3

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fanfic-chan · 3 years

Note

hi there! if the requests are still open, could i request for a ler!mama midnight and a lee!momo? perhaps momo is really upset over a failed grade or a bad week! if you do this, thank you! :D

Tysm for sending this ask! I feel like Mama Midnight doesn't get nearly enough attention, and it was really fun to write for her! I hope you like it!^^

Perfectly Imperfect

Ler: Mama Midnight

Lee: Momo

"Hey Momo, are you coming?"

"Oh, um, yes of course! You guys go on ahead without me, I'll catch up in a moment! I just need to pack my things."

"Ok, no problem! See you at the dorms!"

As soon as the last of her classmates had left, Momo slumped in her seat, picking up the piece of paper from her art history test to look at it once more.

79%

That was her grade.

To anyone else, this might not have been such a big deal. It was still a passing grade, and it wouldn't hurt her overall grade average to badly.

But for her, the girl who strived for absolute perfection, the girl who had never gotten a grade below 87%, well, it was rather disheartening.

What's worse is the fact that she'd felt so confident during the test. She might have had self-confidence issues in other areas, but academics was not one of them. She'd always done well in school, and took great pride in her ability to retain information.

So… Why had she done so poorly this time?..

"Yaoyorozu? What are you still doing in here?"

She jerked her head up suddenly to be met with the concerned gaze of her teacher, Miss Midnight.

"O-Oh! Miss Midnight! I- I was just- j-just!.."

She covered her mouth as she realized how trembly her voice was, and she was completely mortified when she realized tears were streaming down her cheeks.

"I- I'm so sorry! I-"

She didn't even have time to finish her frantic apologies before she was suddenly wrapped in a warm embrace, and she stiffened for a moment in shock before relaxing into her teacher's touch.

"Miss Midnight I-"

"Shh. Just let it all out alright? Your fine Yaoyorozu."

Her teacher's tone was uncharacteristically firm, yet gentle. Much like her own mother's. That comparison alone was enough to make her break, and she sobbed into the hero's shoulder, all the while being hushed and soothed by the woman.

It took a while, and Momo wasn't sure how long they'd stayed that way until finally her cries had lessened into small whimpers, and she pulled away.

"I'm sor-"

"Nuh uh, none of that now. It's my job as your teacher to look out for you alright? Now, what's the matter hm? Is it something you feel you can talk about?"

The creation hero hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly, looking down at her lap.

"I… I got a 79 on my test and I- I know it's not a bad grade, and I should be greatful! But… But.. I've just.. never gotten such a low score before… It's silly, selfish even, to think this way. I know that! But I still feel terrible about it, like I've let everyone down. I'm supposed to be this perfect girl, and I do try, but it's just so hard sometimes and I promise I'm not trying to let everyone down but I am anyway and-"

"Your wrong."

"W-what?.."

"Your wrong. You don't have to be perfect Yaoyorozu. No one is, and no one ever will be. I realize that you have a tremendous amount of pressure on you, as do all UA students, to set an example for the world. However, I also realize another thing, and I want you to look at me when I say this."

At this point, she paused to take the girl's hands in her own, and the young hero in training locked her onyx-colored eyes with her teacher's own blue ones, which were shockingly intense.

"You couldn't be a more perfect you, than you already are, Yaoyorozo. Your an amazing vice-rep, and you show such an amazing amount of dedication in everything that you do that it truly astounds your teachers. Yes, even that grumpy Aizawa. Getting a lower grade than you hoped does feel terrible, yes, but just know that it doesn't affect how any of us see you. Your classmates will still look up to you, and your teacher's will still support and encourage you in your journey. Don't forget that alright?"

Momo couldn't help but stare in awe at her teacher for a moment before her breath hitched, and she practically jumped into her teacher's arms once more, whispering small 'thank you's' between her quiet crying as she did so.

The woman simply held her, and began to rub small soothing circles into her back. Well, they would have been soothing, if not for the slightly familiar sensation that accompanied them.

"M-Mihiss Midnihihight."

"Hm?.."

"Th-Thahahat tickles!"

The rubbing stopped for a moment, as her teacher seemed to take in that information, but instead of stopping, she simply grinned and started up again, feigning ignorance. After all, her student could use some cheering up about now.

"Tickles? I'm afraid I don't know what your talking about Yaoyorozo."

"Y-yehes you dohoho!"

"Nope. I've never heard of that word before. Hmm. Now if only there were a smart girl around here to tell me what that means."

Momo couldn't help but laugh at her teacher's teasing, and giggled softly as she continued to trace light, ticklish circles into her back. She knew she was baiting her into admitting she was smart, into complimenting herself.

It was working.

"T-tihihickles: it means to lihihightly touch a person in a way that causes a tihihihingling sensahation and oftehen lahahaughter."

"Oh thank goodness! It turns out there was a smart girl here to tell me after all! How amazing!"

Finally she stopped, and helped the poor girl up to her feet, soft titters of laughter still bubbling up as she helped her to clean her face up.

"Your perfect just as you are Creati. Don't forget that. Now run along and see your friends. We wouldn't want them to be worried."

As Momo stepped out of the classroom, she felt a sudden wave of gratitude for her teacher, and she couldn't help feeling sorry that not many people got to see this side of her. She truly was an amazing person, inside and out, and she really wanted to show her how much she appreciated her encouragement.

So if the next morning the hero found a pretty card with a note of thanks inside and a vase of her favorite flowers on her desk, well, she was pretty sure that would get the message across just fine.

Requests are: Open!

#bnha+tickling #mama midnight #sfw tickles #sfw #momo #momo yaoyorozu #mama midnight is such a bad teaser. you can't convince me otherwise.

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hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

established relationship prompt: "Newton, darling, would you be a dear and eat my arse?"

HAPPY BIRTHDAY HERMANN!!! obvious maybe but not sfw below the cut lmaoooo. WHEW I managed to finish by midnight!

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

Birthdays have never really been the sort of thing Hermann has cared much about. Growing up, they were largely uneventful and unexciting, mostly ignored (if not outright forgotten) by his family, and in adulthood mostly ignored and forgotten by Hermann himself. After all, it’s become rather difficult to look forward to the passing of another year when the odds are growing exponentially higher humanity won’t live to see another, and equally difficult to celebrate the extension of one’s life when so many others have been lost. The very notion makes Hermann feel guilty. For those reasons Hermann has never marked his birthday down on a calendar in his time at the Shatterdome in any capacity, nor has he verbally acknowledged it to anyone. Certainly not to Newton.

It makes the hand-drawn card and small cake he finds on his desk the morning of June 9th all the more surprising. He does not need to read the card to know who the gifts are from. Newton’s distinctive handwriting and little crayon-doodled kaijus aside, Newton is quite obviously watching Hermann over his workbench for his reactions as Hermann inspects the cake. “How did you know?” Hermann finally says.

Newton feigns looking up at him in surprise. “Know what?” he says.

Hermann waves the card. “That it’s my,” he pauses, then continues, his mouth curling down with distaste at the word, “birthday?”

“Lucky guess,” Newton says. Hermann taps his finger impatiently on his cane, and Newton begins to tug off his work gloves with an eye roll. “Okay, I maaaaybe snooped through some of your employee records a little while back. But it was for totally valid reasons, dude. Relationship status, number one, birthday number two. How else was I gonna know all the important shit about you?”

“You could’ve asked,” Hermann says. He supposes this must’ve occurred right before Newton approached him in the laboratory a few months ago and asked him if he’d like to have sex. Hermann didn’t regret saying no at the time, and he still doesn’t, really, but he should’ve known Newton would be the…sentimental sort. Too affection-starved to let their convenient arrangement remain just that. At least he hasn’t thrown Hermann a party. “Besides. Did it ever occur to you I was keeping such things private for a reason?”

“You keep everything private,” Newton says. “I don’t even know your favorite color.”

“Most people don’t,” Hermann says.

“Yeah, but, you’re not—” Newton shakes his head, and lowers his voice, “—sleeping with most people. I mean, maybe you are, I don’t know, do whatever you want, man. I just mean—I want to know shit about you. Like your birthday. Since we’re—yeah.”

“I see.” Hermann sniffs. “Well. How terribly considerate of you.”

The sarcasm is unfortunately lost on Newton; he merely preens, and grins at Hermann, happy even to accept the smallest inkling of a compliment. “Yeah, I know. Anyway, what do you want to do tonight?”

Hermann expects he will do what he always does tonight, which is work late, eat dinner (usually cold by the time he clocks out) late, shower (also cold by the time he clocks out), and then go to bed. Though he supposes he’ll have to figure out what to do with the absurd little cake by then, as he doesn’t have a refrigerator in his bunk in which to store it. “Nothing much, I imagine,” he says.

“Really?” Newton says. “I was thinking we could wrap up early and head out somewhere fun for dinner. I was Googling cool places nearby that haven’t been, like, destroyed by kaiju yet. Or we could just get drinks. Or I also have drinks back in my room, and we could order pizza or something, so we don’t have to go out at all.”

“We?” Hermann says. Of course, Hermann ought to have known that sentimentality would also dictate he and Newton spend Hermann’s birthday together. All on account of a few, er, stress-relieving and completely emotionless liaisons every now and then. None of Hermann’s previous sexual partners (a rare handful, but existent nonetheless) have ever insisted on spending his birthday with him, and they’ve certainly never bought Hermann a card or cake, either. It would feel far too—well—intimate. What Hermann would only expect from a long-term partner. It’s really rather presumptuous of Newton to assume Hermann has any interest in celebrating with him. “Newton, really, it’s not—”

“Or we don’t have to have dinner at all,” Newton says quickly. “You could come over, and we can just…”

Do what they typically do when Hermann goes to Newton’s bunk, he expects. Hermann clears his throat. “You really have done quite enough for me already today,” he says. "I don't think—well—" He fidgets, scraping his cane across the floor, glancing back down at the cake and card. Newton has clearly handmade the cake as well: the frosting is colored a rather eye-searing shade of blue, layered on messily, and the Happy Birthday Hermann! written in yellow across it is cramped at the end, as if Newton did a poor job of space management. It is rather sweet of him. Hermann finds his heart softening just a bit towards his odd lab partner. "Oh, alright," he says, and Newton perks up happily. "But I'd rather not do anything too, er, fancy for dinner."

"Ha!" Newton says. "Awesome! Come over at six?"

Six means that Hermann will have to leave the laboratory no later than fifty-thirty if he wishes to shower and prepare himself for any sort of activity that may arise between them while they sit alone in Newton's bunk. Five-fifteen, if Hermann is being realistic, as he knows he will spend at least twenty minutes fussing over his appearance (wondering if he ought to shave away the few almost-clear pieces of stubble on his chin, smoothing back his hair, critically eyeing up his bony chest) as he always does upon the evenings when Newton invites him over. Hermann would like to protest and remind Newton that he does need to get some work done, but he really can't find it in himself, especially not when he knows Newton will put up a fuss and try to argue Hermann out of it anyway. "Six," Hermann agrees. He supposes he could use an early night in. Besides, it might be nice to treat his birthday as something special this year.

-------

Hermann arrives at Newton's bunk promptly at six. In lieu of dinner, which Hermann did not really expect they would be having, Newton (stripped down to a faded pair of boxer shorts and a white undershirt) leads Hermann over to his bed, sets his cane aside, lays him on his back, and begins to kiss him before either of them exchange a single word. It's rather more gently than Hermann is used to from Newton. Their liaisons are typically of the fast and rough sort, spurned on by fierce arguments and a need to outdo each other in everything, even sex. He can't say gentle doesn't feel nice. "What do you want to do?" Newton mumbles against his mouth.

"Do?" Hermann says. Are they not already doing something?

As Newton begins to kiss and stroke his fingers across Hermann's neck, Hermann finds his gaze wandering to the cinderblock ceiling of Newton's bunk. Everything feels rather nice and hazy. Newton's skin is warm and still slightly damp from a shower of his own, and each time Hermann inhales, he is nearly overwhelmed by the strong scent of Newton's body wash, unique, as far as Hermann knows, to only him on the Shatterdome base. Newton scorns the standard PPDC-issued kind, claiming that it irritates his skin, and so orders his own online once every few months. A funny little habit of his. Hermann is far less picky. "You're the birthday boy," Newton says. He flicks open Hermann's top button and nips at his collarbone. "Do you want to fuck me tonight? Or I could fuck you?" He speaks in short bursts, sentences stolen between pecks to Hermann's lips and punctuated by further nips to Hermann's throat. "I know we've only done it those ways a few times. But it's, like, a special occasion. And we have lots of time. I got new lube. Just in case. It got good reviews online?"

Hermann shivers pleasantly each time Newton says fuck. Newton's voice is far from sensual, Hermann must admit, but he is bold in voicing those sorts of desires in a way Hermann could never hope to be, and so it affects him as if Newton had purred the words. He secretly loves how crass Newton can be in bed—begging Hermann to fuck him harder, telling Hermann how much he loves fucking him, gripping at Hermann's hair and whining fuck, fuck, fuck while Hermann works his mouth over Newton as best he can. Hermann is not sure what he wants, and he's not sure what he wants from Newton tonight, either. "I don't know," he confesses. Newton kisses his mouth again, pressing his tongue in clumsily, and Hermann's eyelids flutter, the ceiling growing hazy. "Newton," he groans.

Newton's breaths are coming out in short, excited pants, and his fingers fumble over the next button on Hermann's shirt. Hermann suddenly feels foolish for changing into a fresh shirt and pair of slacks after his shower and not just his pajamas as Newton has. Foolish, and impatient with himself. It'll take Newton longer to strip him down to his bare skin.

"If you don't want to do all that I could just jerk us off a little," Newton says. He inches his hand down to the front of Hermann's slacks, rubbing against Hermann's zipper as clumsily as he'd kissed him. It's far too rough and graceless to be truly arousing, but it's Newton doing it to him, so Hermann pushes into his palm anyway. He feels Newton smile against his skin. "Or anything. Seriously. I wanna, like, make you feel good."

At once Hermann knows what he wants, and the need for it seizes him so tightly that he flushes brilliantly and bites down on his lip to keep from blurting it out and making a fool of himself. (It would hardly be healthy for Newton's already inflated ego if he knew just how badly Hermann wants him.) Newton has done it for him only two or three—well, three or four—times before, and each time has left Hermann an incoherent, trembling wreck upon the sheets. And no one does it to him the way Newton does; their arrangement is not technically monogamous, as that would require an admission of deeper feelings which neither of them are willing to make (and which are entirely nonexistent on Hermann's part), but Hermann has long since stopped seeking sex from anyone but Newton after a disappointing experience with a handsome j-tech who simply had no idea how to use his mouth effectively. Hermann likes to think Newton's is more skilled for the sheer fact that he never stops running it. "Newton," he says, falsely calm, stammering only slightly when Newton gropes at the length of his prick through his layers. "Newton, would you—would you be a dear, and eat my arse? Of course," he adds in a rush, "if it's too much trouble, don't—"

"Dude, of course," Newton says, smiling down so sweetly at Hermann that Hermann's heart twists in his chest. "No problem. I have the extra pillows in my closet, lemme get them." He slips to his feet, but hesitates. "Do you want to me finish—I mean, like, your shirt, and your pants, and—"

"I can do it," Hermann says.

Newton nods, and stumbles over to his closet to dig around for the spare pillows while Hermann makes fast work of his clothing. He finds himself strangely unwilling to part with his undershirt tonight. Not out of any lack of desire for Newton to see him naked, but rather out of a strange bashfulness at the idea of being fully on display for him. Which is really quite silly of Hermann. Newton has seen him naked countless times, both in his own bed and in the laboratory decontamination shower after some (Newton-induced) accident or another. It is only when Newton returns with the pillows that Hermann finally tosses the undershirt to the floor with the rest of his clothing. He's embarrassed to see his pink flush spreading down his bare chest, and hopes Newton does not notice it. What on Earth is wrong with him tonight? "You look hot," Newton says, sweeping his eyes up and down Hermann's body. He's still wearing his glasses. "Um. Pillows?"

"Yes," Hermann says.

Newton arranges the pillows in the way he and Hermann typically do when they engage in this particular activity, with enough support beneath Hermann's lower back, left hip, and left knee that he won't strain himself. As he parts Hermann's thighs and kneels between them, Hermann suddenly wishes that he was laying on his stomach instead. He does not want to watch Newton, nor does he want Newton to be able to watch him, for he feels twice as aroused and twice as overwhelmed tonight and he's sure neither will help that; the idea of falling apart under Newton's gaze is so tremendously mortifying that he almost asks Newton to turn him over. But then Newton is pressing a kiss to his inner thigh, and dragging his marvelous tongue across the sensitive skin there, behind Hermann's prick... "Oh, Newton," Hermann gasps, and Newton gently tucks Hermann's right leg over his shoulder, "oh, yes, Newton—"

He hides his whimpers behind his left hand as Newton licks and mouths at him hungrily, and fists his right hand in Newton's hair when Newton curls the tip of his tongue and begins to tease at him. "More," Hermann begs, breathless, pressing himself down on Newton's tongue to feel as much of it as he possibly can. His prick is stiff against his stomach. Newton laughs, and Hermann feels it vibrate within him. "Ah—more, please—"

"Uh-huh," Newton says. His glasses are fogging and crooked on his nose, and when he nods they slip down a centimeter. His tongue prods more insistently at Hermann, almost (but not quite) hard enough to breach into him, and Hermann bites down on his knuckles to contain another whimper. Newton hasn't even put a single bloody finger in him yet, and Hermann needs to calm himself down if he wishes to last until he does.

Then Newton sucks at him, moaning, and (his back arching, his eyelids fluttering) Hermann finds himself unable to hold off any longer. He squeezes his thighs on either side of Newton's head and cries out, "Newton—"

Newton swoops up to catch his release in his waiting mouth and swallows it all down. He presses a kiss to Hermann's inner thigh as Hermann trembles and shakes, and Hermann feels rather than hears him mumble something into his skin he can't quite make out. He follows it with another kiss, sweeter than the last, before crawling back up and dropping next to Hermann on the mattress. He watches Hermann catch his breath with soft eyes. "Please," Hermann says when he finds himself able. His voice is terrifically hoarse. "Let me—for you—" He gestures vaguely at the front of Newton's boxers and hopes Newton understands what he means.

But Newton shakes his head. "Nah," he says. "Don't worry about it, I'll take care of it. I know how lazy you get after you finish."

Hermann feels as if he ought to be affronted, but Newton says it with such obvious affection, and strokes his fingers through Hermann's sweat-damp hair so soothingly Hermann can do nothing but lean in to his touch happily. And Newton is not wrong, really. Hermann's eyelids are already beginning to droop. He imagines he'll be dozing any minute now. Newton winds an arm around his shoulders and draws him closer, and Hermann nearly shivers from the warmth his body exudes. "Thank you," Hermann murmurs. He's about to lay his head on Newton's shoulder and allow himself to doze when he realizes he ought to ask for permission first. Newton may still wish to go out to the mess hall and eat dinner, after all, and he may not want Hermann hanging around here. "Er—I don't suppose you would consider letting me sleep here? Only for tonight."

"Of course, dude," Newton says. "Not just tonight, any time you want. Seriously. I'm kinda—well, nevermind." He presses a kiss to Hermann's temple, and Hermann does not find out what he kind of is. "Happy birthday."

"Mm," Hermann says, shutting his eyes.

Newton strokes his hair until he falls asleep.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #not sfw /////#HAPPY BDAY HERMANNNNNN

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oigimi · 3 years

Text

. on my own .

. arthur x mc . 1.4k words . first person, angst .

. this is definitely a sadder piece i’ve written but i hope you enjoy it anyway! i might make a part 2 to this depending on how my feelings about it grow so please tell me if i should make one! .

After Arthur and I had a silent walk home one evening, hand in hand, I couldn’t help but experience some thoughts and emotions that I’d never thought I would experience before. Something was starting to form within me, born of the sweet smiles he gave me and the security he provided when he held my hand. A part of me wished that he didn’t wear those leather gloves so that I could have felt his warmth in its entirety when we walked home, and that was never a wish I would ever think I’d make. I said goodbye to Arthur and went back up into my room to change, and found myself completely hollow in the chest when I realized he wasn’t there next to me.

How badly can a human want to be with another? Aren’t there limits to the emotions we can feel? Surely if someone felt too much love or sorrow they’d burst on the spot. There’s a reason we’re so good at controlling ourselves most of the time, but tonight was just different. I wanted to stare out the windowsill. I wanted to bawl without reason. I wanted to fall asleep and wake up again in a world where no one belonged in Arthur’s arms but me.

But in my mind… that was the world I was in. It was true. No one should be in his arms but me. I knew he was going back to the pub the next night, and I probably wouldn’t see him until the following morning, and it just made my body lose its self-control when I thought of Arthur with other women in his arms. It was miserable, and made me want to run to wherever he was and demand that I be a permanent part of life, if only he’d let me. Such thoughts were foreign to me, until that evening we’d come home from our walk.

I looked down at the music box he’d so kindly gifted to me. It played a beautiful melody to accompany its careful craftsmanship, and turning it on was like activating a machine that made all of my woes vanish. Oh, how I wanted to give him something that made his heart spin the way his gift had made mine. But truthfully, I didn’t even know if his heart was capable of spinning. Someone as wonderful and charming as Arthur had to have met someone that could make him dizzy with wonder by now. And if he hadn’t, was there really any hope? And did I even deserve to have fantasies like these?

I had to step out. I had to get some fresh air else the scent of the candle in my room would put me to sleep. It was almost midnight, so I suppose I really should have been sleeping. But I just couldn’t bring myself to. I had to do some thinking before I closed the book. I changed back into my standard clothes and tried to make a run for the outside. It wasn’t too cold out and the moonlight was rather clear, perfect conditions for a nice long session of thought.

To my surprise, the gate opened without issue. I snuck out, only alerting Sebastian’s little lamb, Lotte, in her pen. She gave a weak bleat or two, as if warning me not to go, but I shook my head and kept going. What do lambs know about love? And what did Lotte know about pain? Next to nothing, I presumed, so I banished all thoughts of the lamb as I made my way down the streets. As I got further from the mansion, I felt myself almost becoming disconnected from the rest of the world. Arthur was getting further and further behind me, and my sense of being seemed to be going with him.

How fun it is to be on your own and play in the sandbox that is reality. Like an astronaut disconnected from his ship, you’re completely above the world laid out for you. The world is as magical and fantastical as you make it. And boy, was I an expert at making believe.

As I marched forward, I felt a hand in my own. A warm, ungloved hand that ignited the flame in my heart that didn’t need any fuel. Not even looking up, I broke out into a smile. “Arthur… You came along with me.”

“Of course I did.” He raised my hand to his lips and planted a sweet, gentle kiss that shook my core. Oh, the way his beautiful eyes sparkled until the full silver moon. He lowered my hand, keeping them linked to each other, and led me forward. Walking with Arthur was not like any other experience you could ever have. He lifted me up and took me for a twirl or two without even touching me. He made me laugh, he made me cry. He took away my sins and replaced them with joy. And the best part, was that he was just like me. I would never be good enough for him, but the remnants of humanity in his soul reminded me that he was not without flaws. I don’t think I could ever love a man without flaws, and I could really never love a man who knew it. Arthur was frivolous and flirty and never seemed to be on anyone’s radar, but he knew he was flawed. What broke me was the fact that I knew he thought his flaws made him unlovable. It’s so funny how he’s so sharp, so brilliant, but doesn’t know how I really feel about him. I knew he was the most lovable man in history, but he didn’t. Heh. I guess there’s one thing I have over him.

As we walked, I contemplated if I should tell him. I squeezed his hand tighter, trying to rejuvenate the warmth that he gave on an increasingly colder night. What would Arthur say? The streets would have been completely empty and cold had it not been for the two of us, and the love that radiated from our hearts. Would my confession brighten the light or dim it? Or even worse… dim it completely? Why had Arthur been so silent the whole walk? God, so many questions plagued my mind, but everything came to a halt when we approached the beautiful, flowing River Seine.

I peered into the water, and before I knew it, I was adding a single droplet to her flowing waters. There was one person in the reflection, and one reflection only. The lights went out. The warmth completely vanished. And before I knew it, I was sitting on the riverbank, my face buried into my hands.

Oh, that’s the tradeoff to make believe. You live in your own magical little world where anything is yours, but like the astronaut detached from his ship, you find yourself hopeless and lost when all is done. How we all desire to live in the worlds we create for ourselves, and float in space forever. But that just can’t happen. I should’ve listened to Lotte. I shouldn’t have left. I shouldn’t have let my imagination wander, because I just found myself more lost than before. I let my feet soak in the river, thinking about the coin I’d tossed in with Arthur a few weeks ago. The coin I’d thrown in with the wish to leave with a smile on my face. I couldn’t bring myself to leave now, nor could I bring myself to smile.

Goddamn wishful thinking, and the pain it causes. I loved Arthur so much that I was answering my own question. I was about to burst. I was about to feel my heart jump right out of my chest and let me down yet again. It was time to resign for the night, I’d decided, so I stood up and looked next to me where I’d imagined Arthur to be on the walk there. “I love you,” I whispered. The tears kept flowing and my heart kept breaking. Despite all of this, I turned around and made my return trip home. But this time, only on my own.

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp arthur x reader #ikevamp arthur x mc #ikevamp headcanons #ikevamp scenarios

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yeojaa · 4 years

Text

ANGELS & AIRWAVES (w. jjk)

He's never met you but you know how he sounds when he wakes up from a nap and his greatest fears. You know the way he sings after a shower and that he could be mistaken for a dying seal when he's laughing too hard. The best part? You don't judge him for any of it - including the fact he's a filthy Widow main. He might just love you.

alt summary. Jeon Jungkook has a big fat crush on a girl he's never met.

pairing. jeon jungkook

genre + rating. fluffy crack, smut. explicit.

warning / tags. long-distance relationship, crushes, canon compliant (ish), eventual happy ending, gaming, gamer!jungkook, strangers to lovers, friends to lovers, overwatch, oral (f receiving), fingering, enough sweetness you’ll get cavities.

reading. n/a. a three part one-shot.

word count. ~8400

part iii.

JUNGKOOK’S HOTEL ROOM Sunday, 3 May, 2020. 12:20 AM (LA), 4:20 PM (Seoul).

There’s nothing quite like the feeling after a show. How it crowds cavities behind his molars and sets his heart off on a marathon, exhilaration colouring his cheeks and stealing his voice. It’s something he’ll never get tired of - all the best parts of this journey presented on a silver platter.

Still, he thinks talking to you might be a close second.

“I can’t understand a single thing you’re saying,” you chide, playfully, with a mouthful of granola. It crunch crunch crunches in his ears, blocking the sound of his own laughter, ringing and half out of breath.

“I said I’m sorry. I’ve been so busy. Things have just been—” Crazy? Out of this world? Some kind of wonderful? “—hectic.” He all but throws himself across his bed, the luxurious hotel sheets soft against his still overheated cheek. It feels nice but steals the strength of his voice, muffling his words as he continues, like a runaway train with no destination in mind.

You laugh at him as you always do, mirth sprinkled over teasing like little treasures to be found among the vowels and consonants. “It’s fine , Jay.” The name - not his name - rolls off your tongue, dragged out by the giggles you can’t help. “I know you’re a busy guy. Don’t worry about it.”

Easier said than done, Jungkook thinks. You’ve been on his mind every day, in between the practices and the performances. A silhouette shaped like you - not that he knows how you’re shaped - existing in the recesses of his thoughts.

“Anyway, I finally stopped losing SR so it’s not all bad...”

He doesn’t register what you’re saying. Not at first, anyway. But when he does? He’s belligerent, the loudest shriek rocketing out of his chest as he dissolves into laughter. So you were a little bit better than him. “Hey!”

“Hey yourself, sandbag.”

Your mockery shouldn’t have the dumbest smile spreading like wildfire but it does, the expression eating up every ounce of his exhausted self. He can’t fight it, glee working itself every which way until he’s on his back, staring up at the ceiling as his jaw aches.

“You’re mean,” he manages in between the teeth-numbing joy, chest heaving.

He’s certain you don’t mean it the way he takes it. “And yet you love it.”

God, if only you knew.

He wants to tell you so badly - wants to shout it from the rooftops until he’s blue in the face and without a voice. He thinks he’d have a chance, maybe, if your passed secrets at midnight and tender goodnights were any indication.

But he can’t, because he’s him and you’re, well, you, and really, it’s just his fault.

“Did you die?” You steal him out of his reverie, tearing him wholly from inside that overthinking head of his. It’s one of the things you’re best at (other than keeping him alive in Overwatch).

He sighs and it’s a wistful sound, softer than any other that’s passed between you since getting on the phone fifteen minutes ago. “I’m good, yeah. I’m fine.”

“You sure? I thought I might’ve lost you for a second.”

The playfulness has returned, rounding syllables in a way that’s very distinctly you.

“Yes, Mom .”

“Watch it or you’re grounded, young man!”

“Do you even know how old I am?” Probably not, because he doesn’t know that about you either.

For all of the secrets you’ve shared, these very basic pieces of information are ones you’ve never exchanged. They’ve always been held tightly to the chest, held hostage behind sharp gates of enamel. There was too much at stake when it came to these identifiers.

Sure, you’d told him about your greatest fear - losing one of your parents without being able to say goodbye - and sure, he’d told you his - not being good enough and letting the people he loves down even when he’s trying as hard as he can - but your ages? Where you grew up? Your real names? That was out of the question.

“Are you about to tell me you’re sixteen? Have I been friends with a high school student this whole time?” You’re chuckling at your own genius. He really doesn't think you’re that funny - low hanging fruit and all that - but he likes the way it sounds, curling out of your mouth like smoke.

“I’m actually twelve . Geez, get it right.”

You gasp, scandalized and as if you really believe him. It makes him choke on his own spit and he has to roll over onto his stomach, effectively trapping his phone between his chest and the bed as he struggles to regulate his breathing.

“I’ve always wanted a little brother!”

It’s a joke. Obviously , it’s a joke. He shouldn’t take it seriously.

And yet he’s fueled with the need to rebuff it, speaking before he has a chance to stop it, the words coming in a flurry. It’s a verbal snowstorm, locking the conversation in place - like Mei’s ultimate except he’s trapped in it, too. “I have something to tell you.” There’s no going back now.

For once, you’re not tearing holes in his confidence - not that you ever do with any sort of animosity. Your relationship was equal parts give and take, honey and vinegar coexisting in perfect harmony.

When Jungkook doesn’t immediately continue, you give him a little push. “Spit it out, Jay.”

“My name isn’t Jay.” A small, insecure part of him worries that that’s enough to shatter the careful friendship you’ve crafted. You - Jinny, the ineffable - remain surprisingly silent. He’s not sure whether that’s encouraging or disheartening. “I… haven’t really been honest with you.”

Already he can feel the nervous energy in his limbs, anxiety replacing the high he’d been on only an hour ago.

“I’m…” How does he start? “I’m not just… some guy.” Okay, that sounds bad. He’s backtracking. “I mean, I’m a guy. I’m normal.” This is going so poorly. His breath catches in his throat, teeth worrying incessantly over the soft cherry Chapsticked contour of his bottom lip. “I’m just not, y’know, your average guy. I’m actually like, uh...”

Jungkook has never stuttered this much in his entire goddamn life.

“My name’s Jeon Jungkook and I’m the golden maknae of Bangtan Sonyeondan.”

It comes in such a rush that you probably don’t hear it clearly. He’s introduced himself this same way for over half a decade and even it sounds strange to his ears.

When you don’t respond after what feels like an eternity, he’s left to his own devices, filling the silence with the erratic beating of his heart.

“Jinny?” It comes smaller than he means it to, uncertain and filled with hesitation. Still, nothing. He wants to toss himself off the 37th floor balcony so he doesn’t have to feel this way. “Can you say something?”

Your voice is far more measured than his own. You’re trying to be serious, he thinks. “I… kind of - sort of - already knew?”

Well, he hadn’t expected that.

“What?”

“I mean, the other members don’t exactly knock before they barge into your room screaming your name.” A beat. He can hear the laughter that’s threatening to knock your words into submission. “ And you posted a cover of a song I sent you.”

Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit .

That was definitely his fault. It’d just been so good - living in his head and in his heart rent-free. “ Never Not’s a good song!” He retorts, like that’s an appropriate rebuttal.

“I know, doofus.”

“You’re the doofus!”

The two of you were back, glazing over the revelation like it was nothing more than a little bump in the road.

“Thank you for telling me, though.” He imagines you’re smiling - can practically hear it in your voice. Somehow, it feels different. Sunnier than usual, blinding in its intensity. “I wasn’t sure if you ever would.”

“Would you have been mad if I didn’t?” Though he asks, he’s not sure if he’s ready for the answer.

“Of course not.”

“Really?”

You’re only a little exasperated when you reassure him. “Of course not. You’re still you - no matter what you do.”

Whatever best case scenario he’d imagined doesn’t hold a candle to this. He’s a million miles over the moon. You must be able to tell because he can hear you stifling sound, trails of laughter buzzing around in his ears like hummingbirds.

“So, what now?”

“What do you mean ‘what now’ ? Didn’t you hear what I just said?” There’s no venom in your words. “You’re still you, Jay.”

“It’s Jungkook.” There’s that unabashed need to hear his name. He hopes it isn’t too obvious.

“I know but that’s gonna be hard to get used to.”

“Is your real name Jinny?” He’s always wondered.

“It’s Yoojin. Jinny’s just my nickname.”

“Well, Jinny—” He says it dragged out and silly. “—want to come to one of our shows?”

“I live in Seoul.”

“So what?”

The second time sounds exactly like the first. He snorts. “I live in Seoul .”

"I’ll fly you to Osaka.”

It’s the first time he’s heard you genuinely shocked. It strips the usual mischief from your tone, draping it in lily white and baby’s breath. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” He doesn’t think he’s wanted anything more. At least, not in a very long time.

“Thanks, Jungkook.”

It sounds better than he could have ever imagined.

KYOCERA DOME OSAKA Thursday, 23 July, 2020. 10 PM.

Does he smell bad? Should he have showered first? Would you be grossed out?

These are all the thoughts running through his mind, chasing themselves in circles like a dog after its own tail. They revolve in a neverending merry-go-round, creasing worry into his brow and dropping his mouth into a little O-shaped pout.

“You ready, Jungkookie?” Jimin’s doing what he does best - draping himself across his maknae’s shoulders without a care in the world.

“Are you nervous?” Hobi’s swiping through his phone, dark hair a stylishly dishevelled mess around his angelic face. He’s still got traces of makeup around his eyes and his clip-on earrings glint under fluorescent light.

A hand lands hard on his shoulder, fingers digging into the muscle in a way that’s meant to be reassuring. “Of course he is.” Namjoon can read him like a book, shooting Jungkook his signature smile in the same instance he receives one.

“I’m not nervous!” The youngest chirps in a voice that warbles like a baby bird.

Everyone laughs at that and he can feel his ears burning around the edge of his baseball cap. It creeps over the shell and down his neck, descending blossoms of colour into the collar of his shirt.

“Shouldn’t you get going?” It’s Yoongi that reminds him of the time, the rapper only barely cracking an eye open as he taps the face of his steel-cased Audemars Piguet. He’s right.

Jungkook jolts out of his seat, scrambling to his feet - all four thousand dollars of his designer boots - and nearly knocks Jimin off the back of the couch he’d been precariously balanced on. The overeager bunny shouts an apology that’s lost amongst even louder laughter as he tears out of the room.

He’s going to be late .

He doesn’t think he’s ever ran so fast in his life - darting past bicycling seniors and tourists with all the grace of a boy in love. He somehow manages to find the entrance of the BIC CAMERA store without much hassle, rooting himself just left of the door when his phone screen registers 10:30 PM.

A little triumphant whoop! presses into the sponge-like material of his facemask in the same moment he catches sight of a waving hand.

He’s not sure whether it’s the mask or the sight of you that’s making it hard to breathe.

“Hi.” You sound exactly like you always have and yet six months of hearing your voice somehow doesn't prepare him for it. It hits him like a ton of bricks, crashing his resolve into the soles of his feet. There’s something about you that makes him squint - like staring directly at the sun. His heart stutters in his chest. He thinks, dimly, he can hear bells in the distance. It’s probably from a food stall, but he doesn’t care.

It’s the first meeting he’s always dreamed of, wrapped up in an adorable pink Cooky headband.

He’s scooping you into his arms before he can think better of it, twirling you around like the princess you are. It probably isn’t appropriate - you’ve only just met - but he can’t resist. You feel so good in his arms, weightless and yet entirely grounding.

The fact that you’ve wrapped your arms around his neck, easily reciprocating his onslaught of affection, doesn't go unnoticed. He tucks away this knowledge into the sleeve of his shirt for safekeeping.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, though he doesn’t sound very sorry at all. You’re back on your two feet, black military boots of your own on solid ground once again.

Standing so close, he can smell your perfume. Its notes of vanilla and cola and something powdery, reminiscent of babies and home. You’re smaller than he imagined, with narrow shoulders and wide hips. Like him, you look to be about 95% leg, faded blue denim hugging your thighs and falling loosely around the tops of your Doc Martens. Your top is long-sleeved but semi-sheer and he can make out what he thinks are inkings over your skin, little trails in greyscale and colour that draw his stare.

Stop being weird , he tells himself when he finally manages to refocus, tearing his gaze from the jasmine branches that traverse your limbs and training it on your eyes instead.

Bad idea, Jungkook.

He’s lost in the colour of your irises - an impossibly dark brown that twinkles under the awning lights - and the heart-shaped turn of your jaw. He’s all too distracted by the high contours of your cheeks, the turn of your button nose, the dusty pink that fills the shape of your mouth and fades prettily against your skin.

“You look like you’re about to pass out.” The way your lips move should be a chargeable offence. They coax into a smirk that’s equal parts soft and vexing, singular dimple presenting itself with the motion.

God, he’s so in over his head. He can feel it in his bones.

So he laughs - because that’s what he does when he’s unnerved - and the sound is a pack of hyenas. It’s Lion King on Broadway, sweeping above the already boisterous cacophony of the entertainment district.

“Your laugh is even better in person.” You’ve said better and not worse and even though he’s a little self-conscious - a decidedly not Jungkook-like thing to be - he preens from the praise.

“Yeah?” Can you see the hearts in his eyes? He imagines they’ve replaced his pupils.

“Yeah. But don’t let that get to your head, mister.”

“Already has - sorry.”

You laugh in sync and it’s music to his ears - the prettiest sound he’s ever heard.

The two of you fall into your routine in a way that feels effortless, the back and forth banter rivalling that of best friends.

You tease him mercilessly, picking up on all his little idiosyncrasies - how he stands at stop lights, pigeon-toed and adorable; how he jams his hands into the back pocket of his jeans in tandem with the tips of his ears burning bright red; how his laugh sometimes trips over itself and splinters like a kid going through puberty. He doesn’t mind any of it, truthfully, because it means you’re paying attention to him just as much as he is you.

Because he sees all of your little habits too - watches them unfold before his eyes in technicolour. You bite your own lip when you think you’ve said something particularly funny. You wiggle your head on your shoulders like a bobblehead when he says something snappy, equally biting remarks softened by the way you bob up and down. You don’t step on cracks, even if it means you’re straining those strangely long legs of yours to carry yourself a few inches further.

You don’t have any patience - something he’s known since the beginning - but that he realizes with a front row seat when you’re shoving a takoyaki into his face. There’s steam curling off it and the smell is intoxicating but he can practically feel the roof of his mouth burning when you’re relentlessly offering it to him. You’re not even deterred by the fact that he’s got a facemask on.

“Open up!”

Jungkook wants to say no - should say no, for the sake of his own health - but he accepts it anyway.

It sears white hot pain the moment it lands on his tongue, teeth buzzing uncomfortably as he bites into the dough. He’s sucking air in through his teeth, the cold barely doing anything to alleviate the sting. He probably looks stupid as hell.

Of course, you’re laughing at him, lips curled in on themselves as you try to choke back the sound.

“Too hot?” You coo, feigning surprise. You do feel a little bad - he can see it in the flex of your jaw, how your bamboo stick-wielding hand lingers in the space between you. “My bad.”

He chews once, twice - tries to keep it to a minimum because holy shit , does it hurt - before swallowing. It burns on the way down. “You eat one now.” He’s pushing the tray towards you, long fingers curled around yours as he all but tries to make you face plant into the plate.

“I don’t like squid,” you deadpan, lying through those neat white teeth of yours. You’d literally made takoyaki at home a few weeks ago. He’d dared you to put an entire wasabi ball into one and you’d done it.

“Shut up.”

“You shut up!”

So it goes for the rest of the night, trading insults over street food. You share an ice cream-filled melon pan - well, he orders one and you eat all of it but a bite - and you scroll through your phone as he inhales a bowl of ramen. He catches you taking a picture of him when he’s halfway through slurping noodles into his mouth like a Hoover. You look a little sheepish when he swallows and levels you with a look that screams unimpressed.

“Is this okay?” You’re a little uncertain and it’s the cutest thing he’s seen all night, teeth catching your bottom lip. He wonders, briefly, what it’d be like to do that to you instead.

You beam when he reassures you. “Of course.”

“I won’t post it anywhere.”

He wants to tell you that’s okay, too, but he knows he shouldn’t. Instead, he simply returns your smile and goes about finishing his bowl of broth. You take a few more photos - of his face when he’s full-belied and satisfied, of the street where people mingle and mix, of the stupidly big moving crab sign across the way.

He wonders if you can feel it too - the connection that crackles between you like a livewire.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you return your attention to him in the same instant he’s glossing over the shape of your lips, the turn of your nose. “I’ll pay you back.”

Before he realizes what’s happening, your hand is on his. You don’t do very much, simply allowing your palm to rest over his, fingers curled around the seam of his thumb. It’s so much smaller - complete with neatly manicured lilac nails - that he stares down at it for a beat too long.

You start to pull away - he sees it happening almost in slow motion - when he flips his own, catching your wrist in his grasp. “No need,” he mumbles, not quite looking at you. He’s still too focused on the way your hands fit together like two puzzle pieces.

“We’ll see about that,” you return, equally as soft.

Everything feels a little fuzzy, like you’re wrapped up in cotton candy and cloud nine.

You must feel it too.

But then you’re standing and you’re not holding his hand any longer and he thinks maybe he’s imagining it all over again. It leaves him heartsick, reaching for your figure that’s already too far away.

“We should head back - I have an early flight tomorrow.”

Damn him and his poor planning skills. He should’ve booked you something later in the day. Why had he thought the 9 AM departure was the best idea?

“Right.” He lifts himself off of the wooden bench, returning his facemask to its rightful place as he closes the distance between you in four easy strides. He tries to ignore the way you smile at him when you’re back together, matching pace through the somehow still-packed streets.

There’s no playful ribbing now. The schoolyard mockery is replaced with a comfortable silence that sinks into his bones and brushes his hand against yours every time you have to squeeze past a gaggle of people that just won’t move. It’s familiar without being boring, satisfying the big fat crush that lives in his heart.

It settles even further when you do the same, head gentle against the curve of his shoulder.

“Did you have fun?” He finally asks when the familiar silhouette of the Conrad Hotel comes into view, your driver rolling to a complete stop right in front of the impressive glass structure.

You hum something that sounds like yes as he pays and thanks the driver in the softest Japanese before he ushers you out of the back of the cab. You’re smiling at him, heavy-lidded and with a tenderness he doesn’t expect. You must be tired.

“More than I’ve ever had.” There’s a certain truth to your words, whether it’s from your sleepy state or something else. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“You don’t have to,” he reminds you, guiding you past the concierge with a palm on the small of your back. It’s intimate in a way he’s not really sure is appropriate but you don’t seem to mind, all too happy to be herded around like a baby duckling.

“Stop saying that.” There’s no weight behind your words - only sandman’s dust and starry-eyed affection. Jungkook’s heart plays a staccato rhythm in his chest as he steps into the lift behind you, crowded against the far right wall. Mozart would be proud.

Trapped in the small six by six area, his breath seems too loud. The roar of his pulse in his ears is deafening. He barely hears his own words when they stumble out of their own accord.

“I like you.”

Your laugh is the sweetest he’s ever heard. “I know.”

“You do?” He rounds on you in the same breath, your body mirroring his subconsciously.

“Of course I do.” You’re so confident he absorbs a little bit of it, stepping closer when you do. “I’m your safe place - and you’re mine, too.”

His hands are shaking when they crowd your face, thumbs gentle over the jut of your chin. “Can I kiss you?” Spoken like a child asking for a Christmas gift, full of wonder and hope.

“Hm.” The vibration of your sigh is felt through his fingers all the way down to his toes.

He decides for you, closing the distance with a roll of his shoulders.

Kissing you is unlike anything he could’ve ever imagined. It’s better than his wildest dreams. It’s soft and sweet and done with the utmost care, like you’ll break if he isn’t careful. You taste as good as you smell - the citrusy tang of your lip gloss reminding him of Lotte World lemonade and picnics on the Han River.

“I’m sorry.” It’s an unnecessary apology that gets lost against your lips - because he isn’t quite ready to let go of you yet. “I couldn’t help it.”

“You’re forgiven, I guess .”

When you speak, it’s kissing in its most basic form, mouth brushing over his with each enunciation. He wonders what it’d be like to have you sing a song for him like this. He decides he wants to find out as soon as possible. Needs it like he needs air - or more of you. Either or.

“Thanks.”

You laugh together and kiss again and again, repeating the motion like overeager high school students behind the bleachers. He grazes your forehead, pressing sweetness into the tops of your eyelids and you return the favour, sweeping delight over the sharp turn of his jaw and over skin not hidden by the collar of his button-down.

You’re so involved that you hardly notice when the lift doors slide open, revealing the empty hallway of the 33rd floor. You break away first, though it’s not without some resistance - both his and yours. He wants to keep you here with him as long as he can, because it feels like where you belong .

“I’ll see you.” A last kiss - lingering, longing, littered with words neither of you say.

And then you’re gone.

JINNY’S APARTMENT Saturday, 5 September, 2020. 2:45 PM.

You live in a nondescript apartment in a nondescript neighbourhood with trimmed hedges and a crisp white exterior. There’s a doormat - grey, a little frayed at the edges, polka-dotted - and nothing else. No sign on your door, just the number 134 stamped on the right-hand side, half a foot away from the window that looks into the open-air hallway.

You answer the door on the first knock, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed like you’d been lingering just behind the frame, waiting for his arrival. Your hair’s shiny and freshly washed, damp at the ends where you haven’t wicked all the moisture away. You look comfortable - if not a little overexcited - bouncing from sock-clad foot to sock-clad foot in your low slung sweatpants and oversized tee shirt. He can see half a dozen plants just behind your bobbing head, his gaze bouncing between pretty ceramic and terracotta pots.

“I half expected you to live in a PC bang,” Jungkook states, drole and with that trademark grin of his, nose scrunched and eyes waning.

You counter him easily. “You haven’t even been inside. Maybe it’s all a front.”

He snickers at the thought, stepping over the threshold once you’ve taken a step back. It smells like cinnamon and sugar - he wonders if you’ve been baking - and he peers curiously around the apartment.

“It’s a candle,” you supply before he has a chance to ask, reading the question in his stare.

“You mean you didn’t bake me a cake?”

You offer an extended scoff in place of an answer, rolling your eyes as he unlaces his boots. “What for? Your birthday’s already passed.”

“It might not have.”

“It literally has. I know your birthday.”

Right. Because he’s him and that’s sort of common knowledge.

He chuckles to himself as he sets his boots aside, right beside where yours sit, near identical. He doesn’t need to say anything when he hears you sniff, Rilakkuma-tipped sock nudging his hand away from where it threatens to upend the piece of footwear.

“I had them before I met you.”

“Right.” It’s too easy to tease you - just as it’s too easy to rib him. This is how the two of you are. Schoolchildren with big crushes and near zero emotional maturity.

“Do you want a tour or are you just gonna be some weirdo with a foot fetish?”

He meets your stare then, both of your expressions ice cold. If looks could kill .

You crack before he does, though your laughter melds together like a perfect harmony, ricocheting off the art-covered walls.

“Fine, fine. Show me around.”

So you do - with gusto and great pride. It rolls off you in waves, tangible in the cascade of your hair over your shoulder and the way you beam up at him. You’re like a kid at show-and-tell.

You guide him into the living area - a small space with a comfortable, worn-in grey couch and probably more throw pillows and blankets than is strictly speaking necessary. There are framed pieces on the wall and it’s the contents that surprise him. There’s Mercy playing pool, bent over the table in a revealing Playboy bunny one piece; there’s D.Va in a hoodie and little else, bottles of soju littering both the back and foreground.

Where the walls are bare, there’s other stuff taking up the space. Artfully positioned floating shelves house succulents and cacti. A well-cared for Monstera sits in a far corner, taking up more space than it probably should. Nestled among its soil are little Animal Crossing Amiibos - Cyrus and Reese, to be exact. There’s an all-white cabinet with a glass front and some of the most random stuff he’s ever seen: limited edition Gunpla, a Taiko Drum, and your framed university degree (for accounting, to his great surprise).

“Is that a Widow bobblehead?” He spies it last, sitting on the cabinet that houses an impressive array of gaming consoles. You even have a VR headset, the cords neatly looped together and tucked away beside a maneki neko-shaped piggy bank.

“Maybe.”

“You really are a dork.”

“Says the bigger dork? Really?”

He could dispute that - easily - but he doesn’t, instead shrugging it off as he flops onto the couch, feet immediately kicking themselves up.

“What’re you doing?” You join him even as you ask. He’s a little disappointed by the polite amount of space you leave - just enough that you’re not touching.

“I’m tired.”

“I haven’t finished the tour.”

“Tour schmore .”

You scowl at him and it’s so charming that he wishes you were just a little closer. He’d kiss that look right off your face if it were up to him.

“What do you want to do then?” Where the stuffed animal comes from, he’s not sure. It’s more than a little ratty, soft brown fur faded from what looks like years and years of love. You hold it tight, clutched to your chest as you recline against the far arm.

“Watch the Runaway and Lunatic-Hai show matches?”

You level him with a look that very much tells him he is the bigger nerd. He doesn’t mind, though. He’s been wanting to watch these matches for months since it was first announced.

Unfortunately, you’d promised each other you’d only watch it together, so really, this was your fault.

You must suddenly remember that, because you’re biting back the words he’s sure were about to tear into him, swallowing them whole as you grab your PS4 controller and begin silently navigating through YouTube. He smiles, a little triumphant thing he knows you can see from the corner of your eye.

“Happy?” Resentment mixes with excitement as you return your controller to its rightful home and settle yourself once more against the too-many pillows.

“No.” Jungkook worries for your neck when you whip to look at him, brow furrowed and mouth blown out in a pout.

“Why not?”

He memorizes the way you look right now, framed against sunlight that spills through your windows and hugging what he assumes is your childhood teddy bear. It’s an immediate serotonin boost.

“Because you’re all the way over there.” He sighs, long and loud, head swinging in a dramatic semi-circle. He can hear you snickering despite yourself - could pick it out in a crowd of thousands, he thinks - and suddenly you’re beside him, distance closed in a heartbeat.

With you so close, it’s hard to think, his thoughts jumbled and tripping over themselves.

“Better?” You must know the effect you have on him, because you’re batting those goddamn eyelashes up at him, mouth dancing around his favourite sound in the world.

“Much,” he hums, unashamed.

“Welcome home, Kook.” The way you say it sparks fireworks in his chest. He knows you mean home as in the city of Seoul, but it feels like more and he likes that - just like how he likes you and this little piece of normalcy.

It feels good to be here with you, seemingly without a care in the world.

It’s distinctly different from anything he’s used to - even better than the long hours spent bonding on the internet. There’s no worry here, no nagging in the back of his mind, no concern that one of his hyungs will burst into his room. It’s just you and him and commentary on his favourite game.

That is, until it’s just him and commentary on his favourite game. He’d lost you somewhere along the way, roughly three hours in. He hadn’t noticed at first, far too focused on the big brain plays unravelling across the screen, but when you started snoring, he knew.

You just snored so damn loudly.

“Jinny.” He feels bad when he has to rouse you, the feeling in his right leg but a distant memory.

You don’t move. He wonders when the last time you slept was.

“Jinny,” he repeats himself, a little louder this time. There’s the beginning of stirrings, your head drifting from its position on his shoulder to nestle into the crease of the couch cushions. “Do you want me to take you to bed?”

It doesn’t immediately dawn on Jungkook how that sounds.

“Wouldn’t you like that,” you mumble into the woven fabric, half-asleep.

“What?”

“Nothing, nothing.” You’re doing that thing you do when you’re impressed with yourself, teeth littering your bottom lip with indentations. It’s more distracting than it should be, paired with those bedroom eyes he’s not certain you’re in control of.

Get it together , he scolds himself. In his mind, the angel powerbombs the devil into submission.

“Do you want to go to bed?”

“No! Not yet.” You’re waving a boneless wrist in his direction, like you’re swatting away an irksome fly. It’s cute, in a frazzled sort of way.

“You want to sleep out here?” He knows you don’t - you’ve complained about it enough times when you wake up with kinks in your neck and soreness in your back.

“No!” A huff puffs out your cheeks, blows your grown-out bangs away from your face. You’re sitting up now, slowly but surely. There are creases all over your face - an ode to the couch. He has to keep from laughing right at you - bites it back with a bitten tongue when you sniff and card a hand over through your hair. “I have a gift for you.”

You say it so sweetly, he can’t help himself.

“Is it you?”

He’s honestly not sure what to expect once he’s spoken. He half thinks you’ll laugh, shove him away from you with a giggle and a roll of your eyes. He hopes you won’t, though - can feel every fibre of his being strung tight with anticipation and hope and the request of please, love me .

“Do you want it to be?” You’re looking at him with the strangest expression. He can’t read it at all, despite how easily he normally does. It’s white noise, static on a television screen.

Uncertainty grips him. “I do.”

“Then I’m yours.”

It’s music to his ears - the key to his heart. It strips away the doubt, turning it on its head.

He finally does what he’s wanted to for the past four hours.

When he kisses you this time, it’s different. It’s urgent but not rushed; he takes his time in exploring the softness of your lips, how they fall open under his careful ministrations. His mouth slants, coaxes you to give everything to him as his tongue passes tentatively over yours. You taste like lemons again - and a touch of honey.

It’s intoxicating and addictive and he chases the high it gives him, large hands finding purchase against the back of your head and the slope of your jaw. Fingers thread through your hair - gentle at first, then with more purpose. He maneuvers you how he needs you and peppers kisses everywhere he can reach. Your eyelids, your nose, your neck.

When he ghosts his mouth across your shoulder - mouthing hot over the soft cotton of your shirt - and finds that particular point where your pulse beats, you gasp.

He’d thought your laugh was his favourite sound but he realizes now how wrong he was.

“Do that again.” You say it together, in perfect sync.

Laughter blooms between you and he muffles his against your throat, nosing over where your perfume lingers most. He inhales once, twice, and holds you somehow closer, all but dragging you into his lap. “You’re my dream girl, you know that?” The words are surprisingly sweet, given the compromising position you’re currently in.

“You’re not too bad yourself.” You thread your fingers just as he has, twirling through his just-on-the-right-side-of-too-long strands.

He moves to pull away, a scoff building in his throat, but you’re having none of it, capturing his lips the moment he’s made up his mind. You really could read him like a book. He wonders what you’re thinking now, starts running through possibilities when you bite down just so on his pouting bottom lip.

A not-so-subtle hint to get out of his own head.

“Stop thinking,” you hum, lending your voice to his thoughts.

“Sorry,” he returns in kind, tracing an apologetic tongue over the seam of your lips.

“Show me how sorry.”

You sound positively sinful and while it isn’t the answer he’d expected, it stirs something within him - from his chest to somewhere decidedly further south. He stifles a moan, caging it behind bared teeth as he becomes suddenly far too aware of how you’re making him feel.

“You’re playing with fire, baby.” The pet name rolls off his tongue like it was made for you.

“It’s fine - I have self-healing.”

It’s so fucking dorky but somehow, even that makes Jungkook groan. “Seriously - dream girl.”

And then he’s kissing you again and again, a devoted parishioner of your church. They’re this-side of innocent at first, little pecks that dot every sliver of available flesh. His hands roam in tandem with his mouth, flitting beneath the cropped hem of your top before gliding greedily across the tops of your thighs.

“Can I get the rest of the tour now?” He looks like the devil himself, all dishevelled dark hair and that heart-wrenching, lopsided smile.

You’re impatient though - always have been. “Straight down the hall. Last door to the left.”

It’s all he needs to know before he’s on his feet, rising with you as if you were featherlight. Your ankles lock around his waist, clinging to him like the cutest koala he’s ever seen. He doesn’t look away - frankly, can’t – as he follows your directions, gaze trained on your eyes and your lips and the column of your throat he wants to see blooming with roses.

“I’m crazy about you,” he announces, suddenly, as he nudges open your bedroom door.

“I know.” You say it a lot. He wonders if you really know.

By the way you kiss him, he thinks you might have an idea. It’s not enough, though. He wants to show you - needs to show you.

You allow yourself to be tossed upon your bed - soft grey sheets, no stuffed animals in sight, too many pillows again - and he hovers above you, curious. “Are you sure you know?” The question is punctuated by the drop of his knee, cotton of his black joggers a stark contrast to the soft linens.

You’re not sure if this is a game - he can read the question swimming in your eyes. “Maybe?” You’re upspeaking, which is something you never do. It’s disarming in a way that makes him want to hear it again, but with his name over and over.

“Maybe?” He echoes, brow quirked and mouth twisted into an expression that starts butterflies in your stomach. It’s like a switch has flipped. For the first time, he’s the heartthrob you’ve seen on stage, the one fansites rave about with fervour. A force to be reckoned with . “Let me make it clear then?”

It’s spoken like a question, though it begs no answer. You’d give him anything he wanted.

“Can I?” You don’t think you have it in you to respond - not when he’s looking at you the way he is, from behind dark lashes and with the most charming smile you’ve ever seen. But he needs an answer - won’t go further until he has one.

“Yes,” you breathe in a voice that doesn’t quite sound like your own, far too airy and mellifluous.

He looks like a kid who’s had his heart’s greatest wish granted. There’s unbridled joy spilling into every crevice, streaming out of every pore as he lowers himself onto the bed. You’re trapped beneath him - knees situated comfortably on either side of your legs - when his hands find the shorn hem of your shirt, tugging gently at the offending article of clothing.

“Off,” he says simply. It’s gone before you can think twice. Your sweatpants and socks follow in quick succession - he snorts a laugh when he has to tug your socks off by the ears on either side of your ankles - until you’re left in only black cotton that covers hardly anything at all.

Jungkook sighs a sound that shoots straight into the belly of the beast, sparking warmth in the pit of your stomach.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He sees the uncertainty in your eyes, hands reaching to cover the places you’ve been self-conscious about since you were old enough to understand what bullying was. The modest swell of your chest, the tiger stripes along your hips.

Words are fitted with motion, hands of his own sweeping your arms away from your body. Long fingers curl easily around the dainty turn of your wrist. “Please don’t hide from me.”

You can’t deny him when he asks so nicely.

“Tell me about these?” He means your tattoos, of course. They’re intricate works of art that span nearly a quarter of your flesh, painting grayscale and colour over cream. There’s the jasmine he’d spotted the night you met, coiled around your left forearm and up to your bicep in stark ink. Across your stomach, from the top of your right thigh and over your ribs, are intricate peonies in shades of pink and red and green. Everywhere lines bloom, etched forever into your skin, his mouth follows. He can’t ingrain himself in the same ways but he tries, searing devotion in the form of kisses.

It tickles when he ghosts over your ribs with both tongue and teeth and it’s absolutely indescribable when he catches your nipple between enamel.

You make that sweet sound he so loves - a heady mix between a gasp and a moan - and he repeats the motion. You hardly realize he’s speaking when he does it for the third time and adds nimble fingers to pinch and pull the other into the same pebbled state.

“ Tell me.” He sounds like he’s laughing, trapped halfway down your body with his cheek pressed to the modest swell of your chest.

You’re not sure how you get the words out. “My mom’s a big gardener. She calls me her flower.”

“Her flower, huh?” The question is muffled among your humble cleavage.

“Did I stutter?” That earns you a sharp tweak to your nipple, the pain shooting pleasure through your limbs in a very unexpected way. You’ve never been one for pain but the sight of Jungkook staring up at you, head cocked and hands full - well, there’s a first time for everything.

“You want to be nicer to me,” he states solemnly, like he’s commenting on the weather or the 6 o’clock news and not palming your tits in his much larger hands and drawing out the sweetest murmurs of encouragement.

“I am nice to you,” you retort - or try to at least. You hardly get it out before it’s chased out by another one of those lovely sounds that Jungkook seems to be obsessed with.

“ Nicer , baby.”

As if to drive his point home, he straightens out, face suddenly dangerously close. He crowds you with his entire frame, mouth finding yours easily. It’s not the same sort of kisses you’ve shared all evening; it’s a display of dominance, a reminder that articulates more than he can say.

It’s also a distraction, you realize belatedly, with a gasp tearing its way out of your throat.

Capable hands have found their mark, digits sweeping beneath the seam of your thong. He lingers just shy of where you desperately want him, expertly trailing featherlight touches through your folds. He never goes further - doesn’t stretch where you need him most. He’s careful not to brush your clit, focusing instead on the way you’re coating his fingers.

The shit-eating grin never leaves his lips - which never leave your mouth. He swallows your whines in the same instant he’s pulling them forth, playing you like a fiddle without even really doing anything.

“Can you do that for me?” He coos against your neck, that damned voice of his dripping liquid gold into your ears.

You have to focus hard on what he’s saying because his touch is so distracting. “What?”

“I said—” It stings where his mouth connects, where his teeth nip and spill wine over porcelain. He’s painting the prettiest pictures, signing his name in the form of broken capillaries. “—can you be nice to me?”

You’d like to respond - really, you would - but he punctuates the question with the glide of his finger and you can’t do anything but arch into the sudden intrusion. It feels so good and yet isn’t nearly enough.

“Kook.” You’ve never sounded this whiny in your life. Even his name - one single syllable - hardly makes it past your lips without descending into a cry.

“Use your words , angel.”

If every nerve ending didn’t feel like it was on fire, you might’ve yelled at him. Instead, you can hardly form a coherent thought. You’re too far gone, standing on the edge of a cliff as he teases you open with slow, measured pumps of his wrist.

“I need—” He’s crooking the single digit within you, right against that spot that makes you see stars.

“What do you need? Ask nicely.”

“M-more. I need m-more .” A hiccup. “Please.”

“Like this?” You’re empty all at once and then suddenly far more full, the stretch of two fingers stealing the breath from your throat. “Or like this?” The pad of his thumb finds your clit with ease, sweeping over the sensitive bundle of nerves once, twice, three times. “Maybe like this?”

He repeats his earlier movements, curling his knuckles in a come hither motion that has you sobbing out his name.

“That’s right.” Ever the gentleman, he works you through your high, watching your face in rapt fascination as your first orgasm of the night crests and crashes over you, sending shockwaves through your system. He admires the way your mouth falls open - full lips rounding in delight - and how your eyes screw shut.

You’re the hottest thing Jeon Jungkook has ever seen.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your temple, never ceasing the slow drag of his fingers, the carefully measured flick of his thumb. Even when you’re trembling with oversensitivity, he doesn’t relent, choosing instead to reposition.

His weight is gone as he settles between your legs, knees folded beneath him. He only pauses his needy actions - almost doesn’t, when your hips roll in an apparent attempt to draw him back in - to strip you of your thong, tossing it somewhere over his shoulder.

“Give me another, okay?”

You aren’t given a chance to answer before he slips two fingers back where they belong and seals his mouth over your clit. The coil he’d snapped earlier returns, tension increased tenfold as he alternates between sucking hard and licking, dragging his tongue over and around his fingers. There’s too much stimulation. You’re obscenely wet and you’re certain you’d be making a mess, if not for the careful way Jungkook’s devouring you whole, licking up every bit of slick.

“Kook. Jungkook .” His name sounds like heaven coming off your lips. He replays it over and over in his head as he fucks his fingers into you, tapping a brutal rhythm against your g-spot. He can tell you’re close again - can read it in the way your jaw tenses and your breathing goes erratic, lungs heaving.

“Come on, baby. Let go.” The second orgasm hits harder, arching your back off the mattress as you fight to keep your knees from snapping shut. You come with a hoarse cry, legs trembling like a leaf with the effort. “That’s my girl.”

He’s upon you again, this time crowding your space as he settles all one hundred and fifty pounds of himself beside you. He anchors you in reality, preventing your boneless body from floating off by pulling you against his chest.

“You did so good.”

You accept his kisses readily, somehow managing to thread your arm around his neck despite the fact that you feel like you’ve just run a marathon.

Being wrapped up in his embrace is like being home - warm and familiar.

“I want you.”

He laughs and you can hear the sound rattling around in his chest. “You’ve got me.”

“That’s not what I meant.” You sound a little petulant, like a child being denied their favourite toy.

“I know what you meant,” he retorts, squeezing your bare hip affectionately. “But you’re also exhausted, so get some sleep. Patience is key, remember?”

You pout up at him with your messy bedhead and sleepy eyes and he almost gives in right then and there. It’s nearly impossible not to, especially when you drag your hip across his, your ankle hooking his in a bid to bring the two of you somehow closer.

He doesn’t expect you to relent so easily but your yawn outs you, forcing itself past the cage you’re trying - and failing - to keep closed. “Fine.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“You better be.” It’s an empty threat - you both know he won’t leave. “I still have to give you your present, anyway.”

He feigns surprise then, snickering quietly. “You mean it wasn’t you?”

You don’t have the energy to yell at him, so instead you dig your bony fingers into the vulnerable underside of his ribs. He squirms away from the feeling but never really goes far.

“It’s a Mercy bobblehead, you butt.” You yawn again, shiver running the length of your spine as you snuggle more closely against his side once more. Jungkook tugs your duvet up around your shoulders, tucking you in tightly. The action reminds you of why you’d bought the gift in the first place. “I think you might actually be my guardian angel.”

notes. the end of an era (and by era, i mean a fic). this honestly turned out to be my baby, so i sincerely hope you enjoyed reading it. i'll likely do some drabbles in the future, because i really, really adore this couple. as always, let me know your thoughts. xo

tag list. @letmebeyour-sun @teawithbucky

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yesttoheaven · 3 years

Text

I SEE YOU – chapter II

pairing – arthur fleck x female!reader

wc – 2.4k

warnings – none, just some rude people. It's gotham.

a/n – I'm late with this chapter, I know... 🙃 but I hope you like it!

chapter one here:

English is not my first language. I am getting help from google translator and he is not always a good ally, so I apologize for any typos or grammar errors.

Y/N – your name

Y/L/N – your last name

A week has passed since Y/N met Arthur Fleck. It was a long week for her – with TV appearances, some biased rumors about a possible affair with her co-star and problems with the city's main NGO. The place was invaded and looters took what little they had to offer to the population. Gotham police were doing their best to find those responsible, but it would take some time.

Despite the problems, Y/N constantly found herself thinking about the brown-haired man. At some point he was always in her thoughts. Since the day she left him in front of a building on Winslow Avenue, they haven't seen each other anymore. Y/N would like to know what he thought of the movie, but the man never came.

Maybe he didn't like the movie, she thought. And that was totally fine. What was not right was this desire to find him again.

On Wednesday, Brian asked if 'the guy with the big shoes' had called her, but the actress confessed that she had not given him her phone number. What the young actress didn’t know, was that Arthur had crossed the city – more than once – just to tell her what he thought about the movie, but his attempts were marked by misunderstandings.

"The entrance for employees is on the other side." The receptionist informed, attracting the attention of Arthur, who was walking through the luxurious hotel lobby. He didn't know if she was talking to him directly, but he approached the counter anyway.

"Huh... Y-You talked to me?"

"You are the new janitor, right?" The woman stopped what she was doing and finally looked at him, repressing the urge to roll her eyes.

Arthur shook his head and with a small smile, he said:

"I'm looking for Y/N Y/L/N." The mere fact of saying her name made his heart run so fast. Arthur could not explain, but since he met Y/N, his days have become colorful. He still suffered from the brutality of the citizens of Gotham, but everything became more bearable.

"Y/N Y/L/N? The actress? Are you sure?" The receptionist asked incredulously and at the same time seemed to hold herself back from laughing. It really seemed like a joke to her. What could this strange man want with Gotham's Golden Star?

"I need to deliver this to her." Arthur showed the VHS tape, hoping it would guarantee his free pass. "What room is she in?"

"Listen, I don't know how you got through security... but you certainly saw all those people out there. Everyone wants to talk to Y/N or just ask for an autograph. The problem is that none of you are allowed to be here."

"Autograph? I'm not here for the autograph! She wants to know m-my opinion about her new movie."

"I'm sure the only opinion that matters to her is that of the Academy of Oscars."

"You are not understanding... We are practically friends, she saved my life in that alley! Ask her! Say that Arthur Fleck is here... S-She... She will remember me!" While Arthur was stuck in his own words, the woman called the security guards.

The moment two men approached, Arthur realized that things were going very, very badly. In his mind everything seemed easy. He found Y/N and she was happy to see him, but in practice he hadn't reached the elevator yet and the security guards were already putting him out.

"Wait! You got it wrong..." He tried to explain and get rid of the men who were holding him, but the receptionist just shook her head, telling them to get him out of the lobby before the residents showed up to see this show. This would not be good for the hotel's image. "I just want to see Y/N..."

"That's what everyone wants." One of the men said, laughing.

"And I wanted her to dance for me." The other security guard confessed, sighing sadly, while that desire would remain only in his dirty imagination.

Near the main door of the luxurious hotel, they treated Arthur like trash, throwing him on the sidewalk. The poor man managed to maintain his balance and remain standing with the little dignity that remained, but that disappeared as soon as a painful laugh cut his throat.

"Go back to your filthy home! You are too old for this fan and idol thing."

...

When the elevator doors opened, Brian left the metal box accompanied by two officers. Because of the police's satisfactory commitment in this case – obviously Y/N's status contributed to this – the actress received good news. The stolen supplies from the institution were found in a shed and a man was caught in the act. Other suspects are still being sought, but the only piece that doesn’t fit, is that the owner of this shed is Thomas Wayne, candidate for mayor and also owner of WayneCorp.

"Tell Miss. Y/L/N that we will capture the responsible."

"Or those responsible." The other officer added, reinforcing his commitment to the citizens of Gotham.

As soon as the officers left the building, Brian intended to go back to Y/N's room and check on her, mainly after receiving new information about the case, but his plans were interrupted by Susan, the receptionist. She showed a big smile, waving, and he approached the counter trying to look friendly.

"Hey, Susan! How was your day?"

"You know, check-in, check-out... The same things." She laughed, shaking her head. Her job was not exciting, but it paid her bills. That was enough. "I saw the cops... Do they have any suspects?" Curiosity was plastered on her face and Brian sighed, fully understanding why she had called for him. Gossip.

"Unfortunately I can't give too many details, but they are doing a good job." He stated, satisfied with the investigations.

"I don't know if that can help anything, but maybe he participated in the theft..." The woman murmured. The words seemed to be directed at herself, like a loud thought, but the bodyguard was unable to ignore and asked:

"What are you talking about, Susan?"

"A man was here looking for Miss. Y/L/N. His insistence scared me. He was determined to go into her room, only God knows what he intended to do, so I called the security guards, they put the man out. But Carl saw him across the street for three days straight."

"You did the right thing. It's unbelievable how Gothan became a fucking asylum!"

"Do you think I don't know? Sometimes it feels like we're living in hell... But the freak left his name. Arthur Fleck. I don't know if it's real, but you should check with the police."

"I will do this... Wait! Did you say Arthur Fleck?" Brian questioned, as confusion appeared on his face. That name was familiar to him.

"It's a strange name for a strange guy."

If it were possible, a lamp would be shining next to Brian's head right now. Arthur Fleck is the name of the guy with the big shoes.

Without any explanation, Brian ran for the elevator, leaving Susan extremely confused behind. When he arrived at the actress' room, he found her talking on the phone. She didn't look happy.

"Oh, he does not want to talk to me? Very busy, huh? You know I don't like to get involved in these problems... but he started it, Alfred!" Y/N had crossed her limit. The only thing she wanted to do was talk to Thomas Wayne about the NGO supplies that magically appeared in his shed, but that would be impossible. Alfred insisted, saying that the billionaire was at an important business meeting and that he had no connection to the theft. "Okay, I will not insist. Maybe when you regain your senses, you understand my side. Have a nice day, Alfred!" She ended the call and looked at Brian.

"I can't believe you called Thomas..."

"Likewise when he called the mayor’s office trying to ban the showing of Midnight Seduction." The actress argued, showing a fake smile. "These NGOs that I help, they are hindering his path, it is not very difficult to see. You know how men like Thomas Wayne build their empires. It's not pretty."

"God, I know... but be careful what you say. It is a very serious accusation." He advised, concerned for her safety. Y/N just walked over to the table in the center of the room, picking up her glass of scotch and drinking all the amber liquid.

"Don't worry, I'm used to white-collar men."

"Oh, I can see it, but I hope you're used to clowns too, because I have news about the guy with the big shoes." Brian started, capturing her attention immediately.

"Arthur was here?" Y/N's voice took on a hopeful tone and a beautiful smile formed on her lips. For a moment it was as if all her problems were gone.

"Well..." Brian cleared his throat, choosing the right words to tell her, but deep down he knew it wouldn't work. "Arthur was committed to seeing you, but Susan did not allow his entry."

"Why she did it? Usually she talks to me first..."

"It is the protocol, but in this case she considered his behavior to be atypical. I don't know if he was nervous and had another fit of laughter in the middle of the lobby, but she believed that he could present you with some danger or even be involved in the theft of the NGO... The security guards kicked him out."

For the first time in this conversation, Y/N didn't know what to say. The words were stuck in her throat. She felt stupid for not giving Arthur her number or simply putting his name on the reception list. Any of these options would have avoided the embarrassment he went through.

"Maybe you should talk to him. Do you know where he lives." The blond-haired man suggested. It was clear as the day outside that Y/N was silently blaming herself for what happened and that was not fair to her. "What do you think?"

"Arthur possibly hates me now..." She murmured, walking across the room. First he was beaten in a dark alley and now humiliated, practically compared to a criminal. All Y/N wanted at the moment was to go down to the lobby to clarify some points with Susan, but Brian was right. Talking to Arthur is the best she could do. "Prepare the car."

"What? Now?" The surprise was tangible in his voice.

"I don't know, maybe next month?" She rolled her eyes. "You have an appointment?"

"No, but you have." Brian added, crossing his arms. It took a few minutes, but as soon as the actress finally remembered, her mouth opened in a perfect O.

"The dinner with Charles is today! I completely forgot!"

"And before that I need to get Misty. If she gets here with the makeup artist and you're on the other side of town, we'll be in big trouble."

"Maybe not." Y/N smiled.

...

"If Misty finds out where we are..."

"First: You need to calm down. Second: She will only know if you open your mouth and tell her." Y/N listed it on her fingers and then took off her sunglasses, looking at the building across Winslow Avenue. "Just trust me."

"I think I will regret this later." He whispered to himself, leaving the interior of the car and opening the door for her. Y/N accepted the help and together they went to the entrance to the building. The next step would be to find out which floor Arthur lived with his mother. "And now what do we do, genius?"

"I confess I didn't think about that part..." The actress replied, looking around curiously. The place was nothing like the luxurious buildings in downtown. There was no lobby to ask for information and the reality here was completely different.

"Do you need help?" Brian and Y/N were surprised by a female voice and found a woman near the building's front door, holding some groceries from the market.

"Oh, hi!" Y/N smiled as the woman approached where they were. "We are a little lost... Do you know which floor Arthur Fleck lives on?" After that question, a mixture of confusion and surprise appeared on the woman's face.

She didn't believe it when Arthur said that a downtown girl saved his life, especially when that girl was the Gotham's Golden Star. It seemed impossible, but now Y/N Y/L/N was here, asking to see him.

Abandoning these thoughts, Sophie smiled, agreeing immediately.

"You are lucky. Arthur and I live on the same floor, I can accompany you there."

The actress smiled appreciatively and Brian offered to help with the bags from the grocery store. As soon as they were inside the metal box, the woman pressed the number 8 button and looked at Y/N, saying:

"By the way, I’m Sophie Dumond."

"Nice to meet you, Sophie. I am..."

"Oh, I know who you are." She stated, dispensing with the introduction. "I mean... Gotham breathes you!"

"Sometimes it is strange to open the window and see your own face on a billboard or on TV." Y/N confessed. The fame was glamorous, but sometimes suffocating.

"It sure is better than opening the window and seeing a pile of garbage. This is the privileged view we have here." The woman argued, laughing at the situation and the elevator stopped on the eighth floor. "Well, Arthur lives there." After leaving the metal box, she pointed to the end of the hall and while Brian helped her with the bags from the grocery store, Y/N thanked Sophie for the information and walked to the location indicated.

Looking at the "8J" sign, she took a deep breath, wishing she had a mirror nearby to check her appearance. She wanted to be presentable to finally meet Arthur again, even though he might be mad at her. Gathering courage, Y/N knocked on the door. To her disappointment, no one came. The apartment continued in absolute silence.

"Don't tell me there is no one at home." Brian appeared beside her. Realizing that the actress was anxious, he knocked on the door again, with more insistence this time. "We can come back another day..."

Without a better option, Y/N was ready to go back to the elevator, when the door was opened unexpectedly, revealing a woman on the other side.

"Hello, you must be Arthur's mother! I'm Y/N and this is Brian, we are friends of your son."

–––––––––––––––––

a/n – I really don't know if anyone is going to read this, but I would be happy to know what you think of the story :)

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jcmorrigan · 3 years

Note

more Blakeworther headcanons!! i want you to go ham with em too!! :D

Go ham, huh? So...I probably went the opposite direction of what you wanted or expected. But I just read “Our Coffin Is a Twin-Sized Bed” (Blakeworth fic, REALLY ANGSTY) and I loved it but it also made me very depressed. Anyway, it put the idea of CHARACTER DEATH in my head, and so I’m like...what if you took Vincent, Victor, and Albert, and you have an AU where each one of them dies, and how would the other two react?

Except I want to have my cake and eat it too. That prompt on its own is a bit...disheartening. So I had to treat myself by saying that each time, the death was actually a fakeout, and whoever “died” turns up just fine later. Which made for extra reunion headcanons!

Get ready for: the one where each one of them “dies” and the other two grieve in their own special way, only for the “dead” to have been fine the whole time

VINCENT

· They were setting up bombs in a facility owned by Myers, hoping to bring down one of the bigwigs – possibly Monseiur M himself – in the explosion. Albert and Victor finished their rounds, then came back outside to wait for Vincent. Vincent radioed that he was almost finished – and then the whole building went up in smoke.

· It took Victor and Albert a few minutes to process what had happened. He…he had to have gotten out, right? There’s no way Vincent would die on this mission.

· But he doesn’t show up.

· Watching the conflagration, agape and wide-eyed, Victor and Albert reach out to draw each other closer, hoping it just isn’t what it looks like.

· Eventually, there are sirens, and they have to escape back to the mansion.

· Albert finds the nearest piece of furniture he can sit on, sinks down, and starts sobbing. It doesn’t help that this is HIS house they’re living in, this is HIS chair Albert’s crying on, and he’s not even here.

· I’m not actually sure if Victor’s eyes have tear ducts, but he is similarly distraught. He sits down beside Albert, trying to reassure him, “We’ll be okay. He’d want us to keep going. We’ll…we’ll be fine…”

· His voice cracks. He can’t deal with this. Now he’s holding onto Albert not only for the sake of comforting him but of getting comforted.

· They rattle around Vincent’s house for the next few days, utterly depressed. Everywhere they go, every corner they turn, they’re reminded of the spaces where he’s not.

· Albert is caught talking to himself – and berating himself in a bad imitation of Vincent in order to simulate their arguments. Victor can only listen for so long before he’s too emotional and has to leave.

· “You promised me you wouldn’t do this,” Victor says as he kneads a bedsheet between his fingers.

· Eventually, the two of them hold a small service. They construct Vincent a grave out back in the yard. Each says a few words –

· Victor: “I still don’t regret it. Not a day.”

· Albert: “If you think I wanted to win our rivalry this way…you were wrong. I’d give anything to have you back.”

· When behind them they suddenly hear “If I’d’ve known you two would get this morose, I wouldn’t have bothered to plant those explosives in the first place.”

· They turn around, and…he’s here. Vincent’s here, looking quite grumpy.

· “I thought it would be fairly obvious that I wasn’t dead. You two really went all out on this?”

· Albert: “You’re not an exact replica with Vincent’s memories, are you? Actually, I have no problem if you’re an exact replica with Vincent’s memories.”

· Victor and Albert run to him, embrace him tightly. Vincent’s rolling his eyes because these idiots got themselves worked up for nothing – but he’s lying if he says he isn’t really, really touched by how much they missed him. He’ll have to be careful not to make them worry in the future.

VICTOR

· Assassins have the mansion surrounded. Victor urges Albert and Vincent to go on ahead without him. He’ll catch up. But first he has to buy them time.

· Albert and Vincent head to a motel three towns over – only to hear that the mansion was cleared out, then raided by authorities, and after the cyborgs were put down, no living people remained in the house.

· “No,” Vincent says. “He’s fine. He’s FINE.” And he won’t hear otherwise.

· Not even after a week.

· Albert is starting to grieve, but Vincent keeps yelling at him, “STOP! HE ISN’T GONE! YOU’RE BEING AN IDIOT!”

· Vincent is angrier than Albert has ever seen him in his whole life. The more days go by that Victor hasn’t turned up, the edgier Vincent’s mood gets.

· Albert has to lock himself in the bathroom if he wants to cry it out.

· But he also knows enough about psychology that he knows Vincent has to be dying inside. “Vincent, you need to talk about what happened.”

· “You’re not even a real psychologist. Don’t fucking tell me what to do.”

· At one point, it gets so bad that Vincent locks Albert out of the motel room and refuses to let him in, no matter how much noise he makes.

· That’s when the notes start showing up. The door’s definitely locked, but Vincent finds notes around the motel room that definitely weren’t there a moment ago.

· “I love you. ~AK” “I’m worried about you! ~AK” “Vincent, talk to me. ~AK” “I know many fates worse than death. Do you want to push me that far? ~AK” “Please, Vincent, I need you. ~AK” “Fine. Die alone. ~AK” “I take back my last note. Don’t die alone. I love you. ~AK”

· So eventually Vincent lets him back in, and Albert suggests, one final time, to have Vincent sit through a legitimate therapy session. No Dream Eaters, no tricks, no shell game. And Vincent agrees.

· Vincent lies down on the bed. Albert sits on a chair beside him and starts asking questions – about Victor, about the memories they had, about what Victor means to them both.

· Vincent slowly recalls their entire history – laughing, crying, smiling. And by the end of it, he’s outright sobbing.

· “How can someone who was such a big part of our lives be gone, Albert?”

· And in a historical first, Albert actually lies down on the bed to cuddle Vincent, stroke his hair, and tell him “I miss him too. So much. It’s okay. Just cry.”

· Eventually, they get a message from Winston, saying he has some important information and “cargo” to trade to them if they meet at a rendez-vous point. So they agree. Albert and Vincent head to the alley around midnight to find Winston and…a man in a black hood.

· He throws back the hood. It’s Victor, whose metal eyes are twinkling. “Miss me?”

· All of Vincent’s psychological work is undone; he just says “I knew you weren’t dead.” Albert, on the other hand, TACKLES Victor at unprecedented speed and pins him to the street.

· Once Albert lets him go, Victor goes up to Vincent, and the two of them hold each other’s gaze. They kiss, briefly. That’s all they need to put closure on this.

ALBERT

· He doesn’t come home from a walk one night. Instead, a Dream Eater shows up and hands Vincent and Victor a letter.

· “My beloved Victor and my frustratingly wonderful Vincent, if you are receiving this letter, it means you are not likely to see me again in this lifetime. I have run afoul of enemy forces, and, well, I’ll finally get to see what murder looks like from the other side. I want to thank you for the laughter and tears you both have given me, and for the good times and the bad. I hope you’ll remember me fondly, or at least as a memorable nuisance. With all of my love, goodbye. -Dr. Albert Gerald Krueger”

· This is a joke, right? Victor’s convinced it’s a joke, and Vincent insists this is exactly the kind of prank Albert would find funny…

· Until a month passes and he hasn’t come back.

· Vincent takes a stance: “We never needed him. It was always just you and me from the start, Victor. We can return to our roots. He was always just an extra.”

· Victor: “I know you don’t want to admit you miss him, but that was heartless, Vincent.”

· The two of them end up fighting, sleeping on opposite sides of the mansion for days.

· Victor tries to drink the pain away. (It happens in all three of these scenarios, actually, but this one’s plot-relevant)

· One night, he wakes up at three and decides he’s not drunk enough. So he shuffles down to the bar and…there’s Vincent? Already drinking?

· Victor decides to bite; “What’s all this for?”

· Vincent turns to Victor, and Victor can now see he’s been crying for a while. “I can’t keep this up much longer, Victor. The two of us were happy before he broke in…why can’t I be happy? Why do I still miss him so much? Why can’t I just function?”

· Ah. Now Victor knows it is definitely about Vincent not wanting to admit he misses Albert or even liked him. Because here’s Vincent just distraught without Albert.

· Victor sits down by Vincent. Pours himself a drink. “We can’t erase him, but we can dull the memories for a night.”

· It’s a miracle they don’t die of alcohol poisoning that night. They toast Albert’s memory, and at one point, Victor, a little out of his mind already, just poured a whole bottle of brandy on the floor in his honor.

· Then, a couple days later, they’re trying to figure out how they’re going to break this to Taylor. They’ve avoided Taylor for so long so they didn’t have to bring this up.

· There’s a knock on the door. Vincent gets up with trepidation, gun in hand because he’s not sure who it’ll be. Victor follows, ready to throw down.

· The door swings open…

· Albert: “I apologize. I didn’t think I’d be gone that long.” And he’s smiling like he’s just a couple hours late, not a whole month and change in which the other two thought he was dead. “What did I miss?”

· There’s a silence as Victor and Vincent gape. Then Victor breaks into a wide smile; “Alb – “

· Vincent DECKS ALBERT IN THE FACE.

· Albert, on the ground, says “I deserved that.”

· Vincent: “How could you do that to me? How could you tear me apart? How could you make me so empty inside over someone like YOU? How could you make it hurt so badly to love you?”

· He’s getting rather emotional, a tear or two falling, and Albert realizes that Vincent actually…missed him. And the immense potential for blackmail this will bring.

· Victor steps forward to help him up off the ground. Pulls Albert into a too-tight hug in the process. “Don’t ever scare me like that again.”

· Then they head inside because Albert kinda needs an ice pack for the eye Vincent hit now.

#vincent edgeworth #victor blake #albert krueger #blakeworther #this episode powered by 'when the party's over' by billie eilish!

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ancdtlst · 3 years

Text

Next Door

Characters: Leedo x Reader Genre: Drama

(This prompt was given by my Beta.)

Description: Kim Geonhak, a quiet guy who lives next door to you is hardly seen during day or night until he comes to your rescue one night after your ex-boyfriend attack you in your own house.

[Warning: This chapter contain slightly strong language, depictions of violence, disturbing content that may not be suitable and upsetting for some readers.]

It has been a few months since you had a new neighbour. It is not the common for people to rent and certainly not a safe place to rent but you actually have no choice. This place was the nearest to public transport facilities and it make easier for you to reach your work place early.

You only saw him once while he was loading all his stuffs in his house with his friends. You were tired and when you arrived, your way were blocked by a few boxes in front of your door. You were quite lost and does not know what to do at the moment because all you could think is get inside and land on the couch. Your back is hurting you badly. Before you could come back to your sense, a man greet you.

He is gorgeous. His hair was not short and not long either. It was a really a nice cut. Though it was midnight, you could see his hair color with the corridor’s lights. It was dark green with a few streaks of grey highlight. His body was well built too and you could not help but staring at his toned chest. Flustered, you bow back. “Are these yours?”, you asks and he nods.

“I’m sorry. I’ll move it really quick.”, he add before you could say anything. He called his friends to help him with the boxes in front of your door because they were blocking your way. Two of his friends quickly came and apologise you for the inconvenience. Well, if everyone in this world are like this would it be great? , you thought. As soon as they cleared the boxes, he introduced himself and so you did.

However, you never see him again but you know he is still living next to your door. He went out early in the morning and when you came back home, he was probably already home. You reached home every day around midnight which is actually very exhausting but you have no choice.

You are quite happy that you got off work early because most of your works are all done so you head home to cook dinner and accidentally had extra dinner but you are sure that you could not finish it in a day or two even you keep heating it up. So you decided to pack it nicely in a container along with a few side dishes that you mother made for you. They were your favourite.

When you done, you brought it to next door. You ring his bell but no one answer it. So you decided to leave it by the door. You went back into your house and make a note before sliding down under his door. The next day, the container was no where to be found in front of his door and sigh in relief knowing that he already took the food you left for him. I hope the food is still good when he took it, you thought.

You went out quite early today and to your luck his door unlock and reveal the gorgeous man. “Good morning, Mr. Kim Geonhak.”, you greet him. He was surprise when you greet him but he reply you back anyways. Before you could initiate another conversation he walk away, seems rushing. You look at your watch on you wrist and it was almost eight in the morning.

“It was still early. Why is he so rushing…?”, you wonder to yourself.

It has been a few day you went out early in the morning and almost everyday you bumped into him and greets him. He replied you as usual but that just it. He did not seems to initiate anymore conversation so you just brush it off. Well, at least he reply to your morning greetings.

You are not feeling well and decided to take a rest for the day. That night, you went to the nearby convenience store to buy some foods because you were lazy to cook. While you were walking towards your home, someone yanked you away from the street which made you accidentally shout out of surprise. The bag which is full of your foods drops on the ground but you could not care. Seems like your life is in danger now.

The person then covered your mouth, trying muffle down your voice but you were freaking out and bite his palm.

He reeks of alcohol.

The person hissed because of the pain and let you go. “Bitch, that hurt as fuck.”, he said.

You recognised that voice and when you were about to run away the man pull you again. It was your abusive ex-boyfriend.

“If you shout again, I’ll beat you up.”, he said as he pushed you against the wall in the alley.

“What do you want?”, you bravely ask him though you were scared of him. You should not be scared of him anymore. He is no one and he cannot hurt you anymore. He can’t hurt me anymore, you told yourself. You tried to push him away from you but he was too strong.

“Stop it!”, he said and slammed your back onto the wall and slapped your face. The slap hurt so much and it stings. You could taste a little blood in your mouth and as you faced him to slap him back, his hand was already reach your chin. “Didn’t I tell you to not run away from me? How dare you!”, he brought it closer to his face.

“Fuck off!”, you kicked his shin and he dropped on the floor because of the pain. As he let go of you, you quickly run away towards your home. However, he was quick on his feet. When you turn around he was almost half way to you.

Quickly, you ran upstairs to your door and unlock the door. As soon as you open the door, someone pushed you inside which made you tripped and bump onto your flower pot. It made a loud crash. Before you could processes what was happening, you fell something blunt hit you on the head and drop on the floor.

Geonhak was washing the dishes as he heard the next door key lock beep. He look at the time on the wall it was almost midnight and shook his head. It was late and dangerous for a woman like you to come home.

Every morning he went out early to jog around the town and came home past working hours. By the time, he knew you already went to work. He work too but he barely have to step out from the house. Most of his works required him to work from home which is he is thankful for. He just need to be in the studio once in a while. At least, he has his basic equipments that he needs.

He choose to rent in this neighbourhood because it is unnecessary loud like the big city. It was not quiet but it was not loud which is just nice.

He still could not forget the day he move in next to your house. Normally, people would upset and annoyed to come home with a few boxes blocking your way after a tiring day at work but you are not. From the way you stood and the way your eyes look, he knew you were tired but you were still polite. Like, the way you asks about those boxes that were blocking your way.

“She shouldn’t be home that late.”, Geonhak sigh as he rinse his dishes before putting it aside to wipe it dry. He was about to switch off the light in the kitchen area then he heard something crash coming from your house. He tried to shake it off, maybe she accidentally drop something. Then, he heard a loud thump on the wall before he heard your scream. Quickly, he unlock the door and went straight to your door. Thank goodness the door was unlock.

As he entered the house, he saw a few drops of blood at the entrance and some of the blood smeared on the wall. He saw the crashed flower pot on the floor and quickly running inside without any thought. There, he saw a man on top of you who were lying on the ground. He was chocking you as you were struggling to escape from his grip.

“You piece of shit!”, Geonhak shout which made the man startled because of the sudden presence.

"Who the fu-", Before the man could even stand up to attack him, Geonhak launched a punch on his face which made him stumble a few steps back. “Pick your own size, fucker.”, his low and deep voice made it a lot scarier for the man but he refuse to back off.

He made his way towards Geonhak in an attempt to attack him again but failed when Geonhak managed to block his punch. Geonhak grabbed the same arm that the man use to throw a punch and make a twist before throwing him on the floor. The man groaned in pain.

Seeing the man laid on the floor in pain because of his act previously, Geonhak grabbed him by the collar off his shirt and throw some punches on his face. The man was beaten badly and he could barely open his eyes. Geonhak really did him some numbers. The man probably ended up with a broken nose too.

Slowly, Geonhak stood up and made his way towards you who where crying in the corner, scared for your life. He approached and crouched at your level and still mind the gap between you and him, to make you feel comfortable and less terrified.

His deep and low voice turns into a husky one as he call for your name. You did not respond to him and he try again a few time, did not forget to mention his name too, just in case. Slowly you lift up your face and you saw him in front of you. He was close to you and he was being careful. Trying to not freak you out.

He saw a few cuts and bruises on your pretty face. Before he could reach out, you throw yourself on him, hugging him. For once, you feel save in a man arms. As for now you could careless what he think about you, you just need to feel safe at the moment.

Geonhak was surprise with the sudden hug but he did not complain. To your surprise, he wrapped his arms around you too, it made you calm down. His palm went up and down on your back.

“Everything is okay now.”, Geonhak trying to assure you and he could feel that you nods on his chest. Not letting you go, he took out his phone in his pocket and dial 119.

You were hospitalised for a few days and Geonhak never fail to visit you.

“You’re not working today?”, you asks on the first day he visited you in the hospital. It was afternoon and you are quite sure he should be working right now because it was not even lunch time yet.

“My time of working is flexible, no worries.”, he smiles. He look more beautiful when he smile like that. “I worked from home anyways. Just need to went out a few times.”, he added and you nods.

The doctor delivered you a good news. You can be discharge today. You were done changing into your own clothes and slowly tidying some of your stuffs on the bedside desk. You had no choice but to move slowly because your body still aches from the incident.

As for your ex-boyfriend, he was was arrested. That is all you wanted to know and it is all matter. Thank goodness that no legal action are taken against Geonhak because it was basically a self defence though he did give your ex-boyfriend a few bruises.

“Why don’t you wait for me?”, the familiar deep voice startled you and made you jump a bit. “Oh, sorry.”, he smile sheepishly.

“Ready to go home?”, he asked and you nods. He took the bag that had a few of your stuffs from your hand. It was not heavy at all but he insisted on carrying it for you.

“I think you should stay in my house for a few days.”, he said. You gave him a look, wondering why. “Your house was a mess with the bloods all over the place. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”, he add.

“It’s okay, I can clean it up.”

“Like this?”, he scoffs. “You should rest. Me and my friend would clean it all up. Just tell us the do’s and don’ts.”

“There’s nothing much.”, you said. Both of you was silent until you both reach his house. As soon as he closed the door, you turn around and faced him.

“Why?”, he asks.

“Thank you so much.”, you smiles. “You save my life.”, you added.

“You’re welcome.”, he shyly smiles back at you.

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