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emotionalcello-makefanfics · 3 years

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Disclaimer tho, all my knowledge of the fandom is strictly from fanfic and google. I don't read the comic or watch the anime. I only have some vague knowledge of what's canon or not and making this fanfic has been somewhat of a fever dream.

Tags: Fluff and angst. Attempt at humor. Crying. Probably ooc. No smut, just holding hands and some hugging and some kissing. Shouto smokes, and probably incorrect depictions of smoking. Implied child abuse (you know who). Lowkey Fuyumi bashing.

Warning: In character cussing from explodo boy.

Summary:

They found each other in coinciding vulnerability. Shouto was smoking, Katsuki was crying. Miraculously, no one died. It seems that vulnerability is exactly what they need to get through their respective problems, because vulnerability makes them do the one thing the two boys are allergic to do, opening up.

Or, Shouto and Katsuki cope with each other. It miraculously didn't end in explosions, just a lot of physical affections and crying.

Words: 10.9 k

You don’t have to take life so seriously Shouto! It can be whatever you want to be, it’s yours!

Shouto knocks his head back and parts his lips. White ribbons bleed to the orange sky. The clouds are pretty pink instead of white. The smoke doesn’t blend in with the white clouds anymore like a few hours ago. He taps the amber ash on the portable coffin-shaped ashtray. More than a dozen filter buds crammed there.

He should go back to his room. Any darker then it would be noticeable when goes back to his room. But there’s always that small whisper at the back of his head: Maybe after one more. This spot has been his salvation from overstimulation. It’s the highest building in UA, the rooftop of the dorm. He’s been here for two years and has always been alone.

The door slammed open.

High on nicotine, Shouto passes through shock to immediate acceptance that he’s busted.

Only, he’s not busted. The next sound that came is sobbing. The first thing he sees is awry blond hair and a tear-streaked red face. Soon came the already red blood-shot eyes, staring at him with a sadness that not even in Shouto’s wildest imagination can imagine on Bakugou’s face. It takes a few seconds too long for the default glare and anger to return.

“The fuck are you doing here!” He yells, his voice croaks in a not angry way. Wet and breaking at the pitch.

Shouto, still a bit floaty and relaxed from the nicotine in his system, nor is he yet to register the shock from seeing Bakugou’s tears, just points down towards his fingers.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” his voice is scratchy, a tad bit deeper. He never smoked so many that that happened. Then again, today is a special day.

Seemingly just as shocked, Bakugou seems to still. Shouto expects crackling hands, bared teeth, or maybe a ‘TELL ANYONE AND DIE’, but never that he strides his way and sits on the floor beside Shouto.

“Still have one of those?” Bakugou leans back.

Wordlessly, Shouto digs the last pack from his pocket. There are six left. Bakugou takes one, and Shouto lit a fire on the tip of his thumb towards Bakugou.

“How do you do this?” Bakugou says, eyeing the fire.

“You’ve never done this before?”

“I wouldn’t have asked if I have Icyhot! Now fucking tell me already.”

“You put it between your lips, and inhales a bit as you put this corner on the fire.” Shouto crowds him cupping the end of the smoke with his palm and keep the fire controllably small. It feels like Deja Vu, but this time, Shouto is showing someone how to smoke instead.

Bakugou tries, and before Shouto can say to take it slow, Bakugou already choked and doubled over coughing. Shouto pats his back.

“What the fuck was that!” Bakugou roars and grimaces when he sees the stacks of cigarette buds on his ashtray. “How the fuck do you smoke that many!”

Shouto shrugged, “I’m used to it.” He puts out his bud on top of the pile and picks up the mostly one-piece cigarette that Bakugou chucked to the floor and lights it up. He feels eyes on him as he put the filter on his lips and lit it up in one smooth move.

With the cigarette properly lit, he offered, “Wanna try again?”

“No! That shit’s nasty.” Bakugou snarled at the hand holding the smoking cig.

“Suit yourself,” Shouto takes a deep drag and sighs. Surprisingly, Bakugou doesn’t up and leave, and more so that Shouto doesn’t mind the silence.

Alas, it only lasted exactly 33 seconds.

“How the fuck did you get in here!” Bakugou grumbles, “The door was locked.”

“I made ice stairs from my balcony.”

“Like how Elsa did?”

“Exactly like Elsa did, she was my inspiration.”

Bakugou snorts. No sadness left, just a condescending smile, which is better than the ghostly tears in his eyes.

“How did you get in through the locked door?”

“How else would you think?” Bakugou lifts his hand, cradling a small cluster of explosions.

Shouto face palmed, dragging it down.

“What?” Bakugou barks.

“Well when they figured out the door broke then they gonna figure out that someone’s been here, don’t they?”

“That nicotine is already killing your fucking brain cells.”

“That’s not how it’s-”

“Let’s get the fuck outta here before anyone finds us you loon.”

“But I-”

“You’ve burned through enough death sticks, let’s go!” Bakugou grabs his hand and pulls him up.

“Fine fine, let me tidy up.” Shouto could barely close his ashtray with all the buds in it, and he dusted the ashes that drops to the floor.

Shouto already makes the stairs down to his room before looking back at Bakugou, “Want me to drop you to your balcony?”

“I don’t know,” Bakugou narrows his eyes dangerously, “Will it suddenly melts away as I walk on it?”

Shouto huffs, “You have no faith in your favorite sparring partner?”

“The only thing I learned these past couple of years with you being shoved at my face as my sparring partner is that you’re a little shithead.”

Shouto makes the stairs towards Bakugou’s room first, reveling in how badly Bakugou tried to cover his amazement at the stairs.

“Just like Elsa’s, right?”

“You want me to give you Elsa’s number 1 simp trophy?”

Shouto melts Bakugou’s step and lets him fall blond head first into his balcony.

“YOU’LL FUCKING PAY FOR THAT, COCA-COLA SHITHEAD!”

Bakugou roars, and Shouto giggles as he jumps upstairs to his room with explosions fading behind him.

Not until he’s laying in bed that night that he thinks about Bakugou’s tears again. Rest assured, his imagination spiraled to ‘what could it be’ until 4 am.

++++

I don’t understand why your dad wants you to be number one when he should’ve want you to just be happy. Nothing in life really matters unless you’re happy.

Shouto loves everything about living in the dorm, but it has one and only one weakness. He can’t smoke as freely.

His dad knows and just rant about how it’ll affect his performance.

Now, Aizawa knows, and he’s at the principal’s office.

Shouto instantly knows how. Bakugou broke the rooftop door. Iida must’ve found it, reported it to Aizawa-sensei. Maybe his homeroom teacher has magnifying vision too because Shouto could’ve sworn he left no trace.

Yet Shouto can’t find it in him to blame anyone. He knows as an aspiring hero he shouldn’t smoke, those reasons never matter at those desperate times he needed to smoke.

“Tea?” Nezu raises his pot of pink teapot, Shouto narrows his eyes at the paw (how did that paw hold the teacup?)

“Yes, thank you.” The cup is equally pink, with two cheerful yellow flowers on each side. This looks like a tea set Eri had.

Shouto sips the possibly herbal tea, trying to ignore the glare Aizawa-sensei is sending his way from beside Nezu.

“Todoroki, how long have you been smoking?” His sensei’s voice gravels, like he just woke up from bed, his bed hair supports the theory.

Apparently a little mental, Shouto said, “Overall or in school?”

“Both.”

“Started when I was in first-grade junior high school.” As soon as he has any time away from home. “In UA, as soon as I stayed at the dorm.”

“Now, Todoroki,” Nezu put his paws together, “You know someone as young as you shouldn’t smoke. You’re underage, and an aspiring hero on top of that...”

Nezu then continues his PSA on smoking. Nothing Shouto hasn’t heard. Every word goes in the left ear and came out the right. He also isn’t surprised that Aizawa will be taking his stash of cigarettes. It doesn’t suck as much because Shouto doesn’t have a lot left anyway, nor is he been regularly smoking. He smokes when he’s stressed and nothing else could calm him down. He never reached out to the cigs first. The coffin-shaped portable ashtray reminded him that.

As soon as he’s back at the dorm, he’s greeted with a cheerful environment. Half his classmates are hanging in the living room. There’s a group playing Mario Party, a group that’s putting on nail art, and a group that seems to cook something ambitious. Shouto usually joins the group, but not today.

“Todoroki!” Iida comes from the hall, “Aizawa-Sensei came earlier and ran through your room! He seems to confiscate a pack of cigarettes. I’ve tried to tell him that it’s all a misunderstanding-”

“No, it’s mine.”

“Todoroki! At our young age as aspiring heroes we sho-”

“Nope, sorry not today Iida. Good night.”

Todoroki feels a few eyes on his back, but he walks on. With him naturally keeping things to himself, his friends tend to worry but they trust him to reach out to them in his own time. When it gets too long they usually check up on him. Shouto wished they never will.

+++++

You have the power to be whatever you want, but why are you following the wishes of someone you hate? I know he’s your dad, but your life is yours, Shouto.

Shouto’s wish didn’t come true when Bakugou bugs him on the rooftop again two days after he was raided.

It’s Deja Vu, but fewer tears from Bakugou and Shouto isn't a pack and a half deep in cigarettes.

“I fucking know you’d be at my spot again!” Bakugou spat scathingly.

“Excuse you,” Shouto scowls, “I’ve been smoking at this spot since the dorm opens. This is my spot.”

“Well, I’ve been- I’ve been-” Shouto should’ve known that Bakugou would turn red and explodes instead of admitting he’d been caught emoting, “What the fuck are you doing here anyway! You’re doing nothing!”

“No thanks to someone.”

Bakugou narrows his eyes, confused at the implication, but his exploding friend is smart, so he figured it out, and isn’t happy with what he figures out. “The fuck, get your accusing eyes away from me discount Sans, I don’t tattle.”

“No, but you exploded the door which leads to Iida reporting it, which leads to Aizawa inspecting the premises, and him figuring it out that smoked here.”

“That’s just your fucking fault for not covering your trace clean!”

Shouto inhaled indignantly, but then too tired to justify himself. There’s no ending of arguing with Bakugou, and Shouto had learned to choose his battles.

“How about you? How did you get in here?”

“Stole a key from Iida.”

“Are you here to cry again?”

Bakugou’s palms explode, his face an embarrassed flush and teeth bared in anger, “WHOS FUCKING CRYING!!?”

“I have eyes.”

“You’ve been sucking on those death sticks way too much.”

“I wasn’t smoking that type of substance.”

“Whatever, I’m not dealing with this,” Bakugou turns to step away.

“I don’t get it, it’s not a big deal!” Shouto raises his voice a bit, for some reason his heart rate picks up when Bakugou starts leaving. “So what if you sweat through your eyes? Midoriya does it almost every day, sometimes twice a day...”

“Don’t fucking compare me to fucking Deku you fucking fried ice cream!”

“...And Midoriya beat you at this year’s Sports Festival,” Shouto dismissed.

Bakugou grits his teeth, but his eyes watch over Shouto. “Stop stalling and tell me what you want from me,” Bakugou growls.

Shouto’s eyes widen at the sudden honesty, he nibbles on his bottom lips, “Stay here?”

For a second, Bakugou glares at him, but after two years of being his classmate, Shouto can confidently say that they’re friends. He knows Bakugou isn’t angry at him. As to prove his point, Bakugou sits beside him, a bit closer than Shouto expects him to, though still with that permanent scowl. Shouto moves his palms from his pocket, letting go of the aluminum ashtray. Shouto tests the waters and moves closer so their shoulder bumps. No explosions, no snarl, success.

Instantly, Shouto relaxes. Focusing on the pressure of their shoulders, the light shifts Bakugou does (because he can never fully stay still), and the clouds moving. No thought, just being alive.

Alas, no quiet ever lasted long with Bakugou, he expected it though.

“No wonder Aizawa figured it out, this place still stinks of tobacco.”

“It does?” Shouto takes a deep sniff, all he smells is Bakugou’s sweat that always smells sweet because of his quirk. “I didn’t smell anything.”

“Yeah no shit scar head, your nose is probably numb at this point.”

“I don’t smoke that much.”

“Said someone who smoked more than a dozen in one sitting,” Bakugou’s nags turns to worry, “Damn, was it really in one sitting?”

“Is that worry I detected?” Shouto deflects.

Bakugou grits his teeth, “I’m not worried! Go die off lung cancer I don’t fucking care!”

“Good, then, because yes it was, and there’s nothing wrong with it.”

“Fucking hell it’s not! What the actual fuck are your lungs made of? I barely suck it past my throat and I almost coughed out my insides.”

“I missed your dramatics,” Shouto says genuinely, and he waits for an explosion to come. Bakugou doesn’t do well with praises thinly veiled with snark.

It never came, Bakugou watches him closely instead, “Yeah? And who’s fault is that?”

Shouto dared to glare back, but it didn’t last long, he knows the answer. Shouto had come out of his shell nicely, as Momo had put it. He’s still awkward, can’t really quite grasp ‘pop culture’ and how to correctly implied it, but he regularly hangs out with his friends. As of late, he’s noticeably withdrawn. Going straight to his room after class, and opting out of game nights, nail nights, and even soba nights.

They had been giving him space, which he finds endearing. Of course, Bakugou isn’t one to give anything liberally.

“Mine...” Shouto admits, and Bakugou looks surprised.

The fun part of befriending Bakugou is that Shouto could be a bit of a bitch and Bakugou would be a bitch back, and it wouldn’t matter. No one’s feelings were hurt, and Shouto can let go of steam without guilt. Shouto could’ve been in denial, said that Bakugou should step off his dick and no feelings would be hurt.

But he had enough of space, though admittedly, he should’ve confessed that with someone that wants to be in his space.

“Finally, you’re done moping around, everyone’s been on my ass worrying about you.”

“Why would they be on your ass?”

“Hell would I know.”

“Was that the reason you cried?” Shouto is just teasing, but the grim in Bakugou’s face isn’t a familiar one.

“I told you that didn’t happen!” he growls lowly.

Shouto considers, clueless yet curious. “I’ll tell you about me if you told me about you.”

“Just because you’re vomiting your crisis that I didn’t ask for, doesn’t mean I’m obligated to do the same!”

“Okay, that’s fine too.”

“No, shut-”

“My mom and dad are getting back together.”

Bakugou’s expression mellows to confusion, “That sounds convoluted as hell. Didn’t they just got a divorce or something?”

“They never got a divorce. She’s just sent to a mental hospital and never came home, doesn’t mean the marriage is legally broken.”

The fact seems to sink slow with his explosive friend, “What the fuck.”

Shouto sighs, looking down his jittery hands, his mouth dries. “Last year when I visited my mom, we were talking about the future. She said she’d filed for a divorce, and I’d live with her.” Shouto feels oddly numb, but there’s this dull ache deep in his chest that’s constant. “I should’ve known. She said that before he ‘tried to change’... she said that when everything was still bad, she thought it still happened.”

“What still happened?” Bakugou sounds angry, but he always does.

“I got hurt a lot when I was a kid, because of training. She thought he still hurts me.”

He felt the shoulder beside him tensed. Beside Shouto’s jittery hands is Bakugou’s clenched shaking fist. Shouto looks up from their laps and finds that Bakugou’s face... an eerie stoic.

“Hmmm,” Bakugou hums, and a chill runs down his spine. “When did you start training by the way?” not even a curse in that sentence.

Shouto realizes then, this is Bakugou truly angry, even though Shouto can’t figure out why on earth would he be.

“The day after my quirk manifested.”

His childhood is unforgettable. The day his training starts with fear and pain, then ends with exhaustion and anger. The day Touya never came back, the day his mom left, the longing stare towards the backyard wanting to play with his brother and sister. He remembers it all, like a tattoo in his memory.

“We been knew that Endeavor was an ass but I didn’t know he’s a fucking child abuser.”

The words snap him away from his musing. This time, Bakugou looks angry angry. Teeth-gritting, scowling, boiling anger.

Oh, that’s why he’s angry.

“It was training.”

“Not at five fucking years old you e-boy himbo!” Bakugou barks.

“That’s new, what’s a himbo?”

“Not the fucking point!” Bakugou takes his shoulder away, and suddenly Shouto feels cold. Then he’s held by his shoulders, pinned by sharp maroon eyes, and the lack of warmth turns cold when a growl says, “You’re telling me that your dad’s been abusing you, and no one stopped him? And he’s fucking getting away with it??”

There are so many things wrong with that question and implied statement. One is that it was not abuse. Two is that no one could’ve stopped the then number two hero. Three is that Shouto didn’t tell him any of that but Bakugou assumed anyway.

Shouto doesn’t get to say all of it as Bakugou lets go of him and takes deep breaths. Bakugou pinched the bridge of his nose, seemingly displeased at what he’s thinking.

“Why did you think your mom wants to get back together with your dad?”

Shouto feels relieved now they’re back on topic, “I don’t know. It feels like one moment she’s afraid of him, and now she wants to be with him again. I guess... he did ‘try to be better’. Everyone else seems to forgive him, but I can’t.”

Then Bakugou does something that he didn’t expect, he defends them, “I mean... He’s not that much of a dick now, right? He’s a dick but he was pretty alright when we have a work-study at his agency. And your mom’s better, so maybe they could make it work?”

Shouto knows it’s technically true, but displeasure clawed him still, his blood boiling.

“I don’t care whether it works! I hated that she forgives him so easily!” Shouto shouts.

“Well, that’s selfish of you, isn’t it! It’s her decision, not yours!” Bakugou barks back.

“What the fuck do you know about it?” Shouto spats, he stands up, “They’re going to destroy each other, and what then? Do they want me to just look at their trainwreck while they insist everything is okay? No! I’m not going through that again!”

“You’re just not trusting your mom! Things changed!” Bakugou stands up too, he looks exceptionally angrier than ever.

“No, I don’t. Especially after she said she wanted to get a divorce with him then changing her mind only a year later. Of course, I don’t trust her!”

“But isn’t it better to have both your parents together?”

“No, it doesn’t especially when she’s not happy!”

Bakugou doesn’t bark back, and Shouto only realized how Bakugou’s question was laced with a cracked voice. Shouto looks, only partially surprised that the eyes that look back thinly veiled with tears. The heat in his bloodstream wanes out, more worried/horrified that Bakugou is now openly crying.

This is the worst. Both of them are socially awkward lone wolves that have no idea how and what to do with emotions. So, Shouto does his #best.

“You can tell me.”

Bakugouu glares. Okay, so maybe Shouto’s #best isn’t what he needs.

“Only if you want, if you don’t then it’s okay too.”

“Shut the fuck up, thermostat.”

What else do you do when someone cried? Shouto racks his memories of times when he was crying a lot when he was little, trying to find examples he could follow. He remembers his mom.

“Come here.”

“The fuck are you trying to-”

Shouto cuts him off with a hug. It’s as awkward as it comes. Shouto has his arms around the broad shoulders, his chin hooked on the right side. Shouto doesn’t know how tight he should hug, but it’s enough to press their chest together. Then one of his arms, the left one, rubs Bakugou’s back, emitting a slight warmth. In two languid swipes, Bakugou’s tenseness bleeds slowly.

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” Shouto says, mimicking what his mom had said once upon a time when he’s upset. “But it’ll be okay. Maybe it’ll take a long time, or it’ll be really hard, but you...” have me, you don’t have to deal with everything alone, was what his mom finished with. He doesn’t know if Bakugou would see him as reliable, but Fuyumi had said that intentions are the most important. “You have your friends, and you have me. I don’t know what will help, but I’ll do it if you asked.”

Shouto surprised himself that he means it. When he encounters an emotionally fragile situation, he usually gets Midoriya, or Urakara, or Momo to handle the situation. With Bakugou however...seeing that his usually prickly friend tipping at the edge like this, Shouto felt like he wants to help. Perhaps it was the camaraderie of the S.S. Emotional Constipation that makes him reach out his personal hand towards Bakugou.

Shouto found another surprise when Bakugou hugs him back, his spiky blond head tucked at the crook of his neck. Shouto also didn’t expect the reflex tears pooling in his eyes at the feeling of tightening arms around his torso. He’s being held, tight and needy. When was the last time he’s held like this? Tears pours without his will when he realized the last time someone hugged him was Touya as Dabi when he was about to burn himself along with Shouto.

They stay there on the rooftop just holding each other as if they’ll fall apart if they don't. When Bakugou lets go, his eyes are even redder than it already is. When those red eyes look up, he noticed the tear streak down Shouto’s face and doesn’t comment about it.

Instead, Bakugou says, “My parents are splitting up.”

Shouto says nothing, only to pull him in his arms again.

They say nothing else as they sit at the same spot on the concrete floor leaning on each other, hand in hand. Shouto instinctually teared up again when he remembered the last time someone holds his hand was his mom as she walked him to a park, all those years ago. Other than that, it was for survival and fighting.

Bakugou leans his head on Shouto’s shoulder first, Shouto says nothing about it. He then leans his face on top of Bakugou’s hair, it feels like a bed of grass, Bakugou says nothing about it too. Shouto realizes that Bakugou can be vulnerable as long as no one points it out. Being untalkative, Shouto can do just that.

The future is scary, especially when their supposed foundation is changing. Bakugou’s foundations are breaking apart, while Shouto had grown accustomed to the torn apart pieces now move together crossing fingers that they fit.

But the future is for tomorrow. The changes are not theirs to make. All they can do now is hold themselves together as everything changes, hoping they don’t break in the process.

Eventually, nightfalls, but none of them moved. Shouto suspects that Bakugou might be sleeping on him.

It’s a suspicion no more when Aizawa found them there, and Bakugou doesn’t stir from being found. Those tired eyes already look exasperated as he finds Shouto’s tear-streaked eyes looking back.

Aizawa sighs, “Is it life-threatening ?”

Shouto knows that the teacher is prone to worries despite his appearance. Their stumble at first year seems to scar him and made him extra vigilant with his students ever since.

“There’s nothing we could do about it,” Shouto says, which is true, but seemingly a wrong thing to say.

“That doesn’t answer my question, trouble child.” Aizawa scowls, which means his worry cranked up to max. “Are the both of you facing a problem that harms you, or threatening your life?”

“It’s nothing like that,” says the bundle of blond in his shoulder. Bakugou sits up and stretches, yawning so big his jaw seems to unhinge a bit. He doesn’t look angry, just tired. “It’s family drama, you know how it is.”

“Is it really just drama?” Aizawa squints at Bakugou, too knowing for someone without a mind-reading quirk.

Bakugou looks at Shouto, searching and prodding. Shouto doesn’t understand what he could be looking for, or what he wants. Bakugou just sighs, “Yeah, just drama.”

Aizawa looks at Shouto too and softens. “If you two need to cuddle you can just do it in your respective room.”

“Nah, too many nosy people.” Bakugou starts to leave.

Shouto follows with a “Good night Sensei.”

Aizawa grunts.

“We can use my Elsa stairs,” Shouto pipes in as he walks alongside him.

Bakugou looks at him and huffs, “Turns out you’re not a himbo after all.”

Since Bakugou won't tell him, Shouto looks up ‘himbo’ himself. This raises a lot of questions about how Bakugou has been seeing him, but Shouto decides that he’d be offended by it.

++++++

You could still be lonely even though you have tons of sibling, or even when they really love you. I guess they just don’t know how to show us they love us.

He really should’ve known. He really should’ve fucking known.

The thought spins in his head as he smoked the last cigarette on his freshly bought pack. No one to catch him this time. It’s the weekend and he’s supposed to be at home, but it’s unbearable to be in the same room with his family. Usually, he could just slurp his soba in feigning ignorance but not now.

He’s sitting by the bench of a lonely park. He’s been sitting here since sun down. He has no idea what time it is. His phone in his pocket is on silent, he hasn’t checked on it since he walked out.

He should’ve stayed at the dorms, fuck the family dinner.

It’s not that Shouto wants things to end up badly. It’s not like he doesn’t want to be home, especially since his mom finally comes home after so many years. Everyone is happy that she’s back, even Natsuo, even his dad. Everyone except her. It looks so hard for her to be there. Shouto can see in her face that some places still hold strong bad memories for her.

His mother is strong because she pulls through. She holds herself through it all even though it seems only barely.

Yet why is he still so angry at her? Maybe not angry, frustrated. Shouto wants to ask her clarity. Why is she doing this? Why did she change her mind? Why come back here? Why not grasp the independence she had been telling Shouto she strived for? Was she coaxed to be here? Was she feeling some kind of responsibility to go back here? To salvage that sham of a marriage she had with Endeavor?

Shouto wants to ask, wants to understand. He crowded her with questions that moment when they said they’d be getting back together, only for his mom to wince, eyes widen, and quickened breath. For the second time in his life, his mom had looked at him with fear. Today, Shouto could barely meet her eyes again.

Is he really such a monster in her eyes just because he’s half his father? Then why go back to his father at all?

Shouto bought half a dozen packs as per tradition. Also because of his self implied tradition, he puts all the ashes in the coffin-shaped ashtray, even though there’s a park ashtray right beside him.

“You carry that everywhere,” Says a groveling voice that Shouto would notice anywhere.

Bakugou is in casuals. Black jeans and a grey hoodie seem like he’s out in a hurry. Just like Shouto.

“You’ve got to stop stalking me,” Shouto inhales deep, watching red amber burns till the filter and sighs.

“Who fucking stalking you Zuko.”

“Zuko doesn’t have-”

“Shut up,” Bakugou plop his ass beside Shouto, sitting waaay too close. He snatched the coffin tin, inspecting it. “Even when you didn’t smoke you carried this.”

“How did you know?”

“It shows your pocket, not big enough for a phone.”

Shouto knows he can’t get away once Bakugou began prying. “My first friend gave it to me.”

“That fucking Deku???”

“No,” Shouto chuckles at the image of Midoriya taking the role of what his first friend did. “It’s someone I met first-year junior high. She gave me this after introducing me to cigarettes.”

“That’s so fucking passive-aggressive I would’ve punched her in her teeth,” Bakugou grumbles, putting the ashtray to Shouto’s lap. “And why the fuck would anyone smoke at thirteen anyway!”

“Exactly because we’re thirteen, Katsuki, just because,” Shouto chuckles again at the memory. Seemingly too carefree from the nicotine, Bakugou had become Katsuki in his tongue. Katsuki bristles at his given name, but says nothing about it. It mysteriously made Shouto very happy.

“Among everything though, she was my first best friend, she teaches me a lot of things that make me who I am. She made me realize that I didn’t have to follow my dad’s wishes. That I can be what I want to be instead of what I was born for. That it’s valid to be lonely even though I technically have a big family. That it’s okay to not strive to be the best and just to be... happy.”

Shouto closes his eyes, remembering her lessons always fell bitter-sweet. But he’ll hold it in his heart forever.

“What you’re born for?” Katsuki says scathingly.

“Yeah, you know about this.” Shouto was told that Katsuki had eavesdropped on his conversation with Midoriya. Shouto was born to fulfill another man’s vendetta. A purpose first, and a son last.

“Seem like a wise person for a thirteen-year-old,” Katsuki sneers.

“She was, I loved her,” Shouto’s confession brings Katsuki’s face to a red grimace.

“Shit, I didn’t ask you to tell me your fucking secrets.”

“It’s not a secret.”

“Oh, really?” Katsuki spat bitterly, “Then why are you hiding your girlfriend from us?”

So many things wrong with that question. Shouto raises his eyebrows in surprise, “She’s not my girlfriend, and I’m not hiding her. She’s dead.”

The grimace fell like a hot potato, it would’ve been fun watching how Katsuki splutters if he didn’t look like he’s legit choking. “Holy fuck, that's... fuck, then why the shit you’re so stoic talking about it,” Katsuki seems appalled.

“It happens a long time ago. She seems accepting of her death that I... well I want to respect her decision.” Shouto knows it’s weird to not feel mournful of the departure of your closest friend. He still misses her, but she had been so positive until the very moment she left. Shouto was sure that she’s happy, so Shouto wants to be happy for her.

Katsuki paled, horrified, seemingly to misunderstand again.

“She had a terminal illness. Very likely no chance of survival. She chose to live her remaining time normally instead of undergoing treatment.”

“There’s... There’s no way her parents let her do that.”

“They’re economically challenged. They tried though, just too late in the end.”

“Fuck...” Katsuki cursed, running through his hair roughly. “Never thought you’d be the type of person to have life-changing moments like that.”

“A lot of people have proven to me that everyone has potential to be unexpected, and that’s just how it is.” Shouto looks pointedly at Katsuki, who glares at him in retaliation. “There’s a reason why we’re both here instead of home.”

“Yeah?” Katsuki mumbles, clearly not wanting to talk.

Shouto doesn’t too, to be honest, and yet keeping it in feels more exhausting, “My mom’s home.”

“No shit?” Katsuki was mildly surprised, “So it’s really happening huh.”

“It’s like walking on eggshells with her. I wanted to ask, but last time I did she flinched at me. I couldn’t look at her today.”

Katsuki sighs. This time, Katsuki is the one that scoots over till their shoulders touched all the way to their thighs. The contact makes Shouto breathes easier, he’s drawn to it like moths to a flame. His body goes limp as if it’s been too tense too long from holding itself together, and he drapes himself on top of Katsuki. Shoulder pressed together, his head heavily falls on Katsuki’s shoulder. Instinctually, his hand looks for another hand. Katsuki snakes around his hand and clasps it with his. It’s uncharacteristic, but Shouto finds himself grateful for it.

It’s warm, it’s damp, it’s grounding. Like lying on even earth after running away for so long.

“I don’t want her to be with him under the obligation that parents are supposed to be together for the kids. She’s been through so much, I would’ve understood, but I didn’t know how to say it without triggering her.” Silence follows, and Shouto realized what he said. “Sorry, uh, I’m not insinuating-”

“Shut up candy cane, I know.” Katsuki leans closer, his head on top of Shouto’s.

It’s warm, just what he needs in the middle of an emotional crisis at the beginning of November. It’s a bit out of character for Katsuki to do this, nor Shouto, neither of them are known for physical contact or talking about their personal lives. Yet here they are.

And Katsuki speaks anyway, “They’re fighting.”

Shouto, contrary to what Katsuki called him, isn’t a himbo. He knows who they are and he knows what a fight could entail.

“Did they hurt each other when they fight?” Shouto asks, then mused even if they did, could Katsuki do anything about it? Shouto couldn’t back then.

“No!” Katsuki says, indignant, “Of course not, they’re just bitching at each other about... about... I don’t know, it’s fucking stupid.”

“Hm, that’s good.”

“Fucking hell it’s good, they’re being idiotic!”

“They’re not hurting each other.”

Katsuki paused, his hands clenched tighter, “Did he hurt your mom when they fight?”

Shouto takes a deep inhale at the surge of memory. The fear that settles is old, he knows. Just leftover trauma that never went away, still, it bubbled to the surface, makes his skin cold.

Not trusting his voice, Shouto nods.

“They were fighting about me,” Katsuki says after a while, his voice a bit shaky, and Shouto knows better than to point it out. He keeps his head on the shaking shoulder and listens. “They didn’t know I was listening, they never did. They never... Turn-Turns out they didn’t even plan on having me.”

Katsuki holds his hand tighter and trembling.

“I’m a fucking accident,” Katsuki spat, venom dripping in every word. “Then they had a shotgun wedding, they didn’t even love each other at all.”

Shouto hears one escape of a sniff and lets himself relax, feigning clueless that Katsuki must’ve been crying. He lets the silence stretches until the hand holding his relaxed and the shaking subsides. Shouto had the same breakdown before. It downs to him that they’re not so different after all, children of a loveless relationship. Though he wonders if that instantly means he’s unloved. It had felt that way, but now... now it feels so much complicated than yes or no.

“Does it matter why we’re born?” Shouto hears a deep inhale of an incoming rant but he cuts it off with, “We’re our own person, with our own lives, and our own dreams. No one can tell us otherwise. Not even the one who makes us.” Shouto pauses and listens, what came to his ears is soft breathing, so he continues. “So what you’re not planned? That doesn’t mean you’re unwanted,” Shouto rubs his thumb over the damp knuckles, “You’re not unloved.”

Because Shouto had been to the Bakugo residence. Bakugou Mitsuki is as explosive as he is, but he can see her adoring stare at her son even when she’s scolding him. Bakugou Masaru is softer, always trying to calm both of them and giving small smiles when Shouto tells him stories about his son at school.

“What the fuck do you know, water dispenser?” Katsuki lowly growls, but it doesn’t have that biting hate, he doesn’t move away from Shouto.

So Shouto only hums and lets the silence stretch. He grabs the ashtray with his other hand, rubbing the plain surface with his thumb, remembering her, thanking her.

“What’s her name?” Katsuki says after minutes of silence, his voice with less snarl.

“Arisu.”

“... I’m sorry you lost her.”

And that’s what happened, isn’t it? Shouto may be able to let her go, but she’s still lost to him. Still hurts, Shouto still mises her. “Thank you.”

They didn’t let go of each other until Shouto’s phone rings. It’s Natsuo. His brother is just as unhappy about their parents' reunion, though for him it’s more about hating their dad and less about questioning their mother as Shouto did. Natsuo called to offer to spend the rest of the weekend at his place. Shouto immediately agrees, then he remembers Katsuki.

“Is it okay if I bring one of my friends?”

Katsuki instantly glowers at him.

“Who?”

“Katsuki.”

“Who??”

“Bakugou.”

“Oh, yeah sure. Buy some dinner on the way, I didn’t get to eat much.”

“Okay, me too.”

As soon as they hang up, Katsuki bares his teeth.

“Who says I’ll go with you, Pokeball?” His voice raised a bit, his arms crossing defensively.

“I’m not, I said if. You don’t have to, but if you want, you can.”

“No one fucking asked you for shelter,” Katsuki scoffs, facing away.

“I know...” Shouto knows Katsuki would rather leave than accept help. The only way he accepts it is that if no one acknowledges it. He knows Katsuki can take care of himself, but Shouto is the one that doesn’t want him to leave just yet. Shouto knows he’ll go back to Natsuo’s place only to hear him bitch about Endeavor when the real problem is with their mom and her odd decision.

“Can’t you just stay for dinner?” The desperation in his voice is real, Katsuki seems to notice it and is bewildered by it. “Please?”

Katsuki’s eyes widen at the magic word because no, Shouto doesn’t say it often, much less towards Katsuki, he had enough ego already.

Nose flared and fist clenched, Katsuki finally barks, “Fine! But we’re cooking instead of ordering take-out, I fucking know what you’re gonna get you soba simp. Your brother better has a kitchen.”

“He does,” Shouto replies, the upbeat tone in his voice is rare. Can you blame him? He’s excited that he’s not coming home, and Katsuki goes with him with his admittedly superior cooking.

At Natsuo’s apartment, Shouto helped Katsuki cook, nothing more than chopping stuff. Natsuo gave him a brief summary of what happened at home after Shouto left, but thankfully, he’s not saying too much because Katsuki is there. Once Natsuo finished talking and left to get beers, Shouto gives Katsuki an arm squeeze of thanks. Katsuki only grunts.

Dinner is ‘simple’ in Katsuki’s opinion. Stir-fried vegetables, miso soup, and hamburg steak. As always, it’s delicious, and Natsuo who’s none the wiser to Katsuki’s God-like cooking skill is blown away.

They’re in the living area on the sofa watching TV when Shouto scoots closer again. Natsuo is in his room studying.

“You can stay here for the rest of the weekend if you want,” Shouto says, bumping shoulders.

Katsuki frowns, eyes on the screen. “I don’t have my change of clothes with me.”

“You can borrow mine, I have some here.”

“Ran away a lot don’t you?” Katsuki sneers.

“You have no idea,” Shouto admits.

The sneer falls, “Why?”

“Just because I finally can.”

“You couldn’t before?”

Shouto shakes his head, finding his head heavy, so he lays his head on Katsuki’s shoulder again. “Before he was number one, he insists on using all my free time on training. If I didn’t, he’d take my phone, or the internet, or my manga, even burned them on some occasion. He even flushed my pet fish, rest in peace Kiya. Then he’s number one, and the dorms are established... so...”

Shout shrugs. He doesn’t reach for Katsuki’s hand this time, just pressed against him, afraid if he pushed then Katsuki would retract. Shouto doesn’t want to stop his newfound comfort just yet.

Then his hand is grasped by a firm clammy hand. Shouto keeps thinking of how Katsuki’s sweaty hands must be because of the nitroglycerin of his quirk. If he’s not thinking about Katsuki’s quirk then he’d think about how it makes his heart skipped a beat that Katsuki initiates the touch again. So yeah, clammy hands that hold him tight.

“Why didn’t you tell anybody?” Katsuki says, weaker than he’s accustomed to. It makes Shouto wary.

“I don’t know what is there to tell.”

A groan stretches, “What do I do with you?”

“Hey...” Shouto mock complains “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Does he still train you like that?”

Shouto feels a bit of whiplash with all these questions. Katsuki has been asking personal questions left and right, and Shouto doesn’t understand why answering it doesn’t feel as hard as usual.

“No, not since he became number 1.”

Katsuki scoffs, “Got what he wanted didn’t he?”

“Sometimes I wonder if that’s the case. When he got it, he didn’t seem happy, just angry. Then he started wanting the family he broke to get that number one spot.”

That renders Katsuki to another bout of silence. He knows Katsuki strives to be number one too, and at first, Shouto had ridiculed him about it. Why does a superficial title mean so much anyway? Katsuki changed over the years though, with Midoriya being the main cause of it.

Heart on his throat, Shouto dare asks, “Hey, Katsuki? Why do you want to be a hero?”

Katsuki tensed, but Shouto holds him tighter, “Why are you getting nosy all of the sudden?”

Shouto knows he’s not getting things easy, “I just wanna know.”

“Yeah, that’s nosy.”

“No, I just want to get to know you.” Shouto bites his lips as soon as the words left, was that too forward?

They’re not looking at each other, but Shouto can feel the glare directed at him. “Why?”

“We’ve been friends for a while...”

“We’re not fucking friends-!”

“...But I feel like I’m taking you for granted. I didn’t even know you’re going through something so big.” Some friend I am, Shouto broods.

It takes a few seconds, but Katsuki defeatedly sighs, and Shouto smiles in victory, “At first, I just want to be the best.”

“Best at what?”

“Everything...” Katsuki muses, his head knocked back, “Then I realized that it was an impossible goal... Did a lot of thinking, did a lot of uh, self-reflecting. Started talking to Ito-san too. I realized that I just want to be needed.”

It makes sense why Katsuki is here then. Shouto wished he could outright say that he needs him so Katsuki would stay longer, but just imagining him doing so already makes him pink in embarrassment.

Ito-san is the school counselor, her doors are open for every UA student. Shouto had half the mind to go to her, but there’s always this weight of silence from being a son of a high-profile hero. Endeavor always drilled him about secrecy and how he shouldn’t say anything about his family to anyone or it’ll ruin everything. It’s the reason why Arisu was his only friend, she was dying, and she did take his secret to her grave. Shouto still feels guilty about that.

“Have you ever talked to Ito-san?” Katsuki asked as if reading his mind.

“Can’t.”

“Why?”

“Everything that comes out of my mouth is tabloid-worthy. Endeavor had drilled me from way young that I can’t run my mouth about our lives. He’s right about that at least, I didn’t want paparazzi swarming us demanding half-assed rumors if I can help it. It had happened before, someone even sneaked into my mom’s hospital to reach her. I guess... that’s also why I never told anyone at all about anything.”

“You told Arisu didn’t you?”

Shouto bites his lip, guilt gnaws at him, “Because I know she won't carry my secrets long enough.” Please don’t hate me. Shouto’s grip on Katsuki tighten.

“But you told Deku, you told me.”

“Well, I trust you,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing. “You sure you don’t want to stay over?”

Katsuki leans away, and the cold strikes immediately. Shouto leans back, pointedly not looking at red irises.

“Fine.”

Shouto quickly looks up, then he finds Katsuki’s face odd. There’s something familiar with it. He’s... smiling, only slightly, but it’s a smile, and his eyes aren’t furrowed or angry or glaring. His eyebrows relaxed and he looks.... soft. Maybe Shouto fell asleep and currently dreaming.

“I’ll need to call my parents first,” Katsuki says after clearing his throat, looking away a bit flushed.

“Sure, I’ll get you settled.”

Shouto is half excited half worried. He told Natsuo that Katsuki will be borrowing the couch, which only replied with a hum while his eyes doesn’t leave the book. His brother is not unfamiliar with runaways. Shouto isn’t the only one seeking shelter at his place.

Shouto passes the balcony where Katsuki is screaming at his phone. Shouto can only hear muffles, but he gives Katsuki some privacy and gets some spare clothes. When Shouto sees that Katsuki is still on the phone even after ten minutes have passed, he takes the liberty of taking a shower first.

When Shouto walks out, he finds Katsuki sitting by the sofa, his hands suspiciously inflamed. He faces the screen but looking particularly nowhere. Shouto had seen those empty looks before.

“Katsuki?”

He jerks slightly as his name is called. Katsuki schooled his expression to a careful stoic, walls up. No matter, Shouto thinks, sometimes you don’t need to tear down walls to help a person, just hold their hand through the gate.

“Go take a shower, bath’s warm.”

Katsuki nods, taking the towel Shouto offered and the spare clothes. Shouto makes tea, for him, his brother, and Katsuki. Shouto delivers the cup of tea to Natsuo’s room, seems like the books are multiplying around his brother.

“Tea,” Shouto says before putting it on a coaster.

“Thanks.” Natsuo finally looks away from the book and takes a sip. “That Bakugou, how is he?” Natsuo asks, knowing that Shouto only brings his friend here in a dire situation.

The only other person he brought was Kaminari, believe it or not. Kaminari had said he didn’t want to come home for the weekend because he was scared of facing his parents after he came out via text. From the replies, it hadn’t been good. Kaminari spent the rest of the stay switching between sobbing and full-on crying. Only God knows why Kaminari asked him instead of any of the Baku-squad, but Kaminari is still his friend too, so Shouto provides.

But today with Katsuki is different though. Shouto had to beg him to stay, whether it’s for the benefit of him or Shouto the line had blurred.

“Hopefully he will be,” Is all Shouto can offer. Natsuo nods before going back to his book.

Shouto lays out his futon in the living room adjacent to the sofa. He’s laying down, scrolling at his phone. Putting his dad on read and ignoring Fuyumi’s and mom’s chatbox. He opted to look at cat videos instead. Soon, Katsuki came out of the bathroom, drank the offered tea, and laid down on the sofa.

They spent probably an hour separately looking at their phones when Shouto finally calls it a night. He turned off the lights, and tuck himself in. Before he said goodnight, Shouto thinks and his desires take.

“Wanna hang out tomorrow?” he asked.

Blood red eyes look at him from the screen, “Where?”

Shouto shrugs, “I don’t know, just around, get my mind off things. There’s a cat cafe I’ve been wanting to see, then we’ll go from there.”

Katsuki stares, seemingly thinking it over, “Have you ever been to a rock climbing gym?”

“A what?”

Katsuki smirks, sharp-teethed and evil, “Oh you’re in for a fucking experience, red velvet oreo.”

Shouto is a bit suspicious, even so, he finds himself looking forward to tomorrow.

+++++

I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but you shouldn’t think that way. Of course you’ll have more friends. You’re more lovable than you think, Shouto.

Something changed between them after that weekend. Comfort grows between them. Comfort that they don’t want to let go just yet, perhaps not anytime soon.

The bad thing about it is that everyone notices. Everyone.

To their friend's credit though, they came to school together, walking very close to each other. It was fully initiated by Shouto, but Katsuki didn’t snap or push him away, so he assumed everything is okay.

Everything is absolutely not okay because the moment he walks to class everyone has eyes on them. Shouto thought it won’t matter to him, but Katsuki tends to be defensive. When Katsuki is defensive, he pushes people away. Shouto tried not to watch Katsuki for the whole class.

Momo noticed, of course, but she notices more than superficial things.

“Shouto,” Momo whispers, “Everything alright?”

Shouto gives her a smile and nods.

It’s not until they’re getting up for lunch that Shouto is tested in a form of Kirishima.

“Bakubro! How long have you been dating Todobro?”

The world screech halt, and Kirishima tensed at the sudden chill he’s feeling. When Kirishima found the source of burning in his back, he sees Shouto, glaring hard and terrifyingly at him. Face darkens, pupils small, ready to kill.

Kirishima squeaks, “He-hey, uh-”

“Back off Kiri, it’s none of your business,” is all Katsuki says. Not even a scream, just a conversational tone as if he’s bored. No defensiveness, no snarling at Shouto in retaliation. “The fuck are yall extras staring at? Move outta my way, I’m hungry!” Then he left.

No one is barging Shouto with questions instead. It’s out of character of his classmates to not poke their nose in something juicy, but as he drops his butt at his chair, he finds himself alone in class.

Shouto is left in class with a big wave of relief, so much that he couldn’t stand. Why is it that the thought of Katsuki pushing him away scares him this much?

A hand landed on his desk, he looks up to find Momo’s honest stare, “Something is not alright.”

Shouto sighs, “No.”

Unlike Katsuki, Momo never pries, only assuring that she’s there for him. Unlike Momo, Katsuki understands that some things can’t be fixed, wherein if he opens up to Momo and some others, they tried to help by fixing. The number of times his friends told him, again and again, to go to Ito-san when they found out about Dabi being his brother is an exhausting amount. Maybe that’s why Shouto has been more comfortable with laying his problems to Katsuki.

So he eats lunch with Momo in the silence of comfortable company, and there’s just that.

+++++

Thank you for being there for me. You’re the bestest best friend I could ever wish for. And you won’t be lonely for long, you’ll see.

Shouto has peaceful days following that first Monday. His comfort with Katsuki doesn’t change. Though they don't get together on the rooftop anymore (Iida never let go of his key since Katsuki managed to steal it), they still gravitate towards each other whenever they don’t feel particularly great.

Katsuki would approach and say things like, “They want me home this weekend.”

“You wanna stay at the dorms or my place?”

“Can’t. I know they wanted to talk to me about who I wanna stay with.”

“We can make up an excuse if you want.”

“Hm.”

Then they spent the rest of the day together, just sitting at the school’s lawn, looking at particularly nothing. And if they sit too close together and their clasped hands only partially hidden by their legs, no one pointed it out.

Shouto would approach and say things like, “Fuyumi wants to call me, I know she’s just gonna talk about how I’m tearing the family apart.”

Katsuki snaps from his bed towards the window where Shouto is stepping down from his Elsa stairs.

Katsuki’s shock then turns to fury, “Your sister, Fuyumi, THAT Fuyumi said that to you?”

“She wanted the family together. I think she’s frustrated that I keep making my parents' union difficult.”

“You know what, her spicy mapo tofu isn’t that delicious anyway!” Katsuki barks his hands clenched down mini-explosions. It’s one of Katsuki’s outbursts that Shouto doesn’t understand, nor does he understand why her mapo tofu is related in any way, so he doesn’t comment.

“I’m gonna head up to the roof, wanna come?”

“No, you’ll just smoke and you’d give me fucking cancer.”

Shouto feels cold, Katsuki had never said no from hanging out before, “Fine.”

“Who said you can leave? Come here!” Katsuki held his ankle from the balcony, gripping tight.

Shouto blinks, remembering what Aizawa-sensei had said some days ago. “Oh, are we gonna cuddle?”

Katsuki’s face set aflame, “Just fucking come in here Katy Perry, before I yank you by your stupid Poland flag hair.”

Shouto finds himself obeying at the thought of cuddling, but then confused, “Why Katy Perry?”

“Hot and cold.”

“I guess that’ll make sense if I know who Katy Perry is but.”

Katsuki spat a curse, “Alright, time for a session of pop culture.”

“But I already had them with Mina and Sero”

“And they’re doing a shit job about it if you didn’t know the person that shapes a whole ass generation.”

It started with a music video of Hot and Cold by Katy Perry and ends with a retelling biography of Lady Gaga. Who knew Katsuki is so knowledgeable about female pop stars.

“TELL ANYONE AND DIE,” He said after Shouto pointed it out.

Most important of all, they did cuddle. They were sitting on the bedside then suddenly they’re laying down side by side. They’re watching a gameplay video of a Swedish man playing a horror game, another important role in pop culture as Katsuki said. It’s an old video, and Katsuki said that the man owns some part of Antarctica, which Shouto knows it’s some kind of an inside joke.

The nights getting late, and Shouto is reminded of the text on his phone, how it vibrates occasionally. Shouto has been in Katsuki’s room for four hours, but he doesn’t want to go back to his room.

Katsuki notices him lingering, “You wanna stay here for the night?”

Shouto looks up from Katsuki’s phone with big sparkling eyes, “You sure?”

“Tch, I wouldn’t have offered if I don’t.” Katsuki looks away, exposing his neck that seems red to the tip of his ears, “It’ll be a little cramp though with my single bed.”

“I don’t mind it. Just don’t kick me out of bed.”

“No promises.”

Katsuki didn’t. He curled away from Shouto as soon as the blankets tucked. Their backs pressed against each other because of the small space. Shouto finds it hard to fall asleep, could be the new environment or the gnawing anxiety.

He’ll admit that Fuyumi is his favorite sibling. She’s there for him when he was condemned in that lonely manor only to train and study. Fuyumi stays back for him, tend to his wounds, cook for him, keep him company. Natsuo had left and rarely come back, even though he’s there for Shouto in the end.

Then his dad had a bootleg redemption arc and Fuyumi dropped him like hot potato and shoved both of them together despite what Shouto feels about his dad. When his parents are getting back together, Fuyumi stopped consoling Shouto and started to support them blindly. So desperate to have their family together. Doesn’t she know that there’s nothing to salvage? Doesn’t she remember what he did?

“I can hear you from here, air conditioner,” Katsuki grumbles, his back vibrates, “Go to sleep.”

“I’m trying.”

Shouto can’t stop thinking, can’t stop getting angry and getting hurt. It hurts when his sister is pointing the blame at Shouto, it hurts even more when it’s kind of true. It hurts that despite his fear of facing her, he still owes her a call at least. He’ll never be ready for what she’s about to say, never be ready to be hurt by her. Shouto turns around and buries his face at Katsuki’s back, ducking under the cover.

“What is it?’ Katsuki asks, not demanding, but Shouto’s floodgates are opened.

“I don’t understand how they could forgive him. He hurts mom, he hurts Touya to a point that he left and hates us, and he... he hurts me. It’s just training but-but- fine, okay, it hurt and I was scared most of the time that he’s not gonna pull his punches. Fuyumi forgives him so easily, and mom just went back in there even though they were never in love in the first place. It’s like they’ve forgotten what he had done, how deeply he scars all of us. Like what- like what happened didn’t matter.” Shouto’s voice breaks the whole time, a sob escaped in between the jumbled words and he’s trying so hard, so hard not to cry.

Katsuki turns around, his arms wrapped around Shouto’s hunched shoulders. A burnt sweet scent hits his nostrils, his face pressed against a defined neck and collarbones. All tenseness bleeds away when Katsuki starts rubbing his back, and tears break from his eyes without his will. Shouto wraps his arms around his friend’s torso, feeling his chest constrict when Katsuki mercifully says nothing about the silent tears landing on his chest.

He shuts his lips, pressing tightly because he’s not sobbing to Katsuki’s chest. They’re comfortable with each other but not that comfortable... right? Shouto’s tolerance to breakdown cries is thanks to exposure to crying most of his childhood, the same can’t be said for Katsuki. The hug is enough, it’s everything. Shouto never realized how much he craved being touched until that day Katsuki sits way too close to him.

His lips pressed tight keeping from sobbing, but his hands tremble on Katsuki’s back instead.

“Damn, you’re touch starved aren’t you,” Katsuki sighs to his hair, his face buried there.

“I didn’t know,” Shouto’s voice shaking pathetically, breaking at the edge and Shouto is too torn to care about it.

“Me too.”

Shouto doesn’t know which one Katsuki meant, but neither let go until they sleep.

++++++

I love you too, Shouto. Don’t be scared of letting people in, okay? Not all of them are gonna leave you, I promise.

Things get rough, but their comfort pushes each other through.

Katsuki chooses to stay with his dad, but he’s co-parenting with his mom. Katsuki spends his weekends at both their house, switching every weekend. There’s still tenseness between his parents, and Katsuki explodes whenever his dad or mom asks Katsuki about the other. ‘Stop fucking asking me! If you wanna know so much then you shouldn’t have gotten the divorce!’ Katsuki doesn’t want to hear their reasoning, feeling better to just accept the change and move on, but Shouto thinks he’s just not ready to hear it. Sometimes Katsuki stays at the dorms with Shouto or the Todoroki estate when he gets overwhelmed.

Shouto finally talks to his mom. At first, it didn’t go anywhere. She’s as unsure as Shouto, but her willingness to try and salvage the marriage is as honest as it comes, even though her feelings might not be there yet. It feels like hearing Fuyumi talk, hearing the same desperation and blindness in putting things together. It’s hard to understand her foolishness, but Shouto tried to trust her. Shouto’s opinion might have been persuaded a little when his father announced that they’ll be moving houses due to mom’s tense reaction to the place. It’s a plus that his dad is willing to do that for his wife, but Shouto is still keeping an eye on them.

Then things get better, but their comfort doesn’t stop. Shouto is comfortable in following his desires without questioning them, but he quizically finds that Katsuki seeks him too even though he no longer approach Shouto with that near tears scowl, and situation bomb.

“How’s your mom?” Katsuki asked out of the blue under the summer blue sky. They’re sitting by the school lawn, their backs to a tree trunk, their friends strangely been leaving them alone.

“She’s fine.”

“Then why did you want to meet here?” Katsuki murmurs, looking down at the comic book Shouto lends him but not reading it. The tips of his ears are red.

Oh, Katsuki is testing the waters, “I just want to be with you.”

Katsuki flushes, “Ew, where the fuck did you even get that cheesy line.”

Shouto pays the snark no mind. “We haven't had any excuses for being together lately, do we?”

Katsuki hums.

“Do you not like it?”

“It’s fine,” Katsuki grumbles.

“Say... If I ask you to go to a cat cafe this Saturday, will you go?”

“Satan in hell, cat cafe again? I still have fucking fur on my black jacket from the previous visit! I felt like we’ve been to all the cat cafes in the country!”

Shouto pouts, “That’s not possible.”

“Let’s go hiking instead.”

“Okay.”

Katsuki twist his head towards him, “You would?”

“Just us two right?”

“Obviously, there’s no way I’m taking those extras. Those nature documentaries made them wimps.”

Shouto only listened to the first word he uttered, “I’ll go with you.”

Then Katsuki looks him that way again. Soft eyes, relaxed eyebrows, fond stares, and the most devastating of all, a small genuine smile.

“Cool. Come to my place, we have to wake up early. I miss seeing the sunset there, it’s awesome.” There’s light in his maroon eyes, excited to go, and he’s taking Shouto with him to his hobby, his precious place.

Shouto feels warmth radiating from his chest all the way down to his toes, a smile blooms on his face. He’s been feeling this mysterious warmth pretty often lately, only now has he realized that Shouto is happy and that he hasn’t been lonely despite his current family strain.

Katsuki’s rambling about his favorite hiking spot is cut short when Shouto leans in to kiss the corner of his lips. The smile is exchanged with shocked parted lips. Shouto feels himself shrink by the silence of Katsuki’s loud mouth and the pinning stare of his sharp eyes. Blood rushed to Shouto’s cheeks, knowing that he’s blushing up a storm, suddenly nervous.

“Is that okay?” Shout asks, too cowardly to say that he wants more, closer, to continue being together for no reason at all other than just because.

“No.”

He’s grabbed by the face, and a pair of lips pressed against his. Shouto expected to be bitten, his head clawed, and his lips bruised. But the weeks he spent with Katsuki should’ve made him know better. Because the gentle hands cradling his face, the complete capture of his lips, and the soft nips are all unsurprising. Shouto melts away, leaning his whole weight so they’re chest to chest. He grabs Katsuki by the hips, pulling closer, kissing back.

Katsuki hums, and the vibration echoes on Shouto’s body deliciously. Katsuki’s lips taste sweet and hot as it moves to nibble Shouto’s bottom lip. The hands cupping his face moves past his neck. One is clutching his back and the other plays with the hair at the back of his head. Fingers card gently around his nape and Shouto has a whole body shiver.

Then the lips go missing, and Shouto goes limp in Katsuki’s arms, gasping for breath on his chest.

“And that’s how you kiss, Strawberry Shortcake,” Katsuki says smugly, patting Shouto’s back condescendingly.

Shouto scoffs and leans back. Katsuki still has that fond eyes as he looks at him, but now paired with a cheeky smirk. Shouto wants to kiss that too, and Shouto does.

From then on, it’s expected that he sometimes steps down his icy stairs just to cuddle with Katsuki, and it’s perfectly acceptable that Katsuki barges into his room and starts pulling his hand towards wherever he wants.

They’d still bicker sometimes, and sometimes Shouto unintentionally steps on some lines that set Katsuki to explode. Sometimes Katsuki is frustrated with him. Those days they fight makes him nervous.

But they always say their apologies eventually. Katsuki always comes back and tries again with him. Even when the fights are between them, they eventually get over it and get better while they’re still leaning onto each other for comfort.

Eventually, Shouto keeps the coffin ashtray in his keepsake instead of his pocket.

He’d like to think that he can finally let her go now that she’s proven right.

Shouto finds someone that loves him, someone that makes him happy, and someone that doesn’t leave.

++++

nicknames that didn't make it: Colgate toothpaste, hot pocket, tide pod, dry ice. nicknames that I magically forgot: Half and half.

Tag yourself as Shouto’s nickname, I’m water dispenser.

#todobaku #bakutodo #todoroki shouto #todoroki shōto #bakugo katsuki #todobaku fic #todobaku fanfic #Todobaku fanfiction #emocel's #I'm crying #i googled shouto's nickname for this #I saw 'Strawberry Shorcake' and I lose my mind #I saw a trope that Bakugo smells like caramel becs of his quirk and i lose my mind #todoroki shoto fluff #boku no hero #boku no hero fanfic #my hero academia #my hero academy fanfiction

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the-goddess-of-mischief-writing · 3 years

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Can I request a Loki X female reader, his wife. There in bed sleeping and Loki has a nightmare that Thanos gets her and he's powerless to stop him, he wakes up and wakes her up to make sure she is okay but she isn't breathing and Loki has to help her. Unless it makes you uncomfortable 🙂

A/N: Sorry for the late response nony, I’ve been sick the last month and haven't had the time, or clear enough mind tbh, to write your request. But, anyways, here you have it, hope you’re ready for pure angst. (PSA; Includes near death experience which may be triggering for some)

Living Nightmare

Albeit the blade to his throat, Loki tried reaching forward. But it was useless, hence before he even could get close to you, he felt the edge of the weapon pierce his skin, making droplets of blood fall the length of his neck.

"Please, release her", his voice was meagre, as he for a second switched to look up at the capturer. He had thought he never would see him again, the warlord, Thanos. He had lived peacefully long before he even married you. But he thought, after the day he officially was able to call you his, maybe fate would've spared him his past crimes. But it seemed all had been an illusion, a play of his peaceful and neglecting mind. Because now he stood there, out of reach to save you in the titans grasp.

You looked so puny, with his long sworn enemy's hand fisted around your neck. He could see your stuttering breaths leave your chest, but as the titan let out a low rumble, a sound inclining he laughed, he heard a strangled gasp leave you.

"The almighty Loki, already begging", a grin crossed Thanos face as he flexed his fingers to ease his grip again. In the sound of you gulping down as much air as you could, he continued. "All because of a mortal, who had thought?" The titan turned you to him and immediately Loki saw your body tense, fear rolling off you in waves as your captor raised his other hand.

One of his fingers gently tucked a strand of your hair that had shielded your face behind your ear. The action made the god of mischief grit his teeth. He had no right touching you the way he did, clutching your throat, having the life of you in his hands. He owned even less right to touch you as gently and caring as he just had. But just as Loki was about to lash out, try and tear away from those holding him in place, Thanos made you face him again.

"You are at your wit's end, god of mischief", the titan clutched your throat harder once more. This time you couldn't stop your hands from flying up and trying to ease the grip. Loki saw the urgency burning brighter in your eyes now as they met his in a hurried glance.

"Darling, look at me, please look at me", he said as soon as your eyes started flitting around the space, in what he understood was waining faith. Nevertheless, the moment your gaze merged with his once more, he saw you calm the tiniest bit. "You'll be fine, I promise you", though you tried concentrating on his voice, the voice appearing beside your head drowned Loki's.

"Have you not learned everything coming from him is lies", it was like a snake hissed it in your ear, low and only for you to hear. You felt the giant's words etch itself into your gut, whilst your heart pained when hearing your lover be called something he never been with you. He was not a liar.

"No!" Loki screamed, seeing the way the sword pierced through your body. Your face scrunched up and halted the movement your mouth began, words dying before they left you. He saw the momentary shock spread over your futures as you followed the place he looked at.

Blood coated the blade red as your trembling hands touched the metal. The move was sluggish and when you looked up to him again, he noticed how your eyelids started closing. Blood dripped past your lips as your lungs seemed to fill with the red liquid. Despite all his urge to rush towards you, Loki couldn't do more than witness how the strength left your body as you swayed in your place.

Thanos must have noticed your rapidly lowering pulse or, more likely, the way you became too unsteady to hold yourself up, because he let go. The disappearance of the sole force holding you upright made you stumble forward. Your action made the blade slip out of you and immediately you clutched the wound. But it was no use, a flush of red passed your fingers and coated your steadily pailing limbs.

It was with a whimper and last pitying look at him, you fell. Time slowed down as Loki watch your body plunge forward, although the second you were to connect with the hard and unforgiving ground, everything froze.

With a start Loki jolted awake, sitting upright in the bed. He felt his shirt cling to his body, drops of sweat rolling down the nape of his neck. Which all together made his hair stick to his skin. His mind reeled, while his breath heaved, as he replayed the nightmare in his mind. You had died.

Swiftly looking to his side, he saw your slumped form resting beside him. You were there, unharmed.

"Love, are you awake?" His coarse voice was followed by a soft kiss on your shoulder as he leaned over your form.

It was something he always did when the nightmares plagued him, seeking refuge in your company. It was something about your caring touch and calming words that eased his mind. Thus it had become a routine. When he would awaken from horrors, he would also wake you up.

"Love?" Loki mumbled as you didn't stir from your sleep and kept being turned away from him. He knew you should've woken up by now because you were a light sleeper. But when seeing no reaction, a worry etched onto his features. "Y/N?" He gently pushed on your shoulder, so you turned to lay fully on your back.

As soon as you did, he saw your face. Instead of looking peaceful as it usually did when sleeping, it looked... emotionless. Cold. He felt his pulse quicken as his eyes started to flicker over your face until it travelled to your chest. It was then he noticed, it didn't move. It felt like someone dunked him in cold water as he jumped into a seated position.

"Do you hear me?" He gently patted the side of your face, but more than making it gently rock to the side, it didn't elicit any other reaction. "Y/N!" Loki shook your shoulders, the same panic he felt in his dream returning. Only now everything happening was real.

Without any hesitation, he leaned forward, closed his finger over your nose and connected his lips to yours. It was no kiss, but instead, a move of pushing his exhaled into your mouth. However, with a hasty glance towards your chest, he saw it still didn't move, so he moved to begin with compressions.

Come one darling, breath from me, the god continuously mumbled as he repeated the set of moves. However, no matter his tries, he never felt a change.

It was from pure dread of your unaltered state, he raked his brain for a spell or purely something to help you. Loki didn't know if it was from fear, or that he simply didn't have a spell that could work, but he fumbled fruitlessly through his memory.

"No, no, no!" His voice cracked as it entered a high pitch, flawed by the same fear he had in his dream. This couldn't be true, it couldn't, but it was. Despite his tries to help you nothing happened, for once, or maybe twice this night, the god of mischief felt helpless.

But then, suddenly, something happened. Loki felt how his breath didn't easily flow down to your lungs, but how a pressure met it. This made him retreat, lean away to watch you from where he knelt at your side.

It was violent, the way your chest suddenly heaved as you gulped down air, despite your throat turning it into a cough on the exhale. But it was a violence Loki couldn't but shred tears at, thus, at least it was a reaction.

Though the procedure repeated itself and showed no effects of decreasing the nearest future, you sat up. Immidielty your hand sought the god's, which he quickly gave to you. You clutched it hard enough for your nails to press half-moons into his skin, but he couldn't care any less.

What Loki focused on, however, was how he felt your chilled fingers returning to their natural temperature. He also noticed the colour returning to your face, even though it may have been more flushed than usually thanks to your jerking movement.

It was relief that flooded his body as he witnessed you slowly but surely regain your breath. He wanted to hug you, kiss you, thank you for returning to him. Though at the moment he could do nothing but stare silently.

Not until your arm lowered from clutching your chest, face turning to him, teary gaze meeting his, he crumbled. His hand released yours, to instead pulled you into a hug. Despite having thought it was gentle, Loki understood it hadn't when a huff left you. But what was important was that he didn't suffocate you. He felt your chest move against his and for each time it did, he felt blessed. Because at the moment, he couldn't let go, he simply couldn't. Not tonight, when he had both dreamt a nightmare and lived in one.

#Loki Laufeyson #loki marvel #loki x reader #loki x reader fanfic #loki x reader angst #loki x reader fluff #hurt and comfort #near death experience #might be triggering #angst #fluff #fanfiction #fanfic #MCU loki #MCU #Marvel MCU #MCU fic #marvel fanfiction

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warriorswand · 4 years

Text

A drabble in the explanation of what happened when Lily Evans was there for Remus Lupin while no one else was (alternatively, a Very Important marauders PSA)

When Remus Lupin looks down into the achingly familar face of Harry Potter and tells him of the time Lily Evans had been there for him when no one else was, he doesn’t remember the third month of his first year at Hogwarts, when his heart had threatened to beat out of his chest the moment he realized he couldn’t lie to his (first ever) friends about what they had so correctly guessed regarding his monthly absences and injuries. Nor does he remember the snowy January of his fourth year when he had shakily, nervously, anxiously, drunkenly confessed that while he certainly liked girls quite a lot (Mary Macdonald had given him his first snog 3 months prior after all), he also definitely liked boys just as much (one boy in particular if he was honest — he wasn’t, not yet anyways).

The other marauders, his idiot marauders, bloody ADORED Remus John Lupin (he never understood why) and didn't give a DAMN about his condition or who he wanted to date. James-do-you-want-to-kiss-me-as-practice-for-blokes-moony-no-it-isn’t-going-to-be-weird-I’m-delightful-at-snogging-I’m-trying-to-hELP-Potter, Sirius-fuck-fuck-FUCK-he’s-beautiful-he’s-everything-shut-UP-prongs-I-love-him-I-love him-will-he-ever-love-me-Black, and Peter-no-don’t-practice-with-James-I-need-practice-snogging-too-we-could-learn-with-each-other-and-STOP-LAUGHING-PRONGS-Pettigrew spent a month with mandrake leaves pressed to the roof of their mouths so that their best friend, their Moony, wouldn’t have to face his greatest horror alone ever again. These boys, these brilliant wizards, these masters of the map, figured out his “furry little problem”, his deepest secrets, the things he always believed he had to hate, had to deny, and they DIDN’T CARE, they didn’t blink, they didn’t flinch.

(James Potter was the first person to ever know, to ever hear werewolf, and step forward and seize him in a hug without fear, without hesitation, and Remus Lupin never, EVER, forgot and sometimes, years later, when he is alone and the moon has made his bones ache he remembers and he closes his eyes and tries to hold himself as tightly as James Potter’s uncompromising friendship had. It isn’t the same, nothing is the same, and oh how he mourns his lost boys)

However. They’re young, so achingly young, and so often drunk on the invulnerability and impermanence of youth. And in that drunkenness, there was that one time. That horrible time. That one, horrible time in fifth year. When Sirius, his Sirius, who had always understood, who couldn’t have done this to him, not Sirius no, does the unthinkable.

Sirius Black loses his temper (he’s always had such a temper, he says it’s the curse of his surname; Remus knows it’s the pain of his parents hatred) and in his anger and rage and while he’s looking to make someone else hurt more than he is, he plays a prank. Just a prank. Just a prank without thinking for even a moment that sometimes, sometimes Sirius Black’s actions can have consequences he doesn’t expect, and “it’s just fucking Snivellus what do you care Prongs? Prongs? OY WHERE ARE YOU GOING? JAMES?” and Remus’s body is tearing itself apart at the moon’s command, he’s no longer himself, and then suddenly there’s a boy (a horrible, oily boy) and then another (a horribly familar one) and the last thing Remus Lupin is aware of is trying to hurt them, kill them, take them both, and the voice of a friend rising above his own snarls, “it’s not your fault! don’t blame yourself, this isn’t your fault Remus!”. When Remus wakes, his secret is no longer his secret and Snape knows, Snape knows, bloody fucking SNAPE KNOWS. And he’s FURIOUS. He’s livid, he’s broken, he can’t breath and the world is ending and “how could you! HOW COULD YOU?! how could you do this to ME?” Sirius, his Sirius, the boy he was almost sure felt the same way he did, one of his best friends, the one he trusted with the most fragile pieces of his heart, used an affliction Remus hated and loathed and suffered endlessly from in a callous attempt to best a schoolboy rival with no regard, no thought, for how it would hurt him, Remus, most of all.

(Sirius Black never did learn to think before he jumped, and when he dies, high on exhilaration, drunk on the act of actually doing something, he briefly remembers the reckless joy of his youth, because, just for a moment, he is laughing with James beside him, throwing curses and exchanging one-liners — but wait. No. No, no. Not James. Sirius isn’t with James. Harry, he’s with Harry. Until suddenly he isn’t. And Remus Lupin doesn’t scream when Sirius disappears behind the veil, as he holds James’s son back from the same fate. He doesn’t scream. His remembers. A thousand fragments of a million memories. Little flashes slipping, slipping, slipping away just like Sirius through the veil. A handsome face. A barking laugh. Lingering glances in the Great Hall. Months of steadfast and earnest apology and “I don’t expect for you to ever be able to forgive me, I couldn’t, I wouldn’t, but I’ll still be here. Always. I solemnly swear.” A cocky, confident, black-haired man who always somehow seemed eternal. The second one to leave Remus Lupin’s life forever.)

And Remus is SHATTERED and he can’t even LOOK at Sirius, but, then, almost as painful, in a very different way, is James. James, who hasn’t met Sirius’s eyes since he bolted from him to save two lives, James who considers it the height of dishonor to betray ones friends, James who hollered for Remus not to blame himself even as he took the brunt of Remus’s claws when he attacked, will not leave Sirius as Remus has. James wouldn’t abandon Sirius (even though “it’s JUSTIFIED, he deserves IT” but even as Remus screams it he already knows that James agrees and still won’t walk away). Because for James, Sirius is his closest mate, his family, his brother in every sense of the word, and “Moony, please, Moony I know but he needs me, he needs me just as bad.” But Remus, Remus is so hurt, so lost, so fucking alone he couldn’t understand and could only see a second betrayal, this time by his first real friend, “how could you choose him? after this? instead of me?” and James begged “I’m not choosing him Moony please, please, he knows how wrong he was, I’m trying to fix it —“ “It isn’t yours to fix James! You don’t understand, you can’t understand, I was a fool to think you ever could” “Moony, I do, I do understand—” “NO, no, you DON’T or you WOULDN’T—“ “he needs us more than ever —“ “I needed you more than ever and I won’t make that mistake again!” “Moony, no, please, MOONY! OY! Please come back, Moony, PLEASE!” But Remus couldn’t come back, he couldn’t forgive, not this, this betrayal went too deep and it’s consequences were far too harmful.

(And really, it isn’t until James Potter is long dead and Remus Lupin is watching Harry Potter choose to spare the life of the man who ripped James away from them all that he truly understands the particular brand of loyalty James Potter had shown Sirius Black during those awful dark days)

Remus walked away from them, walked away from them all, not even attempting to convince Peter to join him. Peter, who was chalkwhite and pale and shaking from this fight, this fight that was destroying them, his favorite people torn apart, his preferred family splitting at the seams, was being eaten alive with guilt, guilt over Remus’s pain, guilt over thinking it had been rather funny when Sirius had told him exactly a half-hour before he’d told James, and guilt over his relief at being largely ignored in this moment. See, even if Remus had asked him to go, Peter would have stayed with James and Sirius. He wasn’t really expected to say anything in this fight to end all fights, and that was just fine by him, Peter was too afraid of Remus's anger (because of all of them he was the sweetest but he was also the most fearful, and he had never fully mastered James and Sirius’s ability to completely forget Remus’s affliction) and he was not at all willing to risk ending up alone if he chose wrong. So, Peter stuck with James. He stuck with James and tried to help alleviate his most favorite friend of the weight and responsibility of trying to reconnect them. And, with that, for the first time since boarding the Hogwarts Express in first year, Remus Lupin is alone. Refusing to reconcile with his best friends, burning with betrayal, and carrying a cracking, aching heart in his chest, he has no one at all.

(Peter loved Remus, he really did, he loved them all, honest, but he loved James most and he suspected the others knew, and hell, he was sure Pads and Moony loved James most too because why wouldn’t they? Who wouldn’t choose James? James with his easy smile and effortless popularity and hazel eyes that crinkled just so when he threw his head back and laughed. James who could make anyone feel special, who made Peter feel special when no one else ever had. Peter didn’t choose Sirius over Remus, no, he chose James. And Peter Pettigrew chooses James Potter only once more in his life — when he takes his artificial silver hand away from James’s son’s neck and turns it on his own because Harry Potter, oh Harry Potter, looks so much like the boy he loved most all those years ago)

It was just days after the incident and just hours after that last horrible fight with the others, when, with his head heavy in his hands on a bench in the shadowy corner of the courtyard, still sore from the moon, he felt a small, warm hand drop onto his shoulder and lifted his eyes to see flaming red hair and soft green eyes and that kind smile that was so quintessentially Lily Evans. And as his eyes fill with tears, she sits next to him, and, merlin he is so much taller than she is, but she pulls his head down onto her shoulder so he can feel small and protected and safe from the brutal cruelty of Sirius’s mistake. And she doesn't ask questions (but she knows all about Remus's condition, she figured it out ages ago, those marauders really were horrid liars for lads who considered themselves so bloody stealthy) and she had overheard whispers between James, Sirius, and Peter when she certainly had NOT been watching James Potter mussing up his stupid black hair.

(And she certainly hadn’t been worried over what had caused the deep bags under his normally brilliant hazel eyes, she’d never seen him so deflated, so serious, so grown-up, and where was the boy she’d always been sort-of mates with, the one who taught her to play gobstones back in second year, who was so cocky and unshakable, who could even make McGonagall crack a smile in the midst of reprimanding him, and she didn’t like this desperately sad James Potter, she missed awful jokes and horrible pick-up lines more than she ever could have imagined she would and DAMN was James Potter under her skin)

Even though she didn't know the details of what happened, she knew something had. She knew that it had to have been Something Terrible in order to come between those four and when Remus's breath was finally evening out, his shoulders ceasing to shake, he began talking. And talking and talking. Once he started, he didn't stop, didn't even realize that when he mentioned his "furry little problem" Lily Evans didn’t so much as flinch. He unleashed everything, all his pain and heartache and bitter rage, onto his fellow prefect. A girl he’d been mates with for years, who he couldn't believe he hadn't thought of, because if anyone could maybe understand what it was like to be fucking terrified of a blood-deep label it would be her, “a half-breed werewolf and a dirty mudblood what a pair we make, aye Remus?” And it was Lily who accepted his anger at the others, who didn't push him to get over it or talk to them again. It was Lily who late one night, unbeknownst to Remus, cornered Sirius in the common room and, without judgement or anger, helped him too, helped him push his shame aside and “Sirius you need to go to him — no listen — prove to him you regret it and show him you’re sorry, he doesn’t hate you, not really.”

So, it was weeks and weeks later, after a teary reunion and four repaired relationships, that Remus had just managed to stop laughing at Lily’s spirited re-enactment of James drunkenly getting his head stuck in the bannister railing at the last Gryffindor house party. And, just as the Fat Lady’s portrait comes into view with the completion of their rounds for the night, he glances down at the flushed, grinning face of Lily Evans and (feeling oddly sentimental, unusually emotional, and unendingly grateful) softly murmurs to her that he had always wanted a sister yet he hadn’t realized that she would have red hair and a massive crush on his best mate. Even as she shrieked and laughed in (quite forced) outrage, aiming a kick at his shins, she also reached out and squeezed his hand quite tightly, not dropping it as they strolled into the common room to greet their friends. Lily Evans was there for Remus Lupin at a time when no one else was, at a time when he was far too fragile for anyone else to be, because no one can care for you better than a sister.

(Lily Evans knew how to be a sister even after hers decided to hate her but never imagined that she could find a brother in the form of Remus Lupin, a brother who would love and accept her the way her sister never could. And when James and Lily Potter died, Remus Lupin mourned both his truest friend and only sibling. Years later, back on the Hogwarts Express, he hands chocolate to a shaken and embarrassed thirteen-year-old boy with James’s face and Lily’s eyes and wonders if Harry Potter would ever know that he hadn’t always been Professor Lupin, he had first been Uncle Moony)

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adiwriting · 4 years

Text

(gif by @darlingnotso <3 )

@arielana requested: I would love to see them actually talk about some of the moments from previous seasons that hurt or were awkward when they happened, for example ”ends with a whimper” or ”tortured lust/sup bro” (or anything else, so much tension to choose from). Not as a fight, but instead when they are cuddled up together, feeling safe, able to have a soft conversation about how they both felt and to comfort each other, realizing how far they have come, maybe able to tease each other about it even.

As always, prompts for this verse are open. Drop them in my inbox or message me - anon is off for the time being while I wait for some hate to die down, but if you message me and want the request to remain anon, just say so and I will honor your privacy always <3

PSA: As I stated last week, I will be putting money towards the Navajo Nation COVID-19 Relief Fund every time that I post Malex fic. If you are willing and able to help, feel free to donate as well, every small bit helps. My friend @michaels-blackhat also made an excellent post of other ways to help if you are unable to do so financially.

Week 15

Alex sits between Michael’s legs on the chaise, leaning against his back as he drinks his morning coffee. The dogs are running around the yard, distracted for a change, giving them a quiet moment to themselves. Like they used to have before they adopted four dogs at once and their house had become complete chaos. Lovable chaos, a chaos that they both thrive under, but still chaos.

“The garden looks great,” Alex comments. “Good job, babe.”

Michael nuzzles his nose into his neck, his breath tickling Alex in the most delightful way. “Thanks, I’m thinking about building the dogs a playhouse next,” he says softly, leaving a trail of kisses. “It’s nice to have a yard.”

“It’s nice to have somebody to tend to the yard,” he says, tilting his head to provide Micheal with greater access in his explorations.

He’s stopped questioning all of Michael’s multiple projects a while ago. Alex just loves that he’s been making their house a home for them both. Something that’s uniquely both of theirs. It’s everything he’d hoped for when he’d bought this house. He’d been naive then and thought their path back together would be smooth. That the moment he showed up with open arms, Michael would be there waiting for him.

Looking back, that hadn’t been fair. But Alex is glad that, despite everything, they’ve still managed to make it back to each other.

He takes another sip of his coffee, smiling at the caramel Bailey’s that Michael had spiked it with. They’ve got nowhere to be today and it’s the perfect excuse to day drink. They’ve both had a long week between work and the latest alien drama and they deserve to spend the day doing nothing but lounging around.

“I will happily tend to your yard whenever it’s needed,” Michael says. “Gotta make sure everything’s pristine in case Mrs. Register decides to call HOA on us again.”

Alex freezes at the words and Michael immediately takes notice, stopping his kisses and pulling away to watch his face.

“It’s our yard,” he says carefully.

They haven’t talked about this. Not really. Alex has been too nervous to mess up their domestic bliss with a potentially difficult conversation. After all, Michael is sleeping here every single night. It hardly seems important to get caught up on the semantics of it all.

Except hearing Michael say ‘your’ instead of ‘our’ has a wave of panic moving through him and he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t know why.

Michael smiles at him and leans in to kiss him, but Alex pulls away before he can.

It’s not the first time Michael has said something like this to him. Each time Alex has allowed Michael to kiss him and change the subject, brushing it away like it doesn’t matter. This time, though, it matters.

Alex takes a deep breath, summoning all of his courage and prays he’s not about to ruin things between them. “Why do you always tell people you don’t live here.”

“Um…” Michael looks away, shifting in his seat. Alex scoots back and sits on the edge of the chaise so that they can look at each other properly. “Because I don’t?”

The words sting and Alex’s immediate impulse is to push back. To come back with biting words of his own and retain some power in the conversation. But those are old habits that got them nowhere in life, and they’ve both been working actively on doing better. He swallows down several mean and unhelpful retorts, before it processes in his mind that Michael isn’t looking at him with any spite.

Michael is playing with the fraying hem of his sweatpants. His shoulders are squared like he’s ready for war, but his eyes tell a different story. He’s nervous and insecure. He’s not preparing to go to battle, he’s bracing himself for bad news.

Alex scoots closer and reaches out to place his hand on top of Michael’s. “You’re going to ruin those sweatpants if you keep pulling on that thread.”

Michael looks up at him, and while he doesn’t reach out for Alex, he doesn’t stop Alex when he reaches to hold his hand properly with one hand, and threads his fingers through his hair with the other. In fact, he leans into the touch.

“I consider this place as much yours as it is mine,” he says, knowing that Michael has to feel the same, at least to some degree. After all, he’s spent the last 3 months making this place into a home that works for both of them. Taking complete ownership of all the upgrades.

Or maybe Alex was wrong. Maybe the fact that Michael has been constantly working to remodel the house is because he doesn’t feel at home here. There’s a twisting feeling in his gut that used to send him running for the hills, but he doesn’t do that anymore. He doesn’t run away from hard things.

“You never asked me to move in with you,” Michael says pointedly.

Alex snorts, dropping his hand from Michael’s hair. “That’s because you already live here. All of your things are here—”

“Not all of them,” he interrupts, defensively.

Alex just keeps going. “And you already sleep here every night.”

“That’s because it’s easier for you to move around here than the airstream with your crutches and all,” he argues. “Plus, the dogs need a fenced-in yard.”

“Michael,” Alex says, seriously. He waits a moment or two before Michael meets his eyes. “I didn’t ask you to move in with me because you were already here every night. It didn’t seem necessary.”

“Is that the only reason?” he asks.

Michael stares at him and it’s moments like this that he’s convinced Michael has the same psychic abilities as Isobel. He’s always able to see right through him. It was unnerving at first, but Alex has learned to appreciate it. He has somebody to call him on his bullshit.

“I guess I was scared to ask because I didn’t want you to say no and lose all of this,” he admits.

“Why would I say no?” Michael asks, not unkind but clearly confused.

“Why would you say yes?” The words come out of his mouth faster than he can think and when he realizes what he’s just said, he’s positive that he’s just opened up a much bigger can of worms than simply a conversation about where Michael gets his mail delivered.

Michael looks at him like he’s a dumbass.

“Because I’m already here,” he says a fond smile growing slowly on his face. He tugs on Alex’s hand until he practically falls into Michael’s lap. They shift around until they are both comfortable, Alex with his head in Michael’s lap and Michael with his hands in Alex’s hair.

“Does this ever feel temporary to you?” Alex asks, his voice barely a whisper, but Michael hears him just fine.

“Like we’re living in a glass house?” he asks. Alex nods and Michael says, “Yeah.”

“Why?” he asks, frustrated for the both of them. “We both know that we love each other.”

Michael shrugs and leans his head back to look at the sky. “I guess I’ve never had anything permanent before. Or unconditional.”

“You’ve had Max and Isobel,” he says. Alex’s own thoughts and feelings about Isobel and Max’s behavior towards Michael after Rosa died aside, Alex knows that they love their brother unconditionally.

“Yeah, that’s different though,” Michael argues, and Alex almost misses it when he adds, “They’ve never left.”

The defensive part of him nearly brings up the fact that Max died and left Michael to pick up the pieces, but that wouldn’t be fair nor would that help their relationship. They are supposed to be communicating. Alex has been working with his therapist on how to talk through his feelings without feeling the need to throw his walls up.

“I’m not leaving,” is what he says instead, because it’s what Michael needs to hear.

“I know,” Michael says quickly.

“Do you?” he asks, watching Michael’s face carefully.

“I do,” he says with a soft smile. “In my heart I do know that.”

“But?” Alex asks, even though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer. Alex feels it sometimes, too. On his worst days when his insecurity gets the best of him, he starts questioning how long this can really last.

“I guess it’s hard to trust that I’m worthy of it,” he says.

Though it’s the answer that Alex expected, actually hearing the words shatters Alex’s heart. He knows that Michael has a laundry list of traumas that lead to him feeling insecure, but the fact that he’s contributed to that list actually breaks his heart.

“I know that we never apologized for the things that happened before,” he says.

Michael shakes his head. “We didn’t need to. We wiped the slate clean and promised to look forward together and do better.”

“We did,” he says carefully, choosing his words wisely because he’s never been very good at conveying what he wants to say in a way that Michael can actually hear. “But maybe we should have talked about it first.”

“Okay…”

Michael squirms around in his seat like he wants to be done with this conversation, but his eyes tell a different story and that’s when Alex knows that he’s right. It had been easy when they first were getting together to just look ahead and stop keeping score. But pretending like they’ve never hurt each other in the past and aren’t perfectly capable of hurting each other again in the future if they aren’t careful was the easy answer. It allowed both of them to avoid a difficult conversation where they would have to face some pretty ugly truths about themselves.

“You know all those times I walked away were never about you,” Alex tells him.

“Weren’t they?” Michael says with a scoff. “You’re a decorated airman and I’m a criminal.”

Alex sits up, angry at the words coming out of Michael’s mouth.

“You’re not a criminal,” he says sharply. It doesn’t matter who is talking badly about Michael, even if it’s Michael himself — especially if it’s Michael himself — Alex is always going to get defensive.

Michael gives him a knowing look and Alex deflates. “When I said that, I was out of line. I didn’t mean it.”

“You meant it,” Michael says, eyes trained on the game of tug of war that Wendy and Peter are playing so he doesn’t have to look at Alex.

“Maybe I did,” he relents. “But I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I was just frustrated.”

“With me,” Michael says, always so quick to confirm whatever self-deprecating narrative he tells himself and Alex hates that.

“No, that what happened with my dad unraveled your entire future,” he argues. “I felt so guilty for the fact that you didn’t become some brilliant engineer. I was mad at myself that I let my dad destroy your life.”

“What happened in that tool shed didn’t destroy my life, Noah did,” Michael says, tears filling his eyes. “Project Shepard did. Years of abusive foster homes did.”

“I know that now,” he says.

Michael opens his mouth a few times to speak, but closes it each time, shaking his head. Alex doesn’t say anything. Since adopting Bell, he’s been reading a lot about how to help animals that have been through severe trauma. He’s been surprised to find that so much of the literature relates to his own needs coming from an abusive home. He’s come to realize that both Michael and he have their own unique way of reacting to the trauma in their lives and those reactions, while they align nicely at times, often push against each other.

This isn’t the time for Alex to force an answer out of Michael in an effort to gain the control that he feels he needs to be able to breathe. Alex needs to wait for Michael to come to him. He needs time.

Bell comes over to them and Michael sits back so that she can jump onto the chaise with them and curl up between them. They both reach out to pet her, hands touching in the process and the smile that Michael gives him helps assure Alex that everything is going to be okay. Even as they discuss the ugliest parts of their relationship, there’s a trust there that Alex has never experienced before.

Michael isn’t going anywhere. He never has. Even when things between them were at their worst, they still somehow always knew they could rely on each other.

So Alex lets go of his need to control the conversation and refuses to allow his brain to start coming up with strategies on how to handle whatever Michael is going to throw at him. He just waits. Waits and trusts.

“After you left that summer, I was really angry,” Michael finally says. “And I stayed mad for a long time. I used to hate that you could just show up, whenever you wanted and get whatever you wanted, and yet, I never seemed to get what I wanted.”

Alex takes a deep breath, biting his tongue on the words that could so easily tumble out of his mouth right now. Nothing Michael is saying is untrue, it’s just bias. He doesn’t have the entire story, and that’s not Michael’s fault. That’s Alex’s fault.

“I never got what I wanted either,” he says with tears in his eyes. “I wanted you. I wanted this.” He gestures around at the home that he thought they were building together. That he hopes they still are building together.

“I know that now,” Michael says, repeating his words back to him with a soft smile.

“I know that you were just being defensive because you needed to guard your heart and couldn’t trust me to stay… but when I first came back, the way you would speak to me sometimes just broke my heart,” Alex admits. “I fell in love with a boy who would whisper the cheesiest romantic lines in my ear, and I came home to a man who was sarcastic and bitter and looking to hurt me.”

“I think we both were looking to hurt each other at times and knew exactly which button to press,” Michael says. “I’m not proud of how I acted when you first came home.”

“You can be proud of some of it,” Alex teases, trying to lighten the mood since Michael’s face is starting to look too sad for his liking.

“Like the reunion kiss?”

“That was a good kiss,” he says, remembering how relieved he had been when Michael had finally reached out and taken what both of them wanted but Alex didn’t know how to ask for. “Or that time you told me you never look away.”

Michael shakes his head making a face. “I don’t like that memory.”

“Why?” he wonders.

There aren't a whole lot of memories when Alex first came back to Roswell that he’d describe as happy, but pretty much everything from Michael telling him he never looks away right up until Isobel had shown up with those damn bagels, Alex holds pretty close to his heart.

“Do you really feel like I’m the one that looks away?” he asks with a deep frown. “Like I was the one to leave back then?”

“You never even said goodbye.” Alex isn’t trying to start a fight here, but Michael has to get that he’s the one that pushed first.

“I was in jail,” he says defensively.

“You got locked up on purpose,” Alex says, not letting go of this one. It’s one of the pains that has fed a large chunk of his Michael related insecurities. That Michael didn’t care enough about him to give him a goodbye. That perhaps Michael hadn’t loved him as much as he’d told Alex he did.

“I didn’t know how to say goodbye to you,” Michael says, grabbing his hand over Bell, his eyes imploring him to understand. “My entire life was falling apart and you were the only good thing I had… Then you told me that you were leaving me and you never even explained why. You just said it like it was no big deal and I had all of 36 hours to adjust to the news that you were shipping off.”

“I didn’t say I was leaving you. I told you I was leaving,” he corrects him.

“Same thing.”

“I would have made it work,” he said. “To keep you, I would have done long distance.”

Michael shakes his head. “No, Alex. You wouldn’t have.”

“I would have tried,” he argues.

“Really? You would have risked everything with your dad and Don’t Ask Don’t Tell? You would have risked that all for me?” Michael says with disbelief.

Alex sighs, thinking back to what things were like for them back then. Perhaps Michael is right. Maybe he was too broken and scared back then to fight for what he wanted. But he’s not that boy anymore.

“I wanted to. I wanted you. I just… I couldn’t deal with everything,” he admits. Michael reaches over to wipe a tear from Alex’s cheek. “I’m willing to risk everything for you now though.”

“I know,” Michael says, thumb caressing his cheek lovingly. “I know you are and I love you for it.”

“I wish I had been braver back then,” Alex says.

“Hey, we’re here now, right?” he says, and Alex is so grateful that they are at this point in their relationship where they can talk about these things without it dissolving into a huge fight. But still, it doesn’t change the fact that not talking about all of their past has led to both of them feeling insecure in their relationship.

Alex leans over Bell to give Michael a sweet kiss. When they break apart, Michael has that look on his face like he wants to say more but isn’t sure he should.

“What?”

“Was I really that bad?” Michael asks. “I mean, I know I was getting into fights, but I was getting into fights with the town bigots. It’s not like you never punched any of those assholes. And I was stealing because I couldn't go to the doctor and I couldn’t afford medical supplies. But I was never violent around you. The worst I ever did around you was smoke weed, and half the time you were the one supplying it.”

Alex debates how to explain it to Michael in a way that he’ll understand. Even now, with some distance and time, he’s not entirely sure that he was seeing things clearly back then. To Alex, it didn’t matter that he rarely saw Michael drunk and out of control, or that he never actually saw him in any of the fights around town. He heard about each of them.

And each time he would hear about it, all he could think about was his dad, who would come home to get drunk most nights and with each drink his abuse would shift from emotional to physical. He didn’t want to stick around and see how long it would take for Michael to escalate.

Now, he knows that Michael never would have. He knows that Michael has spent his entire life learning to control his temper and his powers. That he never drinks enough to lose control. That he never lets himself get violent with anyone unless they’ve said something hateful about somebody he cares about. Michael is soft and good. He’s not the kind of man who thrives under anger and violence.

But how was Alex supposed to know that at the time? All he’d ever known was anger and violence.

“You weren’t the only one who never had anything permanent or unconditional,” he says instead. “I didn’t know what I was doing either. Or how to help. And I didn’t know how to handle the guilt I felt around you for what happened with my dad. I think… I think it was easier for me to run.”

“Run off to war,” Michael says, giving him a look that has Alex rolling his eyes.

“Yes, I see the irony, thanks,” he says, rubbing at his leg. “It’s not like my dad gave me much choice in the matter.”

“So he forced you into it?” Michael asks. “When I asked you if your dad was making you do it, you brushed me off. Gave me some bullshit line about finding your own power.”

“My dad told me that I was either going to enlist or I would be cut off completely,” he said. “Those had been my options since junior year when I started looking at colleges. I was prepared to be cut off. But after Rosa died and Liz left and you started spiraling… I just didn’t feel like I had anyone.”

“You had Maria.”

“Maria was never leaving Roswell. And I sure as hell wasn’t staying. So I enlisted,” he says. “I know it must sound stupid to you, the fact that I didn’t know how to survive without my dad’s money… But I didn’t. And I still really wanted his approval for some stupid reason. I felt like… Like maybe if I enlisted…”

“Like he would finally love you,” Michael finishes for him.

Alex nods. “I know you think I’m stupid for giving him so many chances to be a decent human being.”

Michael looks like he’s about to give an angry retort of his own, but swallows it down. “I should never have called you stupid that day, I was just frustrated,” Michael says. “I’m just not like you. People suck and the world is overwhelmingly awful. My anger does make me feel safe. It’s what fuels my power. I don’t know how to let it go and I’m not sure I want to.”

“You don’t have to,” Alex says quickly. “I mean I do hope that you eventually will. Because anger is bad for your health and I’m assuming that is true whether you’re human or alien. But it’s not fair for me to criticize your healing process. We both have a lot of trauma in our backgrounds. And we survived this long because we each came up with different coping mechanisms to get through. We shouldn’t judge each other or expect each other to deal with things in the same way.”

“Did Dr. Celan tell you that during your last checkup with Bell?” Michael asks with a teasing smile, wiping away the tears from his eyes before Alex has a chance to.

“Hey, dog trauma and people trauma isn’t that different,” Alex argues.

John comes walking over to them and collapses on the ground beside them, whining in the way he always does.

“Guess it’s probably time to get them back inside in the air conditioning,” Michael says, leaning down to pick John up and hold him against his chest.

Alex looks across the yard to where Wendy and Peter are currently harassing a poor rabbit. “Wendy! Peter! Leave that thing alone!” Alex calls after them.

“Let ‘em. That damn rabbit is going to destroy the garden,” Michael complains.

“Yeah and the moment those two idiots bring a dead bloody rabbit to the door, I’m going to lose my mind,” he says.

“You’ve been to war and a dead rabbit is too much?” Michael teases.

“What if they eat it?”

“You worry too much,” Michael says, standing up and walking towards the door, whistling for the kids to come inside.

“Says the dad who literally carries that one everywhere,” Alex says, grabbing his crutch so that he can follow everyone into the house.

“He gets cold,” Michael says defensively, covering John’s little ears as if his feelings might get hurt. “And his legs get tired.”

Alex smiles at him fondly, rolling his eyes. Michael is ridiculous but he loves him for it. Seeing Michael with the dogs has only increased Alex’s desire to see Michael with a baby. With their baby. But they shouldn’t get too ahead of themselves. First, he has to convince Michael to move in.

“So, back to the original topic,” he says.

“Which was?” Michael asks, distracted as he puts John down in the kitchen in front of his water bowl.

“Moving in with me.”

Michael stands up and gives him an amused smile. “Are you asking?”

Alex lets out an annoyed huff at Michael being deliberately obtuse, because he knows that Alex isn’t always the best with his words. But if Michael wants to hear him say it, he can do that.

“Michael Guerin, will you move in with me,” he asks.

Michael beams at him, moving to stand in front of him and place his hands on Alex’s waist. “Of course. I was waiting for you to ask.”

“I want you here,” Alex assures him. “Always.”

Alex leans in and captures Michael’s lips with his own, tasting the coffee and Baileys on Michael’s lips as well. His hand slides up Michael’s sides as they shift closer together and deepen the kiss. He holds onto his crutch with his hand, feeling unsteady, but trusting Michael to make sure he doesn’t fall. His hand moves around his shoulder until it finally finds its way into his beautiful curls. Their tongues slide against each other as they both pull one another closer, Alex feeling Michael support his weight with his telekinesis, so that he doesn’t have to cling so tightly to the crutch. Alex’s hand moves to pull at the drawstring of Michael’s sweatpants when Michael pulls back.

“Before we change the subject completely,” Michael says, sounding out of breath, which gives Alex endless satisfaction. “Can I tell you something?”

Alex nods.

“I’m not angry all of the time,” he says.

Alex gives him a confused look. Unsure what he’s getting at.

“You said that you want me to let go of my anger and I said that I wasn’t sure that I wanted to,” he says. Alex nods. He remembers. “I’m not angry all of the time.”

“Okay...”

“I’m not angry when I’m here with you. With the dogs. I’m actually pretty content,” he admits.

Watching the way that Michael smiles at him, Alex is pretty sure that he understands exactly what Michael is talking about — He’s never been more content in his life.

Tagged: @callieramics @redstalkingdeath @alexmaanes

#fic: sunday mornings #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #domestic bliss

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lake-arrius-caverns · 3 years

Text

Nerevarine Rising

Chapter 13: Three’s A Crowd

hey just a PSA that since i’ve fallen behind (this chapter is ridiculously late) i’m going to take a short break from posting for a while to work on building up a buffer! (join our discord and bug me to write pls)

summary Fahjoth is hopeful that tensions between Julan and Ribyna will settle, but their animosity risks a guild assignment going pear-shaped.

content warnings violence, blood, minor character death

read under the cut or on AO3, cheers 👍

:: First :: || << Previous << || >> Next >> || :: Masterpost ::

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He stood quietly awaiting a response after rapping his knuckles on the door, but only a heavy silence greeted him. Frowning, Fahjoth tried again, a little more forcefully this time. This was the right room, wasn’t it?

The third knock finally yielded a result. From within the room came a low, long groan, and Fahjoth took that as his cue to open the door a sliver and peer inside.

“Rise and shine,” he called, trying to hold back a grin at the state his friend was in. Julan was slouched on the bed, fully clothed and burying his face in his hands. “How are you feeling?”

“Ugh… fantastic,” came Julan’s gruff response. “Why did you let me drink so much?”

“You’re the one who kept asking for more! Want me to stop you next time?”

“Yes.” Julan paused. “Maybe. I don’t know. Sheogorath, it feels like my head’s about to explode…”

Fahjoth chuckled, pushing the door open a little more to step inside. “Are you up for training today? Or d’you need some time to, uh… recover?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine,” Julan insisted, hauling himself to his feet and staggering slightly on the spot as he fought to balance himself. “So how come you’re looking so fresh this early?”

“Early?” Fahjoth repeated. “Mate, it’s gone midday.”

“It has?” Julan squinted at Fahjoth as he rubbed his head. “Gods… alright, there’s no time to waste then. What’s the plan?”

“Well, I thought maybe we could do something a bit more practical today,” Fahjoth started. “How d’you fancy taking out a bandit leader?”

“Bandits? Sure.”

With no sign of Cosades to be seen that morning, Fahjoth had stopped by the Fighters Guild to find something, anything to keep him busy and to keep the gold coming in. While the prospect of facing an entire gang of bandits by himself was daunting, he was a little more confident that he and Julan would be able to deal with it together. And having Ribyna tag along couldn’t hurt, although he hoped that she and Julan would be able to put their differences aside for the time being.

Julan continued to chatter as he sat back down again to pull on his boots. “D’you do this sort of thing regularly?”

“Sort of.” Fahjoth leaned against the doorframe, waiting and watching idly. “I’ve done a few jobs for the Fighters Guild to earn a bit more gold. Nothing this big before, mind.”

“The Fighters Guild? You’ve never mentioned that. Fighters… they’re alright, I guess.” Julan suddenly looked up, eyes wide. “Hey, have you ever seen a Nord hit himself in the face with his own hammer?”

“No?”

Julan sighed, a grin growing on his face. “Well, me neither, but I live in hope.” He stood up and approached the doorway, patting Fahjoth on the shoulder as he reached him. “After you.”

Fahjoth laughed as he headed out of the cornerclub, feeling an odd excitement begin to quiver somewhere in his gut. Or was that nervousness? Whatever it was, the feeling intensified as he stepped outside and came face-to-face with his twin, who was leaning against the wall and looking bored stiff as she waited for them.

“About fucking time,” Ribyna muttered, and as Julan stepped out after him, Fahjoth heard him falter. His good mood instantly took a nosedive; he had been hopeful for a few more moments of peace at least before the hostilities began again.

“Are you still up for coming with us to Suran, Beebs?” Fahjoth asked, in an attempt to ease the tension.

“Why the fuck else d’you think I’d be stood here like a lemon waiting for you?” She jerked her head towards Julan. “The question is whether drunk tank here can cope with it.”

Julan frowned. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure about that? You got pretty hammered last night.” Ribyna’s voice was casual, but the glare she fixed Julan with was hard and cold. “You almost drank a hole in Fahji’s coin purse.”

“What does that even—”

“Guys!” Fahjoth said abruptly, rubbing his temple as he spoke. Better to nip this in the bud before it became blown out of proportion. “Let’s get going, shall we? It’s a fair way to Suran. It’d be nice to get there before it gets dark.”

Neither Ribyna nor Julan continued to bicker, but the scathing looks they shot at each other instead left Fahjoth’s nerves shot. Julan’s eyes eventually met Fahjoth’s own and he began to look quite guilty.

“Sorry, Fahjoth,” Julan said. “Go ahead.”

Fahjoth flashed Julan a small smile of appreciation before setting off out of town. The balmy afternoon sun warming the top of his head offered little comfort as he dreaded having to break up fight after fight between his two companions, an outcome that was looking more likely by the minute.

——————————————

The journey to Suran passed mostly in a very strained silence. Fahjoth would make conversation with Julan or with Ribyna, but never both at the same time, as they seemed to be doing their best to ignore each other. Fahjoth wasn’t sure whether he preferred that over the snide comments and defensive retorts.

His contact in Suran, Serjo Avon Oran, resided in what was possibly the grandest house Fahjoth had ever set foot in. Delicate steps and care to avoid breaking or dirtying anything led the three to Oran; on speaking to him, Fahjoth learned that the bandits were occupying a cave among the hills to the northeast.

“Be careful,” Oran had cautioned. “Nasty piece of work, those bandits. But take out their leader, Daldur Sarys, and the rest should scatter. Good luck.”

With this advice in mind, Fahjoth was thoughtful as they exited Oran Manor and stepped out into the cool Suran evening.

“I felt so weird being in a house like that,” Julan remarked. “I was expecting someone to yell at me for trailing muck all over their floor…”

“You know, you were trailing a lot more than muck in there,” Ribyna replied. She sniffed, looking down at Julan’s boots. “Is that guar shit?”

A momentary flash of alarm crossed Julan’s face and he hastily lifted up his foot to check the underside of his shoe, only to scowl as Ribyna in turn cackled like a hyena.

“Don’t listen to her, she’s winding you up,” Fahjoth said with a sigh. “Right, well, if you’re done, shall we get going? We’re losing daylight. Unless we got a room for the night and headed out first thing.”

“Oh no, I’m not hanging around any longer than I need to!” Ribyna insisted, already turning on her heel and strolling out under the town’s entrance archway. “We’re going. What are you? Men or scribs?”

“You know that shit doesn’t work on me!” Fahjoth called, but nonetheless he followed suit, glancing back to ensure that Julan was following.

“Well, come on then! You and Guar-Boy better get a move on, or those bandits will have died of old age by the time we get there.”

Fahjoth said nothing, merely trotted along in Ribyna’s wake with an exasperated roll of his eyes. Likewise, Julan was quiet, but when Fahjoth risked a peek back at him, he caught him furiously mouthing “Guar-Boy?!” under his breath.

The road to Saturan was pleasantly empty. With the shadows cast by the sun growing as it sank behind the hills, plunging them into the bitterly chilly shade, Fahjoth was grateful that they encountered no trouble along the way.

By the time they located Saturan, dusk had come and gone, leaving only clear dark skies glittering with distant stars overhead. Fahjoth shivered as he stared at the cave entrance, the dilapidated wooden door concealing the unknown that lay within. He took a few cautious steps closer and gently pushed the door open, wincing as the hinges emitted a slight, shrill creak. The inside of the cave stretched further in than Fahjoth could see, its earthy tunnels lit by bracketed torches propped up on long iron poles jutting up from the ground.

The entrance cave meandered on for a short distance, descending deeper into the hill until opening up into a much larger cavern. The path was supplemented by a rough wooden boardwalk, its far end strewn with crates and candles and a ladder leading down to the lower levels. Fahjoth scuttled along, taking care not to hit his head on the low-hanging stalactites until he reached the crates, and beckoned Julan and Ribyna along behind him as he tucked himself behind one. Here, they looked down upon the lower boardwalk, where a few others paced back and forth, carrying boxes and sacks of loot back and forth. Fahjoth’s gaze was fixed down below, but he heard Ribyna and Julan settling down and crouching on either side.

“So, these must be the bandits,” Julan whispered. “Have you got a plan?”

“Sort of,” Fahjoth answered. “We need to get to the leader, somehow. Daldur Sarys. If we can take him out with a sneak attack, the rest should scatter like Oran said.”

“Right! So… how do we get to Sarys? Which one is Sarys, anyway?”

Fahjoth paused, frowning as he stared down at the bandit activity below. Truthfully, it was impossible to know exactly who their target was; all they could do was hope to hear his name brought up in conversation and go from there. But how long could they stay put, before someone discovered them and raised the alarm?

As Fahjoth pondered this rather pressing dilemma, he became aware of a soft rustling and clinking coming from his left. He glanced over, his heart beginning to hammer as he watched Ribyna idly rummaging through one of the crates.

“Oh hey, look!” She held up what seemed to be a bottle of sujamma, admiring it in the soft orange light of a nearby candle. “There’s loads of this shit in here! We won’t have to buy drinks for like, a week with this lot.”

Like Fahjoth, Julan’s agitation was evident.

“Put that down, they’ll hear you!” he hissed, lunging for the bottle. Though he made contact, Ribyna refused to relinquish it, keeping a firm grip on it herself.

“Piss off, Guar-Boy, get your own!”

“I’m not trying to steal it, you s’wit!”

“Oh yeah, right-o! I bet you’d be happy to guzzle this whole crate by yourself, you fucking alchie!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?! Let go—!”

With one sharp tug from Julan, the bottle was wrenched from Ribyna’s grip. But Julan, not expecting Ribyna to let go, toppled back and hit the boardwalk with a dull thud. His elbow struck the wood and the bottle was flung from his grasp, sailing over the side of the boardwalk and crashing against the wooden deck below, shattering on impact and splattering its sweet, frothy innards in a graceful explosion of liquor.

“Shit—!”

Fahjoth ducked back behind the crates, keeping himself as low to the ground as possible as he reached out towards Julan and hauled him back to safety as soon as he felt their hands meet. As the three huddled together, their breathing laboured with the effort of remaining as silent as possible, Fahjoth strained his ears to listen.

It was quiet. Far too quiet. The sounds of activity below ceased entirely as all bandits froze in their tracks.

“What the hell?”

Over the sound of Fahjoth’s own rapid heartbeat reverberating in his head, he listened to the soft creaking of the wooden planks beneath the bandits’ cautious feet becoming louder as the seconds ticked by. They couldn’t remain there for much longer.

“Fahjoth,” Julan whispered, “we have to do something.” He paused to listen for a moment before continuing with the same hushed urgency, “If we all rush out at the same time, maybe we can catch them off-guard.”

“Yeah. It’s our best chance,” Fahjoth agreed. “Alright... ready? One... two... three!”

Julan led the assault. He vaulted down the steps and engaged with the first bandit, an Orc who was unlucky enough to be standing closest. As Fahjoth followed suit, from his periphery he saw Ribyna leap over the crates and land on the lower boardwalk where she lunged at the closest bandit. The force from her collision knocked them both clean off the edge, causing a loud squelch as they landed in the muck beneath.

Fahjoth drew his weapon as he charged forward and the Redguard bandit in front of him scrambled back for distance, reaching for his own axe. But Fahjoth was faster, and the Redguard hollered as his hand was struck with Fahjoth’s sword, leaving an angry, weeping welt across his knuckles. With the blade sailing ever closer, the Redguard threw up both hands in an act of surrender.

“I yield!” he cried, and Fahjoth ceased his attack. There was no way he could kill a surrendering man... But his sword hand did not waver, and after a second he spoke the first thing that came to mind.

“I’ll give you one chance,” he said, his voice heavy with threat. “Your group’s done. Get out.”

The Redguard needed no encouragement. Edging around Fahjoth’s sword, he broke into a sprint up the steps and fled, his footsteps echoing down the cavern until the creaking of the door in the distance announced his departure.

As he caught his breath, Fahjoth glanced around to see how his companions were faring. His eyes fell on Julan; his sword was slick with blood and his opponent had dropped twitching to the ground, and a surge of admiration welled up in Fahjoth’s chest. He opened his mouth to call over to him, but the air froze in his chest as a shadow caught his eye.

A hunched figure crept closer to Julan, the glint of a blade flashing in the candlelight as it was drawn from its sheath.

“Julan!” Fahjoth yelled, kicking off into a mad dash back up the boardwalk to his friend. The figure, a Dunmer, recognising that his cover had been blown, fully brandished his weapon and rushed towards Julan as well. As Julan raised his own sword, Fahjoth caught up with the bandit and threw himself legs-first at the bandit’s ankles.

A burning pain radiated out from his shin as the bandit’s foot collided with it. Fahjoth skidded to the ground, but his effort had been enough. The Dunmer, tripped up by Fahjoth’s sliding tackle, stumbled forward — and directly into range of Julan’s shortsword. Julan lunged, impaling the bandit clean through the neck. With blood dribbling from his gurgling mouth, the bandit crumpled to his knees, and after a hard kick to the chest from Julan, he dropped to the ground and fell still.

With his leg throbbing, Fahjoth struggled to get his feet, but Julan was quick to approach and offer a hand which he gladly accepted. But before he could say his thanks, footsteps at the end of the cavern alerted them to the arrival of two more Dunmer.

One of them, donning thick chitin armour, stared at the scene in shock before his angular features twisted with rage.

“You’ll regret killing my people, you n’wah!” he hissed, drawing a glimmering sword as he stepped closer. Behind him, the second Dunmer — donning the elegant robes of a mage — raised his hands as he prepared a blistering fiery spell. Julan prepared his own spell in retaliation, but before the mage could attack, a dark figure on the ground beneath the boardwalk suddenly lunged at his legs.

The mage howled as Ribyna plunged her dagger into his knee, and as he was rendered lame and unbalanced, she grabbed his robes and dragged him down to the ground with her. The head bandit — Daldur Sarys — snapped his head around in alarm, and Fahjoth took his opportunity.

He struck at Sarys with his sword, but Sarys faced him in time to block it with his own, the hilt vibrating in Fahjoth’s hand and the blades screeching as they clashed. As Fahjoth jumped back to avoid Sarys’ retaliation, Julan’s voice rang out from behind.

“Fahjoth, get down!”

Without hesitation, Fahjoth ducked.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as a crackling energy sailed overhead. He risked peering up in time to witness a bolt of electricity crashing down on Sarys. As the magic jolted through his body, he gave a choked gasp and stumbled back, and Fahjoth took his chance. He whacked at Sarys’ sword arm, and — as he drew a deep breath and steeled himself — slashed his blade across the bandit’s throat.

With a deep laceration in his neck now gushing blood, Sarys began to stagger on the spot. A weak glow illuminated his hand as he tried desperately to heal himself, but the damage had already been done. Unable to breathe, and with his own blood generously painting both himself and the wooden planks beneath his feet, Sarys could only remain standing for a few seconds more before his legs gave way beneath him and, like the rest of his comrades, he collapsed.

With the silence in the cavern now punctuated only by the sound of their ragged panting, Fahjoth turned to face Julan, taking deep breaths in an attempt to force his heart rate back to normal. The pain in his leg now pulsed much more noticeably than before.

“I think that’s all of them,” he said, limping to meet Julan and weakly wiggling his sword to shake off the blood. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Julan answered. “What about you? Is your leg okay? That fall looked nasty.”

“It will be,” Fahjoth replied, but before he could continue, a noise behind them caused them both to whirl around in alarm. Fahjoth’s heart hammered again, but it calmed as soon as he realised it was just Ribyna, wearily clambering back up onto the boardwalk from the muddy cave floor beneath, splattered from head to foot with a grim combination of muck and blood. Fahjoth started towards her and offered a hand to help her up — which she ignored entirely.

“Beebs! Are you alright—“

“No thanks to you.”

Fahjoth paused. “What d’you mean?“ She had since got to her feet, but as Fahjoth tried to reach out to her again, he faltered as she smacked his hand away. “Ribyna, what’s the matter?”

Ribyna didn’t answer. Instead she gave a derisive scoff, turning away from Fahjoth and making a half-hearted attempt to clean the grime off her leathers. Confusion gave way to a prickling anger as Fahjoth’s blood began to boil.

Before he could stop himself, he had snapped back.

“What exactly is your problem? I mean if it wasn’t for you fighting with Julan, none of this would have happened in the first place! What the hell were you thinking?!”

Ribyna let out a humourless laugh. “Oh yeah, that’s right! Go on, blame me instead of your new best mate who can do no wrong!”

“What?” Fahjoth’s mouth dropped open as he stumbled over his words. “W— where’s this coming from?”

“As if you need to ask! It’s like he’s the only one who matters now!”

From beside him, Fahjoth noticed Julan bristle and take a breath as he prepared his retort. Fahjoth held up a hand and shot him a pleading glance — a silent request to let him handle this situation, which Julan thankfully obliged.

“Beebs, you’re being ridiculous—”

“Am I, though?! Ever since he joined us, you’ve been siding with him and defending him all the time!”

Fahjoth frowned, his frustration from Ribyna’s behaviour over the past few days finally bubbling over and spilling out. “Because you’ve been treating him like shit!”

“He treated us like shit, Fahjoth! Or have you forgotten already?!”

“I apologised for that,” Julan interjected with a frown.

Glancing between Julan and Ribyna, Fahjoth nodded. “He did apologise for that, Beebs.”

Ribyna cackled again, a rough, unpleasant sound devoid of any mirth. “There, you’re doing it again! Well, d’you know what, I’m done. I’m fed up of you picking this random guar-fucker over your own fucking family.”

Fahjoth stepped back, Ribyna’s words hitting him like a punch to the face as a wave of unease washed over him. “But... I’m not—”

“Save it!”

She turned away, and Fahjoth’s stomach churned as he noticed an unmistakable dark red stain oozing from her hairline, just before her temple.

“Ribyna? Did you— are you hurt?”

He stepped closer again and cautiously touched her shoulder, but another hard strike from Ribyna sent him recoiling instantly.

“Ribyna—!”

“Fuck you both. See you ‘round.”

Ignoring Fahjoth’s cries, Ribyna wheeled around and stormed off with a distinct unsteadiness in her steps. His gut twisting and a cold sweat settling on his skin, Fahjoth continued to shout after his twin long after her angry footsteps had receded into silence.

“Ribyna!”

With nothing answering him but the gentle dripping of water from the cave roof, Fahjoth dropped his head into his hand and sighed. Things had been tense with Ribyna lately, but he hadn’t anticipated such a blow-out. He hadn’t realised she still held such a grudge for Julan’s attitude on their first encounter. Why couldn’t she have just talked to him about this? He was used to her stubborn reticence, but it was still incredibly frustrating.

“I’m sorry.”

Fahjoth turned around. Julan was standing there, looking almost as wretched as Fahjoth felt.

“What are you apologising for, mate?”

Julan wrung his hands, dropping his gaze. “I just… I feel like this is all my fault.”

“Hey, don’t be daft!” Fahjoth took a few hasty steps forward until he was close enough to rest his hands on Julan’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault. Ribyna is just…” He grimaced, shrugging as he wondered how best to explain. “She isn’t the easiest person in the world to get on with. She doesn’t really… make friends very easily.”

“But my point still stands!” Julan protested. “Me being here is just causing you problems. You wouldn’t be fighting with your twin if it wasn’t for me.”

Fahjoth scoffed. “I wouldn’t be so sure. We always squabble over… pretty much everything. But— look…” He gave Julan’s shoulders a squeeze and crouched the few inches necessary until they were at eye-level with each other, trying to convey his sincerity with a small smile. “I promised I’d help you train, and I’m sticking to that. Whether that’s with or without Ribyna. Okay?”

Julan managed a weak smile in return. “Okay.”

“Anyway, you’re not just causing me problems!” Fahjoth continued. “Look at what we did today! I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you, mate.”

“You probably would have. But thanks.” Julan’s smile gradually became a grin. “We do make a pretty good team, don’t we?”

Fahjoth’s smile widened. “Damn right we do!” Without thinking, he pulled Julan into an enthusiastic one-armed hug — only to panic as he realised what he’d done. Had he crossed a line? He didn’t know what Julan’s stance on physical contact was; what if he was offended?

“Sorry, I just—” he began babbling as he backed off, but Julan simply laughed and patted Fahjoth on the shoulder in return.

“It’s fine,” he said. “So… shall we get going? I could kill for a mazte right now!”

Fahjoth raised a brow, glancing around at the bloodied heaps of bodies dotted around the cave. “I think we already did, mate.” He flashed Julan another grin and set off, limping out of the cave while frequently looking back to ensure that Julan was following. “I think we’ve more than earned that mazte.”

“Hah, you’re right.” He glanced down at Fahjoth’s leg, noticing his awkward gait. “Are you sure your leg’s alright?”

“Oh, it’ll be fine, don’t worry,” Fahjoth replied, waving Julan’s concern aside with an airy flick of his wrist. “It’s just a bit bruised, I think.”

“As long as you’re sure. You know, that was an impressive tackle.” Julan paused, a thoughtful look on his face as he trotted along beside Fahjoth. “I heard you letting one of them go.”

Fahjoth faltered, his grin slipping away to a wry smile. “Yeah… he was yielding. I couldn’t bring myself to kill someone after they’d surrendered.”

“You’ve got better morals than half of Morrowind then. At least.” For a moment, Fahjoth wasn’t sure whether that was meant to be taken as a compliment or an insult, but Julan continued, “Oh, I’m not criticising! I think it’s nice. Just… be careful, okay? I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”

A curious feeling settled in Fahjoth’s stomach. He glanced at Julan, the earnesty on his face clear to see even in the low light of the nearby torch flames, and instantly Fahjoth felt a rush of gratitude and affection for his new friend. The idea that another person cared that much about him warmed him from the inside out, even as they stepped out into the chilly night air.

“Cheers, mate,” he said, clapping Julan on the shoulder as another smile lifted his cheeks. “Let’s go tell Oran the good news, then go get those drinks.”

Julan grinned back, lightly bumping Fahjoth’s shoulder with his own.

“Sounds good to me.”

#oc: fahjoth #oc: ribyna #julan kaushibael #Morrowind #dunmer #nerevarine #dunmer oc #elder scrolls #elder scrolls fanfic #tes iii: morrowind

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ithinkilikeit-reactions · 4 years

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Mr. Radio Dj (Johnny Seo/Smut)

A/N: This wasn’t requested and I am really in my feelings about Johnny all because of my friend. So yeah, here we are. I want NCT Night Night back.

Tags: smut? uh fluffy smut? nothing to be scared of

Word count: 4863

August

Your first year of college was hard, you weren’t anticipating feeling that stressed, yet you managed to pull through. You had created a system, get back to the dorm, make dinner, turn on the radio to the college channel and work on your assigments.

The college radio show was very lowkey, playing every evening at 7:30 p.m to 10 p.m. From what you could tell not a lot of people listened to it, or knew about it but you thoroughly enjoyed it. The host being a 3rd year college student by the name of Johnny. From what you could tell he was quite funny, yet relaxed and very therapeutic to listen to. You found him to be quite motivating as well, always speaking words of encouragement before ending his show.

His radio show was one of the few things that kept you sane in your first year and you had grown quite attached. So when you went back for your second year, you were looking forward to hearing that familiar voice again. So there you sat, with a cup of fresh coffee in hand and your radio to your right.

“Welcome back students! It’s your host Johnny here, returning for my last year as host. Ahh, It’s so bittersweet.” Johnny paused and you felt sad. He would be graduating this year and you felt momentarily lost. His show had helped you through your hardships. “Sadly, this might be the last year for the show in general, no one would like to take over. So here is a public service anouncement. If you are at all interested in possibly taking over as host, please come into the on campus broadcasting building. The door is open between 5 p.m and 7:30.” He said with a tone of disappointment in his voice.

Being a radio dj wasn’t something you had originally planned on doing, but you thought it would be such a shame if the show died because no one would take over. So you made a split second decision, that the next day, you would go to the on campus broadcasting building and see if you were cut out to do it. You loved the show and it made your day better, so if you could do that for someone else it was nice.

You made your way to the broadcasting station after your class, incredibly nervous for no reason. The broadcasting station was home to your college’s local news program and the home to auditorium, where the film and acting students practically lived. It also housed the small, old dingey radio booth and record room.

You were surprised, the aree not being anything you expected when you entered. The record room was filled with cd’s, vinyls and cassette tapes and it smelled kind of old and dusty. But it didn’t bother you, it kind of felt cozy. To your left was the glass window, showcasing the DJ booth and you smiled to yourself. You walked up to it, looking in and just looked for a second, admiring it.

“Can I help you?” Johnny’s voice came from behind you and you jumped. He had caught you completely off guard and your heart was racing. “Oh my god.” You exclaimed, clutching your chest. He started to laugh, covering his mouth before apologising. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” He said and put his hands into his jeans pockets.

You never knew the face behind the voice and it surprised you to say the least. You weren’t expecting him to be so attractive. With dark brown hair, messily pushed back, white t-shirt tucked into black jeans and converse, he was effortlessly attractive. But you had to say, the feature that stuck out to you the most was his eyes. A nice warm brown with some golden tones. He was really attractive.

“Uhm, it’s okay. I’m actually here because of what you said in last night’s show. Looking for someone to take over for next year.” You said and his eyes went wide.”OH, I wasn’t expecting anyone to actually show up.” He said and leaned against some shelves. Johnny scratched his head, before looking at you with a smile. “I actually don’t know what to say, I really wasn’t expecting anyone to show up.” He told and you looked down to the floor with a smile.

“Yeah, your show kind of kept me sane last year, in my first year. So it would be a shame if it went away.” You said and Johnny felt himself blush a little. “I just realised, I totally forgot to introduce myself, I’m Johnny.” He said and extended his hand. “I’m Y/N.” You said in return and shook his hand.

“I’ve been doing this alone now for almost 4 years, so it would be nice to have some help this year and to show you the ropes if you really want to take over.” He said and you nodded. “Sounds good. I’m excited to start.” You said and Johnny beamed at you. His smile was almost intimidating and it seemed it could make you blush in an instant.

“So considering you are the only person to apply, you’re hired! Well, not hired because this isn’t a paying job but you get what I mean.” He said and scrambled into the DJ booth. You stayed put, just watching him and fixing your hair a little. He came back, his phone in hand and handed it to you.

“If you could just give me your number and then I can send you the schedule and stuff.” He said and you simply gave him your number. “Thank you for giving me this chance.” You said with a humble smile.

Johnny was still surprised, his mind being a little blown at the fact that someone responded to his PSA. Let alone someone like you. He thought you were gorgeous, generally not the type of person that would listen to a crappy little radio show and enjoy it as much as you did.

“I will text you the details and when you should start.” He said and you nodded. “Alright.” You said and he grabbed your hand and shook it in gratitude. “i’ll see you.” You said and smiled at him one more time before leaving. Johnny nodded and watched you leave.

The second you were gone, he let out a sigh of relief. Even though the radio show wasn’t something he was paid to do and not a lot of people listened to it. He was proud of it. it was something he had made and he didn’t want to see it die. Because of you it wasn’t going too and he could really appreciate that.

When you got back to your dorm, you turned the radio on and started cooking your dinner. That familiar intro started and you couldn’t help but smile. “Today’s show is kind of special.” Johnny’s voice filled your ears as you stirred. “I got approached by someone today is willing to learn the ropes to become the new host. Y/N, I know you’re listening. I just want to thank you. I was too speechless this afternoon. It means alot.” He said and you stopped your actions. You felt your heart flutter as the first song played. You were happy you were going to be a part of the show.

The schedule required you to be there everyday at 5 p.m until the show was over and on Saturdays from 10 a.m untill 10 p.m to discuss the coming weeks shows. Sunday there was no show and you had a day off.

You didn’t mind the busy schedule. Your first year in college you barely took any time to focus on other things aside from school and it drove you nearly insane. The radio show would be your way to unwind and you started that Saturday.

That morning you made sure to get up on time to go get coffee and muffins for the two of you and you entered the broadcasting building. The door was proving to be a pain as you held 2 hot coffees and a bag of muffins. “Here let me help you.” Johnny’s voice said and opened the door for you. You quickly entered the room and placed the coffees and muffins on the table. “Thank you.’ You said and Johnny just nodded. “I brought you a coffee.” You said and handed it to him. His fingers grazing yours as he graciously took it from you. “You didn’t have to, but thank you.” He said and sipped.

You two sat in the DJ booth and started brainstorming ideas and playlists. DIscussing music and interests, just getting to know each other. Johnny was just like he was on his radio show, very open and very warm. It also seemed your interests were very similar and it made you really happy.

“Oh, thank you for what you said in your show the other night. It was really sweet.” You said thanking him and he smiled. “Well I really meant it. This show means a lot to me and I don’t want to see it die.” Johnny said and leaned back. “But now that I’ve talked to you more, I see we have a lot in common so I don’t think show will change much when you start to host so it’s nice. Even our playlists are similar, I really like it.” Johnny told you and you two locked eyes for a moment.

He was so warm and considering you had listened to him talk for over a year, it felt liek you knew him really well. You were already starting to form a crush on him and you mildly hated yourself for it. It was Johnny’s last school year, the last thing he would want would be to date a 2nd year and a someone he would be working with. So you pushed your feelings to the back of your mind, only wanting to focus on doing the radio show well.

You learned a lot in your first few months working under him, it genuinely surprised you. You didn’t realise how much work it actually was but it became something you were really interested in. Johnny definitely helped peak your interest. But he also supported you and was very proud of how fast you picked things up.

October

It was a Saturday night and you had been there for 2 months, loving every second of it. Johnny was wrapping up the show for the night as you finished re-arranging the records on a shelf, a little project you had decided to take on while Johnny DJ’ed.

The door to the booth opened and the first thing you heard was a yawn come from Johnny. “I don’t get how you can still be so tired with how much coffee you drink.” You said, grabbing a stack of vinyls off of the shelf. “I don’t get how you aren’t tired with how little coffee you drink.” He retorted and moved to flip through the vinyls with you.

“You going to go home soon?” He asked and you paused to look at him. “Not yet, I want to finish this shelf.” You said and he nodded in response. “What does your boyfriend think about you working here with me almost everyday ‘till 10?” Johnny said and the question made you laugh. “What makes you think I have a boyfriend?” You asked him and sat down on the table, your legs dangling over the floor. “I don’t know, you have a good head on your shoulders, you’re smart and you’re definitely beautiful. Seems like it would be obvious that you would have a boyfriend.” He said and his words made you blush before he held up a vinyl of Weird Al, making you laugh.

“I really appreciate that. But no, no boyfriend.” You said and he frowned. “Why?” He asked and sat down next to you. The questions didn’t make you uncomfortable, you were comfortable with Johnny, even in your short time knowing him. “Not looking to find one. If it happens, it happens. I’m content until it does.” You told him and he just nodded in understanding. “Now, let me flip the question. Why don’t you have a girlfriend?” You asked and he started laughing.

“Why must you ask such painful questions?” He asked with a pained face. “You asked them first!” You said, smacking his chest lightly. “I have my eyes on someone. They just aren’t really aware of it.” Johnny said, turning to you. “Ahh, so you’re a stalker.” You joked and he laughed. “I guess so.” He said in response.

You two were looking at each other, eyes locked in complete silence. The radio room was dimly lit and you two were the only ones left in the broadcasting building.

“It’s late, we should probably lock up. You can finish that shelf Monday.” Johnny told you and you saluted him. “Yes, sir.” He just looked at you before laughing to himself. “Hurry up, I’ll walk you home. It’s really dark out.” He added and your heart fluttered at his gesture. But considering he had his eyes on someone, you knew it was only him being a good guy.

December

Johnny was stumbling over his words as he watched you organizing cd’s. The Christmas lights you had strung up in the room lit your face up beautifully and he was finding himself distracted by you as he tried stringing sentences together. “The next song is a bit more relaxed, I hope you enjoy it.” Johnny said into the mic before turning it off and turning the song on.

He sat back in his chair, just watching you mouth the words to the track playing. You looked especially beautiful to him that day. No makeup, nothing in your hair either, just down and framing your face nicely. You were wearing a big sweater, simply skinny jeans and and ankle boots to raise your height a little.

Johnny wanted this show tonight to be over. Not because he wanted to leave your side, but because he couldn’t exactly talk to you while he was on the air. He just wanted to get closer to you.

You looked up from the cd’s at Johnny in the booth. Not expecting him to be looking at you but on his phone, only to lock eyes with him. The sudden eye contact caught him off guard and he looked away instantly and tried to find something to do instead of stare at you. You laughed to yourself at his actions as you watched him drop his phone in panic.

Johnny bent over to pick it up and cringed to himself. “Johnny, you’re a fucking idiot.” He mumbled to himself and sat back up to finish the show.

You had finished organizing your shelf and moved yourself to the small couch in the room. “That’s it for tonight everyone. Remember to take care of yourselves on these cold nights and know you are loved. Goodnight.” Johnny’s voice filled the room and it made you smile. Those words that encouraged you much and still did. It was nice to hear.

Johnny exited the booth and sighed seeing you all cozy on the couch before laying down. His legs dangling over the arm rest and his head in your lap. “Comfortable?” You asked and he nodded, looking up at you with hooded eyes. You looked at his face, admiring his eyes and plush lips, but looked away just as fast. You felt sad for a second, knowing he would be gone next year and you’d have to be on your own.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked and sat up. Johnny was really close to you, his hand on your arm in comfort. “How am I going to do this without you next year?” You asked and he looked at you confused. “You’re great at this, the radio comes natural to you.” He said and comfortingly drew circles on your arm. “Not what I mean. You are my motivation at this point. You make my day better, Johnny. How am I going to be able to do this?” You said and Johnny felt his heart stop as you looked at him. Your eyes were filled with emotion and worry, then you looked down.

Johnny moved his hand to your chin, making you look at him gently. “You have nothing to worry about. You’re smart, strong and you can do anything. If anything I’m stressed about what I’m going to do without this show and you next year. I wish I knew you sooner because, well you’ve become a big constant in my life. A constant I don’t want to live without. I see you everyday and you make me happy.” Johnny said and you almost felt like crying. How Johnny could be so sweet to you was beyond you.

You tried looking away, wanting to hide the way your cheeks burned under his touch and words. Only he held your chin firmly, yet still gentle. Johnny felt a rush of confidence a took a deep breath before leaning in.

He pressed his lips to yours, catching you off guard but not unpleasant. Johnny’s hand moved from your chin to your cheek and revelled in the way your lips felt soft against his. If your cheeks weren’t hot before, they definitely were now and you couldn’t help but get a little lost. Your hands moved to his chest, gripping his shirt tightly with balled fists.

Johnny pulled away for a second and pressed his forehead to yours, but you didn’t want him to stop. You needed him. You hungrily kissed him again and he chuckled against your lips. Pulling you closer, as close as he could with the way you both were sitting, he gave up and settled for pulling you into his lap. You smiled and wrapped your around his neck as his fingers stroked your cheek. His lips lazily moving against yours.

You adjusted your position once more, pulling away so that you could straddle his waist. He whined in response, the noise surprisng you both and making you smile. “You see what you do to me?” He asked, looking up at you as he wrapped his arms around your waist. You tangled your fingers in his hair and the way he held you made your hips roll over his. The action caught you off gaurd and made a moan leave your own lips.

“How are you the most beautiful woman I have ever seen?” Johnny asked, wanting you to roll your hips again because he revelled in the feeling. You kissed him again, wanting him to stop complimenting you because you felt awkward. Not being used to the praise.

His tongue slipped into your mouth gently and he pulled you flush against him, his hands accidently slipping under your sweater. He immediately moved his hands again, not wanting to take this somewhere you didn’t want it to go, just in case. You noticed the gesture and your heart fluttered once more.

You also couldn’t help but notice how soft his hair was, how soft his lips were and how gentle his touches were. Everything made your brain foggy, you were willing to risk it all for him at this point and he felt the same. It had been a long time since a girl made Johnny want to be in a relationship, let alone a few months before he left college.

He flipped you two over swiftly, your back resting on the couch cushions and your head on the arm rest. “How far do you want to go?” Johnny asked and the question threw you off. “I need you.” You said, sounding nearly out of breath. How needy you sounded really surprised you . “Fuck.” He muttered under his breath and looked you over. How flushed your face was and how swollen your lips were. It was turning him on more than he was expecting it too.

Johnny’s hand gently moved under your sweater, pulling it off of you slowly and placing it on the floor. He couldn’t help but swallow thickly looking at your nearly bare torso. He moved his face to your neck, kissing the skin gingerly. He didn’t want to leave any marks. He’d save that for another time (if you wanted this to happen again). He wanted this to be light and airy. He wanted this to be soft and loving. Johnny wanted this be memorable and loving.

His feathery touches made goosebumps cover your body and sighs escape your lips. His mouth moved down, coming to the edge of your bra before reaching behind you and unhooking it. He paused, looking at your face again and taking not of how dark your eyes were. “Clothes on or off, you’re the most beautiful girl I know.” Johnny told you and you covered your face. “Johnny, you’re going to make me cry.” You said and he chuckled. “I’m going to keep complimenting you, regardless. My goal is to make you feel loved.” He said and you looked up at him, eyes filled with happy tears. You managed to keep them in, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Your hand moved to his sweater, tugging it off of him. He wasn’t extremely muscled, but he was lean and toned and beautiful to you. Your hand moved down his chest and stomach, stopping at his belt before moving down a little further. You palmed his bulge through his jeans and Johnny let out a sigh of relief. His head falling down as you continued to do so.

His hand moved to your jeans, unbuttoning them and tugging them down. His actions were a little harsher, slowly starting to be fueled with need. Johnny fingers danced over your panties, causing a little friction. He watched your eyes flutter shut before stopping his slight teasing. He pulled your panties down your legs and rubbed your clit lightly. Relief filled your senses as he finally touched you. You felt so needy.

Johnny connected your lips again, then slipped a finger into you. He wanted to make sure you were ready for him. It surprised him how wet you were and how badly it felt like you needed him. Your velvity walls tightening around his finger. You moaned against his lips as he picked up the pace. You dug your nails into Johnny’s shoulders as he added another finger.

“Fuck, Johnny.” Your moans sounded so breathy, Johnny could barely take it anymore. He pulled away and stood up to pull his own jeans and boxers down. You propped yourself up onto your elbows, watching him as he went to his wallet and pulled a condom out. This moment reminded you, Johnny was still a college boy.

He moved back over your body, hooking his arms under your knees and pulling you further down the couch. “Are you ready?” He asked as he sat inbetween your thighs, his hands rubbing your skin. You nodded, only wanting him at this point. He guided himself towards your entrance, rubbing his tip over your slit slowly. That feeling alone making you even more wet. “Johnny~” You whimpered and he groaned, making the choice to just bottom out straight away. “Fuck.” You said with a gasp, needing a second to adjust to his size. Your hand moved to the back of neck, pulling his face closer to you.

Johnny was doing everything in his power to not move too harshly, wanting to feel you. “Please move.” You whined and Johnny moaned. He leaned down, kissing your lips messily as his hips snapped into yours. His gentle touches slightly less gentle. His need for you taking over. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he thrust into you, making sure to take the time inbetween. He wanted it to last. Your whimpers were soft and he moved his head to rest in the crook of your neck. Johnny picked up the pace even more, his hips snapping into yours at a steady pace.

He could already feel you tightening around him as your whimpers turned into loud moans. Johnny couldn’t hold back, a few moans leaving his mouth as your nails dragged over his back. “You feel so good.” He moaned out and it was possibly the hottest thing you had ever heard.

The months you had just listened to him talk, the last thing you expected was to hear him like this. It made the coil in your stomach tighten even more.

“Fuck Johnny, I’m gonna cum.” You whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders and pressed his lips into yours as his fingers rubbed over your clit. He wanted you cumming, he wanted you to feel as good as he could. That and he was close to cumming himself.

A small scream left your mouth as you felt yourself cum. Your toes curling slightly and your grip on Johnny tightening. He moaned loudly, feeling how tight you had clamped down around him. He rutted his hips into you again, stalling as he came himself. You ran your fingers soothingly through his hair as he came, small whimpers leaving his mouth.

“Oh fuck.” He sighed, his body weight falling onto you. “You okay?” You asked inbetween breaths, your fingers still moving through his hair. “I’m better than okay, but if you keep running your fingers through my hair, I’m going to fall asleep.” He said and pushed himself off of you. You whined at the loss of contact and he rubbed your leg with his hand. You took a deep breath and sat up yourself, your body still slightly shaking.

“If it wasn’t clear. I really like you.” He said and you felt shy all of a sudden. You pulled your bra and sweater back on, looking for your panties only for Johnny to hand them to you. “Thanks.” You said and he laughed, getting dressed himself.

“I really like you too.” You said, looking at him and he smiled. “You’re going to do just fine next year. Anddddddd, if all goes well. I can still be around. But only for you.” He said and you couldn’t help but smile. You pulled his face towards yours and kissed him.

“So does that mean you’ll be my girlfriend?”

April

You sat in the office chair across from Johnny as he closed the radio show for the night. It was quite amazing, the show had gained at least a hundred listeners and it improved Johnny’s mood a lot on the show. You tried to keep quiet as he told a bad joke. He looked at your pained face at the joke and had to hold back his own laugh.

“Goodnight, everyone.” He said and turned the mic off and the broadcast. You let out your laugh and you both stood up. You started heading for the door and he pulled you back. “Where do you think you’re going?” He asked and you couldn’t help but giggle. He picked you up, putting you on the desk and settled inbetween your legs.

You were wearing a sundress, the weather having been extremely nice and warm and Johnny loved it. His hands moved over your thighs as he kissed you, before wrapping your legs around his waist.

June

“I can’t believe today is my last day being a DJ.” Johnny said into the mic and you waited in the record room. You wanted to let him have his final moment and you didn’t want him to see you cry.

“I had a fun four years doing this. And I have had a lot of beautiful moments in this radio room. I’ve felt lonely, I’ve felt loved and I have felt appreciated in this room. So it’s sad for me to leave. I want to thank everyone who enjoyed listening to me.” You couldn’t help but shed a tear as he talked, yet you quickly wiped it away.

“I’m leaving you guys in good hands. Next semester, my beautiful girlfriend will be taking over and she is better at this than I am. I know she’ll do great.” Johnny said and you sobbed slightly. You were incredibly nervous for the oncoming school year, without him. But you also knew that he would be there if you needed him.

“For the last time everyone. Please take care of yourselves, know you are loved and please, have a good night.” Johnny said and the room went silent. You were expecting him to walk out, but after a few minutes, you stood up and entered the booth.

He was sat at the chair, just leaning back and looking around the room. “Hey princess.” He said, noticing you walk in. He patted his lap for you to sit and you abided, wrapping your arms around him as you did. “Are you okay?” You asked and he nodded, locking eyes with you. “I’m fine. This is just the start to something new in my life. Besides, I’m not really leaving. I can visit you whenever I want.” He said and you smiled, stroking the hairs on the back of his neck.

“I love you, Mr. Radio DJ.”

A/N: I wrote this in one go. In one day and now it is 1 a.m as I am posting this. My alarm is going to go off in 4,5 hours. I hope you enjoy and I will spell check tomorrow.

#johnny seo #johnny seo smut #johnny suh #johnny suh smut #nct #nct smut #nct reaction #nct 127 smut #nct 127 reaction #nct 127

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carrickbender · 4 years

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A late Sunday seven

- If you haven't done so, consider this a friendly reminder to vote. No excuses! You know exactly whats at stake, so get it done. And by doing it earlier than election day, you should be able to see if yours was scanned in and accepted. Ok, done with that PSA.

- Overheard in our kitchen:

H: Did you hear they finally found the murder hornet nest up near Blaine?

Me: Yeah, they couldn't have picked a towne more deserving.

I guess the Discovery Channel was there too, so stay tuned for some murder hornet drama. Its bound to be a stinger.

- A topical joke: So the kids are going around the room in Mr Toms 4rd grade class, talking about what their parents do for work. Everybody takes their turn, except for one kid, who seems very shy. Finally, he tells the class that his dad works as a sample collector at the sperm bank. The teacher, embarrassed a bit, asks the young man after class, "Now, is that actually what your father does for work?" The kid replies, "Actually, no. I said that because I was too embarrassed to say he works for the Trump 2020 campaign".

- I met my nutritionist this week, and she's very enthusiastic about me trying a plant based diet. As part of my new insurance's approval of me having surgery, I have to lose a certain amount of weight and keep it off, which is totally cool. Its her enthusiasm about a diet that she herself does not embrace that I find, well, annoying. But, we are going to find something that works and helps me get down the road.

- The new Borat is irreverent and biting and I laughed like hell. The scarry part? That was a real political rally in Washington state. One of the main speakers was our 19th LD rep from here who told me, during a exchange, to shut up. One of the other main speakers was the GOP candidate for governor, who helped an accused rapist evade prosecution because he didn't believe the victim(plot twist- the accused was convicted on evidence later). Sooo yeah, art imitates life, right?

- Sooooo H and I are, pretty much like everyone else, fans of the Great British Baking Show. And I cant get over how much Alice reminds me of someone I dated named Tera. The only reason I bring this up is that Tera died earlier this year. She was truly one of the smartest and most passionate people about her trade, nursing, that I've ever met. Funny, vivacious, just an amazing human who had a body that kept trying to kill her. And finally, she had enough and let it die. I havent really mourned our friendship(I havent even posted on her fb memorial wall). Our relationship was a nightmare, but our friendship was a joy. So yeah, Alice...

- This week I'm going to take some time and regroup before the proverbial shit hits the fan on the 3rd. I have a bunch of bookwork to do, loose ends to tie, and I have tracks that need work which I've been neglecting. Thank you all for keeping your proverbial porch lights on during this very dark time. Things may get a little rough, but the path of righteousness and truth isn't always an easy walk. And as we continue with seeking good trouble, learning how to follow and help lift others voices who haven't been heard, remember to pause. Reflect. Be kind to you. There comes a point where your vessel needs to be filled in order to help other pilgrims in their journey. Im taking my own advice, and I thank you all for being yourselves and making my world a better place. Much love, and many blessings!!!!

#me #this is my life #singer/songwriter #washington state #dad life #bidenharris2020 #just vote #get off your ass #murder hornets #yikes

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thewhumperinwhite · 4 years

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(I would say all these things regardless of prompting, but I’m a shy trash panda that doesn’t want to intrude). I feckin love your world building. Nothing is 2D, everything feels like it’s just the tip of the iceberg. I’m also a sucker for master posts so the fact that all of yours are pinned???? 😍👌🏼👏🏼👀 But for ?s, can you explain the house magic? I’m still kinda shaky on it. ~ 🦝

THANK YOU!!!! also this is an official psa to you and everyone that i Cannot be intruded upon, i love all asks, please ask me about Anything. ALSO I’M SO GLAD YOU LIKE MY WORLDBUILDING!!! that makes me so happy!!!!

To answer your question! I haven’t established any of this in the story itself because there are going to be Future Plot Points where we learn more about Fae and their relationship to magic, BUT:

While individual humans can have small amounts of magic, enough to start fires and influence the growth of plants and stuff, usually not enough to even know they have it, most magic in the WKW universe comes from Fae. In the Leisevain Expanse, where Morden and Thorne are from, Fae are very hard to find because a few decades ago the king basically declared them dangerous animals, and they were hunted to the brink of extinction, and those that survived are deep in hiding and don’t interact with humans. Thus Thorne was a huge find for Morden because he has Fae blood; at least one of his close ancestors (Morden doesn’t know who but we know from Memory Meme that it was his mom) was a Fae who had a child with a human.

Craetalia, where the main action of WKW takes place, is a lot different. Fae were never hunted down there, but either because of cultural differences or as a defensive measure, most of them don’t manifest in human form, staying in their natural state as sort of formless masses of magical energy. And for several centuries now, Craetalia’s Fae have formed partnerships humans. Fae vary a lot in terms of the amount of magical energy they have, and smaller Fae with limited power will sometimes partner with individual humans--like, a low-powered Faery might offer to protect a fisherman’s boat in exchange for getting to eat two out of every ten fish, or something. Stronger Fae tend to seek out more powerful humans, and because Fae are so long-lived, these partnerships can last through many generations.

So, in the case of Fourshield House, the Craetan royal family, Karya the Lady who Dances in the Dark appeared to Andry’s several-times-great grandfather and offered to give him superior combat abilities, on the condition that all the glory for those victories go to her. So several generations later the Fourshields are (or at least were) the most powerful family in Craetalia, and everybody in the country knows the Lady’s name and speaks of her in hushed voices. It’s win-win.

That said, Karya already though Audoine was pretty boring...? Like, he’s basically a musclehead, and he kind of thought relying on her powers was weak, so she didn’t get to do that much. And then he beat his son to death--didn’t even fight him, tied him to a pole and whaled on him until he Died--and she was like, ‘oh, you’re boring and also pathetic and a bully, Fuck You Actually’ and takes her power from him and gives it to Andry.

Her power runs through the original fancy sword she gave to Andry’s great-great-etc. grandfather, but it doesn’t come from there--it comes from where the Lady actually Lives, elsewhere in the castle, which I think we actually get to learn about next chapter :3

Sorry for the ramble lmao, I’ve had most of this in my head but never actually verbalized it before. Feel free to ask more questions if any of this doesn’t make sense lmao

#also i feel much better cause i messaged my friends and They Said They Liked Me #but the nice asks ive gotten make my heart full;;;;;;;;#wkw extras #worldbuilding #magic #fantasy racism #fantasy genocide tw #<--if that's a concern and there's better tags for me to use please let me know #child abuse tw #OH ALSO SPEAKING OF MASTERPOSTS i gotta add the memory meme on there #and probably link the extras and oc specific tags too #I Gotta Make MY Blog Useful Cause Tumblr Sure Won't Do It For Me

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fiddle-styx · 5 years

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on-going jikook fics

come and enjoy that wonderful moment of receiving an update notification

psa: i am sharing these wonderful stories because i love them and they deserve more recognition. please do not hassle the authors about updates because it is a terrible feeling and they don’t deserve that. we can just enjoy the wonderful anticipation of updates and share love for stories together!

go tell these authors how amazing their stories are instead!

(my tastes are all over the place, so enjoy variety too)

college/uni au and/or social media aus:

International playboy (don't answer) by blt_prf | 119k, 21chp oH I FUCHKED UP I FU UCKED UP YOUR'E NOT NAMJOON yeah what I've been trying to tell you or the one in which Jimin manages to mess up everything in one night and accidentally texts the guy he has a crush on

HIM by blt_prf | 99k, 14/16chp Jungook falls in love with the color red when he sees Jimin. Every single time a little bit more. In which Jimin has motion sickness and travels way too much, Jungkook is good at everything but relationships and Taehyung simply wants everyone to be happy. Hoseok and Yoongi are a mess, Namjoon takes too many philosophy classes and Jin makes sure nobody gets arrested. Everyone's in love and no one wants to grow up.

travel au:

until then, sink slowly by flitter | 46k, 8chp After a breakup, Jimin needs to get away. He ends up in Santorini, 5.4k miles away from home, eager to distance himself from anything remotely related to love. Too bad fate has other plans, in the form of a tour guide named Jungkook.

magic/supernatural aus:

Maelstrom by Charmander | 6k, 1/8chp It's been one year since Jungkook ran away with the circus, one year since he learned of the angel blood that runs through his veins. He thought he had learned everything about the supernatural world by now, but he's barely even touched the surface of its darkness. series here: Silk

a room inside your heart (you'll be okay here) by ohbutter | 26k, 2/3chp “Hyung, there’s something horribly, horribly wrong here.” “I’d say so, yes. You destroyed our bathroom.” Jimin mhms. “Right… why though?” All Jimin can manage is, “Orange.” Yoongi nods slowly, “Yes Jimin, orange.” “Green.” Now Namjoon and Jin are huddled behind Yoongi, peering inside. Jimin sits up and sees Namjoon’s cotton candy pink hair. “What’s the date today?” “December 18th 2016.” alternatively: jimin wakes up two years in the past, he has horrendous orange hair, his friends are in love and here, so is he

The Art of Drowning by Kookies_N_Jams | 45k, 22chp Jeon Jungkook doesn't want to die; he's just tired of living. Park Jimin is surrounded by death, but all he wants is to live. When their worlds collide, everything changes.

For and Against Us by thefifth | 18k, 11chp Jungkook trusts fate. Jimin? Not so much.

idol/celebrity aus:

Faking It by little_star_in_the_universe | 16k, 6chp "Jungkook, are you listening to me?" "Yeah." "You're lying." - Jungkook is tired. He's tired of being told what to say, what to do, how to act, how to respond, how to write his own fucking music. He's tired of it all. All he wants is a break. He doesn't expect to find someone who'd be more of a break than being home with his parents.

depth of field by petrichorian | 30k, 4chp “You’re seriously telling me you just spontaneously took a hella good picture of Suga and now you’re being called Jeongguk masternim?” or Jeon Jeongguk accidentally becomes Suga's new popular fansite, makes famous friends and tries to avoid how much he wants to kiss BTS' maknae, Park Jimin.

The Last of Them All by dglrd | 9k, 13chp dyspraxia [/dɪsˈpraksɪə/]: a developmental disorder of the brain in childhood causing difficulty in activities requiring coordination and movement. in which jungkook has to juggle the difficulties of having dyspraxia and being an idol at the same time.

The Voice by Pinkworld | 25k, 6chp Jimin is a veteran ASMRtist, spreading the tingles through Youtube. He never shows his face. He's been low-key (Taehyung: I'm pretty sure drooling falls under HIGH-key, dude) interested in Jeongguk, a popular cover artist on Youtube. Completely against his confident character, Jimin doesn't find courage to reach out and just stalks Jeongguk's channel and instagram for a year. They finally get to messaging each other (Thank you Taehyung and Jin), then texting, then talking.... and that's when it gets a bit problematic...

smut focused:

Switch It by ashina | 75k, 17chp this is a series where jungkook and jimin are fucking. how original.

the chains that bind us by busanpjm | 19k, 3chp “You are not simply some flashy accessory, Jeonggukie. You are mine to use as I wish as long as I want. Whether you are twenty or forty; it makes no difference. You are that lithe and lewd slum mongrel who fawns on no one, and I am the slave knight of Midas who holds the chains to your collar. How could you imagine I would let you go at this juncture?” Jeongguk, a slum mongler and Jimin, an elite, find themselves wrapped up in a relation neither of them could have seen coming. or the Ai no kusabi au with a hint of something else and more.

soulmates au:

hard candy by jiminlogy | 25k, 8chp Jimin douses himself in colours every day and then he meets black and white.

Shatter Me by lostinjungkook | 19k, 16chp »There were things Jungkook wanted to tell Jimin. But he knew they would hurt his hyung. So he buried them inside and let them hurt him instead.« 19 year old Jungkook lives in a world where 25% of the world population is born with a soulmate mark on their wrist and supernatural powers running through their veins. But he never had a chance to see the beauty that the world bears as he grew up in the fangs of Omega, a facility led by humans who try everything to create the strongest inhuman possible. What will happen when he meets six boys in the middle of the woods and discovers his soulmate among them?

abo dynamics:

Howl by Ravennest | 17k, 4chp Taehyung was convinced wherewolves existed — he only had to prove it to his best friend Jimin then he’d get bragging rights for years! But he never expected to be one of the wolves mate.

let me love you by Thejenn | 12k, 2chp the one where jungkook is shamelessly in love with his shy mate jimin

Guide Books are for Suckers--or Life is Like Trying to Build a Lego Death Star, but Some Fucker Burned the Instruction Book For lols by Momochii | 26k, 7/9chp He never expected to be an alpha. He also never expected to present in the middle of dance practice. He definitely never planned for what would happen if he, maybe, accidentally, tried to claim his best friend only seconds after presenting—in the middle of fucking dance practice. But hey, predictability is over-rated, right?

Leave Your Mark by snarcsics | 112k, 7/15chp Out of the three patients within Namjoon's lab, Jungkook is the one Jimin finds the most frightening, yet shamelessly intriguing. Even as a beta, there’s something distinctly animalistic about Jungkook that does not bode well for Jimin.

mafia au:

The Fire Was Screaming Out Your Name (And I Watched You Burn) by JungkookieBiased | 8k, 4chp “Jungkook...come here." Jimin crossed one leg over the other, arms folded across his chest. The taller male strode over in two long strides, head bowed down. Jimin tilted his chin up and Jungkook followed the movement like Jimin was controlling a puppet with a twitch of his fingers. Jimin leaned in right beside his ear, "Eliminate him." OR Jeon Jungkook belongs to him. Jeon Jungkook lives for him. Park Jimin, the most feared mafia leader, belongs to him just as much but won't say so.

spiderman au:

little do you know (i love you 'til the sun dies) by stellars | 7k, 1/2chp jeongguk is spiderman and everytime he comes back from one of his adventures, he goes to jimin to get patched up, spinning white lies about how he's out saving kittens from getting run over.

cute/fluffy/domestic/smut:

A Wicked Miniseries by Charmander | 30k, 4chp A collection of moments and flashbacks from Jimin’s and Jungkook’s life together; from back road street racer and tired, night shift police officer to spoiled, domestic boyfriends. series here: Chase Me, Race Me, Taste Me

tattoo au:

Damp nights by vanillajae | 20k, 5chp Two years later and history repeats itself. Jungkook pops back into Jimin’s life on a rainy day under a bus stop, and whether Jimin wants it or not the storm is back. series here: Thunderstorms

some ot7!

A Hint of Magik. by moonchildleigh | 35k, 7chp Jeon Jeongguk is the son of two powerful evil Warlocks. He's lived his whole life in Busan inside the Warlock community, and hasn't come into contact with anyone else in the Magik world. This changes, however, when his parents are arrested and jailed for the murder of a Witch. Being the son of two of the most dangerous people in the magical community, The Council of Magik has to decide what to do with him. Jeongguk isn't like other Warlocks though, as he doesn't have the Calling to darkness like the rest. He's abnormal. His fate seems sealed, until two interesting men show up at his court hearing and demand to adopt him. or Ot6 lives in an enchanted forest in America and take young Warlock Jungkook into their home because they're absolute sweethearts.

Late Bloomer by LulaWrites | 91k, 25/26chp Given that he’d made it into adulthood without having ever experienced any dynamic-related instincts or pre-heat symptoms, Jungkook (and the rest of society) had naturally assumed the maknae was a Beta. Turns out they were wrong. (Or, the one where Jungkook goes into heat unexpectedly and subsequently gets coddled by his affectionate hyungs.) The Last of Them All by dglrd

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thestudyfeels · 5 years

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🎨 Graphic made by @indiaisstudying: India is brilliant my pals, and I recommend checking her out for studyblr/artblr inspiration. My girl tHIRIVES.

The singular takeaway from this post: Do a creative binge. Much productive than a Netflix binge. Period.

Two months ago, I reached my peak when I coined the term ‘bood day’ (a bad to good day, in my article How To Flip A Bad Day By 180°). Today, puppies and kittens, I present to you— a creative binge.

*crickets chirping, that one dude in the audience scratches his nose and turns away*

…This one actually works but okay, we get it, y'all are bitches. But gonna do my job anyway– if you're a creator reading this, please do a creative binge at least once every two weeks.

I started doing these binges two months ago, and I've seen a VAST improvement in my creative energy. I feel my commercial voice coughing and saying hello to the mic, so before I start listing side-effects for a sponsored pill, let's dive into the basics.

🍵 Quick PSA —

↪ JOIN MY TAGLIST? If you aren't on this yet, please get on it, it'll mean a lot to me! By joining, you get a new article on lifestyle design & productivity every week.

100 Days of Sweat: This challenge starts TOMORROW (10th of April), so if you wanna hustle on your bod this year, join us! Accountability does crazy things.

Ever questioned your life, experienced writer's block, painter’s pain or blogger’s… block? (Narrator: aaaand she's back to advertising.) A creative binge helps deal with fixing exactly that.

“A creative binge is based off the equation of quality in = quality out.”

A lot of creators feel that they're supposed to magically create out of their head, and that's just ridiculous. It's ludicrous considering you don't know shit, read shit, do shit and watch shit.

Even to write fiction, my pal, you'll have to expose yourself to the world to know its ways, read great books and take tips (not to mention stock up on coffee, and prepare to cry a lot) before you start cranking out the pages. Everything you create is ultimately inspired by the Ways Of The World. (And that's a fantastic novel title)

So in short, you’ve got to consume content, to make content. And in a creative binge, you conscious choose content that'll help you create. Genius, I know!

Okay, but what if I'm not a creator?

Brilliant question! Wanna become more valuable and leave the people you interact with better? Take a creative binge.

Allow me an elaboration: Take a janitor and a neurosurgeon. The said janitor is paid much less than the neurosurgeon. Why is that? Is the neurosurgeon a better person? That's debatable. Is the janitor less efficient at his work? Again, debatable. The primal reason lies in the neurosurgeon acquiring more valuable skills than the janitor. Society rewards them by paying more since there are less folks who can do what the neurosurgeon does.

To recap: In order to be indispensable in the role you play (whatever it is, a student, calligrapher, CEO of the Janitor Club), you HAVE to become valuable. Grow your curiosity & know more than yo’ buddies (also bring more value than anybody else). And to become valuable, you consume value. Tada!

(And if you still ain't convinced, I'll pull out the Netflix card. You'd really rather watch shows? Or binge YouTube? Than learn a new skill, or develop existing ones? Question your priorities, my friend. Victims love entertainment, victors love learning.)

Cool, you're joining in then! Not that creative binge is NOT an entertainment binge. It's a value providing binge. What you ‘consume’ has to bring you something in return— whether that's creative inspiration, motivation or skills. *Swing arms* yup! We’re one gay, productive household. Someone remind Hallie to buy the groceries though, the Cheerios are going mouldy.

By my dictionary, a creative binge is a slot of time, 1½ to 3 hours I'd say, when you watch/read/listen to some good stuff. Basically, binge content.

THE 101 OF A CREATIVE BINGE

🌿 Basics:

I conduct one every week (usually Wednesday mornings), lasting around 1½ to 2 hours.

I'll also keep a notepad and a pen nearby, to take notes and jot ideas as they come. Again, this is NOT an entertainment binge, even though it's a chill job.

Sometimes I'll get passive things done (like wiping my desk, eating breakfast and taking out textbooks) while watching. We maximize our time.

🌿 What Do I Watch:

The stuff I watch falls into 3 categories: creative/humor (for inspiration), business/skills (for skills) & motivation (for, um, motivation). Fair warning though, a lot of the stuff these folks make overlap, but that's alright. This is just a rough demarcation.

Creative/Humor: some YesTheory, maybe some MacDoesIt, sprinkle in some Ryan Higa, perhaps an episode of a show with an amazing script, some stand-up comedy from my favorites. Or maybe trash that and just watch Sherlock. (Geez, Netflix, I hate you, I love you.)

Skills: Gary Vee, some artist channels, that random video on how to thrift shop even though I don't shop.

Motivation: Be Inspired, Tom Bilyeu, Mel Robbins and random videos which look nice.

🌿 What Do I Listen To:

Oof, I love music tremendously! If you're a pal, you know it's time to RUN when I come around being like, “soo, I was wondering what's your favourite–”.

Yet, during a creative binge, I'll only listen to stuff that 1) inspires me, or 2) is creative in a way I can't explain. Some recommendations!

Hype music:

The Score

Imagine Dragons

Creative music:

Billie Eilish

Lana Del Rey

Sleeping At Last

Lorde

Conan Gray

Harry Styles

🌿 What Do I Read:

Usually the book that I'm reading at that point if I'm being lazy.

POETRY: It's my belief, but poetry is a writer's most powerful device. There's a novel to be said in a simple sonnet.

FICTION: I dig great fiction. PS, please read (and sob over) Away Childish Things, by @letteredlettered. It changed me as a person, changed my entire perspective about kids. I'm much kinder and softer now, and my pimples are gone. I'll literally never get over drarry too, so thanks lettered, love you.

ARTICLES: Bookmarked psychology, productivity & fitness articles on Medium. Maybe check out James Clear's & Gary Vee’s blog for new posts.

Because I wanna drive this home, here's what I did in my last creative binge as a concrete example —

Care to Note that:

All of the stuff I consume is pre-planned.

I add videos throughout the week to my Creative Binge playlist on YouTube, download albums from Amazon Music and articles for offline reading.

DON'T leave this to the last moment, you'll more likely pick entertainment vs learning then.

Watched–

Why I'm done trying to be "man enough"

Redecorating my room 2017 (I wanna decorate my room this year so)

How to Squat Properly (I’m trying lmao)

Giving a 9-Year-Old Her Dream Job for 24hrs!! (I stan YesTheory so much)

How To NOT Be A Starving Artist (A mood. I love Sorelle)

Couple more, I could go on & on, but you get me.

Listened–

Every song on YouTube by Bruno Major

Born to die: paradise version (album) by Lana Del Rey

Read–

Articles from James Clear's blog — (x) (x)

Articles from Gary Vee’s blog — (x) (x)

HIIT workouts for beginners

All of this birthed–

Ideas for future articles, titled: How To Be Great & Solomon Letters #2: Question Your Faith, Not Your Dreams, among others.

A small poem about faith– posted on my IG, check it out!

New content ideas, like value chains (upcoming!)

Bunch of other small rants for everyday posting

Some business and life advice that might be useful later.

Gotta say goodbye now! (literally too... but post about it coming on 12th so wait for it) Try this one out, and let me know how your binge goes (tag it with #team conquer). Mine usually end with a bucketful of philo notes, a recharged left (right? psychology? idk) brain, and a fresh perspective towards the rest of my week.

This is the #1 strategy I've adopted to sustain creative energy when it's sapped all around by negativity and school & I promise it helps. No side effects, no sponsored pills needed. Thanks for reading!

Related: How To Get Back Into The Creative Process (if you're in a blogger's block or experiencing painter's pain)

Have something to say? I treasure all feedback! If this post inspired you to do something, or you wanna throw some love/constructive criticism at me— hop into my ask box, or reply to this post itself!

Thanks for dropping by! Major articles, like this one, come out every Thursday! Join my taglist by to read them when they do. I also post daily wins, journal entries, rants & photos of my plant babies throughout the week, so follow me if you’re into conquering life. I vow to be the loudest cheerleader. ✧

Sending you love and good energy, talk soon.

Nandini 💌 (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

🍊↪ TAGLIST (join here):

Thank you to these folks for supporting my content! I appreciate & love you, hope y'all are taking care. ⬇

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unpack-my-heart · 5 years

Text

Above, Beneath, Betwixt, Between (formerly ‘The Ghost of You’) – Updated

@tinyarmedtrex @violetreddie @xandertheundead @constantreaderfool @eds-trashmouth @mrs-vh

PSA: I changed the name of this fic. It was once ‘The Ghost of You’ but I don’t think that fit the story anymore, so I changed it. Hope that isn’t too confusing!

Chapter 4 - Nothing Ever Becomes Real Until It Is Experienced

Read on AO3 HERE

A stream of lava-hot water hit Richie’s back, waging a brutal war against the knotted muscles of his back.

“SHE’S ALL I NEED ALL OF MY LIFE!”

He rubbed the bar of ivory coloured soap between his hands, before rubbing the soapy lather over his chest.

“I FEEL SO GOOOOD IF I JUST SAY THE WOOOOOORD”

Turning around, Richie closed his eyes against the torrent of water, letting it rush over his face and chest, the soapy suds disappearing down the drain.

“ SUH-SUH-SUSSUDIO”

Richie opened his eyes, mouth still half open from where he’d been singing, and, as if he had always been there, Eddie’s disembodied head looked back at him from where it was sticking directly through the shower curtain.

“Richie! The lambs have come back down off the hills and – oh good lord, you’re naked!”

“JESUS FUCK!”

A primal scream tore its way out of Richie’s throat as he unceremoniously tumbled to the floor of the shower, clasping helplessly at the shower curtain as he fell. The curtain ripped from its fastenings, and floated to the ground gently. Richie grabbed at it, yanking it towards him to cover what was left of his modesty.

“What the fuck, Eddie!”

Eddie was standing in the bathroom, looking scandalized but also very mildly amused.

“I’m ever so sorry, Richie!”

“The door was locked, how the hell did you even get in here?!” Richie demanded, feeling his face bloom with blush, caused not only by the scalding temperature of the water.

“I – I didn’t use the door”

Richie blinked, incredulous.

“You didn’t use the door” he deadpanned, raising his eyebrows, an invitation. ‘Explain yourself’.

“I haven’t used a door in seventy years, and I don’t intend on starting now!”

For a moment, neither of them speak. Eddie has his arms crossed in what Richie imagines is supposed to be indignation, a silent ‘I’ve been here longer than you, this is more my house than it ever will be yours.” Richie can’t help but feel a pang in his chest, something so close to affection it’s uncanny, a cloying kind of feeling that envelops his heart and holds it hostage.

Eddie breaks first.

“It really was an accident, Richie, I sort of forgot – I forgot about …” he trails off before he can say it, but Richie knows.

I forgot what it’s like to be alive. What it’s like to spend time with another person.

Richie’s annoyance melts like snow.

– X –

The house is almost finished. Nearly all of the major appliances have been installed, the water runs perfectly, and the electrics have been wired and approved. The only major task facing Richie now was decorating, which was unfortunate because Richie had been cursed with perpetually shaky hands meaning that his lines were never straight or clean enough. He’d been complaining about it to Eddie one evening, sat out on the porch, wind rustling Richie’s hair like autumn leaves, but leaving Eddie’s untouched, each hair frozen in time and space.

Richie had fallen asleep outside, a combination of the lake’s lullaby-ripples, and the warmth of the balmy night. He’d slept deeply, watched over by the moon and the stars, and woken up with a crick in his neck and freezing hands.

Eddie was no-where to be seen, but Richie was unbothered. Eddie made a habit of wandering the moors at night, unbound by the mortal need to sleep, dream and recharge. He was free to roam as he saw fit, truly a being of the night, drifting amongst the dreaming lambs and the trees that stretched humbly towards the moon. He always returned, though. Returned to the house that he’d died in, and, by association, to Richie.

Richie hauled his heavy bones into the house, and up the rickety stair case, desperate to change out of the stale smelling clothes from the night before. He could hear the clanging of something metallic, and Eddie’s high and bright whistling, like a bell beckoning Richie into the room. When Richie cautiously pushed the door open, his mouth opened in shock.

While he slept, the summer sky had materialised on his bedroom walls. Fluffy marshmallow clouds on a cornflower blue sky.

Eddie was standing in the corner of the room, paintbrush in hand, looking somewhat guilty.

“I didn’t think you’d wake up yet. You don’t normally wake up before 7 or so”

“Eddie what the hellllll” Richie drawled, eyes scanning the room in astonishment.

“Do you like it?” Eddie asked, eyes and voice earnest and so sugary sweet Richie couldn’t take it.

“I so wish I could hug you right now, this is fuckin’ torture, s’what it is. This is beautiful, Eds. It’s – I don’t have the words”

“Heh. The oven mitts are downstairs, so, I suppose … I’m glad you like it, though. I was worried you’d hate it and think that I’d over-stepped, or something”

“No! Not at all. It’s … thank you, Eddie. Seriously, thank you. This might be the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me”

“I know you hate painting and I used to paint a bit, when I was, y’know, so … I thought I’d help you out a bit”

“You’ve done more than just help me out, Eds, yowza!”

Richie sincerely wished Eddie was wearing those damn oven gloves, as he wanted nothing more than to squeeze his hand and never let go.

– X –

The kitchen hated Richie, and, by all accounts, the feeling was pretty mutual. Laying a new floor down had been an absolute nightmare, considering the fact that the room was bizarrely shaped, so Richie had had to painstakingly cut each piece of timber out with a circle-saw to the exact measurements. This had taken longer than Richie cared to admit, but he had eventually finished, and the glossy oak floorboards smiled up at him, thanking him for his time and effort. Painting the kitchen was a breeze in comparison, throwing a white emulsion onto the walls before covering it with a blueish-grey, light and bright enough for a kitchen, but not an emotionless white. The back wall was the only one that was still just white emulsion, and Richie had planned to paint it grey in the afternoon.

That had been his plan, before he heard an almighty crash echo throughout the house, a metallic clang, and then a horrified yell.

“Eddie?! Eddie, are you okay?” Richie shouted, running down the stairs at light speed, expecting to find Eddie contorted in pain, or gone from the house entirely, or a number of equally as horrifying possibilities.

What he found when he rounded the corner, and burst into the kitchen, was blueish-grey paint covering practically every surface in the kitchen, and a very forlorn looking Eddie staring at the mess.

“What – What happened in here?!”

Eddie looked up at Richie with pleading, guilty eyes, wringing his hands together.

“I… I tried to walk through the wall carrying the paint and … Well, I suppose paint cannot travel through walls”

“What have I told you about using the effing doors!” Richie bellowed, gesturing with his thumb over his shoulder to the door that he had just sprinted through.

His new floor, his expensive oak floorboards that he had laboured over for weeks, ruined. The oven had thankfully not been installed yet, and sat in its protective plastic packaging, but even that was splattered with paint. The clock was covered in paint. The gas stove that Richie had been using to cook was covered in paint. In short, everything was covered in a sheen of grey paint.

“I was trying to help,” Eddie mumbled, mouse-small, “You said you loved your new bedroom walls and I thought – I thought I’d save you some work because I know how much you hate painting and – I am a catastrophe”

Richie felt awful.

“Naw, Eds, you’re not. C’mon, it’s not that bad. I can get some white spirit on the floor, that’ll probably lift most of it, and maybe Mike will let me borrow his electric sander. Hey now, Eds, c’mon, you look like you’re going to cry, you’re killing me”

“I would cry if I could”

“Can you cry?”

“No, because if I could, I would be doing so now”

Richie opened one of the now grey kitchen drawers, and pulled out Eddie’s oven mitts. He passed them over to Eddie, who reluctantly slipped them onto his hands, the scrunch of concentration that Richie had grown so fond of etched onto his face.

“I’m gonna hold your hand now,” Richie announced, before taking Eddie’s hand in his, “I promise that I’m not mad with you. I’m just – I’m just a bit frustrated but it’s not the end of the world. Kitchens come and go but Eddie Spaghetti’s are forever”

“Is that a joke … because I am dead?” Eddie asked, voice hesitant but Richie watched as a smile formed on his face, slowly, like a flower opening to pray to the sun.

“It wasn’t ‘sposed to be” Richie shrugged, hand still gripping onto Eddie’s mitted-hand tightly.

“Are you sure you’re not mad with me?”

“I promise”

– X –

One thing that Richie soon came to learn was that Eddie loved music. Richie often heard Eddie’s ethereal whistling echoing around the house, or heard him humming little ditty’s that Richie didn’t recognise. Sometimes Eddie sang properly, a surprisingly rich and strong tenor that stirred things in Richie’s heart that had been dormant for years.

One day, when Richie was sanding the grey paint off the floorboards in the kitchen and singing along to Higher Ground by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, Eddie’s voice announced his presence before Richie was even aware of him being in the room, a habit of Eddie’s that he was growing slowly used to.

“This music sounds so different to the kind of things I used to listen to when I was younger”

Richie turned off the electric sander, before turning the radio up, Anthony Kiedis’ voice booming out of the speaker. Eddie looked vaguely alarmed, before tapping the toe of his boot slightly, face screwed in concentration, as if he was sampling the music like wine, trying to decide whether he liked the taste of the beat or not. Richie hopped around on alternate feet, pretending to slap an imaginary bass, his face screwed up in his best approximation of ‘bass face’. He wasn’t sure that Eddie would know what bass face was, but he didn’t care. Eddie watched Richie with wide, half-confused half-amused eyes, the toe of his left boot still tap-tap-tapping away to the beat.

The song drew to a close soon after, and Richie bounced over to the radio and turned it off.

“So, d’ya like it?”

“It’s … interesting. It’s different, absolutely, but … it’s good. It’s got a good beat, I like the rhythm. I … rather liked his voice,” Eddie stuttered, and Richie was sure that if it were possible for Eddie’s face to flush with embarrassment, it would be doing so right now, “but one thing I don’t understand is where you put the records in that tiny machine? Are records really tiny now?”

“Records? Why would there be records?” Richie asked as confusion washed over him in waves, before realising that Eddie had no idea what a twenty-first century radio looked like.

“Oh, no, this is a radio, not a record player. Some people still use records, but those people are called ‘hipsters’ and you wouldn’t like them. But this is a radio, you know what a radio is, right?”

“Yes, Richard, I know what a radio is. I wasn’t born 700 years ago” Eddie groaned, rolling his eyes.

“Jus’ checkin’, jus’ checkin’. So you know how radios work, right? Like … the music is in the air? Radio waves and all that jazz?”

“The music is in the air?!” Eddie spluttered, eyes wide like dinner plates.

“I thought you said you knew what radios were?!”

“Well, I know what they are, I never professed to know how they work”

Richie can’t help but laugh at the expression on Eddie’s face, a picture of exasperation mixed with confusion, and he is semi-horrified by the realisation that he wants to kiss it off Eddie’s face.

Well that’s new.

Richie tries to squash all ghost-kissing desires deep into his brain into a box marked ‘bad idea’ but he knows that that box has a habit of refusing to remain closed and springing open unexpectedly.

In his desperation to sway his attention from Eddie’s grumpy, kissable face, Richie cranks the radio up even further, switching the station to the all-day 80s bangers station he’d found a few weeks ago. Bonnie Tyler’s voice filtered out of the speakers, and Richie lip-synced along with her as she lamented about the fact that she didn’t have a street-wise Hercules. Eddie watched as if transfixed, eyes following the minutia of Richie’s movements but standing on the side lines, not joining in Richie’s one-man dance party.

“Dance with me!” Richie yelled, waving his arms erratically in the air as Bonnie’s voice howled around the room.

“I can’t!”

“You can!”

“I can’t!”

“YOU CAN!” Richie practically screamed, “dance with me, Eds! Please!”

Richie’s pestering finally broke Eddie’s resolve, and just as the song peaked, Eddie started to dance.

Now it was Richie’s turn to gawp.

Eddie threw himself around the room wildly, feet a blur as he alternated between rhythmic walking, jumping and kicking his feet , whilst waving his arms in a jaunty swing, occasionally snapping his fingers or clapping his hands in time with the music.

“You’ve been holding out on me, you sneak! Look at you go!” Richie yelled over the music, hardly moving, just watching Eddie spin and twist and jump.

“I may or may not have been quite the accomplished swing dancer when I was … y’know …” Eddie gasped, mid spin.

“I fuckin’ bet you were! Look at your fancy feet!”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” Eddie laughed, performing a particularly complicated piece of footwork, and peeking up at Richie with his tongue caught between his teeth.

“Damn straight, look at us, a couple-a movers and shakers, but damn, Eds, you shake it the best. You gotta teach me.”

Eddie laughed as he span past Richie, and Richie followed him, shimmying his shoulders and shaking his hips in a way that he assumed looked ridiculous, but the way Eddie’s eyes lingered on the swivel of his hips suggested otherwise.

The song finished, and a slow ballad started to play – all slow, smooth guitar and mellow vocals.

Richie, gasping from exertion, stopped dancing, and so did Eddie, who looked exactly the same as he always did, not a hair or piece of fluff out of place.

“How do we dance to this one? It’s a bit slow, Rich”

An idea crashed into Richie’s brain at warp speeds.

“Hang on”

Richie disappeared downstairs, and returned clasping Eddie’s oven mitts in his hands.

“Put these on” Richie instructed Eddie, like he always did, and once Eddie had put the mitts on, he grabbed his hands and placed them on his shoulders.

“We gotta slow dance to songs like this, them’s the rules”

“Uh … but we’re both … you aren’t a … I’m not a woman”

“I won’t tell if you won’t”

Eddie didn’t say anything in response, but he didn’t move his hands, either. Knowing that he couldn’t put his hands on Eddie’s waist like he wanted to, Richie settled for placing his hands over Eddie’s mitts, on his shoulders. They swayed back and forth.

“Are you like me?” Eddie whispered, voice barely loud enough for Richie to hear over the music.

“Depends what you mean by that, Spaghetti. Am I dead? No. Am I a wicked dancer? Yes. You gotta be more specific”

“You are a brute! You know exactly what I mean”

“Do you mean ‘do I fall in love with men’?”

Eddie hesitated for a second, before nodding the affirmative.

“Then yes, I am like you. But I also fall in love with women. I like ‘em both. Greedy like that”

“Is that … is that possible?”

“Sure is, sugar!”

Eddie closed his eyes, and Richie was sure that if Eddie could cry, this would be another occasion where he would be doing so.

“I only … I only fall in love with men. I had – Rupert. We – he died. I never got to say goodbye”

A heavy sort of sadness settled in the room. Eddie’s eyes, downcast and lidded, refused to meet Richie’s. They stood in the middle of the room, touching but not really, dancing but not really, in silence.

“I hate that I can’t hold you, Eddie”

“I hate that you can’t hold me, too”

– X –

Something changed after they danced together. Not a seismic shift, but a small tremor. Eddie told Richie about Rupert, and how they’d lived together in relative sin, and as he spoke, he’d screwed up his face as if willing himself to cry, to feel something. Richie cried enough for the both of them.

A few days later, it was a lazy Sunday, and Richie is listening to a local Scottish radio station sat out on the porch with Eddie in a comfortable silence.

“I don’t know what everyone else’s plans are for the afternoon, but I’m off to have a lovely roast dinner!” the radio host announces, before signing off for the day.

“Oh, I do miss a roast dinner” Eddie announces wistfully, rubbing at his stomach comically.

“What’s a roast dinner?”

“You’ve never had a roast dinner?!”

“Uh… no? Should I have? What is it?”

Eddie abruptly stands up, and walks back into the house, listing off all the components of a roast dinner as he walks. When they get to the kitchen, Eddie marches straight over to the fridge and, without opening it, sticks his head right through the door, before also sticking his left hand straight through the metal, as if the fridge was not a solid object at all. Richie is sure that there will never be a day that he doesn’t find that unbelievably funny.

“You have all the vegetables, but the only meat you have is … this!” Eddie pulls his head back through the fridge door, looking at his hand triumphantly, only to find that his hand is empty.

“I keep forgetting I cannot move things through other solid objects” Eddie deadpans, smacking his forehead in embarrassment.

Richie cackles at him, before moving to open the fridge himself, and seeing a lonely looking peperami lying on the bottom of the fridge. With Eddie’s help, Richie manages to cook the roast dinner without too much issue. The only time Eddie screeches at him is when he pours way too much oil into the roasting pan for the potatoes, but that issue is quickly rectified. After a few hours, the meal is prepared, and Richie plates up feeling overwhelmingly guilty that Eddie can’t share in the meal that he helped to prepare. Eddie assures him that he doesn’t miss eating that much, and ushers Richie into the dining room, where the new dining table stands proudly in the middle of the room. Richie places his plate on the table, before realising that he’d forgotten cutlery and a glass of water. Eddie, who had been standing behind his chair, follows him into the kitchen, walking straight through the table, and babbling nonsense about how Richie was about to experience something truly magical.

When Richie returned to the dining table, he found that his food was now burnt beyond recognition, the fresh vegetables that had been lying on his plate mere seconds ago now transformed into a smoky black sludge.

“What in God’s name …” Richie muttered, staring at the burnt food in disbelief as the cutlery slipped from his hand and fell to the floor with a thud.

Richie looks at Eddie, then back to the ruined food on his plate, then back to Eddie. Without saying anything, he ran back into the kitchen, grabbing a piece of broccoli, before charging back into the living room and throwing the broccoli directly at Eddie’s head.

The broccoli fell to the floor.

Or, more accurately, the broccoli that was now a black, burnt sludge fell to the floor.

“For fucks sake!”

– X –

Richie stays up late that night, sleepy eyes glued to his computer, scrolling through useless website after useless website before he lands on the first thing that looks even remotely promising 16 pages into the google search.

Stanley Uris – Corporeal Reanimator

#reddie #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #ghost au #property developer au #Richie Tozier x Eddie Kaspbrak #ao3 #thefutureisbright

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