#CATCH HER WEIGHT - IN ZERO GRAVITY?????

[tokiro07]

Undead Unluck ch.155 thoughts

[Stowaways]

This just might be the outright funniest chapter in Undead Unluck’s run, not necessarily because any of the jokes on their own outshine the previous funniest moments, but because there are just so damn many

Nico puking from the zero-gravity training in the background, Sean running off crying with a pun on his name (”chikuShon” or “damnaSean”), Sean thinking that Gina is interested in him only for her to just move on with the conversation, Gina telling him to make his weight appear to be zero and thinking she’s telling him to die, Sean calling Gina a liar when she says everything went as she planned, Nico’s expression when he sees the stowaways, and of course, the piece-de-resistance: Gina’s face when she realizes that she has no plan

Tozuka has definitely proven that he knows how to get a good laugh, but this chapter makes me think he could probably carry an entire gag manga if he wanted to, perhaps something along the lines of Saiki Kusuo or Magu-chan. I don’t generally like gag series, but Tozuka has more than earned my faith as a reader, so if I heard his next series would be a gag manga, I’d be on board with his sense of humor

I don’t think there’s really too much to say about this chapter that others haven’t already said: Sean and Gina make a surprisingly fun duo, and the two of them insisting on joining the team even if it means defying orders makes a lot of sense for their characters. Sean’s need to stand in the spotlight and desire to have a place to belong were evident in the previous loop when he defied Rip’s orders and got himself killed, so of course now that there’s the opportunity for a mission as unique as going into space he’d want to be a part of it, especially when you consider that he only just joined the group midway through the previous mission. Now that he feels like he’s found his tribe, being left out so quickly would naturally feel reminiscent of the rejections he’s so used to receiving already, as if he’s immediately fallen back into his old patterns. It’s an inferior complex, plain and simple, and the timing of a mission that he’s not suited for just makes it harder for him to grow past those feelings

Gina, on the other hand, has always been the jealous type, easily swayed and motivated by her own emotions. She wants to be the most important person in the eyes of her most important person; it’s how she was with Andy in Loop 100, and it’s how she is now with Fuuko. She understands and appreciates that Fuuko wants her to recover from the strain of the previous mission, but she’s also let it get to her head that she’s technically the most powerful Negator in the Union (not counting Billy’s ability to copy her powers), so she won’t trust anyone else with protecting Fuuko when she knows that no one is as capable as her. Unfortunately, because she was still recovering and clearly isn’t the type to consider all of the factors, her condition is almost certainly going to catch up to her over the course of this mission, and that is going to necessitate that she grow and change from her current, arguably bratty mindset

I imagine that this is going to end up being related to or centered around Sean, as we’ve already had it foreshadowed that he’s going to get flung out into space during this mission. Fuuko’s fear was that Sean’s ability would change without anyone knowing it, and that’s exactly what’s come to pass- he’s gained the ability to trick the senses of machinery, meaning that the infrared goggles likely won’t work on him anymore. How Gina’s growth might play into saving him, I’m not sure, as it’s not like Unchange can work on the nothingness of space, right?

I guess she might save him as he’s about to fly out of the ship, perhaps making his suit Unchanging so that it stays in place or something to that effect? I don’t really want to hazard a guess, as I’ve been known to be wrong pretty often

It’s also possible that Phil’s Unfeel will somehow be relevant to saving Sean, but again, I’m going to keep my mouth shut for now

Speaking of being wrong, last week I said I was worried Sean wouldn’t get much more focus going forward, so I’m really glad to see that I’ve been proven wrong so quickly. I’m still not convinced everyone is going to get this much attention, but I’m really endeared to Sean, so I’m happy to see him getting worked into the story when it seemed like he was going to kind of fade back into the background

My biggest worry right now is that the extra weight on the ship will somehow cause damage or otherwise be the reason that something goes wrong. Gina and Sean didn’t get the necessary training, and Gina didn’t even secure herself and Sean in the cargo bay with Unchange, so I’m quite confident that whatever goes wrong will technically be her fault

Still, it’ll all work out, it’s not like anyone’s going to die, so while there’s definitely going to be drama like with Nico almost getting hit by Disk, I’m sure that this space arc is going to be a ton of fun overall. Looking forward to it!!!

[quirkwizard]

Do you have any HCs or theories on the potential on Mina's or Ochako's Quirks? I feel like they have so much potential if given more attention.

I'm going with Mina here, as I think "Acid" is the more interesting of the two and has the greater potential, but I could try to cover "Zero Gravity" if you want.

Before I get into the potential of the Quirk, I think it's important to talk about what the Quirk is capable of. Because it's main usage is creating a powerful acid, but it goes a lot deeper than that. Mina can control the properties of her acid, namely the acidity, viscosity, and solubility. That means she can control how acidic it is and how thick the liquid is. It's how she's able to move around on her acid without burning a hole in the ground. Mina also has an exceptional control over the acid she creates as she is making, to the point where she could make full blown shapes like with her Acidman Super Move. So it has a lot more going on underneath and can lend itself to some fun uses outside of what we have already seen.

-If you want to go with Mina's natural abilities, she could apply the acid to her body instead of throwing it around, letting her augment her attack power in closer quarters. She doesn't really need to hit hard, she just needs to be quick enough to land the shot to apply the goo to their person, like weighting them down with a thicker version.

-While acids are usually dangerous, Mina could lower the acidity to make it more of an irritant, causing issues like coughing and blurry vision to whomever she hits. Which could be a really good way to disable and weaken opponents without doing any long lasting harm, which is a great for a hero with a Quirk as dangerous as this one.

-We saw that Mina could change how the acid came out by adjusting her hands. She could take a few notes from Bakugou and Endeavor, learning how to fire off the acid she makes in different ways by adjusting her hands or learning how to shape it further, like firing out a sticky, webbing-like pattern to trap someone.

-By making her acid thicker, she could give it more defined and permeant shapes. The shields we see her using are a good example, just more stable, making a temporarily defense for herself or nearby civilians or catching people in solidified go Mr. 3 and his wax ability in One Piece would be a good example of this idea.

-She could learn to further manipulate the properties of her acid. I don't think she could add anything, like suddenly making it a hallucinogen, but she could alter more of its physical properties, such as making it more flammable or more conductive. This could give her some combo options with characters like Bakugou and Denki.

-Mina could make the acid into a glue like "Cemendine". Maybe not to the same volume as Bondo, but having a lot of the same applications in using a glue like substance. This could actually make her very useful and adaptable in rescue work, letting her strengthen materials by gluing them together or weaken them by burning them with acid.

-In addition to that, she could have some good battlefield control options. By using her acid as a lubricant, she could cause opponents to slip and fall around while she can get around without an issue. She could throw around glue everywhere to trap them in place or spread out the acid to keep people from moving around too much.

-The Acidman move shows some promise. She could train for specific parts, like making a long, vicious arm to attack someone from afar. Maybe she could form different appendages, like a series of tendrils or wings on her arms for a short-lived mobility boost. She may even learn to simply make bigger versions of it, like a gooey monster form.

[ofdarkestdesires]

So...?

We need details here man!

Did Nate Save Gwen?

It happened in the blink of an eye.

One moment, Gwen was plummeting from the top of the clock tower—gears and springs and rivets tumbling all around her in a thunderous cacophony. She saw the ground reaching up to her, solid and unmoving, callous to the horrid fate awaiting her. She heard Nate’s voice behind her, screaming as he raced towards her—but he was still so far away.

And then…at once, there was this tear—a bright green tear in space just beneath her. She dropped like a lead weight into the rift, the breath catching in her chest as she flinched for some kind of impact. Instead, she felt weightless. Her body slowed, her descent steadying, until she just found herself floating almost peacefully in the black and green void around her.

“Gwen?”

Gwen’s eyes widened, and she spun around as quickly as the somewhat zero gravity space would allow—and once more, the breath caught in her chest. As floating just a few yards away was… “Nate?”

But not her Nate. Not exactly. He looked older—maybe seven, eight years, with a short beard and an undercut. His suit was different too—much more colorful than the all-black-white-spider suit she was familiar with. It was absolutely mesmerizing.

The most eye-catching part, of course, being the bright green gem nestled in what we’re the mandibles of his spider symbol.

The man who was Nate but not Nate smiled softly, and he drifted closer. “It’s been a long time, Gwen,” he murmured, reaching out a hand to her. “I’m sorry it took me so long to reach you…but I promised I’d always be there to catch you, didn’t I?”

Gwen looked at his outstretched hand, before hesitantly reaching out to him. “This…is this real?” She glanced back behind her—back to where the rift she’d come through had been, but she couldn’t see it anymore. “Or am I…”

“Dead?” Nate finished, and a somber smile spread across his face. “No…but I thought you had for a long time.” He shook his head, looking away. “I wasn’t able to catch up, and before I could try and dig you out, the tower started falling around me, and…”

He sighed, then tapped the gem on his suit. “But, turns out this little thing brought me to right when I needed to be.” Nate’s gaze lifted again, focusing on his once believed to be deceased girlfriend. “To save you, after all.”

For a long moment, Gwen wasn’t quite sure what to say—what to think—but when she did, she reached out to take his hand, letting him pull her close. A soft gasp escaped her as she felt large arms wrap around her—older Nate was so tall, and so strong. “What happens now? I’m guessing I’ve been gone for a long time.”

Nate chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you up to speed.” The gem on his suit seemed to gleam a bit with his words. “We’ve got all the time we need.”

He then leaned down, nestling his face against her soft blonde hair, breathing in that scent that was uniquely and specifically Gwen’s, and felt ten years of grief finally start to fade. And the young woman he held sighed, leaning into his embrace as well.

“I’m just so glad to have you back.”

[thegeneralreturns]

Thoughts on INDIANA JONES AND THE DIAL OF DESTINY

Indy gets his Unforgiven, and I am here for it.

The world's favorite two-fisted archaeologist has both time and life catch up with him, and the entire world around him tries to get him to don the hat and the whip again. This both humanizes what is essentially an action figure by providing just enough weight, while also playing into what makes Indiana Jones such an enduring character. He plays the straight man to a universe that grows increasingly absurd with each passing scene. That's why he's so superior to his knock-offs, who try to match the silliness of the works in which they appear, thus the stakes drastically lower. It's why Indiana Jones rules, and Nathan Drake sucks. It's hard to be a sad old man in a fun house, and the movie spends two-and-a-half hours reminding him of that.

Among the forces of absurdity are Phoebe Waller-Bridge as Indy's goddaughter and mercenary graverobber Helena Shaw. I've seen the Youtube incel factory level the usual accusations of "Mary Sue" and "Sociopath," and even if I subjected myself to the prerequisite kicks to the head from a mule needed to drop to their level, I'd still be hesitant to agree with them. Is it because she wants to get paid for the treasure she plunders? Do they not remember the beginning of Raiders, when Indy tried to steal that idol from those poor Hovitos? Remember, Indiana Jones only adopted the It-Belongs-In-A-Museum refrain after he watched the Hebrew God melt a few Nazis, and Helena hasn't had that happen to her yet. I fail to see how a character that tries to get the hero back in action, and then learns from his example could be the kind of disruptive they claim.

Why, if I didn't know any better, I'd think they only have a problem with something if a chick does it.

Special consideration must be given to the villain; Mads Mikkelsen as the Nazi Voller. I know Indiana Jones is ground zero for the Punch Nazis meme, but to watch Raiders of the Lost Ark is to watch a film visibly thrumming with anger that Nazis exist at all... arguably to the film's detriment, as Spielberg spent so much time making them look like dopes that they aren't the least bit threatening. But what Dial of Destiny pulls off with Voller's evil scheme is such a subversive dagger to the Nazi heart that it had me grinning from ear to ear. This sets the groundwork for a third act that is so toweringly batshit that I lapsed into a giggle fit. Not so much that it worked (though for the record, I think it did), than for the sheer gall of the attempt.

So what did we learn from Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny? You don't have to be the person who risks life and limb on dangerous quests in unfamiliar lands. You just have to be the person who would if they could. Because the call of adventure, the thirst for knowledge, and the thrill of romance in its many forms are native to every soul. But they are fragile, and must be tended, even in the face of life's sad gravity.

We're never too old to learn this lesson.

Or, it seems, too young.

Give 'em Hell, Indiana Jones...

[clonerightsagenda]

I was recently reminded of our 2020 conversation about the Crewmember Stacking Game, which as far as I am concerned is an official zero gravity sport and if I ever write something set in 0g where the crew has room to move and at least semi gets along they will play it. You have been warned.

Kat popular 0g game: how many crewmates can you carry weight is not an issue, positioning and strategy are Hui and Fisher once teamed up with Hui drawing a diagram and Fisher managed to carry the entire crew (minus Rhea of course) it's like human Jenga

Gill Wide shoulders and long arms constitute an advantage Is it cheating if you are carrying a crewmate who is then carrying another crewmate?

Kat no that's valid strategy BUT you have to be able to move and bring all the others with you in some way

Gill Eiffel: Finally! I can be a real life Scooby Doo cartoon!

Kat this started bc someone (probably Hui) was mildly injured and insisted on being carried around until they recovered and then someone was like, but how many can we stack

Gill Hui: Fourier, hold me~ Fisher: she’s busy at the moment, but don’t worry Doc, I can give ya a hand! Hui: This is also fine

Kat pictured: an acceptable Crew Stacking strategy

Gill That is exactly what I was picturing yes

Kat (getting Hilbert onto your stack is extreme difficulty  mode bc he does not want to cooperate) someone, bored out of their mind in s3: any ideas that aren't terrible road trip games? Lovelace: I have one idea Hilbert: disappears into his lab before anyone can pick him up

Gill The Challenges with the New Gang are: Getting Eiffel to hold still Getting people other than Eiffel to participate (ranked in terms of difficulty from least to greatest: Maxwell, Jacobi, Minkowski, Kepler, Hilbert) Overcoming active attempts at sabotage

Kate Ahahahaha

Kat strategy to get each one of them to submit to being stacked: Jacobi - at least someone's paying attention to him Kepler - explain that it is a Competition and his cooperation will make him a Winner Minkowski - explain that if they stack Eiffel he can't be somewhere else breaking things, so she should encourage this for Team Efficacy Eiffel - explain he doesn't have to do work while being Stacked

Gill Maxwell: Get Hera to ask her to play

Kate Minkowski: this is blatant manipulation. It’s not even subtle Minkowski: but unfortunately you’re not wrong

Kat Hilbert - you just gotta catch him there's no easy way out of this one note: you  must have all previous crew members stacked while acquiring new crew members Lovelace, piled with crew members, chasing Hilbert down the hallway

Gill It’s the only time she and Kepler have ever enthusiastically cooperated as Kepler has zero reservations about just reaching out and snatching Hilbert

Kat everyone's just trying to grab one of his limbs Hilbert's like I have never been so disrespected since the time Fourier uncharacteristically put me in a headlock so her team could win the stacking contest

Kate PARTICIPATE in the GROUP, Hilbert! You are a MEMBER of this CREW whether or not you like it or we like you

Gill Fun mishaps include: Lovelace being unable to see where she’s going and receiving conflicting directions and thus ramming everyone and herself into a wall at high speeds

Kat part of the stacking experience it's important to choose who the legs are and who the steering is wisely

Gill Minkowski and Lovelace, the Navigations Specialist Dream Team

Kat Minkowski: Left, left, tight turn - whoops, sorry about the elbow, doctor Maxwell

Kate They have SKILLS and will put them to good use

Gill Note to accomplish this one of them has to be able to see their surroundings with a fair degree of accuracy so if Minkowski gets buried within the stack and her vision is obstructed that’s a no-go

Kat there is not technically a gunner position but Eiffel occasionally lobs shit at hilbert to slow down his escape

Kate Eiffel valiantly taking over: okay okay go left- I MEANT RIGHT I MEANT RIGHT It’s too late and Lovelace has already run straight into a wall

Gill Kepler also tends to try and strong-arm the Designated Legs into following his directions by Yelling The Loudest so I guess if you can’t hear your Chosen Navigator over him that’s also Something Ditto threats of violence if you don’t listen to him

Kate Kepler that’s Cheating >: (

Gill Lovelace got back at him for this when he tried it with her. Used his directions to ram him into something, thereby inflicting totally accidental head trauma.

Kat we have fun here

[cherokeegal1975]

Unexpected Cargo, Ch. 1, Part 1 By Meriah Smith (Author's note below chapter pages)

Running

Johnathan fled through a desolate landscape east towards the safety of the weathered stones ahead. With any luck, he had lost his persuers for good this time. The new day was already promising a blistering heat as his dust colored robes and pants billowed back in the rising wind. He worried that a sandstorm might be approaching. It would be a blessing if he found shelter in time.

He didn't know why King Richard's guards were still perusing him so determinedly across the Red Sands desert. He was just a political nobody that transported cargo and occasionally passengers.

His last commission seemed a mere kindness at the time, he reflected as he tried to run even faster despite his exhaustion, cursing his bad luck and poor judgement.

Last night they had captured his sand ship. He'd been leaving the trading post when they'd spotted him and he had led them on a harrowing chase along a dirt road at breakneck speeds.

To the casual observer, his long, rust colored vessel looked like a boxy and neglected hovercraft, but it could zip over terrain that most wheeled vehicles would have found impossible to traverse. It could turn on a stone, stop dead in a heartbeat and accelerate from zero to one hundred and eighty in sixty seconds flat. Best part was, no matter how fast his ship sped above the ground, its body and his cargo never suffered from the additional g-forces. A series of spells kept gravity ad a steady normal, as if it were standing still.

Damn, how he missed his sand ship, he thought as he panted though parched lips, it had been his home as well as his main source of his livelihood and he was uncertain if he would ever get it back.

However, he was not so blinded by the loss of his possessions that he couldn't remember to be grateful that he escaped before King Richard decided on the best way to kill him. And he thanked the Goddess of all Creation with every fiber of his being that they didn't catch Goldie and Little Girl.

They would have killed Goldie outright and sold Little Girl back into slavery as a gladiator in the worst blood sport events of the oasis towns had to offer. The very thought of Goldie dead and Little Girl winding up mad and broken of spirit from the abuse of her captors, squeezed his heart with worry. He would die to protect them both.

His thick leather boots kicking up sand with every running step as he pared a glance up to the sky, to where the form of a young dragon followed him on towards the safety of the rocks and water just ahead. She carried what little supplies she managed to recover in her claws and his rat Goldie who was clinging to her feather mane at the base of her neck.

This was his dragon that he rescued from slavery and then adopted as his own daughter. He called her "Little Girl" because he couldn't think of what else to call her and she refused to respond to any other name.

She would have let him ride her across the skies along with the rest of what she was carrying if she could have, but the mastiff sized dragon was still too small to carry his weight.

Johnny staggered up a long steep grade that led up to the huge rock formation he was headed for. A little farther...just a little farther...then they could rest.

When the cave entrance came into view, it didn't look wider than a larger crack, but he knew there was good shelter inside and a pool of spring water.

He stumbled and fell gasping; another one of those damned cramps had him in its grips again. He didn't know the source of what ailed him, though he had his suspicions. Could it have been a spell cast by that princess eight days ago?

Princess Elena had been recently widowed when her husband's brother had killed for the throne. She had fled for her life, found Johnny and asked for his help.

Warning bells went off in his head, but one look at those big dark eyes tearing up after his initial refusal and he had to relent. Johnny was resourceful and tough as nails, yet by no means was he heartless. It was both his strength and sometimes weakness. His good nature got him into trouble more than once in his thirty years of life.

A competent white witch, the princess had drugged him somehow or cast a sleep spell on him shortly after he agreed to help her. When he had awakened, she gave him the royal seal, then asked him to keep it safe for her until she requested its return.

He accept ed the task along with twenty-five pieces of gold as a retainer. Yet he had sensed some other motive and keeping the seal safe was a cover for the real reason she needed his help.

Before he could discover the truth, they had been attacked by King Richard's guards. He made his escape at her barked command to go while her own guards fought to protect her.

He liked the princess, but he wanted nothing to do with politics. Getting to much attention from royalty meant they might discover illegal cargo he sometimes carried. He would honor the contract that the made with her to the best of his ability; he did have a reputation to maintain. Besides, she could take care of herself. In addition to her personal guards, she was powerful in her magics.

Johnny had no knack for spells himself, so he could not divine what she had done to him while he lay in his enchanted stupor. Since agreeing to help her, every time he stopped for more than a day, the king's guards would find him again. Why did Richard want that stupid seal so bad? Why not get another one?

The cramps started just twelve hours after he had escaped capture, which started as annoying twinges he forgot about as soon as they passed, but they steadily became worse. They would go from a dull pain nothing would fix, to so agonizing that it left him sick until they passed. The constant dull pain eased in a couple of days, but the sharp, periodic attacks would come and go without warning, leaving him breathless.

After four days of this, he reluctantly admitted he couldn't continue running his cargo business under these conditions. So, he stocked up on extra supplies and headed out into the deep desert intending to stay there until the king lost interest in him.

For three days the ruse seemed to work; relatively few people dared to live in the largely unmapped and untamed wilderness where water sources were unknown to the city dwellers and royal houses of the Red Sands. But Johnny had grown up there and lived with a nomadic tribe of honorable thieves since he was twelve.

Somehow the guards located him again on the way out from a tiny trading post and they chased him with their heavy wheeled vehicles, Johnny driving his sand ship as fast it would go.

He might have gotten away if they didn't have a powerful armor piercing-rifle that took out his main engine before he could make it to terrain too rough for them to cross at any great speed.

Little Girl had been sitting in the passenger seat in her child form holding Goldie in her lap when the sand ship suddenly dropped out of the air and skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust, nearly tipping over sideways more than once as it came to rest.

"Get out!" Johnny had ordered desperately as he leaned over them and shoved open the passenger door. "Take Goldie and fly away!"

"Daddy, no!" she cried in protest as she hugged the frightened rat to her bare chest, terrified tears running down her cheeks.

Already he could hear the guards approaching though the rapidly dissipating dust cloud.

"GO!!!" he shouted at her with a gentle shove toward the open door.

With a sob, the brave and beautiful child tumbled out of the passenger door and shifted into her true form with Goldie still in her arms, flying into the sun as guards fired their guns at her, causing them to miss their target. In moments she was out of sight altogether.

They hauled him out of this broken ship and attempted to subdue him with great difficulty. He couldn't fight them all, but he was determined to kill as many as he could before they killed him. He could at least buy Little Girl and Goldie some time to get away.

He managed to break free of the first guard that grabbed him, killing that one first with his pistol and then several more. They rushed him before he could reload, so he withdrew his curved short sword and killed three more. He might have escaped despite the odds against him if those damned cramps hadn't caught him by surprise and double him over in agony.

Johnny cursed the princess under his breath, face pressed in the dirt, as they pinned him to the ground and took his sword. They tied his hands behind his back with rough hemp ropes and hobbled his sand ship's cargo holds, tore up his and Little Girl's few personal belongings and maliciously blew small holes into his ship's hill with their firearms after they finished their reckless search of his ship.

They found the seal. He didn't have time to hide the troublesome thing while he busy running and hiding in the oasis town s that were his usual haunts. They "officially" declared him a thief, a murderer, and a traitor to the crown and he was to await judgement by his Highness King Richard...blah, blah, blah...

He didn't care, all he wanted was to escape and find his family. He wasn't loyal to any established government. How could he be a traitor to a kingdom that he was not a citizen of?

The sun was setting when he had finally been captured. He soon learned that King Richard himself was coming in person to see him. The guards' orders were to remain until he arrived early the next morning.

(This is the first three pages of my first chapter of this book. If it goes over well enough, I'll put in more pages. I just want to see if anyone would care enough to actually read it and leave an honest comment. I'd put in the whole chapter all at once, but Tumbler won't let me do that. So, I'm having to break it up and it's slow work because I can't just copy paste, much to my annoyance. Tumblr won't let me do that either. So, I have to type everything in. A lot of work for maybe getting no response. This book is available on Amazon. The little bit of editing I managed to get and forever be grateful for in the first five chapters does not appear in the book or the audiobook. Sorry about that. I'll do something about that when I can afford to hire someone, which isn't cheap at all. So, if you want to read more, let me know. I'll post three more pages. I know the narrative wanders a bit for the first chapter, but that's my way of opening with a bang for this book. I did keep things mostly linear the rest of the story. This is a lot of work for nothing if I don't get any feedback. Please, give it a chance.

Post Script: response or no response, I might just type some more anyway. It's something to do. And yes, I can illustrate some. Creativity is my thing. And, yeah there's child nudity in this story, but it's all innocent. I promise. Besides, the girl isn't human. You can see her caring Goldie in the first drawing in her true form.)

[ameliejones]

6.

eventually the tide recedes and awareness slowly returns -

the serenity of his weight rising and falling - his lips against hers just before he finally pulls away, and then the distant sound of running water -

the eddy of thoughts and feelings swirling just beyond the silky veil of euphoria -

nope - that can wait -

the coolness of the air against her bare skin as her pulse slows -

she pulls the covers up over her and leans down to retrieve the bottle of bourbon she keeps stashed, for celebration or in case of emergency -

laughing to herself as she realizes she’s not sure which this is, she raises it in a silent toast and takes a generous swig -

eamon stands gripping the edge of the sink, head bowed, eyes unfocused -

a part of him is aware of the damp towel over his shoulder and the hiss of the faucet he’s left running, the rest is.. diverted -

the enduring haze of contentment is now being shadowed by a whisper of foreboding - it’s not unfamiliar, this feeling -

whenever he isn’t able to catch himself before the switch flips: when he loses time, and the next thing is always blood on his hands and the sound of someone screaming, it’s there - every time, like a residue - like penance -

he had come to terms with that.. but it feels different now - her words echo back - you’ll have to let yourself fall.. -

the sound of ash’s buttery irish lilt over the p.a. snaps him back, away from the precipice; away from the abyss of introspection - so much of what he just experienced challenges his fundamental understanding of.. everything - it’s only delaying the inevitable but he’s grateful for the distraction all the same -

..scheduled maintenance on the gravity drive is all set to begin in approximately twenty minutes, so please secure all personal items and prepare for intermittent zero g for about an hour or so.. we do apologize for the inconvenience, but rest assured our maintenance team will have us back up and running before you know it -

Shit.

eamon is supposed to be on the bridge right now -

with harly still two days out he is the maintenance team - quickly returning syn’s bathroom to something resembling the state he found it in, he starts hastily making his way to the exit, retrieving and putting on each discarded piece of clothing as he comes across it - it’s not until he’s shoving his foot back into his second boot that he turns to face her and offers bluntly -

I have to go.

both he and his statement abruptly lose steam as the look on her face reconnects him with the fact that this is a shared experience, and he replays the last few minutes from her perspective - he can imagine what might be going through her mind, having just watched him jettison from the bathroom, into which he had disappeared without a word, and careen toward the door - but her expression is.. amused -

[aashi-heartfilia]

Studio Bones loves Ochako:

Yeah, at least that much was evident by season 5. Someone in the writing staff actually loves Ochako and IzuOcha, which is why they not only bothered doing her scenes properly but also made up for the battle left during the Overhaul arc.

It was quite noticable how almost all of her scenes were given extra attention. Especially the one where Dekuraka were falling slowly in zero gravity after calming BW.

This scene was a tiny little panel in Manga with not much of a weight what so ever but it was done so beautifully in the anime that I can't help but praise the staff.

And not only that, they even added a special filler episode showcasing Uraraka and Asui's internship.

In the Manga, there was just a cover page saying that Team Ryukyu is also going on a mission but they never bothered elaborating it.

Their was also no proper mention of Ochako's new costume in Manga and just few minor apperances until she showcases it to her friends in later chapters.

The anime team however went above and beyond and made an entire episode out of it, not only finding a way to introduce Uraraka's new gear but also cleverly connecting it to the movie: World Heroes Mission.

And to think this was just one filler and here:

1. She gets a costume upgrade

2. Acknowledges her mistakes: jumping without thinking

3. Works on it: "This time I'll think properly and then help"

4. New move: Gravity Plus

5. Makes an entire seaplane weightless: limit 6-7 Tons!

She also got a quick moment in the later episode showcasing her mobility and speed has increased (when she rushed to catch Deku's keyring)

Seriously, sometimes I think Horikoshi could have just left Ochako's development to Studio Bones and maybe they would have done a better job without being bias.

But with all that being said, I'm really looking forward to what they would do in the war arc with scenes like these...

I am hoping they add a few extra scenes here and there because again, she has very less action in the Manga. Maybe, VH arc will be in season 7 but I'm looking forward to War arc either way.

[rymndsmth]

home (tommy arashikage)

a/n: anyways you know the deal new hyperfixation dropped blah blah here’s a fic. no warnings so enjoy!

“I have given my life to this clan!”

His voice pierced through the otherwise hushed remains of the would be war that had been narrowly avoided. 

To say that you were accustomed to hearing Tommy loose his temper from time to time would’ve been a slight exaggeration, though definitely not unheard of. But this…

There was something different about the tone of his voice, something different about who this outburst was directed towards. The pain you sensed behind those words was enough to draw you to your feet and along the corridors to the source. 

“I have sacrificed everything! It is my blood right!” 

You watched with wide eyes from behind a pillar as Tommy lashed out at the last person you would’ve ever suspected. An indescribable sense fell upon you. It was as if time had been slowed, allowing the weight of the world to feel that much heavier on your shoulders. Gravity pushing down slowly, but with so much intensity that it left you gasping. 

This was it. 

Sure, he’d been disobedient and everything else under the sun to his grandmother over the last fifteen years that you’d known him. None of those occurrences were ever to this magnitude. 

What was happening now, as he approached Snake Eyes to whisper inaudibly with so much fury that you shook from where you stood, was irreversible. No amount of begging, punishment, or reparation could bring him back from this. 

That horrifying realization multiplied as you watched his grandmother, despite her position, plead with him. And hit a crescendo as he removed the family ring from his finger, placed it to the ground, and said: 

“I serve no one.” 

Time ceased to slow. In fact, it felt as if it had tripled in speed. 

You watched him stalk away powerfully, with zero intention of stopping, and it became evident you quite literally had seconds to decide what you were going to do. Were you prepared to walk away too? 

With Tommy. The young boy that had found you idling by the stream not far from the clan’s base. Abandoned, shaking, terrified you that held a stick to his throat in warning. And him with amused, kind eyes that invited you to follow him for a warm meal at the very least. 

With Tommy. The daring adolescent that dealt out just as many bruises to your body as you did to his during early morning sparring sessions. Proud eyes that observed the quick shifts in your stance, and the contraction on your muscles as you moved like a gust of wind with your katana. 

Tommy. The one that washed the blood of the first opponent you’d slain from your hair because your hands couldn’t stop shaking. The one who had been the first, and only, to see, taste, and touch every inch of your skin. The one that occupied every corner of your heart, not even leaving an millimeter for yourself. 

“Tomisaburo!” 

He stopped, his head turning just enough for you to see his eyes cast downwards. 

You didn’t even realize that your legs had carried you, that you had ran to catch up with him. The both of you had came all the way to the bridge’s end, the clan’s compound looming behind you. 

“Go back.” His voice, though strong, was soft. “Don’t leave the only home you’ve known.”

Despite everything that transpired, you smiled. And then laughed. 

Tommy turned to fully face you then, brows knitted. The fit of laughter continued, quickly melting into tears. They didn’t pool in the corner of your eyes and fall because something was funny. Of course, nothing about the situation was hilarious. 

You were crying because he was so fucking stupid. And noble. But mostly stupid. 

“Tommy.” Your hand fell to his jaw. “My home is you. I don’t intend to leave it, ever.” 

There was a rippling tremor through his features. From those eyes that could be so cruel, yet so gentle to that beautiful mouth of his that he loved to keep fixed in a scowl. He enclosed the fingers that you had on his face with his own, squeezing lightly. 

“I don’t know where I’m going.” Tommy whispered. 

“We’ll figure it out on the way.” Your eyes held his. 

He kept your gaze for a few moments, then nodded. Hands still intertwined, you walked into the village towards heaven knows what. You could come to glory, or you could come to doom. None of that mattered as much as the person beside you. Nothing that awaited in an unknown destination could scare you away from Tomisaburo Arashikage. 

[thran-duils]

Lost in Zero Gravity (P.22)

Title: Lost In Zero Gravity (Part Twenty Two) Summary:  Fem!Reader x Mob Boss!Tony Stark x Mob Boss!Steve Rogers.  Reader is a call girl who runs high end parties. She catches the attention of Tony Stark who invites her back to his room with his friend. She might have performed too well because she becomes their new favorite play toy and they don’t like to share. Words: 2,519 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Smut, prostitution, infidelity, angst, domestic violence, stalking, possessive behavior, drug use

Part Twenty One || Part Twenty Three || Masterpost (mobile) || Fanfic masterpost

Sullen, you walked out of the bathroom. Luna had started scratching, luring you out of the bathroom, and she bolted in past you towards her litter box. You had been in the bathroom for almost a half hour, crying over the test you had been clenching in your hands. You had eventually tossed it into the waste bin, closing the lid so you did not have to look at it anymore. But it did not erase the fact you knew you were pregnant.

The apartment was quiet and you wondered if you were alone but coming out of the hall, you saw the balcony door was open, the curtains moving gently in the breeze. Tony was sitting out on the balcony in one of the new patio chairs that had been bought for the new space. He heard you shuffle in and turned his head. His hand was gripping the short glass tightly — almost empty of the amber liquid. The bottle was sitting next to him on the small table.

You stopped in the doorframe and his eyes ran over you, remorse in his expression.

“I’d offer you some but...” Tony said, stiffly holding his glass up briefly, trying to joke but it fell flat under the weight of the situation.

Tossing your hands out defeated, you asked tearfully, “How… why would he…”

“What do you want to do?” Tony asked, sincerely.

He sounded genuine, like he meant it that he wanted your opinion. The first time he had ever asked you to have control over a choice had to be this.

“I don’t know,” you told him, sniffling. Wiping at your eyes, you asked, “Have you spoken to him?”

Tony let out a wry laugh and said, “’Spoken’ would be a very loose term.” He saw you were looking at him expectantly and he offered, “I saw him last week. The same day you got moved. We fought. Badly. I actually suited up.” Your eyes widened. “I can’t take him hand to hand without it. I provoked him though so what else should I have expected?”

“What do you mean ‘provoked’?”

“I was furious about what he’d done and I made some snide remark about how he never seems to be able to be sure he’s the dad. It was… warranted but it wasn’t helpful. In hindsight, I mean.”

“So, you haven’t told him that I’m pregnant. That’s what I’m asking.”

“No,” Tony said quickly, his eyes stern, locked with yours. “No. I am not going to do that. You think he’s been bad? If he found out that, I don’t want to think about what lengths he would go to. I can tell you exactly what I think you should do and that’s making an appointment, terminating, and not telling him about it at all. But… what do you want?”

He watched you intently and you finally said, “I need some time.”

It looked like that was not what he wanted to hear but he said nothing, just taking another drink, finishing off his scotch. His phone buzzed and he looked over lazily. He rolled his eyes and opened up the bottle again.

Knowing the answer before you even asked, “Steve?”

“Mhmm,” Tony answered, pouring himself another small glass. He twisted the cap back on and picked up his glass. “He must have visited the apartment and realized you’re not there. I’m surprised he waited a whole week with how angry he was when I saw him last.”

“I suppose I should just go turn my phone off because I don’t want him blowing me up,” you muttered, turning and walking back into the apartment.

<><><>

You had taken the day to figure out what you thought was best and even if it still felt a little rash, you felt confident that you could get the upper hand. Closing the bedroom door, you went and sat on the edge of your bed. Tony was working on his laptop in the kitchen with his headphones in. There was little risk he was going to overhear the conversation you were about to have.

“Where are you?” Steve answered tightly.

“Good morning to you too,” you replied coolly. “I think you know why I’m calling.”

“I have an idea. Look, Y/N. I can get that you feel a little shook up by what happened but—"

You interjected forcibly, “Why did you do it?”

He hated being interrupted, especially by you. And you heard it in his rigid tone, “Do what? Take you on the mission? Not tell you beforehand. You’re going to have to be clearer.”

At least he was aware he had fucked up multiple times. But he was not talking about his most egregious fault to date.

“My birth control. Why do you want me pregnant?”

It was quiet for a beat before Steve let out a scornful laugh. “Ah. So, Tony did say something. Bastard couldn’t keep it to himself.”

“Well, it does involve him pretty intimately!” you snapped. “You didn’t just fuck me over, you could have fucked him over too.”

Steve sounded a little breathless when he asked, “Are you...”

You detected an uptick in his voice; he sounded hopeful. And you wanted to sock him for it.

Not answering him directly, you inquired, “What if it’s yours? What then?” You could hear him breathing and you pressed when he did not answer quick enough, “What then, Steve?”

“If it’s mine and my wife’s isn’t mine, then I want it. I want my child.”

That is what you thought he was going to say and you played your card, “What do I get?”

Chuckling, Steve asked, “Bargaining, are you?”

“Seems I have the power to do so potentially. So, if it’s yours and you want it, I want you to buy me out. I don’t want to owe you anymore.”

“You talk to Tony about that?”

“I mean half Steve. The half you have invested. Don’t worry about Tony and I.”

“You still want to be with him,” Steve mused. He sounded dejected; you had wounded his ego and that was apparent. But what else did he expect with how he had treated you?

“Do you agree?” you asked ignoring what he said.

It sounded like it took everything in him to say the words; like he said it through gritted teeth. “Fine. I’ll pay you out.”

“And if it isn’t yours? Tony doesn’t want another kid. And I can’t get tested until nine weeks for paternity and it takes ten to fourteen days to get results. I would need an appointment made shortly after. To terminate, I mean.”

Steve was quick to answer, sounding sour. “Tony’s got connections.”

“You’ve got connections. This is your mess.” Steve was silent and you pressed, “I’m only going to agree if you agree to pay me out either way it lands. You owe me that. You betrayed me—“

Steve started to laugh, scornfully saying, “Betrayed. Do you hear your—“

You cut in forcibly, having a lot bigger confidence being on the phone and not having him tower over you, although you were shaking from nervousness still, “And you guarantee an appointment for termination if it’s Tony’s and not yours.”

“You might not even have to wait for the 9 weeks,” Steve said. “My wifes got an appointment in three days. I can order a test for her. If it’s mine, then you’re off the hook.”

‘Off the hook’, you thought to yourself angrily. Like it was a light thing you were discussing.

“If it’s yours, Steve, and I go through with this, I want it in writing. Legal. All of it.” You made yourself sound as threatening as you could.

“Man, you are learning very quickly. It’s impressive really. Where do you want me to send the document to?”

He was trying to be clever and figure out where you were. Get you to slip up in your emotions.

“Nice try. Tony doesn’t even know I’m calling you.”

“Hmm. He wants to keep you hidden away then. Classic Tony. He doesn’t like sharing; he was a spoiled, only child.”

“Or maybe he’s pissed at how you treated me,” you snapped, annoyed he was acting like Tony had done what he had out of left field.

“Right. Ticked off protective daddy. What do you think his endgame is? With you, I mean, dove.” The nickname made your skin crawl now. “Do you think he’s going to continuing pampering you? Forever? Tony gets bored quickly.”

You were not here to play mind games with him, and you were not going to rise to his bait. You were fighting one battle at a time, and he was yours right now.

“Look, I’ll talk to him,” you said, wanting to end the conversation. “You can give it to him at the facility.”

“Cause him and I seeing each other went so well last time,” Steve chuckled, and you knew he was referring to what Tony had told you about their physical altercation. “Fine. Work your magic on him. I doubt he’ll tell you no though cause he can’t deny you anything.” You gritted your teeth at his bitter tone. Steve tried another angle, “You really won’t even meet me in public?”

“No. One, because I know you’ll probably try to follow me and secondly, I don’t want to see you. Not after what you did at the docks and now this.”

Steve exhaled sharply and his tone made your skin crawl with apprehension at its ferociousness, “If you are carrying my child, Y/N, you need to see me. I will be around. I want—“

“You’ll want what? To have access to me?”

“You’re damn right. To check in.”

“I can take care of myself,” you said, fighting to keep your voice even.

“I don’t trust that!” Steve snapped. “You – or fucking Tony – won’t keep me away entirely. I won’t stand for it. I’ll be at the doctor appointments. I won’t budge on that, Y/N. I deserve to be there.”

You bit your cheeks, your mind racing. You had not anticipated him wanting to be around like that. You thought you could go through the pregnancy and give him the child at the end. It seemed he was not going to make it that easy.

“Y/N?”

“Fine. If it’s yours. Doctor appointments. But that’s it.”

“Good. Glad you fucking understand. I’ll be in touch,” Steve said tersely before hanging up without saying goodbye.

<><><>

Steve was fuming when he hung the phone up. She was getting mouthy, and he hated she was dangling it over his head like she was. He had planted the idea though, her paying off her debt. She had found a way to get him by the balls and he had to play the game.

He let out a shout, kicking the waste basket by his desk, sending it careening into the wall.

<><><>

Chewing your salad, you shot a look at Tony across the table. He was eating while he was working on a hologram. You had gotten off the phone with Steve and hour ago and made up a chicken salad for the pair of you. You had been quiet while Tony worked – he had a problem of stepping away when he was set on something – but you needed to confess because you needed him for this to work out.

You swallowed your bite and said bluntly, “I spoke with Steve.”

Tony stopped chewing and snapped his gaze up to you. He asked with a full mouth, “Excuse me?”

Twirling your fork around, you admitted, “I called him. He wasn’t here at the apartment. Obviously. You were here. You would have known if he was.”

He swallowed his food now, tossing his fork into the bowl, and then demanded, “Why?” He actually turned off the hologram. Apparently you could pry his attention away with the right motivator.

You met his eyes and said, “I wanted to hear it from him. Why he did it. And he told me...” you paused before saying, “And I wanted to know what my stakes are.”

“‘Stakes’?”

“Yeah. Like what if it is his? What happens? And what do I get for carrying it for him?”

Tony’s expression pulled a 180 from confused to irritated. “Y/N, you can’t think—“

“I can think, actually,” you cut in harshly. “Very well too sometimes. He’s gonna pay me out of his half of the contract he said if I carry to term. Regardless of if it’s his. If it’s yours, he’s gonna set up an appointment to terminate. I’ll be free of him either way.”

“Free of him...”

“I don’t want him touching me ever again.”

Tony relaxed if only for a second at your admission, but the moment was brief. Exasperated, he argued, “I fully heartedly understand that, love. Believe me, I do. But... you can’t expect him to keep his word. He wouldn’t do it for me and —"

“He will keep his word, but I need your help. He is going to get a legal document done up about it. All the terms, if it is his.” Tony looked shocked. “I would.... really appreciate it if you would grab it from him and also make sure it’s legit. I don’t want loopholes.”

Tony ground his teeth, looking pensive. “I’m gonna regret this.”

<><><>

“And the paternity test you ordered,” the doctor said, finishing listing off the things they would be going through during the appointment.

Cecile’s head snapped to Steve, who looked unperturbed. As he should since he had called the office himself to add it to the appointment. She was unnerved. “Paternity... Steve, you said you were waiting until after the baby is born!”

“I want it done now,” he returned dryly, meeting her eyes. She opened her mouth to protest, and he told her sharply. “This isn’t a discussion, Cecile.”

Cecile reluctantly closed her mouth, and the doctor went on, acting as if nothing had happened — he was on Steve’s payroll after all —, “It takes ten to fourteen days for results, Mr. Rogers. But I’ll make sure it’s done in ten for you.”

“I’m aware. And thank you for that,” Steve responded. He tossed a look at Cecile, finding her looking down at her stomach, gripping it possessively. He felt sick satisfaction seeing the worry etched in her features. He loved her so damn much and for the first time in a while, he felt like he had control over her again.

<><><>

You were sitting in one of the patio chairs, sunglasses on, relaxing in the early spring weather. It was still chilly, so you had a sweater on, but you were content.

Your phone drug you from your thoughts and you turned your head to look over at the small table beside your chair. Your stomach clenched seeing that Steve was calling. This was it. You shot a look back inside, seeing Tony snoozing on the couch with Luna. You got up quickly and closed the patio door before answering the phone with a quick hello.

“It’s not mine,” Steve greeted you.

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld

Fic tags: @icant-hangout-imdrumming @oceaniamaddness @multifandom-superlover @imsonick @holl2712 @here4thefanfics @agustdowney @fanofalltheficsx @buttercandy16 @last-saturday-night @woohoney

[rouiyan]

𝘗𝘜𝘓𝘓 𝘔𝘌 𝘜𝘕𝘋𝘌𝘙 [ 𝘯.𝘫𝘮 ]

⧏ jaemin’s installment of the undone at twenty-one collective ⧐

synopsis: one estranged at the hands of love and the other tethered to his reputation. it's no wonder they find solace within each other.

✧ bartender!na jaemin x (fem.) reader (ft. ex!mark) ✧ college au, almost fwb au

✧ genres : fluff, angst, slight comedy ✧ word count : 15.5k ✧ disclaimers : swearing, alcohol consumption, insecurities, anxiety attacks, mentions of sex (no explicit smut, as per usual)

✧ author’s note — i'm so sorry to do this to you guys on a weekly, i swear, dropping double digit k fics is not normal and has definitely fucked with my sleep schedule ++ i hit 127 followers on thursday! for a total of four minutes but it was cool while it lasted! thank you! 

maybe it all started when na jaemin got the job at the bar. it certainly didn't suit him, not the sweet boy he was, keyword on 'was.' he'd taken a course on bartending over the summer between senior year high school and his first year of college, just for fun until he realized he could actually use his license to get a job that paid slightly above minimum wage. maybe, it all started when he'd seen a classmate at the bar, a pretty girl at that, who'd smiled in a way that could only be classified as flirtatiously. maybe that's what had jaemin winking back, for the first time in his life. maybe that's what got him laid later that night. and maybe that's how he started to identify as more of a fuckboy than a heartthrob. it was a far out though new feeling, he thought. high school jaemin could never, he thought. 

but maybe it all started to come to an end when you walked into the bar for the fourth time that week, eyes rimmed red and breath already tinged with alcohol. you ordered a draft beer from him, something light to keep you slightly buzzed but not completely knocked out. the hands of the clock were nearing two in the morning and the bar, especially the area of the counter he was tending, was beginning to empty out. jaemin struck conversation once you were the only one left and seven minutes before his shift ended. 

he realizes, again, that you have zero recollection of him though he'd also struck conversation for the three nights before.

"how was your day, miss?"

you look up, head propped on your right hand, hand propped up with your elbow. "me?" slightly wary, you sit upright in front of the guy behind the counter. his smile never falters when he nods. you blink twice before remembering to respond, "i- no, i mean, today was okay," you slouch back into yourself, "a little less than okay, actually." the bartender's eyes widen in consideration, remembering that you had stopped at just 'okay' for the past days he'd asked you. he takes from this to offer politely, "do you mind if i ask what happened?"

your eyes are focused on the sink behind him, distractedly. almost forgetting to reply, you gather your thoughts by clearing your throat and pondering for a few moments before beginning to speak, hesitantly, "well it's like when you just know something bad's gonna happen, and you know for awhile. then it does happen and you don't get to be surprised or shocked because you already knew. so all you're left to feel is just," you heave a sigh, "sadness, or maybe even regret."

the metal nametag pinned to his chest glints in the lights above as he moves forward to place his elbows on the counter, leaning casually. you notice it to spell out 'jaemin' and a part of your subconsciousness is trying to make you remember that you know this guy. you know him from school, from rumors, from your gossiping friends, you know him from the bar even. but all you're able to process is that he is one hell of a good-looking specimen.

jaemin's eyes glint in the light as well when he poorly guesses, "did bad on a test? late homework assignment?" laughing and completely missing the fact that this 'stranger' had correctly assumed you to be a college student, you shake your head, "if it were either of those, i'd be awfully dramatic for coming to a bar and drinking my days away instead of studying." he's laughing as well and you can't help but think that his smile, straight pearly whites and all, is probably the most welcoming sight your eyes have laid upon the whole day. picking the conversation back up, you decide that it probably wouldn't do much harm to indulge jaemin in the latest and breaking news of your life. "actually, i was dumped today."

he sucks in a long breath in understanding, licking his lips, "so, a bad breakup. those aren't too fun." agreeing, you shake your head. the atmosphere is good-natured when you quip, "would it be worse to say that it was the eighth time too?" jaemin's brows shoot up in surprise and he pushes himself off his elbows, shifting his weight onto his hands. "eighth? as in eighth breakup or eighth time you've been dumped?" a chuckle escapes your complexion, giving way to how vulnerable you were feeling, vulnerable to a laughable extent. your eyes are cast downward when you respond, "the second."

jaemin pries in a way that doesn't seem like prying, you wonder how he does so. "care to share?" it's possible his range of bartender-ly duties extends to the likes of a therapist, "i mean, i don't see why not." you quirk your lips, the only thought coursing through your mind consisting of how the bridge of his nose was so carefully structured and how oversharing with this man didn't seem so much of a bad idea. you were, after all, far too caught up in your drunken stupor to think anything otherwise.

"let's see, i was ghosted by my first boyfriend in ninth grade, cheated on by my second, figured out that my third was only dating me for a bet, fourth just straight up stopped liking me, fifth lied to me about his age, objectified by my sixth, thought i was dating my seventh but turns out he forgot he asked me out, and my eighth...well, that one's a bit different."

he's back on his elbows, in intriguement and also due to the new song that began to play from the speakers above, louder than the last, "how so?" you're afraid the feelings are going to pour back within your forefront thoughts so you keep your answer short, "we dated for two years."

"and?"

you're quiet for a few moments. those moments are taken to mull over the exact reasonings behind your shitty day, almost as if you had forgotten. blinking slowly, the dryness of your contact lenses becoming apparent, you respond hesitantly, "and, he said he didn't see a future with me. that i could only ever be his first love."

jaemin seems to mull over this as well, "and did you see a future with him?"

you haven't looked up at him in a while, instead, focusing your sights on the way you've let your acrylics grow out far too long, how the skin around your nails is peeling, and how your palms are also creased with dry lines. using the same hand to lift the bottle from its handle, you toss the rest of its contents down your throat, swallowing in one motion. setting it back down, tongue grazing over your lips to catch the spilt extras, you look jaemin in the eye. 

"yeah," you move to collect your things, "i guess i did." you pay. you take your leave.

he sees you again the following day, for the fifth time in that single week and he's led to wonder if there is a reason you seem frequent this one bar. the atmosphere possibly, the customer service maybe, or even him, though he's doubtful.

this time you're accompanied by two friends, one he knows to be jeno's best friend, eunmi, and the other, the crush of that same friend, jaein. jaemin's known eunmi for as long as jeno has, since the beginning of high school. jaemin also knows that eunmi, as of the late, doesn't like himself all that much. he figures it has something to do with the bit of a reputation his name now carries. 

jaemin thinks the girls are by your side for emotional support. perhaps, today proved even shittier than yesterday, but he's thwarted a few moments after when the three of you seem to be lost in the depths of interesting conversation, light-hearted laughter, and glasses that can't seem to fill themselves as fast as they empty into your stomachs, except for jaein, that is, but especially for you. 

it's 12:48 in the morning when he's thrown off guard for the first time that night, in the midst of whipping up a whiskey for the grumpy man down the counter, eunmi falls asleep, literal in the sense that she really does fall and would've completely sagged into the ground if the table had not been in gravity's way. jaemin watches as jaein lifts the poor girl's head off the surface, revealing an angry red splotch, and transfers eunmi's weight onto her lap. 

he's thrown off guard for a second time at 1:22, watching you stand straight from your seat, swaying a tad bit, but brows creased in strong will and determination. you're walking towards him, steps that would be quick if only you were even mildly aware of sidestepping the paths of others. you pant as you reach the table, head feeling a little too hot and too heavy to aid in clear thinking. squinting at him, though you were but a few feet away, "your name. what's your name again?" 

jaemin repeats the actions you'd done yesterday, slightly wary in expression and checking his posture, "me?" you don't reply but continue to scrutinize the way he looks. he supposes that's just as much of an answer, "it's jaemin, i believe we talked yesterday." your mouth parts in recognition and moves as if to form a word or two in response. jaemin watches as it opens and closes again and, even after much deliberation, the only thing you can find to say is, "well, you're fucking hot."

"oh-"

"shit, didn't mean to say that aloud." your lips smack in embarrassment, shifting your weight to your left foot. your mind is yelling at you to sober up, to save your face. 

a smile adorns the man's features as he bemusedly remarks, "i'm sure you didn't." there's a silence that hangs between the two of you, and you're on the cusp of excusing yourself from further embarrassment when jaemin blurts out, "if it helps, i think you're fucking hot too." it might just be the alcohol in your system that's making the heat rise in your countenance but you swear you blush, and you never blush!

fingering the lobe of your right ear, you fumble with your thoughts until settling on a quiet, "thanks." jaemin busies himself with swiping a rag across the counter, unaware of the awkwardness on your end. looking up, he offers, "would you like a drink?" nodding, you take a seat at the bar in front of him, eyes slipping back to the girls for a split second, only to see jaein on her phone and eunmi still asleep. returning your sights, you're met with a slight humor traced in jaemin's expression, "what?"

he lets out the smallest of chuckles, mouth moving but lacking words, sentences starting but never ending, until he finally makes himself clear. "you- would you mind ordering a drink then?" your hand comes up, as if you had a point to make, but returns into your lap as you realize you'd never elaborated. "oh," your hand resurfaces to massage your temples, "same as yesterday then."

jaemin doubts you even remembered what you'd gotten yesterday but goes on to fill a bottle of beer from the kegs behind him. you're staring at his back in wonderment at how lackluster in...social interactions you'd become, how lackluster in flirting you were. you guess two years of being cuffed would render anyone a little rusty. hell, it wasn't as if you were keen on flirting with every hot guy you saw but jaemin, not that you remember much, gave off the right feeling after a wrong relationship. that was surely a green light, right?

"here," he slides it across the counter with a wink, entirely out of habit. you wince at that, "ew no, don't do that around me, i'm not one of your fuckbuddies." retying his black waist apron, he replies with a, "right, you're not." he pulls a neat bow in place and sets his hands back on the counter, there's a lilt to his voice when he speaks, "but, if you ever feel like you need-"

you wave him off, "i'm good, thanks for the offer though." 

he watches you chug the draft beer. nodding, he replies under his breath, more to himself than anything, "i see." you finish the bottle in no time but it looks as if you were to vomit, or pass out, or maybe even black out, or all three at once. jaemin really does not mean to spur your flirtatious gene as much as his own but seeing you like this he offers, "it's on the house." you're definitely surprised for a good half of a second but in the other half, you drunkenly lean across the table, so far so that jaemin's nose is but a few inches away from yours. 

something in jaemin stirs. the stench of your breath, your hardened eyes, the delicate lines of your lips. jaemin finds that it isn't lust that rumbles beneath his carefully built expression. and though it might as well be some form of pity, he doesn't hesitate to take your phone from you when you ask, "can i have your number?" he doesn't mind the smile that graces your face as you take your phone back, as you turn around to head back with your friends, not even in the right mind to say a goodbye, and even as you exclaim, rather loudly, to jaein, "i got his number," a smile of his own is quick to light up his face. but na jaemin hides his silly smile and even himself a little later when jeno appears to drive the three of you home. he even goes so far as to hide the smile and the meanings behind the smile from himself, afraid that he'd uncover something that was very un-bartender-ly of him to feel for a customer. at least, that's what happens before he ends his shift. 

when you first wake up, it's at the sound of the door of your room clicking shut. jaein, you suppose, you'll thank her later. the ceiling is oddly comforting after a week that just didn’t start well, go well, end well. love isn’t your forte, loving yourself, loving others, anything to do with love. you supposed that getting dumped the seventh time would have made that quite obvious but you just had to throw yourself out there again, just to make sure. you fall once again to  sleep that night with nothing on your mind other than the thought that you might as well be single for the rest of your life. 

but you wake up in the love, not of a lover per se, but of a best friend. the post-it note on your bedside reads, text me when you wake up!, and the smile that lifts your face is instantaneous. jaein has never failed to care for you, despite being almost a year younger, and in that way and many others, you feel indebted to her. 

you fail to recall any of the events of the night prior, though if anything horrendous happened you knew jaein would be more delighted to share. you stumble across your phone somewhere in the sheets after searching aimlessly and you decide that making a call would perhaps be more thoughtful than a measly text. but as you scroll through the names in your phone, upset that you didn't have jaein's contact pinned in your favorites, you stop, well, your heart stops because right below her contact is listed na jaemin.

you are two thoughts away from crossing over to tap the shoulder of the girl a little ways in front of you, her silhouette a great deal similar to jaein's, when a hand is placed on your own shoulder. you don't have a chance to turn and see who it is because that hand has traveled a little ways across your front, latching from one shoulder to another and bringing your body flush with his. you tilt your head to get a glance, only to find jaemin smiling down at you, the strobe lights glaring a brief red across his features. "been avoiding me?"

yeah no shit you've been avoiding him, suddenly nowhere to be found at the bar you used to appear at every single day of the week. and though the two of you attended the same college, you made extra sure to-

"jeno told me eunmi asked him for my lecture schedule for you, wonder why." a smirk grazes his lips, playfully. he’s grinding on your ass now, slow compared to the music blasting from overhead. taking your shoulder in his hands, he spins you to face him, "why are you avoiding me? tell me." jaemin places a hand on the curve of your neck, brings you closer to him, either so that he could hear your response better or because of whatever lust was running through his eyes. somehow, even with the minuscule amount of alcohol in your system, you can’t bring yourself to mind that he’s looking at you like some starved animal. 

"what do you want, jaemin?" he doesn't hesitate to show you, a lazy kissed pressed to your lips before leaning in towards your ear, "i want you in my bed."

no objections are made when the arm around your shoulder tightens its hold, so as not to loose you in such a crowd. nothing is said in opposition when he ushers you towards the stairwell, brushing past people left and right. no sign of reluctance is apparent when you cross the threshold of his room, shutting the door behind you. and not a trace of hesitance is found as you find a spot beside the man who's already placing a strand of wide kisses onto your neck.

"what'd you say about not being one of my fuckbuddies the other day?"

"well," you hastily move to straddle him, allowing him to a wider expanse of your chest, "i was drunk, fuck whatever i said." you lean back for the slightest of seconds to catch his expression, lust lined his eyes. certainly, you felt like one of his fuckbuddies now but maybe this is what you need, a distraction. just one thing in your life, one time, one moment in time where it wasn't so frustratingly shoved up in your face that your world, your one love, hadn't been torn down right before your eyes. maybe kissing jaemin with such raw desire would finally give you the reigns over your goddamned emotions. his lips on your collarbone, tracing down slower and slower onto your breasts, his hands guiding you lower and lower into his bed, it felt exhilarating. in that one second, when his fingers moved to the hem of your dress, eyes shifting to meet yours in question, you nod fervently because really, you want to let him in, you feel safe letting him in. 

but it only lasts for that one second because the door is burst open in the next, and a tipsy man and a wasted woman are storming on inside, eyes raking the place until they land on you and yours land on theirs, on his. mark lee. it's mark lee's eyes and as you take in the sight of the rest of him, the familiar him, and the girl by his side, suddenly nothing has ever felt more wrong. jaemin's lips, his hard on pressing against your core, nothing has ever felt more wrong when mark lee is staring right at you. why is it that you feel like you've cheated on him?

he leaves, pulling the woman behind him.

the party is alive, it's at its height, it's roaring and it's ravaging fun. the party is in full swing yet, for once, you're not partaking in it. "are you okay? do you need some water?" you lick your lips and decide, "some water would be nice, thank you." jaemin leaves the room, door clicking shut behind him and signaling your immediate breakdown.

a shudder passes your lips, reverberates down your spine, curls your toes. you draw into yourself, bringing with you jaemin's blankets on which you were sat. there is nothing more that leaks from your countenance than bouts of undisturbed anxiety that you let wrack your walls of understanding and awareness. you don't bother to fight back with distractions, no alcohol this time, no quick fucks, nothing to ease the weight that settles in your gut, presses down your heart and blurs the visions of jaemin's room.

he returns in seven minutes, promptly enough, for you're just about to wither in the confines of loneliness. the blankets are pulled taut around your figure and your head is in between your knees, mind flitting between images of mark and images of the darkness that threatens to envelop you whole. jaemin places the cup of warm water on the nightstand and dips the bed to your right though you barely register his presence until his hand begins kneading lines down your back. 

the feeling returns. the one you know all too well by now. the one where the skin on your forehead feels too tight from being scrunched in frustration for too long, when your brain feels like it doesn't belong in your skull, when you feel ruptures in your heart, aches in your soul, as if you were to combust if you so much as moved in the slightest. your ragged breaths echo in your head, over and over, as if to remind you that you aren't okay, that nothing is real, that the only thing keeping you alive are your breaths, the only thing between life and death.

your breaths are also what grounds you, focusing on the in and out, the way the air fills your lungs, the way it exits. your hands begin to mellow their shake and you begin to gain some semblance of your being. you feel that jaemin is all around you. he's everything you smell, his breaths are all you hear, his lean body and arms are all you feel, and though you can't see him, you know he's there.

he's there when you turn in his embrace, looking up at him with eyes that tell age-long tales of hurt from delivering too much passion whilst receiving near to none. he's there when you wrap your arms around him, head tucking into his chest. he's there when your breaths even and he's there when you tell him you can't fall asleep. 

jaemin hands you a set of his clothes, a light shirt and sweatpants, and ushers you gently into the bathroom. you change without looking in the mirror, afraid of what you'll see. he tugs you by the hand, once you're out, to the car. you only question him thirty minutes into the ride, "where are we going?"

he doesn't quite answer you, "if i'm right, we should be just in time." scrunching your nose in the darkness, "just in time for…?" 

it's then that he turns into a dim parking lot and suddenly everything becomes clear when the wide screen comes into view, "jaemin...you 50's romanticist." the time is almost four in the morning, you didn't know the local drive-in theater had screenings that early and you're surprised that the man in the driver's seat knows. he offers you a hand and you take it, absentmindedly. 

the movie is interesting enough to keep your begrudging thoughts away until an hour or so passes and you're beginning to teeter from exhaustion. before you have a chance to pass out, jaemin gives your fingers a little squeeze, alerting you, and then slowly tugging you over the middle console of his car and into his lap while lowering his seat. again, you comply absentmindedly, you're in no mindset to be complaining. 

straddling him for the second time that night, you sigh into his chest. your eyes are fluttering closed when you begin to trace back the moments that brought you to this mess in the first place, the events that led to you in na jaemin's lap, the boy renowned in bed. you're a conscious thought away from voicing aloud your hatred of love. fucking love.

the prospect of love is addicting to you, like a drug in many more ways than one. you want to get lost in someone's eyes, you want to swim in the embrace of your other half, you want to be able to romanticize every aspect of your life, to be able to attribute your everything to one single person who would do the exact same for you. you can't part with the thought that love isn't for you.

and you know that there really are people who live just fine being single, people who don't feel the need to share their every joy and letdown with a special someone, people who feel enough just being in their own company. you know that yet, you're fully convinced you just aren't one of those people. because no matter how hard you want to say that getting left in the dust for the eighth time became the turning point in this endless chase, you can't see yourself ever stopping. there is not a single part of you that wishes to stop. 

your breaths are shallow and brimmed with sobs as you drift into rest. above all that's been said, the least you can admit is that love is only a feeling. just like any other. 

✧ ONE (01) YEAR AGO

"mark, what the fuck, we never go on actual dates." you complain, though you really don't mind all that much. the car pulls into a parking spot in front of the library, "and who's to say study dates aren't actual dates?" he opens the door for you and you roll your eyes graciously. 

the two of you take your usual spots, the two at the end of the long row in the central area. it's halfway secluded, one side shoved against the wall, but still enough in the open to keep you guys from entirely ditching school work and talking until shushed by a librarian. 

he's about to say something when a librarian appears just around the corner, pushing a cart of books. so instead, mark takes a piece of lined paper from his notebook, gently ripping it at the edge, taking his pen out and writing a line and passing the note to you. i'll take you somewhere nice next time. sorry babe, i just happened to have a lot of work today.

you press your lips together, eyeing the man that was eyeing you back, okay, my love. you pass it back, shooting him the most playful of smiles. he writes quickly and when he slides the paper back to you, you read his words quickly. sure thing, my world.

you giggle, the sound eliciting a glare from the stressed schoolmate beside you. quickly you jot down the words you've been wanting to say to him. fine by me, my future. you shuffle the paper towards the man across from you, unwilling to hide yet another smile that spreads across your face. you watch as mark takes the paper in his hands, skims the words you've carefully penned and then, he puts it away, tucks it into the front of his backpack. you smile fondly at him for safekeeping the paper, thinking he'd want to keep it as a little memento, a token of your love for him.

perhaps you should've thought a little more about it, the action, because in that moment it never occurred to you that he only put it away because he didn't want to respond, he had nothing in his heart that he could say to top that, and he most certainly did not see you as anything more, much less his future. 

that lined piece of paper has long been discarded by now, in the most literal and figurative sense. mark could chalk it up to the possibility that it was just the right person at the wrong time but he knows there's absolutely nothing wrong with the time. college was going to zip by quickly for the two of you, you guys could move in together maybe, tell each other about your new jobs, every pay raise you got, and when you guys begin to settle down, a house would be bought and a ring would be proposed, and kids and old age would follow. somehow, mark can't help but acknowledge the fact that it simply was the wrong person at the right time. deep down, he knows it's always been that way for him. not for you. and he could only hope to turn back time and tell you a little sooner, maybe lessen the pain he knew he was to eventually inflict upon you. two years was two years too long. mark’s a nice guy and the weight of being your eighth breakup had a tough hold on him, it really did.

✧ PRESENT

you lift your feet up onto the other side of the booth, back against the window and your arrangement of your textbooks and computer to your left. jaein, studious as ever, looks up at you for a brief moment, "break? already?"

it's only been thirty minutes since the two of you arrived with the set intentions to study. "yup, already." you sigh, with everything going on, it's hard to pay attention to just one thing. especially something that seems so insignificant in the whole scheme of things. "y/n, are you getting enough sleep these days?"

you look over at her, her hair swept into a small ponytail, eyes holding the stars. jaein had her own fair share of problems, especially when it came to boys, but she never halted to care for herself. you wish you could be like her. "enough, yeah i'm getting enough." she puts down her pen, wrinkling her nose, "well then, make sure to get more than enough, yeah?" you only nod in response. 

jaein's eyes rome until they settle upon a girl a few tables down, also studying. she cocks her head in inquisition, "hey, isn't that minyoung?" you wait for jaein to look away before you take a peek behind you, not wanting to seem conspicuous. you know her, you share some of your professors with her, you see her almost everyday, but you've never been riled up by just her presence being in the same room as yours. you look back at jaein, "yeah, that's minyoung."

"minyoung as in the girl that jaemin's datin-"

"they're not dating," you intercept. sighing in distaste, you follow up to cover your evident aversion of the girl, "just fucking around." jaein only nods, eyes wide in worry.

a few minutes pass and you're already sinking back into your workload when she speaks, "does it bother you? that they- they're fucking around?" now, you're sinking into yourself because you really have no idea what you're supposed to be feeling, how you're supposed to be feeling, or even if you're supposed to be feeling anything for this boy who you know little to nothing about.

but you guess it's because of what you do know about him that throws you off. na jaemin, the campus fuckboy, heart throb, and whatever other name that makes his image sound as vile as it is enticing. in some other universe, you're sure to have already let him eat you out over the course of the few weeks you've known him but somehow, you're glad that you reside in the universe where your head seems to be more securely fastened above your heart. you lick your lips in consideration but nothing comes to mind. 

it's frustrating because as much as you hate to admit it, na jaemin makes you feel something. he stirs up something within you, something that hasn't been there in a long time. maybe not since your first crush or when mark first asked you out or even in the heights of your relationship with him when you felt like you could feel nothing more than love for the wretched boy.

you tell her, "it bothers me. it shouldn't, but it does." because though you don't know why. why you're feeling so strongly, or feeling at all, for a man so far from what you need after the end of a long-winded and committed relationship. you don't know why you even care, if anything, him fucking around with a handful of girls served even more as a sign for you to just stay away. getting invested in his small, thoughtful actions and his intense, loving stares is just asking for a ninth breakup. you don't know why but the idea of him being in bed with another girl, bothers you. it shouldn't, but it does.

jaemin isn't ever invited to these types of outings. usually, on a weeks basis, he's invited to quite the number of houses instead. houses of girls and houses that housed parties. never a restaurant, and never in the middle of the day. jeno had let that he was invited because eunmi had some 'investigation' to do, so naturally, he'd expect you to be there as well. turns out this investigation was set up for himself only, seeing as he was now sitting at the far edge of the table, to the left of renjun, whom he had never personally met, and across eunmi, who seems to spend most the time scrutinizing him instead of eating. 

the purpose of his presence is made clear as eunmi sits up straight, gaze still fixed on him, and asks straight to the point, "what do you want with y/n?"

jaemin places his fork down calmly but his voice is anything but that, surprised, "i- what do i- what do you mean?" his hands are folded in his lap now, he wonders if this was the reason you didn't come, he wonders if eunmi asked him to come just to interrogate him in front of all your friends. she's still staring at him and though he's taller, he feels a great deal smaller when everyone's eyes are turned to him. hell, even jeno stopped ogling at jaein to give his attention to the scene on the other side of him. 

he clears his throat and reiterates, now with a sense of the atmosphere, "what do you mean?" jaemin blinks rapidly as eunmi heaves a sigh, placing two folded hands on the table and pushing her point to light, "why are you messing with her? you wanna fuck her? you know she's off limits for you." jaemin asks the two question he knows he'll end up regretting, he can't help the spite that curls at the edge of his mind for the girl who so fervently despises him, "why is she off limits for me, huh? got something against me?"

"yeah, yeah i do. you go around sleeping with every other girl you see, you, jaemin, you are the last thing she needs right now."

"who are you to decide what she needs-"

"i'm just looking out for her, okay? and, shit, i know she has every right to, i don't know, fuck around with you too, but i can't sit here and watch as she falls for someone that doesn't give two shits about how she feels."

jaemin finds that he has nothing to say. the words echo around in his head, fall for someone, fall for him. he stares down at his food, takes a sip of his water, wipes his clammy hands on a napkin. when he looks up again, eunmi's expression is a tenfold softer than it was before. 

"i'm sorry, jaem. it's just- i don't trust you anymore. you've changed a lot since, since…high school." jaemin only nods. 

revolutions are held within him as he drives home that day. jaemin notes that the feelings are nothing new, he thinks it has something to do with the little churns in his stomach on the fifth night of your week of 'get drunk, get wasted.' he doesn't bother to suppress the feelings this time, it's been too long, he thinks. 

it's been too long since he's liked someone for who they really are instead of just their pussy, he thinks. he, and his loving self, welcomes the feeling with open arms. it's been years since the giddy persona of a lovesick jaemin resurfaced. he's glad it's because of you.

"jaemin, hey, do you need anything?" you remove your eyes from your computer screen for the first time in a few hours, you barely register the strain when his voice is quick to respond from the other end of the line, "can you come down? i'm outside, got a lil something for you." eyes almost ejecting out of their sockets, you quickly mutter a, "sure, i'll be down in two," before hanging up, slamming your computer shut, throwing on a hoodie over your lazy study-day outfit, and grabbing your keys after almost forgetting them entirely. 

straightening down the stray strands of your hair as you tread down the steps of the stairwell, you take a minute to breathe, a minute to yourself, before exiting the building. the sky is dark, the time being a little after dinner, but the lamplight that falls onto the man's face makes your heart swoon at the sight. dangerous territory. 

"hey," you voice as he meets you in the middle. "what are you-"

"here," he holds out a teddy bear, medium in size, brown and fuzzy. you take it from him graciously and he tucks his hands into his jeans pocket, "i was just-i just thought that you'd...yeah." chuckling, you notice the hues of warmth rise in his cheeks. "wow, didn't think you were one to blush." he's laughing as well, from the embarrassment, hand coming up to cover his cheeks, to cover his smile, his stupid smile. 

his smile never falters when he asks, "may i ask you something?" you nod, unassumingly.

"can i take you out on a date? next week maybe?"

breathless and eyes sparkling, you look up at him as if he were the one who put the sparkles in your eyes. he really was. now, it's you that blushes, hands coming up to cover your own cheeks, "yeah, i'd- i would like that." you almost want to coo at him when you see the relief that washes over his expression. 

"you would?"

"yes, jaemin," you give a breathy laugh, "i'd like that very much."

fucking love. that one stupid feeling that could get you so emotionally intoxicated in ways no substance ever could. the kind of love that made you want to scream into the void, to exclaim your sheer and utter elatedness to the world. fucking love that you could never not chase, especially if it was jaemin.

mark never took pictures of you. not that you expected him to by default, he just never did. jaemin, however, shows up right outside your dorms, a camera hanging down from his neck. you can't say it doesn't charm your heart.

"what's that for?" you eye the camera as you slip into the passenger seat. you already know, you just love it when he says, "for you, of course." his hand holds yours as he drives and it stays that way until the two of you arrive. 

the botanical gardens are, for the most part, empty on the weekdays, working wonderfully in your favor as jaemin leads you, also by the hand, through the forests of greenery, the air so crisp that it fills your mind with clarity after a week of muddled studying. jaemin compares you to the likes of several flowers, all of which he implores for you to pose next to for a picture. he especially finds the daphne odora, the winter flowering of daphnes, to hold the highest esteem in regards to you. you have not the slightest idea why.

the two of you are strolling under the glass-covered conservatory when light conversation turns heavy. confusion lines your face as you look over at him, "jaem?"

"yes?" he takes an extra step or two to match your pace. you stare at his feet as you speak, "what's...what's different about me?"

"what do you mean by that?" hesitance sits in your every word, "you don't treat me like...one of them, like one of you're fuckbuddies."

"because you're not," he replies simply. in all honesty, there's something you're looking for, something you just need to know, though you are lost in how to phrase it. shaking your head a bit, to wrack the insides for an answer, you end up regurgitating the same question, "yeah but, what makes me different?"

jaemin doesn't seem to mind and answers to his best ability, "well, for one, we're not fucking. and then there's the fact that i- that…" he trails off, the words are right there at the tip of his tongue, waiting to jump out at you, to allow you to revel in his love. he doesn't dare voice them aloud, the threat of rejection is stemming and rooting itself in his bloodstream. unaware, you urge him on, "that…"

your date is lost in thought, eyes seeming to be particularly interested in a bloom of camellias. you suppose they're plenty interesting but you wonder how he'd lost the interest in speaking with you so quickly. was it something that you said? maybe asking him so upfront like that wasn't the best choice. jaemin, meanwhile, is panicking. sure, the camellias look beautiful but the millions of thoughts that course through his mind are each occupying too much space for his mouth to actually form a string of words that make coherent sense.

jaemin finally, finally settles on something to say, just as the two of you are rounding upon the exit. he subtly wishes he'd gotten a picture of you by the camellias. turning his sights back in your direction, he verbalizes, "are you going home for winter break?"

lips pursed, you shake your head, "no, i was just planning on staying at school-"

"do you wanna come with me? back home?" 

you stop in your tracks. jaemin walks on until the hand that's carrying yours is tugged to a stop. he looks back at you and sees the way you gulp, the way you refuse to return his gaze. he makes his way back to you, closing the distance he's created. jaemin is a few seconds, a few thoughts, away from recollecting his propositions with a 'nevermind' and a quick brush of a hand but you beat him to it, voice small, but instead of hesitance, it's laced in full conviction.

"yeah okay, i can do that."

it isn't until you're back in your dorms later that night, going over a couple of review sheets for your upcoming exam, that you think to do a little research. a new tab is opened, a few words are typed, and you're floored with what you're met with. 

the daphne odora (winter daphne), where 'odora' is latin for fragrant, is most noted, though not often, to be a symbol of doting love, as if to say 'i would not have you otherwise." it flowers in the winter and is primarily prone to wilting in hard soil and low sunlight…

✧ SIX (06) MONTHS AGO

mark's parents give you a once-over before letting you in. just the way they look at you speaks volumes. you can only hope they don't treat you any different. for some reason, his house feels cold, unpleasant, unwelcoming. and though you thought any homemade meal should bring about a sense of warmth, dinner is passed in tight-lipped smiles and the worst type of small talk, small talk about the weather. 

retreating into his room after dinner, you decide to bring to light your worries, "mark, i don't think they really-" evident, he's already two steps ahead of you, "it's fine, y/n, they just haven't seen me date someone in awhile."

treading carefully over to his bed and placing a knee upon the sheets, you offer, "so...overly critical?"

he gives you a look, one that opposes your quavering brows and reverts your worries, "exactly."

"right," you huff a sigh of relief, as far as you know, you're convinced but the underlying layer of disbelief still holds true, "i'm gonna go get changed, okay?" you hear a mumbled, "okay" in response as you reopen the door, sights already on the bathroom at the end of the hall. it's when you're at the top of the stairwell, just before your destination, that you hear the conversation from down below, his parents you suppose.

"i'm just saying we shouldn't take this too seriously," by the pitch, you tell it's mark's mom. you move for the bathroom, uninterested, until his dad speaks up as well, "i know, especially with how she looks, exactly like her don't you think?"

"it's the eyes, they have the same eyes," your hand, just above the doorknob, is held in place. your face, expressions of the shock and concern that comes with the revelation, is unmoved. and your breath is no longer coursing air through your lungs.

"mark must still be really hung up on her if he's stuck with that replacement for so long," your hands being to shake and you're afraid that whimpers will arise in their wake, you make haste into the room, closing the door after enduring one last sentence. his mom chuckles, "poor soul, i hope he tells her soon."

you can't find the light switch but you're trembling fingers are quick to latch onto what you assume to be the shower dial, turning on the water to mask your loud sobs. you lock the door behind you, sliding down the back of it while letting out the briniest of tears. the rubber bathroom mat underneath you squeaks and your feet hit the vanity across from you. hands in your hair you can only pull at the strands, the strings of curse words and pain that emit from your figure more mental than physical.

you've never wondered what it would be like to be filed under 'replacement,' or to have a spot in someone's life as merely a disposable placeholder, someone whose presence was dictated solely by how well you satisfied the other's needs for closure, or lack thereof. now you're wondering if that is really all there is to love, satisfying each other's self-serving desires. you wonder if mark served some sort of purpose to you. but you could not, for the life of you, think of one. never in your life as now have you wanted so badly to see the good in a person you swore to love for perhaps the rest of your life. 

you want to look him in the eye and tell him that you can't take it anymore, the disrespect, the mistreatment. maybe you could be dramatic and throw a hand across his face, a cup of water to douse his senses. you'd think that a man so kind would be the epitome of committed lover, never one to be agenda-oriented, not that the mark you now pictured was some scheming wretch, but you had to keep in mind that even going as far back as when he first laid his eyes on you, the interest you saw in them was in reality just familiarity. somewhere in you, something about you, maybe not even your looks, resonated with the memory of someone that was already held close to his heart, long before you came along. you were just there so he could relive his past, relish in his memories, prolong the inevitable. 

but more than everything, you despise yourself. it's because of who you are, your willingness to be unfalteringly loyal even in the face of something so wrong, that makes it so you are always the backup plan, the last resort, the dumped and not the dumper. it's who you are that keeps you silent till the very moment he ends the whole damned relationship, till the very moment when there's no point in speaking out anymore, so that all that's left to do is to cry out. 

✧ PRESENT

the sky is vast out in the countryside. the wind pays no mind to ruffling the leaves on the trees, branches already bare in the wake of autumn. you wished it could snow, just a little, though you doubt the early december rains would be so willing to fall into harsh winter so soon. jaemin ushers you to close the window your finger are flitting out of, he keeps ushering you, but you give him a shake of your head each time, you like the cool air. as he exits the highway, you finally slip them back in, tips of your fingers numbed raw, and jaemin looks at you in an 'i told you so' fashion before rolling the window up to keep the heated air within. 

as so many times before, he takes your hand in his while he drives. fussing, his own fingers now encasing and rubbing yours to build the warmth back up. you perk up as the surroundings start to speak more 'countryside' than 'middle of nowhere.' a gas station, diner, couple of shopping plaza are passed, "how much longer?" jaemin pulls to a stop at a red light, "four, maybe five." eyes sparkling, you turn towards him, bringing your legs up on the seat and pulling his hand in yours to your lap, "ooh, so we're close. really close."

the light turns green and jaemin waits for the car in front of him to move, "why? you nervous?" you squirm in your spot, under his gaze, "i mean, n- no," rubbing the back of your neck, "yeah, a little i guess."

"and why is that?"

your hand is still on the back of your neck, fumbling with your words, "well, i mean, your parents. and we're not even- yeah, i don't know." 

you say you don't know, yet, both of you know exactly what you're trying to say. 

jaemin's childhood home is quaint, with a big front and backyard, and the only house on his street that has offwhite siding paint and soft blue shutters. you'd never pegged him to be a countryside kind of boy. 

you've only known jaemin for the better part of two months, yet, the first thing his mom does is hold you in her warm, welcoming embrace. "y/n, dear! such a pleasure to have you here, you're all jaemin talks about over the phone." you blush at that, pulling away from her to give your most sincere smile. you wonder since when blushing was your thing.

his mother does her absolute best to learn your whole life story over the course of one single meal and his father is gruff but fails to hide a smile at your small attempts at anecdotes while jaemin full on chortles on his food. you're glad that not once do they bring up the questionings of your and jaemin's relationship because frankly, you have no idea what the whole deal with it is yourself. 

even after dinner, his mother is quick to pull you into the living room, tightly bound photo albums stacked high in her hands. as the two of you coo over two-year-old jaemin taking a bath, four-year-old jaemin at his first piano recital, seven-year-old jaemin's face smushed in his birthday cake, the actual jaemin finishes up washing the dishes and makes his way to his packed bags, unveiling a pack of...you're not sure.

he sits to your right, setting the paper envelope on the table. you pick it up just as he puts it down. peering in, you pull out a bundle of photos strapped together with a measly rubber band. slipping it off, your eyes soften when you realize that almost two thirds of the stack is just you, and then a flower or two, and then some more of you. 

jaemin and his mother are hovering over your shoulders on both sides when you reveal the last picture, one of you and jaemin that he had so kindly asked another visitor to take, the daphnes in the back. he had said something funny, you wish you remembered what it was, and in the moment you were looking up at him with your face scrunched in amusement, but it was too late, the picture had been taken. the man on your right takes the laminated photo from you, "i think," he starts, hands navigating the photo albums to find the most recent one. flipping it open, he slides it into the slot underneath a picture of him at his high school graduation, "i think it goes here."

jaemin gives his mother a look, unbeknownst to you, and she dismisses the two of you hurriedly to go off to bed, to get some rest after a long car ride. jaemin doesn't think much of that, apparent in how he does urge you to shower, unpack, and get comfy in his bed but also keeps you up, talking into the depths of the night.

he explains to you, later after you had asked, why his albums only went up until the end of his high school days. his head is propped up on the pillow, body strewn on the thin mattress of his bedroom floor, but both upturned to you perched on his bed. his room is a showcase of his younger years, far before you knew him, and even farther before you heard rumors of him. the walls are littered with certificates of merit, ribbons of academic excellence and his shelves, instead of books, have been cleared out for an abundance of trophies, for innumerable instruments, for perfect attendance, for anything and everything a person under eighteen could be awarded for. you'd never pegged jaemin to be a countryside boy, and added on to that, you'd never have pegged him to be the goody-two-shoes his childhood home so plainly made him out to be. 

he tells you, himself, how college had changed him, how freedom had changed him, how being admitted into the fraternity changed him, how parties, underage drinking, sex, how it all rewrote the person he used to be. he looks you in the eye and tells you how much he loved the thrill, the adrenaline, the popularity, the sheer magnitude of people he had swooning over him, at his feet, on their knees. he tells you he loved it and that he's not so sure if he loves it now.

"why the sudden change?"

jaemin could tell you that he doesn't know, really, that maybe he just grew up a little and saw his time wasted, that perhaps he realized all the fights he had with his parents were simply not worth it. or, he could tell you the truth.

"because of you."

"what do you mean?"

"i mean," he's scrambling to sit up straight now, so he can look you in the eyes. if he's going to do this, he's going to do it properly. his eyes level with yours, lips freshly licked, he dives in the deep end. "i think i just- i met you at your worst. and we talked, and we, i don't know, flirted, and everything was supposed to just pan out how it usually does. you know, in bed. but it didn't." you've sat up as well, feet hanging over the edge of his bed and barely scraping the floor. you reach to hold both his hands in yours, though you have not the slightest clue where he is going with this tangent. "it didn't, but even then, i- i never-" it seems that even he doesn't know.

jaemin's hands start to clam in yours but there's an underlying determination that still holds strong, he's nowhere near done. "i never stopped going after you, and not at all for the sex. i- it was really just for you."

your jaw unhinges itself, hand not bothering to cover, thoughts elsewhere. what you thought might've been his life-changing, inspirational, heart-spurring tale, is turning out to be something you were inexplicably unprepared for. your newly sprouted tears are at the brink of overflowing as you try to make sense of the mess your mind has already made for itself. the questions are almost pushed over the precipice of your tongue before jaemin clears the air with finality and a handful, of in-the-moment confidence.

"y/n," jaemin's fingers glide over your knuckles in half the rhythm of your heartbeat, "i met you at your worst and i think that somehow it made me realize that i was also at my worst. and i don't know what people have to say about two sad people falling in love, all i really know is that i like you. i really fucking like you."

as if on cue, you start crying right then. "fuck, jaem," you pull your hands from him to swipe at your face and he's moving onto the bed as he speaks, dumbfounded, "why are you crying, y/n? is this like a 'i like you back and i'm happy' or 'i don't like you back' kinda cry?" you throw your head back in unprecedented laughter as he takes you in his embrace. your head rocks back and rests on his shoulders, arms coming up to encase them. "it's a 'relieved that i'm not the only one' cry."

he draws back, hands still holding you at the waist, "so, i'm taking that to mean you like me back?" you lick your lips, "maybe...possibly, you'll have to find out on your own." jaemin shakes his head, the back of his right hand coming up to caress the apples of your cheek. chuckling he retorts, "you're saying that like i don't already know. eunmi kinda let it slip a few weeks ago." 

"she what?!"

"well, she kinda said that you were falling for me or something like that."

"well," you stop, in confoundment of being left in utter betrayal, "well, she's wrong. tell her that i said she's wrong."

"but you-"

"no, fuck what i just said, she's wrong."

"i- okay," jaemin watches you fall back onto your back with a huff, he follows shortly. the ceiling the both of you stare at and beyond is rightfully comforting after a week that just happened to start well, go well, end well. maybe love is your forte, after all, loving yourself after all that's happened, loving others despite all that might go wrong, anything to do with love. you suppose the getting dumped the eighth time would have made that quite obvious but you just had to throw yourself out there again, just to make sure. and boy were you glad you did just that.

jaemin is cutting fruit when it first begins to snow. apples are especially delectable in the winter, he knows he's bound to love them even more after this one winter. you're on the couch when it begins to snow, just shy of beating your long-withstanding high score on some game you were admittedly terrible at. jaemin joins you on the couch with the plate of apples, moments after it beings to snow.

"jaem," your lay a hand on his thigh, your sights elsewhere, "look, it's snowing."

you're scrambling to get a scarf around your neck, your boots zipped, the turtleneck underneath your coat pulled to your chin. the sky is almost dark, sunset not entirely visible under the veil of clouds. jaemin can't decide what is more enlightening, the snow or you and the ear-splitting grin that takes up half your expression. he decides that it's you. 

you aren't even allotted the time to make snow angels before his lips are on yours. it's not the first time the two of you have kissed but neither of you will deny how different it feels. jaemin guesses it's because the way his lips move against your is fueled by untainted adoration and he suspects the same from you. he molds them steadily, wanting to take delight in the feeling for as long as hig lungs would permit. specks of snow dust the crests of your cheeks and the tail ends of his eyelashes. they heat in contact with your skin and begin their descent, deliquescing as they stray down the curves of your cheeks, meeting at your mouth that so fervently moving again jaemin's. it's where the cold melts of snow meet the warm mix of salivation. 

you wield all the experience you will ever need, yet, it feels like it's your very first kiss, butterflies stirring down in your tummy and all. it never ends, it really doesn't. not when he first parts for air, or when you part the time after that, or even when you notice his mom, hands on her hips, from the window, or when the snow begins to clot at your feet. 

you think you love him.

despite all the thoughts that tell you it's cheesy, it's boring, it's lame and conventional, you tell him on valentine's day. 

the party is alive, it's at its height, it's roaring and it's ravaging fun. the party is in full swing and as what is now considered usual, neither you nor jaemin are eager in partaking in it, opting to simply hang out in his room, above the loud music and the moans from the opposite ends of all four walls. the door is locked this time and instead of joining the crowd in the main event of fucking each other senseless, the two of you have a small setup on his bed, littered with textbooks, previous exam papers, a fancy charcuterie board, courtesy of the dedicated chef, jaemin himself. you're on your back, feet hitched upon the headboard and laptop positioned at a ninety degree angle on your ninety degree angled legs. jaemin is on the floor rather, using the bed as a makeshift table even though he has an actual table not two feet away. 

"i wish we could go to your dorms, it's loud as fuck." in response, you heave a sigh, mind now sidetracked from your work, "a pity i live on the fifth floor, we have no chance in sneaking you in." a thought dawns on him and he wonders why neither of you thought of it before, "let's go to the car."

it's quite the sight and you're sure anyone who's actively paying attention would laugh. jaemin's arms are locked straight up, supporting yours, his computer, and three textbooks, as he navigates the swarm of people to the exit. you're, following in tow, arms held up in similar fashion but instead of a stack of books, you're hoisting the charcuterie board, still abundant with cheese and grapes and a dip of honey. the threat of everything toppling over is very much apparent.

he'd driven a little ways down his street so that the buzz of the party could be left fully behind. the only thing aiding your studying is now the low-grade yellow lights that come with the fold down mirrors. "holy shit, jaem," your mouth waters even as it anticipates its next bite. "what?" he glances over at you. the charcuterie board is hiked on your knees that are drawn to your chest, makeshift tables are all too common today it seems. all the cheese on the board have an identical bite on them, a result of your taste testing but it seems that only one has drawn your liking so much so that you have eaten most the portion provided. "this- the- what's this one?"

"petite jalapeño, why?"

you cover your mouth as you chew hurriedly, "it's so fucking good, babe, with the honey. oh my god, i love you." you've finished chewing but you don't notice what's left your mouth, definitely not food.

"you what?"

you're thoughtlessly thrown into his trap, "i love- fuck."

"you love fuck."

"wait no."

you put the plate on the dashboard, dusting off your hands while your cheeks dust rose under the dingy lights. "i- wait, yeah i," you shift a leg under you, turning to your boyfriend but refusing to look him in the eye. you speak to the outlines of the house two down from his, "i guess i do love you."

"y/n, look at me."

you shy away from him, embarrassed yet overcome with the sudden wash of feelings. you knew this, you do love him, so why is it so hard to voice aloud? he brings his hand to your chin, leans it towards him until you have no choice but to gaze into his loving stare. truth be told, you wouldn't have it any other way.

"i love you too."

your fingers play with your bottom lip, thrusting it up and down, left and right as you mull over which picture to post. "bummer, i look great in this one but you're blinking. ugh." swiping to the next one, you find that it's the last. "here," jaemin unlocks his phone with one hand, holds it out for you, "i think i have some that jaein took, she's better at taking pictures than jeno anyways." taking the device from him, you click into his photos and find the last two hundred or so to be just of you and the lavender fields, he hasn't changed a bit. 

jaein does have a lot more sense, "wow my legs look so long in this one," and "geez, that hair flip was entirely unintentional, i must be a natural." jaemin rolls his eyes at that, one hand of his on the wheel while the other makes its way over to your thigh, rubbing a soft, distracted massage. 

the first red flag that draws your attention. you're airdropping a cumulative 54 photos to your own phone when you see a name that you had long forgotten in his top three message chats, minyoung. you ignore it. you post the picture. you edit the caption seven times, each time becoming more indecisive than the last while jaemin gives you the incredulest of looks.

you decide to stay at his place for the night, not that it's an inconvenience to drive the extra two minutes back to your place, but just because he wants to spend the night with you. there's no objections, why would there be?

the second red flag that draws your attention. jaemin's showing you something on his phone, a video of a dog maybe, you've forgotten. the text that drops down while the two of you huddle over the screen holds your interest far longer. it's minyoung and she's telling him to come over. you're slightly alarmed, you're boyfriend even more so. he draws his phone back instantly, to your dismay, and you almost want to snatch it from him, to delve into the depths of the chat. you really almost do. 

"jaem, what did i just see?"

"y/n, it's not what you think," it irks you that he's so quick to defend. you keep your head on cool for now, "okay, then what was it about?" his eyes shift from yours to the wall behind you, you're surprised they're lined with annoyance. he shakes his head, "nothing."

you're thinking it's all the more reasonable for you to be the one who's annoyed. you bit down harsh on your lip, refusing to give way to any of your many impulses, "if it's nothing then why can't you tell me?"

jaemin glances over at you, fleetingly, "i- it's not something you should be worried about. just, trust me, will you?" rubbing your hands down the fabric of your- his sweatpants, you utter a sigh, not sure of how much longer, how many more times you have to be left in the dark, for you to snap at him. you hope it isn't soon. "jaem, i trust you, i do. but that doesn't mean i'll believe everything you say blindly." you note that, for whatever reason, his pupils are shaking. "at least, not after what i just saw."

"then i don't know what to say. you have to trust me on this."

na jaemin has never been stubborn, or, he's never had a reason to be. everything goes accordingly to the way he wants to, that's how it's always been. maybe it's because of his endearing charms that teachers can never fail him, that compliments are always showered upon him. perhaps it's the way he flatters that makes him so likeable, befriending people is as easy as reciting the alphabet when you've frequented too many parties and met too many people. he knows that when he kisses up, people will bow down, he's never been rejected. it's definitely because of his good looks that girls always spilt their legs open for him, they never say no. 

na jaemin gets what he wants, except when he doesn't.

"no."

you leave because you have trust issues, sure, who doesn't, who cares. who cares if there are tears streaming down your face for seemingly stupid reasons? it isn't the first time, it's nowhere near the first time. it's the same feeling you had when you realized your first boyfriend wasn't going to reply back, there's still a read seven years ago below your text. the same feeling when you saw your second kissing your 'best friend.' still all those years ago, when you were two steps away to the lunch table when you heard your third whisper to his friends, "just a stupid bet with a stupid girl." when your fourth told you he lost feelings for you when you were still madly in love with him and when you had to found out from your oldest sister that your fifth was her classmate, in grad school, while you were still in your last year of high school, not even old enough to vote. your sixth trying to strip you of your virginity right after you agreed to be his girlfriend and your seventh basically forgetting you existed. you were getting the same fucking feeling all those months ago when you finally realized your rightful position as 'replacement,' as 'number 2,' as 'poor soul.' maybe distrust is simply inbred in you and though you know the prospects of yours and jaemin's relationship are far from over, you can't deny the gut feeling that your bad luck in men is coming back to haunt you, that it's never left in the first place.

na jaemin forgets that he has a past he can't erase, just like you. the girls he's fucked over the past three years have hearts and they have reasons they began to fuck him in the first place. he couldn't heal their hearts, nor his, but sex did a great deal, made a great deal of people jealous, gave him all he needed at the time. he never expected them to simply go away when he decided to settle down but it seems that his reputation holds so much worth that it's proving hard to overcome it himself. jaemin hates that you date the campus fuckboy, he hates that people still whisper in your ear that he's fucking so-and-so in the dead of night. he hates that he can't get rid of the stigma around his name, even though you know, through and through, that he can't nearly live up to it anymore. you know yet, you leave because of it. his reputation. na jaemin, certified eye candy and delectable dick, wishes he was anyone but himself.

her bare feet shuffling down the hall is the only thing she hears. she wishes they let people wear shoes on the second floor so she could've busted her heels out and clacked her way to his room. she needs the rush of empowerment right now. she needs it. 

the next thing she hears is the sound of raised voices right as she is about to shove the door open, the door fifth on the left of the hall to the right of the stairwell, exactly where you'd told her he'd be, albeit reluctantly. 

eunmi is taken aback now that she recognizes one of the voices behind the door. minyoung. gritting her teeth, she presses her ear to the wood, careful to keep quiet. 

"so you're fucking her now? is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"minyoung, i'm not fucking her. we're dating, it's been that way for awhile," he sounds exasperated, maybe, eunmi can almost see the crease in his brows.

"why didn't you bother to ask me if i was fine with it? we had a thing going, you can't just bail on me like that."

"the only thing we had going was quick fucks every thursday. i'm sorry, but i don't think that's much of a relationship."

her voice is growing impatient, in desperation like she's grasping at loose strings, hanging on to whatever she can find, "this little bitch- does she even know? how much of a dick you are? are you just going to leave her like you did me?"

"stop, minyoung, please,"

but eunmi guesses her point is valid nonetheless, she herself doesn't think very highly of him. "how would she feel if i told her that? that leaving is your specialty? you can fuck me, and all my friends and leave, thinking that we'd never know, but we know, okay? and if you- if you ever think that you'll be satisfied with settling down for this chick, think again jaemin."

eunmi backs into the restroom across the door, for good measure and good sense because minyoung is storming out the second after, unaware of her eavesdropper. a minute and a glimpse later, she knows that jaemin is crouched by the foot of his bed, though she's unsure why.

she braves herself because she's here for answers. reappearing at his door, she calls softly as if raising a white flag, "hey there." jaemin's head snaps up instantaneously in surprise. "oh, hi, what're you doing here?" he lowers himself to sit on the floor and eunmi takes the spot in front of him, wariness in her movements. 

"well, i came here for y/n, obviously, but um, i just happened to hear-" she's cut off when jaemin lets out a low groan into his hands. eunmi makes her stance a little clearer now that she has a better feel of the situation, "i'm not here to break up with you for her or anything. she didn't really want me to come, but i guess, i guess i came because we've also had our fair share of...disagreements that i think we should set straight," she pauses, hands fiddling with her thumbs in her lap, "i'm sorry if this is too much after, all that."

he looks relieved at that, "no, it's fine. i- i'm glad you want to, i don't know, make up. i haven't really been all that great of a friend these past years anyway."

eunmi lets a smile slip at that, what an interesting turn of events, "so...friends?"

"friends."

"and just to set the record straight, you're not still fucking minyoung right?"

jaemin rolls his eyes, shakes his head, gesticulates with his hands, "no, i got y/n. she's all i really need." eunmi nods to fill the awkward silence that follows. she's reminded of another inquiry, "so why didn't you just tell her that?"

"i guess i just didn't want her to worry or like- or get involved with my past, stuff like that. i kinda hated how it's dredged up all the time, especially now that i've, i don't know, settled down, committed."

"should've just told her," eunmi deadpans. 

"i really should've," jaemin agrees.

"need me to drive you?" jaemin's extra careful with his words today, post-arguments can be fickle, particularly if they're only halfway resolved. your voice is muffled on the other end, "no, i'll walk." jaemin's wishes he'd insisted it instead of simply offering, late spring rains weren't all that uncommon, and even more so when the skies are darkening as they are on this specific day. "it might rain though," he tries again. you decline again, "i'll manage, thank you."

he sees you in ten, fifteen minutes or so, and sure enough, you're drenched head to toe, staring up at him with eyes that bear in mind the tension that hangs in between you and also border the bounds of laughter at how you're dripping wet with no one to blame but yourself. jaemin bites back the 'i told you so' and hurries to get you dried off with a towel, changed, and under the sheets. by then, the tension has subsided considerably.

"you wanna talk about it?"

you're tired, though it hasn't even struck five on the clock, "i thought that's what i'm here for."

"so, i'm not fucking her-"

"nice to know-"

"-just had some loose ends to tie up-"

"-and did you?" jaemin supposes you're far too tired to be emitting the same, resolute aggressions as a few days prior seeing as you're keeping your voice to a minimum and the words that come out are straight to the point, blunt. he does his best to reflect the same straightforwardness.

"i did, she's...off my back, our back...our backs."

you give him a look, scrunch your nose, and tug him by the arms into you. there's a blanket separating you two but he fits exactly against you anyways. you wonder how anyone could ever get in between the two of you if you so perfectly mold alongside him. the bridge of his nose nuzzles down your neck and you're laughing because it doesn't get any better than this, really. 

he shuts the light on the bedside table off with an inattentive hand, the blankets are drawn back and he's pulled flush into you. his body heat is welcome on a frigid night and the blanket that falls back on top of him seals the both of you within the confines of his bed for the hours to come. you're starting to think that coming here was more just to cuddle than it was to make up with him.

"i can't get enough of you," his face is in your neck.

"and why is that?"

"because- because everything about you- i feel like i'd be missing out if i never tried to start something with you," he buries himself further in your scent, "it's like i emptied my heart out just so you could fill it back up."

your chin rests on the crown of his head, it tickles him when you speak, now in half wakefulness, "could say the same for you." 

jaemin whispers into your ear, breath fanning down onto your neck, words that will only ever be for you, "i would not have you otherwise."

jaemin spent your spring break at your hometown, to meet your parents, both of which loved him dearly. he wouldn't dare voice it aloud but he thinks it's the sweetest that your mother holds you, her youngest daughter, in such high-esteem after bringing home who she thinks to be the 'most gorgeous man alive,' an utterance he was sure was not meant for him to hear.

he likes being the 'most gorgeous man alive,' especially if you were the one who thought so, but as he watches you stare intently at the flynn rider's jawline, his own jaw clenches. tangled is playing as the pre-movie for movie night, the movie that plays before people actually start to arrive since, donghyuck and eunmi are always destined to be at least an hour late. but it's not that that gets him the most riled up that night, riled up isn't even the right word. maybe agitation, at whoever thought it was a good idea to invite mark lee. mark fucking lee, the grad student. the whoever turns out to be chenle and although jaemin does not have it in him to beat the kid up, he is sure as hell watching over the dude from the moment he walks in to the moment he leaves.

more than that, he also keeps his eyes on you as well, tracing your expression with every word his goddamned senior ought to speak. "hey, y/n, how have you been?" jaemin glares. as far as his detective senses go, he figures that marks target for the night isn't you, but rather eunmi. he hopes he can get over this as quickly and neatly as possible. your face twitches into a smile, uncomfortable, he thinks. "fine, i've been fine. you?" jaemin wants to draw you back and tell you that you had no obligation to be so polite, that the 'fine' would have done its job splendidly on its own.

"pretty good myself, looks like things have been happening around here, huh," jaemin hates the way he wriggles his eyebrows, "hyuck and eunmi, you and him." jaemin hates how he just referred to him as 'him,' surely, there was a lot more due respect than that. "yeah, and jeno and jaein but that's-"

"oh psh, old news," the two of you laugh, you laugh with him, with him. jaemin is just about ready to throw hands when mark excuses himself to get a seat on the floor, serves him right, he thinks. you look comparatively calm next to the raging boy. why is he the only one bothered by this?

"you good there? didn't even say a word to him."

he gulps, "yeah, i'm great. just didn't feel like talking."

you're staring at him like you can see right through him, that's exactly the case, "i'm over him, you know?" jaemin scratches at his neck, "yeah, i know." head on his shoulder as the first official movie of the night plays, you sigh, "no need to get all worked up, i'm all yours." 

the twentieth century fox theme plays in the background of the romance novel you live in. na jaemin makes you feel that way, unfailingly, every single day. it's written in the ways he kisses you, lovemarks blooming under your skin. it's written in the way he stares at you, with nothing else except pure, unadulterated love. it's written in between the lines, his actions, his thoughts, everything that amounts to so much more than the past years of deprivation you've had to endure. it's written in the stars, out in the countryside where jaemin could never fake a smile, not in the presence of you. with you by his side, not in a million years.

it's here. summer fucking break is finally here. and if there's anything to prove that, it's the way you're currently sitting in a car with all your friends. taking a short little road trip out to the beach. now, mind you, these are the same friends that were there on your drunkest nights, slumped over bar counters and blatantly asking for any hot guy's number. the same friends that accompanied you on your most sober nights, holed up in your single-person dorm room, trying to study for an exam for a class you could never wake up in time for. and among those friends is one who has an added prefix, your boyfriend, na jaemin, who's in the driver's seat per your request since your carsickness prevented you from any other seats and you really wanted him by your side. jaemin didn't seem to mind driving, after all, he was next to you. 

the sun is setting too fast and eunmi, sitting in the seat in the far back, complains that they'd have to set up the bonfire right away instead of getting to play in the warm water while it's warm. donghyuck, beside her, is complaining too, but not about the bonfire or even the trip in general, but about eunmi and her legs which are hoisted on his lap, something about how his dingaling needs to breath. jaein, in the seat right behind you is musing on about how she thinks it'll be funny when they arrive and see yeseul and renjun's car torn up in two, neither of them could ever get along. jeno, to her left, is fussing with rubbing sunblock on her, getting angry at how her hair could never stay out of his way. 

you glance over at jaemin who has this smile on his face. this smile that makes it seem like he's in adoration of the whole scene panning out in the rearview mirror. he takes a glance over at you too and, if even possible, his smile beams wider, straight pearly whites and all. his hand finds yours.

it's already dark when the eight of you arrive but eunmi isn't complaining anymore since the boys make quick work in getting the bonfire set up while letting the girls play in the water. the ocean water licks at your feet as you watch eunmi and yeseul duel in how much water they could spray at each other, jaein sitting on the shore off to the side, watching as well. you're pondering going over to accompany her when eunmi's hand latches on your left arm and tugs the whole of you into the water with her. it's warm and wouldn't have been entirely unwelcoming had you gotten a notice in advance. 

you make fun in chasing them around, kicking up water in eunmi's face one too many times that she begins to choke on the saltiness. yeseul is now on the shore yelling at renjun. and jaein is doing her best with a tent. eunmi, who's back you were currently rubbing, is almost through with her fit and you think the mischievous face she's pulling means another round but she brings up a question instead, "how's he in bed?"

she's right if she assumed you'd chuck another armful of water in her face.

you sigh in annoyance as jaemin tosses the towel over your head once again, unsatisfied with how the tips of your hair were still wet. his fingers are ruffling fast and making quick work to dry the strands but you're upset. "jaemin, babe, we've been standing here for ten minutes, can i go now?" your head resurfaces as he gives the towel one more tug, smiling, "just making sure you don't get sick." he follows as you duck into your shared tent to get ready for the bonfire. "shit, jaem. i didn't bring an extra top," you frown but he only smiles wider and grabs his hoodie from the ground beside the sleeping bags. "lucky for you, then," he tugs the article of clothing over your head, only speaking again once your eyes peek out, "because i love seeing you wear my clothes." 

you give him a nose scrunch in return but every word of his, every single word that comes from his mouth is enough to get you swooning. you follow him out the tent.

"so," donghyuck's eyes are playful in the light of the fire, "what game are we playing today?" jeno groans, "do we always have to play some sort of game? why can't we just like…" even he's unsure of what to do. the eight of you are situated around the blazing fire that's, not quite large enough to be a bonfire, but does its job in keeping you warm. jaein perks up after much deliberation, "how about...we go around and each make a wish?"

donghyuck huffs, "fine by me." it starts with jeno, and though you truly value each and every one of your friends' wishes, there's only one that you really remember for the rest of the night, the day, the week, the month, and the years to come. jaemin clears his throat, the rest of the group watching him including you, the you he turns to. you're huddled over on the log beside him, wrapped up in his hoodie and hair an absolute mess. your eyes are heavy and he already knows that once everyone decides to call it a night, you will be the first to leave. you're looking at him in tired anticipation and mild interest, he hopes what he has to say tells you all he needs you to know. 

"i already have you, so there's nothing left to wish for."

the rest of the group breaks off into 'oohs' and 'ewws' but you swear that you and jaemin, jaemin and you are stuck in your own little world. his gaze is incredibly soft and endearing, you scoot closer and place a head on his shoulder, his hand coming around your frame in automatic response. leaning into his warmth, you feel closest to home than you ever have before. 

jaemin carries you to sleep later that night. and even later that night, or rather early in the morning, when you rustle awake, he's aroused by you as well. the two of you sit on a towel atop the dry sand, right before where the tides ride up the shore. basked in the moonlight, jaemin's skin beams a pale sheen and his eyes are cast over darkly, ethereally, divinely. your head is still on his shoulder and you feel the words vibrate through you when he speaks, "did you have fun today?"

you tuck a lip under your front teeth and nod for him to feel. he asks another question, "how are you feeling?" this time, you aren't able to part with just a shake of your head so you sit up, eyes never leaving the push and pull of the sunless ocean, "i feel...happy."

he looks over at you, not in surprise but in interest, "happy? why do you feel happy?" you shrug almost, musing off whatever comes to mind first, "i don't know, school just ended, this trip, summer break. i have a lot of reasons to be happy." jaemin isn't sulky at that but he does his best to pull his name from you, "and what about me?"

you dare a glance over at the man next to you, his eyes already boring into yours, "well, you too, of course." looking away as quickly as you'd looked over, you mumble quietly, "actually, more because of you than anything." in your peripheries, you see him give you a look that speak 'that's what i thought' and you clip down your smile in favor of a shake of your head. 

moving from your spot, you surprise jaemin when you block his view of the seaside. he settles you down into his lap with familiar control, arms cradling you tight to his chest. hand on his neck, you trace it up to his cheek and guide his head down to face yours. jaemin leans in for a soft kiss, lips suckling at your bottom as your teeth tug on his top, slow but sensual, tired but sweet. you pull away for a breath but it's as if he doesn't need to breathe anymore because he chases after your lips almost instinctively. soft kiss after soft kiss is all that's needed for you to pluck up your courage and look him in the eyes, lips detached, and speak the truth your heart has been singing in your ears all along. "jaem," his eyes are hazy as they find yours in the dim light. somewhere in the back, the sun is peeking over the horizon in all its glory but neither of you pay it any mind. "yes, love?" he brushes the hairs from your face, fingers gliding across your cheeks and then fumbling with your bottom lip with his thumb. you blink and you speak.

"i've been waiting for you all my life."

you think back over the past seven months, a little over half a year, that you've had this man in your life, five months of which he was your boyfriend. you wonder how you could've fallen so fast in such a short amount of time. then again, love is rarely ever about how short or how long. it's more about the timing in which everything falls into place, the intensity by which each person loves, their pasts and how willing they are to erase it. falling in love is not about getting it right the first time, to find someone to be your first and last. for you particularly, jaemin is your ninth, and though the prospects of him being your last are still far from true, you know in your heart and in your mind and in every part of your living being that with each coming second, he's a second closer to becoming your last.

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — if my ex ever sees this, though i truly doubt he will, he gon know i stole one of his lines for jaemin. the wish one. yeah...he always had his way with words, that's about all he had though. but hey, it makes a hell of a good line in this story. i hope you had a good time reading this piece, it was such a pleasure to write. i will see you guys when i wake up for class in three hours hehe. with all the love in the world, rouiyan

[fedzkun]

I posted 870 times in 2021

182 posts created (21%)

688 posts reblogged (79%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 3.8 posts.

I added 1,320 tags in 2021

#bnha - 569 posts

#midoriya izuku - 326 posts

#bnha spoilers - 94 posts

#bnha manga spoilers - 82 posts

#shinsou hitoshi - 62 posts

#shindeku - 43 posts

#bnha au - 43 posts

#dadmight - 42 posts

#dfo - 35 posts

#all for one - 24 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#it’s also the perfect time to do so since we’re rapidly hurtling towards the final battle especially that hori has almost gone through his

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

BNHA AU where everything is the same in this Villain Hunt Arc except everything is in the context of a D&D game and actions are decided by rolling a die. Izuku is the OFA Vestiges’ communal player character

First: “we come upon the villain situation that’s been tickling at Deku’s derriere—”

Fourth: (weakly) “please don’t... call Danger Sense that...”

First: “The muscular villain is in the middle of choking a high schooler to death. Roll to attack?”

Sixth: “I got a twenty.”

Yagi: *also a twenty*

Nana: “Twenty as well.”

Banjou: “Hell yeah, ditto!”

Fourth: “Before I also roll to attack, may I roll to romance the high schooler?”

First: “Roll to...huh?”

Fourth: “That’s not a ‘no’...” *rolls twice and gets twenty on both*

First: “...Deku launches a powerful and coordinated attack against the muscular villain and fucking kills at it.”

Fourth: “...and...the romance?”

First: *sighs* “He also bridal carries the high schooler, I guess.”

—

First: “Roll charisma.”

Banjou: “Twenty”

First: “Deku arrives in time and successfully de-escalates the situation, saving the mutant woman’s life. I...FOURTH NO—“

Fourth: “Roll to romance the woman—“

First: “Our character’s a kid! You can’t romance every NPC we...”

Nana: “Psst, it doesn’t have to be the grandiose kind, First.”

First: “...Okay, fine. He picks up her umbrella and holds it over her head as she cries her worries out. Then he comforts her, then asks his sidekick All Might to evacuate her to safety.”

—

Third: *stubbornly facing the wall* “Roll for... ‘We won’t share our quirks to an optimist’.”

Second: *also facing the wall* “Yeah! We want to withhold our powers until he shows further resolve against facing our greatest enemy.”

First:

First:

First, holding the die: “I would like to roll to romance.”

—

Lady Nagant: *appears*

Fourth, Banjou, Nana: “Roll to ro—“

First: “NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO ROMANCE HER”

Second: “Roll to run.”

First: “Thank you, my beloved, you’re the only...oh, you got a low roll, shit. Deku gets hit on the arm and his escape is cut off. En and Third, roll to give him advice.”

En: “I got a one.”

Third: “Also a one.”

First: “Great, great. He discards your advice like wet toilet paper and he also loses most of his inventory”

1103 notes • Posted 2021-05-25 13:52:02 GMT

#4

Putting Midoriya Izuku’s Power Levels and Skill into Perspective (as of BNHA 321)

Izuku’s current most powerful move that causes no harm to himself is combining Blackwhip’s Elasticity + OFA 45% + Fa Jin. When flying at an insanely fast speed, he likely adds Float after the Initial Combo Boost.

Pictured is Izuku using the said move to escape Class 1-A.

So to catch up with him…

Class 1-A has to match his speed moves with arguably the most powerful moves from their other members, namely: Sato, Shouji, Kouda, and Dark Shadow’s raw strengths + Todoroki’s Flash Freeze Heatwave (that Sports Fest attack) + Bakugou’s Explosive Speed Turbo (which is supposed to give the most insane of speed boosts) + Uraraka’s Zero Gravity (to cancel the weight) + Iida’s Engine (guy whose main thing is speed.)

Which means that the well-rested Class 1-A took every last big move in their arsenal to even have a shot at keeping up with Izuku, who on the other hand is running on zero food and rest.

That’s how freaking powerful and fast Midoriya Izuku is, holy heck.

1161 notes • Posted 2021-07-30 11:11:59 GMT

#3

Aoyama and Midoriya

Aoyama being Quirkless before adds layers to his and Izuku’s relationship.

During those chapters when Aoyama was trying to befriend Izuku, it’s possible that he thought that the other had also gotten his Quirk from AFO, and was trying to confirm it by leaving cryptic messages to see how Izuku would react. However, once he’d realized that Izuku seemed to be not getting his hints that they may have the same Quirk benefactor, Aoyama withdrew back into his shell, realizing that he truly was alone in his horrible situation. Left to wallow in the guilt of repeatedly betraying his classmates.

Now, on Izuku’s part. I really love that Izuku noticed Aoyama’s sadness. In that moment of the reveal, I’ve no doubt that Izuku is also thinking of his fight with Gentle Criminal. Izuku would look at Aoyama and see what he could’ve been had he never gotten One for All.

Just as he saw himself in Gentle Criminal, Izuku could’ve been desperate enough for a Quirk just to chase his dreams, and would’ve ended up working for All for One.

Next week’s chapter will be exciting. How shall Izuku comfort Aoyama who faces him with a face that looks like it is asking for help?

1548 notes • Posted 2021-12-02 05:41:42 GMT

#2

I don’t know how, but I need a Kung Fu Panda AU for BNHA where, like how Master Shifu trained Po by using dumplings as incentive, Yagi trains a lanky Izuku by dangling All Might merch above him like a carrot on a stick

1619 notes • Posted 2021-11-08 09:16:19 GMT

#1

AU where All Might “dies” and his body went missing (he’s fine, he’s just missing), and there’s only one person he’s listed as his sole heir. Izuku got dumped with the entire All Might estate

Izuku, grieving: “All Might! Hic— How could you leave me a lifetime’s worth of limited merchandise?!” 😭

There’s a plot twist to this AU but I’m curious if anyone could guess it

2237 notes • Posted 2021-11-06 09:41:07 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[willadisastercry]

More than ‘just a little tired’: aftermath turned aftershocks part 3

tw: discussion of sever burns and re-burning, lots of pain, also lots of heavy emotions, ptsd symptoms towards the end

Keith is in a lot of pain from just having his wounds cleaned but complications arise that make the relief of the pod that much further away. Tensions are still high and everyone’s emotions are running rampant as they are forced to watch their friend be in so much distress, their friend who never let on when he was anything other than angry, who is now crying and begging for it all to stop. Keith is desperate, his stoic facade has shattered but his body refuses to pass out and they still have to separate him from the bits of the suit that remain...

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

(( haven’t edited yet so ignore for now if it’s riddled with errors or some parts make zero sense lol, enjoy!!! ))

The infirmary was both eerily silent and brimming with commotion, nearly devoid of any conversation or background noise at all aside from muted whispers and the gentle clink of tools as the sound of Keith’s pain filled every dreadful square inch and left little space for much else.

Shrio was still perched on a stool with both hands clasped securely around the one of Keith’s that was accessible, the other hanging over the edge of the table limp and unmoving. 

The older boy spoke calm reassurances to him in a low voice, the sentiments themselves not so much soothing as the steady cadence of them were.

It was clear he was still suppressing every wince and grimace though his resolve to remain unbothered seemed to be weakening as he fatigued further. And so Shiro’s gentle tenor worked to ground him as his wherewithal plummeted, the neutral pressure on his hand giving him something else to focus on and keep him from panicking while he lay somewhat paralyzed.

He hadn’t moved much as they cleaned his back up after they gave him the muscle relaxant, not that he could if we wanted to, not when his whole body felt about as solid as jello. The only movements possible were occasional reflexive twitches or sudden bursts of shuddering breaths that had whoever was poking his back pause to give him a minute to steady himself.

That was until the team had separated him from as much of the under-suit as they could with just tweezers and saline... because about 30% of what they’d sectioned off around each wound was still attached and not coming free no matter how hard they pulled or however much saline they poured.

It was then with everything cleaned away that they saw how severe it was, how little of the blur of soot around each blast could actually be cleaned away because it wasn’t his skin that was charred, it was the suit itself.

They couldn’t fix that with tweezers but they had to remove the melted material so the pod didn’t heal around it somehow.

Keith’s attention was admittedly elsewhere when the disorienting haze of pain granted him a few moments of clarity once he realized the only hands still touching him were Shiro’s.

It took him a while, but he was able to cut through the fog enough to vaguely tune in to what was going on around him. He has missed the beginning of the conversation that Shiro was having but it wasn’t hard to piece together what was happening.

“The process should be relatively seemless if I use this—“ Coran noted grimly as he presented Shiro with a scalpel that had a cord attached to the end of it “—the scarring will already be minimal given the pod’s capabilities and the fact that these are mostly second degree, but in order to remove the bits that remain I must burn number four again to sever what joins his flesh to the undersuit...”

Shiro had figured as much and so had Keith.

Well no, his addled brain hadn’t figured much of anything coherent in a while, he just wasn’t surprised to hear that it was the only solution.

Keith wouldn’t consider himself as handy as Hunk or Pidge but he knew his way around tools from having a bike and living on his own for so long. And he couldn’t come up with anything else on hand other than a hot knife that would do that kind of job either.

He also didn’t really care how they did anything anymore. He didn’t have the energy to when all he wanted was for this to be over.

Exhaustion seeped into his bones like radiation, clogging the channels in his marrow where his blood should flow and making his entire body feel so very heavy. It was the kind of weight that lulled you into a deep sleep, yet Keith remained awake, his nerves fried and his mind wired.

Shiro sighed, bowing his head to catch Keith’s pleading eyes one last time before nodding, giving Coran the go ahead.

It’s not that Coran was hiding the tool from the other paladins or what it did, that much was sort of obvious. It’s just that the question didn’t concern them, the decision wasn’t theirs to make. Shiro was their unofficial health proxy now that they were in space and called these kind of shots for all of them, but that was especially true for Keith since he’d already sort of been doing so back at the garrison before Kerberos.

The paladins were of course privy to deciding what happened to their own bodies regarding altean remedies or lesser pod stays since some of the options are pretty out there and if they aren’t absolutely necessary, then they aren’t mandated. But all decisions were passed by Shiro who ensured that their younger counterparts were entirely clear on what they were or were not agreeing to before Coran or Allura did anything, given the situation allotted time to take such measures.

This is one of the rare instances where Shiro had little choice in how to handle the matter. There was only one option and Keith would continue to suffer if he wasted time worrying about what none of them could control.

And it wasn’t even that he was too out of it to know what this meant and be able to deliver the green light himself, the fear on his face when Coran said ‘burn’ was more than apparent. But the kid was so goddamned rational about things no one his age should be able to rationalize that it was clear he had already evaluated and come to terms with the predicament in those brief moments of hesitation before Shiro agreed.

His eyes fall closed again and Shiro thinks he can hear the screams already.

The gravity of the decision seemed to dawn on everyone else a beat later, an anticipatory silence replacing the anguished weight that hung on all of them seconds before.

Everything moved slowly for a moment, the rise of chests halted, the chitter of mice quieting while they searched the princess’s face for answers until reality crashed back down on the castleships’ inhabitants like the tidal surge of a hurricane. The green tinge on Hunk’s face deepened several shades and Allura absently slid a waste bin closer to him, her movements robotic, like she wasn’t all there anymore. Pidge’s sobs from her helpless position on the adjacent cot were almost as painful to hear as Keith’s.

The only one to contest the idea was Lance, the sheer horror of what was about to happen registering on the blue paladin’s face like it was a death sentence for his friend.

“No, that’s torture! You can’t possibly think that’s a good idea, it’s barbaric, it’s—“

“Lance, calm down.”

“I will not calm down! Don’t you see how insane this is?!”

“There’s nothing else we can do. Don’t you see where the hell we are? We’re in space. We are light years away from human healthcare, we kind of have to work with the resources that we have!”

“But there has to be another way! I don’t understand why you’re not trying to figure something else out first... haven’t you hurt him enough today, Shiro? For fuck’s sake, aren’t you supposed to be his br—“

“Do it—” Keith punches out in a harsh whisper, effectively silencing the argument “—j-just do it already.”

His voice was gravelly and weak from all the shouting, his waning energy evident in the exasperated punctuation of his words. He’s fairly sure he won’t remain conscious long enough to be truly traumatized by the a procedure and was growing more irritated the longer they delayed it.

Keith appreciated that Lance had a conscience but also knew full well that he was stuck on the agony he was emoting since he usually never emoted at all, and probably not imagining just how awful it must actually be if he was advocating that more pain be inflicted so the sweet relief of the pod came sooner.

Lucky for him, Coran seemed to grasp the concept well enough on his own.

“Alright my boy, as you wish... Allura you might want to grab something for him to bite down on.”

What remained of the upper half of his under suit lay on him in tatters, his back bare except for the front section beneath him with strips of black littered over the table and floor. There’s a square of material missing on his thigh but the rest of the bottom portion is pretty much in tact.

The wounds looked worse free of all the blood and shredded bits. Like so much worse. But Keith didn’t have to see or be told how horrible it looked, he already knew that however bad it appeared, it hurt a thousand times worse.

“I have a topical anesthetic here that should numb the surface tissue but I’m afraid I can’t make any promises about nerve pain that might go deeper... it will still hurt a great deal.”

Talking was hard. He didn’t have the energy to stay awake let alone speak, but since his body was denying him that mercy, he figured forcing himself to communicate might speed the process along.

“Kay... s’fine,” was all he managed in response, his head swimming slightly as he forced the words out.

Allura’s face came into view then, smiling with so much sadness behind it as she lowered a hand to Keith’s flushed and tear stained cheek, gently coaxing him into opening his mouth.

He was sort of confused as to why until she brought a small hand towel folded in a tight roll up to his chin. His eyes widened a bit but he hummed in understanding and parted his blood encrusted lips so she could place it between his teeth.

They hadn’t had a chance to fuss over the gash on his face with everything else they were focused on but he was also very much laying on top of it. The cut itself also didn’t appear to be giving him much of an issue, but the fact that he was resting his cheek in an ever dampening rag as it caught his blood was woefully uncomfortable, the swelling laceration under his eye endlessly agitated with every reflexive jerk.

The sight might’ve been more alarming if his back wasn’t so horrific.

Shiro searched Keith’s lidded eyes when Coran pressed a button that had the tool whirring to life with a warm orange glow before he set it aside to warm up. They were sluggish and bloodshot and slow enough in meeting his gaze that would’ve had him majorly concerned should he not already have dozens other reasons to be.

“The spray might sting a bit at first... just bear with me lad.”

Coran’s voice was pinched and level, his statements clinical and his hands deft.

He’d already gathered that Keith didn’t need things explained before they were done like Shiro who needed to feel like he was in control of his own body when being tended to, or Pidge and her unwavering need to know absolutely everything ever, or Hunk and his already debilitating anxiety regarding the unknown.

No, he was like Lance who didn’t want the details, didn’t need to know what was happening or when. In fact, he reacted worse when he knew.

Keith needed things done without preamble. It didn’t matter how much it would hurt, he just needed it to hurt before the anticipation that it was about to could consume him. And Coran would do whatever he could to ease the red paladin then, so if that meant working fast than he would work fast.

“Nngh...” Keith choked out against the towel, nearly gagging on it when his entire body jerked as soon as Coran started spraying despite the medicine running through his body to specifically lessen reactions like that. But the man didn’t slow once he started, not even for Keith’s muffled pleas.

The spray did in fact sting. It stung a lot.

His head flew back and his eyes screwed shut as he struggled to breathe through the application, jerking despite himself each time the liquid landed on his raw and burning wounds.

The cloth trapped between his clenched teeth had him sputtering on the spit in his mouth and he almost welcomed the fear that flooded his body when his throat closed to keep from inhaling it.

“I know, bud... looks like just a bit more and then hopefully some relief.”

Shiro looked so young when he was like this, the knitted worry lines on his forehead almost out of place for the age he looked then. Keith didn’t like seeing him like that, it’s what he looks like when he’s having a rough day with his ptsd, so he closed his eyes against the tears that were brimming in the corners of them and took in long, purposeful inhales while Coran finished up.

He felt it as soon as the anesthetic started working, a discernible cold partially quenching each tiny inferno that was at the center of his injuries. It didn’t do much more than place a lid on the fires, not putting anything out completely but it was something and had him sagging into the table at the small bit of respite.

“I’ll be right here the entire time, okay? Coran will try to be as quick as he can but you can do this Keith, you’re strong, I know you can do this...” Shiro rambled, his timbre still subdued and settling.

It was nonsense. It was absolute nonsense he was babbling but the older boy’s voice never wavered and the constant presence of it hung on Keith’s battered body like a warm blanket, soothing the biting chill of anticipation that spread over it before the endless waves of agony started all over again.

“It’s going to be okay, bud.”

Keith clung to his words like they were a broken board from a sinking ship, the only buoyant thing in sight that could keep him from sinking right down with it.

“It’ll be over soon...”

He felt himself physically calming the longer he spoke until suddenly his chest didn’t feel as tight.

“...and then you can rest.”

Because he believed him. He believed that Shiro wouldn’t tell him he would be okay if it wasn’t true.

“We’ll get you set up in the pod...”

And for just a second, he actually believed it would end, that it wouldn’t last forever.

“...and then you’ll start to heal...”

The breaths he took were urgent, almost greedy as he relished in the temporary peace from everything. From the pain, from his anxiety, from feeling so fucking helpless.

“...just a little longer. I promise.”

Shiro made a point not to make many promises to Keith, even if he never planned on being anything other than good on them. He knew that too many had been broken for him to trust a vow like that. The words were empty, just another tool for people he trusted to bait him with before they left.

In Keith’s experience, everyone always left.

“I am going to begin now, remember to breathe lad...”

Before Keith had been holding back most of his exclamations of pain, biting his lip or cheek and setting his jaw to swallow them back before they escaped.

He wasn’t exactly sure what it was that made that impossible now, maybe since he knew the pain would be insurmountably worse or maybe because his body was too tired to expend that kind of energy anymore, either way the only thing muffling the sounds then was the towel keeping him from biting clean through his tongue.

The way his back arched when Coran brought the scalpel down looked like it shouldn’t have been possible in his condition. Keith didn’t know it was possible either but wasn’t too focused on the logistics with how intensely his lungs were screaming as he realized he could no longer move air in or out with how shocking the pain was.

It was like he’d been electrocuted, his muscles spasming and his nerves glitching in override.

“Shit, someone help me hold him down... come on damnit, hold him still!” Shiro ordered when it was apparent that Keith was incapable of controlling his reactions as Coran kept at it with the tool.

The movements were violent and quick, more convulsions than Keith’s own will, but they happened with each slice which made it difficult for Coran to work, so Hunk and Lance repositioned themselves on either side of the table and pinned his chest down wherever was most absent of injury while Shiro kept his head still and attempted to talk him through it.

Allura wasn’t having much luck in soothing Pidge either who was hysterical with her hands clamped over her ears. The guilt she felt over being the reason Keith was now in such intense pain was overwhelming and the princess was deeply concerned that she was going to make herself sick or reopen her only somewhat mended wound.

“Huh, huhh, huh... AHGh!”

Coran ignored how his fingers were blistering from working around the red paladin’s struggles.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry...”

Apologies were pouring out of Shiro like his own blood would.

But Lance didn’t buy them. He couldn’t grasp how their infallible leader missed someone being injured this severely.

And for it to be Keith of all people.

He’d spent half of his young adult life on his own, looking out for himself, no other support. He wasn’t used to having a team to look out for him especially since the last time anyone had was when Shiro had taken him under his wing. Shiro who had pretty much promised not to give up on him only to leave for Kerberos and never come back.

And what’s worse, as if anything could get worse at this point, was that Keith genuinely hadn’t wanted their help. He would’ve insisted he was okay whether or not his injuries were known regardless, but Shiro overlooking him in the heat of the moment had only fueled his warped view on taking care of things himself. It made him think he didn’t deserve any help, like he was being selfish for even suggesting he might not be okay when Pidge was also hurt.

It wasn’t true. But Lance knew that Keith couldn’t always decipher those kinds of things, the subtle messages in tonality that other people would’ve instantly picked up as, ‘no, I don’t actually hate you’ but completely eluded him.

Because Keith was extremely literal. He was also a self sacrificial idiot. Kinda like Lance. Not the literal thing, Lance almost never spoke literally.

But Shiro knew that, he knew that Shiro knew all of that about Keith and yet here they were.

His eyes were glossy and he was livid. It didn’t make any sense. They were supposed to look out for each other. It was Shiro’s whole philosophy and here he was, a complete hypocrite.

Pidge let out a strangled hitch then that broke Lance’s focus on analyzing whatever the hell had gone down on that mission.

The guilt was raging an almost identical fire in her chest, licking at her lungs like there was lighter fluid on them and threatening the sinews that had just barely latched across the chasm in her abdomen.

Hunk wished he could cry, wished he didn’t have to be so close to the terrible mess that was his friends’ back or the sounds he was making.

He didn’t know how many more he could stand to hear. How many more times he could handle the pang of terror in his chest when one escaped the lips of either of his friends.

Anytime anyone was hurting he felt like he was too. Like he had an access pass to their pain or some wicked ability to envision exactly how it must feel. And between Keith bucking beneath his hands and the guttural groans smothered by the towel, Hunk’s stomach was flipping dangerously.

Keith’s strained huffs had turned into hysterical shouts.

“Coran,” Allura deadpanned, her voice low and deadly.

They’d started off with a sort of restraint but it hadn’t taken long for them to raise in volume. He hated it, he was too tired to be so vocal and his throat was aching, but he couldn’t help it.

If it was up to him he would’ve just relaxed and taken it. He was used to simply enduring in the moment and compartmentalizing as he went. He had no experience in allowing such real reactions, in being so vulnerable against his every will.

Taking it silently would’ve been just as painful, there was no changing that, but maybe then he wouldn’t have had to see everyone so upset.

But he couldn’t relax. And he couldn’t use his twisted reason to logic himself out of it.

“This is cruel-I can-I can ease his suffering with my powers, move aside and let me—“

“Princess.”

Coran sounded distressed, almost pained. It was the first hint of emotion he’d shown since they’d dragged Keith into medbay.

“You couldn’t heal him without going into a pod first or it would start depleting the quintessence of your life force... we don’t have time for that, you know what my answer is—“

“But it’s worth it! Just a second, even just a touch would make the world of a difference, please—“

“Allura... come on, let him work.”

Lance looked angry still, and Shiro wasn’t sure he blamed him anymore, but the princess’s voice was shaking and his hand on her arm was pulling her away from Coran gently.

And she let him, the sob that erupted from her throat startling everyone. But Lance was there, the usual smirk he wore when speaking to the princess noticeably absent as he braced his her shoulders because they were shaking too.

Shiro is pressing Keith’s chest down flat where Lance had been after he Coran hissed at the heat of the tool while he continued to thrash.

The energy in the room was so dark and heavy it was almost sinister.

But the worst part was seeing it on his face. The desperation in his expressions was gutting. It felt like a sort of betrayal, which in a way it was, but so was the alternative.

Shiro tried to keep up his rambles of assurance but found the sentiments catching in his throat.

It had become wildly apparent that they were more comforting to him than they were to Keith, but he repeated them still, the same nonsense over and over again like a prayer. The swipe of his metal thumb clearing the endless stream of tears out of his eyes was the only constant other than the sound of his own screaming sobs.

And the pain.

His sobs and the pain.

It was blinding and it was everywhere. He couldn’t get away from it. Couldn’t get away from himself or the terrible sounds he was making.

All of it was suffocating. The fire poker dragging against his already charred skin, the hands holding him still, Shiro’s words, his own cries, all of it.

The air was filled with a bitter and nauseating heat, the smell of his own flesh burning permeated it and made him cry harder.

He wanted to throw up, wanted to pass out, hell if he died right there he wouldn’t have even minded.

He just wanted everything to stop.

He didn’t think he could stand much more of it but his body wouldn’t give in. His screams had morphed into one piercing and continuous wail as every limit he had was tested and shattered.

Keith thought he could handle pain fairly well, but this was absurd. This pain was otherworldly.

It’s only when he spits the rag out for the millionth time and begins chanting his own prayer that Shiro really wavered, his hand halting abruptly as he went to put it back between his teeth before they tore through his tongue the next time Coran moved his tool.

But Coran had taken the glowing metal away for a moment and was fiddling with something, so when Shiro leaned in to replace the cloth he could finally make out what he was saying.

“...D-d-d-da-dad... pl-please, dad... dad m-make it st-stop... dad...”

The words were slurred and barely audible with how wrecked his throat was, but there was no denying it.

“Oh, Keith...” Shiro breathed before his jaw was working to muffle his own pitiful sounds.

He was in such a delirium that he was calling out for his father, the man who Keith hadn’t called out to in years because he was dead. He’d left him in the most final way someone could leave.

Shiro didn’t know how many promises his death might’ve broken, just that the words Keith was uttering were what finally broke him.

Allura’s cheeks were still wet with tears but stepped forward anyway and moved the towel back into place, her hands running through and smoothing down Keith’s wild locks all tossed out of place from writhing.

She bent down to speak softly into his ear, Shiro didn’t catch much over the ringing in his own while his eyes locked into place on the towel in his mouth and the blood staining his chin and neck, though he thought he heard something about him being strong, him doing so well...

“Shiro.”

The hand on his arm didn’t make him jump because he couldn’t feel it. The room was expanding and he was shrinking because Keith’s whimpering was beginning to sound like the despairing cries before someone or something died in the arena.

The arena...

His eyes open wide and flit around wildly, the room abruptly fitting back to size.

“Huh?”

Shiro was good at snapping himself back to reality when he needed to, good at functioning at half capacity just to see through whatever he was in the middle of until it was safe to let the lights of the arena bleed into his present.

Not that acknowledging his memories was ever safe. And not that reliving them in his cabin was any safer.

Just easier.

“What is it?”

“I’m starting again...”

He hadn’t noticed that he’d backed up into Pidge’s bed or that her tiny hand had wound its way into his.

“...and he’s asking for you.”

“Right.”

His voice was sturdy again, hands no longer trembling. He could do this.

The whirring of the tool sounds too much like his metal arm, it glows orange instead of purple but that doesn’t seem to matter because it’s cutting into Keith’s skin all the same and the screams that escape his mouth cut into Shiro just as bad.

But he pushes it all away. He can unpack the emotions that rise up with it later but Keith needed him now.

The initial twitches that wracked his brutalized frame when Coran brought the tool back down had Allura turning away and the smoke that rose up with the first slice had Hunk clamping a hand over his mouth and nose. But the princess’s hand never stopped brushing through his hair and Hunk kept the grip on his shoulder firm.

They could feel his muscles loosening, could feel the power of each jerk dwindling.

And then they watched with heavy consciences as even his steady cries quieted, his body finally waving the white flag.

“I’m sorry...”

Shiro chanted it so many times that the syllables blended together and turned into something else altogether.

Keith’s breathing was more erratic than it ever had been and it didn’t seem like he could see straight anymore so Shiro lowered his forehead to Keith’s and draped his metal arm over his neck.

Both were damp with sweat that created condensation on his hand, his hair wet with it and plastered all over, but Shiro couldn’t find it in him to care. He needed him to know that he was there, that he hadn’t left.

“I’m here, Keith. And I’m sorry...”

But his cheeks were flushing with something other than straight up exertion. And Shiro felt it, felt his hand go cold while all the blood raced to his head. He knew what was happening but he wasn’t worried.

He was relieved.

“I’m so sorry...”

The rag falls out again because his jaw had gone slack and his eyes were rolling to the back of his head. Shiro didn’t move to fix it.

His breathing still irregular but falling into a more even rhythm.

Lance looks stricken and Hunk is rather green when they let go and step back.

Pidge had finally found the ability to relax abs was slumping into the bed, eyes glued to Coran’s hand who was still not done.

Still not okay. Still not in a pod, but no longer in pain.

Hunk took exactly one deep breath before devolving into tears. He was done being strong, but Lance never seems to get the luxury and was pulling him into a hug that didn’t have him standing any straighter or have his chest working any less, but it was something.

Coran’s hands move slow and he doesn’t seem to feel the red welts on his fingertips from wrestling with his tools. But he looked more at ease with Keith blissfully unconscious, like he was breathing again.

Shiro was still holding Keith’s hand. It was ice cold and looking sort of blue with the white blotches dotting it. He leaves his other hand on his neck where his skin is hotter, figuring if the cool metal could be useful for anything other than killing, it might just be that.

Lance eyes the distance in Shiro’s gaze, the rigidity in his movements, and he thinks he understands. He thinks he can overlook his anger to remember that the guy is still human.

He’s almost scared that he was speaking out loud when Shiro rakes his grey pinpoints around the room, not appearing to actually see any of it before passing over Lance’s briefly. Hunk has his head burrowed in his chest as he fights to regain his composure but he musters up a small smile for him despite being otherwise occupied.

It’s a peace offering. A sad one at that, the corners of his mouth barely perking up, but it’s something.

Shiro wasn’t sure if he returned it but his heart felt lighter once Lance did that.

The energy in the room was still buzzing but it was less stifling, not as heavy as it had been moments ago.

The artificial sunlight starts to turn purple again and he can hear desperation mix into the buzz and for a second Shiro is worried that Keith has woken up. In a bit of a panic he drags his gaze back down to find his eyes still closed and his face still scrunched up like he hadn’t escaped the pain entirely with sleep.

But that was infinitely better than him sounding like them, the dying things he was hearing.

He vaguely wondered if the medbay was a safe enough place to let the purple flood in and ultimately decided that it didn’t matter.

He’d staved it off long enough, was strong for Keith when he needed him to be.

And so he lets himself drift.

[lilbabycee]

tatiana // steve rogers 🌸

↳ summary: you've made a series of mistakes concerning steve and you're not going to stop now, although these mistakes may leave you in some unprecedented circumstances.

↳ relationship: soft dark!steve rogers x reader

↳ word count: 5.4k (i got carried away with this one)

↳ warnings: explicit smut, mildly dubious consent, emotional manipulation, cockwarming, dad!steve

↳ author’s note: some more soft dark steve bc we all need it 🤤 this may be one of my favorite steve fics i’ve ever written, so please enjoy! 💖 

The white doves that tell the tales residing inside the heavy book that weighs down your lap flutter downwards, blowing little wisps of air onto your skin as your fingers slacken and the cover of the hardback hits the pages with a soft thud. Perched on the edge of the too-big queen-sized bed with the too-soft mattress, you take a second to breathe deeply, cherishing these moments of peace because these breaths haven’t come easy to you recently. Your head falls into one of your hands, your bones as exhausted as your mind. You have to remember that it’s ten in, hold for five, and ten out just like he taught you, but the thought escapes you as your lungs struggle to intake air in anything but huge, gasping breaths. It feels like someone is sitting on your chest, a weight so heavy having settled where your heart should be, dragging your body further to the ground than gravity.

But you’re unable to help the sincere albeit shaky smile on your face when you admire her, your breathing starting to even out until it’s shallow and steady. Round cheeks squished against the pillow, one of her chubby little hands gripping your sleeve and the other tucked underneath her head, she’s a vision - truly a beacon of light in what is otherwise a neverending spiral into darkness. Carefully and with all of the finesse that your shaking hands can muster, you pry her fingers off of your sleeve one by one, although you know that the chances of her waking up are slim. You love telling her that she can sleep through an earthquake or a hurricane because it always - without fail - elicits that same sweet little giggle from the sleeping girl in front of you and a whiny “Mama!” , her beaming smile enough to warm your heart for the rest of your life.

Tatiana’s long eyelashes - all too reminiscent of her daddy’s - fan against her face while she dozes, her mouth wide open and her soft snores the only sound in the room. Her closed eyes shield you from the most disarming baby blues that never let you forget exactly who her father is, and the thought alone makes the blood pumping your heart run cold, an involuntarily shudder passing through you at the feeling.

He’s just over in the next room and you know it - the apartment is almost entirely silent but you know. He’s waiting, expecting you, knowing that you’ll come to see him at the end of the night. Tatiana’s enthusiasm and your insistence upon reading her to sleep hopefully went unnoticed by him - being alone in a room with him always makes your skin crawl and your heart beat erratically but you know that he can smell the arousal that pools between your thighs regardless of the attitude that you give him on the surface.

Not wanting him to come and look for you, you decide that you’ve spent enough time in this massive bedroom - a converted guest room - that’s far too large for a 3-and-a-half-year-old. You lean down over your baby, hand coming up to brush a thumb over her cheek and then run a hand through over the top of her head, pushing the stray baby hairs out of her face. You make sure to place the book on her nightstand so that you don’t have a fiasco like the last time that you couldn’t find it. It ended up underneath the couch and your daughter was in a mood for the whole day, pouting and sulking when her father told her that he couldn’t find it. It was a gift that was given to you by her favorite uncle, Tony, when she was born: Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Tony considers it essential in developing her love for reading and stories at an early age, and you didn’t argue, the gift so sweet and thoughtful that you make sure to read at least a little to her every night. Making sure to turn her nightlight on, you rise and head to the door, looking back over your shoulder one more time to see her cocooned in her blanket and being swallowed by her mattress. The image alone makes a chuckle rise in your throat and you shake your head before flipping the light switch and closing the door.

Your back is pressed against the hard lines of Tatiana’s door, and your gaze falls on the one at the end of the hallway. It’s been left ajar, almost as if he’s inviting you inside. You know that you shouldn’t - common sense is telling you that you should steer clear of that room for the sole reason that you know exactly what or rather who lays in their bed behind it. Before you even realize what’s happening, a deep baritone is summoning you to, “Come in”.

Silently, you curse yourself, aware that it’s too late to take back any chance of escape that you may have had prior to this, but you press your palm against the white wood of the door so that it slowly slides open. The sight that greets you makes you want to claw at your skin as much as you want to claw at his. The idea of vertical red lines scratched down his back makes you bite your lip and really assess the gorgeous man stretched out in front of you.

At a closer listen, you’re aware that he’s actually been playing music, soft jazz melodies floating through the air that ease your anxiety just a little. His bed is directly across from the door and obnoxiously large and comfortable - it used to be covered in pillows and have a softer mattress and extra blankets, but that was before you moved out. Now, the pillows are somewhere in a closet, as are the blankets, and the mattress is significantly harder than it used to be, although not uncomfortable. But the bed isn’t what’s making your mouth water and a fire ignite in your stomach. It’s the man atop it.

He’s stretched out like some kind of god - picture Dionysus - with the bone structure and physique of Adonis, and you think that if the heavens opened up right now and took him back you wouldn’t bat a single eyelash. The only sources of light in the room are the twin lamps that emanate a bright, white light. The light catches all of the planes and angles of his face, the shadows and highlights alike showing you all of his best features. And he’s absolutely the picture of relaxation, back leaning against the headboard, right hand behind his head and the left holding a book.

He’s only wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a black t-shirt that’s slightly rucked up to show the line of abdominal hair that leads down to what you really want, but he may as well have been wearing nothing because you wouldn’t be able to tear your eyes off of this man if you tried. And even from the few meters that separate the two of you, you can feel the intensity of his blue gaze behind his glasses - it always feels like he’s stripping you slowly, carefully, methodically in his mind. Not only is it disconcerting but it makes you feel things that you can only associate with uncomfortable desire. His eyebrow quirks up and the hand that was behind his head slowly slides his glasses down the bridge of his perfect nose until they drop to his side. His lips quirk up into a smug little smirk that you simultaneously want to punch and kiss off his face.

“Hey,” he says your name like a prayer, lips wrapping around the sound and it draws you into the room - you’re almost floating towards him.

You swallow, willing yourself to say something instead of just standing there, staring at him like an idiot. Relaxing your stance, one of your hands finds your hip and the other runs over your hair that you’re sure is a mess from playing with your daughter earlier.

“Hi,” you reply quietly, almost a whisper. He mirrors you, running a hand through his golden hair and then over his clean-shaven jaw - Tatiana prefers it that way.

“She asleep?”

You nod, finding yourself on the edge of his bed as he puts his book face down next to him. Inhaling deeply, he runs his large hands over his powerful thighs and even that small motion has you distracted and you squeeze your own thighs together, shaking your head disapprovingly at yourself. Absent-mindedly, your hand comes up to toy with the pendant of the simple necklace that you always wear, and you watch Steve’s eyes as they follow your movements. They zero in on your exposed décolletage and darken, his tongue running over his plush pink lower lip again. Pulling his phone from underneath his pillow, he makes a point of checking it before glancing back up at you.

“What?”

“You checked the time, sweetheart?”

At the shake of your head, he flips his phone around to show you that it’s four minutes past midnight.

“Shit, are you kidding me?” you groan almost childishly, rising hastily and making your way towards the door. “I’ve got work tomorrow - I wasn’t supposed to stay this late.”

“Hey, hey,” Steve quickly moves to stand up and placate you, rounding the bed to come and stand in front of you with his hands out. “It’s not your fault - Tati was excited to see you, you can’t blame her… or yourself for that matter. She’s been asking about you for weeks now, talkin’ everybody’s ear off about it. She doesn’t get to see us all the time, you know that-”

You know it all too well. Frankly, you’re proud of your success - there’s no reason that you shouldn’t be. You were lucky enough to land a key internship at Stark Industries as a college student that really gave you a leg up in a lot of your future professional life. You were already set to inherit what is now your publishing company from your father, but you were unsure about whether or not that was something that you wanted to devote your life to. Sooner rather than later, something clicked for you and that was when you decided to pick up your father’s life’s work, reassuring him that it would be left in capable hands so that he could eventually retire peacefully. Not that he doesn’t still hover because he does, giving you advice whether you want it or not and making final decisions in places where you’re torn. Initially, there was a lot of discontent within the company concerning your father’s replacement: he is something of a legend in the publishing world and even you were terrified that you wouldn’t be able to live up to their expectations. You had to prove that you deserved to have the CEO position that your father appointed you to, show people and yourself, more importantly, that you were worth being there as much as any other employee. It took some years, but you love your job, so much so in fact that your mother - a former dentist - is often concerned that you’re working yourself to an early grave.

Unfortunately, this leaves little time for you to spend with your family, especially your daughter. Your job requires an exorbitant amount of international travel, meaning that your house barely looks like a home because most weeks, it’s empty.

Sighing, the thought in itself makes a grey cloud hang over your head to shroud you in despondency. Steve notices and the corners of his lips turn downwards as he boldly approaches you and gently grabs your upper arms. His touch in itself makes you soften and he dips his head to try and catch your eyes. When he does, he gives you a crooked, boyish smile that makes the crease in your eyebrows disappear and your lips curve into a shy grin.

“I know it’s part of your job,” Steve’s voice drops even further, hands rubbing up and down your arms, thumbs stroking the cotton of your shirt. “But she misses you… why don’t you just stay over?”

This makes you freeze in place and try and free yourself from his grip, but he only tightens it, that same compassionate look in his eyes.

“Baby,” before you can reprimand him for using the pet name, he anticipates your next words and shushes you so that he can continue, “I bet Tati would love to see you when she wakes up tomorrow morning. Imagine the look on her face - she’d be overjoyed. Just think about it.”

You know what he’s doing and still attempt to wrestle free, but his hold on you is solid though it doesn’t tighten any further.

“Steve,” you sigh in what sounds like defeat and you can see the spark of hope ignite in his eyes. “You know why I have to get home. I’ll come back tomorrow - I’ve got the whole week here before I head out again-”

“But then what?” he says your name pleadingly, though his tone sounds almost accusatory. “I could be gone on a mission at any time and then some of the team has to take care of her - or your parents, or your sister, or your brother. Look, I try to be here as much as I can but I’m not planning to hang up the shield for a few more years-”

“And I’m not expecting you to, I never said I was, Steve,” you fire back, taking a step towards him with your arms still pinned by your sides. “I get that your missions are unpredictable and unexpected - you can’t help that - but there’s no way that I can lose these clients overseas, especially since I basically just got this position-”

“So you’re saying that you’re prioritizing your job over our daughter?” his voice rises slightly, but his eyes don’t harden at all.

“That’s- are you kidding me? That’s not at all what I’m saying. I want to provide financial stability that’s enough for the rest of her life and with both of us working, she’ll have more than enough for her and her kids and probably her kids’ kids. God, why would you even -”

“You know what she told me yesterday?”

This makes the fire within you die down just a little, your heart skipping a beat when you register the intensity of his gaze and the gravity of his words. You swallow, hands starting to clam up and lips starting to quiver. He knew what reaction this would give you, effectively shutting you up.

“Wh-what- I mean, you know...what did she say?”

Steve suddenly looks away from you, releasing your arms and pacing, turning his back to you. Letting out a distressed sigh, he shoves his hands deep into his mop of blonde hair, planting himself on the edge of the bed and shaking his head.

“I shouldn’t have said anything- I’m sorry, it’s not my place-”

His voice is quiet but also muffled by his hands, but now he’s piqued your curiosity so you can’t just let this go - especially because it concerns the single most important person in your life. Without thinking, you rush over, getting on your knees before him, right in between his open legs. Tentatively, your hands land on his knees and your thumbs trace small circles where they lay.

“Steve,” you call out softly. Nothing happens for a moment - he remains silent and the jazz song is underscored by his ragged breathing. The feeling of nervousness that already set in your stomach drops further and further, blood running like fire once again through your veins. When he finally does look up at you, he looks torn, like a lost golden retriever. He knows very well what that look does to you and you’re more than aware of it yourself, yet you find that you are unable to look away from those eyes that mirror those of your daughter so perfectly.

He says your name quietly, his significantly larger hand covering one of yours that rest on his knee. Though you hate to admit it to yourself, it makes the suspense of the situation so much more bearable.

“It’s just,” Steve hesitates, unable to maintain eye contact with you and sitting up from his hunched position, “she asked me why you were never here…”

Your heart sinks, another lump stuck in your throat.

“And you said…?”

“A-All I did was tell her the truth,” he shrugs, exhaling another shaky breath before looking at you with glassy eyes, “I told her that you’re really busy with work all the time, but every time you’re not at work, you’re trying your best to spend all your time with her.”

Steeling yourself not to cry, you look away from his face and lower your gaze to stare at the carpet.

Ten in, hold for five, ten out.

“That doesn’t sound too bad,” you say lightheartedly, knowing full-well that there’s more to it. Steve manages a chuckle, but it sounds forced so you decide to shut up and listen.

“But then she said that it was okay because she has Nat instead.”

There it was.

You’ve always known that your daughter has been brutally honest - as all children often are - but this is a pain unlike anything that you’ve felt before. Your fingers come up to your chest to clutch at your breast, dying to massage away the aching of your heart. Hot trails of fire spill onto your cheeks and the moment that Steve registers them, he takes advantage of your position on the floor and tucks his hands underneath your arms to drag you up to sit on his lap like a doll.

You’re curled up on top of your ex-fiancé’s thighs, his hand pressing the side of your head into his hard but surprisingly comfortable shoulder, and you’re sobbing your fucking eyes out at the harsh but very real words of your three-and-a-half-year-old daughter. Steve says your name comfortingly and wraps his arms tightly around your body, rocking you back and forth while he shushes you and whispers sweet nothings into your ear.

It definitely hurts to hear: the hectic, distant, fast-paced and frankly insane life that you’ve been trying to convince yourself isn’t your reality is indeed the truth and even your daughter can recognize that. You’re ashamed of yourself, Steve’s kind words only making you feel so much worse.

Between sobs, you attempt to explain yourself but Steve just keeps quieting you, rubbing circles into your back. All he says is ten in, hold for five, ten out.

Once you’ve calmed down a little, you realize the vulnerable spot that you’re in - one you shouldn’t be in. You squirm in his arms like you’re about to get up but once again, he holds you firmly in place.

“I need to head out, Steve- I’ve gotta get some time alone to think about-”

“Or,” he draws out the word, voice having hardened significantly, “you could stay here and when our daughter comes to wake me up in the morning, she’ll find you here too.”

Jerking your head back, you’re genuinely shocked at his audacity.

“Steve, let’s get this straight,” you start, feeling much more confident and calm than before, “if I’m staying here, we are absolutely not sleeping in the same room. We’re not having a repeat of what happened the last time-”

“And what was so bad about the last time, hmm, sweetheart?”

He runs his index finger over your jawline, dragging it down the length of your neck and down to your exposed collarbones.

“If I do recall,” his voice is much quieter but also deeper, “you thoroughly enjoyed what we did the last time.”

His one arm keeps you anchored to him, the other moving from your chest to cup behind your neck and pull you to meet his lips.

“Steve-”

Your protests die in your throat as you feel his soft lips on you, your eyes fluttering shut as he starts to press wet, open-mouthed kisses on your throat. He works his way up to underneath your ear, biting in places that you know you should be worried about him marking before he nips at your earlobe with his perfect teeth and traces the outer shell of your ear with his tongue. It makes you whimper softly, the sound making your eyes shoot open and snapping you out of whatever trance he’s put you in, your spine going rigid.

“We’re not doing this,” you say firmly, placing your hands flat on his chest and pushing backward. He looks resigned but nods, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head instead.

“Fine, but I still insist that you stay here,” he presses. “Not for me, but for Tatiana - think of her. She’ll love it.”

Biting your lip, you consider it for a moment before sucking your teeth and staring heavenwards.

What’s the worst that could happen? And if it’s just so that Tatiana can see you with her in the morning, it’s more than worth having to deal with Steve for a night.

“Okay, fine- fine. You’re gonna need to let me borrow some clothes. If I’d known that this was the plan, I would’ve packed more appropriately.”

Steve’s self-satisfied smirk irks you and he shifts you off of his lap, standing up so that he can disappear inside his walk-in to search for something for you to wear. You can’t help but notice that as he’s walking, he has to adjust the crotch of his sweatpants which aren’t really hiding anything. You clear your throat and look away, the heat that previously ran throughout your body all settles in your core.

Something that smells suspiciously like Steve - soap, pine, lavender and something citrusy - smacks you in the face, making you scowl when the clothing falls to reveal a grinning Steve who looks very pleased with himself leaning against the closet door.

“C’mon,” he gestures to you with one hand, the other shoved in his pocket. “I’d love to get some sleep, so get changed.”

He turns on his heel and heads to another door on the other side of the room, walking inside as he yells, “And make sure to let people know that you aren’t gonna be in tomorrow. We’ve got plans, doll.”

Plans?

The door clicks behind him, and you heave a deep sigh, wanting to fall through the bed. Quickly, you disrobe, folding your clothes and placing them onto one of the armchairs in the corner of his room next to the record player. Looking at what he brought you, you shake your head in incredulity.

This cheeky motherfucker.

He’s only brought you a t-shirt - a white one with the Captain America insignia on the back, the same one that you bought for him as a joke on the first birthday of his that you spent together. You purposely made sure that it was loose enough for you to wear to bed by itself too because he wears all of his t-shirts in a size too small - not that you’d ever complain - and you hated grabbing one of his shirts, putting it on, and finding that it fit you just like one of your own.

You pull it over your head and look back to the empty space on the bed.

No shorts either.

You scold yourself because you should’ve known that he’d pull something like this. But he’s promised that things won’t go to levels that you’re not comfortable with, so you just sleeping in your panties and this t-shirt should be fine.

Maybe?

Entering the bathroom, Steve hands you the toothbrush that he keeps here for you, his own buzzing in his mouth, and you thank him silently with your eyes as you take it from him. Your eyes travel up his body, narrowing because he’s taken off his shirt and his sweatpants, and he is only wearing a pair of grey Calvins, distracting you and making even more moisture pool between your thighs. Steve evidently notices your not-so-subtle staring and tries to hide his smile under the guise of brushing with renewed vigor.

Get a hold of yourself.

The two of you finish up in the bathroom, Steve walking behind you and burning holes into your bare thighs. He turns off both of the lights on either side of his bed as you crawl underneath the heavy comforter, curling in on yourself. You turn away from him, hoping that it indicates that you’re not up for talking and just want to sleep. He moves around a little bit before getting in with you, and suddenly your space is crowded by pillows?

He remembered.

It makes the butterflies in your belly that have been dormant for a long time start to wake up.

Rearranging the pillows in the fashion that you like, you try and put today’s events behind you and make a silent vow to yourself that you will do better, you will try harder to become a better and more present mother to your daughter.

In fact, you’re so absorbed in your thoughts that sleep begins to pull you into its clutches, your eyes drooping lower and lower until your breathing evens out and you’re just on the cusp of it when a strong, hard body molds itself against your back. Any semblance of sleep that you felt just moments ago slips away, your eyes widening.

“What are you doing -”

His hand clamps around your mouth, promptly cutting you off before his other warm hand runs down your front, down your t-shirt before creeping underneath, all while leaving a trail of fire in his wake. You’re thrashing now, knowing that your efforts will be futile because as much as you can tell yourself you don’t want this, it’s everything that you’ve ever wanted.

It was a mistake like this that gave you the best thing to ever happen to you.

His lips touch your ear at the same time his hand flicks your peaked nipple, making you buck your hips back into him. “Oh, sweetheart, look at you.”

He gropes at your breast for another few seconds, his gentle yet firm grip doing nothing to ease the desire that you have for him. A sharp pinch to your nipple sends a lightning bolt right to your cunt. It then moves even further downwards, past down your belly button, hovering over where you need him the most.

“So needy, aren’t you, baby?”

He slips the fingertip of his index finger underneath the band of the lace, snapping it so that you gasp against his hand.

“I’ve been able to smell you all night,” he buries his face in your neck, inhaling deeply and the groan from deep within his chest vibrates against your back. Arching your back into him, he uses both of his hands to push your hips into his, hooking his thumbs over the band of your panties and sliding the rest of his fingers underneath. “You wet for me, sweetheart?”

You can do nothing but nod - this is a mistake but you wish that every mistake that you ever made felt this good.

“Good girl,” you can hear his grin while he removes his hands and his index finger slides against your covered core. “This all for me?”

You nod again and he moans loud , louder than the sounds of your desperate panting. The jazz record continues to spin on the needle.

Slowly, he runs a finger up and down your folds, feeling the slick that has dampened your panties. He thrusts up into your ass in response, wasting no more time.

“Please-”

You choke out the word, needing him to extinguish the flames that he’s ignited inside of you.

“It’s okay, doll - I got you.”

And he does, yanking down his underwear over his cock and wrapping his hand around the base. In your eagerness, you shove your own panties down your hips, causing Steve to rumble a laugh and click his tongue at you.

“Baby,” he exhales, evidently amused at your whiny demeanor. “Did you really think you could trick me? Comin’ in here, all shy and nervous but still tempting me… knowing exactly what you’re doin’, hmm? You wanna be a family again, sweetheart?”

With this, he guides the head of his dick to your entrance, rubbing up and down the sensitive skin, taking his time. And in all the time that you’ve known him, Steve is not the type to be patient.

“All you had to do was ask.”

And then he slams into you - really and truly because you jerk forward at his powerful thrust, eyes watering at the sensation. He’s so big that the stretch precariously toes the line between pain and pleasure but just falls on the side of being enjoyable. The sound of skin slapping sin is lewd and filthy and you love it.

Steve’s deft fingers quickly find your clit and press down, rubbing circles into the small nub. Coupled with Steve’s labored breathing and moans in your ear, it doesn’t take you long to be right on the edge of your peak.

“I can feel you, doll,” he whispers, teeth grazing your ear once again. “You gonna cum for me, make a mess all over my dick?”

You nod frantically, unable to speak, eyes squeezed shut.

“No, no, no, baby,” he breathes. “Look at me while I make you cum - I want you to know who’s making you feel this good. Tell me who’s about to make you cum, baby.”

Opening your eyes, he flips you around so that you’re facing him, throwing one of your legs over his and he does it all without ceasing his motions. Your body warms in embarrassment, however because you’re chasing your release, you swallow any pride that you may have and give him what he wants.

“You are-”

An exceptionally hard thrust makes you squeal and Steve grunts in disappointment. He’s got one arm encircled around your waist, the other gripping your throat bruisingly tight.

“I didn’t fucking hear you, sweetheart.”

“You are,” you try a bit louder, your ability to form coherent sentences significantly impaired.

“What was that, doll?”

“You are,” you yell emphatically, the pressure being applied to your clit temporarily pushing the words out of your mouth in exactly the way you know he likes it.

He bounces you on his cock, pulling you into a heated kiss before drastically increasing his speed, every thrust upwards poking at your g-spot.

“That’s right, sweetheart,” he licks a stripe up your throat and your hands scramble to find purchase on his slick skin. Your nails dig into his back, painting those thin crimson lines he likes so much. “Just like that.”

A strangled moan crawls out of your throat but he shushes you, squeezing your neck tighter.

“I know, I know,” he soothes. “Cum for me, doll.”

And so you do - your thighs quiver and your lips part wide in a silent scream, eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your muscles contract around Steve’s dick which sets off his own orgasm but almost stubbornly, he keeps his eyes on your blissed-out face while he spills his own release into you.

Once the two of you come down from your high, your heart racing and your breath erratic, Steve’s tight embrace does nothing to quell your growing anxiety at what the fuck you’ve just done - again.

“Should keep you like this forever,” Steve pulls you into the heated skin of his chest and buries his face into the space between your shoulder and your neck. His cock is still buried inside of you. “Fucked full of my cock for the rest of your life. I bet you’d like that, baby.”

His words make tears spring to your eyes - guilt - and you can’t even give him a response, so all he does is exhale deeply, kissing the top of your head and settling into the sea of pillows around you.

“Night, sweetheart.”

And then he promptly falls asleep, no more words exchanged between the two of you. Truly you can do nothing more but wrap your arms around his neck, the weight of him inside you making it difficult for you to get comfortable, and try to get some rest. The jazz record slowly starts to come to a close.

The moonlight shines through the slits of Steve’s blinds, depicting white horizontal lines across his back. It makes him look like art, you think, running your hands slowly up and down his bare skin. As you do, the light catches on the ostentatious rock on your ring finger.

↳ tagged: @literaturefeen​

[thegreatobsesso]

Word find tag (hold, drop, throw, and catch)

Tagged by @winterandwords, thank you friend :D

hold 

Callie POV

Scary, but exhilarating - zero gravity. Or, Peter was the gravity, maybe, and everything else just turned to slippery slips. Like falling on ice except she’d tried to catch herself and she shouldn’t have, she should’ve just let go and then she wouldn’t have startled Peter, wouldn’t have fallen -

“Do it again,” she begged him, accepting his hands to help herself up. “I’m ready this time, I swear, it just startled me at first because it was so…”

He stood there holding onto her forearms, above her scraped and bloody elbow she couldn’t care less about. She held onto him too. “Wow,” she said.

She’d underestimated him. Or, his power. That was it. She should let go of him now, stop staring into his eyes like she could make sense of him this way.

drop

Simon POV

“What I have in mind is a sort of probationary period,” he stated. “Of no less than one year, and if, at the end of that year, you’re judged to be of sound mind, without designs on harming anyone or otherwise behaving like a menace to society, we’ll wipe your slate clean. During this probationary period, in the interests of the public, I propose that you be closely supervised.”

Her eyes widened at that; she scoffed. “A babysitter?” she asked incredulously.

“A handler,” the judge corrected her. “Someone equipped to report back on your behavior and intentions, and if need be, stop you from taking any dangerous actions.”

Her indigence fell away; her mouth dropped open and she exhaled sharply, closing her eyes.

oh, was all that ran through her head. oh, oh, OH.

“Mister Bennett,” said the judge.

He was missing whatever conclusion Callie had just come to. “Yeah?”

“Are you up to the task?”

All eyes turned to him again and he felt incredibly sluggish, the slowest person in the room - his heart began beating faster, even as he was certain he misunderstood the question.

[[maniacal authorial laughter]]

throw

Riley POV

The women lead her down a long corridor into a dimly lit chamber that Riley suspects will lead below the ground. They’re all waiting for her there, holding candles. Adrian steps forward, takes her hand, and kisses the top of her head.

“I’m sorry, Riley,” he says, “but this is where your path ends.”

She doesn’t even have time to process why he’s saying something so antithetical to an initiation ceremony before a small form emerges from their ranks and draws back her hood. 

A familiar face - one who shouldn’t be here.

A bag is thrown over Riley’s head.

[[ In draft 1, I wanted some kind of really obvious tonal shift when Riley shows up for the first time in the second half, much changed after the events that unfolded at the end of the first half. Shifting to present tense fit the bill. I’m not sure if I’ll keep it around in the second draft, but it was a fun exercise either way. :) ]]

catch

Simon POV

“Camilla,” he said, lowering his voice and taking a confidential step closer. “You’ve been coming here for years making sure this is a good place for kids. Come on,” he pleaded, hoping to catch some sliver of humanity he might latch onto. “You don’t really believe these kids should be suppressed, so what is this?”

She smiled. “A promotion,” she said simply. And then: You never took me seriously before. You will now.

Tagging @diphthongsfordays, @dontjudgemeimawriter, @afoolandathief and @avrablake with the words weight, heavy, lift and pressure :)

[fallenfurther]

Homecoming - Earthbound

Chapter 2 of Homecoming. John and Jeff.

Thank you for the response to my first chapter and Josie will return later on as the story develops.. The next few chapters are set  within the last episode of the series  , between Jeff returning to the island and stepping out Thunderbird Two and him sitting down to take the rescue call. There is no way Jeff is fit and health after eight years alone in space, so these chapters fill in that recovery and continues as he finds his place within the family and organisation again. 

This chapter is an emotional one, so trigger warnings for trauma, death, last wishes. 

*********

Jeff placed his cutlery down on the empty plate, before leaning back into the cushioned back of the chair. The food was excellent, though anything was better than what he'd survived on for the past eight years. It helped that he knew there was no expense spared for his stay. It felt so strange but comfortable to feel full again and his body was feeling better for it. The nurse popped her head around the door and smiled.

"Want me to take the tray from you?"

"Yes please."

Lauren swished her way over to him, picked up the tray and left him alone. Jeff had various therapy sessions and doctors checking in on him and he welcomed the breaks from them. He just had to keep looking forward, knowing that the light at the other end was to spend the rest of his life with his sons. How he'd missed them. Each one imprinted in his mind, clear as day, spurring him on. They visited him when they could, though it depended entirely upon the number of callouts and if someone was fit enough to fly. International Rescue seemed much busier now than eight years ago. Eight years away from everything. So much had stayed the same and yet the important stuff had grown and changed. Particularly his little Alan. He was the smallest, just, but he'd matured, become more confident and was an amazing astronaut. Normally he would have been angry at Scott and the boys for letting someone so young fly Thunderbird Three. He'd always known the dangers of space. A teenager doesn't. But having seen Alan pilot Thunderbird Three, making her dance elegantly between asteroids, he understood. Alan had flown the Zero-XL to save him. The talent that boy had was incredible. How could Jeff deny the boy who followed so much in his own footsteps, who shared his passion for space? It pained him to know he hadn't been around to help nurture it.

Jeff forced himself out of his chair, joints complaining from his physiotherapy session that morning. The gravity in the Oort cloud had been variable but being back on Earth it had an intensity he could get no reprieve from. John had suggested a skint on Thunderbird 5, but the doctors insisted he have no Zero-G exposure until he was medically fit, insisting his body needed to adjust to gravity first. They also ruled out a trip in Thunderbird Three as the forces that would be applied to his still healing body would be too intense. Jeff was itching to witness Alan fly the Thunderbird first hand. Jeff opened the patio door and stepped out into the warm breeze and sunshine. He still had moments of panic when he realised he didn't have a helmet on, or when he realised it wasn't close by, but the fresh air transported him back to the time before he was stranded. Even now it didn't always feel real, being on Earth. Almost two months and he still had to pinch himself sometimes, still shed tears at the sight of his boys visiting. The small private garden attached to his room was a small haven where he could get used to the world again. He followed the path to the plant-laced wooden gazebo beneath which a table and chairs stood waiting. He took a stroll down the small path circling it, not quite ready to sit yet, the wind chimes tickling above him as he brushed his hand through the purple flowers, sending a wave of lavender in the air.

Eventually he had to sit down. His tablet was on the table where he'd left it that morning. Flicking it on, he pressed his thumb to the corner, activating International Rescue's secure network. John had willingly let him have access, walking him through the new filing system before letting him loose on it. Jeff was sure John or that little AI of his was monitoring every document he saw. He opened up yet another mission report, he'd started making a timeline of rescues, only for it to be completed by EOS, listing the main statistics such as time, craft used, and which sons were involved. The timeline was worrying. International Rescue had started off slow, only going to major rescues, however nowadays barely two days went by without a need to be called out. International Rescue had response times and equipment that outmatched local agencies, but it meant his boys were often being pushed to the limits. There were meant to be fail-safes in place and compulsory downtime to stop back to back working, but all that had been side-lined so lives could be saved. He'd started with the older reports and with each one his sons got better and more efficient at writing them, but he was starting to see their exhaustion. International Rescue hadn't been designed for the workload it was taking on and something was going to snap. Jeff feared it would be his boys. He'd just got them back and now he feared he'd lose one of them.

It was never meant to be this way. Jeff had expected a little increase in workload, but nothing like this. The GDF had tried to help, as he'd found out from the last report about their robots, but that had proved unsuccessful. He didn't want to raise it with them, not yet at least. Jeff planned to finish catching up with the reports, machine specifications and chat with Brains to see what had happened and what could be done. An idea was already forming, but he knew he had to be careful, and knew he couldn't step on anyone's toes. He could see his place in International Rescue wasn't where it used to be, though it had been suggested that he take over the comms so John could rest or do other work. However, this wouldn't solve the problem. They all loved him, were so happy he was back and yet it was exhausted men that visited him. They came often in ones or twos, often with bags under their eyes, sometimes even straight from a rescue in Virgil and Gordon's case, showering on Thunderbird Two which would be parked on the green behind the facility. They would come in trying to hide how tired they were to see him, sometimes a guilty look if they hadn't come sooner. Jeff understood now, he would complain if he didn't want to see them so badly. He should send them home with a clip around the ear and set his mother on them. Instead he opened his arms and embraced them, forever thankful that he still could.

He turned back to the reports, chimes filling the air with each light gust. He only looked up when some light footsteps came along the path, and a smile crossed his face. John, still in his uniform, settled into the chair before him.

"Afternoon Dad."

The smile on his son's face reached his tired eyes. John's inconsistent sleep was something Scott had mentioned. Getting John to sleep properly or to get him out of orbit was a challenge. Though he would often find time to pop down using the space elevator and would get Mum to help EOS with monitoring the world.

"Afternoon John, I'm guessing everything is going well? Will your brothers be joining us?"

"It is and no, they won't," John yawned, "it was a nineteen hour rescue so they are all catching up on sleep."

"Like you should be."

John rolled his eyes bringing a smile to Jeff's face. How many times had the boy done that as a teenager? Memories flooded back of John curled up with a book, Gordon, Alan or both on the living room floor, only for him to roll his eyes at something one of them had said. It was mainly Gordon, informing Alan of things that weren't quite true.

"I couldn't sleep."

"How about we go sit on the bench in the corner, the cushions make it extremely comfortable."

John nodded. Jeff brought the tablet with him and got up, his pace slower than his son's. John already had the cushions out the base and was on the seat when Jeff got to him. They sat down side-by-side, Jeff placing his arm over John's shoulder and pulling him close. His son didn't resist, laying his head against Jeff’s chest. This was the contact Jeff craved. Devoid of it for so many years, he still needed to be reminded that this was real.

"People died."

Jeff sat still, not saying the many things he could, knowing John needed time. John needed to work himself through it, needed to speak and be heard. So Jeff waited.

"It was a mudslide following an earthquake. Collapsed buildings and mud. That's what they had to deal with this time."

"Mud is like snow, it takes and rarely gives back. Hundreds of people are still missing, many bodies that may never be recovered, or will have to be DNA matched to be identified. We can do earthquakes and mudslides, we're efficient, but it takes its toll."

"They are all exhausted, physically and mentally. Grandma's enforced downtime but I don't know how long it'll last. Another rescue and they'll all be up and away before she can stop them. I would ground the craft for her but that would only cause suppressed anger to rise."

John's gaze was aimed at the ground, his whole body was unearthly still except for the rise and fall of his ribcage. Jeff knew John was thinking, debating what to say next. As the minutes passed and John remained silent Jeff knew it was time to coax it out.

"What about you? What weight are you carrying?"

John's fingers flexed, a hesitation, debating whether to share what was weighing him down more than gravity. It was the reason John was here, Jeff knew John saw and heard things the others didn't think about. Or if they did, they were helpless to do anything about it. John needed someone he could trust. He needed his father. Jeff's thumb started to rub the man's shoulder, offering more comfort.

"I…there were just so many people. They all had phones, all calling in. Some were petrified, others screamed, children and adults all with the same fear in their voices. All asking for help, to be rescued. Some were fine but it was a friend or family member in trouble. I talked to one young man through first aid, he had to tourniquet his younger brother's leg. His brother had already lost a lot of blood and was unconscious. I got Gordon to go there but when he found them it turns out the young man was in shock. He hadn't wanted to believe his brother was dead and he had done the first aid on the body. He had refused to leave his brother. It took Gordon five minutes to drag him away."

"I went straight from that to a child who was hurt and her mother wasn't responding. She cried; cried so much. She screamed when Virgil unpinned her arm and again when she realised he was leaving her mother behind."

A tear skipped down John's cheek. Jeff kept quiet, knowing too well what the screams of a child for a dead parent were like; how much they pierce your heart and tear into your soul. No matter whose child it was always painful.

"I heard so many last words. I've a document of names and last requests. Things they wanted to say. They are mainly 'I love you' to various family members and spouses. So many people wish they had said it more. I heard so many phone lines go quiet."

Another tear.

"I was working flat out, Grandma was taking calls from the island, but I still want to have done more. I wanted to save more. Maybe if I had directed Scott here and Virgil there or if I could have kept her calmer her rescue wouldn't have taken so long. So many lives were lost. So many we couldn't save. It's our job to save people. We should have saved them."

Jeff reached his right arm up and hugged John, tears silently falling. He knew there would always be rescues like this, where no matter what they did, many people would still die. There was nothing that could be said or done to fix it. The pain would always be felt. Holding his son, he let John cry it out in a safe place. It was his job, as a father, to be there when his sons needed him. He knew from the reports that he wouldn't be going out on rescues, his body too old and damaged to keep up with his boys. But just as his mother had, Jeff knew he would find his place again. He was still needed, even if it was just to answer the odd call, to help as Mum had all this time, to shoulder that burden and still be there at the end of the day, to help them process it all.

His eyes fell onto the mop of ginger hair, messed up by the position they'd been in, and smiled. It was the result of a hidden gene that had popped up and Lucille had adored it. It shone in direct sunlight and would give John an angelic glow. He’d been their quiet angel. Hardworking, often out of sight, but always there. The man's eyes were closed and he had become a dead weight against Jeff. It'd been more than eight years since a son had fallen asleep in his arms. There would be no complaint from Jeff. He would sit here for as long as John needed. Jeff peered down at his boy, heart full of love and pride for the quiet reserved man.

"I love you son."