#It's like being aware of my own breathing and blinking - it's ''natural'' and normal and there's obviously nothing wrong with it lol

[sysig]

How is skeleton shaped (Patreon)

[prythiansprincess]

agora hills.

pairing: lorenzo berkshire x reader.

song inspiration: agora hills by doja cat.

author's note: as always, this unhinged fic idea started in chlo and i's endless chats about these pesky men. enzo has a special place in my heart because he's so golden retriever sunshine (don't be fooled by that face though he's filthy).

Enzo Berkshire was your best friend. 

Despite what your friends seemed to think, the relationship between you two had always been strictly platonic. Perhaps it was easy to misinterpret your actions as romantic. After all, you and Enzo were very touchy and affectionate people. It was typical of you two to hold hands in the halls, cuddle in the common room, and even share the occasional cheek or forehead kiss, which you deemed completely normal. This type of behavior has been the standard since you were eleven years old. 

Still, you weren’t blind. You knew your best friend was attractive. Enzo had always been handsome in your eyes, but then fourth year rolled around and everyone else started to notice it too. To be fair, he had grown at least a foot over the summer and quidditch definitely helped him pack on lean muscle. Needless to say, girls flocked to him like a swarm of bees to honey, but he never really seemed interested in any of them. Not that you were paying attention. It was a natural thing to notice when you spent every waking moment with someone. 

The point of the matter was that you had absolutely no romantic feelings for Enzo whatsoever. Or so you thought. Until the bloody dream that flipped your friendship on its head. 

It was a normal day. You and Enzo were studying in your dorm like you usually did after class. Enzo was sprawled out on the rug scribbling away for his assignment on Ancient Runes. You were on your bed reading up on History of Magic. You knew you should be focusing since there would be a test tomorrow, but the chapter was boring and you were absolutely knackered from attending classes all day. 

Before you knew it, you were fully knocked out. A part of you was aware that you were dreaming, but the surreality of it blurred the lines of reality. 

In your dreams, you were still in your room studying with Enzo. Except your best friend was no longer hunched over his homework on your rug. Now Enzo was standing at the edge of your bed, blocking out the afternoon sun. You stared up in confusion as he took the book from your hands. 

“Enz? What are you doing?” 

Enzo stared intently at you, his soft hazel eyes flickering down to your lips. It was a little like being hit with a beam of sunshine. Your heart stuttered in your chest as he ran his thumb across your bottom lip. 

“I want to try something.”

You held your breath as Enzo leaned over. The bed dipped from his weight as you sat frozen in place. He rubbed soothing circles along your wrist, causing you to melt into his touch. It was a familiar sensation, one that always calmed you down but right at that moment, you felt anything but. The beat of your heart echoed so loudly that you were sure he could hear it. 

Enzo leaned in close, his face mere inches away from yours. He stroked your cheek gently. “I want to kiss you,” he murmured, the low whisper of his voice conjuring goosebumps along your arms. “Can I?”

You blinked, swallowing thickly. He was so close that you could smell the woodsy smell of his cologne, combined with a hint of fresh laundry and citrus. 

“Yes,” you responded breathily. 

Before you could think better of it, Enzo was kissing you. It was soft and sweet, his kisses gentle while he tested the waters. The quick little pecks soon evolved into deeper kisses as your body responded to his touch. Your hands moved outside of your own volition, fingers tangling in Enzo’s hair as you pulled him closer. He groaned and tilted your head back for a better angle, your bodies pressed close together and radiating heat underneath your clothes. 

Enzo scooted back on the headboard and pulled you into his lap without breaking the kiss. You gasped when his hands roamed underneath your skirt, gripping your thighs so that you were fully settled over his length. What started as a sweet innocent kiss escalated into a full on heated makeout session. Kissing till your lips were swollen. Moaning into each other’s mouths. Grasping at every inch of skin the two of you could reach. 

When you felt him grind his hardness against your backside, you gasped. Enzo took the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, swirling and sucking until you were panting above him. 

“Y/N,” he grunted huskily. “I need you.”

The desperation in Enzo’s voice made you shudder. You didn’t even think twice before unbuckling his belt and tugging his boxers down. Enzo groaned as he stroked himself, pulling your panties to the side. You whimpered as he teased his tip at your entrance. 

“I want you so fucking bad.”

“I want you too, Enzo.”

Friendship be damned, Enzo gripped your hips and watched as you sank into him. His eyes rolled back when he felt your warmth and wetness hug around his cock. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, resting his head in the crook of your neck. “Gods, you feel so fucking good. Better than I imagined.”

You clenched at his words and he inhaled sharply before rolling your hips to set the pace. Once you established a steady rhythm, Enzo pinned you with his lust blown gaze and watched as you rode him. He lavished you with sloppy kisses, stopping every now and then to moan into your mouth while you continued rolling your hips against him. 

“That’s it, princess. Feels good, yeah? Keep rolling your hips just like that,” Enzo said, thrusting upwards to fuck into you. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock, pretty girl.”

The filthy words sent you over the edge. Just as Enzo hit that perfect spot, your eyes flew open. 

You were startled to find yourself back in your dorm, warm, sweaty, and alone in bed. You nearly fell off altogether when you found Enzo still sitting on the rug below you. While you were dreaming about doing filthy things with him, Enzo was completely oblivious and focused on studying. Like you should’ve been. 

Enzo perked up, concern written all over his face when he saw how flushed you were. He immediately rushed over to your side. Your cheeks were so red that he thinks you might be running a fever. Enzo pressed the back of his hand against your forehead and you bit down on your bottom lip to keep yourself from moaning. 

“You’re burning up, Y/N.” Enzo sounded genuinely worried. If only he knew the reason why you currently shared the same temperature as the common room fireplace. “Maybe I should walk you over to the infirmary?” 

“No!” Your voice echoed shrilly in your dorm, causing you to wince. “I’m fine. I just…I just need fresh air.”

“Oh good, I’ll come walk with you.”

“No,” you said rather harshly. Enzo frowned. “I, uh, I think I should go alone.”

Now Enzo was truly perturbed. He pouted at your refusal. Why didn’t you want him to come? You always walked around the Black Lake together. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Y/N?” 

He squinted at you, hoping to catch your gaze. You completely avoided looking him in the eyes before scrambling out of bed. 

“I’m fine, really. I’ll see you later, Enz.”

You were out the door before Enzo even had a chance to respond. 

You were acting like a bloody idiot. 

After that unfortunate afternoon, you spent the next few days avoiding Enzo. The dream had completely flustered you. It was impossible to be in the same room as your best friend. You couldn’t even look Enzo in the eyes without thinking of him being inside of you.  

More than that, it was making you rethink your entire friendship. You adored Enzo. He had been a constant in your life since first year. The two of you were inseparable and he was pretty much the most important person in your life. You had never once thought about him in a sexual manner, but obviously you were attracted to him given the filthy thoughts that flooded your mind like a plague. 

You were praying to Merlin that this stupid little lapse of yours would pass and take all the hormone addled aftereffects with it. Perhaps it was just lack of physical affection that was causing you to think this way. After all, you had broken up with your last boyfriend months ago. There was the casual hookup every now and then, but those never really satisfied you in the way that you wanted. It certainly wasn’t anything like how Enzo had been in your dream. 

As you cataloged and compared your most recent stints, the intrusive thought slipped in without warning. There were no secrets between you and Enzo, so you knew that it had been awhile since he hooked up with anyone else too. Come to think of it, except for a couple flings here and there, Enzo has never really had a serious relationship. 

You never really thought much about it. It wasn’t like you were running headfirst into commitment either, but now you couldn’t help but wonder why Enzo had never had a girlfriend. Were relationships just not his cup of tea? If so, why the bloody hell not?

By the time you had unraveled that string, Pansy was snapping her fingers in front of your face. You shook your head and rejoined the present. Before your little spiral, you and Pansy had been discussing the homework for Charms. 

Your friend narrowed her eyes on you. “Alright, spill,” Pansy said. “There’s clearly something on your mind.”

You peered around the common room. For the most part, it was empty. Only a few of the other Slytherins lingered in your midst, but one could never be too careful in the viper’s nest. 

Once you were sure the coast was clear, you leaned closer to Pansy and spoke in a low voice. “Have you ever had a dream about one of the guys?”

Pansy leaned back on the velvet emerald couch with an expression of intrigue. “What kind of dream?”

“You know,” you urged, picking at the cushion in your lap. “The sexual kind.”

She shook her head, her glossy bob shimmering in the faint light. “No, I can’t say that I have.” 

“I have!” Theo said cheerfully as he plopped down between you. His presence startled you, but he looked utterly unperturbed as he butted into the conversation. “About both of you, actually.”

You wrinkled your nose and smacked him on the arm. “Gross, Theo.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Pansy said with a look of disgust.

Theo was deeply offended by it all. “What? I’ll have you know that I was very loving and gentle,” you groaned and made a gagging sound. “I also had one about Reg and that one wasn’t as gentle, if you know what I mean.”

He grinned cheekily, which only made you lament further. Pansy shook her head in disbelief. “Really, Regulus? He’s the human equivalent of a grumpy black cat. All the first years are terrified of him.”

Theo shrugged. “What can I say? I’m into that. All that surliness and those curls, y’know…”

It was Pansy’s turn to smack him. “For Salazar’s fucking sake, shut it, Theodore. I want to know who Y/N had a dream about.”

“Was it Riddle?” Theo prompted.

“Which one?”

“Mattheo, obviously. Tom looks like he hasn’t had a woman’s touch in years.”

“That’s mean!” you cut in. “I’m telling Tom you said that.”

“Please don’t. I value my life, thank you very much.”

Pansy scoffed. “It’s not either one of the Riddles then.”

“Was it me?” asked Theo. 

“Gods, no.”

He rolled his eyes in response. “It can’t be Blaise because him and Pans are shagging on the daily.” Theo’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me it’s Malfoy.” 

“Absolutely not.”

“But he’s close, right?” Pansy said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. You nodded weakly. She gasped. “Oh my god, Berkshire? Really?”

You buried your face in your hands. You were truly going to die of embarrassment. Pansy continued with her assessment. “Well, you two are practically attached at the hip, so it makes sense. Still, I truly didn’t expect it to be Enzo. He’s so sweet, I just can’t see him that way.”

The shit-eating grin on Theo’s face made you cringe. “Was it good? It had to be, right? Is that why you’ve been avoiding him all week?” 

“What? I haven’t been avoiding him.”

“Sure you have,” declared Theo. “Berkshire’s all broken up about it. Thinks he’s done something to upset you. The whole time you’ve been nursing filthy little fantasies about sweet baby boy Enzo. Oh, I can’t wait to tell the guys about this.”

Panic seized you and Theo yelped as you held his arm in a death grip. “You can’t say a fucking word, Theo. Do you hear me? It’s already humiliating enough to have a sex dream about my best friend. I will literally murder you if you tell any of the boys.”

Theo sighed. “Fine, I won’t tell. Now let go of me, woman.”

“What are you going to do?” asked Pansy. “You can’t keep avoiding Enzo forever.”

You sighed. You were completely and utterly at a loss. Pansy was right. Enzo was already starting to suspect something and you felt bad that he thought he’d done something to upset you when you were the one in the wrong. How could you possibly act normal after all of this?

“Maybe you should ask him if he’s ever thought about you that way,” Theo suggested. “That way the ball’s in his court.” 

You scoffed. “I’m supposed to just come up to him and casually ask, Hey Enz, have you ever had a sex dream about me that was so filthy that you couldn’t make eye contact for days after?” 

“I guarantee you the answer will be yes.”

As you chided Theo for being his usual ridiculous self, Pansy discretely nudged you. Enzo rounded the corner and waved at the three of you. Theo and Pansy shared a look before leaving you to your own devices. Bloody traitors. 

Enzo was unbothered by their sudden departure. “Hi, love. I haven’t seen you all week. You haven’t been avoiding me, have you?” 

His tone was light and playful, but it still made you nervous as all hell. “No, not at all,” you internally cringed at the forced cheeriness in your voice. “I’ve just been…busy. Yeah, that’s it. No other reason.”

For Salazar’s fucking sake. You were horrible at this. Lying to Enzo wasn’t something you were used to. 

Enzo nodded. “Okay, well we’re still on for movie night, right?” 

“Oh, yeah, about that—“

“It shouldn't be a problem,” he added thoughtfully, shooting you a cheeky grin. “Unless you’re actually avoiding me.”

Fuck. Your mind was screaming at you to say no. To make up some lame excuse. To do something other than gape at Enzo. 

Unfortunately, your brain decided to stop working as soon as those dimples of his made an appearance. Merlin’s bloody beard, you truly needed to get a grip. 

You forced yourself to smile back so he wouldn’t think anything was amiss. “”I was just going to ask what snacks you wanted.”

“Just you,” Enzo said, his grin growing wider. Did his voice suddenly sound deeper than it had a few seconds ago? No, it was likely just your delusion. “That’s all I need.”

Later that night, Enzo arrived with the projector and a handful of movie choices. You spent the entire afternoon pacing and working yourself into a fit. He was entirely unaware of the cloud of anxiety hanging over you as he loaded up your favorite movie. 

Your dorm had never felt as cramped as it did at this moment. Enzo plopped down on your bed. The scene of the crime. You climbed in on the other end and resigned yourself to sitting perfectly upright and rigid while he made himself comfortable. Enzo looked at you strangely. Usually, the two of you would be cuddling. 

“What are you doing all the way over there?” Enzo asked, spreading his arms out. “Come cuddle.”

You sighed internally. This felt like tempting fate, but what could you do? If you refused, Enzo would definitely know that something was up. As slow as a snail, you scooted closer to his side. He took one look at you and shook his head before hauling you over to him. Besides being manhandled, the position was quite familiar. You tucked against his side, head resting on his shoulder while he nuzzled his cheek against your hair. 

Enzo pressed play and you started to relax while the movie unfolded. The peace didn’t last for long. As the opening scene played, Enzo absentmindedly tugged at the hem of your shirt. Again, his affectionate nature wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. Yet you couldn’t help but hold your breath as he rubbed soothing circles against your hip. While the gesture usually comforted you, it had the opposite effect now. 

“You’re so tense, love,” Enzo murmured. His voice sounded so deep and delicious.

“It’s been a stressful week.”

“I bet.” 

You shuddered as he trailed his fingers over your spine, drawing patterns along your skin. Temptation wasn’t knocking at your door. It was kicking it down altogether. Enzo shifted, brushing his knuckles just below the hook of your bra. 

“This can’t be comfortable,” he said, hooking a finger around the band. “Maybe you’ll feel more relaxed with it off. Don’t you think so, sweetheart?” 

There was no time to analyze what the fuck was going on. All of your efforts were spent solely on fighting the urge to moan. Enzo toyed with the band, waiting for your answer. 

“Yeah,” you said breathily. “I think—I think you’re right.”

“Course I am. Let me take it off for you then, yeah?” 

“Okay.” 

Enzo unhooked your bra with a flick of his fingers. Almost like he had long mastered the art and this was merely just child’s play. He helped you shrug out of your bra and carelessly tossed it to the side. You sighed softly as Enzo switched to long, purposeful strokes. He started at your hips, then your stomach, gradually moving up until he was barely an inch away from the underside of your breasts. Your eyes fluttered close, completely lost to his touch. They opened again when Enzo nuzzled his nose against yours. 

“Hi,” he said with a smile. 

“Hi,” you whispered. “What are we doing, Enzo?” 

“Nothing that I haven’t thought about a million times over.”

“You’ve thought about me like this?” 

“I’m always thinking about you,” Enzo admitted. “Sometimes it’s just cuddling or holding hands. Just sweet stuff cause I love touching you like this, but other times…other times I dream about you like you dreamt about me.”

Your breath hitched. “You know about my dream?” 

“I heard you in the common room earlier.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I don’t know what came over me. That’s why I haven’t talked to you much this week. I didn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Enzo took your hand and slid it down the front of his gray sweatpants. You gasped when you felt how hard he was against your palm. “Do I feel uncomfortable to you, sweetheart?”

You shook your head, biting down on your lip. You didn’t trust yourself with words at the moment. Enzo nuzzled against you, littering soft little kisses in his wake. He pecked and nipped at your neck, your collarbone, your jaw. 

“You drive me fucking mad, you know that? I want you so badly I’d literally get on my knees and beg if you asked.”

The tension was too much for you to bear. You pulled him in by the front of his shirt and pressed your lips against his. Enzo groaned into your mouth. The hand underneath your shirt crawled up until he was cupping your tits, rubbing his thumb over your nipples. Enzo tried to keep the kisses soft. He intended to savor it, but every ounce of self control went out the window the second he heard you moan. 

Enzo flipped you over so that you were straddling his lap. He looked down and realized that you were wearing one of his old shirts and the sight of it made him even harder. The tiny shorts you were wearing was a pesky little barrier, but it didn’t stop him from grinding his hardness against your ass. He tugged at the hem of your shirt. 

“Take this off, right now. I need to feel you, pretty girl.”

He watched as you peeled off the shirt. Enzo did the same, tossing both articles of clothing over the side of your bed. He groaned at the skin to skin contact. Enzo smiled as he drank it all in. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

“You’re not bad to look at either, Enz.”

Enzo chuckled. “Cheeky girl. Come on, then. Shorts off too.”

You took off your shorts as Enzo slipped out of his sweatpants and boxers. He kissed you again, sloppy, filthy, and downright obscene. There was plenty of panting and groping as the two of you explored each other’s bodies. Enzo practically purred into your ear as you rubbed over his shaft. He felt like velvet in your hands. When you flicked your thumb to spread the bead of precum over his tip, Enzo released an animalistic growl. 

“Oh fuck,” he whimpered. “Gods, I need to be inside of you right fucking now or I’ll die.”

There was no time to slide off your panties. Enzo merely yanked it to the side and guided you over him. He kept his eyes on you as you sank down slowly, taking him inch by inch. Enzo groaned, digging his fingers into your hips while you adjusted to his size.

“Goddamn, you’re so wet and so fucking tight.” 

You had no idea that such filthy words could sound like music in your ears. Enzo may have been sweet as sugar, but you knew that he wasn’t innocent. He was far too cheeky to be anything but downright dirty in bed. 

Enzo was also extremely responsive. He made sure to praise and worship like your body was an altar and he was the most pious believer. 

“Enz, gods,” you moaned as he flicked his tongue over your nipple. “You’re really good at that.” 

“Yeah?” He asked cheekily. “You think so?” 

You chuckled. It was such an Enzo comment. If you weren’t actively losing your mind, you might’ve rolled your eyes at him. Whatever fantasy your mind has conjured paled in comparison to reality. Sex with Enzo was easy. You knew him and you trusted him. It was like breathing air. 

Every moan and whimper only helped you grow more and more attuned with each other’s bodies. The sounds you made were a special language of its own, one that only you and Enzo understood.

“That’s it, princess. You’re taking me so well.” 

“Like that?” you asked, rolling your hips. 

Enzo groaned in response, which made you smirk in satisfaction. He chuckled and kissed you deeply. “Ride me harder, sweetheart. Fuck…yeah just like that.” 

He moaned into your mouth, meeting the roll of your hips with thrusts of his own. Enzo pressed his forehead against your, his long lashes kissing the tops of your cheekbones while he pressed you closer. The deep angle in which he drove into you had you clawing at his back. 

“Oh gods, oh fuck. I can feel you clenching around me, pretty girl. You’re gonna cum for me like a good girl, yeah?”

“I’m so close.” Enzo flipped you onto your back and fucked you into the mattress. The tension uncoiled in your core until you were panting, chasing after that sweet release. “Oh—oh gods, Enzo.”

The orgasm knocked the very breath from your lungs. It was a total out of body experience. Your back arched, your toes curled, and you screamed his name, but none of it registered past the pleasure of coming. As soon as Enzo felt you creaming him from base to tip, he came too. 

It was strangely beautiful to watch. Enzo was mesmerizing. With his sweat slicked skin and swollen lips, strands of his dark hair clinging onto his flushed cheeks. You’ve never seen such a pretty sight. 

The two of you stayed curled up into each other. Enzo slowly pulled out and placed a tender kiss on your temple. This time, there wasn’t a single hint of hesitation as you cuddled up against his side. He was warm and comfortable, lulling you into sleep as he tangled his long legs with yours. 

You didn’t know how long you drifted off. It only felt like a few seconds later when you found yourself on your stomach, blinking sleepily up at Enzo. He smiled, kissing along your spine as he pried your legs apart. You groaned into the pillow as he thrusted lazily from behind. 

It was dark as night outside when you were finally done. You couldn’t even remember how many times he made you cum. All you knew was that you were in complete bliss as you and Enzo sprawled out on your sheets. 

You looked up at Enzo. He looked down at you. The two of you burst into a nervous fit of giggles.

“Shit. Did we just—“

He nodded, curling a strand of your hair through his fingers. “Yeah, we definitely did. Two. Three. Four times? I honestly lost count.” 

You chuckled softly. There was a moment of silence as you collected yourself. Enzo lowered himself down so that you were facing each other. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asked, nudging your cheek with his nose. “Tell me what’s going on in that head of yours, pretty girl.” 

Despite your steamy activities, you had never felt more shy than when he brushed his lips across your knuckles. 

“I care about you, Enzo and I know you care about me too. Tonight was….fuck. Tonight was great. I just want to make sure this doesn’t change our friendship.”

“Of course it’s going to change things,” Enzo said matter-of-factly. “You think I can stay just friends with you after that?” 

You swallowed thickly. “I don’t want you to feel obligated. I know you don’t really date. I mean, half the school’s asked you out and you’ve turned them all down, so I’m not expecting to be the exception. It’s alright if you just want this to be casual.”

“I don’t. I’ve said no to everyone because I’ve been waiting for you. You are the exception, Y/N. It’s always been you.” 

“Really?” you whispered, biting back a smile. “You mean that?” 

Enzo nodded and kissed your fingertips. “Sweetheart, you’ve had me in the palm of your hands since we were eleven. Of course I mean it.” 

You didn’t try to hide your smile. You were absolutely beaming. “So you don’t want things to be casual?”

“There’s nothing casual about what I feel for you.” 

“Okay,” you said, processing his revelation. “I don’t want things to be casual either. It might be selfish, but I think I want you all to myself, Enzo.” 

He released a sigh of relief. “Oh thank fucking Merlin. I want you all to myself too, Y/N.”

[inkyquillstories]

Trading Medals Part 2: (A Body Swap Story)

Part 1: https://www.tumblr.com/inkyquillstories/774729028416520192/trading-medals-part-1-a-body-swap-story?source=share Note: This story has a lot more photos and videos (NSFW!) but Tumblr won't let me. If you would like to see the NSFW version, check it out on my discord! https://discord.gg/mMY9wSu4rS

Trading Medals Part 2:

Ethan—now Mark—stirred awake earlier than usual, blinking against the morning light filtering through the blinds. Normally, he’d struggle to get out of bed, groggy and sluggish, but today was different. There was an energy coursing through him, a natural liveliness that felt effortless. He immediately opened his selfie camera to admire himself. As he sat up, the movement alone felt powerful—his arms, his shoulders, even his core engaging in ways his old body never had.

His stomach grumbled. He needed coffee. Moving through the dorm with Mark’s easy, confident stride, he made his way to the kitchenette, instinctively rolling his shoulders as if loosening up for a workout. He reached for the coffee maker, surprised at the way his larger hands completely enveloped the handle of the pot. Even the act of scooping coffee grounds felt different—the extra weight behind his movements, the sheer size of his hands.

As the coffee brewed, he leaned against the counter, absently flexing his fingers and forearms. He lifted his arm, sniffing the faint scent of Mark’s natural musk mixed with the lingering notes of his body wash. It was strange. Not bad—just unfamiliar. When the coffee was ready, he poured himself a cup and took a sip. Even his taste buds felt different; the bitterness wasn’t as overwhelming as it used to be. Maybe Mark just liked stronger coffee.

Still waking up, he decided to freshen up before heading to the gym. Coffee in hand, he walked into the bathroom, turning on the light and stepping up to the mirror. The sight that greeted him was almost surreal—Mark’s face staring back at him, but with his own thoughts and emotions behind those deep-set eyes. He lifted a hand, running his fingers along his jawline, feeling the light stubble. He tilted his head, studying the sharp angles of his cheekbones, the structure of his nose, the fullness of his lips. Mark was attractive—he had always known that—but seeing himself like this, being in this body, made it hit differently.

He set his coffee down and reached for the toothbrush. Even brushing his teeth felt different—the width of his grip on the handle, the strength in his arm as he moved. The minty foam filled his mouth, and he found himself examining his reflection again as he brushed. The toothpaste left a sharp coolness on his tongue, but beneath it, he caught another scent—his own morning breath. Not bad, just different. Huskier? Deeper? He rinsed his mouth and swished with mouthwash before patting his face dry with a towel.

That’s when he caught it. A strong, musky scent clinging to his skin. His armpits.

He hesitated, then lifted an arm experimentally, leaning in to take a cautious whiff. The scent hit him immediately—thicker, more potent than what he was used to. Musky, masculine, layered with the remnants of yesterday’s deodorant and sweat. It wasn’t bad—Mark had always smelled like this after a workout—but experiencing it firsthand was something else. It made him hyper-aware of just how different this body was. Mark's body runs hot, sweats more. No wonder he showers so often.

He instinctively reached for Mark’s deodorant on the counter, twisting the cap open and rolling the cool gel under his arms. The fresh scent mixed with the underlying musk, taming it slightly. Then, for good measure, he grabbed a bottle of cologne from the shelf and gave himself a couple of sprays on the chest and wrists. It was a scent he recognized—Mark had worn it on dates before. Spicy, warm, a little woodsy. He took another deep breath. Better.

Now fully awake and refreshed, Ethan tugged off his shirt, tossing it onto the counter. His breath hitched slightly at the sight of his bare chest. His pecs were well-defined, his abs sculpted. He ran a hand down his torso, feeling the ridges of muscle beneath his fingertips. This wasn’t just looking at Mark’s body anymore—this was his body now.

Turning slightly, he flexed an arm, watching as the bicep swelled impressively. He did it again, fascinated by the way the muscles responded. Damn. No wonder Mark loves this body so much.

He turned his attention lower, running his hands over his obliques, down to his waist, before finally letting out a slow breath. He was big. Bigger than he ever thought he could be.

The thought sent a thrill through him.

Finishing the last of his coffee, Ethan shook himself out of his daze. If he was in Mark’s body, he was going to use it properly. And that meant one thing—he needed to hit the gym.

Grinning at his reflection one last time, he grabbed his gym bag and headed out.

The workout was intense, but his new body handled it with ease. Every lift, every push, every rep felt powerful. He caught his reflection in the mirror—Mark’s tall, muscular physique gleaming with sweat—and smirked. This was his body for the weekend. He rolled his shoulders and flexed, marveling at the way his biceps bulged under the strain.

After the gym, he headed to football practice. The moment he stepped onto the field, muscle memory kicked in. He didn’t have Mark’s exact skills, but his body did. Running drills, catching passes, moving across the field—it all felt strangely natural. The other players joked around with him, completely unaware that the real Mark wasn’t inside. Ethan played along, enjoying the camaraderie, the effortless strength, and the way his deep voice carried over the field. By the time practice ended, Ethan was drenched in sweat. He made his way to the locker room, peeling off the sticky jersey and stepping into the showers.

The bathroom was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead. Ethan leaned against the sink, his broad shoulders casting a shadow on the tiled wall. His tank top clinging to his sweat-slicked chest, the fabric stretched taut over his pecs. He caught his reflection in the mirror and paused, his eyes scanning over the chiseled lines of his face, the way his dark hair fell just so. He smirked, flexing his biceps instinctively, watching the muscles ripple under his tan skin.

God, he looked good.

His gaze drifted lower, down to the tufts of dark hair that peeked out from under his arms. They were thick, untamed, and—he thought with a flicker of pride—undeniably manly. He lifted his arm slightly, catching the faint scent of his own musk. It was earthy, raw, and something about it made his pulse quicken. He inhaled deeply, his nostrils flaring as the smell filled his senses. Damn. He’d never really thought about it before, but there was something about the way he smelled after a workout that was... intoxicating.

He rolled his shoulders, his muscles flexing as he struck another pose in the mirror. His chest was broad, his abs defined, and his arms—he couldn’t help but admire them. He turned slightly, catching the light on his profile, and his breath hitched. Fuck, Mark… rather, he was sexy. His hand drifted to his waistband, fingers brushing against the bulge that was already growing there. He hesitated for just a moment before tugging his shorts down, letting his hard cock spring free.

His reflection stared back at him, eyes dark with desire. He wrapped his hand around his length, giving himself a slow, deliberate stroke. His skin was hot to the touch, and he could feel the heat radiating from his pits as he flexed his arm again. The scent was stronger now, almost overwhelming, and it sent a shiver down his spine.

His grip tightened, his thumb brushing over the head of his cock as he continued to stroke himself. His other hand reached up, fingers threading through the thick hair under his arm. He tugged gently, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure straight to his groin. Fuck. He’d never realized how sensitive Mark’s body was, how the slightest touch could make his entire body tremble.

Ethan’s hips bucked involuntarily, his cock slipping through his fist as he lost himself in the rhythm. His reflection was a blur of muscle and sweat, his face flushed with arousal. He could feel the pressure building, his balls tightening as he edged closer to release. He leaned back against the sink, his legs slightly spread as he continued to stroke himself, his pace quickening with each passing second.

His eyes locked onto his own in the mirror, the intensity of his gaze making his heart race. He could see the hunger there, the raw need that he hadn’t even realized was there until now. His hand moved faster, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he felt himself teetering on the edge.

And then, with a guttural groan, he came, his release spurting onto the tiles below. His body shuddered with the force of it, his muscles tense as he rode out the wave of pleasure. He slumped against the sink, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His reflection stared back at him, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

After jerking off, he headed to the showers and turned it on. As the warm water ran over his sculpted body, he took a moment to admire it. The sheer power of his new muscles, the defined lines of his abs, the weight of his broad shoulders—it was intoxicating. He ran his hands over his biceps, flexing slightly, feeling the tension in his arms. Even his scent was different—earthy, strong, unmistakably masculine. The musk of sweat mixed with the lingering scent of Mark’s body wash, a smell Ethan had grown familiar with over three years of rooming together, but now it belonged to him. The deep timbre of his voice hummed as he sighed in satisfaction. He had never felt this alive before.

He explored his body even more. He never felt so manly before. He always knew he was straight but he felt like a straight man born in a gay man’s body. Everything about his physical form “stereotypically” does not exude the type of gender expression he wished he could live.

Meanwhile…

Mark—now Ethan—had an entirely different kind of day.

He woke up later than usual, not having an early practice for once. The first thing he noticed was how much smaller and lighter his body felt compared to what he was used to. He stretched, feeling the slight stiffness of someone who didn’t work out as often.

Curious, he stepped in front of the mirror, staring at his new reflection. He wasn’t used to looking up at his own face. His jawline was softer, his frame more compact, but there was an elegance to it. He lifted his shirt, exposing the lean torso beneath. It lacked the definition he was used to, but there was something oddly freeing about it. He ran his hands over his chest, noticing how smooth it was compared to his usual body.

Flexing his arms, he chuckled at how different they looked—smaller, but still toned in their own way. He moved his hands over his legs, marveling at how much shorter and slimmer they were. Even his feet felt strange, more narrow and delicate. He took a few steps around the room, adjusting to the lighter weight of his movements. There was a new fluidity to them, a different kind of balance. He wasn’t carrying the same mass, the same presence—but he found himself appreciating the change.

For the first time in a long while, Mark wasn’t thinking about football, workouts, or his reputation. He was just… experiencing his body in a completely new way. And though it was weird, it wasn’t entirely bad.

The next day came and Ethan—still in Mark’s body—felt more alive than he ever had before. Every moment as Mark was like living the dream he never dared to admit he had. He walked around campus with confidence, shoulders squared, head high, feeling the weight of his strong, muscular frame commanding attention wherever he went. It was surreal how easily people gravitated toward him now. His teammates respected him. Strangers smiled at him. Girls giggled when he passed by. Even Mark’s usual hangout crew welcomed him without hesitation, treating him as if he had always been one of them.

Football practice was the highlight of his day. The power in his legs when he sprinted, the sheer force behind each throw—every movement felt natural and exhilarating. He relished the feeling of being strong, of pushing his limits and seeing what this body could do. And the best part? No one second-guessed his confidence. He wasn’t the awkward, reserved Ethan anymore. He was Mark, the campus star athlete, the guy everyone wanted to talk to. It was intoxicating.

Despite how much he was enjoying himself, Ethan never let himself get too comfortable. This was still Mark’s life, Mark’s body, and no matter how much he loved the attention and strength, he knew he could never steal it from his best friend. This was temporary, just a fun experience. But still… he couldn’t help but wonder—what would life be like if this was permanent?

Meanwhile, Mark—inhabiting Ethan’s smaller frame—was beginning to appreciate this new perspective on life. At first, it had been jarring to be so much weaker, to not have his usual presence, but the more he embraced it, the more he found things to enjoy. For one, he loved the freedom of eating whatever he wanted without worrying about macros or performance. He spent the afternoon curled up with a book, getting lost in the world of fantasy—something he never made time for before.

Video games, something he’d always brushed off as a waste of time, suddenly made sense to him. He played for hours, captivated by the strategy and storytelling, appreciating why Ethan enjoyed them so much. Even Ethan’s friends were a nice change of pace—deep conversations, nerdy debates, casual game nights. They welcomed him in as if he’d always been one of them, and Mark found himself feeling at home in a way he hadn’t expected.

One thing that caught him off guard, though, was the attention he was getting—from guys. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been checked out before, but it was different now. More frequent. More obvious. Some of Ethan’s friends, people he had never given a second thought to before, were flirting with him, and Mark wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Was it just because he looked different now? Or was it something about the way he carried himself in Ethan’s body? Either way, it was an unexpected thrill.

By Sunday night, both men sat on their respective beds, staring at each other in silence. Neither of them wanted to admit it, but the excitement of returning to their old bodies wasn’t as strong as they thought it would be.

“You ready?” Mark finally asked.

Ethan hesitated before nodding. “Yeah… yeah, let’s do it.”

They retrieved the medallion, each feeling a strange sense of loss. The weekend had been incredible—eye-opening, thrilling—but they knew it was time to go back.

The atmosphere in their dorm room felt oddly familiar as Mark—still in Ethan’s body—peeled off his clothes, gathering them in his arms before handing them over to Ethan. The process was the same as before, yet it carried a different weight now. Unlike the first time, there was no hesitation, no disbelief. They both knew the swap worked. They had spent the entire weekend living each other’s lives, feeling every difference, experiencing what it was like to be someone else. And now, it was time to go back.

Ethan, still in Mark’s muscular frame, stripped down as well, revealing the powerful physique he had gotten so accustomed to. He hesitated for a brief moment, glancing down at the body he had grown to love, before passing Mark’s used clothes over. The scent of sweat and cologne clung to the fabric, a reminder of football practice, of workouts, of being the center of attention. He sighed as he took the smaller, softer clothes from Mark, which smelled fresher—more like books, detergent, and faint traces of tea.

Mark, now holding Ethan’s football-practice-worn shirt, hesitated before wearing it. On impulse, he raised it to his face, taking a deep inhale of the fabric. The scent was strong—musky, earthy, the unmistakable aroma of sweat from an active day—but it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it was weirdly familiar now.

Ethan caught the moment instantly, just as Mark had done to him days ago. A slow smirk formed on his face.

“Dude,” Ethan teased, crossing his arms over his broad chest, “you just sniffed my shirt.”

Mark quickly lowered the shirt, eyes darting away. “No, I didn’t.”

“Oh, you totally did.” Ethan laughed, shaking his head. “So, you get it now, huh?”

Mark huffed “Shut up and get dressed.”

Once they were dressed in their original bodies’ outfits, Mark retrieved the medallion, holding it between them. The weight of it felt more significant now. They touched the medallion together, gripping it firmly. Then, just as before, they spoke the words.

Ethan began. 

“I, Mark Christopher Bennett, wish to swap bodies with Ethan Daniel Graves.”

The medallion pulsed. Mark hesitated for only a second before responding:

“I, Ethan Daniel Graves, wish to swap bodies with Mark Christopher Bennett.”

A tingle spread through Mark’s arms. He could feel it creeping along his skin, like static electricity building.

Ethan kept going, his voice steady:

“I, Mark Christopher Bennett, accept Ethan Graves’ body as my own.”

Mark swallowed hard, following suit.

“I, Ethan Daniel Graves, accept Mark Bennett’s body as my own.”

The warmth turned into something hotter, something that crawled through their veins. Their skin tingled, their muscles tightened, and the medallion itself grew almost unbearably warm.

Then, together, they spoke the final line:

Ethan: “I am Ethan Graves, and he is Mark Christopher Bennett.”

Mark: “I am Mark Bennett, and he is Ethan Daniel Graves.”

As soon as the final words of the spell left their mouths, the medallion flared with a brilliant, golden light. A strange force gripped their bodies, like an invisible current pulling at them from the inside out. The shift began with an odd tingling sensation at their cores, rippling outward. It started subtly—a weightlessness in their limbs, a pulling at their extremities—but quickly escalated into something far more intense.

Ethan was the first to feel the changes. His heart was pounding like a drum. He could feel it— the shift, the change, the wrongness of it all. A cold sensation swept through his legs, followed by a strange contraction. His long, powerful thighs seemed to deflate, the solid muscle softening, shrinking, as his femurs shortened. His calves lost their firmness, thinning into their previous lean shape. He looked down, watching as the muscular definition in his calves began to fade, the skin tightening, the strength evaporating. His thighs, once thick and powerful, now looked slender, almost fragile. He wobbled slightly, feeling his entire center of gravity shift. It wasn’t just his legs—his whole body was retracting, his towering height sinking down inch by inch, forcing him to adjust his stance. The commanding presence he had grown used to over the weekend was slipping away with every second, and a pit formed in his stomach.

Mark, meanwhile, gasped as he felt warmth rush into his legs, stretching and expanding them. His feet grew larger, toes elongating, the arches flattening out as they thickened into their usual, well-worn shape. He could feel his legs filling with strength, the bulk of his quads re-emerging, his hamstrings tightening with the familiar density of athleticism. His calves pulsed as they strengthened, forming the thick, muscular contours he had spent years developing. The ground felt further away again, his perspective rising, and a strange mixture of relief and… disappointment curled in his chest. He had missed his body, hadn’t he? Then why did he feel like he was losing something, too?

Ethan swallowed hard as the changes traveled upward. Ethan’s hands instinctively went to his groin. His waist narrowed, his abs tightening but losing the sheer definition they had gained over the weekend. He ran a hand over his stomach, feeling the subtle softness return.

He gasped as he felt his cock begin to shrink, the sensation both surreal and horrifying. He could feel every inch as it receded, the heavy weight he’d grown accustomed to diminishing, leaving him with something far smaller, far less him. He cupped himself, his fingers trembling as they explored the new reality. No, no, no. It wasn’t just the size— it was the thickness, the way it felt in his hand. It was wrong. All wrong.

His chest followed suit—his broad, powerful pecs receding, his shoulders losing mass, his frame returning to its former slim, unassuming, slightly hairy build. The weight of Mark’s strong, sturdy body lifted from him, leaving him feeling… smaller. Weaker. Less. He hated the thought, but it was there, lingering at the edge of his mind.

But as Ethan staggered back, now looking up at Mark once more, an unexpected hollowness settled in his chest. He had told himself all weekend that this was temporary, that he wouldn’t get attached. But now, standing there, watching Mark easily reclaim his towering frame, he felt… small. And not just physically.

Mark’s breath hitched as the sensation began. It started at the very base of his spine, a low, tingling warmth that seemed to pulse outward, spreading like wildfire through his body. He could feel it, really feel it—the way his body was shifting, changing, becoming something else entirely. His hands instinctively went to his crotch, where the most intense part of the transformation was taking place.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling with a mix of shock and exhilaration. His once modest cock was growing, stretching, filling in a way that made his head spin. The sensation was overwhelming—every nerve ending in his body seemed to light up at once. It was as if his entire being was being rewritten, reshaped by some unseen force.

The fabric of his jeans strained against his hips as his new size pressed against it, demanding space. Mark’s fingers fumbled with his belt, desperate to free himself, to see what was happening. When he finally managed to unbutton his jeans and pull them down, he gasped.

There it was.

His cock, now thick and heavy, lay against his thigh, pulsing with a newfound intensity. The veins along its length stood out in stark relief, the sheer size of it almost unbelievable. He couldn’t help but reach out, his fingers trembling as he wrapped them around it. The sensation of his own grip was electric, sending a jolt of pleasure up his spine. His breath came in short, shallow gasps as he marveled at the transformation.

The shift continued, creeping up to their necks. Ethan felt his Adam’s apple retreat slightly, his throat slimming down, his voice box adjusting. He let out a small sound, and immediately, it was different—higher, softer. His heart sank. He had gotten used to Mark’s deep, rich voice, the way it carried weight, how people listened when he spoke. Now, he was back to his normal voice—fine, but lacking the same presence. Meanwhile, Mark rolled his shoulders as his throat thickened, his Adam’s apple becoming more pronounced once more. He instinctively let out a small grunt, and the sound was deep, smooth, confident. It should’ve felt like coming home… so why did he feel like something was missing?

Then came their faces. Ethan winced as his sharp, chiseled features softened, his strong jawline retreating back into its normal, more rounded form. The light dusting of stubble he had admired all weekend vanished, leaving only the sparse, fine scruff he was used to. His black hair lightened, strands shifting back to his usual light brown. He swallowed the bitter taste of disappointment, glancing up at Mark—his body—one last time before his vision blurred and settled again.

Mark, meanwhile, felt his face reshape, his jaw sharpening, his features returning to their usual, striking form. The short, neat cut of his dark hair returned, styled just as he always kept it. His lips parted as he took in the final details of his restored form, flexing his fingers, rolling his shoulders, adjusting to the return of his familiar frame. And yet… his stomach twisted. He looked at Ethan—shorter, leaner, back to his usual self—and felt something he refused to name.

Then Ethan lifted an arm, and his breath hitched. His armpit hair had lightened back to its usual shade—a soft, unimposing light brown. Worse, the scent was gone. Over the weekend, he had been steeped in Mark’s natural musk, strong and masculine. Now? He barely smelled like anything at all. He swallowed, an uncomfortable thought creeping in: I feel… less like a man. He knew it was ridiculous, but it gnawed at him. That strength, that presence, that raw, physical confidence—it was gone, and he hated that he missed it.

Mark, on the other hand, caught a whiff of himself and grimaced. His underarms were back to their usual coarse, dark black, the scent strong, musky, overpowering. He wrinkled his nose, suddenly hyper-aware of the difference. He had spent the weekend smelling cleaner, lighter, and while he had initially mocked it, now… now he felt almost self-conscious. He quickly shook the thought away. This was how he was supposed to be. This was his body. Right?

They stood in silence for a moment, both adjusting, both forcing smiles.

Mark forced a grin and clapped Ethan’s back. “Well, that was fun,” he said, his voice carrying its usual confident weight.

Ethan nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. Yeah, it was.” His tone was casual, light. But inside, he was screaming.

Neither of them said what they were really thinking. Neither of them admitted they weren’t ready to let go.

-

The room had fallen into a heavy silence after the swap. They were back in their rightful bodies. That was supposed to feel good, wasn’t it? Ethan clenched his hands at his sides, feeling how much smaller his fingers were again, how his palms lacked the rough calluses he had grown accustomed to. He caught himself stealing a glance at Mark, at the way his large, muscular frame filled out his clothes effortlessly. His broad shoulders, his defined arms, the easy way he carried himself—it was a presence Ethan had gotten used to having for himself. Now, he was just Ethan again. Plain, skinny, unimposing Ethan. He tried to shake off the feeling.

Mark was feeling something eerily similar. His eyes flickered toward Ethan, at how much shorter he was, how lean his frame had returned to being. Yet, there was something effortless about it, something… freeing. Mark had spent his whole life training, maintaining his physique, dealing with the expectations that came with his size and strength. Being in Ethan’s body had been strange at first, but by the end, it had felt like he had been unshackled from a weight he didn’t even know he was carrying. He caught himself staring and quickly turned away. No. This was his body. This was who he was. He should be glad to be back.

Both men forced casual conversation, pretending everything was fine. But when they went their separate ways for the night, they each found themselves facing something they weren’t prepared for.

Ethan stood in front of the bathroom mirror, his fingers tracing over his jawline—softer, less pronounced than Mark’s. He ran a hand through his light brown hair, missing the darker, heavier locks he had briefly owned. His hands trailed down his arms, feeling the lack of defined muscle, the smaller shape of his wrists. He hesitated before lifting his shirt, his stomach nowhere near as sculpted as it had been before. His chest, narrow and flat, lacked the broadness he had come to love. It was like waking up from the best dream of his life only to realize reality could never compare. He let out a breath, stepping away. It didn’t matter. This was him. He had to accept it… right?

Mark stood in his own dorm’s shower, letting the water cascade down his body. He scrubbed at his arms, his chest, his legs, but he couldn’t wash away the strange discomfort settling inside him. His body was big again, strong, just as it always had been. But after a weekend of feeling lighter, more flexible, not constantly weighed down by muscle and bulk, it felt… suffocating. He exhaled slowly, pressing his hands against the shower wall, letting the steam cloud his vision. He was Mark again. That was what he wanted. So why did it feel like he had lost something?

The next morning, neither of them brought it up. They both threw themselves into their usual routines, pretending everything was back to normal.

Mark found himself sitting in class, foot tapping impatiently. The material felt too easy, too slow. Over the weekend, Ethan’s mind had processed things differently—quicker, sharper. It had been exhilarating, a different kind of strength and he seemed to still have the sharper mind he had when he was in Ethan’s body. 

When practice rolled around, Mark expected to feel the same rush he always did. But as he ran drills, lifted weights, and pushed his body to its limits, something felt… off. It wasn’t that he wasn’t performing well—he was. His strength was back, his endurance solid. But the thrill of it wasn’t hitting the same way. He found his eyes drifting toward the stands, where Ethan was watching, an unreadable look on his face.

Ethan had struggled through his morning classes. The numbers, the equations—things that had come to him so easily before but now felt like an uphill battle. He hated it. He hated how much smaller he felt in his chair, how people barely noticed him like they had before. At lunch, he made a decision. If he couldn’t have Mark’s body, he would do everything he could to make his own better.

That afternoon, Ethan walked into the gym. It was intimidating at first—the towering machines, the heavy weights, the guys twice his size grunting through reps. Normally, he would’ve turned back. But he had been strong once. He had felt it, lived it. He refused to let that feeling go. He started small, sticking to exercises he knew Mark did. He struggled, his muscles burning quicker than he expected, but he pushed through. He had to. Because even if he was back in his own body, he wasn’t willing to let go of what he had felt.

Later, he found himself watching Mark at practice. He wasn’t just admiring—he was analyzing. The way Mark moved, the decisions he made, the power in his stance. Before, Ethan would’ve just seen it as football. Now, he saw what he could have done if he had still been in that body. He caught himself thinking, I would’ve run that play differently. I would’ve done better. He shook his head. No. That wasn’t his place. But the thought didn’t leave him.

Neither of them spoke about it. Not that night. Not the next day. But the feeling lingered, gnawing at them. They were back in their rightful bodies. Then why did it feel so wrong?

Late at night, in the dim glow of their shared dorm room, Mark sat on his bed, his head resting against the wall, staring at the ceiling. Ethan was at his desk, pretending to read, but his eyes weren’t moving over the words. They had been like this for a while—lost in their own thoughts, too afraid to speak aloud what they both felt.

Finally, Mark exhaled heavily. “Something’s wrong with us, dude.”

Ethan turned his chair slightly to face him. “Yeah,” he admitted. “I thought it was just, you know, some weird aftereffect of the swap. But it’s been days.”

Mark shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “I keep waiting for things to go back to normal. To feel normal. But…” He trailed off, unable to find the right words.

Ethan nodded. “I know what you mean.” There was a pause, then a quiet chuckle. “It’s stupid, right? We should be happy we got our bodies back.”

“Yeah,” Mark agreed, but the word felt hollow. He stared at his hands, flexing them. They were his hands—big, strong, calloused from years of football. But somehow, they didn’t feel right anymore. He didn’t feel right.

The days dragged on, but that lingering sense of wrongness never faded. And then, one day, Mark made a mistake.

“Hey, Mark, can you—” Mark stopped mid-sentence, realizing his slip. His stomach twisted.

Ethan turned to him, eyes wide. “You… you just called me Mark.”

Mark winced. “Shit. I didn’t mean—”

“No,” Ethan interrupted. He took a deep breath, then said, “I liked it.”

Mark stared at him. “You did?”

Ethan hesitated before nodding. “Yeah. I don’t know why, but… it felt right. Just for a second.”

Mark let that sink in. Then, slowly, he said, “What if… what if we just do it? Just in here. Call each other by the other’s name when we’re alone.”

Ethan’s heart pounded and his groin felt buzzed, but he nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.”

And so they did. At first, it was just an experiment, a little game they played behind closed doors. But it became more than that. It became habit. It became comfortable.

Then, a few days later, Ethan frowned as he stood in front of his closet. His usual wardrobe—loose hoodies, skinny jeans, graphic tees—suddenly felt… wrong. Off. He picked up one of his shirts and turned to Mark, hesitating before speaking. “Hey… can I borrow some of your clothes?”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Mine?”

“Yeah. I don’t know. These just don’t feel right anymore.”

Mark shrugged. “Go ahead, man.”

Ethan slipped into one of Mark’s t-shirts—a simple, fitted athletic tee—and it felt better. He turned in the mirror, noting how it clung to his frame, how it carried Mark’s scent. He liked it.

But soon, Mark started feeling the same way about his own wardrobe. The baggy sweatpants, the well-worn football jerseys, the compression shorts—none of it felt good. One evening, he hesitated before pulling one of Ethan’s sweaters off the hanger and slipping it on. It was softer, cozier. It smelled like Ethan. And it felt right.

Their closets blurred as they both started borrowing more and more. Eventually, they weren’t even asking. They were just taking.

Then, one night, Mark hesitated again before speaking. “Hey… I got another weird request.”

Ethan turned to him, curious. “What is it?”

Mark rubbed the back of his neck, clearly embarrassed. “I… I don’t like my bed. It smells like me. And I don’t like my smell anymore.”

Ethan’s breath hitched. “You want to swap beds?”

Mark nodded. “Yeah.”

Ethan swallowed, then nodded back. “Okay.”

They swapped beds that night, and for the first time in days, they both slept peacefully.

But it didn’t stop there.

Mark hesitated the next day before bringing up his final request. “What if… what if we swapped clothes, too? Not just from the closet. I mean… worn clothes. So we can, you know, smell like each other. Like we used to.”

Ethan’s pulse quickened. He didn’t even have to think. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, let’s do it.”

That night, Mark pulled on Ethan’s button-up shirt, the fabric already carrying his scent. Ethan tugged on one of Mark’s t-shirts, the musk thick and familiar. They settled into their swapped beds, breathing in each other’s scent, feeling more at ease than they had since returning to their original bodies.

Neither of them spoke, but in the quiet, they both knew the truth.

They didn’t want to go back.

They just wanted to be each other again.

It started small. Ethan, already borrowing Mark’s clothes, found himself reaching for more than just oversized hoodies and athletic joggers. His eyes lingered on Mark’s guitar, the sleek instrument resting in its stand, untouched since they had swapped back. At first, he only plucked a few strings, pretending it was just curiosity. But soon, he was playing more often, strumming absentmindedly as he lounged in Mark’s bed, sinking into the familiar but foreign scent of his former body.

Meanwhile, Mark had taken to Ethan’s bookshelf. He had never been much of a reader before, but there was something soothing about curling up in Ethan’s old bed, flipping through fantasy novels and sci-fi epics. He told himself it was a way to reconnect with his roommate, a way to understand him better, but deep down, he knew it was more than that. It was the comfort of familiarity—the feeling that he was reclaiming something that had been lost.

The exchange deepened. Ethan, once hesitant about the gym after the swap, now felt an itch he couldn’t shake. His body was weaker, smaller, and he hated it. He started using Mark’s gym equipment, struggling at first but determined to regain even a fraction of the strength he had once known. The weights were heavier than he remembered, his endurance lacking, but he pushed through, clinging to the memory of what it felt like to be powerful.

Mark, on the other hand, found himself at Ethan’s desk more often than his own. Ethan’s computer, complete with a high-end gaming setup, had become his new retreat. At first, he just watched streams, but soon he was logging in, playing Ethan’s favorite games, and even messaging Ethan’s online friends as if nothing had changed. However, he can’t use the mic cause Ethan’s friends would know that he’s actually Mark. Now, even though the games remained the same, he felt like an outsider in his own hobby.

The contrast was stark. Mark struggled at football practice, going through the motions but lacking the fire he once had. He found himself dreading the drills, the tackles, the weight of expectation that came with his original body. Ethan, watching from the stands, clenched his fists. He wanted to be the one out there, wanted to push himself, run drills, score points. He missed the rush, the sweat, the exhaustion that had once felt so natural.

Then came the dating profile. Mark had suggested it as a joke at first, but when Ethan hesitated and then agreed, it became real. Using Ethan’s pictures and name, Mark crafted a profile, carefully curating messages, making connections. 

When he met Greg, it felt exciting, refreshing. They bonded over shared interests, and Mark felt seen in a way he hadn’t in a while. But when Greg suggested meeting in person, reality came crashing down.

Mark showed up to the date, nerves tight in his stomach. He had rehearsed his confession—how he was the one Greg had really been talking to—but the moment he sat down, Greg’s expression shifted. It wasn’t the same warmth, the same excitement. Greg wasn’t interested in him. He was interested in Ethan—the Ethan from the pictures, the Ethan who Mark had pretended to be.

The realization hit like a punch to the gut. Mark forced a smile and lied. “Ethan couldn’t make it,” he said, ignoring the hollow feeling in his chest as Greg’s disappointment settled in. The evening was over before it had even begun.

That was the final straw. Mark immediately returned to the dorm, his heart pounding. He found Ethan at his desk, fiddling through Mark’s phone, and without hesitation, he spoke the words neither of them had dared to say since the swap ended.

“I want to switch back.”

Ethan’s shoulders sagged with sheer relief the moment Mark suggested swapping bodies again. The tension that had been simmering inside him for weeks melted away, replaced by a deep, visceral yearning to be back where he belonged. “You have no idea how badly I wanted this,” he admitted, voice almost breathless.

Mark let out a dry chuckle, running a hand through his hair. “Dude, I’ve been dying over here. I feel like I’ve been acting every single day since we switched back.” He glanced at Ethan—at himself—at the body he missed so much. “Let’s do it. Right now.”

They didn’t hesitate. They all but lunged for each other’s clothes, stripping off their current clothes with eager hands and swapping them out for the other’s. Mark shimmied into one of Ethan’s T-shirt, breathing in its clean, light scent, while Ethan pulled on one of Mark’s musky jerseys, reveling in the deep, masculine odor that clung to the fabric. Both men, as if synchronized, lifted the collars of their shirts to their noses, inhaling deeply, drinking in the scent of the body they so desperately wanted to reclaim.

Ethan exhaled shakily. “God, this feels so right.”

Mark nodded, practically giddy, fumbling to pull the medallion from its box. “Then let’s stop wasting time.” Their hands grasped the cold metal together, fingers shaking not with hesitation but with anticipation. They locked eyes, no longer pretending this wasn’t what they both wanted. Then, together, they chanted the incantation.

Mark took a deep breath and began the incantation:

“I, Mark Christopher Bennett, wish to swap bodies with Ethan Daniel Graves.”

The medallion pulsed. Ethan immediately responded. 

“I, Ethan Daniel Graves, wish to swap bodies with Mark Christopher Bennett.”

Mark kept going, his voice steady:

“I, Mark Christopher Bennett, accept Ethan Graves’ body as my own.”

Ethan swallowed hard, following suit.

“I, Ethan Daniel Graves, accept Mark Bennett’s body as my own.”

The warmth turned into something hotter, something that crawled through their veins. Their skin tingled, their muscles tightened, and the medallion itself grew almost unbearably warm.

Then, together, they spoke the final line:

Mark: “I am Ethan Graves, and he is Mark Christopher Bennett.”

Ethan: “I am Mark Bennett, and he is Ethan Daniel Graves.”

The medallion flared to life, golden light spilling from its surface, wrapping around them in tendrils of energy. A deep pulse reverberated through their bones, starting at their cores and stretching outward. The shift was immediate—rapid, intoxicating, perfect.

Ethan felt his body expand and strengthen, his feet widening, muscles thickening, and his stance shifting as he regained Mark’s powerful physique. The transformation surged through him, filling his frame with the familiar weight and strength he had missed, sending a shuddering thrill through his core. Mark, meanwhile, trembled as his body shrank, his muscular bulk dissolving into Ethan’s leaner form. Instead of resisting, he embraced it, reveling in the newfound lightness and precision of his smaller frame

As the transformation reached their underarms, Ethan inhaled deeply, shivering with satisfaction as his thick, dark hairs and potent musk returned, grounding him in his true, masculine form. Mark, in contrast, sighed in relief as his armpit hair lightened, his scent softening into something fresher, more comfortable. Their voices followed suit—Ethan’s deep, commanding timbre rumbled through his chest, while Mark’s returned to its lighter, casual tone, both of them reveling in the familiarity. Finally, their faces reshaped—Ethan’s jaw sharpened, his stubble reappearing as he smirked at his own reflection, while Mark’s features softened, his hair lightening to its natural shade. As they stared at themselves, a shared sense of euphoria settled between them—this was right.

They were finally back.

Ethan flexed his arms again, rolling his shoulders, letting out a laugh that was half relief, half exhilaration. “God, I feel amazing.”

Mark mirrored the motion, stretching his more nimble frame, his grin splitting wider. “Dude, this is exactly how we’re supposed to be.”

They locked eyes, their bodies thrumming with satisfaction, with rightness. The pretending was over. This was where they belonged. But then, the new Ethan immediately said goodbye to the new Mark and left to see Greg. This gave the new Mark some privacy to enjoy being his true self. 

“Fuck yes,” Mark groaned, his voice low and husky as he stood in front of the mirror, his hands roaming over his own body. His reflection stared back at him, every inch of his muscular frame glistening under the dim light of his dorm room. He couldn’t believe it. He was back. His broad shoulders, his chiseled abs, his thick, veiny arms—everything was exactly as it should be. He flexed his bicep, watching the muscle ripple under his skin, and a satisfied grin spread across his face. “I’m Mark again. Finally.”

It had been a nightmare. A fucking nightmare. One minute, he was just a college jock, living his best life, the star of the football team, the envy of every guy on campus. Next, he was trapped in the body of a nerd even though this nerdy body used to be his own. He’d felt like a prisoner in his own skin, every day a reminder of what he’d lost. But now? Now he was back. And he wasn’t wasting a single second.

Mark’s hands moved down his chest, his fingertips brushing over the hard ridges of his abs. He shivered, the sensation electric. It had been so long since he’d felt like this. His cock twitched, already half-hard just from the thrill of being in his own body again. He let out a breathy laugh, his eyes still locked on his reflection. “God, I missed this,” he whispered, his voice trembling with need. “Missed me.”

His hands trailed lower, over the coarse hair that led down to his cock. He was huge. Always had been. Even soft, he was impressive, but now? Now he was rock hard, his length straining against his stomach. He wrapped his fist around himself, his breath hitching at the contact. “Fuck,” he hissed, his hips jerking forward involuntarily. It had been ages since he’d felt this good. Ages since he’d been able to touch himself and feel like himself.

Mark’s eyes fluttered shut for a moment as he stroked himself, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. But he couldn’t keep his eyes off his reflection for long. He wanted to see himself. Wanted to watch every muscle flex and twitch as he pleasured himself. Wanted to see the way his cock throbbed in his hand, the way his abs tightened with every stroke. He was obsessed. With his body. With himself.

His other hand moved up to his chest, his fingers pinching and twisting one of his nipples. He let out a low moan, his head falling back for a moment before he forced himself to look back at the mirror. He wanted to feel it all. Every inch of himself. From the tops of his broad shoulders down to the tips of his toes. He wanted to know he was back. Wanted to know this was real.

Mark’s hand slid up to his face, his fingers tracing the strong line of his jaw. He was handsome. God, he was handsome. The kind of guy that turned heads wherever he went. He’d always known it, but now? Now he felt it. He felt everything. His skin was on fire, every touch sending shockwaves of pleasure through his body. He was alive. And he wasn’t stopping.

His hand moved to his armpit, the coarse hair tickling his palm. He’d always loved his armpits. They were manly. Masculine. Everything about him screamed alpha male, and his armpits were no exception. He inhaled deeply, the musky scent of his own sweat making his cock throb in his hand. “Fuck,” he groaned, his hips bucking forward as he stroked himself faster. “Fuck, I’m so hard.”

Mark’s eyes locked onto his reflection, his gaze intense as he watched himself fall apart. His muscles were flexed, his body taut with pleasure. His breath was coming in short, shallow gasps, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He was close. So fucking close. And he wasn’t holding back.

“I’m Mark,” he growled, his voice low and guttural. “I’m Mark. And I’m not letting go of this body ever again.” His hand moved faster, his strokes rough and desperate. He could feel the heat building in his gut, the pressure coiling tight. He was so close. So fucking close.

His eyes fluttered shut as he came, his body shuddering with the force of his orgasm. “Fuck!” he shouted, his voice raw and ragged. His cock pulsed in his hand, streams of cum shooting onto his chest and stomach. He kept stroking himself, milking every last drop of pleasure from his body. He was fucking wrecked. And he loved it.

Mark’s legs gave out, and he collapsed onto his bed, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He was still hard, his cock twitching as he lay there, his cum cooling on his skin. He couldn’t stop smiling. He was Mark.

Ethan’s heart pounded as he stared at his phone—missed call. Panicked, he sprinted back to the restaurant, dialing Greg.

Greg answered on the second ring. “Ethan. You stood me up.”

“I’m so sorry,” Ethan blurted. “I panicked. But I want to make it up to you. Please.”

A pause. Ethan held his breath.

“You’ve got one shot,” Greg said. “Thirty minutes.”

“I’ll be there.”

When Ethan arrived, Greg was at a corner table, broader and more imposing than he remembered. That confident smile made Ethan’s stomach flip.

“You made it,” Greg said smoothly. “Sit.”

Ethan obeyed, apologizing with a half-truth. Greg’s gaze was steady, unreadable. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

The conversation flowed, Greg’s teasing easing Ethan’s nerves. By the time they left, Ethan was laughing freely.

As they walked, Greg’s hand brushed his. A spark shot through Ethan. Greg noticed, smirking.

At his car, Greg’s voice dropped. “Two options—I take you home, or…” He stepped closer, eyes flickering to Ethan’s lips.

Ethan’s breath caught. “Or what?”

Greg leaned in. “Or you come back to my place.”

Ethan’s mouth went dry. This is happening. Oh my God, this is actually happening. “Your place,” he said quickly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Greg’s smile widened. “Good choice.”

Greg’s apartment was exactly what Ethan expected—clean, modern, and masculine. The couch looked like it had never been sat on, and there were dumbbells scattered around the living room. Of course Greg had a home gym.

“You drink?” Greg asked, heading to the kitchen.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” Ethan hovered awkwardly by the couch, unsure of what to do with himself.

Greg returned with two glasses of whiskey, handing one to Ethan. “Cheers.”

They clinked glasses, and Ethan took a cautious sip. The alcohol burned his throat, but it did little to calm his nerves. Greg’s presence was overwhelming—everything about him was big, from his broad chest to his deep voice to the way he filled the room.

Greg set his glass down and turned to Ethan, his expression serious now. “You sure about this?”

Ethan nodded quickly. Too quickly. “Yes. I’m sure.”

Greg stepped closer, crowding Ethan’s space. “You’re not gonna chicken out on me again, are you?”

“No,” Ethan breathed, his heart racing. “I promise.”

Greg’s hand came up to cup Ethan’s face, his thumb brushing over his cheek. “Good.” His voice was soft now, almost tender. “Because I’ve been thinking about this all night.”

And then he kissed him.

It was slow at first, teasing—Greg’s lips brushing against Ethan’s, testing, exploring. But then Ethan made a small, desperate noise in the back of his throat, and Greg’s hand tightened in his hair, pulling him closer. The kiss deepened, turning hungry, and Ethan felt like the ground was falling out from under him.

Greg’s tongue slipped into his mouth, and Ethan moaned, his hands clutching at Greg’s shirt. God, he’s good at this. Everything about Greg was overwhelming—his size, his strength, the way he seemed to know exactly what Ethan wanted.

When Greg finally pulled away, Ethan was dizzy, his lips swollen and his chest heaving. “Bedroom,” Greg murmured, his voice rough with want.

Ethan nodded, too breathless to speak. Greg took his hand, leading him down the hall, and Ethan’s knees felt like jelly. This is really happening. I’m really about to—

Greg pushed open the bedroom door and turned to Ethan, his eyes dark with desire. “You’re mine tonight.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yours,” Ethan whispered, his voice trembling.

Greg’s hands were on him then, pulling off his shirt and tossing it aside. His fingers traced over Ethan’s chest, his touch firm but gentle. “You’re so fucking perfect,” Greg murmured, his voice low and husky. “Such a good boy for me.”

Ethan whimpered at the praise, his body trembling under Greg’s hands. God, I’ve never wanted anyone like this. He felt small, vulnerable, and he loved it. Greg’s strength, his confidence—it made Ethan feel safe, cherished.

Greg’s lips found his neck, sucking and nipping at the sensitive skin, and Ethan gasped, his hands clutching at Greg’s shoulders. “Greg, please—”

“What do you want, baby?” Greg’s voice was a low growl against his skin. “Tell me.”

“You,” Ethan breathed. “I want you.”

Greg smirked against his neck. “Good answer,” he said, his hands sliding down to Ethan’s waist. “Now let’s see how much you can take.”

-

Their final year in college was a testament to how perfectly they had settled into their new roles. Though they never spoke of the swap outside the safety of their dorm room, they both felt it in their bones—this was who they were meant to be.

Ethan—now Mark—thrived on the field. He had long since adapted to the routine of grueling workouts, early morning drills, and team camaraderie. He loved the way his body felt—strong, powerful, capable. There was a unique satisfaction in feeling his biceps flex after an intense lifting session or catching his reflection in the gym mirrors and seeing broad shoulders and thick muscle where once there had been none. He even grew out a mustache, enjoying the way it added a new edge to his rugged face. He relished in his musk, embracing the heady scent of sweat and testosterone that clung to him after practice. It was his now, and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

Of course, he couldn't let Ethan—now in his old body—slack off. More than once, he’d poke fun at him, ruffling his soft brown hair and jokingly calling him “tiny” whenever Ethan struggled to reach something on a high shelf. "C'mon, man, you used to be a beast! You can't just let yourself wither away now."

Ethan—now fully comfortable as the smaller, bookish one—would groan in protest but always gave in. He still hated lifting weights, but a part of him enjoyed how much Mark cared. The teasing was never mean-spirited, just another way they had grown closer. So, begrudgingly, Ethan let himself be dragged to the gym every now and then, if only to humor Mark.

Despite the change in physique and interests, Ethan remained true to himself. He poured himself into his studies, reveling in his engineering courses and his love for Dungeons & Dragons. The biggest difference now was that he could fully embrace his sexuality without fear. He and Greg grew closer, and for the first time in his life, he felt comfortable bringing someone home for the holidays. Ethan’s family, far more accepting than Mark’s had been, welcomed Greg with open arms. It was a relief—a confirmation that in this new life, he could finally be himself in every way that mattered.

Mark, meanwhile, was thriving in ways he hadn’t expected. His love for physical activity only grew, but he also found himself enjoying the things Ethan had once held dear. He still read books—though now they were sports biographies or novels about perseverance and ambition. He found a surprising enjoyment in quiet evenings, even if he no longer had the patience for intricate role-playing games. He also found love in an unexpected place, meeting a girl who challenged him in all the right ways. She adored his playful arrogance, his athleticism, and the way he could make her laugh. For the first time in a long while, he felt genuinely content going as far as going on trips with her.

Graduation day was a culmination of all their efforts, and they couldn’t have been prouder of each other. Ethan, now a decorated graduate with honors, walked across the stage to receive his medal for academic achievement, the crowd applauding his hard work and intellect. Mark, standing tall in his cap and gown, received his own medal—not for academics, but for the championship game that had sealed his legacy in the school’s football history.

After the ceremony, they found each other in the chaos of excited graduates and proud families. Mark—now Ethan—held up his medal with a proud grin. "Guess I'm the nerd now, huh?"

Ethan—now Mark—chuckled and twirled his own medal between his fingers. "And I’m the jock. Feels right, doesn’t it?"

They shared a knowing look, an unspoken agreement between them. This was where they belonged. They had stopped questioning it long ago. They weren’t just pretending anymore. They were exactly who they were always meant to be.

And they wouldn’t have it any other way.

[st4vk1nmybra1n]

LOVE POTIONS !

Pairing: Geto Suguru x reader Wc: 6.5k! Cont: implied fem!reader, reader is a witch! Suguru geto is an advisor for the king (who's Gojo obviously), kinda suggestive? Author's note: this has been in my draft for AGES and it feels fitting to post it right now! Happy Halloween to those of you who celebrate 🎃 hope you guys enjoy this! Also I'm like half asleep rn so if this is sloppy I'm going to punch myself<3 Hope u guys are on dark mode too btw cuz..

“Good heavens, Satoru will be paying me extra for this,” Suguru, king Gojo’s loyal advisor, grumbled under his breath as he weeded out through the crowds of the bustling village, attempting to look far and wide for that one bakery his friend adored. This was a common errand Suguru had to run, though it didn't help lessen the irritation.

His demeanor confident, stature tall, and figure clad in neat, pressed clothes only the most respected would wear.

Suguru was a man of much lure, put simply.

His father was a commander for the Gojo kingdom for his whole life, and so naturally, Suguru and Satoru grew up together. Suguru himself had been expected to take over his father's position, as would Satoru. The black haired male was talented, without a doubt, and it showed in the way he sparred. But Suguru's expertise ventured outside of the battlefield. His time was usually spent in the library, reading about different social, political, economic reforms, cultural norms, and all in all, Suguru was a natural when it came to social environments.

Satoru noticed this talent from the get-go.

So of course, Satoru, being good friends with Suguru, pushed for Suguru to be more of an advisor, persisting that it was something he needed. Suguru found himself inclined towards the idea more than being on the battlefield, but both his father and Satoru's father had been rather unamused by the notion. Satoru was persuasive, though.

And with a little more pushing, Suguru was Satoru's right hand man, second to him in command.

And while it was intriguing and vital for the most part, it often included errands like the ones he was currently running.

“Oh, dear!” Suguru snaps out of his thoughts with a jolt, having bumped into someone while he was lost in thought. As he looked down with the intent of apologizing, he stopped short in his tracks.

Glancing up at him was possibly the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Thick lashes covered equally striking eyes, and Suguru felt his breath catching in his throat. The expression on your face was innocent, in a way that made Suguru's body heat up. He'd never seen you around in the time he grew up here, but if he had to guess from your appearance, he'd say you were the infamous witch the village spoke of. And to finally see you in the flesh..

“My sincerest apologies, miss. I got lost in thought, please forgive me,” Suguru sincerely apologized, holding out his hand to you. Your lashes fluttered as you blinked, giving him a sickeningly sweet smile as you grabbed his hand in your own, and Suguru was acutely aware of just how soft your hands were.

“It's quite alright. It was partly my own mistake. My apologies, lord advisor,” your sultry voice murmured to Suguru, and two words flashed in his mind as he thought of your voice. Hauntingly bewitching.

Your voice was like driving a wedge into his skin, and seeping a magical healing liquid right over it. While it disgruntled him horribly, the relief that flooded his body was not normal. Suguru couldn't place his finger on it, but something about you was making him feel dizzy.

As you stood up with the help of his hand, he took note of your attire. A dark, long dress draped over your body, cinching and accentuating your waist with the deep, midnight blue corset you wore over the cloth. The sleeves of the dress were long, the sleeves stuck to your skin til your elbows, flaring out right after, adding a certain charm to your look. The sleeves were a net material, and the slight translucency made his mouth water at the cheeky peek of skin. Your nails were painted a dark, shiny black, sharpened like that of a cat's. You wore shiny, polished boots, carrying a dark bag over your shoulder.

“Lord advisor?” You snapped him out of his thoughts once more, tilting your head with a slight look of worry; plump, reddened lips pulled up in a pout of concern. Suguru needed to get away, as his senses were clouded with you. You, and your sweet scent, your beautiful features, your beautiful voice, and oh, your hand that was still in his.

“My sincerest apologies. I must go now, take care of yourself,” he rushed out the words, beginning his walk back towards the bakery.

“Until we meet again, my lord,” you smiled, eyes creasing up as you gave him a cheeky wave, a catty tone in your cooing voice not missed by Suguru.

“Oh, I'd be careful of her, lord advisor. She may end up.. haunting you,” a voice spoke up from his side, and he glanced up, raising a brow. “Oh, no, nothing! Just a word of advice..” the voice continues, nodding a farewell to him, and Suguru pauses, unsure of how to feel.

That night, as Suguru sat in his room with a glass of wine, he still couldn't let go of the fragments of your being lingering around in his mind. It was like if he closed his eyes for a moment too long, your soft figure would pop up in his mind, obscuring every other thought in his mind.

“A witch?” He mumbled to himself, running a hand through his thick hair. Witches were not uncommon during the era of royalty, and he'd read plenty of historical books involving witches and witchcraft. It was never a major subject in these writings, but they existed. Just as you did. But were you truly a witch? You just seemed so.. sweet. So nice, so beautiful–but perhaps that was a part of your charm–then Suguru must see to it that he has a chat with you.

For the betterment of the kingdom, he justifies himself as he lays down in bed that night, head filled with you.

Meanwhile, you yourself weren't faring too well yourself. Clutching your head in your hands, you resisted the urge to do anything, simply letting your thoughts dwell on the handsome advisor. You had your sights on him for the longest while, and the interaction today–no matter how short–had you swooning for the man, even more than you ever were. You bit your nail as you grinned, planning out your next “accident” with the man.

Perhaps casting a spell wouldn't be too bad. Maybe you'll save that for later!

Not that you were egotistical. Actually, maybe you were a little self assured, but what's the harm in that? You were very scrutinized for your craft, and it was ironic, really. Those who turned their noses up at you, judging you from between the slits that their eyes had formed into, were the same people coming into your abode, looking for a way to ruin the lives of the precious companion or the loving spouse they knew. Did you ever turn them down?

Of course not. Easy money is money, at the end of the day, isn't it?

You didn't have much of a care for what anyone had to say or how anyone felt because really, people talk. Whether you love it or hate it, they talk and will continue to talk. So you rejoiced in the attention. The rumors, the conversations, the path that would clear up in a rush whenever you walked. You laughed in the faces of those people who ‘spoke out’ against your unbecoming actions, knowing they would visit your home with some dazzling jewels, some spider eyes and herbs, and the brightest, shiniest coins in their houses, imploring that you try and understand that they respected you, they just had to maintain a reputation.

Whatever that meant, not that you bothered with it.

As you blew out the fire under your cauldron, you covered the top of it with a fabric, allowing it to cool. As you walked towards your bedroom, you heard a meow from the corner of the dim room, glowing eyes peering up at you. “Well hello there, my lovely!” You cooed out at your cat, watching as she jumped into your arms once you sat onto the plush of your bed, your grin widening as she blended in with your clothes, her black fur camouflaging her expertly.

“Could you fetch me some frog legs tomorrow, deary?” You mumbled to the feline, and she purred, bumping her head against your hand that was petting her soft fur. “You're just the sweetest, aren't you?” You smiled, kissing her head as you blew out your bedside candle, snuggling into your bed for the night, your adorable cat snuggled up on the edge of the bed.

The next day, you wandered around the markets, searching for some ingredients for a new recipe you wanted to try. Who knew witchcraft could turn you into a good cook?

“I don't sell to witches like you,” a shopkeeper sneered at you, scoffing.

You smiled innocently, batting your lashes. “What, you sell to the uglier witches with the wrinkles and the green skin?” You questioned, canines peeking out as your smile grew.

“Scram. I don't want you using my crops for your little spells. You're pathetic, truly.” The man argued back, growing more and more angrier by the moment.

“Oh, I wish some carrots and tomatoes could craft up a spell that would make you less of a whiney vermin, but alas, vegetables are unfortunately not the most helpful in my craft. I prefer using hair, blood, maybe frog eggs, or the scat of a mutt. But that's only if I really don't like you. And I really don't like you,” you mused, shaking your head at him.

The shopkeeper, appalled at the nerve you had to even say anything to his face, raised his hand, ready to strike you. But before he could, a veiny hand interrupted his wrist that inched closer and closer to its target.

“I wouldn't lay my hands on a lady, sir.” Suguru, who had been observing from the side, stepped in, eyes remaining sharp.

The other man cowers at the sight, mumbling an apology. “Advisor Geto.. I sincerely apologize, but this woman.. she ruins the lives of our people, you must understand! She is filth that stains our country, she's a good for nothing wench!” He yells out, brows furrowed at you.

“Hey! You people shower once in a blue moon! However, I happen to shower everyday! I know you think it is because I'm working with blood but it's actually because I'm not disgusting! Unlike the likes of you! I am not filth!” You defend rather unseriously, already fed up with the conversation. The shopkeeper gaped, glancing up at Suguru, as if to ask if you were serious.

“That's enough from you. Give the lady the vegetables. I'll pay.” Suguru sighs, crossing his arms.

You nod, mirroring his stance. “Saves you the blood money, as you like to call it.” You add with a hum, and the man at the stall has to stop himself from shutting down his stall as a whole.

As he hands you the vegetables, you take them into your large bag, squealing in excitement as Suguru paid for the vegetables. You lean up towards him, hands grasping his muscular arm. “Oh, why thank you, my lord! It's tough out here for a lady like myself!” You smiled sweetly, and Suguru raised a brow.

“A lady like yourself? Like one who hexes those around her?” He asked sarcastically, and you let out a laugh, shaking your head.

“What would I gain from causing harm to people for no reason, my lord?” You questioned him back as you both walked towards another stall, this time purchasing some bread from a lady who surprisingly did not refuse you. She was apparently the only one who realized that business is business regardless of whom you're selling to. Which is why you always give her an extra coin.

“How do you think I can afford to live in this era, my lord? Surely you understand why I'm even able to buy anything at all.” You pointed out once more, keeping your arm looped around his.

Suguru let out a hum, catching onto your drift. “Because you have people who seek you out. Isn't that right?” and you smile, giving him nothing else to go off of.

“Are you occupied for the day, my lord?” You inquire with a glance up at him, and he ponders for a moment, shaking his head.

“No. I have a free day.”

And your smile grows wider, somehow even sweeter in Suguru's eyes. “Then, may I be so gracious as to invite you to a meal at my house? I assure you, I'm plenty good at cooking! I'll leave out the potions and spells just for you.” You give him a cheeky wink, and he weighs out his options.

“I suppose it wouldn't hurt.” He shrugs, and your smile seems much more genuine for a moment.

“Perfect! I'm making sandwiches and soup today! I hope you're okay with that. And with cats. I have a cute little feline friend waiting for me at home.” You spoke lightheartedly, glancing up at him. “Would you be alright with coming right now? Or would you perhaps wish to come later?”

“Now is fine. Lead the way.” he holds out a hand towards the path, and you nod, looking straight ahead as the people around you stared in awe. The king's advisor? And the town's witch? Walking together, arm in arm?! Surely something must be wrong here. The people really couldn't believe their eyes. They never expected such an outcome, and you simply walked on, not paying any mind to them.

“Does witchcraft run in the family?” Suguru asks as you guys separate from the others, and you hum, smiling.

“My father was a medic. Mother practiced witchcraft, however. It was definitely an amusing combination.” You nod, glancing up at him through your lashes.

Interesting.

“So, you chose witchcraft as what you wished to do?” He asked further, and you raised a brow.

Smile still as cheeky as ever, you asked. “My, can I not do both?” You asked innocently, and Suguru huffed out a laugh.

How ironic.

“Medics save lives. Witchcraft takes them,” he answers, sharp eyes meeting your own. Suguru was having a hard time even understanding what you meant, but he tried either way.

“And what makes you say that? A medic may not always save a life. Witchcraft is not all hexes and curses, there's more to it than just death and doom. A lot more,” you argue back, scoffing at his words.

He raises a brow this time, as if amused. “How come?”

“Well, for obvious reasons, I think it's safe to say that in most cases you want the other person to suffer. Or if it's a different type of spell, it's something unhealthy. Or a minor inconvenience. Something of the sorts,” you explain, and Suguru nods his head.

“To that I ask, is that not cruel? Do you feel any remorse or regret in these actions?” he continues, and you hum.

Of course, many would ask such a question. The ironic part is that many don't realize that the only reason you're even able to keep this up is because of the monstrous emotions that they foster in their hearts. Greed, lust, envy. And the most inherent part of it all; love. Love was the driving force for many of these scenarios. The people of your town loved to parade about their morality in the face of their own peers, only to turn around and ask favors from you.

Maybe you were instilling a way for them to release their hatred into an outlet, but even if you weren't doing what you do, they'd still find a way.

Looking back at Suguru, you raise an earnest brow. “And to that I ask you, am I really the evil here? Perhaps I'm giving them a means for their malicious intent but really, are your people not the ones vying for a chance to see their so-called friends suffering, right outside my doorstep? Remember, I'm not forcing or coercing anyone into seeking me out. I can manage very well without customers, I could wreak havoc. But I exist, and that is enough reason for those that are desperate.” You grin, and Suguru sighs, opting to glance around the overgrown grass near your home.

Ostracized by your own people, huh? Suguru thinks to himself, having suspected as much.

“Here we are. Isn't it just beautiful here?” You grin, guiding him towards the entrance of your rather concealed home.

Typical, he sighed.

As you entered the home, turning to speak to the king's advisor, you were rudely interrupted by him suddenly grabbing onto you, pinning you against your door.

A hand tangles into your hair, pulling it hard enough to glare at your face. “So, reveal your intentions. You think it is that easy to bait me into your home and have your way? Seduce me? Tell me, witch. What is it that you want from me? From the king?” He declares, not even asking, just demanding an answer.

And instead of feeling fear, you felt.. exhilarated. His grip on your scalp was deliciously painful, and you hastily bit your lip to hold back a noise that alluded to your arousal.

“Sir Suguru, if I may?” You asked, and he blinked, urging you to continue. “What makes you think I've bad intentions? That my plan is.. not so innocent? What if I feel inclined to you, and wish to chat with you inside my humble abode?”

And Suguru lets out a laugh. A husky, mocking laugh.

“You? A chat with me? An innocent one at that? Let's face it. You've intentions that are far from sweet.” He sneers, and you let out a small whine as he pulls at your hair even more, his other hand pinning your arms against your back, forcing your body into a mean arch.

You squirm against his hold, and he only further tightens it, most likely even bruising you. “My, this is rather raunchy, wouldn't you say, my lord? The hold you have on me is quite.. lewd, if I may observe.. and didn't you chastise the shopkeeper for laying his hands on a lady?” you grinned, and Suguru's eyes sharpened.

“Do you think you're in a position to be joking? You will be punished for the spell you've cast on me.” Your brows raise in surprise at his words, and you turn to face him.

“A spell? On you?” You ask, clearly amused at the thought.

Suguru feels himself getting more and more agitated as you pretend otherwise. “Drop the act. You spoke of love and lust potions earlier. I know you've done something.” He accuses you even further, hissing into your ear.

You feel yourself smiling despite the searing pain coursing through the nerves in your head at his vicious grip, letting out a laugh. “I don't know if I should be flattered that you feel such an attraction to me, or be offended that you've accused me of casting a spell.”

Suguru grits his teeth at your words, letting go of your arms to reach out to grab your cheeks between his large hand, turning your head to face him. As his other hand tightens around your hair, tugging it further to angle your head, he looks deep into your eyes.

“Listen, witch. I am not fooled by you, nor will I believe your stupid excuses. Tell me the truth, and only the truth.” He hisses, venom seeping through each word he spat out.

At the blatant disrespect, you feel your body waver with pleasure. Though, you were feeling a small seed of irritation planted into you. “I understand you're very sharp and quick on your toes, but allow me to explain myself at least.” You mumble out through your squished cheeks, giving him a glance through the side of your eyes.

“Speak. But only under my grasp.” He orders, letting go of your face to continue pinning you against the door.

You let out a sigh, constructing your thoughts into proper sentences. “I'll explain as best as I can. So you think I've casted a spell of seduction on you, my lord? For perhaps trying to manipulate you into doing harm against the king?” You question, but you don't allow him to answer. “I can very much defend my case in all scenarios you can think of.” You state confidently, letting out a sigh. “First, the most important thing to mention is that to cast a spell on you, I'd need very personal information and belongings of yours. Like hair, blood, lashes, and perhaps other bodily fluids,” you grin, and Suguru has to will himself to not feel flustered at your implications.

“And with our one interaction, I could not have gathered any of that. Not nearly enough. And if this were the doing of another person, then we would not be here in the first place. I would come clean and tell you if anyone else has it out for you, I don't gain anything from keeping secrecy. I'm not afraid of outing the business of others when it comes to me, because my business is not one of dignity to begin with,” you answer transparently, and Suguru knows it's most likely not a bluff.

“And for love spells, they're quite weak. To get a stronger one, I need expensive, rare ingredients. And those are usually provided to me by the people seeking out such spells. I don't go out that often to actively search for them. It's much too laborious. A much more effective method is a love potion. It's a spell in the form of a liquid, which can either be given to you in potion form or mixed into another drink or food. And for that you'd need to be consuming something given to you by me. And under the security of being in the palace, it's quite near impossible. And considering the only reason you believe that I've done anything is because of our prior interaction, it wouldn't be wrong of me to say that I've not done anything to you. If I needed to cause harm to this place, it wouldn't be possible without someone influential involved with me. And plus, I grew up here! Why would there be a reason to overthrow the kingdom or turn this place into ruins?” You continue, making points that Suguru knows are not that easy to form a counter argument towards.

“And might I add, even if i were to cast a spell on you somehow, or have you consume a love potion, the effects would be much more severe, I assure you. It wouldn't be fleeted thoughts, it would be primal urges to ravage and ruin me. Or to completely submit and give up your conscience to me.” You add with a small, barely visible smile, and Suguru feels his breath grow more labored at your words. “I can give an example.”

At this, Suguru's attention is caught. “And what would that be?”

“Before we continue, mind letting go of my hair? My scalp is quite strong but I fear you may be stronger. I'd rather not test that.” You jested, and Suguru sighed, letting go of your hair. You let out a moan of relief, breathing out deeply.

“Right. So the royal knight the kingdom had a few years back? The oh-so dedicated knight, ready to give up his life for his king.” you quipped, and Suguru felt his stare harden.

Of course he remembers the knight. Very clearly. He was very dedicated and never showed any signs of anything otherwise. But he'd left very suddenly and got married, abandoning his duties. Was that a result of your doings?

“Well, a lady had visited me in the late hours, expressing her interest in the man. She'd conversed with him a handful of times, but her admiration ran deep. Much too deep. And she asked for a love potion. And so I gave her one, and she mixed it into a blueberry pie for him. And not even a day later, he'd run off with her and marry her. And now the couple has seven children!” You narrated dramatically, finishing off with a closed eye smile, as if happy for their ‘love’ for one another.

“But really, they aren't passionate about having children. That's not why they have children. It's about the act of conceiving children. The process of making a child is what draws the knight to his wife. Little does he know it's a result of a potion,” you huffed, shrugging.

Suguru was bewildered by your words. Not at the fact that you'd done that, but at the fact that you were willing to talk about their.. unhealthy amount of children. In the span of just a little over a decade. As if sensing his shock, you raised a brow. “What? It's true! I think he must've developed a fancying for breeding–” and he cut you off with a hand over your mouth, attempting to think of what to even say to you.

“Him running away was because of you?” he snapped, and you narrowed your eyes.

“No. It was not.” You answer, tone eerily calm. Calmer than your usual cheeky tone. “Because according to the royal law, my business is under fair use. If I've stated the severity of what I sell and have advised them that I will be telling on them if asked, and if I've made it clear that while my witchcraft is effective, any side effects and consequences is their responsibility, then it is fair use. And if you look at the contracts I've made them sign, you'll see that same information. I'm not obligated to keep their business a secret in situations where push comes to shove, and they are okay with that.” you asserted with a certainty that shocked Suguru, and he took a moment to articulate his own thoughts.

“And why would I believe you?” Suguru continued, and you glanced back up, unamused.

“The contracts are all placed in the chest by the corner,” you nod your head towards a chest in the corner of your home, placed by a bookshelf. “And beside that I have books on witchcraft, and a shelf with my own recipes and observations. Feel free to look through everything.” Your hands squirmed around in his now loosened grip on your wrists, and Suguru paused, taking note of the ingredients stacked on the walls. In the opposite corner, there was a fireplace, with another fireplace beside it, this time with a cauldron on top. For your witchcraft, he hypothesized.

“Those are some items I've collected over the years. For rare spells, common spells, all sorts. Some are given to me by my customers, some I've collected on my own over the years. While I can usually find a lot of items out in the open, some of them involve certain.. parts of each item which I'd have to source from the people of the town. And those can be quite a hefty penny. I wouldn't be gaining much profit from making a love potion to use on you.” You explained as Suguru let go of you, rubbing your wrists that were now bruised. Not that you were complaining, you found it exciting that the advisor had marked you in such a way. Suguru continued looking around, stiffening as he felt something rub against his leg. With a quick glance down, Suguru's eyes squint, taking note of a small, fluffy black cat rubbing up against his leg.

“That's my cat. She seems to like you. She must take after me,” you zinged, and Suguru raised a brow, trying not to show his amusement at the situation. “Here, let me take your coat, lord Suguru.” You grin, helping him shrug off his coat. Suguru tries not to squirm at the feeling of your hands roaming over his muscled back and arms. You take the coat onto your arm, then hang it over the coat hanger you had by the doorway.

“I'll be looking around, then.” Suguru announced, making his way towards the bookshelf. He begins to look through your recipe books. He noted the way you wrote down each spell with a diagram of each ingredient, fixed with witty comments and doodles. Your recipe books oozed with the same charm that you possessed, and Suguru found it rather.. entertaining, to say the least.

“Could I get you some water? Perhaps something to eat? The sandwiches won't take time to make, and you can stick around for soup!” You spoke with a delight in your tone, carefully filling up a glass with water for him.

Suguru glanced up at you, and this time you could make out the playful look on his face, just barely. “And what if you've cast a spell on it, or worse, mixed it with a potion?” he asked, tone sarcastic.

You let out a euphoric laugh, the sound so beautiful that Suguru could listen to it for days on end. Carefully, you bring the glass up to your lips, taking a small sip. The water drips down your lips, down your neck. You smile, raising a brow. “I'm not immune to any spells I create. There. I took a sip, it's safe to consume.” You cheekily commented, handing him the glass. The sheen gloss that you'd layered over your lips had transferred onto the cup, and Suguru glanced away as he took a sip from the water, lips delicately placed over the same spot that was marked with your lipstick.

As expected, the water goes down easily through his throat, and he's surprisingly not hexed! Wiping the excess water from his lips, Suguru hands you back the cup to continue skimming through your books. As it seemed, everything you'd said earlier had turned out to be true.

“What? Feeling lovestruck, my lord?” Tone playful and teasing, you cut your bread into a few slices, placing the rest of the loaf to the side. The black haired man scoffs, shaking his head at your words.

As you continue making your sandwich, Suguru busies himself with the task at hand. And that was–well, he wasn't sure himself. At first it felt like a way of ensuring that you weren't actively looking to ruin his life or the king's life, but now he just found himself admiring your handwriting and your cheeky remarks.

There was something oddly charming about your way of writing; just like your appearance and everything else about you, at that. You had little doodles of your cat on some pages, depicting said feline with a speech bubble to give you reminders on how to not pour all your spider eyes into your cauldron all at once, but rather one at a time. Or how you have to be careful with how many frog legs you put into your potion of melancholia, lest you want another dead person. Wait--

You've killed someone from your potions before?” Suguru's voice cuts through the silence, and you shrug.

“Whoops.” You answer cheerily, delicately placing tomatoes over your bread.

Suguru glances up in disbelief. “Whoops? You killed an innocent person and you're saying whoops?”

“He wasn't innocent. His wife came to me because he was.. abusive. She wanted him in depression, and apparently the potion was strong enough for him to take his own life. Oh well,” you shrug, and Suguru paused.

“And she couldn't inform the king or at the very least, me?” He questioned, oddly enough. He knew his question was a little stupid, but he asked anyway.

You let out a laugh at the question, raising a brow at him. “In a world where women are taught to know their place and not speak up against a man? She was afraid of telling anyone. That's why she resorted to the means she took.” You answered, tone resolute. You were certain that the man deserved what he got, and you didn't see why Suguru seemed to care so much. “If our world cared more about our people, maybe we would not have to resort to such extreme measurements. Everything is done for survival, and if the higher power can't promise it, then someone else, or something else will.” You state plainly, as if it were an obvious truth.

“Still. Taking a life?” Suguru pressed further, and you paused.

With a sigh, you pause your sandwich assembly and turn to him. “Look, the potion wasn't supposed to kill him! If she wanted to kill him, she'd use a different potion! Not the melancholic one!” You defended, adamant on your innocence, ironically enough.

“You have potions to kill people?!” Suguru asked again, frantically looking through your book.

“Yes I do, my lord. Believe it or not, I am a witch, and thus I am not all goody goody.” You answered in amusement, to which Suguru grimaced.

He pauses, crossing his arms. “That's.. not that I didn't already expect such a thing, but.. I'm disappointed.” He sighs, shaking his head.

“And why is that? You and your people prepare for warfare over land and other disputes, killing one another. And that loss of life is an honor, a deliverance. And you imprison those who have openly wronged many, but what of those who work silently? And of those women who are afraid to speak up against what they go through in fear of isolation and hatred? What of those? If I take the life of a man who was simply a bug in this world, why is that a sin? Something vile?” You interrogate, making Suguru freeze.

“Because we are serving the country.” Suguru argued back, to which you hum.

Finishing up the two sandwiches, you cut them and place them into plates. “Are you, though? Does the country not include women being assaulted? By people they know? By husbands? By strangers? When will you serve them? And who will serve them?” There's an unreadable look in your eyes as you speak, and Suguru pauses.

“Perhaps we'll have to look into supporting the women of our nation more, you're right. But killing men is not the solution.” The black haired man explained, nodding at you.

You huff, rolling your eyes. “Oh, please! You'll put me to sleep with all this boring talk of worthless men.” You dramatically drawled, and Suguru glared at you, gaze pointed.

Suddenly, your sly grin returned on your face, and you tilted your head. “What if I've never actually killed anyone? And what if it was a bluff, just to get you to acknowledge women?” You teased, unable to hold back the tease in your voice.

“Is that why you mentioned not causing another death, in your book?” Suguru sarcastically asked, to which you burst into laughter.

“You're so trusting of my word, my lord. It's flattering. How about you put the book down for the meal, now.” You whispered to him, taking the book out of his hands to place it back into its original spot. You take his hand, guiding him into a chair on your dining table. Your fingers rest against his shoulders, featherlight touches caressing the skin with a familiar sensuality.

“Here,” you whisper sweetly, pressing the sandwich to his lips. As he opened his mouth to take a bite, your own lips parted in tandem, eyes zeroed in on Suguru's movement. The tension in the room was undeniably palpable, and Suguru felt his will straining. “Good?” You asked, head tilting.

Suguru closed his eyes, chewing carefully on the food. Your addicting perfume was clouding his senses, and he felt himself being enveloped in you.

“How long have you had her? Your cat, I mean.” Suguru opts to say, and you wipe his lip to remove the sauce dripping down, and you bring your thumb to your mouth, licking it cheekily.

“Ever since she was a little baby. She wandered into my home, she was all feisty. And I had my own worries. We both minded our own business, and I'd lay out some food for her. She would still try to fight me over it though,” you let out a snicker, remembering how she had a habit of biting and scratching you in the start. “But eventually, she brought me a dead mouse as a peace offering! And it was just what I needed for my potion!” You smiled, leaning down to coddle your feline baby.

“I should be going soon.” He mumbled, and your glossy lips formed into another pout.

You stand back up, leaning against the table as you glanced down at his seated form. “So soon, my lord?” you tilt your head, crossing your arms.

Suguru glances up, feeling odd at the emotions running through his body of having to look up at you, instead of his usual towering over others. His eyes focus on your form, your body molding against the table, your figure almost sat atop the table.

“Eyes are up here, my lord. I'm afraid you're staring somewhere quite frisky.” You teased, and Suguru froze up, averting his gaze as he began to eat his sandwich once more.

Your fingers drum against the table, nails clicking rhythmically against the wooden surface. You both remain in silence, and Suguru tries his hardest to not pay attention to your gaze on his form.

“Please, do visit more often. A poor lady like myself gets bored alone in this big house, you know?” You smiled, eyes filled with mirth.

Suguru cleared his throat, grabbing a napkin from his pocket to wipe away at his mouth. “The sandwich was delicious, thank you for having me.” He spoke after a moment, getting up from his chair. Your eyes follow his face, head tilting up to accommodate his height.

You blink, suddenly amused. “Why, of course. The pleasure is mine. Will you be visiting again?” You answer him sweetly, pushing away from the table to stand in front of him.

“If by chance we see each other again, then yes.” Suguru answers simply, and you perk up in delight, rushing over to grab his long coat

You smile as you help him with his upper layer, fingers lingering over his shoulders. “You've simply warmed my heart, dear advisor.” You mumble sweetly, to which Suguru raises a brow.

“What's with all the titles? Just refer to me by my name.” He assures, leaning down to pull his shoes over his feet.

“Your name only, you say? Why, that's certainly an honor, Suguru.” The way his name rolls off his tongue, Suguru pauses, glancing up at you. There's a cattish smile on your face once more, and Suguru turns his gaze back to his boots.

“I'll be off, then.” He answers curtly, and you hum. You lean into him once more, a hand on his forearm and a kiss pressed to his cheek.

“Until next time, dearest Suguru! Farewell!” You wave your hand goodbye, closing the door with a giggle of delight. “He's so dreamy, isn't he?” You ask your cat, and she purrs in response, her ear flicking as if in agreement to your words.

And unbeknownst to you, Suguru found himself stumbling back to Satoru and the kingdom, head clouded with you, all thanks to you and your wicked demeanor.

[rudyking]

Goodnight kisses:

When young Jasper believes he's too big for his father, Rudy's special goodnight kisses, Rudy plots a plan to try to get Jasper to want his kisses back.

Rudy, a man whose heart was as golden as his fluffy hair, approached bedtime with the theatrical flourish of a seasoned stage performer. Every night was an event, a meticulously crafted ritual designed to send his son, Jasper, drifting into dreamland with a heart full of love and a head full of silly songs.

He was, to put it mildly, a doting father. His blue eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, softened to pools of warm affection whenever Jasper was near. He was kind, patient, and gentle, yet also possessed a boundless, sometimes chaotic, energy that made him the undisputed champion of living room fort building and spontaneous dance-offs.

His wife, Yn, watched these nightly performances with a gentle smile, her own kind, sweet nature a calm counterpoint to Rudy’s exuberant personality. Yn was the anchor, grounding Rudy’s playful hyperbole with her insightful understanding and mature perspective.

Jasper, their seven-year-old son, was the happy recipient of Rudy's affections. He adored his father, reveling in Rudy's funny voices, his gentle tickles, and especially, his goodnight kisses. These were not just any kisses. Rudy had elevated the bedtime kiss to an art form. There were the standard forehead kisses, cheek kisses that lingered a beat longer, and then, the pièce de résistance, the ‘magic kisses’ – a series of rapid-fire, fluttery kisses all over Jasper’s face, accompanied by exaggerated sound effects and promises of sweet dreams and monster-repelling powers.

But things were changing. Jasper was growing up, his limbs lengthening, his voice deepening just a touch. He was entering that precarious zone between boy and ‘big kid,’ a landscape filled with burgeoning independence and a sudden self-awareness about things that once seemed perfectly normal. Typical 'Big Boy Syndrome.' And tonight, that change was about to collide head-on with Rudy's cherished goodnight ritual.

It started innocently enough. Jasper was tucked into bed, spaceship-themed pajamas gleaming under the soft glow of the nightlight. Rudy began his usual routine, starting with a dramatic clearing of his throat, then a gentle story about a brave astronaut hamster. He finished the story, leaned in, and planted a kiss on Jasper’s forehead.

“Goodnight, my little astronaut,” Rudy whispered, his voice thick with fatherly affection.

Jasper wriggled slightly under the covers. “Night, Dad.”

Rudy moved in for the cheek kiss. “Sweet dreams, dream weaver.”

Jasper’s cheek stiffened slightly as Rudy’s lips brushed against it. “Uh-huh.”

Then came the moment of truth, the magic kisses. Rudy gathered himself, a twinkle in his eye. “And now, for the magic kisses!” he announced with his usual theatrical gusto, leaning in with puckered lips ready to deploy his arsenal of affection.

Jasper suddenly pulled back, a strange expression on his face, a mix of embarrassment and something akin to… disdain? “Dad,” he said, his voice a little higher than usual, “I think… I think I’m too big for those now.”

The words hung in the air like a poorly timed punchline. Rudy froze, halfway into his kiss-attack pose, his smile faltering. He blinked slowly, trying to process this seismic shift in their nightly routine. Too big? For magic kisses? It was like being told he was too old for breathing air.

“Too… big?” Rudy echoed, his usually booming voice dropping to a theatrical whisper of shock. He straightened up, placing a hand dramatically on his chest. “Too big for… love?”

Jasper shifted uncomfortably. “No, Dad, not love! But… kissing faces. I’m almost in second grade. The other kids will laugh.”

Rudy’s lower lip trembled. He staggered back a step, as if physically wounded by Jasper’s words. Yn, who had been watching from the doorway with a fond smile, now stepped into the room, her eyebrows raised in amusement and a hint of concern.

“Rudy,” she began gently, but Rudy waved a hand, cutting her off with a dramatic flourish.

“Silence, Yn! This is a tragedy of Shakespearean proportions!” he declared, his voice rising in pitch. “My own son, rejecting my affection! Have I failed as a father? Have I not instilled in him the sacredness of the paternal kiss?”

Yn stifled a giggle. “Rudy, darling, he’s just growing up…”

“Growing up into a kiss-less wasteland?” Rudy interrupted, his eyes wide with mock horror. “Never! I refuse to let the flame of paternal affection be extinguished by the cruel winds of… of… second grade!” He paced dramatically in front of Jasper’s bed, running a hand through his blonde hair in a picture of melodramatic despair.

“But Dad…” Jasper started, looking increasingly bewildered and slightly guilty.

“No buts, Jasper!” Rudy exclaimed. “We must prove to you, to the world, to the very fabric of the cosmos, that my kisses are not mere kisses! They are… they are… life-affirming elixirs of joy!” He paused, struck by inspiration. “I shall embark on a quest! A quest to demonstrate the unparalleled power and wonder of Rudy’s goodnight kisses! And you, my son, shall be my witness!”

Yn leaned against the doorframe, shaking her head and trying to suppress her laughter. “Oh, this is going to be good.”

Rudy’s “quest” began the very next morning. He was up before dawn, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. Jasper, bleary-eyed and still slightly embarrassed from the previous night, stumbled into the kitchen to find his father engaged in a bizarre ritual involving a wilting houseplant and a series of exaggerated puckering noises.

“Behold, Jasper!” Rudy announced dramatically, pointing to the drooping leaves of the plant. “This plant is sad, devoid of joy, wilting under the harsh glare of existential dread! But fear not, for Rudy’s magic kisses are here to banish despair!”

He proceeded to shower the plant with loud, smacking kisses, each one accompanied by an over-the-top “Mwah!” and an exaggerated facial contortion. Jasper watched, mouth agape, as Rudy kissed every single leaf, stem, and even the pot itself.

“Observe!” Rudy cried, stepping back and gesturing to the plant with a flourish. The plant, of course, remained stubbornly wilted.

Jasper blinked. “Dad… it’s still droopy.”

Rudy frowned, scrutinizing the plant with mock seriousness. “Hmm, perhaps it requires… concentrated affection! A mega-kiss!” He puffed out his cheeks, took a deep breath, and launched himself at the plant with a prolonged, slobbery kiss that lasted a solid five seconds.

When he pulled back, wiping his lips dramatically with the back of his hand, the plant remained resolutely unmoved.

“Hmm,” Rudy said again, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Perhaps… plants are immune to the sheer magnificence of my kisses. We must find a more… receptive subject!”

Next, Rudy targeted the family dog, a fluffy golden retriever named Gus. Gus, a famously indiscriminate recipient of affection, usually welcomed any and all forms of petting and attention. But even Gus seemed a little bewildered by Rudy’s overly enthusiastic display.

“Gus, my furry friend!” Rudy declared, cornering the dog in the living room. “You, with your pure, innocent heart, shall appreciate the transformative power of Rudy’s kisses! Prepare to be… kissed!”

He chased Gus around the living room, showering him with kisses on his head, his nose, his paws, while Gus yipped in confusion and tried to wriggle free. Jasper watched from the couch, burying his face in a cushion to hide his laughter, which was starting to bubble up despite himself.

“See, Jasper!” Rudy panted, finally collapsing onto the couch next to Gus, who was now licking his face in what might have been sympathy. “Gus is rejuvenated! His fur is shinier! His tail is wagging with renewed vigor! All thanks to the magic of the kiss!”

Gus, panting happily, promptly lay down and fell asleep, seemingly unaffected by the barrage of kisses.

“He’s… sleeping, Dad,” Jasper pointed out, trying to keep a straight face.

“Exactly!” Rudy exclaimed triumphantly. “He is resting in blissful contentment, lulled into a state of utter peace by the sheer love infused into my kisses!”

Rudy’s antics continued throughout the day. He tried to convince Yn that she needed “kiss resuscitation” after doing the dishes. He attempted to “kiss away” a smudge of dirt on Jasper’s face, leaving a large, wet mark in its place. He even dramatically kissed the toaster, claiming it was looking “a little glum.”

By bedtime, Jasper was exhausted, not just from the day, but from trying to contain his laughter at his father's increasingly absurd behavior. He was tucked into bed again, and Rudy approached with his usual bedtime ritual, but this time, there was a different kind of anticipation in the air.

“So, Jasper,” Rudy said, sitting on the edge of the bed, his usual playful energy tempered with a hint of vulnerability. “Have you… reconsidered your stance on the magic of Daddy’s kisses?”

Jasper hesitated, then a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He looked at his father’s hopeful, slightly desperate face, and something inside him shifted. He missed the silly, over-the-top affection. He missed the feeling of being utterly adored, even if it was a little embarrassing now that he was ‘almost in second grade.’

“Maybe…” Jasper said softly, looking down at his spaceship pajamas. “Maybe just… one magic kiss?”

Rudy’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. He bounced up from the bed, his hyper energy returning in a tidal wave. “One magic kiss? My son, you have made your father the happiest man in the galaxy!”

But instead of launching into his usual rapid-fire attack, Rudy paused, his blue eyes softening. He knelt down next to Jasper’s bed, his voice becoming gentle and warm.

“You know, Jasper,” he said quietly, “the magic isn’t really in the kisses themselves. It’s… it’s the love behind them. It’s me telling you how much I love you, in a silly, kissy way.”

Jasper nodded, his gaze meeting Rudy’s. He understood, maybe more than Rudy realized. The kisses weren’t about magic spells or rejuvenating plants. They were about his dad being his dad, being silly and loving and just a little bit ridiculous.

“So,” Rudy said, a playful twinkle returning to his eyes, “how about we make this a super-duper, extra-special, mega-magic kiss?”

Jasper giggled, a genuine, unrestrained giggle that filled the room with warmth. “Okay, Dad.”

And this time, when Rudy leaned in, Jasper didn’t pull away. He closed his eyes, his face relaxed and happy, as Rudy showered him with kisses. Forehead, cheeks, nose, chin – each kiss accompanied by silly sound effects and whispered promises of sweet dreams. But this time, the magic was real. It wasn’t about convincing Jasper of anything. It was just about love, pure and silly and perfectly imperfect, shared between a father and son, in a language only they truly understood.

Yn watched from the doorway, a tear in her eye and a smile on her face. Rudy might be melodramatic and a little bit crazy, but he was also the most loving father in the world. And sometimes, a few silly, magic kisses were exactly what the world needed. Especially when they came with a side of dad-sized, unconditional love.

[atangledfate]

Blaze wasn't sure Poppy would understand how discipline was important to an army. But killing your soldiers for an offense was just wasteful. She preferred to use a punishment that fit the crime, and death was only reserved for treason. So she didn't much understand her methods, but breaking of an oath was severe, she could see court martialing for abandoning a post, or some other disciplinary action but death? what point did that serve... one could not rule by fear, and fear alone.

" Running a military is rarely so simple Poppy, but i can agree that death is rarely ever the answer. But let's count our blessings that she opted to let Belle go with a proverbial slap on the wrist... let's not look down on her gift... as harsh as it seems.. this was Rosa doing us a kindness... let us not snub our noses at it "

Considering how much worse it could have been, Blaze was FULLY aware of what was going on. In a way Rosa did them a favor, one she might well come back later asking for a return on. Or perhaps she was trying to save face with those around her. What ever her Reasons she suspected Rosa wasn't as cold hearted as she acted--- that didn't mean she liked her by any means.

She blinked at the strange individual as she took the item offered her eyes turning to the ticket confused. She wasn't sure what it was, or what it represented. What did she mean by the flame? Was she referring to the pyre? She'd need to have Lillianna examine this in detail before considering such a bold action.

" Thank you? umm... who---was that... "

They rushed off before she could get real answers.

" Scarlett do you know who... that was..."

Her eyes went to the cloaked figure she had alot of questions, and she still wasn't sure what to make of that ticket. She almost wanted to go after them yet, hearing Poppy being punished seemed to make her smile a little as she glanced back to the Possum. She turned with her arms behind her back as she was sure a Gate was needed and a simple warp ring was no match for the group size.

" In my defense---i did offer to hire a Nanny, but Poppy believed Lilly would feel more comfortable in your care then a strangers. I believe her heart is in the right place, and besides i'm sure Lilly will be happy to see her family..."

She said as she reached up to caress Poppys cheek lovingly, before walking toward the edge of town. She didn't wish to to damage the city further with a gate, and though poppy would need to return via the ring her family should be able to use a gate.

" Honestly Scarlett... after today, I shall never doubt your abilities! But come! let us make haste back to Sol! but first i shall need to open a proper gate, are to many for the warp ring to sustain a stable portal i think... "

Opening a gate on her own, not everyone could do that. Normally the priests would gather in a group of 5 or more to open a gate. But she wasn't just anyone. Though it would reveal her nature to those nearby she no longer cared. Let the royals of Flora think what they wished, in time they would have found out if they did not already suspect. She finally reached the edge of town and took a deep breath as she gazed up at the sky.

She released her aura which spread across the ground rapidly around her, flaring outward covering a massive city sized area. Though it was not dangerous, and those not sensitive to magic wouldn't even know it was there. But she had the blood of a goddess inside of her, and was far from natural born and thus her mana pool was immense and her Aura reflected that.

She raised her hands as her flames flowed out of her like a great serpent swirling into the sky and forming a great ring! spinning in place, as she did not even need incantations or pretty words to cast this spell. It came natural and was an extension of herself, and a part of her, and one she knew well. With a great burst of magical power that roared like a great beast she created a gate between this world and her own! Her aura quickly shrank back inside of her body as she hid it away once the gate was open.

" The gate is open... Leo would you escourt the first group into Sol, and explain the situation to the palace guards. I shall stay here and maintain the gate until Poppy and her family have all made it to Sol... Bella would you insure they are all moving single file, and are accounted for before leaving "

She trusted Bella, if only because her military experience likely made her through.

"Poppy would you two make sure everyone is entering single file, and that no one is left behind. Once everyone is through poppy and i shall return via the Warp Ring "

Leo Would nod his head to Blaze before bowing to her and quickly heading through the gate to explain the situation to the guards. He didn't hesitate as he passed into Sol happy to be back home. He'd organize the guard and insure everyone had rooms on the other side.

"Strict sounds like an understatement if you ask me. Whatever, not like we have to worry about it anymore." Poppy wanted to go over and smack Rosa upside the head, though no point in causing problems that didn't need to be caused. "I think we can both agree on that. Only been back for about twenty minutes and I'm already tired of Flora." Guess having a much more peaceful home makes Flora seem ten time worse than she already saw it as.

Suddenly the tall, cloaked lady walked over, looking down at them before holding out a ticket to Blaze. "A gift, if you will. Burn it in the Flame and the results should speak for themselves. Be wary of one called Laffy." She then turned around and returned to the group which teleports back to the temple. It then goes back into the portal which close's right after.

"Okay, does anyone have any idea who the heck those people were? Not to mention that tall lady seemed to know some stuff she shouldn't. Then warning us about some chick name Laffy. I am so lost at this point." Poppy was at a complete lost right now. At least Kalak seemed nice enough, if only a bit pushy about her petition. What on Flora did she miss while in Sol? Wasn't often you saw so many people of different countries working together like that.

"Ah, the Seven D'vas have reformed at the demand of High Queen Vix. The with a flame on the back of her cloak a stand in while they find a sheep to fill the spot an old member used to fill. It is a wise move as they're made up of some of the most powerful mages in all of Flora, and I have no doubt there are some from other worlds who are less the savory along with being powerful themselves." Bella honestly wasn't surprised the D'vas reformed.

Their attention then went to Leo and his question. "I'll honestly feel better once we high tail it out of here." The opossum then noticed her family rushing back, along with an army of kids. "Oh, did I forget to mention one of my sister's has fifteen kids. Which reminds me, mum-" She was cut off by getting hit with the cane. "I didn't even get to finish my-" And then another hit making her stop talking.

"Coming all the way here just to ask me to play babysitter, you're lucky I don't keep hitting you with this cane!" Scarlett wasn't finished tearing into her daughter it seemed. "Though yes, I'll watch the little ones so you can work." The feline then turned to Blaze offering a gentle smile. "And don't worry about me. Between raising my own litter and this one here watching my grandchildren will be easy."

[delwrites]

Resentment and Ignorance

feat tsukishima!

tw: tsukki has a mental breakdown

ie. a tsundere actually showing emotion for once

many big kisses and humungous thank yous to the beautiful @aliensknowmyillusions for helping me with the ending <3

word count under cut- 852

loosely based on 'Pierre' from 'Natasha, Pierre and the Great Comet of 1812'

As Tsukishima neared your house, he found himself practising his nervous habits more. He caught himself using his own fingers as fiddle toys, letting out a soft sigh before his knuckles gave three curt knocks on your door. After a moment of stillness, he tries again, silently begging for access. Defeatedly, he storms in, hesitant feet dragging him along the hallways which he knew so well. He rushes up the stairs urgently, navigating to the room in which he found most comfort in. Bursting in, he saw you sat atop your bed, staring at your phone as though it had just presented you bad with news. Cocking an eyebrow, he places a hand on his hip, sharp eyes boring into you.

You swiftly turn your head to face him, cheeks heating up at the speed of his heavy breathing and the butterflies which had erupted in your stomach after seeing him. No, you refused to feel such childish feelings. He had taken it too far, your resolve would never break. Petty as it may be, Tsukishima Kei was not deserving of your attention today.

"Why are you ignoring me?" he questioned accusingly, causing you to scoff and shake your head. That had sealed it- he couldn't even recognise what he had done.

"Y/n? Really? When did you become so childish?!" he sneers down at you, acutely aware of the advantages which his height brings him, exaggerated by you being sat down. His broad and tall stature caused you to fault slightly, tone and words proving detrimental to your mindset right now.

"So first, you call me clingy, then you can't take the hint to leave me alone?!" your sudden outburst had made him stumble backwards, features not shy of his taken aback nature. It was in his person to be mean to the people he wanted to keep closest, not knowing how to accept compliments and receive love, nor affection. He often found himself beating him up for it, and there wasn't a day that passed by where he didn't wish he could be more open about his feelings for people, especially for you.

He had become a pro at concealing his true feelings, his true feelings which were actually a lot more soft than he'd let on, a fact known only to his intimates.

"Its dawned on me that I can't go on living as I am. I used to be better... I know it's my fault that I let these situations get away from me, its just so hard sometimes. Right now, my friends fight and bleed in their own wars, and yet I stand idly by, abandoned to distraction. And everyday, I hate myself for it." You couldn't help the daunting shock that spills over your face.

"I hate not being able to show my emotions like a normal person. Why can't I just be normal?" this was seemingly his breaking point, as his face seemed to almost soften, tears beginning to streak down his pale cheeks.

"Why can't I just emote normally, all I want is to be empty and stupid and contempt. I just want to be satisfied with my place, but it's never enough, I'm never enough." you were about to object, but he didn't leave you any room. You sighed, supposing he needed this.

"Why can't I be like merry, stupid little Hinata, wearing my emotions on my sleeve. Why do I have to be so different?!" by this point, his voice had raised a few notches, before he occupied the space on your bed next to you, resting his head on your shoulder.

You turn your body to face him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and bringing his face to the crook of your neck as to run your fingers deftly through his hair. You felt his tears wet you, but you brushed it off, debating what approach to use on the emotionally unstable tsundere.

"Tsukki I- ... they struggle too. There is no normal way to emote, because there is no normal way to be. We're all different, of course the way in which we showcase our feelings is gonna be a representation of that. Why can't you just see that you being so different is what makes me love you?" you spoke so softly, and with his lack of reactions, you were afraid he hadn't heard any of that at all. Yet slowly but surely, he begins to lift his head, posture which had been ruined in seek of your comfort fixing up a bit.

The meek and timid look on his face is one you will forever consider one of your favourites.

Tsukishima blinks at your declaration. You what? He didn't even know how to comprehend that, he never thought he'd have a chance with someone like you. You were, well, you. And he was, to put it lightly, horrible. He blinks feverishly at you, eyes brimmed with hope.

You enjoyed that look, too. It made you feel strangely proud, with him gazing down at you as though you were his whole world.

In Tsukishima's mind, it wasn't far off.

[notlycheesden]

Rearview Mirror

Heyyo ✌🏻 this is my first written piece for Endeavor , as a gift for my friend @kogo for the evil exchange. so I hope you like it my dude 👍🏻. A piece I will def be coming back to write more for sure.

⤍ Endeavour x reader

⤍ 3.6k

⤍ TW.incest, TW.dubcon, TW.father/daughter

⤍ Summary:

Enji was trying to be a better father, a better man.

And you never lied to him.

Guess it was a time for a lot of firsts.

Everything was always red between the both of you.

It's past four when his phone rings.

He was awake. even on his day off -those becoming more frequent now- years of routine were still strong. His body alert and aware way before the break of dawn for hours of training before patrol, and later to go to his own agency, the literal empire that wouldn't run itself.

He was pretending to be asleep, unmovable laying on his stomach, face buried on his pillow. Deep breaths in and out in a rhythmic pattern. His massive frame takes most of his king-size bed that for more than a decade he slept right in the middle, no reason to let the right side of it unoccupied.

It was almost meditation-like. There in the quiet and calm of his bedroom between his sheets, he could organize -or at least try- his thoughts. A time in his day where he gets lost in self-reflection. The things he would have to do that day, what work in his agency he would have to supervise, and even stubbornly he would do a little steaming out, analyzing his “actions and emotions”, passing commentary from the resident agency therapist threw his way.

“A strict but good man, if not for some, mishaps, from your intense and fiery nature.” was his professional opinion about Endeavor. The man really lived to throw things his way.

It used to help calm his turbulent mind. But lately there was nothing in his head but turmoil.

It was something he would do until 6 AM, when he couldn't take any longer and had to get up, body and muscles aching from staying in bed for too long, the sun already rising on the horizon, painting the sky with yellows, pinks, and reds.

The silence of his room is broken by the ring of his phone. Instead of the familiar tone of the morning alarm, it was his normal ringtone. When he opens his eyes, the room was not bright as he expects, still shrouded by darkness. Endeavor sits on his bed at once, alert.

Getting it from the bedside table quickly, his posture falls when he catches the time and the already saved contact of who was calling him: Natsuo.

Enji picks up, but before he could question the call, the time, or even say hello, Natsuo speaks, voice grave and serious.

“You need to pick up your daughter right now.”

It’s a punch to the gut. One that makes all the air from his lungs escape at once. In a second, he feels like he is thrown into a rollercoaster.

The only thing he can muster in his shock is a guttural and deep bark of incredulity “What?”

Natsuo cuts Enji off immediately. His tone triggering him into snapping, memories hushing in -not the time for this- “She just called. She was a crying mess, begged me to come for her but I live two hours away-Shouto is on patrol and not picking up and Fuyumi is with her fiance's family at the onsen-”

Enji inhales sharply. Dread takes hold of him while he can't even see straight with the sudden rush of adrenaline, sirens blasting off in his head.

“She was supposed to be with fuyumi at the onsen.” His voice echoes back at him in his bedroom walls, he doesn't realize he is shouting.

“Look, this is really not the time. She has no money and her phone’s dead. I was able to get her to tell me an address before the call dropped. she's all alone there. Are you gonna pick her up?”

Natsuo calms his own breaths now after snapping and shouting back, and he can hear shuffling noises on his father’s side of the line. The older man was up in a second, not really seeing anything, rushing through his stuff picking his keys and wallet. He hates the way his father could make him snap so easily.

Enji was completely distraught.“She said she was going to be with fuyumi…” He mutters under his breath while running through the corridors, even forgetting the phone by his ear, his son still on the line.

But Natsuo hates even more the blatant difference in the way his father treated all of them and you in comparison. Always. Like he could fix his mistakes. Hide his sins.

“Well. Think your little princess lied to you old man.”

Enji didn't even register the venom in his son's words, nor when he hangs up on him.

He’s out of the house in a blink. He tries not to rip the door out of its hinges on his way out.

——

He drives fast, almost no other car in the streets making it easier to speed up in his nervous state. The GPS voice droning about the directions, a forty-minute drive that he would make in twenty.

you said you were going to spend the weekend with your sister.

You lied to him.

Enji’s heart hammers in his chest and his flames burst multiple times on his face out of control. His grip on the wheel tightens to ground his shaking hands, his jaw set with such force that he could feel a headache already forming.

Thoughts were flying through his mind a mile a second. Where are you? What happened to you? Who were you with? Were you safe? Why were you crying?

Why did you lie to him?

It was like his heart was being squeezed by dread and being broken at the same time.

You were his youngest. After he realized what he did to his children as a father, he tried his best to do better; connect, communicate, but he was emotionally and socially stunted -Thanks doc.- and by the time he tried to reach out, it was just a little too late.

Fuyumi was the pillar of the household, replacing their mother too much young and having to fit in a mould not meant to be hers, barely holding the treads of the family and house together. Natsuo was out of the front door as soon as he finished high school and got into med school, choosing to live in the dorms and work part-time rather than stay at the manor. Shoto was another history in itself.

And there was you, a couple of years younger than your now up-in-the-ranks pro hero brother, at the time just a pipsqueak. Too young to remember Rei, remember the worst of Endeavor.

And when he tried to connect, you were there. As if just waiting. Wanting your father to look at you. Frail and innocent and just in want of care, of attention, of love. You welcomed him into your life with open arms and heart.

Enji did try to make it right by you. And for some time things were progressing, even his other children were starting to turn their heads around his direction.

Until Touya’s incident.

The media cracked down on him and his family with a vengeance, almost nothing was left unturned or whole.

Natsuo was the first to cut ties. Shouto threw himself into his hero work, completely closing himself off. Even Fuyumi decided that she was done, took the next step, and went to live with her now fiance, completely ignoring whatever Enji tried to shout about costumes or honor.

Then it was just the two of you.

He tried to be a good father.

He was a quiet man in his private life, strict and with a violent nature, but he reached out for outside help to make it right. An older and trustworthy housekeeper to not chain his daughter down at the manor, guidance from therapist to help him become a better father, a better man, anything to do right this time.

Call it atonement, call it his redemption, call it hypocrisy, he didn't care.

He only cares that at the end of the day, you were there at his side, happy.

This morning he saw the note on the fridge.

Going to onee-san family trip,

Be back on Sunday.

You never had lied to him before.

Guess it was a time for a lot of firsts.

——-

The music blasting through the night tipped him off even before his car's GPS tells him he arrived at the destined location.

He parks way down the street and assesses the place inside the darkness of his car.

Enji’s way out of the city now and inside the industrial district, the building seems old and falling to pieces, people are lingering all around the street, but it’s thicker there. At surface level the building was empty, but the music was definitely coming from there.

He dreads the worst.

Getting out of the car still in his sleeping sweatpants and tee, he throws the hood of his workout jacket over his hair to conceal himself. He’s going for discretion, get you and get out, no need to make this a public affair. Not with this, not with you, not right now.

He searches around but still can't find you. Half an hour has passed since Natsuo called. He's in a frenzy. Endeavor forces himself to calm down and think.

His son didn't mention music. He looks far into the street and he can see the entrance of an alleyway, he hushes there.

His stomach tied in knots when he sees in the dark your small figure crouched down beside a dumpster. your shoulders ate shaking with silent sobs holding your dead phone for dear life, trying to make yourself smaller than you already were, head down.

Enji barks your name and your head snaps to the entrance of the alleyway in shock, your body trembling and fat tears running down your smudged makeup.

“Daddy!”

In a second you were up and running, throwing your body against him and hugging his middle. He doesn't know what to do first, but he opts for following his instincts. Enji hugs your shaking form, shushing you lightly while petting your head. He doesn't know if it's him or you who's shaking more.

He doesn't remember how, but he manages to walk both of you to his car without being seen, his hulking form covering your smaller one.

He's shaking. When Enji puts you in the passenger seat and the car lights momentarily shine everything in an amber glow, rage fills his chest. You are in a dress he has never seen before, he knows it was not yours. He would never allow a thing like that or let you use it in public. Your makeup that before being ruined by your smudging and crying, was heavy and meant to seduce.

He closes your door and gets in the car.

He's shaking.

——

Enji can only control himself enough to not rip the wheel or step on the gas right through the flooring for only three blocks. and thank the gods again for the hour, because he could not quite see the streets in front of him. If they weren't deserted while he drives double the velocity permitted, it would be likely that the fears of his family being again under the cruel and ravenous judgment of the public eye would become reality, although for a completely different reason from the ones he has been dreading until this point.

When he reaches the fourth block, he makes a sudden stop, turning and parking harshly with the front of the car almost all the way over the curb, the tires skidding loudly into the quiet of the night and scaring you out of your still shell shock state. your small sniffles stop when you let out a muted yelp of surprise.

Enji quickly pries his hands that have a death grip on the wheel and smash the roof of the car to turn the lights on in such a way that later he’s impressed he didn't send the entire ceiling flying. As fast as he did that and the darkness of the car is now cast in warm gold, his hands are on your small frame like a striking snake, a big calloused one gripping your face between meaty fingers, squeezing your wet cheeks and the other one in your far shoulder, turning you in his direction with a barely controlled yank. Enji wasn't sure if the shaking was coming from your body or his.

He's frantic, hectic, eyes going up and down your body trying to find anything, something. “Are you hurt? tell me,” His voice is harsh, too loud into the small space. You jump startled, but his grip locks you in place, he doesn't notice.

Why did you come to a party? Why are you dressed like this? Why did you do this?

“Are you?? Someone did something? Gave you something, touched you?” He barks again louder, bending and twisting to be in your face now, eyes scanning all over your body. But again and again, they would be drawn to the too short hem of your dress, from your ruined tearstained makeup and down again to your soft and creamy thighs, trying to find a mark, a scratch, a stain. Anything, something.

“Fucking answer me!”

“Dad please!”

Enji lets you go as if you just slap him in the face. He blinks.

You are shaking. Looking at him in fear, silent tears running down your cheeks. Your jaw is set as you try to hold your whimpers back, his fingers make red marks bloom on your face and arm under his digits.

Memories come back rushing. Phantoms scourging in blue flames.

He releases you as if you burn him.

His hands hover in place, and he doesn't dare to move, still crowding you. Both of you staring at each other in fear and confusion as if something would break.

He slowly backs away, and you keep still. He turns the light off and stares at the road.

Enji couldn't take more things between both of you breaking.

He takes a deep breath. Starts the car again to drive back home.

——

Friday nights are your nights.

Enji doesn't really remember when it started. But he knows it wasn't something that was spoken of or agreed beforehand. It happened once, then twice, then his job got in the way, then thrice, and when he noticed, it was a routine between him and his daughter.

Like most things between both of you, it just… fell into place. And it just felt right.

Endeavor would arrange his schedule in a way so that his Fridays would be empty, any emergency at the agency could be easily solved that way, patrols and hero work set on the weekends so he could come home at a sensible hour, just by dinnertime.

He would be just taking his blazer and shoes off at the entrance when Enji would hear your running steps from the kitchen, your pinky apron-clad figure hushing to meet him with a bright smile, eyes shining.

you would get a hold of his tie and gently tug down for him to bend at the waist to your level, your arms were thrown in a warm hug on his neck and a sweet and lengthy kiss on his cheek after he steps through the threshold. you would giggle against his face from the tickles you got from his stubble while warmly welcoming him, the food still hot on the table.

It was one of your multiple habits together, just the two of you. And it felt right.

It was routine. And it felt so domestic, warm and right.

Friday nights are your nights. After he gets home, you guys have dinner, something you cooked by yourself, sending the older housemaid away earlier.

Sometimes it is a new recipe, sometimes something you already tried before. But it's always good, and when Enji compliments your cooking skills and how much he enjoys it, your cheeks blush red. You daintly try to hide your smile as you thank him, bashful behavior so alluring even when he knows is just a little act, playing coy. There's warmth in his chest.

The lights in the dining room cast everything in this whimsical warm glow and maybe it's the beer, but Enji thinks it reflects lovely on you and the color of your blouse today. He says so.

“Looking so pretty tonight, princess.”

The red on your cheeks grow stronger. From across the table, he hides his smirk behind his can at seeing how you fidget in place, trying to contain your coquettish smile while biting your plush bottom lip. The warmth spreads lower.

Only later it dawns on him. Enji was flirting with his own daughter. And it was a habit.

It was routine.

Enji is sprawled on the big sofa comfortably, already showered and in his sleeping clothes after dinner, the second movie of the night halfway through.

It was a period drama and he tries to pay attention to the main points for your quiz about it the next day, but he was mostly checked out, lulled by the comfy dark of the living room, the buzz of the beers he drank, sleep and your warm body draped over his.

He doesn't really remember when it started, but he knows it was gradually. One day in your Friday movie nights, he notices you were glued on his side, and on the next one you had an arm draped over his torso while both of you were laying on the reclining couch, and since then, you were always over him, arms and thighs and breasts glued to his body, but most of the time cutely laying on his chest.

That night was no different. You are laying on his broad chest, using your arm as leverage to look down and back at the tv in front of the sofa, and for you to not slip he has one big palm over your waist and the other in a secure hook on the slope of your knee, propping your bent leg higher across his stomach. Your breathing matches his, and if not by your little grunts and noises of surprise, the redhead would have thought you had fallen asleep on him. It would not be the first time.

The clothes you are using are small and had hiked up a long time ago, a loose tank top and booty shorts, both of them old and worn out, sleep clothes.

From where he was, he could see all your body over his. From the crown of your head to the slope of your waist as it dipped under his scarred hand. His gaze follows the curve of your thigh draped over his waist to the fat of your ass pointing high. He muses in a daze that he could see the inside of your tank top, the soft swell of a breast making an appearance. He leers.

You move a little, and this time, he can make out the shade of a nipple. It’s pert and small and pretty, and blood rushes to his clothed cock, but is late, and he's tired and buzzed out. It doesn’t connect in his mind.

You move. you are getting yourself higher on his chest. Enji feels small hands wandering under his shirt. Presses of lips on his neck. Wet kisses on the stubble on his jaw.

The soft touches pull him deeper. There's a young and wanton body over his. It’s been so long since he truly touched another, let himself be touched. Smooth lips and an uncertain tongue were kissing him, and he wants to devour them. It’s hot and burns and makes his insides coil, his cock hard and heavy inside his pants. A warm slit humping it.

Could have been the tiredness, the beer, the comfort of the situation, anything really.

Enji kisses you like a man starved. Head moving and ravaging your much smaller mouth with his tongue. His hand yanks your tank top down exposing your breasts, and now he’s pulling and pinching the sweet nipples in a way that makes you moan against his tongue with a voice he couldn't recognize.

His other hand was down at your ass, guiding your movements back and forth on his erection with vigor, the friction against your slit makes you weak, but he keeps you moving, his calloused hand encompassing most of your behind. At each needy thrust his fingers would slide down between the cleft of your ass more and more.

His meaty fingers push the bottons of your shorts aside with a flick of his wrist, and now he's touching directly your puffy lips that are messy and wet all over. Enji growls in your mouth as you moan louder when he starts playing with your pussy, a pitched whine as he flicks your clit up and down, a strong hold on your breast.

A loud bang from the TV is what snaps him back to reality.

It was his daughter.

His daughter was over him. It was his daughter that was humping his cock, that he was sucking her small tongue and tweaking her nipples until he made her squeal.

He jumps to his feet and throws you across the couch.

Different from him, you look wide awake. Flushed face and startled eyes stares up at him, exposed breasts still heaving. Nipples rosy and hard. Between your legs, a glistening trail of where his fingers dragged when he ripped them off of you. Your shorts are drenched.

There's a moment of silence.

Enji snaps. He sprints to his bedroom, leaving you alone in the living room.

He locks his door, drops to the floor, and whips his hard and heavy cock out. in three pumps, thick ropes of cum cover his hand and clothed middle.

Taking big gulps of air trying to calm his breathing, his eyes glancing everywhere in a panic state, he looks down, and spot the wet patch on his clothed thigh. Yours juices that leaked on him. Its still in his other hand, fingers wet.

Enji wants to cry.

He tried to be a good father.

He ruined it again.

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

ALSO!!! Kaiju bros, Jaeger pilots au. (Either my au or your take on them being Jaeger pilots?? 👀)

vague idea for like... pretty immediately after their serious accident that you mentioned in your AU, mayhaps

---

Hermann is- not worried, per se, more just lightly concerned. Perhaps a little anxious, though he's not sure if that buzzing, restless sensation is his own or Newton's ghost drift from the other side of the Shatterdome. He's not been sleeping well, and he knows it isn't from lack of desire to on his own part. No, that certainly must belong to Newton.

This is how Hermann finds himself striding — or, well, hobbling, as it is, now, finding balance while leaning on a cane and thinking he's lucky to be cleared to return to piloting ever, let alone in as little as six weeks — towards the medical bay at three in the morning, well after most PPDC personnel have retreated to their bunks.

Perhaps, he thinks, almost hoping, it's nightmares. A natural trauma response and one that they are equipped to work through. If it were so, though, it's more than likely that the memories would have appeared in Hermann's own dreams. He almost wishes they had; wishes he had that knowledge of what his drift partner had gone through on his behalf. He's not sure if the knowing would increase or ease his own feelings of guilt. He still wants to know.

Newton is sitting up in the narrow infirmary bed, bent over a notebook with his glasses perched precariously on the very edge of his nose and a gel-ink pen held equally precariously in one hand. Newton, Hermann knows, has always been ambidextrous; it's a trait that has on occasion passed between them following the drift. Today, or tonight, rather, the pen is held in his right hand, left palm flat against the notebook as if to steady it. Both hands are shaking viciously, visible even from the door.

It's a side effect of the neural overload, one the doctors say will pass given time, along with the recurring nosebleeds and dizzy spells. For now, Newton is trapped in both the infirmary and his own frustration. Even without the connection of their drift bond, said frustration would be palpable in the air, thick enough to cut through.

Hermann clears his throat. "Newton."

"Hey, Hermann," Newton greets, too casually. Of course he's aware of Hermann's presence, just not acknowledging it except through the blip of recognition and, dare Hermann risk naming it, affection through the ghost of a currently unused drift bond. "What's up?"

He asks like it's the middle of a normal day, as if nothing has happened and everything is as it should be. As if his hands aren't shaking too hard to allow him to write down whatever epiphany had kept him awake; as if Hermann's aren't beginning to shake in sympathy or longing for a solution or or or-

"Breathe," says Newton, suddenly lifting his head to look at Hermann. Hermann breathes. "You good?" Newton blinks at him, eyes bloodshot behind the frames of his glasses, but gaze clear and more curious than actively concerned.

Hermann scoffs. "I came to ask you the same thing," he admits. Then, as an added explanation although it's not really needed, "Ghost drift."

"Oh. Sorry, I guess I was keeping you up?" Newton frowns, slaps his notebook closed and lets the pen fall from his grasp. "I'm fine," he says, which is almost surely a lie.

"Would you-" Hermann hesitates. "Would you like me to write down whatever it was you were thinking of?"

Newton stares at him. "I mean... you'd do that for me?"

"Of course," replies Hermann before he can feel uncomfortable about it. "May I?" He takes a step toward the bed.

Newt grins. "Yeah, s- sure, come on, man!" He holds out the notepad in shaking hands as Hermann carefully takes a seat on the mattress. "So I was thinking of this new strategy-"

It's after three in the morning. They both should be sleeping, but aren't. But. Across the quiet drift connection between them, tonight there is peace.

[kurosakilchigo]

He doesn’t notice the demon crawling out of his shadow until Zangetsu is already there—too close to miss. “—Shit!”

The sudden surge of power filling the room snaps his heart against his ribs. He whirls, teeth bared.

The snarl forms out of habit, frustration curling in his voice. Of course he felt him—how could he not? That presence was a stormcloud in his chest. But that’s the problem. If Zangetsu’s always this close, this woven in, how is he supposed to know when he’s actually behind him?

“You don’t just get to—”

His teeth snap shut as the demon closes the distance, effortless as breath. No circle holds him now. No sigils stand between them. Just Ichigo’s own strength and the pact of two death-locked creatures.

His back finds the cold lip of the sink.

The brush of clawtips against his skin is light—almost careful—and his pulse leaps before he can stop it. His chest tightens, breath caught in his throat, not fear but something sharper. Hungrier.

Zangetsu’s fingers push his bangs aside, and Ichigo jerks slightly at the sound of that low laugh, heat crawling up his neck.

He didn’t call him. And yet, here he is.

This wasn’t how Ichigo had expected this to go. Still picking himself up from the night before, he didn’t have a job for him yet. 

Ichigo has summoned demons before. Lesser spirits, flickering and hollow. Greater ones, too—fierce, willful creatures, dangerous and prideful. Kisuke made sure of it. Made sure Ichigo knew how to wrestle something bigger than himself into submission. How to take control.

And yet, none of them felt like this.

Zangetsu is in another league beyond all of them.

It’s... disarming. Chilling.

His mouth is dry. He licks his lips before he speaks 

“I know what I did.” His voice is lower now. Less bark, more blade.

He knows what he did. What he didn’t expect was how it would feel. He didn’t expect the changes to his appearance. The way the demon’s presence burns in an odd contradiction of too much and not enough.The awareness of all that strength Ichigo can feel on the periphery of his own power. A reserve waiting to be tapped. And the temptation to reach deeper into the bond and find out what else lives on the other side of it.

“No.” There’s no point in lying. Zangetsu already knows. Nothing about what Ichigo did in that chamber was normal. 

But the word partners throws him.

He swallows. Blinks away the sting in his eyes. From heat, from surprise.

He goes still as that threat becomes something else in his mind. Something he understands. 

Oh.

Between the blood and blackout, there hadn’t been time for terms. No conditions. No real contract. No explanations. Just survival.

The tightness in his shoulders eases. 

“Hell?” This is already hell. And he’s been here a long time. “I don’t think I’m going to win.” It’s said slowly. There’s no inflection to the words. It’s an old truth. “I just have to last long enough to finish what I started. You can have whatever is left after that. Like you said. There’s no sending you back. No breaking it. There are things I need to do. After that, you can drag me wherever you want. You wanna devour my soul or whatever weird shit demons think about, fine. But not until I’m finished.”

Then—he moves.

Not away. Forward.

He’s let Zangetsu play at being the predator between them long enough.

“And if you try to take what’s mine before I’m ready, you’ll see what other old things I’ve learned. You think you got a shit deal now, push me and find out.” 

Then he plants both hands on Zangetsu’s chest—ten fingers pressing into muscle and heat—and lets his natural purification abilities spark. A power he’s always too busy delving into darker arts to foster, but it does come in handy, small as it is. 

“Now get out. Who said you could barge in on me in the bathroom?”

This dream is not his, these people not for him to mourn. And yet, desperation lodges itself into his chest all the same at the sight of them: two girls being dragged away into the darkness by amorphous shapes, their hands outstretched towards him as they cry out.

"Ichi-nii!"

"Help! Ichi-nii!"

Zangetsu does not know them, but he knows he would die for them all the same. His hands- human, scarred, bleeding at the nailbeds- reach out to grab them in a desperate bid to reclaim them from their assailants, but it is for naught. Where his palm should clamp firmly over a thin wrist, it instead passes directly through his fingers, as though she were made of mist.

He can't move. He can't help them. All he can do is watch as they melt away into the darkness. Despair takes hold, growing fat on the sound of their fading wails.

Zangetsu wakes with a start.

He's back again, crammed into the confines of his summoner's shadow. Immediately, he moves to take his own measure, reaching for those slumbering tendrils of demonic strength. The heart that thrashes in his chest is human, but the body it resides in is anything but, and he relishes in the way his power coils within himself. Restored, roiling, baring its teeth at that lingering feeling of helplessness.

It was a dream, nothing more. One inflicted upon him by his audacious summoner, no doubt, though not one brought upon him intentionally. Warily, Zangetsu reaches a claw out to test their new bond, and finds that the space where their borders blur into each other feels terribly vast. Endless. A boundless gulf, choked with feelings that are both his and not his own.

Figures.

Ichigo knows he's awake now, feeling him poking around in the bond. Zangetsu sends one more wave of displeasure his way before he rises from his shadow, as though surfacing from some tenebrous pool. He glares, venom stewing on his tongue.

But the sight of him arrests him before he can get so much as a word out. Ichigo looks less like a human now, and more like a living flame, his hair more vibrant and orange than Zangetsu remembers. Zangetsu widens his eyes and steps forward to inspect him more closely, backing him up against the sink in the process. His claws, fine as needlepoints, graze against his skin as he brushes that fringe aside, revealing eyes that look less human and more like his own. A ring of magma encircling the pupil, the persistent glow of it bringing out flecks of gold in that auburn brown.

Hells, he even smells like him now. Zangetsu draws nearer to his neck to smell the scent of sulfur sitting just below the skin, underneath the sweat and iron stench of dried blood.

No doubt about it. He is Zangetsu's, just as much as Zangetsu is his. He grins, laughing low and vicious.

"Oh man. You've really done it now, master." The last word is hissed out as his hand moves from Ichigo's face down to his neck, pressing against the bob of his throat with his palm, cradling the soft flesh with his lethal talons. The smell of burning grows stronger as he leans close, baring his teeth.

"That was no ordinary ritual, was it? There's no sending me back once your business is done. We're life partners now, you and I." Zangetsu exhales a hot breath near his face, watching the way his eyes water from the heat of it. Good. He wants to make him squirm. See what kind of expression he makes when he realizes what exactly he's getting himself into.

"If you think you've won, you've got another thing coming. You're safe from my flames, but I don't need to hurt you to drag you to hell."

[bluewren]

'Distant call of an animal in the night' for solas & sera?

Happy New Yearsss!! I read (Tell Me) The Colour of Rain by commoncomitatus and got really emotional when Sera became friends with a halla. 🥺🥺It gave me, my own idea for a Sera & Solas centred fic.

This is the beginning of "Sera in Arlathan" @dadrunkwriting

Wordcount: 1,051

“Do you need more time before we go?” Solas inquires. He watches Sera’s eyes, for tears, maybe shivering.

What Solas offered the young elf so afraid of magic, will terrify her. And worse, it can feel like being lost and direction-less at sea. It is curious that Sera even took him up on the offer, not without convincing, but she has come over to relenting and accepting.

Sera blows a raspberry, her abrasiveness is still present. “Don’t know why I agreed with it. Ought to stay by the campfire, it’s much warmer than whatever wobbly Fadie place, you got in mind.”

“You came to me with questions, I merely wanted to help you find the answers.” Solas speaks with a melancholic tone. He held out his hands over their campfire as he waits, he had the patience. Patience was something that was in no short supply to this tired elf.

“Wanting to show off you got a smarty bump in your breeches, more like.” She shows her impish smile, pointing at Solas with two jabbing fingers.

Solas arches his brow up, not bothered or perplexed Sera’s colorful language. Simply waiting for the weight of her own embarrassment drown her, perhaps he has gotten accustomed to the crass vocabulary and it becoming a small bit of comfort to hear. Nonetheless it was still amusing to watch the tip of her ears slowly turn red.

“It’s like… Because like being smart and you’re a…” Slowly Sera’s smile disappears and her ears droop down. “Pfft. Never mind.”

The older elf takes a moment to watch the younger one freeze up, he has a chuckle at Sera’s expense and reveling in her mortification.

“Ha. Ha. Keep laughing it up more, I’m sure you want to.” Sera glares back, getting close and readying herself to headbutt the shiny target known as the Elfy’s head.

He had enough amusement at Sera’s expense. Solas pushes Sera’s head away for room to breath. “You were previously adamant on learning anything to do with the Fade. Why are you allowing me now? What has changed?”

“I just wanted to know…” Sera’s answer is uncertain, her shoulders shivered as if they needed the warmth of their fire. Unfortunately the warmth won’t stop the tingling through her spine.

Solas’s watchful eyes did two small blinks, curious as to what Sera really wanted. Sera felt as if he was a wolf making circles around its wounded prey.

“If this is for Taliesen, I would remind you that she has never once cared what your opinion was on our history.” He spoke in a slow tone, ever watching. Sera shakes her head. “Do you know where we are camping?”

“Pfft. You know I don’t.” Sera crosses her arms, the brash abrasive elf returns home.

“We stand in the Arbor Wilds, lost to humans and elves, like. The Imperium never attempted to take it as their own, the elves of the Dales never retaken it.” Solas takes a moment to breath, careful of his surroundings as well as his words. Always attentive to what might hide in the corners of this forest. “There have been many conflicts here. Attracting spirits who wish to relive the world that came before, one who is willing to listen can learn much.” He looks into Sera’s eyes, although she already well aware of danger this location could hold. “But with so many that have gathered, there is much risk. Demons with ill intents.”

His eyes are unwavering, he already sees Sera faulting. Freezing in her place, nails digging deeper and close to piercing herself.

She knew Solas was right, her eyes flickering everywhere. Looking at the trees that grew too long and too vicious for a normal forest. It rips through the brick laid down by the old civilization. Runes that Tali and Dagna could never recover, their fine craftsmanship too tarnished by nature. If Sera didn’t look away from the branches, they’d start looking like hands reaching out to grab her.

So he keeps pressing. “Do you understand what could happen in the Fade?”

“Yeah! Alright! Got it!” The young elf finally lashes out, she throws out her hands at Solas. “I got questions, never happens. About wobbly magic, should never happen! One time it does! The one with the pointiest ears decides it’s the better to not friggin’ answer!” Her fingers want to claw his sharp cheeks and then rip his face apart by them. “One time I decided to know what it’s like, what all of you think it’s supposed to be like… I get shooed away again.” Those clawing arms fell as she is lost of breath, too beaten to sob. Now she barely holds in her tears if only to not embarrass herself further. “It’s one time. Never good enough, am I?”

Solas lets out a heavy sigh, he has made a mistake. One of too many. Worse that it was an unlikely friend that he had created many joyous memories with, and getting distracted in a way that he had never thought to be possible in this world. At least this wound is one that he knows with certainty, can be mended.

“Forgive me. It was never my intention to dismiss you.” He places her hand over Sera’s shoulder, making sure that she’s looking at him. “Merely that you understand what might happen when we travel there. Stay by my side.”

“Wasn’t gonna.” Sera nods, feeling Solas shake her awake. “Shits too scary, otherwise.”

“I will assure that no harm comes to you while you’re under my watch.” Solas looks Sera in the eyes, making sure that his words are taken to heart. “And should you encounter any demons, remember what I’ve taught you previously. Start counting cards, they will become too distracted to enter your mind.”

It is soothing in many ways to be reminded of the card trick, a talent picked up from their many games of Wicked Grace against one another. Something that has helped her through several fights and gave back a small peace of mind after falling into the Fade. It’s enough to bring back a small smile onto her face, scared as she still is.

“I shall make preparations.” Solas gets up and leavers Sera’s side. “While I work, it would be wise to relax. I recommend meditation.”

[buckyownsmylife]

Walk Away - Tom Hardy smut

The one where Tom is your mentor and really shouldn’t feel this attracted to you.

Warnings: smut, age gap, famous!reader, mentor!Tom Hardy, breeding kink, risky sex, tiny insinuation of a size kink, (blink and you’ll miss), mention of a panic attack with barely any descriptions of it

Word count: 3k>

Tom’s P.O.V.

“Tom.” I stopped rubbing the sleep off my eyes the second my name fell from her lips. I didn’t need her to identify herself - I didn’t need to check the caller’s ID. I’d recognize her voice anywhere, regardless of just how groggy I was. But the tone in which she said my name, the tired, dead feeling shining through it, was what really startled me awake. “Tom, I need you.”

The desperation in her voice scared me, and I was out of bed before I could even realize what I was doing. “You’re home?” I confirmed, waiting only for the expected answer while I looked for my keys. “I’ll be there in five. Hang on tight.”

The night was cold, but I don’t think I would have noticed it if it wasn’t for the chill that had me freezing from the inside. I didn’t even consider changing out of my sleepwear - sweatpants and a loose shirt - mostly because I didn’t want to waste time on something so trivial, especially since it wasn’t that different from what I’d normally wear around her.

I’d known her for over four years now. I’d never witnessed this level of distress on her. In fact, she was never anything short of enthusiastic and happy, a bubble of sunshine that managed to energize everyone around her. For her to be this way, something big had to have happened, and it pained me to imagine just what could have been. 

It pained me to imagine her suffering, and not being there to help. So I stepped on the pedal, driving madly, knowing my own heartbeat would only get back to a regular pace once I had her in my arms again, could smell her perfume as I buried my face in her hair.

She wasn’t by the door when I got to her house, so I let myself in with the extra key that I had, noticing all the lights were off. There was only one place she could be. 

My feet took me there without even having to think about it, like there was some sort of instinctive calling from her body to mine. When I got to her bedroom, a dim light showed just how effective that connection was, as I pushed in to find her laying on her bed, waiting for me.

“What happened?” She sat up when I pushed the door open, quietly closing it behind me, and for a second there was no reaction as she took in my presence, like she needed time to realize I really was there. But then her eyes glistened, denouncing a flow of tears, and she just shook her head, as if asking me to contain my curiosity for just a bit.

“Can you just hug me?” She asked, and I felt my heart squeeze at the realization of just how unaware she was of my feelings for her. I’d do anything, anything for the woman in front of me. A hug was nothing, and I ached to have her in my arms anyway.

I sat by her side and immediately, she was on me, climbing on my lap until she could hide her face on the crook of my neck, and I froze only momentarily before wrapping my arms around her smaller body. Despite how wrong it morally felt - particularly when I remembered I wasn’t wearing any type of underwear - I couldn’t deny how right it was to both my heart and my body, how much it comforted me to feel her this close.

So there we stayed, for God knows how long. We didn’t speak - I was waiting for her decision to explain what had happened, and she clearly needed to come to terms with whatever it was. Just being there for her was enough for me, so I kept rubbing her back, eventually pulling away to press kisses on her temple, trying to ignore how her little sighs of comfort made me feel.

“I-I think I’m ready to talk.” The second I couldn’t feel her warm breath against my neck anymore, I felt cold again, but to my surprise, she didn’t climb down my lap, didn’t try to put some space between us. 

Instead, her arms remained around my shoulders, fingers playing with the collar of my shirt, making me shiver every once in a while when her nails dragged along my flesh.

“Okay,” I encouraged, only because she seemed nervous to say whatever it was that she wanted to tell me, her eyes avoiding mine before she finally managed to meet my gaze again, after taking a deep breath.

“Shawn broke up with me.” A sharp inhale resonated throughout the room, and it took me a few seconds to figure out it had been my own doing. I’d never liked her boyfriend, not ever since she first told me they had been going out, and despite how hard I tried to hide it from her, she had always been aware of my true feelings for him. 

Knowing he was the one to blame for her current state of mind only served to turn my concern into anger. 

“Why?” That was the only thing I could think to ask, the only thing I could focus on as I struggled not to throw her on the bed and run out after him. But I’d never be able to leave her alone, especially not since she was so clearly vulnerable.

There was another second of hesitation before she finally revealed, “It was because of you, actually.” Now that froze me into a state of shock. I couldn't speak, couldn’t think, all I could do was stare down at the face of the woman I loved who looked like she hadn’t just dropped a bomb on me.

“What?” Her giggle made my heart skip a beat for a second. It felt good to know that she was already starting to feel better, it felt even greater to know that I was the reason for her laughter, even if I was still fucking confused.

“Don’t worry about it.” Now that just wasn’t good enough. I needed to know, needed to understand. How had I been the cause for their break-up? But she didn’t seem too eager to open up about this specific part of her day, and so I decided to break out the big guns.

I laid her down on the bed, hovering over her so our eyes remained connected. “Tell me,” I quietly begged, and although she still looked anxious, I knew she was close to breaking. “I really want to know.”

She sighed, eyes closing for only an instant and for that instant, I allowed myself to believe that she was breathing me in, appreciating the feeling of being covered by my much larger body, exactly like I did.

“He was jealous,” she finally admitted, but the frown in my face only deepened, asking her for more information. “He felt like I prefered your company over his, which to be fair, it’s the truth. When I’m with you, I never want to leave.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I just stood there, frozen, looking deep into her eyes, searching for any sign of mockery, but found none. She looked hurt, but not like she regretted what happened. It just looked like she needed me there.

And so I stayed. I laid down by her side on the bed and pulled her to me, so her head rested on my chest, and I thought. I thought long and hard about what she’d told me and about how I felt. I thought so much, in fact, that I could see a panic attack forming, as the weight of my feelings threatened to suffocate me, and before I could realize what I was doing, I was already sitting up on the bed and looking for my keys.

“Where are you going?” She rubbed the sleep off her eyes as she tried to understand what was happening, but to be quite honest, I didn’t understand it myself. I just knew I needed to get the hell out of there, or I would end up saying something I’d regret. “I’m so comfy, can’t you just stay?”

It was so hard to breathe that my chest heaved with the labour of getting each breath in and out, so I forced myself to focus on it, stopping only for a few seconds, but it was enough to have me spilling things I’d been managing to hide for years.

“Don’t ask me that. Please.” My voice sounded hoarse, like I hadn’t used it in too long. “Because I’ll stay, and it’ll only hurt me further.” That caught her attention, wiping any remnants of sleep from her in an instant. 

“I wish I could walk away from you. Time and time again I wished for it, when you began dating that jerk, when I first realized I had feelings for you… but I just can’t. I’d do anything for you. All I can think about is you, all the fucking time. I want you so fucking much. I love you way too much. And being just your friend, your mentor, your confidant, is killing me.”

I closed my eyes to catch my breath, trying to focus, trying to make anything make sense again. In that time, I feared the worst. I thought about her leaving, her hand leaving a warm imprint on my face as she slapped me. I thought about her (rightfully, in my mind) accusing me of betraying her, calling me a monster, a pervert. 

I thought I had imagined every possible scenario, but I was still surprised when I opened my eyes to find her seating on the edge of her bed, gaze resting on mine, licking her lips. “I wanna feel you,” she said, and my mind swirled with this unexpected outcome.

“Excuse me?” I scrambled to keep myself up, finding a hold in the back of a nearby chair, my entire body trembling with the effort to hold back, the effort to think and listen, instead of just doing what my instincts begged me to do - pounce on her and fuck her raw.

“I want you inside of me,” she calmly stated, like it was no big deal. It was clear that it was the best way she had found to ask me for what she wanted, but I just couldn’t believe it.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

“Y-you want me?” I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, understanding the delicate nature of this situation, anxious to not let it slip through my fingers nor hold it so tightly it would end up breaking and hurting me in the process. 

I closed the gap between us, getting out of the bed to come stand in front of him, hoping the proximity would ease him the same way having his body near would calm me.

“I’ve always wanted you,” I confirmed, hoping he’d see just how truthful the statement was, needing him to see how much more I wanted to say. “But right now…” Without thinking, my hand reached out to fiddle with the edge of his shirt, the sight of the boner struggling against his sweatpants unmistakable to me. “Right now, I’ll do anything if you just touch me.” 

A sharp exhale of breath, his warmth hit my face, giving me a taste of what was to come. But I wanted the real thing. I wanted to know how it felt from his lips, to have his tongue forcing my mouth open, making me forget my need to breathe.

“I need you.” I got what I wanted then. His face lowered to mine, mouth finally close enough for me to reach, after what felt like years of desire. And it was everything that I’d always imagined his kiss to be - overpowering, dominating and overwhelmingly him. I was instantly addicted.

When he finally allowed our lips to part, taken by his need to breathe, I slowly began to peel away my clothes, fingers trembling in quiet desperation for him to see this for what it truly was: the meeting of desire and lust after years of denial and repression.

“Please fuck me,” I pleaded as my naked body was revealed to him inch by inch, willing to do whatever would get me what I needed. “I swear I can handle you.” That last part was added almost as an afterthought, when I watched his hand curl around a tightness I’d never witnessed in real life before.

I knew what was going through his head - the fight between what was expected of us and what we wanted, our feelings and our professions, but nothing else mattered to me more than knowing he’d spear me open with his length.

“Lay down and spread your legs for me.” Just that order was enough to have me whining low in the back of my throat, but I did as he said, even held my ankles so his view of me would be unobstructed. But that meant I had to watch him as he knelt by the bed and took a hold of my legs, licking his lips in desire at what he saw.

“Please, please, fuck me,” I repeated, knowing I wouldn’t handle his lips on me right now. I needed his thickness, his hardness, I needed to be filled by him, to feel him inside of me.

“Let me just get a taste,” he tried to convince me, eyes focused on the apex of my thighs. I almost laughed at how it looked like his mouth was watering as he stared at my exposed pussy, but my need was far too great to allow me any sort of distraction.

“Later, okay? You can eat me out as long as you want, just… later.” That had his head snapping up, gaze at last meeting mine with a soft sentiment that I knew was at least half vulnerability.

My poor Tommy. Even after all of my confessions, he still couldn’t believe that what was happening was actually real. He still doubted I would want him in the morning, as something more than what I wanted him when I called him tonight.

“Touch me, Tom,” I quietly asked, raising his hand to where I was aching for him, rubbing myself with his thumb. “Touch me right here, please, I’m begging you.”

Hearing those words fall from my lips changed something in him. Where once he was hesitant, a sudden confident smirk, almost arrogant, slowly spread over his lips, taking over his entire aura.

Tom’s P.O.V.

“So needy for me…” I whispered as I witnessed the truth behind my statement. She was sopping wet, almost dripping down the duvet, and as much as I wanted to get my mouth on her, I could accept that we’d have the time to do that later.

I loved the idea of a later.

“I’ll take care of you, darling.” I whispered as I climbed up her body once more, occupying the space between her thighs like I was always meant to be there. “Let me take care of you.”

I brushed my lips against hers, relishing in this closeness, in the moment just before it all changed. I was sure she could feel the weight of my cock against her thigh, and it was probably what prompted her to wrap her arms around my shoulders, breathlessly telling me, “Yes. Yes, please.”

Hissing as I finally slid my length inside of her, I knew I was in trouble the second I bottomed out, biting on her shoulder to keep myself from groaning and drowning out her delicious little sounds. She felt too good. No one should feel this good.

A broken gasp (or was it a moan) called my attention, taking me from my efforts of restraining myself to her, completely. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” I asked, brushing the hair away from her face as I watched her open her eyes and blink a few times, trying to keep tears from flowing down her cheeks. “Does it hurt?”

But she just shook her head, hands searching mine until she could lace our fingers together. “No,” she breathed, hips jutting up in a silent way of asking me to move. “It feels so good.”

I bit the inside of my cheek in an effort not to smile widely at her admission, finally allowing myself to slowly begin dragging my cock out of her tight channel before pushing it in again.

“It does?” I questioned, loving to hear her say it. “Well, I’ll always make you feel this good, baby. How does that sound?” She moaned out loud as I lowered my head to lave her breasts with attention, relishing in every little sound that escaped her beautiful lips as I pounded her on the bed.

“Fuck, you’re such a good girl, darling.” Another loud moan was all I got as a response, paired with her fingernails biting on the skin of my back. “My good girl, yes?” I insisted, rubbing my jaw against her neck, breathing her in.

I was drunk on her, on this entire experience, still not quite believing it was really happening. She was really here, getting fucked by me. “You’ll be my good girl? Just mine? Forever?”

A smile spread out over her lips, even as she threw her head back to moan a “Yes.” I chuckled against her chest, starting to suck little bruises here and there, wanting to see her all marked up on me, when she interrupted my plans with a breathless comment, “You talk dirty.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” I chuckled against her lips, right as she started to convulse underneath me, clinging to my back for dear life. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

Her nails scratched me as she found her bliss, and I wasn’t too far behind. As I started to pick up my pace, really milking her orgasm while searching for mine, it was her words that brought me to my ultimate release.

“C-cum inside, I want it inside of me.” I knew she wasn’t in any form of contraception, and I also knew this wasn’t the right time for either of us to become parents, but to say the idea didn’t arouse me was a lie. 

Flashes of her young body with my baby in it had my cock twitching, the risk of getting my perfect future right then too exciting. She’d be the perfect mother, I just knew it. And the fact that she would take the chance of becoming the mother of my child right then affected me so much that even after I emptied myself inside of her, I was still hard.

Her fingers played with my curls as I rested my head between her breasts, breathing her in, trying to catch my breath. “I can’t believe I get to sleep next to you tonight,” she said, melting my heart right then and there. “I hate it when you’re away.”

I did too. But I’d never need to be again.

[redrobin-detective]

because I could not stop for death

because I could not stop for death / he kindly stopped for me / the carriage held but just ourselves / and immortality ~ Emily Dickinson

Danny Fenton was dying, properly this time.

Somehow, in the back of his head and in his worst nightmares, he knew it would end this way: bleeding on the floor of his parents’ lab where it had all began. He was so hot he felt like his skin was on fire, blood and ectoplasm were dripping all over him and his lungs and heart were working overtime to try in vain to keep him alive a moment longer. He’d imagined at the time that there would be more screaming but death, in the end, was turning out to be a quiet little affair. A lonely table set for one.

“Danny, Danny come on, you-you gotta slow down your breathing, just relax, for me, please,” Sam moaned, more than making up for his lack of noise. She was shaking and touching him all over, his chest, his face, his hair. Normally she jumped right into action but she had to know, deep down, that there was nothing she could do. All that was left was to watch her panic and cry, it wasn’t his favorite image. 

“Vlad!” He heard Tucker scream cry into the phone, “please it’s Tucker, Danny’s dying I think. The Fentons had some new invention, something about his core, please we don’t know what to do!” 

Ugh Vlad, he was probably going to be so happy Danny was on his way out. He wasn’t looking much forward to his last images being his archenemy gloating. Tucker hung up and reached down to grasp Danny’s hand so hard it hurt. “Don’t worry dude, Vlad’s coming. He knows so much about you half ghosts that you’ll be fixed up on no time.” Right, Danny was already dead. If calling Vlad, feeling like he did something, helped Tucker move on then he’d deal with it.

Danny tilted his head to the side where Sam’s fingernails were carding through his hair. It was getting harder to see with the blood pouring out of his eyes but he looked at her, and tried to memorize her face. He’d never been able to tell her how much he loved her, that any day spent with her was a blessing. Tucker too, his best bro and a part of his soul. His best friends in the whole wide world, through thick and thin. God, he was going to miss them.

“Glurk,” he said, trying to convey those feeling but the fluids in his mouth and airway made it impossible. “Blerh.”

“Shh shh shh,” Sam soothed, “it’s okay, don’t try to talk.”

“Daniel!” He heard Vlad’s voice shriek as he materialized in front of the portal. Sam and Tucker were violently pushed out the way. Danny wanted to be angry at his loved ones being taken away in his final moments but anger was for the living, he barely had the energy to breathe. This death was too long and too short all at once. He made eye contact with Vlad who all at once lost the frantic edge to his tone and and instead knelt on the floor. “Oh my dear boy. What did they do to you?”

“What is going on?” Sam demanded, shoving her way back in. Danny was glad, he could see again like this. “Why aren’t you doing something!”

“There’s nothing to be done,” Vlad said in a flat, monotone, he picked up one of Danny’s hands and patted it gently. “His core is dying, it’s like a ghost’s heart. It contains their very essence, it is from which everything they are comes from. If Jack and Maddie somehow disrupted it then there’s nothing anyone can do to save him.”

“But he’s human too,” Tucker defended, grabbing Danny’s other hand. His human warm skin burned but the contact felt so good, he twitched his fingers closer to his friend’s. “He-he doesn’t need a core, he’s already got a heart. So, so he doesn’t have powers, we can do normal again.”

“You-” Vlad hissed before taking a calming breath. “The accident that made Daniel like this irreparably altered him. His core was as much a part of keeping him alive as his other organs, without it, his body is shutting down.” Vlad turned down to look Danny in the eye and saw true, genuine grief in those hateful red eyes. 

“I cannot imagine the agony you are going through, I’m so sorry. I’d say it will be over soon but,” a hitch that sounded almost like a sob if it was coming from anyone other than Vlad. “But you’ve hovered on the edge of death for years, son, and you’ve always been such a fighter. You have minutes at most but those minutes are an eternity when you’re suffering.”

Sam and Tucker’s sobbing blended together in the background, Vlad was saying something with a miserable, stunned expression. The swirling of the portal in the background seemed louder than anything, louder than his heart beat pounding and pounding as it ran it’s last race. 

“Daniel, Danny,” he focused his eyes back on Vlad who had a stubborn, unhappy set to his brow. “Do you want me to make the pain stop? An ectoblast to your chest will end your life instantly.”

“Don’t you dare touch him,” Sam shrieked, coming back into view and looking like she was trying to fight Vlad off. “You do anything to him and I’ll kill you!” Tucker just sat and stared at him, like he too was trying memorize Danny’s face.

“It’s a mercy, Samantha or do you want his last moments on earth to be drowning on the blood in his lungs.”

“Sam, he has a point. I don’t- I don’t think we can fix this.”

“No! No we always fix things, I’ll do it myself if I have to!”

Danny’s vision was starting to go, more black than anything else. He closed his eyes and readied himself for the inevitable. 

“Time Out,” Danny opened his eyes and found he was no longer in pain. He was standing up and apart from where he’d previously been lying. Sam had her hands in Vlad’s face and the older hybrid was snarling something at her. Tucker was midmotion trying to stand up, presumably to get Sam but the three of them were frozen in the moment. Danny turned and found Clockwork floating, looking very out of place in his parents lab. “Good evening, Danny.”

“You that short on cash that you work part time as a grim reaper?” Danny quipped out of habit. He looked down at his body and grimaced a bit, that wasn’t a pretty sight. No doubt traumatizing for Tucker and Sam. God how were they going to explain this to his parents? “Gonna ferry me across the River Styx? I don’t have two pennies but I think I have a bloodied $10 on me.”

“You’re core is dying and you have 17 seconds left in this world before all your organs give out and finish the process you began when you turned on your parent’s ghost portal,” Clockwork explained as he changed into child form. 

“O-okay,” Danny said shakily, trying to be brave even when he was so, so scared. He was going out whether he wanted it or not but he refused to leave crying. “Nice of you to come say goodbye then but, uh but unless you have something to say then you should let me go back. No one knows better than me that you can’t outrun death. Thanks but I’m uh I’m ready.”

Clockwork stared at him for a bit, not sure how long, time was weird like this but he changed forms a few times. “You’re quite the remarkable young man, Danny Fenton.”

“Uh thanks,” Danny added, once more looking at his body which had, according to Clockwork, a 17 second expiration date. “What’s going to happen? Am I going to become a ghost? Does heaven or hell exist for someone like me?”

“I don’t get to decide what happens, I merely see options,” Clockwork stated easily, taking his time. “If you die naturally you’ll become ghost, a mere shadow of who you are now and one who would fade fairly quickly. You don’t have strong enough anger or regrets to tie you in the real world for long.” Not great but okay he supposed, hell for his friends and family though. “You could let Plasmius deliver his mercy kill, destroying what’s left of your ghost core and ensuring you do not come back.” Better, probably won’t help the Fruitloop’s instability but he can’t save everyone.

“That one comes with it’s own caveat but I’ll get to that in a moment,” Clockwork explained. “There is a third option where you get up off the floor and walk away.” Danny blinked then looked back at his body which certainly wasn’t walking anywhere but into a plush casket. Clockwork opened his hands and the Ghost King’s Crown materialized in his hands. “If you accept your claim to the King’s Cown, it will revitalize your core and your life would be saved.”

Danny blinked.

“By sealing Pariah Dark, you won by proxy and established a legitimate claim to the throne. The Zone has been without a king for millennia, most have forgotten the old rules. Those who remembered were not too keen on a half-ghost child assuming leadership and kept you in the dark. If Plasmius ends your life then your claim transfers over to him, which he is aware of. It had been his plan all along to trick you into defeating Pariah so he could steal the Crown from you at a later date, a much easier opponent.”

Danny’s mind was overloaded with information, he didn’t know what to focus on first. He stared at his 17 seconds from death face and tried to process it all. Crown? Claim? Vlad?

“Of course,” Clockwork tutted, “he didn’t plan on your dying and in such a gruesome fashion. If he kills you and takes your claim, he would spend his remaining years ruling the Ghost Zone in a just, controlled fashion for your memory. He destroys all the stable portals and keeps the ghost and human worlds separate.” Clockwork became and old man and titled his head, “it’s not a bad timeline, all things considered.”

“And if I take it?” Danny asked quietly.

“You’re compassionate, brave and motivated, you have all the makings of a revolutionary king,” Clockwork smiled. “The Zone would experience and unprecedented era of peace, there would be positive interactions between human and ghosts for the first time since life and death split into two. Your name would spoken with reverence for the rest of time.”

“But I don’t want to be king,” Danny frowned.

“I know, I’m sorry,” Clockwork stated. “Which is why I am giving you the choice. If you pass peacefully there will be no one to claim the Crown and life will continue on, ghost attacks and all. If Plasmius kills you, he becomes an effective but unmemorable king. If you take the Crown, you can get the chance to tell Sam and Tucker how much you love them.”

Danny rubbed at his face, he didn’t want to die but he’d be sealing away his entire future with a move like this. He didn’t even know if the Crown would let him go with death, maybe he’d die and be stuck as the Ghost King until his core finally gave out lord in who knows how long. Eternity was an awful long time to carry such a responsibility. He couldn’t bring himself to ask, too afraid of the answer.

“Is there ever a timeline I became an astronaut?” He asked instead. Clockwork hummed, seemingly unsurprised by Danny’s non-sequitur. 

“Yes, in one of the few universes where you never walked into the portal. You never go into space what with human politics putting a halt on the programs but you work for NASA. You leave Amity Park at 17 and don’t come back save for your parents’ dual funeral.” He paused and Danny felt read down to his very bones, “from the moment you became half ghost you were always heading for this moment. The circumstances varied but it always came down to you and the Crown. Time is straining to continue, to see how this drama plays out. Will you accept it and all the joy and grief that comes with it?”

Danny looked over at Vlad, still mid-sneer but there was a scared desperation in his face. He and Vlad sniped at each other all the time but Danny didn’t really hate him and he didn’t think Vlad did either. Leaving him alone, plus making him be king was a heavy burden to put on his enemy. 

Sam and Tuck probably wouldn’t recover from this, he’d put them through so much already but he just knew that they’d never be the same. Could he do that to them? Take the easy way out and leave them to suffer? Mom and Dad didn’t deserve to come home to a dead son, the truth would come out and they’d never forgive themselves. Jazz certainly wouldn’t, she was 2 states over at University but he could already hear her angry, grief-stricken screams. 

Death, death was quiet. It was quiet and merciful and sad, but it was also easy. And Danny Fenton had never once taken the easy route. He reached out and took and the crown before shakily placing it on his head. He gasped, throwing his head back as his core swelled, taking up residence once more right next to his heart. Clockwork smiled, looking like the cat who ate the canary. 

“The Crown of Fire, pardon me the Crown changes with each core, the Crown of Ice is now yours as is the Zone. Your reign begins now but so too does the rest of your life. People are waiting for you. Time in.” Danny slammed back into awareness on the floor of his parents’ lab, the floor he’d almost died on twice. 

He sat up as cold radiated off his body, causing frost to crawl down his arms and along the floor. Sam, Tucker and Vlad, who’d been frozen up until now, jumped back to life. There was a new, familiar weight on his head that he didn’t dare acknowledge. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and said a silent goodbye to a quiet, normal life. It wouldn’t be all bad, he could be happy like this but the Crown still felt like a iron manacle around his neck. But he got used to the ghost powers, he could get used to this too. Maybe one day he won’t look at the stars and say ‘what if?’

“Danny!” Sam shouted, throwing herself into his arms soon followed by Tucker. Their warm weight, their relieved sobs, their shaky breaths in his air, now this was something worth living for. He squeezed them tightly.

“But how dude, you were at death’s door!” Tucker asked, still not letting go.

“You accepted the Crown,” Vlad said evenly, “I wasn’t aware you even knew about your claim. Who told you?”

“You don’t know everything, Vlad,” Danny sighed, sitting himself upright. Ugh his shirt was covered in blood and ectoplasm. He needed to trash these clothes before his parents freaked. And find a way to hide the floating ice crown on his head. 

“Even an old man can be surprised every now and again,” Vlad said wearily. He stood up to his full height before startling Danny by dipping down to one knee. “Then allow me to be the first to welcome my new king and wish him well.”

“I thought you wanted this,” Danny questioned.

“I do, I did,” Vlad said, unusually off balance. “To be quite honest, I’m not sure how to feel about it but, right now, I’m just immeasurably happy you’re alive, little badger. Now I best be off, enjoy your kingdom, my liege, I’ll be sure to come bother you some time soon.” Vlad disappeared in a swirl of pink leaving just him, Sam and Tucker still clinging to him.

Danny may have a kingdom, a job he didn’t want and his whole life decided in a spur of the moment choice, but he also had something very important. He squeezed his friends tightly.

“I love you guys, thank you for being my friends even though I have the worst ideas for activities. Dying? On a Sunday night? How lame is that?” Sam laughed, a bit hysterical but it was real and it made Danny feel weightless. 

“Don’t do that again, buddy,” Tucker breathed into his shoulder. “So you gonna explain what just happened and why you’re apparently the Ghost King or something?”

“Yeah, yeah I will but let’s get changed first. Mom and Dad will be home soon and I think I’m going to need to have a conversation with them about my new job.” 

[delimeful]

taking the fall (4)

warnings: pain, injury, mentions of captivity

-

Roman woke to throbbing pain in his leg and an uncannily soft surface below him.

He resisted the urge to groan theatrically as he was unwillingly dragged back to consciousness, and then resisted the urge to groan harder as he recalled just what had happened before he passed out.

He’d been seen. After all his careful planning, his little one-in-a-lifetime excursion had still landed him in the hands of a human. He wasn’t fool enough to believe that Logan had left him alone just because he’d fallen out of sight for a moment and then passed out like a wimp who couldn’t even handle a little bone-breaking.

Humans often lived in blissful ignorance, but not ‘lack of object permanence’ levels of it. Logan had definitely seen him fall, and odds were that he was now in the human’s clutches. Which was bad.

Tiny furniture hobbies aside, the guy was a textbook nerd, which was only barely a step down from an actual scientist. Roman wouldn’t be surprised at all if he woke up in one of those clear glass vials that scientists were always using on TV. Would that be better or worse than a jar? Probably worse, but if he could tip it over…

He dragged his thoughts away from the hypotheticals, well aware that he was stalling. Whatever he was laying on now, it certainly wasn’t glass.

Hesitantly, he peeked one eye open a tiny bit.

A pillow. It looked absolutely bizarre from this angle, his body just barely heavy enough to sink in and cause a few wrinkles in the fabric, but it was still recognizable as one of the huge fluffy pillows that normally rested on the human’s bed.

He turned his head a little further, and found that the pillow was on the desk that he’d previously taken a dive off of. The miniature set was still present to one side, surprisingly enough. Perhaps less time than he thought had passed, if it hadn’t been sent off to wherever Logan had promised to take it yesterday?

Or perhaps Logan had decided to forgo that responsibility in favor of his exciting new discovery. Roman shuddered.

“Hello? Are you awake?”

The voice nearly made Roman jump out of his skin, and he couldn’t help but freeze guiltily, totally giving away his awakeness. He craned his head up and saw that Logan was sitting on the desk chair, pushed back a few feet from the desk, a tiny dresser in one hand and a paintbrush in the other.

That was… considerably less menacing than he’d been expecting. “What are you doing?”

Logan blinked at him, nonplussed. “Wood detailing?”

Roman squinted at him suspiciously, trying to figure out what nefarious plans one could enact with the details of a tiny dresser. Perhaps it was supposed to be a part of some sick enclosure that the human was designing for him? He had wanted Roman to talk about the chair, of all things, so maybe he needed a tiny victim to test out his furniture.

That wasn’t exactly torture, but he still needed to escape. His presence here risked every other borrower in the building and out of it. Growing more somber, he testingly shifted his leg, trying to figure just how effective the human-applied splint actually was.

… Ouch.

“Is it sufficient?” Logan asked, unknowingly echoing his thoughts as he leaned over slightly to peer down at him. Roman pulled on his fiercest scowl, and was gratified to see the human retreat slightly. “I have pain medicine, but I was uncertain about the proper dosage, so I decided to wait until you woke up to see what you wanted to do.”

“Oh, I just bet you want me to take pain medicine,” Roman shot back sharply, ignoring the fairly nonsensical nature of what he’d just said. Like he was helping a human figure out the best ways to drug a borrower!

“... I do?” Logan replied, sounding downright confused by his hostility. “Normally, I would encourage anyone with injuries as significant as yours to seek out professional medical attention, but after witnessing your fear of me, I assumed that you would prefer to not be exposed to more humans.”

“I wasn’t afraid!” Roman snapped indignantly, and then paused as the rest of that spiel caught up with him. He was unspeakably glad that the human hadn’t been dumb enough to waltz into a human sickbay with him, but-- “I would prefer to not be exposed to you, either, BFG!”

“BFG?”

“Big Frustrating Giant!”

Logan looked dubious, but carefully averted his gaze. It wasn’t what Roman had meant, but those huge eyes being off of him were admittedly a relief. He shuffled his body to the side slightly, trying to ignore the sharp pains from jostling his leg.

“I will remind you, you are the one who came into my apartment, not the other way around,” Logan said, frowning slightly but keeping his eyes locked on the furniture in his hand. “Why were you there?”

“I’m afraid it’s none of your business,” Roman sniffed haughtily, ignoring the way his heart had sped up in his chest at the idea of making the human angry.

“Apologies, I don’t mean my apartment. I’ve already discerned that you likely find sustenance and other helpful items in human living spaces, going by the ease with which you traverse large terrain and the repurposed human items that make up your belongings,” Logan clarified, casual as anything. “I was asking why you were in my stage miniature. There is no food in it, and you must know that I would notice if anything went missing.”

Roman stared at him, feeling the blood drain from his face at the offhand way that the human had correctly guessed a lot about how borrowerkind survived, all from Roman’s unconscious presence.

It was beans like this that the rules had been designed for, so of course he would be the one to catch Roman. He set his jaw, resolving not to say anything else that might give anything away to this wannabe Sherlock.

-

Logan glanced up from the layer of drying varnish that he’d been staring at for the past thirty seconds, wondering if maybe the tiny person had fallen back into unconsciousness.

But no, despite their silence they were still awake and glaring at him, brow furrowed and arms crossed firmly. He tilted his head curiously, trying to indicate that he was listening, but it seemed they didn’t plan to answer at all.

“If you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine,” he said, hurriedly looking back to the miniature he was fiddling with in an effort to not stress the tiny person out any further. “I simply wanted to see if there was anything you needed that I could provide you, since I’m partially responsible for your injury.”

“Partially?” they echoed, incredulous.

Logan nodded. “I startled you, and your attempt to flee led to injury. I should have known better than to move so quickly, particularly with the disparity in our sizes.”

“That was a strategic retreat,” they emphasized, “and you never would have caught me if you’d moved slowly. I’ll have you know I’m no slouch.”

Caught them…?

“My intention wasn’t to grab you,” he said. “I was reaching for one of the chairs to try and compare the scale. If it was incorrect, it would have been obvious when put side by side with you.”

“Yes, yes, I already guessed that you have nefarious furniture-related plots for your poor captive, you don’t have to explain it.” They were rolling their eyes when Logan glanced at them, and seemed to be an inch or two away from where he’d originally placed them on the pillow.

It felt to Logan as though they were talking cross-ways, even more so than his usual pop culture reference confusion(and didn’t it just figure that a tiny person that lived in the walls was more familiar with human colloquialisms than him?) during conversation. Perhaps it was due to their less than fortuitous first meeting?

“It seems like there might be some misconceptions here,” he tried. “I’m not keeping you captive.”

The stranger lifted a skeptical eyebrow, spreading their arms to gesture at the surrounding area. “Aren’t you, though?”

Logan followed the gesture, eyebrows drawn in. As far as he knew, a pillow on top of his desk hadn’t turned into an impenetrable prison within the last few moments. “No. I’m not.”

“So if I were to, say, walk out right now, you’d just be all peachy-keen with it?” they asked, almost condescending in their doubt. “You wouldn’t try to stop me from leaving?”

Logan paused, a firm denial on the tip of his tongue. “Are there others like you nearby?”

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say, going by the way their tiny hands went white-knuckled for a moment.

“No,” they answered mulishly, “I’m the only one of my kind. And I’ll have you know, if there were others-- which there’s not-- I would never sell out my hypothetical fellows for my own freedom!”

“That’s…,” Logan sighed, deciding not to mention how incredibly dubious he was of the likelihood that there was only one of a species. “That’s not what I meant. You clearly pursue an active lifestyle, I just wanted to ensure that there would be someone to support you and help you recover from your injuries. You won’t be able to even walk on that limb for a fair bit of time without permanently damaging it.”

Logan thought for a moment that he’d gotten through to them, witnessing the way trepidation lingered in their expression when they looked down at their leg, but then they shook their head firmly.

“That’s just an excuse! I know that you’re planning on keeping me, humans always do. I’d rather deal with a permanent limp than be a pet in one of your little dollhouses,” they spat, vitriol in every word. “So either let me go or admit your foul plans!”

The words were sharp, designed to incite, but Logan was used to scanning for the tiniest of flaws in his work, and he could spot the subtle signs of fear that his tiny visitor was just barely concealing. Clenched fists to hide shaking hands, the curl to their shoulders that suggested they wanted to curl up defensively, even their expression wobbled slightly when Logan spent a moment too long looking at them.

He took a deep breath, trying to ease the tension in his own frame and put them a little more at ease. An impossible task, considering they expected him to-- to know that they were a talking, feeling person and try to ‘keep them’ anyhow, but it helped clear his head.

“What will it take?” he asked, keeping his voice even.

“Um, what?” they asked, thrown off.

“To get you to stay here, just until you heal. I’m asking this of you, so it’s only reasonable that you ask for something in exchange,” Logan said. “If we can’t come to an agreement, I’ll leave you to your own devices, but there has to be something you want badly enough to remain here for a few weeks.”

“And what, you’ll just give it to me and let me leave after I’m all healed up?” they asked, continuing their trend of acting like a future in which he acted with normal human decency was an impossibility.

“Yes,” Logan answered, as earnest as he could manage. “That’s part of the arrangement. I would also like to know your name and pronouns, though that is secondary to being allowed to treat you.”

“What if I said you weren’t allowed to grab me? Or touch me at all?” they asked.

“That would be acceptable,” Logan replied without hesitation, mentally trying to figure out how non contact would alter a treatment plan.

“And you… you aren’t allowed to take notes on me! Or pictures!” they continued, watching him intently. He kept his expression agreeable, only nodding. “And you have to give me food, you can’t withhold it or make it part of another deal.”

“Medical treatment for someone on bedrest also includes things like meals and mental enrichment,” Logan replied, concealing the displeasure he felt at the idea that someone else would have tried that in his position. He really did hope these were all hypotheticals.

“And… and…,” they cast about, looking for something else to add to their ‘ridiculous’ demands, “I also want a sword!”

Logan paused, admittedly caught off guard. “A functional one?”

“Yeah-- yes, that's right! I want a sword perfectly sized to me, entirely functional, or the deal is off!” they replied, smug as though they thought they’d finally found something he’d refuse.

Unfortunately for him, Logan wasn’t the type to be deterred by a challenge. “I’ll have to go through some prototypes, but it can’t be too different from some metal decor I’ve worked on in the past.”

“Sorry, what now?” they asked.

Logan was already reaching for a post-it to jot down ideas for the base source of metal-- A nail? Or perhaps a piece of old silverware?-- eyes bright with anticipation. “I’m saying that you have a deal. You’ll stay here, and I’ll make you a sword.”

Caught up in schematics as he was, he completely missed his guest’s exasperated groan.

[certifiedskywalker]

Binding Magic of Attraction - Geralt of Rivia

The village you called home has always had a monster problem. The first time the Witcher was called, it was a Cockatrice infestation. He had had the beasts handled before the sunset; left as swiftly as he came. The second time the farmers that lived around you summoned him, it was a Barghest. After he battled the creature, you took the Witcher into your care. He left two days later, though you had wished he had stayed with you longer. Now, your neighbors had called upon the Witcher for a third time, to deal with you. 

“They seem to think you’re attracting the beasts,” Geralt said as he lingered in the doorway of your home. You scoffed and pulled down two ceramic cups from the cupboard.

“Like a warlock? They think I’ve made some pact with a devil? A fiend?” You set the cups aside and pulled the iron kettle off from over the hearth’s fire. “After all I’ve done for them. Typical, isn’t it? The fickleness of humans?”

“You ask as if you aren’t one.”

“I ask because I am aware of my own downfalls,” you corrected. 

A quiet settled over you and Geralt as your poured the steaming water into the cups. The herbs you bundled in mesh began to steep, release the flavor and vitamins of your favorite tea. The concoction would brew fast and, content with your product, your glanced over your shoulder at Geralt. He was still standing by the door, dark armor glinting in the fire light.

Broad shoulders carried the large blades Geralt needed in his violent profession. Just a few moon cycles ago, you were brushing his matted, silver hair from those shoulders. His sweat and grime covered skin had been peppered with wounds for you to care after. The Barghest had been a cruel creature, lurking around the crossroads located a small trek outside the village square. On your loneliest nights, you thought back to that night, back to when Geralt sat between your legs while you patched up the cuts the beasts had made.

“You’re staring.” Geralt’s voice broke you from your memory. Amber eyes studied your face, trailed over your every feature in search of any micro-reaction. Under his gaze you felt like prey being stalked by a predator. Danger made it hard to swallow.

“Am I?” You tore your eyes from the Witcher and checked the steeping tea.

“Mhm,” the sound of wooden floorboards creaking under foot accompanied Geralt’s less than detailed reply. In an attempt to still the wild beating of your heart, you plucked the bundles of soggy herbs from the warm tea and set them to the side. You took a quiet, trembling breath before letting your hands close around the cups.

“Well, you were sent here to kill me,” you turned to face him with tea in hand only to feel your resolve shake further. “We-were you not, Witcher?”

Geralt was close to you when you moved to face him. So close that, when you handed him the cup of tea, the ceramic rim knocked lightly against his armor. To meet his gaze, you had to look upwards. When your eyes found his, the corners of his mouth quirked upwards ever so slightly. You had seen that expression only once before, late in the night when Geralt came to you for healing aid.

“Depends,” he said lowly, too smoothly for your liking. “Are you attracting the beasts? Summoning them to do your bidding?”

Slowly, Geralt takes the cup from your hands. His touch is so gentle that your eyes fall to his hands. Calluses and long scarred over cuts mark the skin of his palm like a patchwork-patterned quilt. How many monsters had those hands slain? How many lives had they taken? How many mages had he…

“No. No,” you replied as you thoughtfully traced your fingertips around the rim of your cup. You didn’t dare meet his eyes. “I would never. As skittish and unreliable as my neighbors can be, I would never wish monsters upon them.” 

“Hmm.”

“What? You don’t believe me?”

Geralt leaned forwards and set the cup you gave him on the table top behind you. Warmth from his body kissed your skin and the scent of sweat mingled with pine from the firs outside filled your nose. He was so close that you could see the scattered patches of grey stubble that lined his jaw and cheeks. His breath tickled the exposed skin of your neck as he pulled away. Eyes of amber held your gaze.

“I know that magic attracts four things: more magic, monsters, death, and me.” You stifled a small, nervous laugh. “You? You find magic attractive?”

“In a sense,” Geralt replied coldly. 

There was no give of a smile on his face anymore. His expression was flat, unmoving, waiting. Waiting for you to make the wrong move. Instead you leaned into the silence for a few seconds more. Geralt’s eyes remained fixed on you, though something had changed in the way he held himself. Perhaps he was a predator no longer.

The shift gave you a miniscule boost of courage. “Are you?”

Geralt cocked his head in confusion. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Are you attracted to me?” 

Shocked by the forwardness of your question, Geralt blinked a few times, in rapid succession. Other than the fluttering of his lashes, the Witcher remained unmoving. His lack of a reply disheartened you, twisted your stomach to the point where even the thought of sipping at your tea made you ill. You set the cup down and turned your back to Geralt.

“Well, you answered your own question then. No magic.”

“Y/N.” Gentle but warning, the way Geralt said your name only made the sting of his hesitation, his original silence, all the more painful. 

You shook your head and continued to clean up your table. Flowers, some dried dead and others in full bloom littered the place. You were amazed that you were not mistaken for a druid. Though, your neighbors probably did not care to know the difference between nature magic and yours. You had been so careful!

“But I will make it easy for you, Witcher,” you said, packing up your newest bunch of tulips. “I’ll leave now, tonight. You can get paid and I’ll find more respectable-”

“Y/N, stop.”

Geralt’s voice was rough this time, like a order. You froze for a moment, frightened, as the sound of wooden floorboards creaking underfoot reached your ears. Before you could turn around, meet the knife he held to your back or the dreadful, knowing look in his eyes, Geralt’s hands found your waist. Slowly, his fingers worked against your clothes, turned your in his grip until you faced him. 

Despite the harshness of his voice, Geralt’s features were soft. His brow, normally furrowed in thought and worry, was relaxed. His lips stayed in a line but you thought you saw the corners of them twitch up when you met his gaze. Glints of affection in his eyes made your heart leap and your fingers curl into a fist around the bundle of tulips you held.

“Show me.” Another order but given quieter, easier. You knew there was no hiding from Geralt. A Witcher knew when there were monsters and magic around. That, and you were much too lost in his warmth to even remember to hide your powers.

With Geralt’s hands still holding your waist, you lifted your bundle of tulips in your grip. Geralt’s eyes flickered between yours and the flowers. You smiled and let the tulips dry in your hands and fall to the floor of your cottage. Geralt’s brow furrowed, worried eyes found yours.

“Look around,” you murmured. 

With the hand that held the flowers, you gestured to the space around you and Geralt. Candles, the only source of light in the room, floated, slowly dipped and twirled along the walls. Geralt’s eyes traced their paths while you still looked up at him. Bathed in the dancing lights, he looked all the more handsome. You eyed the cleft in his chin, then his lips; studied how they opened slightly as he looked around the room. 

“Clever, isn’t it?”

You smiled at him knowingly, not expecting him to look back down at you. His gaze fell to your lips before he met your eyes. 

“No,” he replied, “beautiful.” 

One of Geralt’s hands moved up from your hips to your neck. The tips of his forefinger and thumb brushed against your jaw, tilted your lips towards his. When you finally met in the middle, the candles stopped twirling. The burning wax and wicks floated in place. You were too wrapped up in the binding magic of attraction to focus on your own.

Geralt pulled you flush against him and you felt a surge rush through you. All at once, the candles fell, extinguished by the sudden drop. Your feet began to lift until your toes touched the floor; then nothing at all. You did not need to break the kiss or open your eyes to know that you and Geralt were floating now. You just stayed pressed together, the Witcher and his mage.

[yoonpobs]

bad boy good thing viii.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 1, 964

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

“I can’t believe this!” Jeonghan puffs while he drops his belongings loudly onto the table in the study lounge, causing a few other students to turn and glare.

“Would it kill you to be quiet?” Jungkook grumbles, picking at the edge of the paper of his textbook, eyes never straying away from the content of the page.

“No. I will not be quiet because I thought football bros were bros for life!” Jeonghan whines.

Jungkook raises an eyebrow. “You know that’s kind of concerning when you put it that way.”

Jeonghan simply waves the other boy off before he leans forward as if he has something important he has to say. Jungkook knew him well enough to know that it would either waste Jungkook’s precious study time or be something so out of the ordinary that he can’t help but be intrigued.

Jungkook shrugged and takes the chance, anyway.

“Namjoon bailed.” He deadpans. “Again!”

Jungkook stiffens ever so slightly but feigns disinterest with a noncommittal hum.

“Really.”

Jeonghan nods his head, or shook his head—it was hard to tell because he was all over the place and he seemed more displeased than anything.

“I never thought we’d lose our own captain to a girl.” He sniffs.

Jungkook sighs, already done with the conversation because somehow no one can ever mention Namjoon without mentioning you now, apparently because the two of you were hanging out much more frequently. He’s bitter. And he’s confused—because he’s attempted patching things up with you but you only would ever reply to him with curt responses than the enthusiastic ones you used to flatter him with.

JK: hey. there’s a new cafe outside of campus. U wanna go?

Smarty Pants 🐰: Im busy. Next time? :)

JK: are u free tonight?

JK: im heading to the library later. wanna meet up for some ramen first? On me!!!

Smarty Pants 🐰: sorry jungkook, meeting w administrators for pastoral care matters

Smarty Pants 🐰: Do you need help with the content?

JK: oh… it’s fine, just wanted to hang out with you. We haven’t done that in a while

JK: jimin said u finally have some free time next week? Let’s catch up! i’ll treat u to some banana bread :D

Smarty Pants 🐰: i have plans with joon. which day were you thinking?

JK: Anytime. When are you meeting hyung?

Smarty Pants 🐰: we kind of have plans every day, here and there. could I get back to you?

And that was it. The blow that Jungkook knew he deserved but couldn’t deal with. You had tried your best to avoid any personal interaction with Jungkook and he didn’t know what the fuck to do.

“They’re kind of perfect for each other, don’t you think?” Jeonghan interrupts Jungkook’s sour mood when he recalls all his failed attempts at trying to meet with you personally.

Jungkook blinks then furrowed his eyebrows.

“Who?”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “Joon and your friend _____.” He knocks on the table. “Bunch of nerds together.” He adds with a snicker.

Jungkook stiffens, hands clutching his textbook tighter.

“You say that like there’s something wrong with being a nerd.” He says slowly.

“There isn’t. Really.” Jeonghan defends. “It’s just so … fitting. Captain of the football team who’s lowkey a softie and an art nerd with the overachiever on campus. Their IQ’s combined are probably in the 300 range.”

Jungkook scowls.

“Haven’t you heard of the phrase ‘opposites attract’?” Jungkook asks sourly.

Jeonghan scoffs. “Yeah. Like you actually believe in that cliche phrase. Come on—we all know you’re likely to end up with someone who’s more like you than different.”

The insinuation doesn’t sit well with Jungkook, but he can’t chew Jeonghan out for it anyway. He didn’t know the nature of your friendship with him, nor was he aware of the history the two of you shared.

“Never say never.” Jungkook shrugs.

Jeonghan rolls his eyes before taking out his laptop and settling into a comfortable position.

“I think he’s going to ask her to be his girlfriend soon.” He says off-handedly as if he assumed Jungkook gave a shit.

He did, and his heart drops to his stomach.

“Hey,” Jungkook calls out when he spots you slip past him at the foyer outside the humanities building.

You twirl around at the sound of your name being called, and your eyes widen when you spot Jungkook walking towards you with furrowed brows.

“J-Jungkook?”

Why you sounded so scared to see him, he wasn’t sure. But he knows that he’s frustrated because it’s the first time he’s seen you after the game where you and Namjoon left to hang out at the exhibition, despite his desperate attempts at calling you out to hang out with him.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Jungkook frowns, cutting straight to the chase.

You splutter for a response, and you realise that you’re basically gaping at him when you clutch your folders tighter to your chest.

“I’ve been busy, Jungkook. I told you this.” You softly remind him.

Jungkook scoffs, and he feels his mean bone grow; feeling the need to correct you because you were smart—and both of you knew that your excuse was lame.

“Really?” He says dryly. “Too busy to hang out with me but not with Namjoon?” He can’t help how bitter he sounds, especially when he’s heard from the rest of the football members; including Jimin and Taehyung that you were spending a suspicious amount of time with the captain.

You furrow your brows at him when Jungkook stares you down, waiting for a response.

“That doesn’t change the fact I was busy.” You huff.

Jungkook frowns at you, clutching his backpack tighter with his hand as he notices the way you avoid his eyes by dropping them to the ground.

“Why are you being like this?” Jungkook accuses, tone already on the offensive.

You gape up at the boy, brows scrunched in displeasure.

“Me? I’m not being anything. I told you that I was busy and we would rain check, didn’t I?”

Jungkook tongues the inside of his cheek, frustration pooling in his stomach. “Somehow you’re only busy whenever I want to hang out, right?” He scoffs sarcastically. “I thought we were good.”

You stiffen, knuckles turning white when you grip your belongings harder.

“We are.” You say curtly.

“No, we’re not.” Jungkook retorts. “If we were then you wouldn’t need to find shitty excuses to get out of hanging out with me.”

You open your mouth, then close it. You feel yourself grow more exasperated with Jungkook the more he can’t realise the fact that you were still finding a way to navigate the throes of your relationship with him.

“They were not shitty excuses.” You snap. “Listen, we can meet tomorrow for coffee if you really—”

“That’s not what this is about!” Jungkook exasperates, breathing out in a huff.

You purse your lips. “Then what is it, Jungkook? You came up to me and started accusing me of lying to you because I couldn’t meet up at the times you proposed.”

Jungkook clenches his jaw when he notices the way your voice gets increasingly sterner when you talk to him. It only reminds him of the way you used to chastise him when he was younger when he’d do something that was ‘immature’ but standard for a teenaged boy.

“I apologised!” He cries. “I’m sorry I was a dick before this but I’m really trying to fix things between us but you’re—”

“I’m what, Jungkook?” You interject with a frown. “I’m doing my best at healing?” You add softly. “An apology won’t erase what happened.”

Jungkook feels himself deflate, especially at the way your eyes dart away when he attempts to look into them.

“I know it won’t but I just want things to go back to normal.” He sighs.

You screw your eyes shut, finding the words to say before you look at him with such sad eyes that he nearly pulls you close just to comfort you so that he wouldn’t have to acknowledge the fact that it was his fault.

“It’s not that easy.” You whisper, gripping at the hem of your sleeves. “It may be for you but it’s not the same for me.”

Jungkook releases a sigh so loud that your eyes widen, as he attempts to think of something better to say—to offer.

“I really am sorry.” He lamely apologises, his voice sounding a lot like a scolded child.

“I know.” You nod. “But you don’t know how it feels to have …” You swallow. “Whatever. We’re good. I just need time, Jungkook.”

Jungkook furrows his brows when you turn away to stalk off, but he grabs at your elbow to turn your body to face him. Your eyes briefly make contact with the way he’s gently holding onto you before they tilt up to meet his confused gaze.

“How it feels to have what?” He pries.

You sigh, shaking off his grip. “Look. It doesn’t matter. I’m being sensitive.” You deprecate immediately.

Jungkook doesn’t miss the spite in your tone, especially when you say it so firmly and seriously when you dismiss him.

“I want to fix this—us.” He pleads desperately. “Why can’t you just be honest with me?”

As if his words set you off, your eyes snap up and blaze with the pent up fury and anger you’ve been suppressing the entire time.

“Me? Be honest with you?” You scoff. “Real fucking funny. Because when I was honest with you, you turned it on me and took advantage of my vulnerability.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “What—?”

“You want honest?” You fume. “Fine. I’ll give you honest but you better listen closely this time because I won’t be repeating myself again.” You poke into his chest, even if it’s fierce and stern, he feels the heartache pouring through. “You were my best friend, Jungkook. You were and are someone important to me and you fucked me over because you knew I couldn’t say no to you. You knew how I felt and you took advantage of that fact just so you could get what you wanted and go.”

Jungkook furrows his eyebrows, confused at the information you were throwing at him.

“How you felt—?”

You cut him off again with a huff. “Don’t pretend like you didn’t know. Why else did you think I did all the shit you wanted?”

“I-I don’t understand.” Jungkook stutters, head caught in a loop when you glare at him harder.

“You knew every bit of insecurity that I had and you weaponised that against me just so you could keep me close.” You say softly. “You knew, either way, I would’ve stayed because I’ve always been there, Jungkook.”

“You’re confusing me.” He deadpans, grabbing onto your shoulders so you were forced to stare at him.

He notices the glistening of your eyes as he feels his heart constrict when he realises you’re trying your best to keep your tears at bay.

“Well, you did it first so it’s only fair.” You sniffle. “You can act like shits fine because you weren’t the one who was attached. I was. So just let me have this time to myself to figure things out because I can’t even be around you without being sad, Jungkook.” You whimper.

He calls for your name but you're already furiously rubbing at your eyes as you curse under your breath as you spin on your heels to hurry away.

Jungkook gapes at you as he attempts to process what you just said, but before he can get another word in—you're leaving him to feel the weight of your words in the footsteps that draw further and further away.