Tumgik
#not opposed to tagging or asking for help but i am concerned that not everyone here can figure out what's real and what's not
monstermoviedean · 2 years
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i saw a post today where someone stated that they often can't tell real information from misinformation online. i am not here to make fun of that person. that being said, the ability to figure out if information is real or not is a critical skill for everyone who uses the internet. you need to be able to do that on your own. it's great if you can get help or if people will tell you what's real and what's not, but you also need to be able to do it by yourself. simple, easy tips under the cut.
the most common style of misinformation i see on tumblr is the fake news headline. it's an image or multiple images of a headline and sometimes an attached story. easy tips to discovering whether this is real or not:
is there a link in the post? click it and see where it goes. no link? possibly fake, possibly the poster just didn't include it.
google the full headline, not just key words. even better, google the headline with the full headline in quotes so you get exact matches. can't find a match? probably fake.
is there a clear url/website attached to the headline? if so, go to the website and search for the headline. can't find a match? probably fake.
is there an author? google them. see if they're real. see if the subject of the article matches the stuff they usually write about. see if they have social media where they may have posted the headline. can't find an author, or they seem way off-track? probably fake.
if it's an image of a tweet, look up the person's twitter handle. can't find the tweet? possibly fake. it could also be a real tweet with the text or date edited.
is there a date? a story written in 2002 may have very different ramifications than a story written in 2022. it depends on the subject, but some subjects change rapidly and even a 5-year-old story may be out of date. see if you can find anything recent. if not, it may be fake or out of context.
go to google news and do a quick scan. this is going to work better for headlines that are about world news, but it's still worth a try. google news also allows you to search stories and limit by date. see if you can find a matching headline. if you can't, it may be fake or old news.
general tips:
don't trust social media. just don't. please. people can and will say literally anything they want. anything you read on social media that has real-world implications, you should fact-check.
you may think it's overkill, but google everything. even things you're mostly sure of. reading more headlines and more news can help you get better at discerning between real and fake headlines.
every source of information is biased in some way. try to seek out less biased sources. look up the bias media chart (here's a link) and use it to find sources that do less biased and more original reporting.
think about bias as you're reading. who is the author writing for? why are they writing? what do they want the audience to feel? what facts are they choosing to include or omit? how might the presentation of the facts change if someone with a different perspective was writing?
there are also websites dedicated to fact-checking. this works best for major world news, but try snopes or factcheck. the rand corporation has a huge list of tools for rooting out disinformation as well.
there's nothing wrong with asking for help, but if you genuinely cannot figure out if something is real or not on your own, and you give up trying to figure it out without help, you run the risk of believing and even spreading misinformation. some misinformation is essentially harmless (a celebrity's favorite color, for example). some misinformation is incredibly dangerous. please please PLEASE check your facts. it is quick and easy and worth it.
if you need more help, let me know.
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vqmpier · 3 months
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‘ * temp rules ( this was an impulse, i haven’t made a carrd . )
howdy ! I’m jayne, 24, she/her + they/them pronouns. i’ve been on tumblr for a very long time, so i know the drill by now ! this blog is semi-active at best, i will write when i have time / muse. this blog is selective, i will only write with mutuals ( i follow you / you follow me ) i may not follow back right away as i get busy and i try my best to read everyone’s rules before i follow !
i have no affiliation with smeyers, this blog is for entertainment purposes only, the only thing i own are my headcanons / canon divergences, my writing and my edits. please do not steal or replicate anything found on this blog ( if you need rp resources i am more than happy to help ! )
racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, and all other forms of bigotry will not be tolerated on this blog. the mun is queer and neurodivergent. i will be very liberal with the block button. i ask you to keep yourself safe, and if you are uncomfortable reaching out, you do the same. rp is for fun so let’s all be kind.
due to the nature of the source material, i ask if you are under the age of 18 you do not interact, i will hesitantly follow anyone under the age of 21. triggering content will be tagged #[trigger] //. nsfw will appear in the form of headcanons and possibly threads, and will be tagged #explicit // .
i do practice mains / exclusives / affiliates. if you have questions about this, please let me know !
i use small text & icons with a cluttered border, i also tend to double / triple space before and after dialogue. if any of my formatting makes it hard for you to see, don’t hesitate to let me know ! you are never expected to match formatting or length in replies. ( i tend to write para to multipara, and stay away from one liners though i am not opposed to shorter threads ! )
this blog is a wip so please be patient while i get my carrd set up ! 💕✨ feel free to come to me with any questions or concerns.
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infernql · 4 months
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‘ * temp rules ( this was an impulse, i haven’t made a carrd . )
howdy ! I’m jayne, 24, she/her + they/them pronouns. i’ve been on tumblr for a very long time, so i know the drill by now ! this blog is semi-active at best, i will write when i have time / muse. this blog is selective, i will only write with mutuals ( i follow you / you follow me ) i may not follow back right away as i get busy and i try my best to read everyone’s rules before i follow !
wyll and bg3 belong to larian studios, i have no affiliation, this blog is for entertainment purposes only, the only thing i own are my headcanons / canon divergences, my writing and my edits. the current psd used on this blog belongs to somresources. please do not steal or replicate anything found on this blog ( if you need rp resources i am more than happy to help ! )
racism, sexism, homophobia, xenophobia, and all other forms of bigotry will not be tolerated on this blog. the mun is queer and neurodivergent, as is the muse. i will be very liberal with the block button. i ask you to keep yourself safe, and if you are uncomfortable reaching out, you do the same. rp is for fun so let’s all be kind.
due to the nature of the source material, i ask if you are under the age of 18 you do not interact, i will hesitantly follow anyone under the age of 21. triggering content will be tagged #[trigger] //. nsfw will appear in the form of headcanons and possibly threads, and will be tagged #explicit // .
unhealthy power dynamics are a heavy topic on this blog due to the nature of warlocks and their patrons.
i love shipping and am almost always open to it if our muses have chemistry. wyll is queer and will romance anyone on or off the gender spectrum. however i do believe he is demisexual.
i do practice mains / exclusives / affiliates. if you have questions about this, please let me know !
i use small text & icons with a cluttered border, i also tend to double / triple space before and after dialogue. if any of my formatting makes it hard for you to see, don’t hesitate to let me know ! you are never expected to match formatting or length in replies. ( i tend to write para to multipara, and stay away from one liners though i am not opposed to shorter threads ! )
this blog is a wip so please be patient while i get my carrd set up ! 💕✨ feel free to come to me with any questions or concerns.
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9tzuyu · 3 years
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closest to me
prompt: coming out to natasha as nonbinary
note: totally meant to write this months ago, but whateverrrr. and yes, i am aware that not all nb people use they/them, this was just my own little work :p.
warnings: being scared to come out to ur sexy redhead russian of a gf :[
i’d tag but i also don’t want to somehow trigger someone :[
thank u moli for proofreading i love u to the moon and back.
. . .
you’d come out to two of your close friends, ones you knew wouldn’t judge you. they’d taken it just as expected, but that was no surprise when you’d known them your entire life. your shared opinions and thoughts were what brought you together in the first place. 
your friends immediately began using your correct pronouns, and you’d never felt more right in your life. it was refreshing to hear yourself being referred by they/them rather than she/her. their constant support made you feel normal again. after so much struggling, things were finally being put into place.
but there was one person, one very important person whom you hadn’t come out to yet, and that was your girlfriend.
natasha.
the thought of having the conversation alone with her was terrifying. granted, you knew she’d never be anything but supportive, but all the what if’s came flooding through with each attempt you made. 
your fingers trembled as you fiddled with the silver chain around your neck, a nervous habit you’d seemed to form over the years of wearing it. 
god you wanted to tell her so bad.
but as you stood in the kitchen, natasha’s hands around your waist, you began to panic all over again. the familiar fear of judgment wrapped around your throat. 
you didn’t know natasha the majority of your life like you did with friends, so you weren’t really sure what her exact opinions on different pronouns were. sure, she was part of the lgbt community, and of course she was supportive of trans people, but it still made you wonder how she’d feel about pronouns that weren’t he/him or she/her. 
“what’s on your mind, baby? i can practically hear the gears turning in your head.” 
you sighed. natasha always knew when you were lying, so you couldn’t make something up off the top of your head. she wouldn’t force you to talk either though. she’d give a push, but nothing more until you were certain you were ready — or in some cases, when she knew it was becoming too much to bear on your own. 
“just dumb stuff. i’ll get over it soon.” 
natasha nodded against your back, containing her concern for now. “you know i’m here.” she whispered, taking one of your hands away from your necklace.
“want to go downtown? we can look at some of the new shops that just opened up” 
you smiled, “sure.”
for the next few weeks, you weren’t seeming to find any relief though, and natasha picked up on it. she tried her best to make things easier for you, but none of it seemed to work. 
time and time again you reassured her that nothing was wrong, that things would clear up on their own, but another month down the road and natasha could still sense that something was eating away at you.
it’d gotten a little more obvious now. you didn’t go out as much with her when she was with her friends. the constant referral to you as something, or someone, you weren’t was a steady reminder of how outcast you’d originally felt when coming to terms with who you are. 
“she/her” felt like a slap in the face every time you heard it. the words were exhausting, damn near agonizing to hear. but day after day you tried to suck it up out of fear of being rejected by one of the very special people you loved most. 
it wasn’t until one sunday night when natasha came home to you crying in your shared bed when she’d finally had enough. her worry was through the roof and seeing you struggle so much pained her. 
she dropped her keys on the nightstand and crawled into bed behind you, securing her arms tightly around your figure. 
“talk to me. whatever it is, i want to hear about it.”
but that only made you cry harder. you couldn’t help but feel more alienated than you already felt. why were you crying over such a stupid little thing? you could already hear the false words slip from natasha’s lips.
“hey, baby. shh, shh, you’re okay.”
you turned your body to face natasha, teary eyes looking into hers. “you might hate me, or think i’m weird, or a freak, or that i’m just confused.” 
your girlfriend gently combed through your hair with her nails. “i could never think those things about you. please tell me what this is about because i have no idea and i just want to help.”
her steady hand movement rubbing your arm while the other twirled your hand between her fingertips eventually brought you to a more reasonable state. 
“you know how trans people typically go by their opposing pronouns?”
“mhm.”
“well... i don’t- i just- god this is so frustrating!” you frowned, unconsciously grasping at the chain around your neck.
“are you trying to tell me you’re trans?”
“no, no, it’s not that. well, i don’t think so, depends on who you talk to. some people like me consider themselves to be classified under the trans umbrella, but not everyone.” 
natasha hummed once more while tracing small shapes against your skin. 
“what do you think of nonbinary people? like, you know, those who don’t use she/her or he/him?” 
she shrugged, and your heart sank for a brief second before she spoke. “i don’t have a problem with it. why?”
“i don’t like being referred to as she/her. my pronouns are they/them. i’m not a man and i’m not a woman... will that ever bother you?”
a smile broke out across the redhead’s face. “doesn’t bother me one single bit. i love you for you, y/n. not for who you think you’re supposed to be.” 
relief was all you could feel. as cliche as it sounded, the weight of the world felt like it had been lifted from your shoulders. you didn’t have to worry anymore, not while natasha was around.
“is this what’s been bothering you for so long?”
you reached over and grabbed a loose red strand, it was your turn to play with her hair. “yeah. i knew you wouldn’t judge, but-”
“what if.” she confirmed and you nodded. 
“does anyone else know?”
“just my two friends i grew up with.”
“no one else?” you shook your head, looping a red curl around your finger. “nope.”
“is that why you stopped hanging out with me, tony, clint and the rest of them? because everyone referred to you as she and her?”
“yeah, felt like a punch in the stomach every time i heard it. made me feel weird, not normal i guess.” you mumbled, almost embarrassed by the confession.
natasha placed a long kiss on the top of your head, rubbing your back for extra support. “they would never judge you, i’d cut them off in a heartbeat if they did. if it helps any, i can ask how they feel about it? poke around some and let you know what they say? then when they don’t have a problem with it, which they won’t, you can come out when you’re ready, yeah?”
you nodded again, although it was slightly hesitant. “sounds good.”
“forgive me if i mess up a couple of times. i’ll try not to make a big deal out of it and just correct myself.” another kiss was delivered to your head.
“oh! last question. promise.”
“yes?”
“when im around other people and you’re not with me do you want me to use they/them? i don’t want to out you when you’re not ready.”
“i swear you’re perfect,” you giggled. “but you can use they/them both when im with you and when i’m not. just try to keep it casual? please?”
“anything for you, sweetheart.”
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Reason to Come Back (Bucky Barnes x reader)
Reason to come back
Bucky Barnes x reader
Word count: 3574
Request: "can you do something where seb(or one of his characters)and reader used to date and one day he broke up with her and after a short time he comes up with a new girl(not cheating)and the reader thinks that she’s worthless and not beautiful or good enough and that’s why he broke up with her and tries to be better(you know what to do•_-) and silently suffering etc. and with a happy ending where they get back together"
Warnings: mentions of a breakup, angst, depression, very slight mentions of disordered eating and exercise (very slight, not like most of my other fics), general feelings of worthlessness, angst
Tags: @buckys2thicc @mardema @stucky-on-spiderman @abitgryffindorky @freigeistundanderes @barnesplums @thatfangirl42 @buckfics @babyboibucky 
A/N: I AM SO SORRY TO THE ANON THAT REQUESTED THIS SO LONG AGO AND THAT IT TOOK SO LONG! I don’t even know if they’re still here, I feel so bad. I got an anon request for this fic and I did not know about the inbox for Tumblr accounts until just recently because I’m incompetent. There’s no excuse for me taking so long to write it, but I wanted to even though it’s been 9 months since they sent it. If you’re still here anon, thank you for sticking with me!
NEW NOTE 06/04/21: I rewrote this to be for Bucky as opposed to Sebastian. It is still mostly the same, just reworded in some places. This is meant to take place in reference to the timeline of tfatws and mentions moments from the show. I am referencing “the time he was gone” as the series episode 1-6. I don’t know how much time passed but I assume it was at least a few weeks if not longer (especially between episodes 5 and 6). That’s how I wrote it.
------------------------
It was a quiet night, you under some blankets on the couch watching a movie. There was an empty bowl aside from a few popcorn kernels on the coffee table in front of you, the movie more for background noise than entertainment. You were scrolling through your phone mindlessly, looking for a distraction that would keep you occupied.
Not that it was working too well. There wasn’t much that could distract you from the fact that you were alone.
9 months. You had dated for 9 months. Not that he had been around for much of it. He had been with Sam on an extended mission, and he had been gone for a few weeks. You didn’t know much about the mission, Bucky wasn’t allowed to tell you. For your safety. You understood. It was his job, you knew that, but it could be lonely most of the time. He would call or text you if he could, but he couldn’t compromise his location. You were always happy to hear from him, but it wasn’t the same as when he was around.
You knew this would happen, and you had accepted that. It was hard, but you could manage.
You hadn’t heard from him in a weeks, but you didn’t think much of it. He and Sam must have gotten closer to the answers they had been looking for. You could only hope that he was safe. it took a toll on you, worrying about him, but you had been so happy when he had said he was coming home. But when he walked through the door, he didn’t seem excited at all.
You had wrapped your arms around him, and he had hesitantly hugged you back gently. You had known something was wrong almost immediately, pulling back and trying to meet his eyes. “Babe? Are you okay?”
“We should talk,” he said, struggling to meet your eyes.
You pulled your eyes together with concern. “Yeah, yeah what’s wrong?”
“I, uh… I don’t know if this is gonna work out.”
You shook your head, surprised. “What do you mean? What happened?”
“I just don’t think you and I work with 1,000 miles between us.”
“What?” you said in disbelief. “You’re the one who has to leave and I told you that I’m okay with it, and I am. I never thought you’d be the one with the problem with it.”
“Y/n -”
“We can work this out, Buck. You said it yourself, you don’t normally go away for that long. I’m not going anywhere, I - ”
“I can’t ask you to stay, y/n,” he said, cutting you off. You shut your mouth and shook your head. “Where is this coming from, what happened?” you asked.
He cleared his throat. “I should go.”
“You don’t get to walk away from this like that!” you exclaimed, nearly yelling.
“And I don’t have the right to expect you to wait for months while I’m out trying to save people. I thought it’d be fine but I couldn’t stop thinking about you here, alone. There’s going to be more missions, more danger. They recreated the serum. Who knows what else they’ll be able to create? You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”
“You don’t get to make that choice for me! I told you I’m okay with it and I still am, Bucky! I know the risks!” you said, tears pricking your eyes.
He looked away. “You deserve much better than me. Someone who can be there for you.”
You walked up to him and cupped his face. “You’re all I could ever want Bucky. Distance be damned.”
He sighed and pulled you into a hug, squeezing you tightly for a moment. “I have to go y/n. I’m sorry.”
He let you go and turned around, not even looking back to say goodbye.
That had been a couple of weeks ago. You had been crushed at first, devastated. But you were still able to function in your day-to-day life. You had a few friends to hype you up or cry with you, whatever the day was. You were able to still get to work, try to move on. And it was getting better, but the nights were still hard. It wasn’t the same when you knew he wouldn’t be coming home.
During the day you could pretend like you were waiting for that night when he would be able to call you. But at night, it was dark and you didn’t have a person you wanted to call.
You weren’t bitter, in a way you understood. You had known how relationships could be ruined by distance and work. But being a super soldier wasn’t a typical line of work. You had been okay with it, but you hadn’t thought that it would’ve affected Bucky as much as it seemed to. You had been emotional at the time, but looking back on it you could understand where he was coming from. Relationships were two-sided - just because you felt okay didn’t guarantee he was.
You knew what he did was dangerous. You had accepted that there might not have always been a happy ending. Maybe he hadn’t.
But then one day you had walked into a bar, only to see Bucky flirting with another girl, laughing away..
That was all you needed to see.
You didn’t want to read too much into it, any kind of situation could be misread. But him laughing with a very attractive girl over drinks shortly after becoming single - you couldn’t help but wonder.
You tried to tell yourself that it didn’t matter, that you were reading everything wrong, but your heart still felt as though it was breaking.
She was gorgeous. Much more so than you, you had thought.
Was that why he left? Was he just wanting to get himself back out there? Had he met her and just needed to get rid of you?
You didn’t want to think that way, none of it was true. He wouldn’t do that, he was a good man. But still…
Maybe if you were different it would’ve been harder for him to leave.
Maybe you hadn’t given him a good enough reason to stay.
And maybe, if you were better, prettier, he would come back.
It started small - making more of an effort to go to the gym, not ordering takeaways every night, that sort of thing. Not that you had much of an appetite to begin with. But you didn’t realize when your days had become full of going from work to the gym, nor why you had freaked out so much when you had sprained an ankle and couldn’t do your normal workout.
You had decided to work your arms those next few days to supplement the cardio you had missed. You had kept this up until you woke up one morning struggling to turn over because you were so sore. You decided that that day, you could take a rest day.
A rest day turned into a rest week, and soon enough you were only leaving your house to go to work. And only because you needed money.
You had cut yourself off from most of your contacts, still replying every now and then so they wouldn’t be concerned. You didn’t go out with them or call them because you were worried they would see right through you. Better to stay home. Your bed would never judge you.
You had become familiar with the spots on the wall, the streaks from god knows what, the way that light would filter through your window as the sun ascended and descended the sky. Hours could pass and you could still be in the same position.
You had to keep up a front around everyone. Letting people know how much you were hurting was not an option for you. Then they would ask what was wrong and pull you aside and look at you with this concerned face that you couldn’t deal with. It was the one that everyone always gave when someone was having a bad day, the one people put on when they wanted you to think that they cared. Sometimes they did, but most of the time a person with any sense of morals would put that face on to make a person think that they cared. It’s the same way “How are you?” is more of a greeting than a genuine question.
There were people who cared, but you didn’t want to have that conversation. You didn’t even know what you were doing anymore. It was an honest thought of bettering yourself, but it was for the wrong reasons. Trying to be better for Bucky made you realize how much you missed him. How angry you really were at him. But you couldn’t take it out on him, he didn’t deserve that at all, he didn’t earn that. But you were angry at...something, and maybe it was yourself, at letting him walk out that door, of not calling him and leaving him messages. Maybe if you had fought for him he would’ve stayed. If you had said something when he distanced himself.
You felt like this was your fault. And maybe if you changed something about yourself, you would learn from your mistakes.
Not that you knew exactly what you had done or what isolating yourself would fix, or teach you for that matter.
At some point, you must have fallen asleep because your ringtone jolted you awake. You groaned, shutting your eyes again. You would let it go to voicemail, just like all of the others. If it was that important they would text you.
You let it ring, sighing when it had stopped. You readjusted in your bed, trying to fall back asleep. It was a Saturday morning, you had until Monday morning to sleep. You were going to make the most of it.
But then your phone began ringing again.
You opened your eyes again, picking up your phone to see who it was. You dropped the phone when you saw the name
Bucky Barnes
Why the fuck was he calling you? What could he possibly have to say to you?
You watched the phone ring through to voicemail, soon after seeing a voicemail was left. You didn’t bother listening to it, you didn’t need to. You simply rolled over in bed. If it were that important, he would have called sooner.
Bucky’s POV
As the call went to voicemail again, Bucky was confused. He had never known you to miss a call, ever. It wasn’t like you, he knew you would drop anything to take calls. You had said you hated people leaving voicemails because you hated them having to listen to your voicemail message. You had thought your voice had sounded weird. It was one of the little things he remembered about you that made him smile
And realize how royally he had fucked up.
Being away on a mission wasn’t anything new for him, but maintaining a serious relationship for him was. He had never met anyone like you, and he had missed you so much when he had left. He hadn’t felt anything like what he did when you smiled at him since the 40′s. They say absence makes the heart grow fonder, but all he could think about was how much he had missed you. And that made him think about how much you must have missed him.
He felt like he was holding you back in some way. He was used to being away in dangerous situations for periods of time but you weren’t. And no matter how much you had assured him that you were okay with the long-distance relationship, as the months went on he felt guilty for not being able to be there in the way that he wanted to.
In the way you deserved.
He broke up with you because he thought you deserved better than relying on phone calls and texts for months at a time. Someone who could be there all the time for you. Someone who you didn’t have to worry about getting shot when he left for a mission. Someone predictable and reliable. Something he couldn’t always do.
But God, did he miss you.
He regretted walking out that door. He regretted not giving you a better reason, for not calling you or texting you until now, weeks later. The more time went on, the more he felt it would be inappropriate to call you to apologize.
But he couldn’t take it anymore, so he dialed your number. And when it went to voicemail, he had gotten a little worried.
He knew he didn’t have much of a right or reason to be worried, but he had a gut feeling that something wasn’t right. So, he decided to reach out to one of your friends.
Hey, is y/n alright?
Why do you want to know?
Look, I know I messed up. I just wanted to apologize and give her the answer she deserves. But she’s not answering my calls.
She doesn’t do phone calls anymore.
What do you mean?
She won’t answer calls. She won’t even come out with us anymore. Something’s up but she denies it.
When did this start?
When do you think?
Bucky’s heart sank to his stomach. This was his fault. And he had to go make it right.
Your POV
You were still in bed, wondering why Bucky had called you. It didn’t make sense to you, for him to call after all of this time. What could he possibly have to say to you? Did he want to inform you of a new girlfriend before the news caught wind of it? Did he want to come up with some dumb excuse to tell you he was sorry?
It made you scoff slightly, but the tug at your heart let you know that it wouldn’t be unwelcome.
You couldn’t deny it. As much as his leaving had hurt you, you missed him more than anything.
You wanted another chance with him, one that you weren’t sure you would get. And the thought of him coming back to you was comforting. Like maybe it wasn’t your fault. Or maybe you had done enough to win him back.
Wishful thinking.
You had lost track of time, once again, but were snapped out of your daze by knocking on your door.
What? Why would anyone be here?
You sighed. It was probably just some random person selling some random product or something.
More knocking. More insistent. You sighed, standing up and silently groaning at the soreness you felt in your body. Not necessarily from overuse, but more so from underuse. You stood you slowly, walking quietly over to your door.
More knocking.
You made it to the door and glanced through the peephole you had, eyes widening and a small gasp leaving your mouth.
Why the fuck was Bucky here?
More knocking.
You ran a hand down your face. Knowing him, he wouldn’t leave. But why did it go from calling straight to ‘I’m coming to your door’? As if he hadn’t been the one to leave you?
More knocking.
You swallowed dryly. “Why are you here?” you called out through the door.
Bucky let out a breath. “I just want to talk to you”
You shook your head on the other side of the door, wondering if you should let him speak. As if he wasn’t already living rent-free in your mind.
“Please y/n.”
You set your face hard, pulling the door open. At least you would get to say your piece to him.
“Now you wanna talk? Fine. Let’s talk.” you said, coldly.
Bucky was slightly taken aback, though he couldn’t blame you. He took in your appearance, exhaustion seeming to overtake you. Dark circles under your eyes, pale skin, you just - all life seemed to be drained from you. He scratched the back of his neck nervously before he asked quietly, “Can I come in?”
You stepped to the side, silently allowing him in, closing the door behind you. You crossed your arms over your chest and shrugged slightly. “What do you want Barnes?
“I’m sorry,” he said. You scoffed slightly, shaking your head and looking away. “Y/n look at me, please. I fucked up.”
“Well it took you long enough to figure that one out didn’t it?” you snapped, looking at him.
“Y/n please -”
“Tell me, when exactly did you figure out that maybe, just maybe, you should say you were sorry?”
“Y/n please - “
“Who was the girl? The one in the bar from a few days after we had broken up? The one you were hitting on over a couple of drinks?”
“The… what?”
“When did you feel the slightest bit of regret? When did you change your mind and decide that you didn’t want to leave?”
“I never wanted to leave you!” he exclaimed. “Can you please just listen to me?”
You looked at him, anger in your eyes but you closed your mouth. You gave him a look that said ‘I’m listening.’
He took a deep breath. “The woman at the bar was an old friend of Sam’s. He had introduced the two of us at one point. I was at a bar one night and and she came over to say hello and stayed for one drink. It’s nothing more than that.”
You took a breath. Situations could definitely be read wrong. You knew it had probably been nothing.
“When we first got together we had talked about me leaving for missions. Long-distance, unpredictable times, dangerous missions. A lot of people have a hard time keeping that going.”
“And I knew that and was okay with it.”
“Let me finish, please.” he pleaded. “I knew you knew the risks but I’m not sure I was as ready as I thought I was. I left and suddenly I couldn’t talk to you because I was worried for your safety. I couldn’t be there for you in all the ways I wanted to be. In all the ways you deserved. I just...you didn’t deserve that. You deserved so much more than that.”
You felt tears prick your eyes. “You already told me that. When you left. What’s really going on?”
He shook his head slightly. “ Sam’s sister had gotten a call with a threat towards her and her children. I couldn’t put you at risk. These people, they were super soldiers just like me. I had a few close calls with serious injuries. And I realized that if I got hurt I couldn’t protect you. I couldn’t let you get hurt and I couldn’t let you worry about whether or not I would come home alive. I thought… I thought it’d be less painful for both of us if we stopped seeing each other before that happened.”
You shook your head slightly. “Why couldn’t you tell me that?” you said, a little more softly.
“I don’t know”
You shook your head. “You’re gonna have to do a lot better than I don’t know.”
“I - “ He sighed slightly. “I was scared. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I was scared that I was going to lose you.”
“So you gave me up?” you asked.
“And made the biggest mistake of my entire life.”
You looked to the side and bit your lip slightly. “You know I thought it was my fault?” you turned your face back to Bucky’s confused one. “I thought I wasn’t good enough for you. That if I was enough you wouldn’t have left. Or if I was better you would’ve come back.”
He shook his head and started walking towards you to comfort you. “It was never your fault angel -”
You backed up slightly. “You don’t get to call me that. Not right now, not yet at least.”
He looked hurt slightly, but he nodded. After a few moments of silence, you scoffed slightly.
“You know, as much as I hate to admit it, I fell apart these past few weeks. Told myself that the only thing I wanted and needed was having you come back. And here you are and...I don’t know, Bucky.” you shrugged. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do or think, you broke up with me because you were afraid of hurting me? I - “ you rubbed your eyes. “I just… I get it, but I just wish we could’ve had this conversation weeks ago, Buck.”
“Does this mean we’re done?” he asked timidly.
“I… I don’t know. I just…. I think i need a little bit of time. Please. Just some time to think.”
He nodded, though he looked slightly disappointed. “Yeah, of course.” you nodded, walking him over to the door, opening it. He turned around. “Is it okay to give you a hug, y/n?”
You thought about it for a moment before nodding, letting him wrap his arms around your waist as you looped them around his neck. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, tears forming in your eyes as you realized how much you missed this. How much you needed this. When he went to pull away, you held him a little more tightly before letting him go.
He smiled at you before turning to leave. “Take as much time as you need, y/n.”
You gave him the smallest of smiles back. “I’ll see you later Bucky.”
And with that, you closed the door behind you, not having a clue what any of this meant. This didn’t make it okay by any means, but maybe, just maybe, the two of you could start fresh. Together.
299 notes · View notes
wrightaboutthat · 2 years
Text
Collegial Support ~A Narumitsu One-Shot~
Summary: “I could not stop thinking about you this morning. And it’s landed me in quite the...predicament.” A desperate cry for help brings Phoenix Wright into the Chief Prosecutor's office. The reasoning, however, is beyond anything he could have imagined.
Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Office Sex, Fluff and Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Oral Sex, Frottage, Desperation, Riding, all these tags but they're still so incredibly in love your honor, basically just them trying to one up adoration the entire time, Vaguely Set After AA4, no beta we die like miles' self control, Oh and I forgot the Lawyer Cult tags-neck kiss o'clock, Horny Lawyers, Miles Edgeworth is sent to the moon
Additional Notes: Hello everyone! I'm so anxiously excited for this one. I'm still trying to find my footing with this pairing, but couldn't help but dive headfirst into some good ol' office loving. Soundproofing in prosecutorial spaces is a blessing, actually. I'm so obsessed with how much these two adore each other, and subsequently so obsessed with bringing that element to light!
Super happy to finally share this with you all, and shoutout to the Lawyer Cult/the *cough hack* Hivemind for offering encouragement along the way! The excitement and support offered necessary boosts to keep going, so I appreciate you all <3. Hope you enjoy!
You can also read the work on AO3 here [x]
Phoenix was nothing but casual whistles as he strolled through rival territory. Nothing was out of the ordinary; it had been a regular day, a regular workload, and regular chain of beckoning messages on his phone.
“Wright?”
“Hey baby. What’s up?”
“Are you busy currently?”
“Not really, why?”
“Come to my office at your earliest convenience. I require your assistance.”
“Be over soon <3”
He had wrapped things up, left matters in capable hands, and headed over to the Prosecutor Building. It was not an unusual sight, as everyone in the space immediately recognized his intentions. Thus, unimpeded and contented, did he journey up to the office of utmost desire, mentally preparing for cases and kisses a plenty.
But walking into his partner’s office changed that. Where he expected to find Miles sitting at his desk, he instead found him standing on the opposite side. Where he expected to immediately catch those gorgeous silver eyes, he instead found a tense, burgundy backside. And where he expected to find the usual poised posture, he instead found a pose of what appeared to be frustration. For whatever reason, the normally composed man was leant over the mahogany, head hung and hands fisted.
Any manner of salutation died in his throat, instead being replaced with a concerned inquiry as he strolled forward.
“Miles? Is something wrong?”
He watched as Miles sighed harshly, but remained frozen in his spot.
“I would say so, yes,” he grumbled, his baritone deeper and thicker than usual.
“What is it?” Phoenix asked, coming up to his partner’s side and seating himself on the edge of the desk.
Again, Phoenix was expecting something work-related. Perhaps one of the other prosecutors was ill-performing. Or maybe a case was quickly getting too complicated. There wasn’t much that seemed to shake the sturdy foundation that was Miles Edgeworth after all; he was poised, stoic, and powerful. So he prepared himself for something of an intellectual explanation, quietly observing and waiting.
He watched as Miles slowly brought his head up, his bangs shifting and continuing to border his face. He heaved another heavy sigh, and still continued to avoid eye contact. Phoenix felt his wavy brows furrow tighter, but he held his tongue. Eventually, Miles did end up breaking the silence, albeit in gritted, deep tones.
“It would appear that certain...matters...are spiraling out of control.”
“Such as?”
Another sigh, another grumble, and another pause. Miles’ head seemed to dip back down then, grey hairs effectively hiding his visage away.
“It’s abhorrent.”
“Okay?” Phoenix softly pressed, “What’s going on?”
There was another pregnant pause then, the air growing noticeably thicker. Despite the uptick in tension, the oddity of it all, Phoenix didn’t take his eyes off his partner, patiently waiting for an answer. He noted that Miles almost seemed to be trembling, something that earned a tautness in his throat. Still, the possible explanations swirling through his head didn’t even come close to what was eventually uttered.
“...Infernal physiological processes, ones that have never hindered me in the past.”
What?
Mismatched eyes blinked numerous times, attempting to make sense of the unexpected shift. What did that even mean? Sleep troubles? Anxieties? A bad craving for burgers from being around the kids for too long?
“I don’t understand,” Phoenix said.
Miles seemed to snarl, his hands tightening against the deep mahogany. Though Phoenix couldn’t see his face, he could easily picture the deep sneer his lips had likely hiked into.
“Must you make me say it, Wright?” he hissed.
“Yeaaaah?” Phoenix drawled, nervously resting his hand upon his neck, “Because I’m not following.”
The harshest sigh of them all sounded in response, before Miles’ head drooped even lower. He seemed to take a few beats of cleansing breaths, before miraculously pivoting to catch Phoenix’s stare. Heterochromatic eyes took note of numerous elements then: the sharpness to the opposing glare, the deep furrow to his brows, the very pronounced swath of crimson beneath ivory skin, and the sporadic beads of sweat against his hairline. He certainly looked shaken, and once more did Phoenix’s brain clamber for a reason. Again, was he proven deeply wrong in a matter of seconds, the true answer utterly whiting out his entire system.
“I could not stop thinking about you this morning. And it’s landed me in quite the...predicament.”
A pin could be audible in the space if one were to fall, the office growing incredibly silent. Likely because Phoenix wasn’t even breathing; words and inhalations had utterly jammed in his throat. Outwardly, he was frozen in time, locked in the utmost surprise. Inwardly however, his subconscious was clambering and screaming. It ran through the words over and over again, attempting to process, attempting to taste. Because, there was absolutely no way that was the true reason. Despite dating Miles for a while, despite being intimate, there was no way such troubles spilled off his tongue.
So, when Phoenix finally got air moving through his lungs again, he quickly spoke his incredulousness.
“You’re kidding.”
An even deeper shade of crimson gripped Miles’ cheeks, and he ran to hide behind curtains of grey hair once more.
“No.”
“R-really, you must be joking,” Phoenix said, his hand gripping his neck a bit tighter.
“Does it look like I am?” Miles snapped.
No. It didn’t. The tension, the embarrassment, the desperation...It absolutely all checked out. And the more Phoenix processed it, the more he burrowed into the delightfully chaotic situation, the more he fell under a similar spell. The corners of lips began to twitch upwards, and his heart began to pound harder and faster within his chest. He stepped back through the situation, all the way back to the initial text messages. And when the disguising blanket draped upon “I need your assistance” was yanked off to reveal “I need you...”
“Wow, I...Wow,” he breathed, beginning to grin and chuckle all the same. When Miles simply groaned and remained silent, he couldn’t help but state the obvious, cementing them both into the humorous yet delicious reality.
“Esteemed Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth rushed me to his office because he was horny?”
Said esteemed prosecutor recoiled like he been slapped, before scrunching himself down even further.
“Don’t say it like that,” he grumbled.
But where one was falling, the other was rising; Phoenix found himself beaming more and more, amusement and interest quickly surging within.
“Ahh right, always one for eloquence,” he snickered, moving his hand upwards to run through ebony strands, “How about...Miles Edgeworth couldn’t get his rampant, raging desire under control?”
“Wright.”
Phoenix couldn’t help but giggle more. The cheerful noise pried silver eyes back in his direction, but not in a preferred manner; Miles was glaring something terrible.
“And quit laughing,” he hissed.
“I’m not laughing at you, baby,” Phoenix said, controlling his mirth but still grinning all the while, “I’m just...blown away- maybe even flattered?”
When Miles answered with nothing but an embarrassed exhalation, Phoenix couldn’t help but look on with a more sheepish expression himself.
“You’re...that attracted to me?”
“Unfortunately...” Miles sighed.
Phoenix couldn’t help but giggle once again, feeling heat spread out across numerous places in his body. He saw fit to punch through the barriers Miles was hidden behind then, reaching out with a hand to softly frame his sharp jaw.
“Well, if it’s any consolation, I’m insanely attracted to you too,” he murmured, giving a few strokes of his thumb, “Always have been. And you’re lucky I am because you’re an ass, and you scared me.”
“Understandable. It was...a shameful move.”
It was then that Phoenix began to grow frustrated with the frozen state of his partner. That, and he felt inclined to test the waters of attraction, to delight in the desperation Miles was trapped in. He had called him over in search of distressed release after all, so it was high time Phoenix unlocked the apprehension and allowed them both to enjoy.
His grin turned a bit slyer then, and he hopped off his mahogany perch, venturing to stand behind his Miles’ backside. Phoenix watched as burgundy stiffened even more, but before any objections could be raised, he was snaking his hands around the bent-over form. Grasping his torso, he pulled Miles upright, pulled him flush. He even went so far as to jut his hands downward, tugging that glorious behind into his already-swelling groin.
The resulting shaky gasp furthered his smile, and he was half-tempted to grind something terrible. But he held onto his composure, held onto his resolve, instead relying on words to chip away at any semblance of control. They were their art form after all, their weapon; surely they’d be just as effective at beckoning Miles into the bliss he craved.
“Yet you called me here anyway,” Phoenix whispered, easing his mouth close to Miles’ ear, “Were you just that desperate, Miles? Longing and aching?”
The effect was immediate; the room electrified and Miles stiffened immensely against him before beginning to quiver.
“W-Wright...”
The reaction caused mismatched eyes to flash, a darker sheen blanketing over the amusement. The longing and aching were quite mutual after all, Phoenix quickly venturing to the same plane. Brazenly, he flicked his tongue up the helix of Miles’ ear, before traversing into even dirtier territory.
“Yeah? Or was it because you knew I can’t exactly pass up on such an opportunity?” He barely gave Miles an opportunity to shudder or whine before he added with beam, “Almost makes me want to subvert expectations. Maybe I need to make myself less available.”
He was pleased to see Miles jerk his head, glaring at him over his shoulder.
“You wouldn’t dare...” he hissed, though his vocals were less solid than before.
“Maybe not,” Phoenix said, moving back to bite and kiss at the offered ear, “Think I’d rather pleasure you until you can’t think straight.”
Miles was definitely unraveling; his backside pressed harder against Phoenix’s tenting crotch. It was a beautiful thing, an unexpected delight. He never pictured that he’d have a Chief Prosector falling apart in his hands, rasping and begging and wanting. He felt inclined to play just a bit more, to savor the moment.
“Wright...”
“Ahh right, eloquence,” Phoenix chuckled, moving his kisses to any part of that gorgeous neck that wasn’t hidden by Miles’ cravat, “Think I’d rather dampen the- what’d you call it? Infernal psychological processes?”
“Physiological processes, darling,” Miles rasped, “Regardless, eloquence doesn’t really carry...the same effect...”
“Yeah?”
Phoenix could barely contain his smile, his excitement, licking a tantalizing trail against sweet ivory skin.
“So naughty, Miles. Yanking me here just to mess around, just to have dirty things whispered in your ear...”
“I’m...I’m certainly not proud of such crassness...”
“No? Well, that’s a shame, because-“
Phoenix finally gave a grind of his hips, drawing sharp gasps from the both of them.
“-it’s driving me absolutely wild too.”
“Phoenix...”
Phoenix managed to contain himself a bit then. He managed to keep a hold on his own hungering pelvis. Instead, he opted to hammer in the last bits of reassurance, whispered between heated kisses to neck and jaw.
“Really, Miles. Don’t worry. Just enjoy yourself, love. I’ve got you. I’m glad you rang, because I want to make you feel so, so good. I always do.”
Miles tensed, as if poised to argue further. But then with a groaning sigh, a heaving breath, he beautifully relented, his head lulling backwards against Phoenix’s shoulder.
“I love you. How is it that you put up with my nonsense?”
Phoenix grinned, a mix of triumph and bashfulness. He thirsted over newly exposed skin for a few beats, before returning such sentiments.
“I love you too. And hey, I can’t exactly complain about getting to bang the Chief Prosecutor. Kinda the opposite- I want to boast it.”
To his furthered relief and amusement, Miles lightly snorted.
“Tsk...”
But despite the lightheartedness, despite the mirth, Phoenix knew there was a duty to be fulfilled. So he plunged back into lecherousness, whispering against Miles’ ear once more.
“So I can’t wait to make you scream, and let everyone know.”
He snickered as the rested head jerked back up, Miles looking over his shoulder with wide eyes.
“Phoenix Wright,” he gasped, “Were you always this lewd?”
“Mm, maybe; it kinda can’t be helped around you. But hey, you like it.”
Before any objection could be raised, before they fell victim to further arguing, Phoenix hushed it all with just a few calculated movements: he spun Miles around, removed his glasses, and swallowed any poised words with his own mouth. He coaxed the arguments into honeyed nothingness, eased the apprehension into eagerness, and melted the tension into heat. His tongue jabbed, and his hands wandered, wrestling out every sweet little noise he possibly could. But upon plunging downward, upon feeling the extremely taut bulge that was Miles’ front, Phoenix couldn’t help but break away and stare.
“Wow, holy shit- you really like it.”
Once again, he didn’t allow time for a response; he reached to trace the delicious outline with a hand, before giving the entire area a sharp squeeze. Miles of course, immediately acted accordingly. Being so pent up, so deprived, so hungry, his entire body practically rolled from the sensation, coupled with a strangled noise of approval.
“N-nngh...”
And that was the utmost green light. That was all Phoenix needed to leap into action. His eyes flashed with a darker sheen, a hotter spark, and he slipped his hands around Miles’ hips.
“Alright. Enough making you wait- let’s take care of you, sweetheart, hmm?”
“You’re far too good to me...” Miles panted.
“Because I adore you,” Phoenix said simply, before tugging him close, “Now c’mere...”
They locked into a passionate kiss then, one that quickly grew heated, desperate. Mouths wandered like they were each other’s quenching thirst in the desert, the first meal after starvation. Groans, whimpers, and shaky breaths sounded in a libidinous melody, cutting through the silence of thickened office air. And although Phoenix’s mind quickly began to grow woozy with lust, he still acted with his beloved in mind. Not breaking their connection, he softly ushered Miles back around his large wooden desk, guiding him back to his leather chair. And when the constrained hips began to grind, began to search for that fiery friction, Phoenix proceeded further.
He broke their kiss for the purpose of latching his mouth to area just beneath Miles’ jaw, sucking and staking his claim. As he did so, his hands wandered downward once more, fishing for the belt and fly that constricted his love so.
“Wr-Wright...” Miles whimpered, the cracking tonality pure music to Phoenix’s ears. Still, with a heated kiss followed by bite, did he voice his motives.
“You’ve no idea how much I want to get beneath this,” he breathily chuckled, briefly tugging on the damn cravat with his teeth, “But that’s not exactly the most pressing matter, now is it?”
His fingers were deft then, working at the devilish constraints and unzipping the burgundy slacks. Another teasing squeeze was offered to the ever-growing bulge, but when the touch earned a yelp, Phoenix denied no longer. He plunged a hand into soft fabric, grasped his lecherous prize, and finally pulled it free. He removed himself from Miles’ neck just in time to witness him groan with relief, his head lulling and his chest heaving. But unsurprisingly, were heterochromatic eyes drawn downward, marveling in the sight that awaited.
“God...You’re so stunning, Miles.”
And he was; he was utterly engorged and ready. The utmost desire was palpable, what with the tip weeping something terrible. Various twitches and jerks also complimented the display, Miles’ body practically screaming at Phoenix to proceed.
Proceed he did; he nudged Miles backwards and downwards, guiding him to sit. He wasted no time in kneeling betwixt shivering legs, spreading them further and allowing for more space. A second of admiration had to be given, before he finally nestled close, ghosting his breath across Miles’ center. Such an action earned a needy whimper, Miles reaching with a shaky hand towards Phoenix’s head.
“M-May I?” he rasped, just barely touching ebony strands.
“Do whatever you need,” Phoenix said, licking his lips and readying himself. Normally, he would be inclined to tease and taste. Normally, he would give kisses and licks before he consumed. Normally, he would take the time to marvel in Miles’ beauty. But with how heated the situation was, with how noticeable the tremors were, he skipped right over the normal proceedings. All he offered was a kiss to the dripping head, before steadying the shaft with a hand.
“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.”
“T-thank you...”
The gasped words of appreciation died with the following actions. Phoenix guided Miles fully into his mouth, taking as much as he could possibly manage. As he slid downwards, eyes trained upwards, attempting to watch the reaction such relief earned. It was well worth it; Miles practically rolled like a wave, his head craning back, his free hand gripping one of the rests, and his mouth falling agape.
“O-oh fuck...Phoenix, thank you...”
The expletive rolling off such an esteemed tongue made brown and blue flash, kindling a new spark of determination within. Phoenix eased back, slipped a limp leg over his shoulder, and took Miles deeply again. He hollowed out his cheeks then, watching as the suction took its effect.
“A-ah!” Miles gasped, bringing a hand to his mouth and biting upon his fingers. He likely wouldn’t last long. Beginning actions were almost drawing forth cries already. So Phoenix slipped back once more, before finally starting his rhythmic bobs.
The office turned into a medley of strained pleasure then. Slurps, hums, and moans sounded from Phoenix, complimented by expletives, whimpers, and hissed praises from Miles. The hand against Phoenix’s head didn’t demand more- rather, it tugged against black hairs, communicating the mounting ecstasy. Still, even without guidance, did Phoenix go deeper still, proceeding until he lightly gagged. But despite the discomfort, despite the tears welling in his eyes, he was undeterred.
For he was driving Miles insane and he knew it. The divine baritone he was so accustomed to had rocketed upwards in pitch. The legs that were normally so sturdy and strong had become something of gelatin. The control which Miles normally wielded so well had all but dissipated, sharp noises and hissed vocals increasing in volume and frequency.
“Oh, Phoenix...F-fuck...L-love you...Just like that...”
It was fuel for Phoenix, stoking the inner flames. He grasped his perch a bit tighter, and sped up his movements, groaning and slurping all the while. Fluid was dribbling down his chin, and the occasional tear dripped down his cheeks, but still, he continued. It didn’t matter that his own slacks were painfully tenting. It didn’t matter that his knees ached. It didn’t matter that his jaw was starting to tire. It was all for Miles. And he intended to absolutely see it through to the end.
An end which did indeed seem fast approaching; the hand which had gripped Phoenix’s hair shakily traveled downward, feebly grasping at the working jaw.
“P-please...I’m- Phoenix, I’m a-about to...”
It was a crackling warning that went unheeded. It was a vague instruction that went ignored. Instead of backing away, Phoenix slid deep once again, switching between sucks and swirls of his tongue. He even went so far as to reach with a hand, moving to fondle whatever he could. And that was it. The stimulation reached its utmost peak. Miles’ pelvis tensed immensely, before giving a mighty quake.
“G-God I’m- ah!”
The sharp cry matched the intensity of the first spurt within Phoenix’s mouth. The force made him startle slightly, but he quickly relaxed, eagerly drinking in the release. He hummed a single note as he captured the bursts, taking everything completely in. But to the beautiful torture of Miles, he did not cease with his suction; between swallows, he continued to work his lecherous efforts, efforts which quickly took effect.
“Ah- Ph-Phoen- Ah!”
He pushed through the growing sensitivity, pushed through the crests, fully intent on overwhelming Miles with the deserved pleasure. Cries ventured more towards yells, shivers more towards jerks, those handsome vocals choking off in the utmost ecstasy.
“Phoenix!”
Mismatched eyes ventured to take in the scene. Miles was arched against the chair, gripping the leather like he was holding on for dear life. Moisture dripped down his ivory skin, likely a mixture of tears and perspiration. And when he quickly clapped a hand over his mouth and released a muffled noise that surely would have been a scream, most would normally cease their efforts. But Phoenix remained. Phoenix continued. He stayed until the pulses slowed, the bursts stopped, and the cries blubbered. Only then, did he release Miles from his mouth with a smack, sitting back on his legs to admire his work.
It was like Miles had been reduced to a burgundy puddle, utterly limp against the chair. He quivered and heaved, his pants shaking as he fought for breath. An occasional whimper slipped through his lips, an aftershock or two likely traversing through his system. But he appeared satisfied, appeared entirely sated.
Phoenix ran his tongue across soiled lips, before wiping at his mouth further with the back of his hand. He massaged his jaw for a beat or two, before smirking at the handsome mess before him. Though his knees groaned, he slowly stood up and straddled Miles’ lap. And, being mindful of his positioning, he eased himself to sit, before nuzzling close.
He couldn’t help himself then; he felt inclined to finally rid Miles of the dreaded fabric barrier. He softly tugged at the various loops, and struggled a bit, as per usual. But soon enough, did he finally unwind the cravat, tugging it free and revealing his favorite expanse of skin. Phoenix sighed a bit at the sight, before grinning and easing close. Seeing as Miles was still recovering, he didn’t leap for fervent, desperate kisses; instead, he opted for gentle, for reverent, easing his mouth over dewy skin.
To his delight, Miles softly moaned, his quivering hands easing around Phoenix’s back to hold him close. The soft kisses continued, coupled with a few sucks here and there. Phoenix carried on, even with his crotch atrociously swollen, and with rasped words from his beloved breaking the silence.
“Oh, darling...My dear love...”
Phoenix’s beam grew at the endearment, a delightful blush easing across his cheeks. Through his smile, through his affections, he of course returned the praise.
“Hmm...You did so well, sweetheart...”
Miles’ hands gripped Phoenix’s back a bit tighter, holding him close in a messy embrace.
“I love you...” he said through his slowing breaths, “You’re astounding...”
“I love you too,” Phoenix replied, offering one more kiss before leaning back. He watched as Miles craned his head back against the chair, continuing to wheeze and come down from his high. While the sight was satisfying to see, it caused a rather devious smirk to form.
“But don’t get too tired on me now.”
Wrinkled burgundy tensed beneath him, almost as if Miles was holding his breath. His grin intensifying, Phoenix leaned close once more, offering another kiss to that desirable neck before adding, “I’m not finished with you yet.”
Miles’ head was quick to snap back up, stunned eyes locking with smug.
“P-pardon?!”
“I said I wanted to make you feel good, remember?”
“Y-yes but...Phoenix, you already have. You’ve done everything and more.”
“And you were the one who gave the horny summons in the first place.”
“I-inconsequential!” Miles hissed with a furious blush to match, a sight that tugged a laugh from Phoenix. “If anything, it’s high time I return the favor. Your slacks are absolutely bursting at the seams.”
“Heh; the Chief Prosecutor has a perverted eye.”
“Phoenix.”
The biting tone hushed any further cheeky comments. When Phoenix quieted, Miles softened, sighing and reaching with a hand.
“Let me see you,” he said, cupping Phoenix’s face, “And give you what you desire.”
“You will. And I desire more of you.” Phoenix shied away from the touch, leaning close to Miles’ ear once again. He offered the sensitive area a kiss, before smirking and purring more libidinous motives. “I want to be inside you...”
To his delight, he could feel the shakiness that quaked at such a phrase. It seemed like Miles had stuttered on his breath, the intense words likely plunging betwixt his legs. Strangely though, such whispers didn’t beckon like they had earlier; Miles appeared to fight for composure rather than submit.
“You’re far too pent up. You’re seconds away from finishing in your suit.”
Phoenix smirked, leaning back and shaking his head.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Wright.”
“I will. I just want- ah!”
The unexpected squeeze to Phoenix’s taut bulge sliced his words with a yelp. It was something of a lightning strike, his crotch electrifying from the touch it so desperately craved. Really, he could barely deny it anymore. He knew he was painfully wanting. Everything between his legs was straining, throbbing. And much to his chagrin, Miles was also aware.
“I know you’re suffering, dear.”
“Miles-“
Once more were arguments cut by further touches, further whimpers of need. It felt good, so incredibly good, Phoenix’s hips bucking towards the sensation on their own accord. But still, in the back of his mind, did stubbornness persist. For he wanted nothing more than to pleasure Miles, to focus on sending him absolutely skyward. It was why he had been called to the office in the first place; his own wants were insignificant in comparison.
But oh, how his body fought to overpower his mind. Oh, how it screamed for him to give in. Even still...
“Shh...” Miles soothed, poising his hand over the swell.
“I’m not...This isn’t how I wanted-“
“Perhaps I’m not done with you either.”
It was astounding how well Miles knew him. It was astounding how in tune Miles was with his thoughts. And it was astounding that Miles wanted...more. Naturally, such notions were indeed enough to shut Phoenix up, all points dying in the back of his throat. He fished for silver eyes with widened bicolored, beginning to shiver atop his burgundy perch. Miles gave him a knowing look then, raising a single brow before murmuring further.
“So in the mean time, hush, and let me help you.”
Reflexively, Phoenix opened his mouth to stubbornly resist, but no words rolled off his tongue. He was locked into the silver spell, insistent eyes ushering him away from arguing. Biting his lip, he gave a feeble nod, and that alone encouraged the progression. Miles hummed a sigh, and softly nudged Phoenix’s chest, gesturing for him to stand. He quickly did as he was told, what with the tightness beneath his slacks indeed growing uncomfortable. He watched as Miles momentarily tucked himself out of the way, before rising to join him. He was half-tempted to hold the back of his neck, unsure of where things were going to go. But when Miles spun him around and pulled their forms flush, it became abundantly clear.
He couldn’t help but whimper then, the mere implications of what was to come causing his hips to shift. The movements only intensified when Miles nestled closer, his chin hooking on Phoenix’s shoulder and his hands snaking around his begging form.
“Look at you...” he whispered, pivoting to press a kiss to the side of Phoenix’s jaw, “You thought you were going to last? Truly? You’re writhing, love...”
It really was something- how quickly he fell apart, how quickly he lost his foothold. But it couldn’t be helped; he had always been impervious to Miles’ intoxicating touch. It was a wonder he thought he’d last indeed. Still...
“I...I was going to try...F-for you...”
“So stubborn.”
Normally, there would be teasing and palming abound. Normally, Miles would be meticulous with his touches and strokes. But presently, he seemed to follow the exact route of desperation, skipping directly to the point. For he reached for blue slacks, hastily unzipped them, and tugged Phoenix free. He wasted no time at all, grasping the pulsing length with a hand and immediately creating shockwaves.
“Ohh fuck...” Phoenix gasped, his tone already hiking upwards.
Though his mind was instantly woozy, though his body was focused on sensations below, he could still feel the warmth from Miles’ smile. It glimmered upon his shoulder, coupled with a contented sigh as monochromatic eyes likely looked him over.
“Hmm...Exquisite as usual.”
He released his grasp, leaving Phoenix in a shivering limbo. But then came a sound that drew forth a whimper: Miles licking and moistening his hand. And moments after, it was a wonder Phoenix’s legs didn’t immediately give out. It was a wonder he didn’t yell into the heated silence of the office. Because yes, Miles knew him well; he knew exactly the right pressure, exactly the right stroke. He gave several tugging passes, before fixating on the head, thumbing the slit in circular motions.
White flashed before Phoenix’s eyes, a garbled mess of moans and gasps escaping him. His pelvis thrust towards the skillful hand, chasing after the intense pleasure. It was incredible, or pathetic- he couldn’t quite tell which. Because he was already feeling that clenching fire, that telling tension within his abdomen. Thus, did he heave and lean against Miles, straining to hold on.
“I can’t...I c-can’t...Miles, I...”
Miles huffed with amusement, squeezing the tip betwixt his fingers before shifting back towards strokes. Phoenix had to stifle a cry, clamping down on his noises as flames surged higher and higher.
“Fuck...Fuck! I’m...!”
“Let go, my darling...”
And just like that, he was done for. In just a few passes, he was finished. He stiffened immensely, before arching against Miles, crying out as he finally released the pent up tension. He roughy came in numerous bursts, likely soiling Miles’ hand and the floor before them. But said hand didn’t shy away, continuing to stroke to utter completion.
Phoenix moaned pitifully as he stepped down from immense heights, slumping back against the sturdier form behind him. He could feel the heat from Miles’ smile once more, lips ghosting against his neck as he hummed his triumph.
“There we are...” He eased a series of kisses to Phoenix’s skin before adding, “Utterly breathtaking...”
Phoenix turned his head to meet the advances, easing their mouths together despite his quickened breaths. He kissed Miles deeply, passionately, sighing as the last bits of elation departed his system.
But as he came up for breath, he became...acutely aware of just how fast things had gone. His gaze drifted downward to the mess on Miles’ hand, before shifting to the matching white streaks on the floor. Though Miles was masterful, it had hardly taken any effort. No, he wouldn’t have been able to last in a deeper connection at all.
The thought flooded his face with crimson, sheepishness overtaking his features. He shifted about on his feet, before awkwardly clearing his throat.
“Erm...”
Miles could easily sneer at him. There were boundless quips he could launch for such an occurrence. Banter seemed to be threateningly hanging above both of them. But instead, Phoenix only picked up on gentle huffs of mirth, the warmth of Miles’ expression still evident.
“Still going to bluff, my love?”
“Ah, no...” Phoenix pulled himself away then, mindful of the mess as he turned to face Miles. A hand crept up to hold his neck, along with more sheepishness to match. “You...You were right.”
He watched as Miles rolled his eyes and shook his head, though the gentleness remained.
“How ludicrous.”
It was then he surprised Phoenix, drawing his soiled hand to his mouth. Without the slightest bit of hesitation, he licked and sucked at the incriminating evidence, cleaning without complaint. He hummed as he did so, whereas Phoenix couldn’t help but rasp an expletive at the sight.
“Now who’s lewd?” he managed with a strained snicker.
“Hmm...Is it such a crime to marvel in you?”
“I guess not, but...damn, Miles.”
Silver stare flashed as he swallowed the last drops down, the action topped off with a contented sigh. Miles walked towards his shelves then, retrieving a few tissues. He offered Phoenix a handful, before bending down to address the remaining mess- the streaks which had narrowly missed their shoes.
“I’m just pleased I was able to return such a release,” he murmured as he cleaned, “You didn’t need to be hurting on my behalf, dear. Especially when you went through the trouble of coming here.”
“For you. You shouldn’t have even had to worry about my-
“-Hush,” Miles interjected, “Who’s to say I didn’t enjoy it?”
Further banter built on Phoenix’s tongue, but ultimately didn’t manifest. Instead, he opted to tuck himself back in before bending down and offering an additional hand. As he cleaned though, he couldn’t help but wonder...was Miles truly satisfied then? Did his own release mark the end? Would he be satiated until they saw each other again in the evening? Was it enough? Phoenix had been the one to allude to further steps, to delving deeper into pleasure. But the current actions smelt of finality.
That was, until a previous quip entered Phoenix’s brain, something said in passing but dripping with significance. He decided to inquire.
“Baby?”
“Hmm?”
“Did...did you say you weren’t finished with me?”
Miles stilled, a swath of crimson rolling across his cheeks. He kept his head down, hiding behind grey curtains once more.
“I suppose I did, yes.”
“You actually want to go further?”
“Don’t you?” Miles murmured, standing up to throw the tissues away.
“Ah, yeah, of course I do. I always do,” Phoenix said, mirroring Miles’ actions. When he had disposed of things, he opted to stand with a hand grasping his neck. “But you’re not bothered? My beloved workaholic wouldn’t worry?”
“Well, there’s always something to be done,” Miles said, venturing back towards Phoenix to loosely snake his hands around the small of his back. “But all the same, I can’t exactly pass you up.”
“You don’t have meetings or anything though?”
“I can guarantee you I don’t.”
“But that’s- wait.” Phoenix shifted in Miles’ embrace, starting like he did in court when a realization struck. “Don’t tell me you carved out space in your itinerary.”
He watched as Miles opened his mouth, only to be silenced by a new wave of warm blush. As the words died, he avoided eye contact. That alone was an answer, an easy deduction, effectively drawing a breathy laugh from Phoenix.
“Oh my God, you did. Miles, you literally made a dick appointment.”
Such a statement drew the monochromatic gaze back, but in the form of a glare. The angry crimson did nothing to help the rivaling laughs, effectively leading to Miles breaking away.
“Phoenix Wright, your crude terminology has me inclined to cancel.”
“Sorry!” Phoenix snickered, reaching to lace his hands around Miles’ neck and restart their embrace, “I���m just...so blown away. I never thought you’d want something like this.”
Miles heaved a sigh, averting his eyes once again as the blush turned gentler.
“Yes, well...wanting you to such a degree changes a lot.”
It was Phoenix’s turn to blush then. He couldn’t help but grin through the warmth, easing close enough for their noses to brush.
“I love you so much,” he murmured, nuzzling until he drew forth a ghost of a smile.
“I love you too.”
It was only natural that the pair kissed, slower and more purposeful than their previous advances. Even with deeper intimacy on the horizon, even with lecherousness hanging over their heads, their lips only glided and caressed.
“What about you?” Miles softly asked when they broke apart, “Nothing going on at the agency?”
“Nah. I’m sure the kids will keep everything in working order.”
“Mm...”
Phoenix’s brows furrowed slightly when Miles looked away, scanning his sharp features for discomfort. He couldn’t quite decipher, so he reached up with a hand, framing Miles’ jaw and stroking with his thumb.
“Hey, we really don’t have to continue if you don’t want to though. Don’t pressure yourself. If there’s any doubt, we can wait until we’re home.”
“No, that’s...” Miles sighed, the color in his cheeks intensifying further. “...I do. This morning, I couldn’t stop envisioning...”
Even though he trailed off, the underlying meaning was apparent. Brown and blue eyes flashed, coupled with the room twinging with a new burst of heat.
“So all of this wasn’t enough, hmm?”
“It was extraordinary, but...”
Phoenix smirked, easing close again. The vice of desire tightened around them, beckoning his lips to that stunning neck once more. He hummed and kissed a trail, already feeling sparks venturing downward.
“...But you want me inside you too,” he whispered against sweet skin, sealing the statement with a nip.
The salacious words and actions prompted another shiver. Phoenix’s grin only intensified, coupled with the frequency of his bites.
“It’s incredibly crass, I know,” Miles eventually said, his voice strained as he shifted beneath the touches.
“It’s amazing is what it is. And perfect because...I want you too. God, I want you so bad.”
Phoenix latched his mouth onto sweet skin something proper then, biting and sucking. He was intent on making a mark, both literally and figuratively, driving his point completely in. Said motives were made worse by a moan gracing his ears, the noise hammering in his claim.
“Phoenix...”
The subsequent grin broke the heated connection. He leaned back to admire, humming at the reddish blotch that seemed to saturate in real time. But though they stood together in the flames, though he could still taste Miles upon his tongue, though their bodies had started to sing once more, he couldn’t help but inquire one last time.
“You’re sure?”
Heated eyes softened, Miles reaching to cup Phoenix’s face.
“I’m sure,” he murmured, before sighing and looking away, “Lest you depart and my thoughts...drift once again.”
“Maybe those infernal physiological processes aren’t so bad after all...” Phoenix snickered, his hands drifting to mirror the frame.
“Mm...”
The pair smiled, before easing to close the space between them. Lips initially brushed in a tender kiss, but quickly intensified to something far more molten. Starving mouths gaped, and thirsting hands wandered. As Phoenix plunged downward towards a particular prize however, as hands grasped burgundy curves, concentration was severed once more.
“Ahh, shit,” Phoenix hissed.
“What is it?”
“You don’t...happen to have any supplies, do you?”
“Bottom drawer...towards the back.”
The instruction sent Phoenix off without hesitation initially. He broke away towards the specified destination, bending down to fish for the desired bottle. Upon grasping it though, a lightbulb suddenly popped forth; he couldn’t help but smirk as he processed the location, the readiness.
“D-don’t you say a word, Wright. Just grab it.”
It was like Miles had peered into his cheeky thoughts. That, or he had spied the budding mischievousness on his face. Either way, it made Phoenix snicker once more, standing up and biting back wry comments.
“And wipe that grin off your face,” Miles huffed.
“Do it for me.”
Silver eyes narrowed, but Miles complied, surging forward to lock them in a hungry kiss. Hands from both parties began to wander, groping and attempting to make purchase. Miles’ fingers curled through ebony locks, whereas Phoenix’s hands framed his favorite jawline. The pair moaned through the rougher advances, heat surging and dancing betwixt them.
It certainly wasn’t a bad way to allow their bodies to catch back up.
The swirling warmth prompted Phoenix further. His hands drifted downwards, grasping Miles’ collar and giving a beckoning tug. Miles understood at once, breaking the kiss and panting against rival lips. Phoenix took advantage of the pause, moving to remove his own jacket. He was simply going to shrug it off, to opt for a quick discard, but a pair of hands interjected. He looked on with mild confusion as Miles guided the fabric off, dutifully holding instead of dropping. It was when he meticulously hung it off the back of his chair that things clicked for Phoenix.
“Priorities,” he laughed.
“You’ll thank me later when your jacket isn’t a crumpled mess,” Miles said, repeating the actions with his own, “We’re going to be conspicuous enough already.”
Phoenix snorted, but the amusement did little to slow him. The moment Miles pivoted back to face him, he pounced, locking them back in a kiss as fingers worked at golden buttons. The action drew forth a whimper, but Miles seemed undeterred as well. He too, reached through the passion for Phoenix’s waistcoat, unbuttoning whenever he could manage. The pair worked through the layers of fabric, brushing the coats aside and finally reaching the undershirts. Phoenix could almost curse at their fashion choices, acting as a barrier of sorts against their fire. Instead though, his mind grew giddily woozy, what with the prospect of more beautifully exposed skin on the horizon. He hurried then, desperately working at buttons to remove the last block.
When he finally got it open, when he finally parted the fabric for his ardent eyes, he couldn’t help but break away to stare. Hands reached to follow his gaze, caressing the awaiting chest. The pair shivered at the exchange, but Phoenix was inclined to go further. Wandering fingers drifted to Miles’ dusky nipple, encircling the area before pinching lightly. The resulting gasp drew forth a smirk and magnetized lips to skin.
Phoenix kissed a trail across taut pectorals, humming at the sparks buzzing betwixt their bodies. Just as before, the gorgeousness bewitched him, leading him to lick and bite a plenty. He encircled Miles’ nipple with his tongue, long enough for trembling fingers to thread his hair. If they decided to tug, he would appropriately respond, nipping until a whimper was earned.
Eventually though, his own body grew impatient, beckoning him to press forward. He leaned back to eye his work, grinning at the beauty and marks alike.
“God, I love you. You and your body both.”
“I love you too. Though, did I not say I wished to see you as well?”
“You did, but...I’m not quite finished.”
Motions from earlier were repeated, Phoenix reaching to undo belt and slacks alike. Unlike before though, it was with the intention to completely remove; fingers grasped all matters of fabric, tugging until everything was pulled downward. Burgundy and boxers pooled at Miles’ feet, and Phoenix stooped to follow. He took a moment to remove Miles’ dress shoes and socks, before the other constraints were guided off and away.
Upon easing back to his knees, Phoenix found himself at eye level with the most desirable part of all. It was engorging once more, and already beading with pre-cum. As a result, he couldn’t help himself; he reached to give a tugging stroke or two, before he eased to kiss the awaiting moisture away. Miles’ groan almost coaxed him to pleasure further, but he ceased- though not without licking up the entirety of the beautiful length.
He kissed his way back upwards, murmurs of praise coiling on his tongue. The moment he was standing though, said murmurs were immediately hushed, Miles’ demanding mouth finding his. The two fell victim to yet another heated kiss, moans reverberating through the space. Before Phoenix could caress further, Miles raced for his turn. He deftly unbuttoned Phoenix’s undershirt, and caressed bare skin the instant it was offered. Phoenix couldn’t help but release a whimper for Miles to swallow, the touch trailing sparks across his own chest.
He expected actions to parallel, to mirror. But it seemed desperation was at the forefront; he smiled as Miles jumped right to his blue slacks, hurrying to free him once more.
“So ready for me...” Phoenix purred into swollen lips.
“Have been since the moment you embedded yourself into my thoughts...”
Such words flared nostrils, stuttered breaths, and stoked new fires of determination. He sighed as Miles removed him from fabric constraints once more, but when Miles pulled back and hesitated- perhaps to admire, Phoenix jumped at the opportunity. Clothing didn’t need to come fully off after all. Entire exposure wasn’t necessary. They had everything they needed, with a few conspicuous shields to match.
So he grabbed ivory hips, pivoting Miles around and ignoring the sharp gasp. A beckoning nudge was given, gesturing for Miles to bend over the desk before them. To his utmost delight, Miles did so without delay or argument, reclining and beautifully displaying. Though a new desperation was indeed gnawing within, Phoenix couldn’t help but appreciate the sight.
“I’ll never be able to get over how gorgeous you are.”
“Hmm...” Miles hummed, propping himself up on his elbows, “Coming from the most magnificent man...”
“Says the one who’s insanely irresistible.”
“Objection- ah!”
Arguments were severed by touches; Phoenix’s fingers squeezed the offered cheeks, before easing to simply caress.
“Sorry, what was that?”
“You’re playing dirty, Wright,” Miles said, huffing and shifting against the contact.
“Well yeah, I would hope so. I’ll keep this method in mind for the next time you’re getting too sassy in court.”
“Yes, because they surely wouldn’t hold you in contempt whatsoever- ungh!”
Again were vocals stolen by a squeeze. Phoenix grinned, going so far as to offer a light whap before chuckling over the following gasp.
“Worth it.”
He kneaded the doughy flesh with his fingers, marveling at the sounds such an action earned. Every moan and whimper resonated directly between his legs, slowly coaxing his erection back to totality. He wasn’t quite sure how Miles wanted to proceed, how Miles wanted to be taken, but oh, how tempted he was to simply pound him then and there.
His beloved beginning to whine coaxed Phoenix towards the next steps. He reached for the bottle of neglected lube, popping it open and smirking at how Miles hummed at the sound. Generously, he coated his fingers, before transferring some to his still-swelling length. He stroked and readied with trembling sighs, before reaching for the desired entrance.
The second Phoenix brushed upon puckered skin, their breaths caught, tangling in the new tension gripping the room. Around he rubbed in tantalizing circles, ghosting upon the area in preparation. With how Miles squirmed, Phoenix expected to be implored, to be begged. Instead, he was stunned to watch as Miles reached back with a hand, prying and spreading himself open. It was a miracle Phoenix didn’t leap to sheath himself then and there.
He instead shakily inhaled, and poised a single finger to proceed. Consent had already been given. Approval had already been spoken. But even still, did Phoenix double check, holding steadily in place.
“Ready?”
He smirked when it seemed like Miles’ body did the talking, what with his pelvis titling a bit closer. Such an expression warmed all the more when shaky vocals joined the mix.
“Yes. Please.”
Through the muscular resistance he finally pushed then. Phoenix couldn’t help but hum at the tight warmth which awaited, the noise beautifully melding with the opposing moan. He eased in only to his knuckle at first, closely watching Miles for signs of discomfort. But when he only spied breathless pleasure, when he only spied a silent ask for more, did he insert his finger in completely. He allowed Miles a small respite, giving the muscles time to adapt and relax. The moment the tension eased, Phoenix began to move, slowly jutting in and out in a salacious pattern.
Mismatched eyes scanned meticulously, lecherously. He eagerly drank in every sigh, every quivering moan. If Miles seemed to react more to a certain area being stroked, Phoenix would fixate on the spot, jutting until hips quivered beneath his touch. He knew the workings of his partner after all. He knew what he liked, how he ticked. So when that gorgeously stoic body began to tremble, Phoenix went further, slipping a second finger into the mix.
“Phoenix...” Miles sighed, his tone coated with delicious enjoyment, “Yes...”
The praise fueled him, warming both his groin and his expression. He thrust the pair deeply, before taking a few beats to explore the muscular walls. He swirled about rhythmically, before scissoring for that perfect stretch. He couldn’t help but groan at the sensations, at the sounds, at the torridity of it all. He worked for every little bit of pleasure, every sweet vocalization from Miles.
It seemed successful thus far; Miles was writhing against his perch, moaning against the advances. The further Phoenix stretched, the more his reactions intensified. Deeper thrusts seemed to coax his hips backwards, like they subconsciously sought more stimulation.
So Phoenix delivered without hesitation. He slipped a third and final finger in, marveling at how Miles’ back arched in response.
“Fuck...” he gasped, sending a new rush of blood straight to Phoenix’s crotch, “So good...”
Every movement earned a breathy moan then. Every thrust was met with an equal advance. And every jolt of Miles’ pelvis seemed to coax Phoenix’s similarly. He needed more. They both needed more.
Phoenix reached deeply for that sweet inner spot, stroking until Miles began to whimper something terrible. But then, he abruptly pulled out, drawing a sharp gasp into the heated space. It was not without cause; he reached for the lube once more, intent on slicking and readying his erection.
“Ph-Phoenix...”
The mewl made him smirk through his preparation, smiling despite the grunts and sighs from touching himself.
“I won’t keep you waiting, baby. You’ve waited long enough.”
Biting his lip, he nestled himself into the constricted space, teasing his head against the awaiting entrance. The pair vocalized at the sensation, Phoenix groaning and Miles whining. But right before he proceeded, right before he could venture inward, Miles gasped with further conversation.
“Phoenix.”
Before he could even question the sharper tone, Miles released his grip on himself, effectively closing off proper access. In the pause he seemed to be taking to steady himself, to catch his breath, Phoenix couldn’t help but buzz with alarm.
“What is it?”
Miles inhaled deep lungfuls of air, before standing and pivoting to face Phoenix. Mismatched eyes were spellbound, immediately drawn downward to the enticing sight between pale legs. Despite their previous ventures, Phoenix was pleased to see that Miles was plenty hard once more- though, the relief was short lasted. Had he done something wrong?
“Sweeth-“
“-I love you,” Miles blurted, rushed and unexpected, “You’ve done everything and more, as you always do. It’s high time you simply sit back and enjoy.”
Before returned sentiments could even poise on his tongue, Phoenix found himself getting dragged across the room, stumbling as he was tugged by his hand. His aroused mind buzzed with confused static, unable to process the new turn of events. That was, until he spied where Miles was headed, where he was being lead to.
The pair of plush couches. A luxurious seat. A location entirely fitting for a different position.
“Oh...” Phoenix breathed, coming to the realization through his buffers, “That’s...”
“Phoenix.”
“R-right!”
As desperate as he was, as they both were, he rambled no further, nor did he try and argue. He simply assumed the new position, seating himself on the edge of velvety fabric. The moment heterochromatic eyes locked with fiery silver, he gave himself a presenting stroke.
“I’m yours how you want.”
Miles was on him immediately, gripping Phoenix’s shoulders and straddling his toned legs. Phoenix expected him to lower immediately, to aggressively ride the moment they were situated. Instead, to his surprise, did further honeyed words fall from his tongue.
“I do believe I’m the luckiest man in the world...” Miles said, aligning himself just so.
“Objection- believe that title belongs to-“
Argument and breath alike were stolen by Miles nestling close, positioning to proceed. Phoenix could almost laugh at how Miles turned his own tactics against him, what with hushing words with arousing actions. But he found himself too shaken, merely reaching to steady his shaft with a hand. He groaned as Miles gripped his shoulders tighter, and as cheeks enveloped his awaiting length.
There was the slightest bit of resistance, the smallest amount of give. Before suddenly, Miles engulfed him, sliding down and easing them into full penetration. Colors flashed in Phoenix’s vision, the feeling of connecting so deeply with his partner absolutely unprecedented. He couldn’t help but moan his approval, his hands flying for purchase on Miles’ body. It took all of his self control not to immediately lose it, biting his lip as Miles sunk further and further.
It seemed Miles had been holding his breath, for he released a groaning exhalation the moment he completely took Phoenix in. The pair panted and moaned, savoring the closeness and allowing each other to adjust. Phoenix nestled against Miles’ bare front, hissing quiet expletives with equally soft kisses to match.
“God...fuck...you feel so good...”
“You’re perfect, Phoenix...Utterly...perfect...”
“Love you...” Phoenix breathed, brushing beneath hanging fabric to get a good grip on Miles’ hips.
“Love you.”
And with that, did Miles begin to move, surely readied to chase what he had desired all day. Phoenix watched with thirsting eyes as Miles eased up, before slowly plunging downwards once more. The two moaned from the passes, the stretches, before Miles truly began to ride. He took Phoenix deeply, and rocked his pelvis with reckless abandon.
Phoenix looked on in awe, mesmerized as Miles undulated and threw his head back. Phoenix’s breaths were beginning to dance with moans, matching the grunting efforts sounding from his partner. The familiar fire was already starting to burn in his abdomen from such advances, his entire lower half alight with sensations. But he wasn’t about to finish quickly this time- not until he ensured Miles’ utmost satisfaction.
This was for him. This was all for him.
So he tossed care to the side, and began to meet, began to guide. With a tight grip on moving hips, he coaxed Miles towards bounces, so that he could properly mirror thrusts. Phoenix jerked his hips upward every time Miles bore down, deepening the stroke again and again. It seemed to have an immediate effect, Miles’ head lulling back even further.
“Ah!” he gasped, “Fuck...Phoenix, t-that’s-“
A tighter grip on Miles’ hips angled him forward, just that perfect little amount to beautifully graze the treasured spot within. Phoenix relished the obscenely loud moan such a shift earned, groaning himself as it instantly resonated in his groin.
“Fuck, Miles...God.”
He thrust upwards even harder, racing against his own body and Miles’ building speed. The office became a lecherous cacophony then, what with Miles keening, Phoenix grunting, and their connection squelching. It was music to Phoenix’s ears, utterly captivating and everything he wanted. Though, he still aimed to take Miles even higher, to draw forth uncontrolled noises as he unraveled.
“Phoenix, I’m...I’m close...Please, Phoenix, I-“
That was all he needed. Despite the burn in his pelvis, the tension in his stomach, the soreness in his legs, he strained to give Miles that last burst of pleasure. He continued to thrust, but reached with a shaky hand, intent on addressing Miles’ neglected erection. He grasped tightly as they both continued to move, tugging and jerking as best he could.
Any attempt at talking quickly turned into a jumble of moans and shallow gasps of air. But the moment Miles crested, the moment his orgasm tightly grasped his body, one thing still managed to ring loud and true.
“Phoenix!”
The cry echoed throughout the space and resonated deep within Phoenix’s mind. He felt warmth streaking against his hand and abdomen. He tugged until cries shifted more towards whines and dry sobs. And that was it; the flames had breached the last wall of control.
Throwing his hands back to Miles’ hips, he slammed him downward and came hard, bursting deep within. His head careened over the back of the sofa, moaning the beautiful opposing name through every intense peak.
“Miles! Miles!”
He jerked, pulsed, and emptied himself entirely into the cramped space. When Miles collapsed against him in blissful exhaustion, he too, melted in dreamy fatigue. The moment he stepped down from his climax, the moment he floated back down to Earth, he sagged back against the couch, something of ecstatic jelly.
The room was nothing but deep, slowing breaths then. After a few moments, Miles eased upwards and broke their connection with a soft moan, before easing to carefully settle atop bare skin. Phoenix could feel dewiness betwixt them, and could feel moisture leaking against his thigh. But he paid the sensations no mind; all he wished to do was marvel in his partner that much more.
He snaked his hands around Miles’ back, venturing beneath his ruffled clothing and holding him close. He softly caressed slick skin, before easing close to capture their lips in an exhausted kiss. Mouths lazily slid about, no glamour to the exchange as lips messily smushed. But when they were torn apart by panting huffs of air, did Miles finally find the wherewithal to speak once more.
“God...That...That was...”
“...The only way I’m choosing to spend my break from now on,” Phoenix finished with a breathy laugh. The mirth only intensified when Miles’ flushed expression turned incredulous, furrowing despite the streaks of red.
“You’re absolutely ridiculous...” he said, though twinkles of laughter were evident in his tone.
“Maybe. But you love me for it.”
“I suppose I do, yes. I love you so much.”
“I love you too.”
Swollen lips connected once more, a bit more tender and composed. They kissed softly, sweetly, pouring all manner of adoration into the connection. Regardless, Miles seemed keen to articulate further once they broke.
“Speaking of ridiculousness, thank you, darling...”
“Hmm? For what?”
“For this! For...” Silver eyes flitted away, like they hadn’t just been caught up in extremely lewd acts. “...Tending to my...atrocious needs so.”
Phoenix couldn’t help but laugh, at the sight and notion alike. He reached up to brush damp grey strands back, before cupping Miles’ face.
“You’re not still caught up on that, are you?”
He snickered as Miles seemed to blush further, practically sinking against his hand.
“I plead the fifth.”
“Miles,” he laughed, angling for a quick peck before continuing. “I adore you, and will tend to you whenever you want. Atrocious needs, physiological processes, or whatever else gets you going- I’ll be there.”
“Phoenix...”
The murmur of disdain was hushed by yet another kiss. Through the sweet connection, and the honeyed lightness in his brain, thoughts gently drifted. Phoenix wanted to stay there forever, cuddled close and deliriously post-coital. He wanted to bathe his beloved in pleasure until neither of them could stand. He wanted to relish in his beautiful body and handsome soul. But with every passing minute, he became acutely aware of where they were, and the subsequent duties they both had. He almost sighed his disappointment against Miles’ mouth, knowing he did indeed have to get back to the agency sooner than later. Thankfully, his brain offered a solution, a solution that pried his mouth away with further snickers.
“Speaking of which, hope you’re ready for a repeat performance tonight.”
He laughed as silver eyes widened- even more so when hands playfully shoved his chest.
“I’m more than satisfied, you goon.”
He beamed, snorting and chuckling a plenty. Another jest manifested on his tongue, one that would surely earn another shove. But if it meant furthering the moment, and chasing after those “damn processes,” he was powerless to stop it.
“Alright alright. Same time tomorrow then?”
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skellebonez · 3 years
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Who Do I Go To? (Monkie Kid Fanfic)
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I totally did not accidentally post this early before I edited it or added everything from my wip file... no... but anon, you gave me so much FREEDOM with this that I just went absolutely off the rails. This is not only set in a post S3 scenario where everyone survives and most of the villains have some kind of at least semi-redemption (except LBD, rip), this does feature a crackship or two of mine (you can read the tags to see the ships before you read)! Sun Wukong also has all of his immortality and some of his powers, I am writing this with the idea that he transferred most of them to MK and some of that was permanent once LBD was defeated and MK got his own back.
So... what if Sun Wukong did start communicating with the others in S3... but still has been bottling up his emotions about the past for so long he doesn’t feel he can talk to anyone because of their shared experiences? And what happens when that guilt and grief finally has someone willing to listen?
“What are you doing here, Si-SUN Wukong?” The Demon Bull King asked slowly, stumbling over his usual insult for the one once so close to him. They still weren’t close, and it was doubtful they would ever be as long as the sworn brothers they once were, but they were no longer at each other’s throats anymore.
That didn’t change how bizarre it was to see The Great Sage Equal To Heaven just... sitting outside his new home with no warning.
“DBK!” Wukong exclaimed, more startled than the larger demon was expecting as he jumped up and turned and if he didn’t look like he’d been hit with a truck metaphorically DBK didn’t know how to describe the way his fur stood on end and the redness in the other’s eyes. “I. UH. Was. Just stopping by to say hi!”
“No you weren’t,” DBK said, face falling into a deadpan glower. “You don’t do that. Even after 500 years I know you don’t.”
“I can start!” Wukong defended, crossing his arms and looking away with a wide teeth showing smile.
Too wide.
Even after everything that happened between them, from Red Boy to what happened when he needed his wife’s fan to sealing him in the mountain and everything that transpired with the Little Thief, he recognized that unhappy nervous smile.
“You can,” DBK said with a nod, gesturing to the smaller being. “You can also be here for a reason. Like what I heard you muttering to yourself behind the door.”
“And that’s my cue to leave!” The Monkey King announced as he turned to walk away before a large hand, with shocking gentleness for the one attached to it, wrapped around his shoulders.
“If you need to talk-”
“No, haha, I most certainly have no need for that!”
“-you know we’ve already made peace. I-”
“You don’t need to do anything,” Wukong insisted, struggling only a little before freeing himself from the other’s grip with an even wider nervous smile.
“-am willing to listen.”
“Don’t have to!”
“Are you at least talking to anyone?”
Neither of them said anything, The Demon Bull King staring down at The Monkey King with both frustrated annoyance and genuine concern in his expression.
The former he could deal with, but the later was so new again that...
Sun Wukong panicked.
“.... OKEY BYE!” He yelled, jumping and allowing his cloud to catch him and take him off.
"YOU CAN'T HIDE FROM YOUR FEELINGS FOREVER SUN WUKONG!"
"I HID FROM THE WORLD FOR 500 YEARS AND I TURNED OUT JUST FINE, I THINK I'LL MANAGE!"
“He turned out fine, he says,” Princess Iron Fan called from behind her husband as she emerged from their home. “So fine that it took him losing his invincibility and his successor nearly being killed for him to admit he needed help.”
DBK grunted, nodding in agreement at her words.
“He needs more, still, my dear. Even I can see that.”
“Let’s call in some reinforcements then, darling. I think there are two people who may be able to get through to him.”
~
Sun Wukong sat on the beach of Mount Huaguo’s island home, clearly trying not to think about what had just transpired.
“Hey.”
“How did you even know to look for me here?” Sun Wukong asked, not nearly as startled this time. He’d heard the footsteps coming for a long time, the other apparently wanting to make his presence known.
“Bull King called Pigsy’s asking for MK. MK called me since he’s working. I remembered where you like to sulk. Hence: I’m here.”
Wukong groaned, wrapping his arms around his knees and burying his face in them. “I shouldn’t have even left the house today.”
“But you left,” Macaque said with a shrug, watching the other stew in his frustration at himself. “And you went to see DBK... and I guess Princess Iron Fan too? But you ran off. Why?”
“I can’t check up on an old friend turned enemy turned less enemy to ‘not exactly friend but we’re not trying to kill each other’ without being questioned?” Wukong grumbled into his arms.
“Not when you make him sound as worried as he did when he talked to MK,” Macaque continued, voice becoming more tense. “You didn’t go to apologize or explain anything, I was there when all that went down. So... did you finally go to talk about everything e-”
“No.” The word was said with such coldness that Macaque knew it was put on. It wasn’t out of malice but something else, something more worried and fearful. “No. I can’t talk to him about... I told him everything that explained what happened. I apologized. I don’t need to talk more.”
"I don't understand why you're so opposed to to just talking about, you know... how you’re doing," Macaque said with a concerned frown. It almost felt odd on his face. Almost. He was still getting used to the whole "not being mortal eternal enemies and now being friends and kinda sorta caring about each other again" thing. "I know it's been centuries and all and you're out of practice but like... it's been centuries."
"I just... can't, Macaque," Wukong rebutted as he refused to lift his head from his arms. "I just can't."
"Why?"
"Don't."
The single word stayed in their air between them, heavy and hard and meaning more than the immortal would ever admit to.
"Come on, there has to be a reason," Macaque insisted as he sat down beside the other immortal. When no response came he sighed, tail flicking absently and flipping over some of the rocks on the beach as they sat in silence for few minutes. "You know... I started talking to someone."
"What?" Wukong turned his head, just enough to look at the other monkey from the corner of his eye.
“Sandy’s a good listener,” Macaque continued, falling back down to lay flat on his back and gaze up at the clouds. He remembered that Wukong felt better, sometimes, when you looked away when talked to. Didn’t know why, but he remembered. “Not exactly the kind of therapy he thinks I need, but he lends me his cats and he lets me talk and sometimes asks if I want advice. Sometimes I say yes, but when I say no he understands. Sometimes I just want to rant at that one little one eyed cat he has and she listened to... I think. She’s a cat so I wouldn’t know. He thinks I should see someone more experienced, an expert. Maybe he’s right, I dunno, but this helps enough for now.
“... who are you and what have you done with the Six-Eared Macaque?” Wukong asked with a soft glower, one that was clearly in jest from the tiny smile the other could see.
“Same Macaque,” the other said with a laugh, sitting back up with a theatrical flourish. “Just realized that talking to someone isn’t as dumb or useless as I made it out to be in my head. A lot of the stuff I thought about alone wasn’t exactly the best. Or healthiest. But now I can get that out there and sometimes it makes Sandy look like he ate a whole lime which probably means it’s good it’s not in my head anymore.”
“You ramble a lot,” Wukong said with a chuckle, tail swishing softly beside him before nudging against Macaque’s. He tensed before it slowly wrapped around the other’s. “It feels odd, having you try to cheer me up again after... everything.”
“Bad odd or good odd?”
“Good.”
“That’s.... good,” Macaque said, squeezing Wukong’s tail with his own. “Feels odd for me too. Like I’m out of practice too. But it’s good odd...” The two sat in silence for a moment, just enjoying each other’s company before he continued. “I do think you should talk to someone. Anyone.”
“I don’t know who, though. Every time I try I just... clam up and run away. I’ve put so much on MK already,” Wukong said, tail squeezing around Macaque’s loosely in return. “And Pigsy and Sandy... After all that came out, that Sandy is Sha Wujing and Pigsy is Zhu Bajie’s reincarnation... I just... I can’t talk to them either, even though Pigsy doesn’t remember anything at all. And you... DBK... everyone... who do I go to that knows enough about me to know what they’re in for but I won’t have those memories floating around in the back of my head toward making me run away?”
“Well, you could have Sandy help you get a therapist. Prepare them in advance. Or, if you’re not ready for that, you could talk to Tang?” Macaque suggested with a shrug. “He listens to me when I’m not talking to Sandy... but that’s probably because we’re dating, that’s what it is now instead of courting, right? So he kinda has to I think? Pigsy and MK talk to him too but with me I think it’s different.”
"I don't think that's how it works," Wukong said with a half hearted chuckle as he finally raised his head all the way. "Besides, I've known Tang longer."
"By like 3 months."
"3 months more is still enough to know that if he doesn't want to listen to you he won't. The man knows how to make a speedy exit."
"Guess that's one more thing that sets him apart from his great-great-great-great-great-whatever uncle," Macaque admitted with a shrug and a chuckle of his own. He squeezed his tail around Wukong's, smile softening when he felt it being returned.
“Feels... weird though,” Wukong said with a shrug. “The two of them looking so much alike.”
“Yeah, but that’s it,” Macaque rebutted. “He’s Tang Sanzang’s great-whatever nephew 5 times removed or whatever and he looks like him. Other than that? He knows pretty much all of your history. He’s mostly out of the hero worship zone but he still respects you a lot. Aside from everything that happened with LBD and MK you two have the least history out of everyone so maybe whatever’s in your head making you clam up might not stop you. And it couldn't hurt to try. It’s not therapy, it’s just talking about something that’s bothering you. Worst that can happen is you get nervous and fumble and he takes the opportunity to ask you 40 questions about the times you were almost incinerated by a baby."
"That was one time!"
~
“Uh,” Tang started, staring out the open door with wide eyes at the being before him. “Hi. I didn’t exactly expect to you see today.”
“I didn’t exactly expect to be here today,” Wukong said awkwardly, nervous smile taking over his face as his tone became far too jovial for what he was about to ask. “Macaque sent me to... talk to you. About me?” His smile drooped bit by bit as he said these words, slowly starting to lose his determination to go through with this. “Oh second thought, maybe I should-”
"No," Tang said, reaching out to put a hand on the immortal's shoulder. It was nothing, really, not to someone as strong as he was. Not when he could brush it off and walk away. Go home. Just sit on his couch and watch Monkey King The Animated Series again and just think about how no one deserved to be saddled with his problems anymore. But Wukong didn't. "Whatever it is, we’re going to talk about this now. I know I’m not trained like Sandy is, but I know how to listen. And if you need someone to listen to you, I can. You wouldn't have come here to talk if you didn't."
“... ok...” Sun Wukong said, letting Tang wrap his arm around his back and guide him inside his shared home with Pigsy and Macaque.
It was... odd. Being inside this place for the first time. He’d been outside of the door more than once, invited in as well. But never inside.
“Make yourself comfortable,” Tang said, stopping his guidance once they reached the sofa. “I’m no Sandy, but I was making myself some tea and it is a batch of his own anyway. I’ll grab us some snacks too.”
“Snacks would be great,” Wukong admitted, watching the other disappear into the house’s kitchen before he sighed and gripped his thrashing tail and muttered to himself. “What am I doing..? I shouldn’t put all this on Tang... I should have gone with Macaque’s first suggestion, I’m-”
“Do you prefer lychee or persimmon?” Tang asked suddenly, startling the immortal for the second time that day. “We’re out of peach bao, but MK’s been making them out of lots of fruits and we have so many that I was planning on eating them myself.”
The scholar returned, faster than expected, with a full tray in hand. Teapot, two tea cups, and a steamer box that presumably held the buns he was asking about.
“Uh... persimmon,” Wukong answered, and he watched as Tang poured each of them a cup of tea and removed some clearly fresh (or at least made some time earlier in the day and freshly steamed), pieces of fruit laden bao to put on a plate for his guest before taking a seat in a chair across from him. “You were... getting lunch?”
Tang shrugged, laughing as he took a bite of one of his own. “Just wanted a snack. But,” He smiled, gesturing to the Monkey King. “We’re not here to talk about snacks. What’s on your mind?”
“Awfully forward start.”
“I try to be forward with the people I consider my friends.”
“... You consider me... a friend?” Wukong asked slowly, turning the bao over in his hands. It was well made, perfect he would say. You’d think MK would have been making them all his life, not that he’d learned how to on the drone ship while on the run from an evil super demon bent on erasing his mentor from the world.
“After everything we went through, how could I not?” Tang said, putting his food down to sip his tea and then putting that down as well and looking at him seriously. “You’re here because it’s the anniversary of the day you sealed away the Demon Bull King, aren’t you?”
The bao in his hands wasn’t perfect anymore. Instead the red lychee inside dripped from his claws from where they punctured it in surprise.
“How did you-?”
“My specialty study is your history after all,” Tang said, smile returning with a sad tint. “I’ve known the date for years but I felt it was something to keep to myself. For some reason. Now with you and DBK back I think that was a good choice. It feels too personal to have out in the open for everyone to make a spectacle of.”
“Is it selfish of me to be thankful for that?” Wukong muttered, gently placing the bao on the plate to lick his claws clean.
“I don’t think so,” Tang answered.
“I feel selfish though,” he continued, not managing to take note of how Tang sat up straighter and turned more toward him. “I went to DBK’s to... I don’t know. I wanted to apologize again? But I already did and he accepted it and it feels selfish to want to again. Then I just. I froze.”
“Why?” Tang asked, scooting closer.
“It felt wrong.”
“Because you would make him feel awkward?”
“NO!” Wukong groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I just. I feel...” He took in a shaky breath, claws digging into his skin slightly.
“Don’t,” Tang’s voice came soft and closer than Wukong expected, as did the hands on his own slowly pulling his claws away from his face. “Don’t hurt yourself. And don’t bottle it up. I’ll listen to you. No matter what it is. It’s not selfish, feeling things isn’t selfish.”
“I miss it,” Wukong breathed out, shaky and choppy as his throat tightened as the words started to pour out of him. “I miss him. How things used to be between us and Iron Fan. I miss that I never got to meet Red Son when he was Red Boy. I miss Beng and Ba and Ma and Liu and how things used to be. I miss Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing even though they’re here. I miss my Tang Sanzang. I’d been alone for 500 years and I missed so much and I did that to myself and it’s selfish to miss like that...”
He didn’t realize his cheeks were wet until his hands had been let go and one of Tang’s rubbed a cloth against them. Tang cupped his cheeks softly before wrapping his arms around him and tucking the Monkey King’s head into the space between his neck and shoulder.
“No... no it’s not. You’re allowed to miss things, Sun Wukong. Just like anyone else.”
Sun Wukong started to feel better.
He didn’t know why that was what did it, but the dam broke. It broke and his tears came pouring out as he hugged the man who reminded him so much of his Master. He didn’t know if anything he said in the mean time made any sense, if he was just blubbering and finally letting himself mourn what he’d lost and never had, but Tang didn’t ever chastise him. He let him weep and hold him and for the first time in years...
~
“Oh!” Princess Iron Fan startled as she opened the door to see who had knocked, finding herself face to face at sunset with one Great Sage. “You’ve returned.”
“Are you and DBK free?” Sun Wukong asked, smile no longer too wide. “I... kinda just wanna talk with you for a bit.”
“Well... I think that would be lovely.”
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College has stopped kicking my butt enough for me to post another chapter of the the Scattered au fic. this one is meant to be a parallel to last chapter, so you might want to reread that one.
scattered au is by @hermitcraftheadcanons and their community
reading tag list: still just @helleborusangel right now. Send an ask if you want to be added on.
Xisuma pulled himself out of the water, coughing a bit from what had gotten past his filter. He tried to look around only to squint at the light from the surface. He didn’t think he had swum that far up, but for all he knew, he was able to push himself that far to finally escape the warden. So when something suddenly attacked him and didn’t immediately kill him, Xisuma quickly fought back.
While initially swimming, he thought he had felt something though wasn’t sure, but this was much more clear. And slimelike, it seemed, since that’s what it felt like when he attacked it. But the following grunt of pain from the attacker sounded much more human like.
Xisuma did his best to focus on whatever was there, but he was seeing double. He looked back and forth, trying to tell if it was just from the intense lighting change or from there actually being two… things there. And it seemed it was the latter when the things looked at each other.
“Well, that’s probably not good.” The two things spoke in unison, which didn’t help the headache that Xisuma could feel coming on. Still, he was able to focus enough to get a good look at whatever was there and was a slime hybrid of sorts similar to Jevin, though instead of his very clearly blue slime, these two - one? They were more of a sea green. Plus from what Xisuma could guess, they were able to split like a regular slime, something Jevin couldn’t.
“Sorry.” Xisuma spoke up, it finally clicking in his mind that he had likely damaged them enough to make them split. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought you were attacking- I mean, maybe you were, but this does seem to be where you’re staying, so I guess I invaded your home a bit.”
“I guess. So, are you from around here?” The slime pair asked, making Xisuma shake his head. “Huh, neither am I… are we… This is the first time I’ve split so-”
Xisuma tilted his head a little. “I guess it is pretty safe here. Have you had any deaths so far?”
“I thought that was going to be my first.”
“So that would explain the lack of death messages as opposed to Gemini or Pearlescent. Do you know either of them?”
“No, sorry, not really.” The slime people answered. “Well, uh, there’s just enough here if you need basic tools, but not much else. I’ve got a pickaxe- crafting table.”
Xisuma looked between the two. “I think both would be nice. I spawned underground and had trouble with getting anything at all.” And before he could say more, the slime people were handing him those two items and a few more.
“You’re on your own for food though. Berries aren’t the most filling, so I’ve been eating them all up. They taste nice though.” And to prove their point, each of the slime people went after a berry, though they went after the same one and ended up fighting over it.
Xisuma nodded and went up to one of the walls. This would be much easier than getting the warden to do all his mining, seeing as how he would now be in control. He started to staircase out of the cave, placing what few torches he had until he found more coal. Technically he didn’t need to, but then something could spawn and head down and attack the slime pair. And Xisuma didn’t want to never return and just leave them there alone forever. So when he finally did get up to the surface, Xisuma went straight back down. “Are you sure you want to- er, what are you doing?”
The slime people looked back over to Xisuma and shrugged. “Trying to fuse back together or something. Why did you come back?”
Xisuma wasn’t sure exactly what happened, but the next thing he really knew, he was going back up towards the surface, his arms full from holding the slime pair, one cradled in each arm. Sure, they said they would be safe alone in the cave, but X couldn’t help the feeling that they wouldn’t be safe so far away. He was pretty sure it was just from his worry about everyone else, and this was just one person he could protect, but Xisuma couldn’t help but wonder if there was something else going on.
.
.
.
Hypno leaned against Etho, who was doing surprisingly well considering their current situation. Both of them were low on hunger, only managing to stay alive from what little they could get from the flowers and grass they picked and ate. Etho somehow managed to find a pig wandering around and killed it for some raw pork, handing it to Hypno to eat. They couldn’t cook it, but Etho was less worried about the hunger the meat would satiate and more about the fact that Hypno wasn’t fully himself.
After the initial shock of finding horns on Hypno’s head, the pair looked him over. Hypno made mention of an ache at the base of his spine, and Etho found a few concerning bumps on Hypno’s upper back. Until they actively looked into it, Hypno hadn’t noticed anything wrong, which led to them checking Etho, and also giving the ninja something to plan for on his next respawns.
Etho was glad they didn’t notice much with him, but with little to do, he explained to Hypno his encounters with Ren, Impulse and Grian. Out of the three, Impulse had seemed the most normal, only having red eyes instead of the golden brown he usually sported. Ren had seemed fine at first, but then in the attack from the creeper, the shifter had killed Etho, acting like an attacked wolf. And then Grian for the most part had been acting like a bird, though near the end…
A moobloom trotted over, pulling Etho out of his thoughts. It nuzzled against Hypno, who happily reciprocated. Still worried about the other hermit and the effects the environment was having on him, Etho forcefully separated the two, needing to attack the animal to make it flee.
“What was that for Etho? It was just being friendly.”
“Right now, we need to be cautious of everything. Especially those cows and all the flowers around here. Because in case you forgot, growing horns like that is not normal. Plus, we could use the food right now.”
Hypno huffed. “We’ll use up more energy trying to kill it than we would get from anything it drops. It’s better to let us willingly help us than-”
Etho suddenly held up a finger to shush Hypno, letting them listen to the breeze. “Do you hear that?”
Hypno listened, only hearing a few moos from the nearby moobloom. “The cows?”
“Well, okay yeah. But it’s more what I’m not hearing.” And then Etho pulled out his communicator. Hypno watched as Etho stared at the screen, mask moving ever so slightly as he mouthed counting up. But nothing was happening. At first, Hypno didn’t get what was so important until he pulled out his own communicator. No death messages were coming in. Specifically none from Impulse.
“Impulse got out.” Hypno said, whispering in disbelief. “Someone must have found him.”
Etho nodded. “Yeah, but the question is who.” And then almost immediately, it was answered.
Zedaph was slain by impulseSV
.
.
.
If there was one thing that was a benefit to respawning in the same place every time, it was the fact that no matter how many times Impulse died, the guardians wouldn’t disappear. Meaning that after a few attempts, he finally killed one of the monsters giving him grief. Just being able to slay one of them felt freeing with all the torment he was currently being put through, but that wasn’t the only benefit.
When the guardian died, it dropped two things, a prismarine shard and some cod. Impulse greedily grabbed at the items, stuffing the shard in his inventory and then stuffing the fish in his mouth. After not eating in so long, the fish seemed like the most heavenly food in the world, though Impulse had other ideas on why that was the case.
Here and there, guardians had completely ignored him. Sometimes he felt like he was getting a full breath of air even though he was still stuck in the water. He hadn’t missed the webbing between his fingers and toes growing each respawn nor the scales that appeared and itched like crazy. Half of Impulse would have preferred drowning forever instead of whatever this was, but his other half realized that it was likely his only way out.
Another respawn left him fumbling for his prismarine shard, using it to dig into the nearby blocks. Along with the claw-like nails he had gained, Impulse was able to break another block, making him smile at first, but then his expression dropped. With the way the temples were constructed, the walls weren’t that thick. Instead of gaining an air pocket, he had just broken into another chamber.
“Impulse.”
In anger, Impulse took the prismarine shard and used it against the next guardian he saw.
“Impulse.”
He started by using it like a knife and jamming it into the eye of the beast, making it flail and spread its spikes.
“Impulse.”
As the world around him seemed to fade into blues and golds, Impulse kept attacking, needing to get his anger out somehow.
“Impulse. Impulse. Impulse.” And then Impulse felt like he was falling, but he still thrashed around, trying to stop whatever it was. Then the next thing he knew, it was like gravity had increased drastically, leaving him pressed against the floor. Something moved and he attacked it, surprised to find it feeling much fluffier than the guardians had been. There was a sound, like someone talking, but why would anyone be talking with him stuck all alone. Etho maybe? Was he back?
As the creature died in his hands, Impulse looked towards the sound. The first thing he noticed was that Etho’s eyes were now both red. Even the sclera were red. He had also dyed his hair blond, and gotten rid of his mask, and well that wasn’t Etho at all. Impulse kicked his legs to try and swim closer, only to finally realize he wasn’t underwater anymore.
The moment Impulse realized he was out of the sea temple, he started taking gulps of air. His lungs had already started breathing it all, but now he was trying to get as much oxygen as he could before he drowned again. A part in the back of his mind told him he couldn’t drown right now, but his mental state wasn’t the best right now.
“Hey Impulse. Calming down now?” Tango was asking, and Impulse looked over, glad to see his friend. He nodded, which got Tango to smile before looking off towards the horizon. Impulse briefly followed Tango’s eyes before his hand moved and he felt the soft wool of the carpets beneath him. It almost felt overwhelming how different it was compared to the past week plus that he had been stuck in the temple. But it was also good, so he wrapped himself up before following Tango’s eyes once more.
“What’s that way?” Impulse spoke, voice feeling unfamiliar from disuse and possibly alterations that matched everything else going on with him.
“Zed. I’m hoping he’ll be able to find us again since I have made a bit of a path.”
Impulse tilted his head before noticing his inventory had many more items. “Did he get killed or something?”
“Yeah, you sort of killed him when we first summoned you in.” Tango explained, and Impulse felt horrified. Him? Kill Zedaph? For a prank or something, sure, that was believable, But this had been from pure bloodlust at the time.
“I killed him? Oh no! I didn’t know! It had been a guardian at first, and then I was falling, and then I was-”
“Hey, calm down.” Tango replied. He took a step toward Impulse, obviously to comfort him, but then Impulse was surprised to see his friend change their mind and step back again. “Zed and I figured something like this might happen. We would have made beds to set our spawn, but we haven’t been collecting wool that much, so at most we would have had just one piece.”
Impulse chucked a little after realizing there were no sheep around. “What? Did Zedaph finally grow his hair out enough?” And he expected Tango to laugh in return, but the frown that appeared didn’t bode well.
“Impulse, do you… realize what you look like?” Tango asked, and then Impulse looked down at his hand and flexed it.
“What’s happened with Zedaph?”
Tango took a few steps to the side and a moment later the nearby leaves of a tree caught fire. “Zed and I have had both of our more animal-esque traits acting up. I’m burning just about any flammable thing that gets close to me and his wool is growing out of control. There’s other stuff too but…”
“But even if you’re not ending up like me, you’re still dealing with your own things.”
“Hey! I’m back! And it looks like Impulse has not killed you!”
.
.
.
Hels cut down a hoglin that was in the way of he and Wels as they travelled the nether. Wels was reluctantly following, his copy being the only reason he was doing so well right now. Well that, and the fact that he was promising some sort of shelter. They went a bit further, and then Wels spotted something that was clearly man made, making him try to run forward for shelter before he was grabbed by Hels. “Don’t run ahead idiot. I just know that you’ll manage to die if you try that and we’ll have to start all over.”
“Well I’m sure I could find a way to survive fine on my own.”
“Sure you could.” Hels said, obviously sarcastic. “And your death messages make that so very believable. Tell me, have you noticed anything odd about your situation, other than being stuck in the nether.”
“Well, chat hasn’t been working right and I can’t regenerate my health.”
“Right… Well, what have you been eating?” Hels asked as they finally reached the door to the helsmit’s base, opening it to let Wels inside.
“Mainly crimson fungi or the rare pork if I can chip enough health away from a hoglin.” Wels answered, linking himself to the respawn anchor sitting inside.
“That fungi is only edible to hoglins you know.” Hels said, closing the door and then crossing his arms.
“Well obviously that’s not the case here.” And then Wels made his point by munching down on a mushroom he still had in his inventory.
Hels pursed his lips before yanking the fungi out of Wels’ hand and then smashing the knight’s head against a nearby wall. “Spit that out right now or I’ll go again until I break your tusks.”
“My what?” Wels asked, reluctantly spitting out the half chewed fungus.
“You’re an idiot. How did you not notice you were growing tusks?”
And Wels didn’t have an answer, just letting his hand go to his mouth and feel what were definitely tusks. “When did-”
“Who knows. My guess is it's something with this world. It’s not like any of us want to be here.”
Wels looked back over to Hels at that comment, a questioning look on his face. “Evil Xisuma approached me a few weeks ago. He was planning to get into the new season before the rest of you so he could keep from getting banned and put some action into play with his brother and a number of the other hermits. I wasn’t as interested in his plan, but having fun on the server on my own seemed like a good idea to me. A few others were planning to join us, but I’m sure they haven’t followed along. So as far as I’m aware, it is only Evil Xisuma and I trapped here with all of you.”
“Well, at the very least neither of us are stuck here alone.” Wels spoke, trying to give a positive spin on things.
“I would have preferred to be alone.” Hels replied. “You’ll use up more of my resources. That being said, my guess is you’re necessary for whatever is going on around here to stop. So until that’s fixed or I learn otherwise, I am reluctantly helping you.”
“Alright, that sounds fine for now. And you said Evil Xisuma is here too, correct? Any clue where he could be?”
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Bdubs stared down at the void below his feet, glad to have stopped moving, though his gut was still getting used to that change. The guy in pink armor next to him was reluctantly patting his back as another wave of nausea hit and he started to dry heave. “Th-Thanks.”
“Whatever. I just know what being stuck in the void is like so I have a little sympathy.”
“Well glad to know I’m not the only one stuck in this situation. Not that that’s a good thing.”
“Right.” The armored person deadpanned, looking down at the void as well.
Bdubs was quiet for a little before looking over to his savior. “So then, I don’t really think I caught your name in all our yelling to heave both of us up here.”
The other person raised an eyebrow at Bdubs, as if to ask if he was serious, then being a little surprised when he was. The person hesitated, looking down, not to the void but more at their lap, then a hand fiddled with their hair before they finally looked back at Bdubs. “Name’s Xannes.”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Bdubs!” And he held out a hand, pausing as he noticed the state it was in.
Xannes took the hand carefully and shook it, before helping it back to Bdubs’ side. “Side effect of the void. I’m more protected because of my armor, but you don’t have that.”
“Well now I’m actually upset about not having armor, even if it were pink.”
Xannes looked incredulous at that before putting his hands on his hips. “Hey, this is simply a… lightish red.”
“You mean pink.”
“Lightish. Red.”
“Lightish red is red mixed with white. And what does that give you? Pink. You’ve got pink armor.”
“Alright, so maybe it’s supposed to be pink.” Xannes conceded. “But my color is red, and this isn’t my armor, I’m simply borrowing it. So for anyone else, it would be pink, but as long as I wear it, it’s a lightish red.”
“Whatever you say.”
Xannes sighed and then carefully took Bdubs’ hand again. “Alright, so looking again, this doesn’t quite look as natural as being stuck in the voice can make it. Obviously that’s because none of this is natural. Even though it wouldn’t help me in the long run if it were working, I have tested plenty with my communicator and learned a number of things. First, we are not the only ones in a situation like this.”
“Yeah.” Bdubs agreed. “I already met Scar stuck on one of the islands below.”
“Noted.” Xannes nodded. “Well, others have similar odd spawns. I- Someone named Impulse had been stuck in a guardian temple, a Docm77 has been sent to his death by goats. X-Xisuma has been dealing with a warden.” Xannes started to explain, voice getting quieter at the last example, though Bdubs didn’t notice.
“And the void stuff?”
“If I knew more about what was going on, I could tell you. But as it stands, I can just tell your limbs seem to have a form of void-bite and your eyes are as dark as the void itself.”
Bdubs leaned back a little in shock at the comment. “Wait, really?” And then he was fishing into his shirt before pulling out a knife, Xannes’ eyes widening at the weapon. Bdubs held the blade up, briefly putting it back down to shine it against his shirt before using it as a mirror and then staring into it. Sure enough, his eyes seemed to go on forever into their sockets, pure darkness filling them.
“How many knives do you have?” Xannes asked, tearing Bdubs’ gaze from the weapon.
“Huh? Oh, I’ve got plenty. Want one?” And he pulled out another, only the tiniest bit worried about being stabbed by the unfamiliar person. But instead of stabbing him, Xannes simply threw the knife off the edge, watching it fall down. “What was that for?”
Xannes didn’t really reply, just holding a finger up for Bdubs to wait. Reluctantly, he did, but then got restless as time seemed to drag on. Any time he attempted to talk, he would just get shushed, making it feel even worse. Finally, out of nowhere, the knife suddenly fell past them, making Bdubs jump back enough that he nearly fell off their gateway and into the void, but Xannes grabbed him before that could happen and pulled him back in.
“Well then, it seems like a loop around the void lasts around two and a half minutes.” Xannes stated, shifting to turn his body and move to a different part of the gateway. “I guess it would be less on a second loop after already reaching terminal velocity, but it's good to know. I know something has been flying past here ever so often but I was still sort of stuck on the side of this thing for most of it, then I was dealing with you, so… you get the idea.”
“You telling me everything’s looping up and down like us?” Bdubs asked, looking around the sky, or what passed for it in the end.
“Us and anything non-living. I’ve already seen that there have been three void related deaths by Scar, Etho and TinFoilChef.”
“Well so far I’ve only seen Scar and you.” Bdubs replied. “I guess those other two are stuck around here too.”
“The chef, yes, but I’m not so sure about the other.” And Xannes handed his comm to Bdubs, showing a list of death messages, all belonging to Etho. “I have a function that lets me sort these messages. It’s very handy.” And then he reached off to the side, catching a comm as it fell from the air. “And this would be yours. I’ve seen it here and there… To be honest, it seems like it takes more than two or so minutes. We might need to test more.”
Bdubs swapped their communicators before looking down at the abyss below. “Well, Scar’s somewhere down there, I already found him once. I’m gonna see if I can get to him again and you can do whatever while I’m falling.”
Xannes rubbed his chin and then nodded. “Alright, go ahead. I’ll look out for you. If you respawn, wait a loop for me to catch you because I don’t have omniscient reaction time.”
“Sounds good to me.” Bdubs replied with a smile, then jumped into the void once more, ignoring the fear that came with it.
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Scar rolled around on the end stone, trying to get to sleep. Sure, beds didn’t work in the end, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t sleep. It just wasn’t restful enough to keep phantoms away or set a spawn. Not like he needed to set a spawn three blocks away from his current one.
But right now, there was too much noise. The endermen were slowly losing their cool with Scar and he was also hearing the whispering of the vex. To be honest, that was probably why huge endermen were acting as they were. Void magic didn’t like to work with other magic.
But even with all of that, Scar really wanted to sleep for another reason. The whispers of the vex weren’t the only new thing with him. He had polished the pillar near him as just something to do other than wait around. The end rod in particular he shined until it was just mirror-like enough that he saw his green eyes were now vex blue. From that, he checked himself over a bit more and found that his eyes weren’t the only change. He seemed to be an inch or three shorter and his skin was definitely paler than before. He didn’t have wings again, but he knew it would only be a matter of time.
Scar really didn’t want to use any more help from the vex yet, knowing it would speed things up. He wanted to keep hope out for seeing Bdubs again before doing anything since it could be his last chance before a deal was needed once more. If he could just-
“Convex.” A much clearer whisper spoke, making Scar jump a little. “Are you sure a deal is such a bad thing at this stage in time?”
“Oh no no no no no.” Scar insisted, standing up and waving his hands in refusal. “I’m sure I’ll be better use to my friends if I’m not mostly stuck working with you guys.”
“What if you were not working for us?” The whisper asked, making Scar pause.
“Wait? I’m Convex because I can’t become true vex because of Xisuma and him tainting me and Cub with the void or something. I would think now being stuck in the end would make it worse, not better!”
“You still cannot, that is true. But a new evoker is being trained, one also tainted by the void. And I believe you would want to work with them.”
Scar inhaled sharply at the implication, knowing that it must be a hermit they were referring to. He fumbled in pulling his communicator out and then scrolled through all the death messages before finally seeing what he wanted. Death messages to vindicators and evokers, both about Mumbo. “So clarification on this deal?”
“You will still be considered Convex, but on a higher level than before. Not quite at the level of standard vex however. But during this, you will be linked to the new evoker, and cannot be released unless they themselves will it. And you should not will your release either.”
“Yeah, yeah, if that’s all, sure!” Scar agreed quickly, so excited he didn’t really take the time to think it over. Then suddenly he could feel more magic flowing into him. So much it felt like a red hot iron pressed all over his body, especially at his scars. And then it was gone, and he was left panting on the ground.
He didn’t know how long he had been there, but suddenly his name was shouted and Scar managed to lift his head up. He saw Bdubs rocking down towards him again and suddenly felt stronger again, getting a burst of energy and moving towards the builder. New wings spread from his back and let him fly, keeping him above the void as he grabbed his friend and then slowed them before reaching the abyss below, then slowly dragging them back up.
“Bdubs! Are you okay?!” Scar asked the moment they were both on the endstone, only staying on his feet for a second before his knees buckled beneath him.
“Am I okay? Am I okay?! I’m on the sweet sweet ground again!” And then he kissed the stone beneath him. “What about you? You look… not Scar but sound normal.”
“I can explain more in a bit. There’s an end city just over that way and I want to get something so we can start towards the main island. I’ll see if there’s elytra for you.”
“Oh no. I don’t think I ever want to fly again. If anyone, give it to Xannes.”
“Who?”
“Okay, guess my story first.”
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On the main island, TFC dodged another attack from the dragon. She had been attacking less frequently, which was good and bad in his eyes. No attacking meant less dying, but TFC needed her attacks to even attempt destroying all the crystals. Because there was no way she was dying to fists alone with them still around.
That all being said, TFC had a sneaking suspicion on why exactly that was happening. His prosthetics were built to match his remaining limbs in function, but gradually over the past few respawns, they were becoming off balance. In trying to fix them, TFC realized he was less human than before, claws on his hands and feet, and tenderness at his tailbone and shoulder blades.
TFC was old, that much was true. And because of that, he had seen all sorts of situations. While for the most part the problems of this world were new to TFC, adaptations were not. A number of present day hybrids were a result of that. Heck, mob variants were also sourced from suce and occurrence. So yeah, TFC was not too surprised about seemingly becoming a dragon hybrid.
Thinking it over, in the long run it would likely give him just enough of an upper hand to defeat the dragon, but there was also the concern of how long it would take to get to that point and how far these alterations would go. If this went too far, the world itself could mistake him for a new ender dragon, and even after killing the real one, no portal would form due to his existence.
Well, if that was the case, he would need to figure out what it was that made the existence of the dragon close the portal and see if he could reverse it. Especially since he recalled at least one or two hermits were supposed to be stuck in the end with him. Though that did give him another idea. Maybe he didn’t have to keep fighting if the dragon opened the portal herself.
The next time TFC respawned, he waited, giving her time to rest. When he was sure the dragon was fully healed again, the miner made his way to the podium and waited. The dragon swooped a few times, giving some warning shots, but she didn’t attack TFC directly, and he made no move to attack the crystals. She didn’t look happy, but TFC had plenty of time to wait.
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In a bout of frustration, ink was spilled over the floor, making Mumbo even more frustrated than before. He didn’t understand the need for learning another language just for spells. He was sure that knowing the characters that appeared with enchanting would be enough, but apparently the illagers had their own writing system. At the very least, Mumbo recognized a character or two that Scar or Cub must have had written down, but it still felt like he was learning a new language from scratch.
With ink all over the place, Mumbo paused to work on cleaning everything up. He had ruined nearly all his materials, so now he would have to attempt to get more or find an illager who would assist him in such a task. Paper was easy enough to get, a farm already set up in the mansion, but Mumbo hadn’t automated it yet, so there wasn’t going to be much to reap. And squid ink wasn’t something they just had on hand.
Mumbo reached the farming room and grabbed what sugarcane had grown, taking the reeds over to a crafting table then cutting and pressing them into paper. He only managed to make six pages from all of that and didn’t have the material to bind them into a book.Instead of leaving the room, Mumbo put the paper into a nearby chest and then pulled out his redstone materials.
As Mumbo built, he decided to multitask by using redstone dust to practice some of the characters he needed to learn. He couldn’t remember the normal order of the characters, so he just wrote them at random. He never really focused on the characters, so he didn’t notice when a few in a line started to glow a bit. In fact, he was just pausing his writing to work on fixing a bit of redstone, his head stuck in the contraption.
His hand blindly reached for some string to add as a tripwire, but he was about half a foot to the wrong side of his pile of materials. When Mumbo’s hand started to go further, it was stopped by some thread being placed in his hand. The redstoner said his thanks and then strung it up before pausing and pulling his head out.
Standing nearby was someone Mumbo immediately recognized, not knowing anyone else with a bright red sweater like that. Not caring that he was currently covered in redstone dust, Mumbo jumped at the newcomer and hugged them tightly, so glad to see a familiar face. “Grian! You’re okay! How did you get here? Where are the bots? Are you alright?”
But pulling away again, Mumbo watched as Grian just blinked at him, seeming a little confused. “I think you may be mistaken and confused, my mustachioed friend. I mean, I am okay and I got here because of you, but I’m not sure what you mean by bots and well, you were trying to take to someone named Grian.”
Mumbo furrowed his brows. Looking them over again, he could tell this had to be Grian. His clothes and hair and everything were the same. He couldn’t quite tell about their eyes because they were wearing a mask, but it matched the one he had seen Grian with in the past, a black mark on its face instead of the purple Eflyn expected. The only thing unfamiliar were the wings. Shape and pattern wise, they matched the wings Grian had, but the colors of the feathers were no longer red yellow and blue, but purple grey and black.
“Well then. If you’re not Grian, then who are you?” Mumbo asked, and the person giggled slightly.
“I could have swore you already knew, but I guess not. The name is Xelqua, but don’t go throwing it around to just anyone.” And just hearing it reminded Mumbo. It had been a name Grian had told him before.
“Well, if you don’t want me throwing it around, I’m going to have to call you something.” Mumbo spoke up, Xelqua seeming to agree. “Since I already mistook you for him and he’s not around, how about I call you Grian.”
“Hmm.” Grian thought about it before shaking his head. “Just you and me, you can call me Xelqua. Otherwise just Watcher is fine, okay?”
“But I-” Mumbo started to say, and then there was a clatter, making Mumbo and Grian look over at the door where Eflyn was standing.
“Well. It seems we have another guest then…”
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Joe had paused in his material gathering. It was just going to be for a little bit, but he needed to clear his head. And the best idea he had for that was climbing the tower at spawn the correct way. Sure, he could try climbing from the outside or something, finding a window, but at this point these were definitely Watchers, and Joe was very much aware that they were not to be messed with.
Joe needed to pause on a platform to hold his head, a headache forming. It had been coming and going for a while, but it didn’t feel so bad now, the tower already lit up pretty well. As he waited, his other hand clutched at the wall as best it could, just feeling the texture of the wall, as if to check that it was real. “Guess you really couldn’t have been swayed, now could you?” Joe asked, speaking into the empty air around him. “Well maybe after this mess we can try it again.”
Joe climbed a few more parts of the parkour that acted as steps before nearly falling to a sudden splitting headache. He half considered letting go and trying again, there being enough hay lining the floor below to break his fall, but he had already gotten so far. And maybe if he could get to the top of the tower…
It had been ages ago when Joe had first met a Watcher. From what he could tell, it was even the first Watcher to exist. One that eventually disappeared to time that not even the other Watchers knew what happened. He wasn’t an expert of whatever the Watchers exactly were, but it had been enough that he recognized Grian as one pretty quickly when they first met in season six. Though that was partially from that not being their first meeting.
Yes, Joe had been along for a very long time. Which is why he was not happy with everything going on. But he had a bargaining chip in the form of knowledge, so getting to the top might be the one place to try and use it.
His headache passed and the glow from his eyes faded. Joe pulled himself back onto the platform and then adjusted his glasses. Just a bit more to go until he was at the top.
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Doc woke up in a wood hut, lying in a bed. His back and head hurt, getting worse when he attempted to move to get up. He tried to remember what happened last, but suddenly being knocked unconscious wasn’t the best thing to try and remember. Looking around in a way that didn’t hurt as much, he was able to see a chest as well as something lying on the ground to his right.
Some crackling implied there was also a furnace running nearby. Mixed with that was some slight banging of metal from crafting and the hum of a tune that was familiar to Doc, but he couldn’t quite place it.
Another attempt to sit up left Doc yelp slightly in pain, stopping the humming and crafting sounds, getting replaced with footsteps that came towards him. “Are you awake this time?”
“Grumbot?” Doc asked, vaguely recognizing the robot that appeared in front of him. He only really distinctly knew his larger form, only seeing him and his brother at this size when they were just about to leave their previous world.
“Yeah. looks like you are. We have some bread if you’re hungry.” Grum spoke in a quiet voice that felt so odd compared to how energetic the hermits usually were. That being said, it had been a while since he had seen anyone else, so it might have just been from what others were dealing with. “I also left some of the wheat as wheat if you prefer that.”
“What? Why would I want that? Bread sounds fine.”
“Okay, I wasn’t sure if you were like dad or not.” Grum said before he went over to the chest, giving Doc a moment to think things over.
“Dad as in Grian or Mumbo?”
“Grian.” Grum answered, pulling out some food. “He was with us on the mountain. Everything was getting to him, so he started eating seeds instead of other stuff.”
“Okay. Is he out getting supplies or something?” Doc asked and then Grum’s face shifted to something sadder. “What happened to Grian?”
“I don’t know.” Grum spoke, managing to be quieter than before. “He just disappeared and Jrum and I were stuck alone on the mountain. And then I messed up.” And it took all of Doc’s willpower to not sit up and possibly hurt himself in the process with how sad Grum sounded in that moment.
“Why? What happened?”
“Someone figured out how to send messages in chat by accident. Jrum and I noticed, and we were going to try it out for ourselves, but it didn’t go right. And now Jrum… Jrum didn’t respawn right.”
And with that comment, Doc realized what was on the ground nearby. Jrum’s body was laid out, screen dark and body unmoving. “How long has he been like that?”
“A few days I think. It got really snowy so I couldn’t quite tell. Then I got busy digging through the snow until I found some ice to break.”
“And that must have been the waterfall I took down off the mountain.” Doc said, making Grum look a little sheepish.
“Sorry about hitting you when I fell. I freaked out a bit and then you were there and I couldn’t react in time. I’m sure if it was anyone else, they would have been in worse shape.”
“Why’s that?” Doc asked, though he had an idea based on which side of him ached more.
“Well, your metal parts helped protect you plus I think your thicker skull helped from a concussion.”
“My what?”
“Oh, I thought you…” Grum said, trailing off. “Um, so I think more weird stuff is happening than just being stuck wherever.”
“Yeah, I knew that.” Doc said. “Creeper instincts have been kicking in like crazy.”
“Well, your death messages mentioned goats a lot. It looks like because of that, you’ve started turning into a goat hybrid as well.”
“I’ve what?” Doc asked, incredulously. He ignored the pain from moving when he started feeling himself over, finally finding horns coming from his head. “Oh… huh…”
Grum forced Doc back down to a resting position before feeding him some bread. Here, how about I tell you what I know about, then you can tell me what you know.
“Sounds good to me.”
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Damian, the baby assassin, Dupain-Cheng (Part 5)
Hellooo everyone! I'm... somewhat alive. I'm so sorry this took so long to update. Welp, I can't believe that this is the end of the first arc. Thank you guys so much for your support.I wouldn't have been able to get this far without all of you. I´m so excited for whats to come. Also Tysm @beautiful-disasters-sunshine​ for beta reading this!
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Ao3     Masterlist
So, recap
Marinette kidnapped/adopted Damian after seeing him with Talia in the Miraculous Café. She gives him the choice between staying with her or a non assassin relative. He chooses to stay in hopes of stealing the miracle box, but since that didn’t work he lashed out and tried to kill Marinette and her friends repeatedly. This makes Marinette doubt in herself because she feels guilty about the whole situation. After hearing Marinette cry, Damian runs away confused at the whole situation, but he didn't get far before realizing that he was actually okay with the idea of Marinette becoming his mother. Marinette finds him and they go home.
After that, Damian began to feel more comfortable around Marinette. 
Their dynamic changed. No longer was Damian desperately trying to escape, and now that the walls he had built had almost completely crumbled Marinette began to learn more about the boy she considered her son.
For example, she learned that he liked art. 
The moment she found out she ran to her favorite craft store and bought all sorts of things ranging from paints and canvases to a couple of sketch books and a variety of pencils.
Damian, of course, tried to tell her how unnecessary it was. 
But Marinette ignored him.
She cleared a corner of her studio where she kept all of her sewing machines and the commissions she was working on, and set up the new supplies.
The two could be found on most afternoons peacefully sketching and painting in that room while munching on the leftover pastries from the café.
Another regular activity was to go out to various places to get inspiration for said projects. Whether it was an outdoors market, or a quaint town bordering Paris, Marinette loved to show Damian all her favorite places to visit whenever she needed inspiration.
She loved to see how his brow furrowed in concentration as he sketched. How he used his natural ability to pick up on little details and used it to make beautiful pieces of art.
And of course being the proud mom she was, Marinette hung up all the paintings all around the house, despite Damian's protests. She even taped some of his sketches on her side of the "Creative Room", as Marinette liked to call it, to use as inspiration for her designs. 
Damian also continued to go to school. It took a lot of macarons and begging to let the principal of the school allow Damian to go back, and it only happened once they agreed to a reasonable punishment.
Marinette was rather relieved at how difficult it had been to convince them. 
It was reassuring to know that the faculty in the school she chose was willing to address the issue instead of turning a blind eye to someone with enough money like they had done when she had been in school.
Also, there was a new addition to the family.
Since seeing Damian look at a flyer of the animal shelter with interest, Marinette suspected that he liked animals more than he was willing to admit.
This was confirmed when she arrived home and found Damian trying to lure a dog out from under his bed.
Marinette obviously allowed Damian to keep the dog and almost burst into tears when for the first time, Damian called her "mom"
Together, they managed to get the dog to come out from where he had been hiding. The poor thing looked so frightened, and kept shying away when they got too close.
Marinette sang a soft lullaby that her mother had taught her hoping that it would help the dog calm down, and it did. 
Hesitantly, he walked closer to Damian and eventually let him pet him.
"You're a little survivor aren't you?" Marinette whispered. Looking at the dog who was now  falling asleep in Damian's gentle embrace.
A small smile graced Damian's face. "Naji. We must name him Naji" He murmured, taking Marinette by surprise. "It means 'survivor' in arabic. Naji has experienced a lot of difficulties, but yet he survived them all and he has now found his home." He explained.
Marinette didn't think he was only referring to the dog.
~♡~♡~♡~
Marinette paced nervously around the living room as she waited for it to be time to pick Damian up from school.
The reason she was so nervous was because she was hoping to ask Damian if he was okay with being adopted by her.
She had to pull some strings but after waiting for a long time she had finally gotten the permission she needed to legally adopt Damian.
The only question was if he was going to accept.
Naji walked over to her and laid at her feet making Marinette stop dead in her tracks. 
Despite being skittish around them, Naji had an uncanny ability to know when either Damian or Marinette was upset. He would usually try to sit near them and eventually he would allow one of them to pet him gently.
It was adorable if Marinette did say so herself.
Naturally, Marinette sat on the ground and patiently waited for Naji to approach her. Meanwhile, she closed her eyes and made herself relax.
It was all going to be okay. If Damian didn't like the idea then that would be fine. It wouldn't change her love for him and hopefully the proposal wouldn't make him draw back to himself.
Naji sat on her lap as she continued to calm herself down.
Finally, Marinette glanced at her watch and saw that it was time to pick Damian up. Giving Naji one final pat, she stood up and got her keys.
The pep talk she had just given herself had become a sort of mantra for her. 
When Marinette arrived at Damian's school, she noticed that Damian was with another kid his age. Damian looked somewhat bored as the boy talked.
Nonetheless, Marinette could only feel pride as Damian continued to listen to the boy.
Taking notice of her, Damian excused himself and walked to the car.
"So, I see you made a new friend." Marinette said after exchanging greetings. She was unable to keep a teasing tone out of her voice.
Damian frowned, "I was merely tolerating his presence. I would hardly call that a friendship." 
"Yeah, sure. Keep telling that to yourself honey." Marinette replied with a grin. "Anyways, how was school today?"
Marinette listened to him as he told her what he had done throughout the day. When he was done Damian noticed that they were going the wrong way. He told her as much.
"Your right mon petit oiseau"  Marinette sighed as she pulled over. "Damian, I have something important to talk to you about." 
Damian looked at her, a hint of worry seeped into his eyes. "Is there something wrong, Maman?" 
Marinette's heart swelled at the name, it gave her the confidence she needed for what she was going to say next. 
"Damian, I love you as my own son. That- that's what you are to me… my son." Damian's concern grew as tears started to roll down Marinette's cheeks. "And I don't care for technicalities or anything," she continued, grabbing Damian's hands between her own. "But… I would like to legally adopt you."
~♡~♡~♡~
Damian could only stare at Marinette in shock.
Being legally adopted by her was something he had never actually considered. He knew how complicated that would be, but if she was asking then… maybe it was possible? 
He thought about what it would mean. Perhaps he could change his last name and leave behind his grandfather's legacy behind for once and for all. 
Damian didn't think he would ever be able to escape the league. For most of his life he didn't even want to. But Marinette had cared for him more than his own family had. 
It would be incredibly stupid not to accept. So with that in mind, Damian made up his mind.
"I… I am not opposed to this idea Maman." Relief flooded Marinette's features "Though I must ask how you managed to make it possible?"
Marinette choked out a small laugh. "Let's just say I'm very persuasive and I have friends in high places."
Yeah, that made sense. 
Their time in the courthouse passed by in a blur. When they walked out Damian felt... lighter. Like a weight had been lifted off from his shoulders.
This was his new beginning. Damian felt relieved because he had no doubt that with Marinette's guidance he would be able to right the wrongs he had committed. 
He no longer had to fend for his own because someone was going to be there for him. To protect him.
To love him.
And for the first time in his life Damian felt safe. 
Past Damian would probably be ashamed of that, but now? Now only felt joy. 
Because he was no longer Damian Al-ghul. 
He was Damian Dupain-Cheng.
~♡~♡~♡~ TAG LIST ~♡~♡~♡~
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writingblock101 · 4 years
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Heir to the Throne (Jason Todd x Reader)
Hello, I love you all so much for being patient with me! I am super excited to share this! This is a continuation to my other two part fic For the Kingdom. You don’t need to read it for it to make sense, but it does give some background. 
A huge thank you to the absolutely lovely @incrediblysadstudent​ who edited and made some really amazing suggestions. She also runs a writing blog where she writes the batfam so definitely go show her some love! 
Warnings: Threats of violence, puking 
Tags: @idkmanicantenglish (I’ve missed you, my love) @mayahoelland2013
Word count: 4,800
You lean over the toilet with a groan as you retch again. Jason frowns with concern, one hand gently pushing your hair out of your face as his other comfortingly rubs your back. You pause, giving yourself a moment to breathe and spit into the porcelain toilet bowl. Jason leans over and flushes the toilet as you tiredly watch the contents swirl around then disappear. 
Sighing, you push past Jason’s hand on your back and fall against the wall, exhausted. Jason’s frown deepens, he hates seeing you like this. He tucks a loose piece of hair behind your ear, grabs the cup of water waiting on the bathroom counter, and brings it to your lips.
Your shaking hands wrap around the cup with Jason helping you tilt it, taking slow sips. As your grip on the cup gets stronger, Jason let’s go, opting to wrap an arm around your shoulder, bringing his lips to your forehead for a sweet kiss. You lean against his chest, your nose wrinkling at the bitter taste in your mouth. 
“You alright?” Jason asks quietly. 
“Yeah,” You respond, taking another sip of water to wash down the disgusting taste in your mouth. 
“Are you though?” Jason’s tone hardens in seriousness. “You’ve been puking for the last two weeks and you’re exhausted all the time. I’m worried about you,” He admits, pulling you closer to his chest. 
You stay quiet, staring down into the cup of water. Jason sighs, sounding irritated. He pulls his arm off your shoulder, running his hand through his hair with a frustrated huff. 
“You’re hiding something from me,” He looks over at you, nudging your shoulder. You force yourself to look up at him and feel guilt pool in your stomach at the deep look of worry in your husband’s eyes. “We agreed to not do that so whatever is wrong, just tell me and we can deal with it together--” 
“I’m pregnant,” You blurt. 
Jason blinks, his face blank. 
“You’re uh….” He swallows, blinking again in a mixture of confusion and disbelief. “You’re what?” 
You reach for his hand, placing it on your still flat stomach. 
“I’m pregnant,” You repeat, enunciating the two words slowly. 
“You’re… Pregnant…” Jason echoes back. Hearing himself say the words seems to break through the shock as a small smile works its way onto his face. “Holy shit!” He curses with an excited grin, his eyes lighting up. “You’re pregnant!” He exclaims, his eyes flicking from his hand to your face, his smile growing larger by the second. 
“I’m pregnant!” You confirm, your voice cracking as you nod your head. Tears of joy well up in your eyes. 
“We’re going to have a baby,” Jason’s eyes well up as well, as he pulls you into a tight hug, burying his face into your shoulder. 
You hug him back, squeezing with all your strength as a few tears slip, overwhelmed by how perfect this moment feels. 
You didn’t mean to be secretive and worry Jason, but you two have been trying to have a child for a little over a year, so you wanted to be sure before you got his hopes up. 
It’s hard to believe how far your relationship with Jason has come. What started as an unwilling arranged marriage has developed into a healthy, loving relationship. You were terrified of him, only knowing him through brutal battle stories in which his triumphs were bloody and his mercy was unheard of. The thought of marrying him terrified you straight to your core and made your insides burn with anger, but Jason has proved you wrong every step of the way. 
He’s shown you his passion for his kingdom, his heart which is incapable of half-ass love, and his deep respect for everyone around him. Jason is full of passion, fire, and snark. While you two have your bad days and your tempers create blow out fights, you always find your way back to each other because at the end of the day, he’s the love of your life. 
Jason pulls back from the hug, cupping your face with his hands, his thumbs wiping your tears. You can’t help but to giggle at the unshed tears brimming in his eyes. Jason huffs with a watery laugh too, leaning in and kissing you sweetly. 
You frown, and pull back, your nose wrinkling. 
“I just finished throwing up,” You remind him. 
“Yeah, I could taste it,” Jason admits with a chuckle. 
He rests his forehead against your, the excited grin never leaving his face as he runs his large hands across your stomach. 
“We’re going to have a baby,” Jason murmurs to you in amazement, as if he can barely believe the words himself. 
You place your hands over his. 
“Yeah, we are,” You grin. 
Jason kisses your forehead sweetly, pulling you close to him. 
Long gone are the days of feeling pressured by advisors to make an heir, tense, fearful sex, and awkward conversations. You’re going to be parents and you can’t imagine embarking on this crazy journey with anyone else. 
. . . 
A week later, you and Jason are sitting in the kingdom doctor’s office. Jason nervously bounces his foot while Dr. Thompskin spreads cold gel across your stomach. 
“It’s a little cold,” You giggle, feeling a chill run up your spine as you look toward your husband who smiles back tightly. Sighing, you reach out to Jason. “You have too much nervous energy.” 
Jason takes your hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it and chuckles. 
“Yeah, I guess I do…” 
“Aren’t I supposed to be the nervous one?” You tease, squeezing his hand reassuringly. 
“I don’t even know why I am so nervous…” Jason admits. “I mean, they’re in your body, you should be the nervous one, not me. I don’t even know if it’s really nerves, or if it’s just excitement. I mean, I’ve clearly been around pregnant people, but it’s different because it’s… you,” Jason rambles, his thumb rubbing small circles on the back of your hand. 
“Jay, it’s okay,” You tell him, moving your hand to cup his cheek. “It’s okay to be nervous, I’m nervous too,” You smile gently. “But that’s why we’re here, to make sure everything is okay.” 
“Speaking of which,” Dr. Thompskin interrupts, moving the wand around your stomach, and points at the screen. “There is your baby, looking very healthy.” 
Your eyes dart to the screen as you and Jason stare in awe at the tiny pea sized dot hidden in the fuzzy black and white image. Usually, you don’t understand the hype around early ultrasounds-- you can hardly see the baby-- but staring at your baby, your heart soars with excitement. Faintly, under the sound of your heartbeat through the monitor, you hear another sound, thudding at a faster pace than your heart. 
“Is that…” You feel your eyes fill with tears as a smile breaks out across your face, listening more intently for the steady, thudding sound. “Is that their heartbeat?” 
“It sure is,” Dr. Thompskin smiles. 
You laugh, your grin hurting your face. A few tears slip down your face and you look over to Jason who is smiling with glossy eyes. 
“This is actually happening,” You whisper to him. 
“Yeah,” He grins, looking toward you. He gently squeezes your hand and turns his attention back to the monitor. “It is.” 
. . . 
“We need to hang some calendars,” You announce as you walk into Jason’s office, holding lunch on a tray. 
Jason stands and takes the tray from you, kissing you on the cheek. Despite only being three months pregnant, Jason barely lets you lift a finger. 
“Why is that?” He chuckles, pulling your seat out then moving to sit behind his desk once you are settled. 
“Because the advisors don’t seem to know how long a month is,” You roll your eyes.
Ever since you and Jason proudly announced the pregnancy, the advisors have practically been frothing at the mouth at the prospect of a male heir. While a female heir would be fine, she would be more likely to marry into another kingdom as opposed to expanding your kingdom like a male heir would. Of course, you and Jason don’t care; however, the advisors will not stop bothering you about the gender of the baby, which you don’t know yet. 
“How many times do I have to tell them I won’t know the gender for another month?!” You rant. “It’s ridiculous!”
The guard posted at Jason’s door snickers at your rant. You turn with a grin. 
“Something funny, Quill?” You ask. 
“Nothing, your Highness,” Peter stands at attention like the trained knight that he is. “But I think you’re overestimating the advisors abilities to read a calendar.” 
Jason starts cracking up while you sigh in exaggeration. 
“Shit, you’re right!” You exclaim, resting a hand on your stomach. “You know what will be worse? When we find out the gender, they’re going to “suggest” names.” 
“You know they’re going to suggest old names after past kings,” Jason rolls his eyes. “Like Olaf.” 
“Olaf?” You repeat back with raised eyebrows. “Yeah, let’s name our kid after the snowman in a kid’s movie,” You roll your eyes. 
“You could give them a really intense name,” Peter suggests. “Like Slade or something.” 
You pause for a moment, knowing that name is familiar. 
“Slade like the mercenary that recently assassinated the King of Cintra?” You ask. 
“Oh…yeah… maybe not,” Peter says quietly while Jason just grins. 
“So, I’m guessing we’re not going to go with outside suggestions for names?” Jason asks with a knowing smile.
“Probably not,” You snort, resting a hand on your still flat stomach, considering various names. 
. . . 
“And it’s…” Dr. Thompskin moves the wand slowly. “A boy!” She announces. 
“Oh man,” You glance over at Jason, who’s holding your hand, his eyes fixated on the monitor. “The advisors are so not going to leave us alone now.” 
“Fuck them,” Jason breathes, dismissing the idea of letting the advisors ruin this moment for you too. He kisses you sweetly, moving his other hand to your growing stomach. “We’re going to have a little boy,” He whispers.
You grin, pulling Jason in for another kiss then look back at the monitor, feeling tears of joy well up. You can’t wait for him to get here.
. . . 
“Your Majesty,” A lady curtseys while her lord husband bows. “We want to congratulate you!” 
“Thank you,” You smile politely, resting a hand on your now present baby bump, while the other rests on your aching lower back. 
“We heard it is a boy!” The lady grins then rushes forward, placing her hand on your stomach. “Boys always kick the hardest!” She winks. 
You blink, resisting the urge to shove the woman’s hands off you, but instead stiffly smile. 
“Yes, it is. He hasn’t started kicking yet, but I’m sure he will soon,” You tell her through clenched teeth as she rubs your stomach.
“Excuse me,” Jason’s voice smoothly cuts in. 
“Your Highness,” The lord bows and the lady curtseys, removing her hands from your stomach thankfully. 
“My queen is needed elsewhere,” Jason says assertively, pulling a protective arm around your waist to put distance between you and the noble couple. 
“Of course, your Majesty,” The couple bows again and Jason guides you back to the head table, his hand rubbing your sore lower back. 
Banquets are an annoying necessity to royalty, especially when they are a king’s coronation banquet to an ally kingdom. When you were younger, you didn’t enjoy them much since your parents often bartered you out to dance with handsy princes, but since marrying Jason, you’ve come to enjoy them more. 
Any lord or prince who would hope to dance with you is sent away cowering after one look from your husband. Instead, you are given an excuse to dance with Jason all night; however, being pregnant at a banquet brought its own set of headaches. 
At five months pregnant, you’ve developed a noticeable baby bump through your dresses. Despite being the queen of the kingdom, your subjects seem to take your pregnancy as an invitation to touch your stomach without permission, give advice and tips (or weird old wives tales), and share as many opinions as they can. Although you are appreciative of your loyal subjects, you also tire faster and you have to pee all the fucking time, so your nerves get quickly shot at banquets. 
“How are you doing?” Jason asks, turning you away from any prying eyes by shielding you with his body. 
“Oh, you know, tired of people touching my stomach,” You roll your eyes. 
Jason frowns. 
“We’ve been here long enough, I’ll talk to Dick so we can leave--” 
You stop listening to Jason when you feel feel a strange fluttering in your stomach, almost like bubbles. It flutters for a moment then stops. What was that?  It didn’t feel painful, just a little strange. You look down at your stomach, questioning your unborn son then it does it again--
Your eyes widen with realization and you snatch Jason’s hand up, placing it where you feel the fluttering. 
“What are you--” The fluttering happens again, cutting off Jason’s sentence. His eyes lock with yours, looking for confirmation. “Is that…?” He trails off quietly. 
“He’s kicking,” You grin, feeling tears bubble in your eyes. 
You can’t help but tear up, this pregnancy making you so emotional that it feels as though you’ll cry at anything.
“Oh my gosh,” Jason grins, moving to place both hands on your stomach as your son kicks again. “Hey, little guy,” Jason whispers. 
“He’s definitely in there,” You smile. You giggle as you feel him kick harder at the sound of your voice. “I hate to admit it, but that woman was right, little boys do kick hard.” 
Jason laughs, rests his forehead against yours, both of you enjoying the feeling of your son kicking at your hands. 
“Everything okay guys?” Dick walks over, oblivious to the moment you two are having. “I saw another person touching Y/N’s stomach and you looked ready to bite their head off--” 
You and Jason glance over at Dick with huge grins. 
“Am I interrupting something?” Dick raises his eyebrows. 
“He’s kicking,” Jason says proudly, looking down at your bump. 
Dick’s face lights up. 
“Really?” He exclaims. His eyes dart down to your stomach for a moment, his hand raising in excitement but he hesitates, knowing how annoyed you’ve gotten with people touching you without permission. 
You roll your eyes-- Dick is not some random stranger trying to touch you. You certainly don’t mind if he wants to feel the baby. You grab his hand and place it on your stomach, his face lighting up with excitement. He waits then there’s another flutter. 
“That is so cool!” Dick grins, shifting his hand to feel the baby kick again. “You guys haven’t picked a name, have you?” 
“Not yet,” You tell him. 
“Well, I personally think Dick Jr. would be a great name.” 
“Well, I personally think you’re wrong,” Jason tells him bluntly. 
Dick squawks indignantly, making you laugh. 
“Come on, Jay, you said something about leaving?” You ask. 
Jason glances at Dick. 
“Cover for us?” 
“Of course,” Dick grins. “But just consider Dick Jr,” He winks playfully. 
Jason chuckles, shaking his head in amusement as he loops his arm in yours. 
“Dick, I can think about it until the day the baby is born, but it will never happen,” Jason promises. 
Dick mumbles something about Jason being unfair, but waves you two away. 
“Come on, your Highness,” Jason teases, escorting you from the banquet. 
. . . 
A few weeks later, you’re relaxing in bed, reading the latest book Jason gave you, Catcher and the Rye, while he gets ready for bed. You feel your son kick, his kicks getting stronger with each day. You smile to yourself, placing your hand where you can feel his feet kicking you and continue reading. 
The bathroom door opens, revealing your shirtless husband who crawls across the bed, his head laying next to your hip while his hands rub your stomach. 
“He’s kicking tonight,”You tell him. 
Jason lights up. 
“Really?” He asks. 
“Mmhm,” You shift his hands to where he last kicked and watch Jason grin at the feeling of tiny feet kicking. 
“You know, we are going to need to come up with a name,” Jason says, leaning down to kiss your stomach. “This guy will be here in a few more months.” He kisses your stomach again then crawls up the bed to lay back against the pillows, pulling you against his chest. Jason kisses the top of your head, leaning over to read the page you’re on. 
“I know…” You tell him. 
You and Jason had been tossing around baby names, but nothing was sticking. Neither of you wanted to name your son after anyone in your family and no one had yet to offer a name both of you liked. Naming a person is hard. 
“Have you thought of anything else?” You ask, abandoning your book to cuddle with your husband instead. 
“How about Liam?” Jason offers, taking a hold of your hand and playing with your fingers.
You wrinkle your nose. 
“I knew a Liam in school who was a little shit.” 
Jason chuckles, kissing the side of your head. 
“Okay, not Liam.” 
Neither of you wanted an extremely common name, but you didn’t want to do a strange name either. Finding the middle ground was difficult. 
“How about Nathaniel?” You offer. 
“Well, that would depend,” Jason starts. “I like that name, but it’s kind of a mouthful, so rather he or his friends… or my brothers would give him a nickname,” Jason rolls his eyes, probably thinking of Dick’s fondness of nicknames. “It would likely be Nathan or Daniel… or Nate. Do you like any of those names?” 
“They’re fine names, but I’d prefer those as middle names,” You admit. 
“I agree… How about Taylor?” Jason offers. 
“Taylor Todd?” You repeat. 
Jason giggles behind you. 
“If you say it fast enough, it sounds like tater tot.” 
“Taylor Todd, Taylor Todd, Taylortodd, Tayortodd, Taytortot,” You start laughing. “It kind of does!” 
“So, not that one,” Jason decides. “We suck at this,” He admits. 
You chuckle, leaning into him, your copy of Catcher and the Rye catching your eye on the nightstand. 
“How about Holden?” You ask. 
Jason looks down at you for a moment and follows your eyes to the book, pondering the name. 
“Holden?” He repeats. “Holden Todd. I actually like that a lot.” 
“It would be suiting for us to name our kid after a book,” You chuckle, recalling how you and Jason finally connected with each other years ago. 
Jason grins, wrapping his arms around you and kissing your temple. 
“Yeah, it would,” He places his hands on your stomach. “Hey, Holden.” 
Holden kicks again, making tears bubble in your eyes. 
. . . 
Your pregnancy hasn’t been the worst. Sure, you had some morning sickness and been more emotional than you’re used to, but you haven’t gotten any strange cravings, your mood swings aren’t too severe, and you haven’t been overly bloated. 
Despite the relatively smooth pregnancy, at month eight of the pregnancy, you’re ready for Holden to be here. Your back and feet are sore, you're exhausted all the time, and you’re tired of not being able to see your toes. Also, you now have the bladder of a squirrel. A squirrel. You just want to meet your son. 
You’re tired of going to banquets when you’re pregnant. The elaborate dresses you have to wear to the banquets are already a lot, but peeing in said dresses every thirty minutes? Yeah, you’re tired of being pregnant. 
Just like all the other banquets, you know random people are going to touch you and your stomach, ask invasive questions, and try to tell you what to name your baby. You’re probably going to get overwhelmed by all the smells and people then get very irritable, but this is the last banquet you and Jason have to attend for a while, so you’ll put on your kind queen face and behave. 
As servers bring in another round of food, you head swims from all the smells. You grimace, trying to ignore the overwhelming smells while listening to whichever lord ramble to you and Jason. Jason wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. Instead of focusing on the varied food smells melding together, you try to focus on how Jason smells. 
Focusing on the fresh scent helps some, but soon, even Jason’s familiar smell blends to the cocktail of food around you, making your head spin even more. 
“I’m going to get some fresh air,” You tell him quietly, rubbing a hand over your swollen stomach. 
“I can come with you,” Jason offers, taking your hand as he goes to follow you. 
“No, stay and socialize. I’ll be okay,” You promise. 
Jason looks reluctant, but agrees. You kiss his cheek and excuse yourself from your company then slip onto a side balcony. The instant fresh air eases your headache, making you sigh with relief as you lean against the large, stone railing. You kick off your shoes, toeing them to the side and out from under your long dress. Holden kicks, making you chuckle. 
“Nothing smelled good in there, huh bud?” You ask, fondly rubbing your stomach. 
You’re so excited for Holden to be born. You can’t wait to see what he looks like, to hold him, and know that he’s really here. 
You’re excited to be a parent and you’re even more excited to watch your husband become a parent. Jason’s relationship with his birth father was terrible to say the least. Meeting Bruce was one of the first strokes of luck Jason came across in his life, even if it was in the form of King Bruce Wayne catching twelve year old Jason stealing wheels from the royal carriage. 
While Jason is also excited to meet Holden, his anxiety about becoming a father is no secret to you. Despite being nothing like his father, Jason is still afraid of becoming him. You know Jason will never be like his father. Jason is going to be a fantastic dad who is going to love Holden so well. 
While daydreaming about the day your son will finally be born, you didn’t notice the balcony door open. 
“Well, what do we have here?” That voice sends chills down your spine. 
You spin around to come face to face with Roman Sionis. Roman was one of the few people you were unfortunately very familiar with prior to your marriage with Jason. His kingdom strong armed your parents' kingdom into an alliance, meaning Roman often made appearances at your family’s banquets. He’s always made you incredibly uncomfortable, even when you were little. 
“The Queen, knocked up with no King to protect her,” He hisses, taking a step toward you.
You feel your chest tighten. Jason’s war with Roman was no small ordeal. He nearly destroyed Roman’s kingdom, forcing the man to rebuild from the ground up. You hadn’t heard from Roman in so long that you’d figured his kingdom was destroyed, but if he’s at a banquet at the Russo kingdom, then that doesn’t mean anything good either. 
“So, what are we going to do?” Roman asks, staring at you menacingly. 
He takes another step. You step backwards but your back hits the railing. Roman steps closer. Your hand quickly covers your stomach, protectively. 
“King Jason has left his poor, defenseless wife out here alone with me,” Roman steps into your space, forcing you to lean back against the railing. “And,” His hand lays on your stomach, making your skin crawl. “She’s pregnant with the precious heir to the throne,” He hisses. 
Your heart races as you try to figure out your options. Roman has backed you into a corner. While you have training, unfortunately, that training doesn’t account for all the extra weight in your stomach. Your center of gravity is completely thrown right now. Any hit you try to land will be uncoordinated and likely easily blocked by Roman. 
“Well, I guess I need to teach the King a lesson about taking better care of his things,” Roman slips a dagger from his pants and your eyes widen. 
“Stop--” You say, finally finding your voice but Roman pushes a hand against your mouth forcing you back farther.
He presses the tip of the dagger into your stomach. Thankfully your dress is thick enough that the blade doesn’t puncture the fabric, but it’s not armor. If Roman puts any pressure, he’ll stab Holden.
Your arms shake against the banister, your whole body pinned by Roman’s. A layer of tears sting in your eyes.
“Sh, don’t worry,” His face hardens. “It’ll only hurt for a second. Maybe your precious King will learn a thing or two about what it’s like to lose something precious.” 
You feel him press the blade harder against you, your heart pounding in your chest. Holden kicks the hand you're holding tightly against your stomach, snapping you out of your stupor.  
No. He’s not going to hurt your baby. You refuse to let him. 
You shove Roman back as hard as you can, then throw all your body weight into a hard punch to his face. Your hand instantly screams in pain and you nearly fall over, not prepared for your extra weight to fling you forward. 
“You bitch!” Roman yells, wiping blood from his nose. 
He runs toward you, but there’s someone else tackling him to the ground before he comes close to you. Relief floods your system when you realize Jason is on top of Roman, beating his face to a bloody pulp. 
“Stay,” Jason punches him between each word. “The. Fuck. Away. From. My. Wife!” He screams. 
Roman collapses backwards, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as his face bleeds profusely. Jason stumbles to his feet then quickly rushes toward you. 
“Are you hurt?” He demands, cradling your face. 
Tears spill over but you shake your head, your brain catching up with the terrifying event. Jason pulls close, holding you tight as you sob against his shoulder, so relieved that Holden isn’t hurt. 
“Come on,” Jason whispers to you, kissing your head. “Let’s go home.” 
Despite the gentleness in his voice, you can feel him trembling with anger. 
That night, you curl up against Jason, his strong arms wrapped tightly around you. He reaches one hand down, rubbing his thumb over your stomach. 
“Thank you,” You murmur to him, not specifying what you’re thanking him for. 
The way Jason’s arm momentarily tightens let’s you know that he knows what you’re referring to. 
“Nothing is going to happen to either one of you while I’m around,” Jason promises, pressing a kiss to your head. 
You smile, curling against Jason’s chest, knowing he will do anything to protect you and Holden. 
. . . 
A month later, you’re looking over the early draft for new kingdom policy in Jason’s office when you feel a gush of water. 
“Jason…” You say quietly then a contraction hits, one much harder than the smaller ones you’ve been experiencing all day. 
You're bent over, holding your stomach, your other hand gripping the side of his desk. Jason is instantly on his feet squatting in front of you, not sure how to help. 
“What is it? What’s wrong?” He asks, helping you lower into a chair. 
Another contraction makes you grab your stomach, your eyes squeezing shut for a moment as you take a breath.  
“My water broke,” You manage, feeling another smaller contraction. 
Jason’s eyes widen at the implication, but springs into action. 
. . . 
Ten hours of labor later and you’re collapsed on the bed, your back pressed to Jason’s chest as you hold Holden close to your chest. He’s sleeping peacefully, his eyelids fluttering. You press another kiss to the top of his head, already covered in dark hair. 
“He has your eyes,” You quietly tell Jason, stroking your fingers over Holden’s nose. “And your head, full of hair.” 
Jason grins, gently rubbing a hand down Holden’s back. 
“He’s got your nose,” Jason points out. “And eye shape.” 
You smile fondly at your son, your chest brimming with love and affection.
“We made a pretty cute kid,” Jason grins. 
You turn to look at Jason, kissing him softly. 
“Yeah we did.” 
Welcome to the world, Holden Daniel Todd, you think to yourself. It’s a scary place, but nothing is going to happen to you, not while your dad and I are around. 
You press another kiss to the top of Holden’s head and feel Jason’s arms tighten around you. 
“I love you,” He whispers into your hair. 
You turn, kissing him again. 
“I love you too,” Then lay your head back against Jason’s chest. 
Jason shifts so he’s holding you more closely against him and one hand lays on Holden’s back. You’ve never felt more loved and safe in your life. As another bout of happiness warms your chest, you fall asleep to the sound of your husband’s heartbeat and the feeling of your baby breathing against your chest. 
Shout out to anyone who catches that Witcher reference. Hope you enjoyed! Request are closed until I am caught up again. I’m already working on the next request, hopefully it’ll be done sooner than this one was!
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bnhayyy · 3 years
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The Call (8)
Chapter Title: Catalyst
Wordcount: 3.2k
Fic Tag: Click
Ao3 Link: Click
Chapter Summary: Ymir and Historia make a dangerous discovery.
Notes: I'm one day late in posting, but this is my response to day three of @mikannieweek ! The prompt was fight, so you best believe you're getting a fight. I know that neither Annie nor Mikasa actually appear in this chapter, but since it's very plot-relevant to the fic as a whole, which is very much a Mikannie fic, I say it counts. 
 Celadon is on vacation this week, so thank you to Rinky for betaing for me! Also, if you haven't already, you may want to read Caution and the Inverse before reading this chapter. It's a Yumihisu one-shot taking place in the same universe as The Call, and while it isn't necessary to understand this chapter, it does add some extra context.
Sleep was a tenuous thing for Historia. Sometimes she could get through the night just fine. Sometimes she would toss and turn, barely dozing off during the night and waking up to another morning where she'd have to put on a pleasant face and pretend that everything was fine.
The worst nights were the ones where she woke up screaming.
Sleeping with Ymir's arms wrapped around her helped keep the nightmares at bay. However, even she could not ward them off completely. There were still times when Historia woke up in the middle of the night with visions of Frieda screaming and snarling demons and shattered church windows flashing behind her eyes. In those horrible moments, the lie that was Krista Lenz felt like it was wrapped around her with the intent to suffocate rather than protect.
Ymir helped. But not even Ymir was truly invulnerable, for all that her strength and bravado tried to lull her into thinking she was. Historia had taken steps to protect her girlfriend after the encounter in the club. She had told the college that she was sick and holed up with Ymir in her apartment, where they had set up hidden cameras around the apartment building and made umpteen plans on what to do if the slayers broke in. Or if they forced them out. Or if they ambushed Ymir when she eventually went outside, because for all that Historia would be happy to make daily visits to the butcher's for the rest of her life if it meant keeping Ymir by her side, she knew that couldn't happen.
She couldn't even manage to keep her inside for two weeks.
Ten days. She only managed to remain inside for ten days, Ymir gradually growing more stir-crazy and Historia more anxious, before they broke. And it was all Historia's fault.
With the threat of the slayers breathing down their necks, the nightmares had increased. She had woken up screaming for seven of the past nine nights. When, on that tenth night, she woke up thrashing in Ymir's arms, concerned eyes staring down at her and the alarm clock on the nightstand reading three A.M., she finally gave in.
It was a short distance from her apartment to the river, and one of the few things that could reliably calm her nerves after an episode like that was going for a walk by the water. That evening, when Ymir caressed her hair and gently suggested that they go for a walk, Historia didn't have it in her to turn her down.
It was risky. There was a chance that one or both of the slayers would have found a reason to be by the river. However, Ymir swore up and down that Mikasa was almost always at the graveyard at three A.M. on weekdays and, Annie, who had been following her around like a cat with a mouse, would likely be there as well.
Historia still made Ymir check the cameras to make sure that the slayers weren't waiting for them outside the apartment. When she couldn't catch so much of as a glimpse of them, they set out.
Walking down the shoreline and breathing in the cool autumn night air, Historia couldn't say she regretted it.
Beside her, Ymir shoved her hands into pockets and glanced up at the sky. "So," she began, extending the word in a drawl. "Want to talk about it?"
Historia shrugged. "There isn't really much to talk about," she admitted. "I don't remember much of it. Just..." She swallowed down the lump in her throat and turned her head to look at the water. "Just that it was about Freida."
Nightmares about Freida weren't exactly uncommon. Most of them featured her in one way or another.
Silence hung over the pair for a long moment. It was broken by Ymir saying, "Well, if it helps at all, I think she'd be proud of you."
Historia glanced over at the vampire and raised an eyebrow. "You sound pretty confident for someone who never met her," she said.
There were many additional statements beyond that comment, things that she couldn't bear to delve into. Maybe someday she would. For now, however, she was content to act like they weren't even there.
Now it was Ymir's turn to shrug. "She sounds like she was the soft, sappy type," she said.
"As opposed to you," Historia countered.
" Exactly, " Ymir said. "You understand me so well, Historia! I really am going to need you to marry me one of these days." She shot her a wide, glowing grin and reached over to ruffle her hair. Historia ducked, but wasn't quick enough to avoid getting several locks of hair brushed out of place.
"Ymir," Historia groaned. Her girlfriend responded by lapsing into laughter, and a smile began to form on Historia's face in turn.
"What?" Ymir teased. "I can't help it if you're-"
Ymir froze, her grin faltering before fading away in place of pursed lips and narrowed eyes. She reached out and grabbed Historia's wrist not a second later.
"Ymir?" Historia whispered, her heart already beginning to quiver in her chest. She forced herself not to pay attention to it. If something was happening, then the last thing she needed to do was give in to panic and fear.
It was a good thing that she was already practiced at pushing those feelings down.
"There's someone up ahead," Ymir hissed.
"One of the slayers?" Historia asked.
She knew she was wrong even before Ymir responded. The gleam in her eyes, the tenseness in her muscles - neither of those things would be quite the same if it was the slayers. This was something that she thought might pose a threat to Historia. Then she slowly shook her head, and the confirmation came soon after.
"A vampire."
Historia nodded slowly. "Is it a stranger, or..."
Ymir took in a deep breath through her nose. She closed her eyes for a moment as she focused on the scent. When she opened them, there was a new fire blazing there. "You know him," she said. "I've caught his scent on your clothes before, when you come back from art class."
Art class? Historia didn't even have to stop and mentally run through the list of her classmates. Her mind immediately zeroed in on the immediate suspect, the vampire Ymir suspected of possessing the legendary gem of amara.
"Reiner," Historia breathed. 
Ymir stepped back and tugged on Historia's arm, gentle but insistent. "We should get out of here," she said.
Faintly, Historia realized that Ymir probably had the right idea. However, she could not deny the idea that was beginning to formulate within the depths of her mind... or the dull ache of anger behind the theory that fueled it.
"Wait," Historia said, voice pitching low. "I want to talk to him."
Ymir shot her a startled look. "Are you nuts?" she hissed. "Historia, I smell blood!"
"No," Historia said. "I have an idea."
Ymir hesitated. As she did so, Historia pulled her wrist out of her grasp, grabbed her hand, and looked into her eyes. "I trust you to protect me," she said. "Now trust me on this."
A long moment passed as Ymir stared at her. Finally, the vampire let out a long breath and nodded. "Alright," she said. "What's this plan of yours?"
Historia smiled. "Stay out of sight and follow my lead," she said. "I think it will become clear pretty quickly."
Ymir was once again reduced to staring at her in silence. For a moment, Historia worried that she might go back on her word. However, after a few heartbeats had passed, she nodded and gestured for her to go ahead.
Historia offered a smile that was meant to reassure her girlfriend rather than express any of her own emotions. Then she resumed walking down the shoreline while Ymir wandered off to the side, disappearing into the darkness.
It wasn't long before a figure came into view. Historia slowed her breathing and stepped more carefully, as if her attempts to be quiet would be any real help against a vampire worth their salt.
Except Reiner didn't react as Historia drew closer. Eventually, she drew close enough to make out the shape of a body in the sand beside him, but Reiner didn't move a muscle. He was just standing there, staring out at the ocean. Historia furrowed her eyebrows. There was a chance that he was just faking her out, but she suspected that wasn't the case. She supposed that it might be in part due to the fact that the wind was blowing away from him and toward her. However, she also couldn't help but note that he seemed rather distracted.
Fine. She could use that to her advantage.
Historia drew even closer, drawing forward and closer to the river with each step. The patchy grass beneath her sandals eventually gave way to sand, automatically making her steps fractionally louder. It didn't matter. Reiner still didn't notice, a fact which became a little less surprising when she got close enough to realize that he was talking to himself. She couldn't quite make out the words, but she could see his lips move and make out the low, soft cadence of his voice.
More importantly, she could make out the body beside him. 
It was a dark-haired, pale-skinned woman who looked like she was in her early to mid-thirties. Historia didn't recognize her. She stared blankly for a few seconds, feeling next to nothing. There was a faint sense of sorrow that someone had died at all, but no true distress or grief over a random stranger. Historia knew all too well that people died all the time. If she cried over everyone who met an undeserving fate, she would never be able to stop.
Frieda would have cried. But Historia was no Frieda, no matter how hard she tried. 
So she stood there and stared for a few seconds. Then, steady and inevitable as the tide, her existing, tepid anger began to rise and grow into ice-cold fury. It probably wasn't fury for the right reason, but if the alternative was no strong feelings at all, she would take it. Especially considering what was at stake. 
Another person was dead. That would be another death that the slayers blamed Ymir for. Another reason for them to want her girlfriend dead.
Historia didn't have anything against Reiner. It was horrible that he was killing people, but frankly, as long as he didn't hurt anyone she cared about, she wasn't sure that she'd do anything about it. Reiner was pleasant company, and while she wouldn't help him, she wasn't going to risk the few things she had come to love to bring him to justice. But if it was between him and Ymir...
There weren't many things left that Historia loved in the world, and it had taken her a while to find them. But now that she had them, she wasn't going to let them go for anything.
So Historia plastered a concerned, fearful expression on her face and stepped up to the vampire. "Reiner!" she called. "What are you doing?"
Reiner jolted , and when he turned around, there was genuine surprise in his expression. "Krista," he said. "You're..." His gaze wandered over to the dead body beside him. "I didn't expect you to be here," he finished.
Here. Where he was dumping the body, he meant. Now that she looked, she could see weights attached to the body's hands and ankles.
The river was deep in places. If he handled this right, there was a good chance that the body would never be found again. Which explained where all the other bodies went. And oh, how much easier it became to let someone else take the blame for your crimes when there was no body to tie it back to you.
Not that Krista was supposed to catch on to all of that so quickly. Instead, she looked up at Reiner with large, watering eyes, and asked, "What is 'here'? Reiner, that's a body. We need to do something! We need to call the police or... or..."
She trailed off. Reiner was looking off to the side and running his hand through his hair, his jaw gritted and tension in his shoulders. It was probably safe for her to "realize" now.
"Did you do this?" Historia whispered, coaching her expression into one of dawning horror.
"Shit," Reiner said. "I'm sorry Krista. I didn't want you to get pulled into this."
A warm flame of vindictive triumph flickered in Historia's stomach as she took a step back and held a shaking hand up to her mouth. "Reiner, are you the one behind the disappearances?" she asked.
"Yeah," Reiner said, his expression hardening. "And I'm sorry, but I can't-"
He was cut off by someone fast enough to very nearly be a drill running up and punching him in the chest, sending him flying down the shoreline. "Thanks for the confession," Ymir snarled.
Reiner managed to land on his feet and was back upright in seconds. He looked at Historia, hard eyes meeting her flinty ones, before looking over at Ymir. "Ymir, I'm guessing."
"I'm surprised you didn't catch on," Ymir said, placing her hands on her hips. "I thought the slayers would have told you about us."
Reiner smiled unhappily. "The consensus is that Krista's being manipulated," he said.
"I'm not," Historia said, voice stony.
"Yeah," Reiner replied. "I'm getting that sense."
As Reiner began drawing closer, Ymir took a nigh-unnoticeable half-step back toward Historia and tapped her wrist. A sign to back off. Historia frowned, but reluctantly began stepping back, only stopping when she was several yards away from the other two. 
"What I'm wondering," Reiner continued as he took a slow step forward, voice level and suspicious, "is how you knew about me."
"You don't recognize me?" Ymir asked. Her eyes were gleaming the way they did when she was about to do something dangerous, and her feet shifted into a more solid fighting stance. "I'm surprised, seeing as I killed your friend and all. Marvel, or something?"
Reiner froze. A shadow fell over his face for half a second, then melted away as his eyes flashed yellow and his face morphed into the snarled visage as a vampire. "You're lying," he spat.
"You seem awfully upset, if I'm just supposed to be a liar," Ymir remarked.
"Marcel was killed by the slayer."
"Sorry to disappoint." Ymir shrugged. "But hey, he's gone and you're here, so I'd say it worked out pre-"
Reiner charged at her. Ymir lunged to the side but was unable to avoid his blow completely. She let out a hiss and staggered, knocked off-balance as his fist grazed her shoulder. Reiner swung around to aim a blow to her head, but Ymir quickly ducked, raising her arms and aiming a kick at his stomach.
But Reiner pulled his punch and grabbed Ymir's leg before she could make contact. Historia’s stomach wrenched at the sharp crack as Reiner pulled Ymir's leg in two directions. At the same time, Ymir twisted around to grab Reiner's shoulders and flipped herself up and out of his grasp. As she twisted, Historia noticed her grab a stake out of her back pocket.
Historia barely even had a moment to wonder at the fact that her vampire girlfriend was carrying around a stake before Ymir plunged the offending object into Reiner's back, right over his heart.
Reiner gasped and jerked forward.
Ymir pulled the stake out and took a step back.
He should have turned to dust. Instead, Historia watched as the hole in his back instantly closed, leaving only a hole in the back of his shirt.
Reiner took a few steps away from Ymir before turning around. There, the pair stared at each other for a long moment, Reiner's hand hovering over his heart and Ymir leaning heavily on one leg. Finally, Ymir's gaze flickered down to Reiner's hand. "Nice ring," she said. "Wonder how you'd fare against me without it."
"I don't plan on finding out," Reiner said, smiling grimly.
Reiner charged at Ymir, but she lunged forward and grappled him, pivoting on her uninjured leg and using his own momentum to fling him into the river. He hit the waves with a splash and sank like a rock, although Historia knew that it wouldn't keep him down for too long.
Ymir knew it too. She raced over to Historia, or at least, moved as fast as she could in her condition, and moved to pick her up.
Historia wriggled out of her girlfriend's grip and hissed, "Ymir, your leg!"
"Will heal no matter how badly I fuck it up," Ymir said. Historia might have even bought it if her gritted teeth didn't give away how much pain she was actually in. "But you-"
"-Can move faster than you right now," Historia interrupted. "Let's be smart about this." With that, she manhandled Ymir’s arm over her shoulders and all but dragged her girlfriend back up to the path. Once they were on even cement, she picked up the pace and began walking as fast as possible while aiding Ymir. 
For her part, Ymir was forced to slump and clearly reluctant to actually lean on her. However, once Historia started speeding up, she gave in and allowed her to bear some of her weight. Historia might have smiled if it weren't for the dire situation.
"Is he following us?" Historia asked.
"No,” Ymir said. "He isn't gonna. He still has to take care of the body. He's gone this long without a corpse being found, it'd mean a lot of trouble if one shows up now. Besides..." Ymir let out a pained laugh. "I staked him. He knows he’d be dead without that ring. He'd be an idiot not to let us get away."
Historia nodded and tried to swallow down her unease. She wasn't about to slow down and gamble on Reiner's willingness to let them escape, but it was good to know that she probably didn't have to worry about a furious vampire attacking them from behind. Even if there were what felt like a million other things that she did have to contend with. Such as...
"I'm sorry I got you hurt," Historia murmured. Since her car was now in sight, she allowed her gaze to drop for a moment before fixing it dead ahead once more.
Ymir laughed again, this time a little less pained and a lot more triumphant. "Hey, don't worry about it," she said. "What you got us is a lot more useful than an uninjured leg. Speaking of which... do you think you could get me a few phone numbers?"
Historia didn't even need to think about it. Being Krista Lenz, warm, kind, and so very involved with her school, came with a lot of benefits. However, she did pause as she led Ymir over to the passenger side door. Once her girlfriend was secure, she walked around to the driver's seat and climbed in. As she buckled her seatbelt and put the key in the ignition, she said, "Of course."
"Good," Ymir replied. A grim smile spread across her lips. "It's about time Ackerman and her friends found out who they're dealing with."
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(Prompts with boxes have been taken, highlighted have been written)
Requests for this card are closed, thank you to anyone who sent in requests! If you don’t want to see these you can block the tag #false bthb. As always shoot me an ask if you wanna be tagged in future stories, whether it be for bad things happen bingo or any of the other series, one shots or in general!
I’ve been picking at this particular request since early December as the person who requested it had a lot of details they wanted put in making the writing process a bit more challenging. As a disclaimer, note that the chapter is split between present time and the past; with Logan recalling things in his past in an attempt to make the details requested for the story flow better. I received this request from AO3.
General taglist: @im-an-anxious-wreck
Experimental Socialization
Summary: Logan was raised by the government to be nothing more than an experiment and a weapon, utilizing his unique abilities as a mutant. When he finally escapes things are much different than he imagined they’d be but thankfully finds others like him willing to help guide him right where he needs to be.(Happy Ending)
Warnings: allusions to abuse, physical punishment and human experimentation, tw for weapons and fire, panic attack. If there are more please let me know
Prompt; Not Used To Freedom (requested by AngstyEmoGal on AO3)
Ships: Intrulogical, Logan x Remus
WC: 3432
“You just gotta breathe, Logan. In four, hold seven, out eight remember? You’re doing great, just keep going.”
Logan felt himself slowly coming back to reality as his breathing evening out, the raw panic that had gripped his chest easing slightly as Virgili continued coaxing him through the exercise. He felt the other slowly rub up and down his arm in a slow, steady beat that helped ground him further in reality and he smiled up at his friend gratefully and nodded to let xem know he was okay. Gripping his knees as Virgil’s voice trailed off he squeezed his eyes shut tightly and let out one last calming breath.
“Thank you, Virgil. I-” He struggled to find words, gesturing flippantly in the air making Virgil grin.
“It’s okay. Take your time, L.”
Logan puffed his cheeks out in frustration, thoughts swirling too quickly for him to comprehend anything but the apprehensive fear he held for the plans Remus had made for them later that evening. “I am- not used to being outside. Given my history and the threat I pose as a potential compromise to our place of hiding I fail to understand Remus’ reasoning for going out when we could just as easily celebrate our relationship here.”
“Hm.” Virgil leaned back on xyr hands and looked up at the low ceiling of their underground paradise. “Can’t really see the stars from here, no matter how many stickers Princey finds and puts up it can't really be compared to the real thing.”
Logan had made the mistake of going on a tirade of space facts a few months into his stay in the hideout, Remus patiently listening to the extensive infodump of constellation facts and space physics and planetary rotation. Having a limited amount of books to entertain oneself with for extended periods of time meant memorizing entire books on one subject, which Logan had used all too happily as a figurative escape from his situation in the past until he had actually managed to escape when he was 16. Hearing Logan speak so passionately about the subject had apparently made his mind up that he was taking Logan outside for their first “official” date to view the stars, which had then landed Logan in his current state of panic as he realized that date was today and he was decidedly not ready for what might lay in store outside of safety of the hideout.
“I can stay close by if you want. I won’t spy or anything and Remus won’t have to know.” Logan looked over as his thoughts were interrupted by the offer, Virgil turning invisible and reappearing a couple seconds later to emphasize xyr point. Smiling Logan shook his head, knowing the other derived as much joy from going outside as Logan felt about going himself.
“Thank you for the offer though, you’re very kind.” Letting his thoughts drift again he idly wondered when Virgil had discovered xe could disappear and reappear at will and if xyr parents had tried to hide it before the government had found out. His own parents-
-----
“Logan?” A very small Logan turned at his mother’s voice, losing his concentration which made the hidden jar of Crofters fall from its suspended place in the air and smash to the floor. His parents hadn’t known he possessed any sort of powers, and even as small as he was he still understood the position he’d put them in if they ever found out. Fearfully his hands dropped to his sides as his mother covered her mouth in shock, tears rolling down her cheeks as she took a step back.
Men in suits and long coats were there just a few hours later, speaking in hushed voices while both of his parents cried and he was ushered out the door and into an unmarked car, quiet as he understood yelling and crying would do him no good now. What’s done was done, all he could do was be compliant and hope to be treated gently.
-----
The room suddenly brightening with a flickering light brought him back out of his thoughts, Roman entering with his signature bright flame held proudly in his hand. The image of him in his rather scrapped together Princely outfit posing subconsciously in the doorway was almost enough to make Logan roll his eyes but he didn’t want Virgil to think it was because of xem so he managed to restrain himself.
“My dearest brother has been pacing in the same spot for two hours now and I haven't been able to calm him down soooo I thought to check on our resident nerd.” Roman declared with his usual flare. Logan actually did roll his eyes this time but Virgil did as well so he figured it was fine.
“The ‘resident nerd’ is doing fine, Roman. Though it's concerning to hear Remus is nervous as well considering he’s the one who suggested the date.”
Roman waved his hand at Logan dismissively. “He’s just a sap- moreso than me surprisingly. He doesn’t want to do anything to put you in danger but he wants to do something nice, so he’s worried that’s all. Remus is an idiot but I trust him with my life; believe me when I say you have nothing to worry about except his terrible sense of humor.”
Logan merely hummed in response, staring at the way the flame moved around as Roman gestured with his words.
-----
He panted as he rolled out of the way of another flamethrower, singeing the tips of his hair in the process but he couldn’t afford to slow down enough to worry about that. Years of training with different fighting styles had earned him incredibly fast reflexes but a good portion of his accuracy in knowing where to step and when was owed to him working even harder to focus his powers. Thoughts from others constantly surrounded him on a regular basis, getting more and more prevalent the older he grew. Learning to block out the constant string of stimuli was a useful skill to keep him sane but learning to hone in on specific thoughts to predict actions was what had kept him alive.
He ducked below another bullet and brought up his leg in the same motion, kicking a throwing knife to the side and sending it to clatter harmlessly between one of his assailants feet. A twirl to the side and a tilt of the head let another bought of flame boil the air beside him while another knife just barely brushed his ear. The constant bang of bullets and roar of flames and whistling of knives was overwhelming and made the air so thick he could barely draw a breath and it was becoming a struggle to concentrate the way he needed to and-
A high pitched alarm sounded one, twice, three times- a blaring flash accompanying it that left him blinking painfully. His shoulders slumped as the barrage finally ended, another successful training day completed. He watched as everyone began putting their weapons away, laughing and congratulating each other, clapping themselves on the back and discussing whatever they had planned after this. No one even spared the thing they had been firing at seconds before a spare glance, save for the director of the branch, who took long steps forward to stand in front of him only to snap his fingers and motion forward no doubt to see him back to his room until dinner. Absorbing the sounds around him he drank in as much praise as he could that wasn’t his and would never be for him; people rarely congratulated weapons after all.
-----
“Is this where we all decided to hide today?” Logan looked up to see Patton sitting cross legged on one one of the beams in the ceiling, grinning happily down at them even as their fluffy ears twitched nervously and even fluffier tail whipped back and forth in agitation. They must have come back from trying to calm Remus as well, Logan mused; Patton had never done well being in the same room as Remus who tended to voice his thoughts abruptly and without much care to how they might sound to others which always managed to set Patton on edge no matter how hard they tried not to show it.
Patton was a rare mutant in that as opposed to being born with abnormal traits or abilities they had been a science experiment from the start- an effort to create super soldiers rather than stealing them away from families and training them. Even rarer was the fact that the DNA splicing had taken extraordinarily well by pure chance as Patton was born with a mutation that left their DNA incredibly malleable- a mutation that never would have been discovered had cellular manipulation not been the reason for them being in the experimental branch that they were. They had tried cloning Patton at first to see if their power could be duplicated but when that failed to work they began trying to combine them with different animals to see if desirable traits would come forward. By manipulating them on a physical and anatomical level they were able to change some parts of them to be more cat like, intending, Patton had guessed, to turn them into a kind of stealth soldier but they got away before they completed it, leaving them with heightened agility and surgically coaxed cat ears and a tail. They were only a child when the lab had done this but somehow they were never bitter, simply preferring to leave their past alone and embrace whatever future they could make- a trait Logan greatly admired them for even if their unending optimism could be somewhat grating at times.
“Did Janus brush your tail out Pat? It looks fluffier today.” Patton preened at Virgil's compliment, their tail beginning to wave in a more relaxed manner as their mind was distracted from whatever it was Remus had been ranting about.
“He did! He found a cat brush and got it for me so I could finally get the undercoat out!” Jumping down and landing lightly on their feet they posed a little and flashed another wide grin.
“Beautiful as always, Patton.” Roman said genuinely as he lowered his hand into a barrel to light up the paper scraps and wood in it for the night, the dim sunlight that had filtered through the grated having long since died. The home was a modified branch of a sewer system, thankfully the part most removed from the city where it flowed without the stench and was sealed off inconspicuously enough that in the ten years Janus and Remus had been using it no worker had ever found it.
-----
It had been Janus and Remus who had found him, beaten and bloody from an escape attempt he had made just days before his real one. He had made a weak attempt to coax the scientists into a false sense of security, holding back the full scoop of his powers during training for a year in anticipation for his final escape. He had punished severely but had simply thrown him in his regular cell, assuming he wasn’t strong enough to do any more damage than they had seen him do already and trusting that they had beaten him down enough that it would be a while before he tried again- if he ever did. Not six days later the mangled metal of the front of his cell was tossed into a group of guards, walls torn apart in a straight line to the exit and the huge buzzing gates leading to the outside world thrown open wide and stuck there with varying amounts of heavy debris.
The outside world, as it turns out, was a lot bigger and louder and downright terrifying when you weren’t being sent out as a personal assassin or field missions or training sessions- all controlled on some level to keep him from being killed and compromised. Without the begrudged protection from the labs and moreover having to hide from said lab was another story entirely. The times they searched for him and how closely they came to his spots were random and made it incredibly hard for him to pick out their thoughts from anyone else’s in the city and figure out how close they were. On more than one occasion they passed right by him crouched under piles of garbage or laying low under a hedge, his breath held as he tried desperately to keep himself as still and quiet as possible, thoughts of what they would to him once they found him pounding against his head and making him squeeze his eyes shut to keep his terrified tears from falling.
That was how Remus had found him. It had been dark and hours had passed since the searchers had left that park he had been hiding in. He had still been hiccuping down his sobs as he rolled out from under the hedge that he hadn’t bothered to scope the area for anyone’s close by thoughts, having shut out as much as he could after they had left to try and block out any other hate fueled thoughts that may send him spiraling again. His heart had leapt in his throat so high his breath caught painfully, immediately shifting to offense as he tensed, ready to fight as long and hard as he could. He couldn’t go back- he wouldn’t. No matter what they did or promised him or punished him with; he’d go down fighting or not at all.
But Remus had only raised his hands in the air in a motion of peace, eyes widening as he locked onto the government issued bracelet that marked him as an experimental mutant. He had grinned impossibly wide then Logan remembered, briefly disappearing from his sight and reappearing a moment later, setting him even more on edge but curious nonetheless.
“I’m like you.” Remus had said quietly. “Basically I run real fast and the government hasn’t figured out how to get me yet.”
Logan had watched as he jiggled his wrists a bit for emphasis, bare save for colored chords that he assumed didn’t associate him with any government branch since they didn’t look official.
“Are you okay?” Remus had asked next and mutely Logan nodded, unsure of how to react to this fellow mutant who had never been caught by any sort of lab, apparently living as free as one could when you were as different as they were. He stepped back as another man appeared behind him, Janus he later learned.
“Liar.” Janus had hissed, making Remus reach around and smack the back of his head.
“It was a polite thing to ask that he tried to dismiss Jan. Let the adults speak for a second.”
Logan had noted the faint pout on Janus’ face though he was still trying very hard to look intimidating. And then all at once his eyes had turned cold as his attention was once again focused on Logan, glaring menacingly from beneath a black bowler hat. “I’m younger than you and yet I’m the one that has to put my foot down. He’s being chased clearly; we are not bringing him back with us.”
Remus has turned, Logan seemingly forgotten for the moment. “That’s not how it works! He needs help and we’re not leaving him to starve or be found in the middle of a park! What would Patton say?”
“Patton is a soft fool who needs to figure out where their morals stand. I myself am choosing not to compromise our place of hiding and three other people that you know those power hungry idiots would love nothing more than to get their hands on!”
Remus rolled his eyes so hard his head had lolled with it, face going pale as he watched something in the sky. It was then that Logan heard the telling sound of a helicopter flying low and getting closer but he had barely tensed before he found himself gripped around the middle and held vertically with the ground flying underneath him. They stopped abruptly and he was set down, blinking in rapid confusion as Remus grinned sheepishly at him.
“Welcome to the hideout?”
Logan’s eyes had widened and his breath had caught yet again, chest tightening as he shook his head vehemently. “You can’t- I need to go back! They’ll do anything to get me back-!”
He was stopped from going forward with a finger to his chest, his blue eyes locking with beautiful brown as Remus held his gaze. “And we will do everything to keep you safe.”
Safe. With that one word Logan was his. He hadn’t known why and he still didn’t quite understand it but he had trusted Remus with everything he had- and he still did. Even as Janus had stalked off grumbling and Virgil and Roman had kept their distance at first Remus had kept him close and showed him how much better his life could be, even if they were living in a modified sewer system.
Back in the present he looked up as a hand was thrust under his chin, smiling softly as he took Remus’ hand and let himself be led away from the others’ idle chatter. He counted himself extremely lucky in the end that Janus had eventually come around to him, seeing how happy he made Remus and how Remus made Logan feel it had been him to finally talk to Logan about it and get the two to officially talk about how they felt, going on about the being “hopeless gay idiots” when they had finally started to date officially. Logan wasn’t sure what he’d do without Remus at this point, just a year later and he was so attached to their small group of hideaways he wouldn’t trade for the world.
They approached the exit to the sewers, Remus swinging their hands between them. Logan held his breath right before they crossed the threshold, closing his eyes and letting it out slowly as his feet met grass and he opened his eyes to the darkened field. There were a few tunnels that lead out to different places depending on where they needed to go and this, Remus had told him, was his favorite because of how empty it was. The city lay far in the distance so there was almost no light pollution to block out the sky. Soft grass and flowers brushed his ankles as he scanned the area carefully, seeing nothing but trees lining the far end of the field with a road so far away he could barely, make it out in the darkness. Remus tugged his hand softly to get his attention, searching his eyes for any hint of discomfort.
“Is this okay?’
Logan took another breath and let it out, the last of his nerves fading away as he took in the quiet. “It’s perfect Remus.”
The other grinned and tugged a little harder this time, walking fast to the middle of the field where he stopped suddenly and raised Logan’s arm up to lead him into an impromptu twirl. Logan laughed quietly and then louder as he was dipped, secure in Remus’ strong hold as he reached up to grip the back of his neck. He was safe. He was free and safe and happy finally with someone who truly loved and cared for him. His breath caught in his throat again but this time in awe, Remus chuckling as he was laid down carefully tucked into his side, till with his arms around his neck.
The stars shone bright and winked lazily while swirls of color dusted faintly behind them. The moon was waning, a barely there light that let the beauty behind it show fully as the wind whisked away any clouds that dared to try and cover it. It was everything Logan had ever hoped it would be and more, excitement thrumming through him as he squeezed Remus tightly in an attempt to convey it. He felt Remus grin against his scalp where his face was buried in his hair.
“It’s beautiful isn't it?”
Logan looked back at him, light from the stars reflected in his eyes and wild brown hair framing his face. He leaned up slightly and kissed him, a faint brush of their lips that left them both grinning like the idiots they were. Placing a hand on Remus’ cheek Logan smiled at him, thumb brushing over his cheek in adoration.
“Absolutely stunning.”
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1kook · 5 years
Text
skirt chasers
jjk x (f) reader
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summary “Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn’t know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls.” tags f2l, triple texting king kook, ncampus crush kook who is also the weird gamer boy, the skirt aspect is forgotten towards the end tbh, dumbassery is a disease and we are all affected by it, confessions SO CORNY it could be a 2005 teen romcom warnings smut in the form of: unprotected sex, use of mirrors, mostly heavy petting as foreplay I’m sorry, mentions of Jk’s furry ways as a gag kinda, like an unnecessary amount of swearing  wc 7.8k 
to make a long story short, i saw this nsfw gif and wrote this entire fic between 2 am and 6 am anyway i actually really like how this turned out!! lmk when u think
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Part of the ideology behind the pleated skirt was in hopes that buying a new wardrobe would somehow help you rebrand your image around campus. Truthfully, it was kinda too late for that now; you’d been here going on three years, your friends and anyone with eyes could see that the style of clothing you leaned towards favored comfort over fashion. However, someone—it might’ve been Taehyung—had gone on a drunken spiel the other night concerning the importance of presenting oneself via fashion. It wasn’t aimed at you, but it certainly left you wondering. 
Which is how you find yourself shivering to the bone now, lingering around the west quad as you wait for Jungkook to come out of an anatomy lab. He’s at that point in the semester where grades mean nothing and everything to him at the same time, so Namjoon’s commissioned you and your other pals to take turns babysitting him once a week to make sure he gets at least some assignments done. 
You don’t know where any of you would be without Kim Namjoon.
Anyway, your legs are fucking cold and if this is what it takes to be known as the fashionably cute girl around campus, you’d rather choke. The imaginary sound of your bones rattling is cut off when Jungkook throws the door nearest you open, his big dopey smile engulfing his face the moment he sees you. He barely acknowledges the gaggle of students that follow after him, all calling out a chorus of goodbyes to him, because unlike you Jungkook was the cute, campus boy crush with his suave looks and comfortable fashion. God, if only you could pull off sweats and mustard-stained Venom shirts like him.
“Lets go,” you yawn, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of your long cardigan. Jungkook jogs over, slinging an arm around your shoulders and nearly knocking you into the emergency telephone you’d been brooding by. “You smell sterile again.”Jungkook grins. 
“That’s because I was touching dead people again,” he informs you, too giddy for someone who’d probably fingered the fuck out of a gallbladder twenty minutes ago. 
“Ew,” you whine, the sudden urge to shove Jungkook and his dead people germs away from you. He cackles in your face, and you wonder again how he single handedly enthralls half the campus population with a laugh like a seagull. 
You’ve barely moved ten feet when Jungkook finally notices your vibrating body, and it’s only because you’re nearly convulsing with shivers at this point. “Woah, what are those,” he exclaims, eyes pointedly eyeing your legs. 
You know your bare legs are a rare sight when Jungkook has to resolve to overused memes to refer to them. 
“They’re my legs, and they’re fucking freezing,” you calmly reply. 
Jungkook seems shocked for only a moment longer, and you almost think he’s gotten over it when he suddenly snorts and scares the shit out of you in the middle of the crosswalk. “Why the fuck are you wearing a skirt in this weather, you dinglehead?” 
You shove him, and he stumbles over the curb, but you get the feeling he’d do that without you pushing him. Jungkook was clumsier than Namjoon on his bad days. “I’m trying to be fashionable, you hater,” you huff, not even bothering to say thank you when he pulls open the coffee shop door for you. “I shouldn’t have to explain myself to someone who doesn’t even wear the right size shirt.” 
Like always, he’s one step ahead of you and hands the cashier his card before you can even reach for your wallet. Next time. “Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn’t know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls.” 
“For your information I bought this from H&M,” you retort, though you can’t hide the flush that warms your cheeks at his comment. “Also, what's the point of working out your hotbod if you’re just gonna hide it under shirts long enough to be a mini-dress, huh? Riddle me that, Jeon.” 
You flinch when your bare thigh touches the cold seat of the booth, something Jungkook doesn’t miss. “Your skirt is mad short,” he points out, and you kick his shins. 
You’ve already got a Google Doc open on your laptop from last night when you and Jimin had been going ham on a psych essay, but you also have a Fashion Nova cart on another window that’s just begging for you to check out. 
“Short skirts are just a concept made by men with lingering eyes to demean and belittle women who don’t submit to their every want and need.” 
“Oh my god,” he groans, and you watch him muffle a laugh into his palm as he gets his own work out. “Do you think I’m gonna pull the meninist card out on you and call you a slut or something?” 
You fake gasp, eyes wide and shocked as you give him your best disappointed face. “Jeon, how could you? I expected better from you.”  
This time he does laugh, a dorky sound unlike his witch cackle from earlier, and you finally let a smile slip. Jungkook was funny, too sweet and kind hearted for his own good. A little dumb, but most cute guys were. He’s one of those guys who thinks girls are nice to him out of their own free will, and not because they’re trying to bag the campus hottie. 
“Seriously,” he says once he’s pulled his fat anatomical reference book out, stuffed to the brim with worn scientific essays he’d printed out, and pictures he’d taken at every single one of his visits to the cadaver lab. His voice is earnest and genuine when he speaks again. “You can wear whatever you want, I was just curious about the skirt ‘cause you normally wear things past the knee and elbow.” 
When he puts it like that you kinda sound surprisingly conservative. 
You shrug, tapping away at your computer as if the sight of you in anything other than what he said isn’t really weird. “Just thought I’d try something new. Why, does it look too weird?” Your voice suddenly feels meek, and you’re not sure if your cheeks are warm from the chill outside or from something else. 
Jungkook shakes his head, coconut hair bouncing from side to side. “Nah, you look cute,” he says, and then, as if an afterthought, adds, “weirdly sexy, too. Like you belong in a Brazzers video?” 
“What the fuck, Jungkook,” you groan, sinking your head into your palms. 
“What! You asked for my opinion and I gave you it,” he defends, too casual for someone spewing their unwarranted porn knowledge at you. You urge him to do his homework, drink his coffee, anything besides embarrass you further. 
He does, but you don’t miss the goofy way he glances under the table one more time. 
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The pleated skirt makes it’s return three weeks later, this time accompanied by her best friend, the sheer pantyhose. 
“Oh, who’s this sexy schoolgirl?” Taehyung exclaims the moment you step into the diner. Your cheeks flush red when the family beside you send you and your friends a disapproving look. 
“That’s what I said!” Jungkook says as he gets up to let you slide into the booth. He has this incessant need to be sitting at the end of the booth just in case nature calls in the middle of dinner and he can’t usher the rest of you out fast enough. 
(It almost happened once, and the sight of Jungkook shoving Hoseok flat on his ass had been too funny to forget.) 
“Wait a minute, is that why you stopped using EOS and started using the Dove shaving cream?” Chaeyoung interrogates from across you. “So you could show off your sexy model legs?” 
“No, Dove is just cheaper,” you reply, trying to sound as aloof as possible but if anyone at this table knew you like the back of their hand, it was definitely Chaeyoung. “Why can’t you guys let me live my best life?” 
Taehyung scoffs. “Who the fuck are you?” 
“Who the fuck are you?” You snap back, but your level of sass can never seem to match his. 
“We all know your ‘best life’ would be spent in those fuzzy Cookie Monster pajama pants and one of Kook’s big ass shirts,” he points out, and you hide behind your menu much to everyone’s amusement. 
You whine, “why can’t you all just be supportive besties and tell me I look cute?” 
“You look gorgeous, babe,” Chaeyoung assures you, gesturing for you to pass her the sugar for her coffee. “It’s just weird seeing your legs out. Almost weirder than if you randomly pulled your tits out right now.” 
Behind her, you can see the same mom from the family glaring at you guys. You lower your head in shame. 
“For the record, I’m team skirt, but I wouldn’t be opposed to the other,” Jungkook adds after being silent for so long. Taehyung fist bumps him as you slap your hand over your eyes. At this rate you’d rather just put a paper bag over your head. 
“We’re sitting on the same side of the table, so you’re supposed to be on my side!” You groan, and Jungkook shrugs mid-milkshake sip. 
“I am!” He splutters once he’s gulped down the thick substance. “I just said I was team skirt, did I not?” His scandalized pout twists into the same sneaky little smile he has whenever Taehyung has convinced him and Jimin to do something stupid. “But I’m also a man, and therefore, a skirt chaser,” he winks. 
From the other side of the table Taehyung’s eyes twinkle. “Bro, your mind,” he says in awe. He reaches over to shake Jungkook’s hand as if he’s just presented the table with some riveting discovery in the medical field, and the fucker has the nerve to look smug about it too. 
“You guys are so stupid,” Chaeyoung whispers right before the server sets her pancakes down. 
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“Hey, have you seen Joon’s book? He said he might’ve left it—oh, Jesus, fuck sorry,” Jungkook says before whirling around to face the wall. 
You turn from your bent over position by your bed where you’d been rummaging around for a book you coulda sworn you stuffed there last week. Jungkook’s blazing cheeks don’t register with you until you realize your favorite skirt is draping over your rear, giving him a clear view of your dorky star-printed panties. 
“Kook,” you stammer, quickly jumping to your feet and brushing your hands over your skirt. “H-How’d you get in?” You ask for lack of greeting. 
“Um, uh,” Jungkook stutters, eyes laser focused on some point on your wall. “Chaeyoung let me in.” 
“Oh,” you say, and then silence falls over the two of you. 
Holy shit this was awkward. 
Despite being friends for going on three years, you don’t ever remember there being any stale moments between you and Jungkook. You were the type of friends that just clicked, never having gone through that awkward phase before. But you’d also never seen each other in any state less than presentable. (Being drunk at parties did NOT count, and even then, you’ve always been pretty collected.) 
To know that he’s seen your ass, covered or not, tilted your Golden Friendship with Jungkook scale extremely off center. Your fingers twiddle at your sides, not really sure if you should mention what just happened or… what?
He coughs, and you snap back to reality. “Um,” he drawls, still not looking at you but at the socks you’d thrown off the second you got home. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes, voice soft and earnest in that Jungkook™ way that made all the girls swoon. “I should’ve knocked before coming in all rude.” He finally gathers the balls to look you in the eye, and the dude looks like a kicked puppy. 
“No,” you wave him off, hands fluttering in front of you because standing like some Macy’s holiday mannequin certainly isn’t making this situation any easier. “It’s okay, the skirt—y’know this wouldn’t happen if I just wore pants,” you say, tacking on a self-deprecating laugh. It’s your turn to look away in shame. 
Jungkook jumps at your words. “The skirt’s cute!” He basically shouts and you flinch at the sudden increase in his tone. Then you’re both left looking at each other wide-eyed again as he scrambles to assure you it isn’t your fault. “I like it, and it makes your legs look really nice, so don’t-“ he stutters, as if realizing the meaning in his words, “don’t stop wearing it...” he trails off, cheeks rosy. Your mind goes blank. 
“R-Really?” You stutter, surprised at his compliment. It’s not like Jungkook never complimented you—dude couldn’t go fifteen minutes without telling his friends how much he loved them—but for some reason it feels different now. 
“Yeah,” he assures you. “Makes you look nice, and um. Pretty.” 
“Jeon Jungkook telling me I look pretty? Someone call TigerBeat magazine,” you joke, trying to ease the tension somehow. Your chuckle sounds awfully robotic to your ears, but it makes Jungkook crack a smile and that’s all that matters. 
“Shut up. You know I’m not friends with ugly people.” 
“Wooow,” you laugh, real this time. “How noble of you,” you retort, and he gives you his best snobby expression possible. 
“Ya, you’re welcome,” he teases, and then suddenly remembers what he came for in the first place. “Give me Joon’s planner, I know you’re holding it hostage.” 
You roll your eyes, and point over to the notebook on your desk that’s absolutely overflowing with sticky notes and bookmarks. “As if I’d want his nerd diary ruining the good vibes in here.” 
“These good vibes smell a lot like Bath and Body Works perfumes, you cheapskate,” Jungkook says as he snatches the book off the surface. He’s at the door again, narrowing you with another faux uppity look when he adds, “this is a Victoria’s Secret Bombshell household.” 
“Bombshe—you don’t even live here!” You huff in laughter, ushering him down the hall to the front door. He’s half a foot out the door when he suddenly whirls around, making you take a step back in surprise. 
“The stars are cute, but I prefer hearts.” 
He slams the door shut behind him so fast, that you almost don’t catch the smirk tacked on at the end. 
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You were many things, but a liar was not one of them. You couldn’t lie to your parents when you were younger and wanted to sneak out, to your teacher when she asked where your homework was, or to your friends when they asked you who you liked. You couldn’t even lie to yourself. 
You’ll admit it, there was a time your eyes had lingered a little longer on Jungkook. When you would spend moments tracing the slope of his jawline, and memorizing the twinkle in his eyes. He was devastatingly handsome, and you would be blind not to see it. 
But that was before you became close friends—before game nights at Hoseok’s became a regular staple in your schedule, before your little makeshift picnics in the quad, before you all became Park Jimin’s dedicated fan club (it’s a rotating unit consisting of whoever’s able to go to Jimin’s showcases). 
Those fantasies of kissing Jungkook and going on dates were stuffed to the back as you became pals. As you’ve mentioned a million times now, Jungkook was the campus dream boy. He was hardly the skirt chaser he made himself out to be, too sweet and romantic for his own good. Besides, there was no need to be when the skirts flocked to him. 
He’d had flings, and even girlfriends, in the time you’ve known him, but he rarely mentioned them to his friends. And even though you pushed that teensy crush aside, you still wondered how Jungkook acted with girls he was interested in, if it was the same he treated you and Chaeyoung, or special on an intimate level a platonic friendship could never be. 
It’s the middle of the night when you first get a glimpse. 
[1:21 am] jk wyd 
[1:21 am] you sleeping , u? 
[1:22 am] jk same anyway I finally beat world 8 in super Mario bros
[1:25 am] you omg the 1 w dry bowser?? [1:26 am] you wait u said u wouldn’t play w/o me :/
[1:27 am] jk u suck at Luigi and u know it 
[1:30 am] you fuck u  [1:31 am] you ok but seriously what do u want I have a test tmrw morning and am pretending to be asleep 
[1:32 am] jk damn ok can’t I just talk to my friend about my successes  [1:33 am] jk but if u must know 
[1:33 am] you I must 
There’s a lull in messages for a while, and you decide you should finally actually go to sleep, dabbing some spot ointment onto your skin before hopping in bed. You turned off the overhead light long ago, so the only light illuminating you now is the lamp by your bedside. You tap your phone once again right as Jungkook sends another message. 
[1:40 am] jk you looked really pretty today
Oh. Your entire body pauses for a moment to process the sudden message, cheeks slowly heating up. You roll your lips in to stop the squeal that threatens to rip itself out of your throat, scrambling for something to type. But it’s the first time he’s randomly thrown something like this on you, and your brain feels like that episode of Spongebob when everything’s on fire. 
Before you can send the jumbled letters you’d convinced yourself was acceptable, your phone vibrates with another alert. 
[1:42 am] jk I know its weird to say that but I gotta make sure someone told u at least once today 
Your heart flutters at the explanation, and you have to slap a hand over your face to get rid of the goody smile that overtakes your features. This time, you’re a little less thrown off and quickly tap out a reply before he can say anything else. 
[13:43 am] you thanks kook :) was it the red skirt lol 
You’d been experimenting with different skirts lately, quickly growing bored of the black pleated skirt you’d originally worn. Your latest trip to the mall had you coming home with a variety of colors and styles, like the dark red denim one you’d worn today. 
[1:45 am] jk no!!!! [1:45 am] jk maybe… [1:46 am] jk ok yes you looked gorgeous 
The tiny letters blink back at you, and you set your phone down for a second to smile stupidly at your dark ceiling. You only let yourself wildly kick your legs around for five seconds because Chaeyoung was asleep next door. 
[1:47 am] you haha well I’ll make sure to wear it again for u :)
It’s only after you’ve sent the message that the last two words have you stuffing your face into your pillow to hide your embarrassment. Girl, what the fuck!!!
Oh my god, he could’ve just been friendly and polite this whole time. Jimin had said the skirt looked cute on you as well, and you hadn’t responded like this. All it took was a few compliments from Jungkook to have you dopily acting like a clown for his affections.
Before you can scold yourself anymore, your phone vibrates and you have to sit up to retrieve it from where you’d tossed it across the bed. 
[1:50 am] jk for me? I’m honored :)  [1:51 am] jk anyway get some rest before ur exam!!! [1:51 am] jk night cutie
You squeal, and Chaeyoung kicks your shared wall. 
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You liked to clown Seokjin for being the president of his fraternity. He was already a stereotypical frat boy, so it wasn’t that hard anyway; he came from money, was ridiculously gorgeous, and played on your school’s soccer team. However, behind that facade he liked to put up, he, too, was infected by the dumbass disease.
“Wait, are those your legs?” He says the moment you step into his frat party. Normally, he wasn’t prone to the same stupid questions that regularly plagued Taehyung and Jungkook (sometimes Namjoon, but everyone had their weak moments), so you deduce that he probably had some alcohol in his system to openly be asking you such a question. 
“Yes, now give me whatever’s in that cup,” you brush off, not bothering to stick around to watch him not-so-subtly grope Chaeyoung as she enters behind you. You trust him enough to hand you a drink that hasn’t been roofied, but you’re also aware that Jin drinks like he’s trying to die three times over. One sip has your face scrunching up at the sour bitterness of it all. 
There’s a loud cackle of a laugh that you’d recognize anywhere, and you turn to find Jungkook leaning against the staircase banister looking like a wet dream. “Someone lost on their way to Weenie Hut Jr?” he sneers, cheeks a nice rosy color. You flick his forehead. 
You don’t bother gracing him with a reply, instead shuffling over so you’re stood side by side observing the party before you. Yoongi’s here, which is an even weirder sight than your legs being out, so you wonder why no one is talking about that. But then you see the way he’s trailing after Seokjin’s cat, Jalapeño, and realize he’s only here to make sure no one hurts her (she’s more important than anyone else here). You honor his service with another sip of Jin’s whatever the fuck mix. 
“Wow, getting braver every day, huh?” Jungkook teases after giving you a very intense once over. He’s referring to the skirt you’re wearing, a little black circle skirt that flows around you like the first one you’d worn a couple months ago. Call it a tribute to the one that started it all. You’ve definitely experimented with lengths a little more, the one you’re wearing now brushing just barely below your ass. Appropriate for the frat party, but definitely not for your theology elective. 
You hum, stepping aside as a couple makes their way up the stairs. You’re tempted to go tattle on them to Seokjin, but decide against it when you feel Jungkook’s fingers brush against your thigh. 
He grins at the surprised little gasp you let out. “Pretty,” he chuckles, deep and seductive in a way you’ve never seen before. You were used to giggly Jungkook, and Jungkook who laughs like the stepmom from Cinderella, but you’d never seen this one before, the Jungkook who looked and laughed like he was straight out of a Calvin Klein campaign. 
You giggle like a teenager at his compliment, unsure of what else to do so you settle on chugging Jin’s death drink. You only get a good three gulps in before Jungkook’s tugging the plastic cup away from you and setting it down on the nearest flat surface. “Don’t get all drunk on me now,” he jokes, eyes the teensiest bit glassy. He doesn’t look drunk, and he’s certainly not acting drunk. He might be a little tipsy, you think, because a completely sober Jungkook would never have the balls to tug you closer by the waist like this one does.  
Your hands fall flat on his chest, warm beneath the material of his shirt. Not one of his super baggy ones today, but still a bit loose where it could hug his build. “What happened to the little red one? You said you’d wear it for me…” he questions, lips playfully pushing out into a pout. 
You struggle to meet his gaze, focusing on the mole beneath his lip instead. “I, um, haven’t got around to washing it,” you stutter, absentmindedly shifting your weight from side to side. 
“Really?” Jungkook presses, sounding like he doesn’t believe you at all. After a moment in which he ducks down to catch your gaze, he seems to accept. “That’s fine. This one’s cuter anyway.” 
His words are emphasized by his fingers, tracing along the edge of your skirt while purposefully making sure to graze your skin. You shiver, unconsciously arching your chest into him. It’s only afterwards that you realize when Jungkook smirks in triumph. “Easy access too,” he murmurs, and your heart leaps in your chest. 
“Jeon,” you whisper, hyper aware of all the people in this house right now. You’re standing at a point where everyone walks by, and the idea of Jungkook groping you in front of these people, some of which are friends, seems horrifying. “People can see.” 
Jungkook’s Cheshire smile grows even wider, and you muffle a yelp when his hand slips beneath your skirt to grope your ass. “Since when were you shy?” He says, voice soft and lilting over the hum of whatever music is playing now. “Weren’t shy when you had your ass in the air that one day in your room.” 
Your cheeks burn at the memory, but your core surges with a newfound heat at his wandering hands and teasing words. “Remember?” 
You nod, tucking your head against his neck in a last ditch effort to hide your embarrassment. From here, your senses are bombarded with Jungkook and only Jungkook. 
You feel him let out a long sigh. “Been thinking about you since,” he admits. “Nah, even before that. When you wore my shirt that one day after our balloon fight in the west quad.” 
Your heart thunders at his sudden confession. The balloon fight in question had been a little over a year ago, a rallying effort from your friend group to cheer Taehyung up after an exam. After soaking each other to the bone with water guns and balloons, Jungkook had let you wear one of his stupidly big shirts home. So you’d ditched your usual jeans and shirt, wearing his shirt like a dress all the way home. 
The fact Jungkook’s been thinking about you since then makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter. 
“Every time you wear these little skirts, I think of that day. You, in my clothes, looking so soft and warm. Fuck, baby, you don’t know what you do to me.” 
You glance around, and your soul almost leaves your body when you make direct eye contact with Yoongi holding Jalapeño across the room. He gives you that Yoongi look, the whatever you’re doing is weird but I won’t say anything because I don’t care look, and that’s your signal to stumble your way upstairs before Seokjin can see you two and scold you. 
You’re not sure who’s room you end up, just that it has one and a half bunk beds in it, so you don’t hesitate to push Jungkook down onto the half. He plops down like a little cherub, all sweet smiles until you see the way his pants strain at the crotch. Of fuck, this is happening, you think as you climb onto his lap. 
His lips envelope yours the second you’re in his arms. You’re not usually one to give into those John Green cliches, but everything about being in Jungkook’s embrace feels so right. Like you belong there, or whatever. 
He’s a good ass kisser, but you shouldn’t be surprised. Jungkook was good at everything he did—such was a known fact. But he still kisses you like he’s trying to prove something, like he wants you to melt into him, and he succeeds. His mouth moves against yours, tongue sneaking it’s way past your lips until it’s inside yours, and you’re swapping spit. His breath hot, but you imagine yours is as well because just making out with Jungkook has your body temperature hotter than the inside of a sauna. 
“Jungkook,” you groan when he pulls away, desperate to feel his mouth on yours again. He smiles, lips slick and cherried as he drops his hands to your waist. 
“‘M right here,” he assures you, pressing a few pecks to your mouth before trailing his lips down your neck, deliciously licking and kissing every inch. You let out a choked moan, and you can feel his smile press against your skin. “Cute,” he croons. 
“More,” you beg, fingers curling themselves into his hair. It’s gonna way longer these last few months, the front pieces almost brushing the tip of his nose. He looks sexy as fuck. 
“At least let me stretch you out first,” he teases, face too cute for someone about to fuck your brains out. You huff in annoyance, snatching his hand away from its path to your panties. 
“No,” you whine, and then shuffle forward to grind your center onto him. Jungkook groans, jaw tight as he watches you. “Just fuck me, Jungkook.” 
His eyes roll back at a particular roll of your hips. “I-It’ll hurt, though,” he tries to reason, but his hands are already hiking up the back of your skirt. 
“Make it hurt,” you mumble, so caught up in the moment that your eyes bulge out when he suddenly lifts you to your feet. “What’s wrong?” You huff in dismay, lower lip trembling at the thought of him changing his mind. He lets out an airy chuckle. 
“Turn around for me, doll,” he softly demands, and not a single inch of you feels the need to go against him. 
You’re met with the sight of your own expression, staring back at you from the closet’s mirrored sliding doors. It’s a little dark in the room, most of the light coming from a desk lamp on the other side of the room that had been on when you first broke in with Jungkook. 
“So pretty,” Jungkook praises from behind you, and you watch in the glass as two firm hands snake around your waist, slowly easing you back into his lap. In the seconds you were distracted by yourself, he’d unbuckled the front of his jeans, the cotton fabric of his boxers brushing against your ass. “Gonna fuck yourself on my cock, baby?” 
You nod, unsure of what to do with your hands. You needn’t worry any longer, your body naturally guiding you through the motions, until one hand grabs his thigh and the other grapples for the bedside drawer next to you. His fingers trace around your waist, hiking your skirt up to—only to reveal a pair of white undies with red hearts. Jungkook’s chuckle against your ear makes you clench your legs together. “Fuck, it’s like you knew this would happen,” he murmurs, and you can’t take your eyes off the mirror as you watch his fingers trace over your covered mound. “Did you?” He asks, breath fanning over your ear. 
“N-no,” you gasp, hips jumping when he presses a lone finger to where your clit would be had your girly panties not obstructed the way. You’re embarrassingly wet just from kissing Jungkook, and his playful fingers only worsen your state. “Please hurry, Kook,” you plead, grinding back against his engorged cock. 
“You sure?” He checks, and your bobble head nods have him muffling more laughter into your shoulder. “If you say so, baby.” 
He lifts you up just the slightest bit to tug his cock out of its confines, and this is the only instance where you wish you weren’t looking at the mirror. His fingers dance along your skin again, tugging your panties to the side. 
Screw it, just do it, you say to yourself before sinking down on his cock in one go. “Oh fuck,” you cry, head lolling back to rest against his shoulder at the sudden intrusion. 
“Holy shit,” he sighs into your hair, one hand circling to the front of your waist, while the other creeps upwards to rub at where he knows your nipple is. If he were to pull your shirt and bra away, he’d see how rock hard your nipples were right now. “Relax for me, doll, I promise it’ll feel better if you relax.” 
You nod, eyes squeezed shut as your body slowly assimilated to the feeling of being stuffed full. God, he felt good inside you. Fit every crevice of you pussy like he was made for you. “Jungkook,” you moan, and he hums in response. “You feel so f-fuckin good,” you babble, swiveling your hips much to both your pleasures. “Can feel you everywhere.” 
He presses a kiss to your scalp. “Can you move for me, baby?” He questions, dropping his hands to your waist before slowly pushing you up so you’re not flopped against him like a rag doll. “Wanna see you bounce on my cock. You can do that for me, can’t you?” 
You nod eagerly, desperate to show Jungkook how good you ride dick. You muster up the strength to sit up, one hand right around his thigh again, but this time the other one clamps down over his hand on your waist. “Good girl,” Jungkook praises, giving your hips a tight squeeze. 
It’s like you thrive off Jungkook’s compliments, because soon enough you’re riding him like your life depends on it. 
It’s a rhythm of pushing yourself over and over, thighs tense from the effort it takes to pull yourself away from his cock until only his tip breaches you, before dropping back down. You can’t entirely take the credit, because Jungkook’s arms are there, lifting you up before pushing you back down. Truthfully, he’s probably still doing most of the work in fucking you with the way you see his arms flexing in the mirror. 
“Lemme hear you, doll,” Jungkook huffs, and you don’t hesitate to moan for him. It feels overwhelmingly good, his hands tight on your waist as they move you up and down, the material of your skirt bunched up between his fingers. What you’d give to feel them inside you some day, a day in which you’re not dying to feel his cock inside of you. “That’s it,” he grunts, and doesn’t even complain when your legs begin slowing down. 
He picks up the slack for you, thrusting his hips up into you like you’re just some toy for him to use and discard. But the soft praises slipping past his lips assure you you are anything but. “F-fuck,” you whine, forcing yourself above and beyond as you begin to feel that familiar coil of heat grow tighter in your abdomen. “Your cock’s s-so f-fucking big!” You cry, and one look at the mirror let’s you know you look as stupid and fucked-out as you sound. 
“Really?” Jungkook smirks, drilling into you like his life depends on it. There’s an embarrassingly growing stain on the front of your panties that you catch sight of in the mirror, and part of you wants to clench your legs shut so he doesn’t see. But it seems to do it for Jungkook, and he starts rambling about that next. “Look at you. Fuck. You’re ruining your cute little panties. Absolutely fucking soaking them with hot wet you are. I get you that wet, doll?” 
You squeal at a particular thrust of his hips, feeling his cock so deep in you that your eyes momentarily go cross eyed. “Yes, yes!” You agree, bouncing yourself with a renewed vigor. 
The answers please Jungkook, and he rolls forward until he’s pressing his tip faintly against your cervix, and your body damn near leaves your soul. “O-oh fuck!” You scream, body turning into jelly as your orgasm has you spurting hot cum into your panties and over his cock. 
“Pretty even when you come,” Jungkook huffs, hips rocking up into yours for a few more minutes until he eventually comes when you roll your hips backwards. “Holy fucking shit,” he moans, finally releasing your skirt from the death grip he had on it. 
You watch it flutter back into place around you, and you almost look like two platonic friends sitting together, but then Jungkook shifts inside you and your body convulses from the oversensitivity. 
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“Wait, you and Jeon finally fucked?!” Chaeyoung exclaims halfway through breakfast, which she had so lovingly prepared at three in the afternoon. “When? Is that why you made us get waxed last week?” 
“No!” You flush, shoving another forkful of burnt scrambled eggs into your mouth. “We waxed our coochies before that, but I didn’t know we were gonna fuck.” 
Chaeyoung blinks. She’s stupid pretty even with avacado spread on her cheek. “So do you have like a seventh sense on when to get your kitty trimmed?” 
“What? No,” You scoff. “Seventh? What’s my sixth?”
“Knowing the exact moment Taehyung’s gonna throw up at a party.”
You accept. “Anyway, we just… I don’t know. It was at Seokjin’s third birthday bash last weekend.” She nods like she remembers anything besides sucking face with him all night. “We were talking and then suddenly we were upstairs and...” you trail off, glancing at your fake collection of succulents lining the kitchen window. 
“Was he good?” She interrogates. 
You flop back onto your chair dramatically. “Chae. He was so good,” you whine, and she slaps your arm in enthusiasm. “He made me ride him facing a mirror,” you spill. 
Chaeyoung squeals. “Bitch!! Here I was thinking Jeon Jungkook was the poster boy of vanilla sex,” she pauses. “I mean, still pretty vanilla compared to the time Seokjin stuck it in my—“ 
You gag and she rolls her eyes. “Have you been talking since?” 
This is the part where things get awkward, and Chaeyoung immediately senses as much. “Oh, honey,” she frowns, eyes furrowed in worry. 
“He walked me home,” you mumble, toying with the tablecloth ends. “Kissed me on the doorstep and all, but besides a few texts, I haven’t seen him around,” you lamely finish. It’s been a week. 
“Ugh, men are trash,” she spits, turning in her seat to play with your hair. “I swear if I see him on campus I’ll rock his shit. My older brother used to practice WWE moves on me, I could easily smash him through a table.”
“WWE wrestling is staged, Chae,” you point out. Chaeyoung was about ten thousand times more experienced when it came to men and their behaviors. She’s been played but also has played, so her reaction to you telling her about Jungkook is all you need to hear. 
In all the scenarios you’ve ever had about Jungkook, him randomly ghosting you had never even been a possibility. The Jungkook from your imaginary universes either just dumped you, or awkwardly friendzoned you. But completely disappearing on you? Now that was some John Greene shit. 
You’ve gone long periods of time without seeing him, like your freshman year you saw him one time in March. But even then he’d made sure to keep in contact with you, randomly blowing up your phone with Cup Pong and 8Ball requests. 
He sent you two texts this whole week, and both of them had been to cancel your homework sessions. 
You almost couldn’t believe you were living this life. The men are trash, love isn’t real, heartbreak can possibly cause death life. Forget John Green, your life had taken an unexpected Shakespearean turn. 
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“Oh,” you say the moment you step into Taehyung and Jungkook’s apartment, surprised at the fact Jungkook is there despite the fact he, y’know, lives there. In retrospect, you should have seen this coming when Tae had asked you over to help him decorate a poster for Jin’s next game. He��s never been to a single soccer match in his life. “Is Tae here?” You ask, looking every part the stupid bitch. 
Jungkook’s cheeks had flushed the moment he opened the door. “No…” he answers, glances at the shoe rack behind the door as if to make sure. “Were you supposed to meet him?” Well no shit. 
“Uhh, yeah,” you say, and it’s even more awkward than the time he saw your star undies. Granted, now he’s become very familiar with your underwear and what’s hidden beneath it. You would think such an encounter would bring you two closer. “I’ll just come back another time.” 
“Do you wanna come in?” He blurts out before you can even turn away. You flinch at the sudden intensity of his voice, and then both of you are left staring at each other like cringey high schoolers. “I cut some cucumber slices with lime and that one spice you like.” 
“Taíjn?” You confirm, and he nods. “I mean...sure, if it’s not a bother.” 
Usually when you and Jungkook hung out at his place, you’d throw your bag across the room and flop onto the ugly armchair the moment you stepped in. Now, you’re awkwardly hovering by the armrest of the sofa, like this is your first time here. 
Jungkook disappears into the kitchen to, you assume, get the cucumber slices. He comes back empty handed, and with a heavy heart. “I lied. There’s no Tajín,” he confesses, and you rush to tell him it’s okay but he beats you to it. “There’s no cucumber slices either. I just needed to get you inside to talk to you.” 
“You act like I needed to be lured in, Jungkook,” you say, forcing a tight smile on your face. Jungkook visibly deflates at your tone. 
“No, this isn’t right,” he huffs, dramatically throwing himself onto the couch. You jump at the loud groan he releases from his position, which is face stuffed into the cushion. 
“You...okay?” You tentatively ask, clutching your bag even closer to your side. Jungkook shakes his head no against the couch. “Should I call Namjoon over?” 
He sits up so fast you worry he’ll get whiplash. “I have a confession to make,” he informs you, doe eyes wide and serious. 
Your brain processes for a minute before slowly responding. “Okay…”
At your response he jumps to his feet. “This may come as a shock, but I’m not a womanizer.” 
You blink. 
“When have you ever been a womanizer, Jeon?!” You nearly exclaim when you mull over his absurd proclamation. “Are there people who actually think that?” 
“I think that people think that,” he stresses to you, running a hand through his hair. “Look. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m really nice and cool, and sometimes people think that means I’m flirting with them.” Valid point. “But I’m not, because frankly I’m terrible at shooting my shot.”
The fact he’s actually admitted it out loud leaves him devastated, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Finally, something Jeon Jungkook isn’t good at. 
“What lead you to that conclusion?” You carefully press on. 
“Because,” he sighs, dropping back down onto the couch, except this time he’s sitting like a normal person. You sit beside him, close enough to the edge that you can just spring yourself out the door if need be. 
“There’s this girl I like,” your heart pangs, even though the logical side of you can more or less guess where this is going. You’re stupid, but not that stupid. “She’s amazing, like everything about her makes me like her. God, she’s so cool, like everyone wants to be her friend, even though she sucks at Super Smash Bros., and burns her ear on a straightener at least once a month. But she’s funny and sweet, and makes me wanna join a clown troupe just to hear her laugh. And she looks gorgeous in skirts, and the way she rides dic—“ 
“Alright, that’s enough of that,” you interrupt, glancing at the coffee table decorated with Jungkook’s anatomy books, because you don’t want to look at the big dopey grin on his face as he talks about you and your dick riding abilities. 
Jungkook grins, this much you can tell from your peripheral, before it drops into a frown. “Whole point is, she’s cool as fuck. And I… I think I might love her,” he admits, and you whip around to face him. His cheeks are as red as Taehyung’s current hair dye, which is to say they’re as red as a fire truck. You get th feeling you're mirroring his expression. 
The silence following his confession seems to drag on an eternity, but truthfully, you and Jungkook both have the patience of a soccer mom of three, so he jumps to fill the spaces between you. “And like, I just wanna kiss her and hold her and watch her eat and cuddle her to sleep and hold her hand and buy her gifts, and I think I would die for her?—”
“Okay chill, Romeo,” you scramble to cut off that train of thought. Jungkook’s looking at you like you were the creative director behind Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker and the trailer released two minutes ago. It’s a weird reference but coming from Jungkook, it means a lot. 
You don’t know what to say, but Jungkook beats you to it anyway. “There’s this girl I like,” he repeats, and your heart does nearly implode on itself when he reaches over to clutch your hand in his. Your hands are sweaty and fidgety from his confession, but so are Jungkook’s. “How do I tell her I like her?” 
You gulp, before reaching over to smack at his bicep much to both your surprise. “Jeon Jungkook! How’re you gonna give me the best fucking of my life and then ghost me for a week, because you’re too much of a pussy to tell me you like me!” You almost want to cry, and you almost do when he wraps you in his arms with a delighted, warm laugh rumbling through his whole body. “You suck,” you huff, and sniffle once, and only once. 
“Thank fuck,” he sighs in relief. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you friendzoned me.” 
“The friendzone—“
“—is a made up concept created by men who feel like they’re entitled to women and their feelings, I know,” he huffs and you laugh. You push yourself away from his chest to meet his gaze, stretching up to capture his lips in a sweet kiss that quickly turns naughty when you feel the flex of muscles beneath your hands. 
“Ugh, you beefcake.” 
“I wish,” he snorts, tugging you back into his chest as he flops down onto the couch. You snuggle into him, the position all too comfortable in your skirt. The only reason you’re reminded of it is because Jungkook traces his fingers along the edge of the material. “You asked me why I workout out but hide in big clothes, and the truth is its so I can beat up any meninist douchebag that tries to slander my girl in her thot skirts.” 
You sputter. “My thot skirts—you asshole! All my skirts are of appropriate length,” you defend, pinching his side and winning a giggle for your efforts. “That doesn’t even explain the baggy clothes part either.” 
“Shh, your thot skirt is tempting me.” 
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“He made you dress up as a what now?!” Chaeyoung exclaims, fork clattering loudly against her plate as everyone in the diner turns to look at you two. You try desperately to quiet her, but the damage is done and even the server whose long since become familiar with your antics looks disgusted. 
“Oh my god,” Chaeyoung sighs, her concern on everything but this public humiliation. “I knew it. I told you he got along too well with Jalapeño, remember?” 
[ NOW WITH A DRABBLE WOW!!! ]
8K notes · View notes
maybankiara · 4 years
Text
BAD BUSINESS
3: NOW IT’S TIME FOR ME TO GO
pairing: Rafe Cameron x John B’s Girlfriend!Reader
summary: Breakups are never an easy thing, and this one is no different. The only thing that makes it worse is that when you finally think you’re done with the situation, Rafe sends you a text.
word count: 5k
warnings: mild cursing, cheating
additional: it’s a big one, it features two original characters, and some very tense car situation (like, angst tense).
masterlist | tag list
previous part | next part
Shelley is a good friend. 
  Well, mostly.
  Upon hearing that not only did you sleep with Rafe, but he also gave you food and drove you to her place in the morning, she started to laugh. She called it absurd, and you had to agree. It is absurd. But it’s the truth, anyway, so you told her you needed her help on figuring out what the fuck to do. 
  That’s when she asked the question: ‘What about John B?’
  And this is how, a couple of hours later, you find yourself walking to the Chateau, with no idea what you’re going to say. 
  Shelley tried to tell you that you needed a plan to do this whole thing, but you’ve fucked up enough already – you didn’t want John B to think you rehearsed telling him how you fucked someone the night before breaking up with him. You’re going to tell the truth, because John B deserves to know it, and it’ll come out one way or another. 
  It’s not like you trust Rafe to keep it secret, really. A boy like him has got to spread the news of his achievements, and you’d rather it comes from you than some rando. 
  Then again, maybe you should’ve thought this through, you realise as the road you’re walking on takes a turn and the Chateau peaks from the abundance of trees. The sole sight of the place where you slept with John B so many times makes you squirm.
   am i a monster?
  Your thoughts travel back to the morning, and your and Shelley’s conversation replays in your mind. Once Shelley recovered from her initial shock of you having slept with none other than Rafe Cameron, she asked you tons of questions, most of which you didn’t have an answer to. 
  John B was never going to be the one for you and yes, deep down, you’ve known it from the very start. No, you didn’t go there intending on sleeping with Rafe, but it certainly set in stone any doubts you had about breaking up with your boyfriend. You didn’t know if Rafe had intended it happening any more than you did; you didn’t know what that meant for the two of you; you didn’t know what that meant for the half of your time that you spend not only on the Cut, but with John B’s friends, too. 
  But one thing Shelley never said is that she was surprised with the events. Not with you wanting to break up with John B—a blind man could’ve seen it coming—but not you ending up with Rafe, either. 
  Not even with you not having any regrets. 
  ‘Does that make me a monster?’ you voiced your concerns to your best friend, your legs draped over her sofa.
  ‘A little bit.’ Shelley had never been the one to hold back; it stung a little. ‘But you weren’t happy with John B. Rafe was there. You got your frustrations out. You were going to break up with him anyway.’ She slung her legs over yours and sipped her mojito. ‘I’d say it was worth it.’
   You frowned at her words, unable to understand how you truly felt about the whole situation. ‘I know I should feel guilty. I feel guilty for not feeling guilty.’
  Shelley shrugged with such ease you would’ve thought the two of you were talking about picking one dress over the other. ‘It happened. Mulling over it won’t help. Besides, hooking up with Rafe Cameron on a whim is more like you than being serious with John B.’
  ‘What do you mean?’
  ‘It’s not a coincidence that the moment you stop thinking about John B and his shitty friends, you do whatever the fuck you want.’
  It was one of those things that Shelley says that sound smart, but she kept sipping on her mojito at eleven in the morning in her mini-mansion, looking like the basic girl who had too much money and too little attention. You couldn’t take her seriously, even if you somehow understood exactly what she meant.
  Not enough to be able to decipher it, but enough for it to hit something in your conscience – the same part that told you whatever happened last night, was okay.
  John B deserves to know, and whatever comes of it, you deserve it.
  The Chateau appears ominous as you approach it. It’s a simple house, built the way all beach houses on the Cut were, and there’s more than a fair share of memories tying you to it. 
  Your steps are heavy. 
  This is a moment you’ve thought about more than once, yet it feels as if nothing could’ve prepared you for the unsettling feeling in your gut. It’s like an open, never-ending hole that’s gaping wide open with its own gravity, suck in everything that gives you courage. To say you feel sick would be an understatement, but you push one leg in front of the other, until your knuckles are tapping against the door. 
  ‘Get out and be a boss bitch,’ Shelley told you. 
  ‘Easier said than done,’ you retorted, and now the words ring truer than ever. 
  John B opens the door with a smile on his face. His hair is shaggy and chin-length, a lighter shade of brown this time of the year, with more texture to it from the sea salt. He’s got the smile that makes him seem reliable and kind, and the dimples and the curve of his Cupid’s bow have always been what made your knees go weak. 
  Now, your knees go weak for a different reason. 
  He goes in for a hug and a kiss, but you turn your head and he kisses your cheek, instead. 
  ‘Hi,’ you say. 
  ‘Hey.’ John B’s hands are still on your shoulders, even when he pulls back with a little wrinkle between his eyebrows. ‘Everything okay?’
  You nod. Over his shoulder, the Chateau appears to be empty. ‘Is anyone else here?’
  ‘Not yet. They’re supposed to come over in an hour or so, I think.’
  ‘Okay.’ You pull your lips in your mouth, scratching your neck. ‘Can I come in?’
  John B tells you ‘of course,’ then steps aside as he lets you into the house. As you pass him, you’re overflown by his scent – sweat and salt and sandalwood, hastily buried under a cheap cologne. 
  The pullout couch, the floor in front of it, the kitchen counters, the bench on the porch, the hammocks, the beds – John B and you have marked each of these spots. A dozen memories rush to your mind, each more painful than the last. 
  As you take a seat on the couch, you try not to think of the last time you were here. But John B sits down next to you, close enough for your knees to be touching, and the memory is all you can see. 
  It was the whole group, that night. It must’ve been a Tuesday, because Kiara was off her shift and so was Pope, and JJ was nearly always here, anyway. The five of you had leftovers from the Wreck, each of you chipping in a small amount of money for Kiara’s dad. John B’s arm was slung over your shoulders and your back was against his chest. 
  JJ cracked jokes as you stuffed your mouth with fries. Pope kept commenting on the jokes, getting JJ all worked up, which made Kiara laugh to the point where she would snort every so often. 
  It was a good time. You like the Pogues, even if you don’t have much in common with them. You might be from the Cut, officially, but your area is somewhere in the middle, close enough to Kooklandia that your family’s financial situation is more similar to Kiara’s than any of the boys’. And you aren’t like Kiara – you aren’t a Pogue at heart. 
  Later that night, John B and you had another fight. It was about something you can’t even recall – maybe about how you were too snappy with his friends, or maybe how Kiara’s gaze lingers on him and he’s not exactly opposed. It could be anything; you’ve had enough arguments for them all to blend into one another. They always end the same, anyway – with both of you at least partly naked, panting, and not having resolved anything. 
  This one was no different. In the morning, you left the Chateau without really acknowledging the boy asleep at your side. 
  Come think of it, you can’t remember the last time you even spoke to him in the mornings, let alone kissed him, or cuddled up to him. 
  You cover your eyes with a hand, running it over your face. ‘I’m sorry. I’m not really having a good day.’
  John B takes this as his cue to put a hand on your back, rubbing what are probably supposed to be soothing circles into it. ‘I can tell you’re hungover. How was the party?’
  ‘It was okay.’
  i need to tell him. 
  The memory of John B at the other side of bed blends with the one from this morning, of Rafe, and a shudder runs through you. You lean forward, resting your elbows on your knees, and your boyfriend’s hand disappears.
  ‘Hey,’ you hear him say. ‘It’s okay. You can talk to me.’
  The truth behind his words might be the worst part. 
  ‘I’m fine.’ 
  You lean back against the couch. A moment later, you pull your legs up instead, cross them, and lean against the armrest, instead. 
  John B is looking at you the way he looks at everyone else. Innocent eyes, gullible face, and a kind smile. It’s the kind of face that you used to think could give you the safety and comfort you thought you needed. 
  The face blends with another, blonde hair slick with sheen sweat; eyes full of mischief, lips crooked with bad intentions, and bone structure made for boarding school posters.
  You blink it away. 
  ‘You’re a great guy, John B.’ Your voice is dry and empty, and somehow that is even worse than if it were laced with emotion. ‘I’m pretty sure you’re, like, an angel or some shit. It’s not even fair.’
  He chuckles, shaking his head. It’s because of the odd smile on your face that he seems a little unsure of what to do with himself – his hand twitches as if it’s about to rest on your knee, but he puts it in his lap, instead. 
  He doesn’t know where this is going, you realise. Or maybe he does – but he’s not letting himself believe it. 
  It makes you sigh, because it makes you feel all the worse. 
  just fucking say it
  You gaze straight into your eyes, despite the heaviness in the pit of your stomach, despite your heart racing inside your ribcage, despite the room starting to spin a little. You’re going to be honest because John Booker Routledge does not deserve to be lied to. 
  You may not love him the way you’re supposed to, but your respect and admiration for him are endless. 
  So you begin. ‘Last night, I…’
  It’s supposed to be easy, because you know what you need to say, but your brain freezes and the words drift from your tongue, your lips tremble and your eyes can’t detach from John B’s. They’re kind, and caring, and even though he’s probably starting to catch on to what’s happening, he still looks at you as if you matter – as if he’s saying it’s okay, i’m here for you. The corners of his lips tug to the side and you see the earnesty in their curve, and the dimple in his cheek reminds you of all the times he stood by your side when you needed him, when he lent his shoulder for you to cry on, and the softness of his hand that’s now on your knee reminds you of how innocent and gullible he is and you can’t ruin it. 
   Maybe John B was the person you needed at the time because he’s all these things, and maybe you’ve been drifting away from each other for a while, but he doesn’t deserve what you’ve done to him. You see trust in his eyes, despite everything, and in that moment, you hate yourself.
   You don’t have the right to kill that innocence.
  So you put his hand away from your knee as softly as you can, and clear your throat. ‘Last night I was thinking about us. I don’t think we’re happy anymore. Not together, at least.’
   The wrinkle between his eyebrows is back. ‘Are you— What are you trying to say?’
  His name is soft on your lips, your head tilted to the side. ‘You know what I’m trying to say.’
  He takes a moment and you give it to him. 
  ‘Is it because you don’t trust me?’
  ‘No,’ you tell him honestly. ‘I just don’t think this is working. I don’t really belong with your friends and you don’t belong with mine.’ You don’t acknowledge you’re the one who doesn’t deserve trust. ‘All we do is argue.’
  ‘We have good times.’
  ‘We have good times, but it’s not enough to just have them. Spending time shouldn’t be something we both feel like it’s required of us – stop, you know it’s true. Look, you’re honestly a great guy and I wish it could’ve worked out, but it hasn’t and it won’t.’
  You breathe out, for the first time in what feels like forever. The corners of John B’s lips fall as he turns his head away; you watch his Adam’s apple bobble, hear him quietly sigh. His skin is flushed and lips shaking, but he doesn’t look too rattled. You’ve seen him rattled when his dad went missing for a few days – this isn’t it. 
  All it looks like is John B taking a moment for your words to sink in, is all. 
  At last he nods. He glances at you and his face is still flushed, but his eyes are dry. ‘You’re right. This has been a long time coming, hasn’t it?’
  ‘Yeah, it has.’
  It’s quiet, but it’s comfortable, too. The tension that’s been between you two for a while has been lifted. 
  You want to pull him into a hug, but it’s selfish – he’s not the one who needs it, and he’s not the one who should give it to you. 
  ‘Friends?’ 
  John B looks hopeful when he asks the question. 
  It’s something you’ve thought about before, and maybe if you hadn’t fucked shit up last night, it could’ve been a possibility. Now, you just give him a shake of head and a smile that you hope is soft enough. ‘I don’t think we can go back there again.’
  He understands. Of course he would – he’s John fucking B. 
  You’re out of the Chateau five minutes later, for good. Some part of you wants to bid goodbyes to the Pogues, too, except you know that’s the part of you that made itself believe that you’re one of them. A clean slate is better.
  The walk home takes you through the woods around the Chateau and you walk next to the beach a little, opting for a detour. The combinated scent of fresh air, trees, and the sea has always had the ability to calm you down – one of the reasons why being around John B used to feel good. Sand glides underneath your feet and you glance at the kids playing in it a few feet away, not a care in the world. 
  It’s not that you’re dishevelled or rattled or upset. Okay, upset might be applicable, but overall you’re fine. Like the two of you agreed, the breakup has been a long time coming. 
  the only problem, you think as you kick a red solo cup that’s on the sand, is last night’s fuckup. 
  With John B out of the way, the only thing left to think about is what the fuck am i going to do with rafe? It’s not like you see the guy often, but the idea that he’ll spread rumours about you makes your skin shiver. 
  You fumble with your purse and finally text Shelley it’s been done. She wants to call, naturally, but you make a promise you’d call once you’ve taken a shower, had some time to think, and stuffed some food into your mouth. 
  Miss Dollinger [7:32pm]: fine bitch hmu once you’ve got your priorities sorted
  That’s as sweet as Shelley is going to get. 
  The same solitude offered by the beach that usually calms you, is daunting now. Your home is a little over an hour’s walk from where you are right now, and it’s an hour during which you plan to deafen your thoughts by listening to music, or a podcast, or anything. 
  Like always, the plan is to leave the thinking to tomorrow. 
  It’s about half an hour later that your earbuds are blasting an old Bon Jovi album and you almost miss the vibration from your phone. You take it out of your pocket, click the unlock button, and glance over the text message. 
  Unknown Number [7:59pm]: one of your friends left her phone at Coopers. text me your location and I’ll come give it to you. Rafe
  Moments later, you get another message: a picture of a phone screen with you, Shelley, and your other Kook friend Siobhan on it. Some random guy took this at a party a few months back, during spring break, and you didn’t even know that’s Siobhan’s screen saver. It has to be, though – both Shelley and you have your phones. 
  You sigh, because as much as you don’t want to deal with Rafe anymore, it is important. 
  Throwing a quick glance at your surroundings, you realise you’re almost halfway to your home, currently in the very middle of the Cut. It’s the place with tiny streets, small houses that are all in different stages of falling apart, and a few small local shops that somehow sell the best things you could ever find. 
  Me [8:02pm]: Lincoln St., Danny’s Bakery. Be quick.
  It’s a little past eight and you’ve been to Danny’s enough times to know that he both is open till eight thirty, and sells something you’d manage to find money for in your purse. 
  Rafe texts you that he’ll meet you in fifteen, so you kill time by eating what could easily be one of the best croissants you’ve ever had. It might have something to do with the atmosphere, too – you’re hungover, just back on the singles market, having managed to do a really bad thing the night before, and are currently waiting for the said bad thing to come meet you. 
  this croissant really is the highlight of my last twenty-four hours.
  You’ve got music in your ears loud enough to drown out both the sound of people and whatever thoughts might want to be running through your head, so it’s not a surprise it takes you a while to notice your name being called. It’s accompanied with a hand hitting the car door with an open palm, accidentally—or on purpose—to the beat of Jon Bon Jovi singing ‘i never knew i had a dream/ until that dream was you’.
  The moment you glance to the right, you grunt. 
  ‘Y/N,’ the blond says instead of a greeting. 
  One earbud pops out of your ear. ‘Rafe.’
  The car that’s parked so close it’s almost behind you is an older Ford pickup truck, black and a little beat-up. In the driver’s seat, a little too close for your liking, is Rafe Cameron, with one of his hands hanging out of the window, definitely tapping along to the beat. 
  ‘You’ve got a good taste,’ he tells you. ‘But you should probably turn that down if you want to be able to hear in ten years’ time.’
  It’s not something you dignify with a response, but you do turn the volume down quite a bit. You look around, and people are giving the two of you odd looks – you don’t know whether it’s because of the fact that you’re sitting and talking to a guy in a car next to you, or because the car is very prominently not owned by someone from the Cut. 
  ‘You shouldn’t have come in that,’ you say, only for him to hear. ‘You stick out. People are noticing.’
  ‘I don’t mind.’
  ‘I do. Just give me the damn phone, Rafe.’
  He presses his lips together, sighing as he reaches into the car. He hands you the phone and you confirm it’s Siobhan’s, as her password is the same one she’s had for years now. 
  ‘Thanks.’
  It’s getting quite late and walking to Siobhan’s would be quite a trek. The girl lives even deeper within Figure Eight than Shelley does, so you decide you’ll just give it to her tomorrow morning. She’s got a backup phone, anyway. 
  You notice Rafe’s still parked next to you. He’s still tapping, out of beat now that he can’t hear it anymore. He looks different than he did in the morning – his hair is slicked back the way he usually styles it, the polo shirt he’s now wearing is baby blue, and he looks fresh, somehow. 
  He isn’t looking at you, but it doesn’t seem like he’s planning to leave anytime soon, so you get up from the bench you’ve been sitting on for the past ten minutes and start walking. 
  Rafe catches up with you almost immediately, driving his car at the speed of your walking. 
  ‘Are you walking home?’ he asks. His tone is a little shaky and he sounds a little uncertain, which you find ridiculous.
  It doesn’t make you slow down. ‘Why does it matter? You’ve given me the phone, you can go now.’
  ‘Let me give you a ride.’
  ‘Again?’ you scoff. ‘I’m not your charity case, Cameron.’
  ‘I know, Y/L/N. You’re on my way home, anyway. Don’t be difficult about this.’
  ‘Go away.’
  You speed up a little, fumbling with the earphones’ wire. Rafe speeds up, too, but he’s adamant at staying at your pace, even if his car makes it difficult. At this point, it’s a given people are staring. It’s the Cut – everybody’s up in everybody’s business if it’s out in the open for everybody to see. 
  It’s what Rafe doesn’t understand.
  ‘Shit,’ you mumble, because the earphones won’t untangle, and your hands are starting to shake.
  ‘It would be ridiculous if I let you walk all the way home when I can give you a lift.’
  You don’t see it, but you know the Cut well enough to be able to tell that the eyes you feel watching you aren’t just a figment of your imagination. ‘People are staring.’
  Rafe sighs. ‘Then get in the car.’
  You’re in the middle of the street, but you stop in place anyway and turn to him, hands balled in fists. ‘Why do you give a damn?’
  To give him credit, it’s enough to make him hesitate. Both of his hands are resting on the wheel and the whole situation must appear so absurd that you can’t even piece together how the last twenty-four hours even happened. 
  When Rafe finally looks at you, his face is indecipherable. When he speaks, he doesn’t tell you why he gives a damn. ‘Please, Y/N. I don’t know what’s going on, but at least just let me give you a lift. Please.’
  fine, you think. i’ll be your charity case. ‘Will you stop bothering me, then?’
  He hesitates again and you see his Adam’s apple bobble. ‘If that’s what you want.’
  ‘It is.’
  You march over to the other side of the car, agonizingly aware of all the people treating this as their daily dose of Drama From the Cut. True to his words, Rafe is quiet when you enter. He drives slowly, glancing at you ever so often, finding his way around the Cut even if you still haven’t told him where to drive you to. 
  ‘Are you trying to be my chauffeur?’
  A half-smile for a half-joke; Rafe knows he’s threading on thin ice. ‘I’ve got nothing better to do.’
  With resignation, you give him Siobhan’s address. He puts it in the GPS on his phone and places it on the holder propped up on the dashboard. 
  This time, being in a car with him feels different. You’re more sober and more present, and so is he – the tension between you two is palpable, even though he doesn’t glance at you once. His sole focus is the road in front of him, and you hate the fact that yours isn’t. 
  It’s this car that makes Rafe not resemble the Rafe Cameron that’s the prince of Figure Eight. It’s not the newest brand—he has to connect his phone to it with an AUX cord—and it’s not the sleek, shiny, sports car or something like a Range Rover that you see most boys of his calibre drive. It’s big, yes, nothing you’d see around the Cut, but there’s something about seeing Rafe so relaxed behind its wheel that looks beaten up; depressing, almost. 
  There’s no question about this being his car. In the holder, there’s the sunglasses you’ve seen him wear, a bottle of water, some receipts, and loads of empty candy wrappers. Even the music that’s playing is old rock, not songs like rap or whatever it is that rich boys listen to. 
  He begins humming along to the song that’s playing (you’re not sure, but it could be Led Zeppelin). It’s the first sound he’s made since you left Lincoln St. behind.  
  why are you doing this?
  Looking at him doesn’t give you an answer, only more questions. His left arm is resting on the plastic part of the door beneath the window, supporting his head leaning against it. His fingers are tapping along to the beat of the song, light but confident in the way they hold the wheel. 
  You have to look away. 
  Fifteen minutes later, you place the phone in Siohan’s hands. She thanks you for getting it to her and asks a few questions about last night, most of which you don’t answer. She asks if you walked all the way here, but doesn’t inquire when you say a friend gave you a ride. 
  Calling Rafe a friend is more of a way to prevent Siobhan from raising any suspicions, because Siobhan doesn’t really care about your friends that aren’t hers, too. 
  Damage prevention that’s damage control, really. 
  When you enter Rafe’s car again, he’s looking at you with a calm face, waiting for you to say something. 
  Another old rock song plays from his phone. You’re starting to think that might actually be the music he likes, and that doesn’t sit well with the image of him you have in your head. Nothing he’s done today does. 
  You lock in your seatbelt, glancing at him. ‘I’m guessing you’re going to insist on giving me a ride home, still, so I’m sparing us both from the argument.’
  Rafe turns the key and starts the engine, pulling out of Siobhan’s driveway. It seems as if he’s trying to hide it, but you can see the corners of his lips twitching into a smile. ‘I was going to make sure you’d get home safe.’
  ‘I would’ve been fine.’
  ‘It’s the Cut,’ he counters. ‘Not the safest place.’
  ‘I live there.’
  At this point, you’re tired of arguing. It’s whatever. You’re in the same position that Rafe’s still in, only you’re looking out of the window, watching the Figure Eight pass by. 
  He must notice something’s up, because he lowers the music. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’
  ‘The Cut?’
  ‘If it’s the Cut that’s bothering you.’ The car takes a turn, onto the main road. Rafe glances at you. ‘It’ll be easier to get it off your chest than keep it in. I’m going back to college in three days, anyway, so you don’t need to worry about me spilling the beans.’
   You sigh and, for a moment, wonder if trying to understand his motivation is worth it. The concern on his face seems as genuine as you’d get from a person you kinda know. 
  Besides, he’s kind of got a point. 
  You look into your lap, feeling your shoulders hunch as you finally admit what’s happened aloud. ‘I broke up with my boyfriend today.’
  Rafe doesn’t acknowledge your words. His face is distorted in a frown and his shoulder high and tense. ‘Is it because of last—’
  ‘No. I was going to end it anyway.’
  He nods, still unable to look at you. ‘Okay.’
  ‘It doesn’t— It doesn’t make what we did okay,’ you say. It’s the first time it feels as if you’re truly acknowledging that you slept together. You feel the breeze on your face, already starting to feel like summer’s warm air, and it makes you feel uneasy. ‘It wasn’t okay.’
  ‘I know,’ says Rafe quietly. 
  When you turn into your street, five minutes later, he still doesn’t look at you. The ease is gone from his face and you’re glad you’ve arrived – the tension is starting to become unbearable. 
  He pulls up at the beginning of the street. ‘Which one’s yours?’
  ‘I’m getting off here.’ You click the seatbelt and it snaps off loudly, plastic against plastic. The music is still too quiet. 
  ‘Okay.’
  You expect him to insist on driving you straight in front of your driveway, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road. 
  It’s something you should be grateful for, because you can only imagine what these houses must look like in his eyes, now that he’s been to two of your friends’ houses. Yours is modest, even if on the high end of the Cut design and architecture. 
  This is the part of you that doesn’t come along with you to parties. 
  ‘Well, um. Thanks,’ you say; you don’t even know what you’re thanking him for. 
  ‘Yeah.’
  You get out of the car without another word. When he drives away, and when you finally arrive at your front porch, all you can think about is his face when you told him you’d broken up with John B. 
  ★
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