#and the high probably of fic

[seasaltandcopper]

the urge to rewatch supernatural pit against the knowledge that I cannot be normal about that show and i'm not sure i'm ready to reawaken that in myself again

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve Harrington was wearing a Hellfire t-shirt.

It was far too tight on him, the name of the club stretched wide over his chest. The sleeves dug into his biceps, making them pop even more than they usually did, and that was before he crossed his arms. 

Worse?

It was short.

Which meant the damn shirt was constantly riding up to give everyone a nice show of the smattering of hair that trailed down past the band of Harrington's jeans. 

The same hair that Eddie was determinedly not looking at. 

“Henderson, a moment?” He crooked a finger, a smile on his face that was more feral than welcoming. 

Rather than cower or even acknowledge that Eddie was two seconds away from murder, Dustin just gave him a gummy grin, all too pleased with himself and his scheme. 

“Sure Eddie. Steve, don't just stand there, go help set the booth up!” Dustin gestured to Hellfire’s sad little table, crammed all the way in the back of the gym. 

Jeff and Gareth both reacted to the suggestion like a rabid squirrel had been set upon them, nervously inching towards the other side of the booth as Harrington sighed and--shockingly--did as he was told.

‘What,’ Eddie thought angrily, ‘in the everloving fuck.’

“Do you guys mind if I set this down on the table?” Eddie heard Harrington ask as he stormed away, Dustin on his heel. 

They wandered just around the corner, out of sight and hopefully, out of the fallen king’s hearing range.

Eddie wasn't sure if Harrington would try and white knight the very much deserved dressing down he was about to give. 

Didn’t want to chance it, considering the downright weird relationship he had with Hellfire's freshmen.

(While he’d heard many a tale at his table regarding King Steve since the newest recruits had joined Hellfire, most of them dissolved into arguments without ever really going anywhere.

 Best anyone could figure out was that Dustin and Lucas had a bad case of hero worship, while Mike owned a begrudging amount of respect that hailed from a series of misadventures. 

The very same misadventures that, despite all protests to the contrary, was clearly some sort of babysitting gig for Harrington.) 

Either way, plenty of the King’s court would have loved to take this opportunity to fuck with Hellfire.

Given that Henderson was absolutely too old to require a babysitter at fourteen, Eddie would bet his lunch money that was what Steve was here to do.

Something the club couldn’t afford since they were forever and always two seconds away from being stripped of club status and banned from school grounds. 

“I would love to know what went through that all A’s brain of yours when I said,” Eddie whirled on Dustin when they were firmly in the clear, voice low and furious.  “no Henderson, do not invite King Steve to help, he is an invading force and would ruin our peaceful kingdom!?”

He clasped his hands behind his back before leaning into Dustin’s face. “Because clearly whatever you heard wasn’t that.” 

To Eddie’s continued frustration and confusion, Dustin did not treat this like the threat it was. 

None of the freshmen had ever truly treated Eddie like a threat--had somehow skipped that part of the usual onboarding ritual entirely.

Eddie, town freak and drug dealer, who had cultivated his looks and craziness to such a degree that most everyone steered clear, wasn’t used to it. 

Everyone had been afraid of him at some point in this shitty school. Jeff, Gareth, hell even half the staff--and that the dorky trio of fourteen year old's clearly thought this all was play-acting made his eye twitch.

Even if it was--maybe, sometimes--welcome. 

“I know what you said, but I’m telling you I’m right.” Dustin argued immediately, and oh God, he was using that tone again. 

A hand went up into the space between them and Eddie groaned aloud, knowing what was coming.

“First,” Dustin ticked a finger up, “Hellfire really needs the money. Even thirty dollars would get us new figures, but more than that, if we don’t fundraise, we can’t go to Gen Con!” 

Dustin's eyes bored into Eddie’s, full of fire and conviction

“Yes,” Eddie said through gritted teeth, “but--”

“Second!” Dustin cut him off, and God the little shit even threw him a look while he did it, like Eddie was the one being ridiculous here!

“We had to fight just to get our table! Principal Higgins was in algebra today practically begging the mathletes to show up, but then tried to tell us we couldn't be here? That’s messed up!” 

As if denying them a spot to fundraise was the worst thing that asshole had ever done.

Eddie sighed, breath blasting out of his mouth like a dragon’s. 

“Because people think we’re freaks and satanists, Henderson. You don’t typically invite freaks and satanists to the school’s annual Holiday Bazaar. Especially not when all the local moms are paying to hawk their bullshit crafts and tupperware!” 

It was more than that of course. The Hawkins High Holiday Bazaar was a tradition spanning several years now. Starting in the gym and spilling clear into the parking lot, everyone from local artists to even some local shops came to host a small table for the day, thus growing the event from a small school fundraiser to a Hawkins' “must-do.” 

Half the fucking town was here to sell, and the other half was here to shop, which meant Principle Higgins had wanted Hellfire banned from the fucking premise. 

Eddie had been forced to pull out one of his trump cards he’d been saving--blackmail on Higgins that related to the man’s not--so--legal addiction to Percocet that he relied on Reefer Rick for. 

(And bless Rick, that hadn’t been the only tidbit he’d shared with Eddie about Higgins. That information, however, Eddie needed just so the asshat wouldn’t give him the boot from school entirely.) 

The only reason Eddie had pulled it out to secure their rightful spot, was because of Gen Con. 

It was Hellfire's White Whale, their grand adventure, and this was going to be his year to take his friends on one last epic quest to make memories of a lifetime surrounded by people who understood them.

Come hell or high water, Eddie was going to Gen Con--but being able to fundraise by selling wares and baked goods at the stupid Holiday Bazaar would go a long way to help.

Even if he had to listen to the band repeatedly play ear-bleeding renditions of Christmas songs.

“All the clubs get to have a table, and we’re a club!” Dustin continued, like it was that simple. “But you know, I get it. We look scary.” 

He gestured down to his own Hellfire shirt, before gesturing towards Eddie’s entire outfit.

Like Eddie didn't know what he looked like, let alone that he'd made this outfit specifically to scare people away from him.

(And maybe add some rockstar flair to this dinky little hick town.)

“You know who doesn’t look scary?”

Dustin held out his hands and swiveled his body like he was presenting a prize instead of gesturing in the vague direction of; 

“Steve!”

Eddie’s left eye twitched.

‘You can't kill him, you need his character for the campaign.’ He told himself firmly, even if he envisioned strangling Dustin like a chicken.

Cartoon squawking and all. 

“The King isn’t going to help us fundraise, Dustin.” Eddie said, in an effort to break down why Harrington couldn't be here. “He's just going to cause us problems that we can’t afford to have.” 

So many problems, half of which Eddie couldn't think of because if he did, he'd start spiraling.

“Really? Because as you keep saying, Steve used to be the King. People love him, Eddie! Mom’s love him.”

Eddie had pulled himself black up to his proper height a while ago, and now rocked back on his heels while he ran a hand down his face.

There was no getting through to Henderson when he was like this. 

Not unless Eddie really lost it, and it was practically club lore that he only lost it when someone missed an important game. 

One cannot keep a herd of sheep if their flock is terrified of them, after all. 

(“Perhaps you’re just a giant fucking softie.” Tiff, one of Hellfire’s graduating members, told him once. “Honestly dude, I bet you throw up stuffing.”

“Shut up Tiffany, your choker is on backwards again.” He'd spat back, completely offended and not at all trying to distract from how true that was.) 

“We can’t be satanic if Steve’s the one selling cookies!” Dustin finished doggedly. 

“We’re not even selling cookies--that’s not the point!”” Eddie shook his head, hair flying. He was not going to be sidetracked, he wasn’t!

 “Harrington is going to end up siding with all the moms about how we’re all wasting time with D&D, if he even spends the whole time at the table. Is that what you want?” 

He stuck out a ringed finger, poking at Dustin’s chest.

“Every single person who comes by our table has to be convinced D&D is a writing and math based game. Good for the mind and souls of growing, impressionable children. A game that got a bad rep because of  a few silly images.” 

A pitch he and Tiff had come up with during the third or fourth time they had to convince an adult that no, just because their shirts had a dragon on it, didn’t mean they were summoning demons in the drama room. 

“Harrington can’t do that because Harrington doesn’t even know how to play!” 

This Eddie punctuated by throwing his hands in the air. 

Given the startled look of the mother-daughter duo passing him by, clearly was louder than he’d intended--but screw it!

He was right!

Hellfire was in a precarious position to both fundraise and do a little damage control among the slightly smarter members of this shithole small town, and Harrington rolling his eyes and gossiping about how stupid it was would hinder that.

“Okay, first of all, Steve’s played D&D with me and he didn’t even kill his character.” Dustin said it like he was unveiling a smoking gun and not lying through his ass--which Eddie would absolutely be calling him on the second he was done talking. 

Because King Steve? Play D&D?

'Ha!'

“And he’s not gonna say shit because we--me, and Lucas and even Mike!--asked him to help, and he helps when its serious. I know you have some weird grudge with him, but I’m telling you Eddie he’s our golden ticket to Gen Con!” 

“You’re killing me. You are standing here, acting as a friend, when you are bringing a-- a dark force into the midst our of mission--” Eddie hissed, because he was losing the fucking fight and he knew it.

Dustin Henderson was not a man easily swayed. 

Had never been, even when the odds were stacked against him (and Grant and Gareth were howling in his ear.) 

The set of his shoulders and the glint of the little shithead’s eye meant Eddie wouldn’t be able to use him to oust Harrington--if he even could get him out without the dick causing a massive scene anyway. 

As always when outgunned, Eddie flipped to dramatics.

“Betrayed! By my own chosen heir no less!” He moaned, pressing the back of his hand over his eyes as Dustin scoffed.

"Don’t be so dramatic! Steve will help, I promise! Just don’t be a dick to him.” 

 Conversation apparently over, Dustin turned around to head back to the table

Snidely, he added over his shoulder: “Plus we’ve all caught on to the heir thing Eddie. You tell everyone that so they do what you want.” 

The dick.

“You’re too fucking smart for your own good. I’m gonna start feeding you paint chips to bring that IQ down.” Eddie muttered angrily as Dustin went back to their little table.

He gave himself a moment to get his shit together and stomp a foot like a child when Dustin was around the corner and thus couldn’t witness it, before following his wayward sheep back.

Could only pray to any deity listening that Henderson’s meddling didn’t blow up in Hellfire’s face.

[lotus-pear]

i think you guys are onto smth..

i unironically got invested in this HELP

[piningpercussionist]

Weed smoking girlfriends! But they can just be hanging out if you prefer ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Happy 4/20!

[pizzaqueen]

One day I will write a fic that is not a first kiss fic, but today is not that day! This is mostly dialogue, but I might expand it at some point. Brief mention of Mary Jane (sorry, I don't know what Tumblr censors these days lol) / rated T

“You know, Steve…”

“I do know Steve.” Steve's lips tilt in a proud smile.

Eddie snorts. “You’re a funny guy. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“All the time.”

“Anyway. Like I was saying: You know, Steve…” Eddie looks at Steve, waiting for him to interrupt again, but he doesn’t, so he goes on, saying, “Sometimes I wish you were a girl.” Why hasn’t he ever told Steve this before? High Eddie is so much smarter than sober Eddie. Steve should know this.

“What? Why?”

“So I could kiss you.” Eddie scrunches his nose up. “But now that I’ve said it out loud, that’s dumb, because I don’t want to kiss girls.”

“Okay…”

“Maybe I wish I were a girl so you would kiss me.” Eddie scrubs a hand over his face, shakes his head. “Except, I don’t wanna be a chick. And, like, I’m basically a dude version of Buckley, except cooler—”

“Robin’s cool.”

“—and you don’t want to kiss her.”

“Well…”

“Wait, do you?”

“Not lately.”

“So, you guys…”

“No.”

“Right. Well, I don’t wanna be a girl—”

“Eddie.”

“—but I still wanna kiss you, and I can’t as a guy, well I could, but—”

“Eddie!”

“What?”

“I want to kiss you.” Steve’s lips twitch and he adds, “As a guy.”

Eddie opens his mouth, closes it again. “You do?”

Steve nods, pushing himself up on one elbow, leaning over Eddie. Leaning down, so close, and, oh, he’s going to—

Eddie pushes a hand in Steve’s face. “Wait. Why didn’t you ever kiss me before then?”

The next words Steve says are muffled by Eddie’s hand.

“What?”

“I said,” Steve says, moving his face so Eddie’s hand is cupping his jaw instead, “because I didn’t know you were gay.”

“I didn’t know you were gay.”

“I’m not. But I still want to kiss you.”

“You…” Eddie’s brow furrows. Does that make sense? It has to because Steve wouldn’t say it otherwise. He looks up at Steve, still leaning over him, so pretty and right there and he wants to kiss Eddie and Eddie’s head is still pleasantly fuzzy from the weed they smoked and, wait, why is he just looking at Steve?

“Okay, yeah,” he says, “that works for me,” and slides his hand to hook around the back of Steve’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss. “I’m so happy you’re not a girl,” he murmurs against Steve’s lips.

“I’m pretty happy about it too,” Steve says, and then he kisses Eddie properly and they stop talking for a long while.

[ninja-knox-ur-sox-off]

AU where Zane Ninjago is the previous master of ice. like when he transferred his elemental powers over he also transferred his soul and he low-key reincarnated into this robo-body. cool beans. this means there's the potential of Zane starting to glimpse bits and pieces of past and not knowing why he can see it. the things master Wu talks about--why can he see them as if he were there?--he feels like he has experienced personally. give Zane a whole other crisis on top of after he finds out he's a nindriod not a human. this also means Zane in old clothes and styles from Master Wu's time whenever he has flashbacks which is a neat visual. like heck you could have someone other than Wu have previous villains that show up! you could balance that out a bit! Master of Ice's previous nemesis shows up ready to throw down when they discover he's technically still alive but also not. Zane questioning if this is his life at all. if he's Zane or someone else. If he was Zane before or if he was nothing. If he's Zane now or if he never was to begin with

[whoblewboobear]

You expect me to see this guy and NOT babygirl-ify him???????

[birdantlers]

love obscure special interests

[lycancrow]

thoughts/theory about The Neon Void >:)))

@sugarpasteltmnt

spoilers for ch. 21

void’s fighting style mimics that of the krang in it’s mech. this makes sense, as he doesn’t have his swords, and the parasite likely affects his instincts.

void not fighting using swords was a very good choice imo, as his family would most definitely have recognized him by the way he fought.

even when he gets his sword back, he doesn’t get the chance to fight while using it. instead, he slashes open a portal, and then subsequently spends the rest of the fight trying to close it.

i feel like this fact really adds to the identity reveal and the distinction between void and leo: he tries to fight as void while using leo’s sword. this dissonance is physically manifested as a veritable black hole of a portal; a void.

and if he doesn’t close it, get rid of the void, his family will die. he has to act as leo in order to do this.

if that ain’t foreshadowing, idk what is.

i suspect that, in some way, his actions as void (possibly due to the crazed state that we last saw him in) will again put his family in danger. whether the danger is the krang or something else, idk.

in order to save them, he’ll have to save himself first; he’ll need to banish the void back to where it came from.

however, void is his coping mechanism. as long as he is void, he doesn’t have to process all of that trauma. leo, in his own words, is weak. a waste of space. i suspect that it’ll be a hard battle to get him to accept that he has to go back.

what’s more important to him? his family: the people he survived 5 years in hell for? or, his own self destruction: the thing that comforted him in that darkness. the thing that keeps him from falling apart?

anyways, this is just a theory. A GAME THEORY !!

[raynavan]

drawing for the fic The Tracks Through the Clouds Lead Home, Then Further Still! @cuz-reasons fic!

wings are fun and i also greatly enjoy parallels. the image of Ingo's light coming form above and Emmet's below... it was asking to be drawn.

[idonthaveanyurlideas]

everything old is new again here's rogue fig with a gun from my class swap au fic that i resurrected after four years you can read it here

original au was created by @duskquil

[laracrofted]

baby, i'm high octane (vi)

synopsis: nora goes home with jake.

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: very 18+, minors and ageless blogs dni, all of the usual warnings, swearing, explicit smut (oral sex, unprotected sex but with a discussion of birth control, multiple orgasms, dirty talk and praise, brief edging, crying, maybe overstimulation). (wc: 6.2K)

note: eventual smut is no longer eventual, everybody cheered 💙

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TAGS: @theharddeck @mayhemmanaged @bradshawsbitch @hangmanbrainrot @its-mara-darling @startrekfangirl2233 @kandierteveilchen @lostinwonderland314 @hangmanscoming @t-nd-rfoot @sometimesanalice @dempy @mlibbydp @djs8891 @bellaireland1981 @clancycucumber230 @kmc1989 @averagereader35 @eli2447 @filmflux @bethbunnyy @roosterbruiser @callsignspark

Nora half expects to wake up any minute now and realize all of this was a dream.

Jenna never called. Nora never poured her heart out in the parking lot of the Hard Deck. She never confessed anything. She never kissed him.

She'll wake up on Fourth of July – like a kind of cruel Groundhog Day – with a dull headache, disoriented and gorged on sleep, and a gnawing ache deep inside of her ribcage.

He must feel the same way – like at any second, Nora'll vanish in a puff of smoke, leaving nothing but sand and ocean breeze – because Jake can't seem to stop kissing her.

He presses his lips to her wrist on the drive home, skimming his nose along her pounding pulse until Nora shivers, breathing in the lingering scent of her perfume.

"You smell so good," Jake mumbles against her delicate skin. "What kind of perfume is that?"

"An expensive one," Nora answers, short on purpose, hoping to hide the breathy quiver in her voice. They're not even out of the car yet for Christ's sake.

"'S nice," Jake says softly. A smile brushes against her skin, and with cooling summer air on her cheeks, she shivers again.

And now, as Nora struggles to unlock her door, Jake's lips are warm and purposeful and and goddamn distracting on the slope of her shoulder, on the side of her neck, nudging the collar of her shirt aside and exposing more skin.

Her hands are shaking like Nora's had four cups of coffee, and as Jake hooks a deft finger through her belt loop and gently tugs her back into him, breath warm on her skin, pleasantly rough palm skimming underneath her shirt, Nora's head spins.

She's not even buzzed anymore, but Nora feels drunk on his warmth, on his skin on hers. A little out of breath. A little light headed.

Unexpectedly, Jake nips at a sensitive spot right below her ear, and Nora feels it like a shock, a zap of static electricity.

Surprised, Nora jerks and misses the lock, scratching a jagged line of paint from the door. She cringes.

No security deposit, at least.

"Son of a bitch."

"Need some help there, Hollywood?" Jake asks. Amusement is audible in his voice. So goddamn smug.

"Nope," Nora says quickly. "I've got it."

Jake chuckles against her neck. A rumble Nora feels down to her goddamn fingertips. Damn him.

Son of a bitch, once more for emphasis.

It's really all Nora can do not to let her head loll back on the strong line of his shoulder and let him press her up against the door in the periwinkle blue of the evening. Let him have her right here and right now.

And right – Nora reminds herself, drawing on her more logical side, shoving aside her hasn't-gotten-laid-in-several-months side – where anyone could come back and see them.

Gathering all of her willpower, Nora gently swats away the hand that's been absentmindedly fiddling with the button of her shorts and elbows him back. She grins at him over her shoulder. "Down, boy."

Grinning, Jake backs off.

Leaning against the railing – rusted and in some spots, flaking from endless exposure to ocean air and sun – Jake looks like a scolded schoolboy; one who’s doing his damndest to charm his way out of trouble, hands shoved deep in his denim pockets. Like, See? I'm keeping my hands to myself now. I'm on my best behavior.

For now, as promised by the liquid warmth in his eyes, volcanic pools of green.

She's sure Jake must be able to hear her heart practically pounding out of her chest, but finally, Nora catches the lock and nudges the door open with a lean of her shoulder.

She does a quick glance around the living room –  A camera sits on the coffee table, next to the day old coffee that Nora had been nursing late last night and definitely meant to pour out this morning. Notes are scattered across her laptop. – all but pushes him down the hall. 

Once in the bedroom, Nora switches on the AC.

Cool air spills into the room, which is uncomfortably warm from an afternoon's worth of sun beaming in from the window, with a quiet hum, and Nora feels a little less on edge.

It's not as quiet with the AC on, not as still.

Even so, Nora has the strangest urge to whisper.

She clears the cobwebs from her throat. "Give me a minute?"

Jake nods. "Sure."

He closes the door behind him with a click that seems to echo.

She swallows and is sure Jake must be able to hear that too. 

Everyone else is out for the night. No one'll come knocking. It's just them. Just them. 

“I’ll… I’ll just be a minute,” Nora repeats. You said that already. 

His lips twitch, but for once, Jake is merciful enough not to comment. 

“I’ll be here,” Jake replies evenly, calm and sure.

She ducks into the bathroom and closes the door.

Dropping one of her hands to the side of the sink, Nora blows out a long breath. Fans her blushing cheeks.

This is happening. This is really happening.

She's not nervous, not about this part, not really.

Everything at the Hard Deck was so vivid and intense and real. She was so open with him. So unguarded. Like Nora handed him her heart, still bloodied and beating, and an instruction manual on how to break it with his bare hands. He's already seen more of her than Nora's been willing to share with anyone in a long time now.

Well...

Anyone who isn’t a licensed professional, and even then, Nora ghosted her last therapist. Avoidant attachment? Please. 

And really, what is this kind of intimacy in comparison?

There's just an eerie sense of inevitability in... this, in them.

Like she is playing out something which has already happened, will always happen. Like she could've done everything differently and still, ended up right here. Right here with Jake.

It's not a bad feeling, more of a disconcerting one.

She washes her hands, and remembering Jake's compliments, does a quick reapplication of perfume, dabbing across her pulse points, crisp greens and soft florals.

Nora splashes cold water on her face, across the back of her neck, and checks her reflection.

Her eyes are bright and blue and filled with something like giddiness.

"This is happening," Nora whispers, hushed so Jake won't hear her in the other room. "This is happening."

She smiles.

And when Nora returns, Jake is sitting on the edge of the bed.

He must've kicked off his shoes somewhere in the living room because Jake is barefoot, ankle resting on the denim of his opposite knee. He is holding a book Nora recognizes from her nightstand, reading the back cover with a slight dip between his brows.

Nora pads over and leans against the dresser on the wall across from her bed. Her arms are crossed over her Springsteen shirt as Nora watches him, hand rising to press against her lips.

"Snooping?"

His mouth kicks up in the corners, dimpling his cheeks, but Jake doesn't immediately look up.

"Just lookin' around," Jake explains. "You can be kinda hard to read sometimes."

She glances around.

She hasn't had much time to decorate, but Nora always adds a few personal touches. A silk pillowcase. A bedside of well-worn paperbacks. A half-burned candle from Diptyque. Flowers. She wonders what Jake sees of her here.

Aiming for casual, Nora asks, "Oh? Learn anything?"

His gaze flashes up to meet hers, vaguely amused, like Jake knows Nora is fishing.

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know?"

Jake leans across the bed and deposits the book back on the nightstands, losing interest now that Nora is back in the room, apparently. She feels the weight of his full attention. It’s kind of exhilarating. 

His crossed ankle drops so Jake is resting both of his feet on the floor. He crooks a finger at her and pats his muscular thigh.

"C'mere, sweetheart."

His voice is so deep, deep enough to dive in, and Jake looks so handsome, sprawled on the edge of her bed, glimmering and gold. He looks like a daydream.

Still, Nora stands her ground.

A small smile blossoms across her features, against her fingers, and Nora slowly shakes her head.

He cocks a brow. "Are we at an impasse? Is this a good ol’ fashioned standoff?” 

“Not at all,” she drawls, cool and calm. "You could come over here."

And pulse racing, Nora slips her shirt over her head and drops it on the floor.

She stands in front of him in her cut-off shorts and her pale blue cowboy boots and a lace bra, which is almost the exact same shade, and Jake scrapes a hand down his face, expression open and raw, near pained.

“Fuck me,” Jake breathes. A kind of awe in his voice. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.” 

Her lips curve coyly. "I sure hope not."

Jake smirks, watching her with half-lidded eyes, almost hoarse with unbridled desire. "Why? You got big plans for me?"

“Why don’t you come over here and find out, cowboy?”

And mimicking him, Nora crooks a polished finger at him. 

She really expects him to spar with her a little longer, but Jake rises so quickly that Nora knocks back into the dresser. Her elbow bangs into a bottle of hair spray, sending it spinning. She barely notices.

Because Jake grabs her around the waist and lifts her up. Her dresser is about the same height as one of her kitchen counters, which is the exact right height for him to set her on top and settle between her parted legs.

Jake cups her hip with a warm palm, spreading his fingers, touching as much bare skin as possible. His index finger skims across the band of her bra, and Nora leans her head back to hold his gaze.

"Gonna let me in on these plans of yours, sweetheart?" Jake asks, stroking all the while, ever so lightly, ever so slowly.

Teeth sinking into her bottom lip, Nora shakes her head. 

“You wanna hear my plans then?” Jake drawls. His hand is burning warm on her side, and Nora claws at his bicep – looking for something to hold onto, something grounding. Muscles flex beneath her fingers.

He waits for her to nod before Jake leans in and, warm lips pressed against her ear, rasps, "Just wanna make you come so hard you cry, Hollywood."

Fuck.

Fuck.

Her breath hitches, and Jake grins lazily against the side of her neck. He draws back, nipping her earlobe on his way, gaze darting back and forth as Nora licks her suddenly chapped lips.

"Just that, huh?" Nora asks. She hardly recognizes her own voice.

“Just that,” Jake murmurs and smirking, kisses her again.

A deep and deeply thorough kiss. 

Has Nora ever been kissed like this before? He kisses her with a consuming and devouring passion, like Jake could never be close enough. He'll always want to be closer, always want more.

She holds onto him because otherwise, Nora might actually collapse. She might slide from the dresser and melt into a puddle right here in the carpeted bedroom of her rented – and not even really, rented – apartment, and Mr. Clean himself will never be able to get out the stain.

Her arms wind around his strong neck as Nora sighs against his open mouth, greedily carding her fingers through his hair – which is as soft as she had ever dared imagine – and Jake swallows the sound with a ragged groan, tongue sliding across the seam of her lips and into her mouth.  

He catches the end of her braid between his fingers and slowly pulls until the elastic comes loose with a snap, and Nora's hair spills like sunshine over her shoulders, across his open palm.

Loose strands wind around his fingers, around the hand settling on the side of her neck and stroking across the underside of her jaw; coaxing her chin up, coaxing her mouth open for him. 

He is so broad between her legs, and Nora runs her hands across his wide back and strong shoulders, searching for golden skin to run her hands over. She wants to swallow him whole. She wants him in her veins. 

Linen is stiff between her fingers as Nora grasps at his collar, almost hanging off of him, desperate and wanting, and Jake catches on quick. 

Not quick enough. 

Because as Jake starts to draw back, reaching for the buttons, Nora yanks hard.

A surprised curse escapes him, and Jake lurches forward, hands slapping on the surface of the flimsy dresser, which rocks under her and knocks into the wall.

Nora grabs at his shoulder with an alarmed laugh, and Jake's chuckle fans across her collarbone.

"Hold on."

He picks her up again, legs wrapped around his hips, and sweeps her from the dresser. She collapses on the bed, breathless with laughter, an embarrassingly wide smile on her face, and Jake follows her down.

"Someone's eager," Jake teases.

She reaches down and runs her palm across his zipper, barely pressing down and smirks when Jake almost shudders and pushes into her hand.

"Yeah," Nora drawls back. "Someone is."

Jake brushes her hair aside and sucks a bruise into a hollow bellow her ear, right on the edge of where Nora'll be able to cover with her hair. A kind of gentle retaliation.

Her laugh becomes a breathless moan, pitching louder as Jake cups her neck with his wide palm.

"That's a pretty sound, darling," Jake rasps. His fingers pluck at the sheer band of her bra. "This is damn pretty too. You plan this or something?" He nudges her head back with his nose and mouths at the hinge of her jaw, mouth warm and wet and heady.

"Just like the color is all." Nora pauses. "But I have thought about this before."

He is all smugness. “Yeah? How much?” 

She rolls her eyes. “I’m so not stroking your ego right now. Take your damn shirt off.” 

He grins.

She pushes up on her elbows, watching as Jake stands and makes quick work of the buttons. He shrugs the shirt from his shoulders, which lands in a wrinkle pile on the floor.

And goddamn, Jake looks good without a shirt on. 

She knew this, of course. She’s seen him without a shirt on before.

She's always been careful to avert her eyes before, careful not to look too hard or for too long. 

She doesn’t have to be careful here. She can look her fill.

He is so… big, all corded muscle and golden skin and a light dusting of fine hair, leading down his chest and disappearing beneath the black waistband of his boxers, which peek out from the denim. 

She’s not sure if she wants to punch him or herself. 

Nora leans in and presses a lingering kiss to the center of his chest, looking up at him from under her lashes, and Jake shivers, heart pounding under her lips. 

And Nora carefully winds her fingers around the chain around his neck and pulls him back down.

As Jake hovers over her, Nora starts to kick her boots off, but Jake's hand wraps around her calf, smoothing over her skin with his fingers, pleasantly digging into the muscle.

She raises her eyebrows, and Jake presses a kiss to the hollow of her clavicle, unhurried and careful and convincing. He hums, “Keep ‘em on.” 

Her mouth drops open, but really, is Nora so surprised? “I’m not keeping them on.” 

And Jake looks so crestfallen that Nora laughs. His eyes warm at the sound.

Still, Jake asks, “Why not?” 

“Because I don’t want them on my sheets. I have to sleep on – Jake!” 

Jake pulls her to the edge of the mattress in one smooth motion, hitching her legs around his hips. His grin is downright devilish. “They’re not touching the sheets, Hollywood. Problem solved.” 

She opens her mouth to argue more, but Jake silences her with a slow and sensual kiss between her breasts. He moves over a few inches and sucks, peaking her nipple through the sheer lace of her bra, and Nora arches into him with a gasp.

Her boots are long forgotten now.

"Jesus, Jake."

She squirms under him, and Jake holds her down with his weight, with a firm press of his hand, spread wide over her shaking stomach.

She's long past a struck match now. She's the one who's been doused in gasoline.

"You're so beautiful," Jake murmurs.

He licks at the lace, a shade of denim blue under his attention, in no rush to slip it from her shoulders, and meanwhile, Nora is coming out of her skin. She needs more, so much more.

"Can you..."

He sucks on the lace, cheeks hollowing, and Nora's question blows away like sand.

"Can I? Can I what?" Jake prompts.

He slips a hand under the cup of her bra and rolls her pebbled nipple between his fingers. Tease. She bends into him, a desperate sound bubbling up and spilling from her lips, and Jake grins.

“Ah, sweetheart, was there something else you wanted?” 

She goes to pull him closer, winding her fingers through his hair, but Jake doesn't budge.

His grin widens. "Ask me nicely, sweetheart. What do you want?” 

She glares at him. "I want your mouth."

"You've already got my mouth, darling. Here?"

He slides her bra aside and kisses her breast, licking and sucking, mouth hot and wet on her skin.

She shakes her head.

"Be specific," Jake commands. "Where do you want my mouth?"

But Nora can’t be specific. She just wants. 

“Everywhere,” Nora breathes.

She shouldn’t have said that. She really shouldn’t have said that because now, Jake is looking at her like he wants to devour her; to pull her on like a loose thread and see how long she needs to unravel.

Like Nora is a four course meal and Jake hasn’t eaten in a week. 

A muscular thigh slots in between her legs and presses up and up and god, up against the aching spot between her legs, and Nora shivers beneath him. He flicks open the button of her cut-offs with a practiced ease and slides them down her legs. She kicks them off.

Another wrinkled mess to clean up in the morning.

“Think I might want to make you beg a little bit,” Jake muses, scraping his calloused palms over the backs of her naked thighs. He leans down and presses a chaste, barely there kiss on her hipbone, lips curling when Nora shudders underneath him. Asshole. “Say please for me, would you, sweetheart?” 

“Oh, not a chance.” 

He looks delighted.

“And what if I said please?”

His lips drag across her skin, warm and damp and purposeful, as Jake brushes the lace edge of her pale blue panties on his way over the opposite hip, pressing another kiss there, one that lingers.

“What if I said I really, really wanna to hear you?” 

Damn damn damn.

Cheeks warm, Nora counters, “You better make it good then,” with a daring smile that makes Jake grin from ear to ear, all gleaming white teeth and dimples, carved into his cheeks like marble.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jake drawls.

And holding her gaze, Jake rises from the edge of the mattress and sinks down on his knees. He lowers her legs over his broad shoulders, boots and all.

His lips brush over the small bandage that covers the scrape on her knee, and overcome, Nora lets out a shaky sigh.

"So goddamn beautiful," Jake swears, warm breath scraping over the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. "So wet, darling. All for me?"

Jake finds the damp spot in the center of her panties and presses in with his knuckle. She's so wet his bent finger slides across the lace with an obscene sound.

A delicious tease. A mere preview.

A needy sound is out of her mouth before Nora can stop herself, and Jake pauses.

"Oh? Did you want something?" Jake asks with an edge of mocking.

"You're such... ah, an asshole."

"You like when I'm a little bit of an asshole," Jake murmurs, eyes gleaming.

It’s not a question. He doesn’t need an answer. He already knows.

And Jake pulls her panties to the side and opens his mouth against her wet cunt.

God. His tongue.

A sort of whimper catches on the rough edges of her throat, and Jake's answering chuckle blows across her exposed core.

“Everything okay?” 

So goddamn smug. 

He sounds so damn pleased with himself. Self-satisfaction oozes from his tone, and Nora is starting to understand what Jake meant about being smug later. He’s good at this, at all of this, like so infuriatingly good. She kind of hates him. 

“I don’t like you anymore.” 

“Liar,” Jake says and leans back in. 

He licks her open with a moan, a deep and deeply satisfied sound, rich and rough, like Jake is the one who's getting the most pleasure out of this. He works her open with a finger, then another, laving over her with broad and eager strokes of his tongue.

He's almost greedy in his licks, bringing her to the edge and right when Nora is clenching around his broad fingers, legs quaking on his shoulders, boots digging into his bare back – Jake pulls back.

He smears a wet kiss across her inner thigh and starts all over again, parting her with his fingers and spearing her open with his clever tongue.

She sucks in a breath that sounds like his name, desperate and wanting, biting down hard on her lower lip, brow drawn.

"Jake..."

"Come on, sweetheart," Jake hums the words against her, practically licks them into her. "I wanna hear you. Please, can I hear you?"

She's so close so close so – 

He eases back again, right as Nora is starting to feel fuzzy all over, and Nora almost cries. She grabs at his shoulder, at his hair.

"Please," Nora gasps. "Please, Jake, please."

He exhales a pleased sound against her cunt, breathing fanning across her, making her shiver and making her cant closer to his mouth, desperate for his tongue again.

He curls his fingers inside of her. Just so. Just enough.

"So good for me, darling, sweetheart. So perfect."

And Jake kisses her clit, winding his tongue around the neglected bundle of nerves, and Nora comes with a gasp, crumpling the sheets between her fingers.

She catches her breath as Jake licks her clean, murmuring sweet praises against her skin, bottom half of his face glistening with saliva and her.

Just so sweet and god, like heaven, sweetheart and so good for me again.

Pushing up on her elbows, Nora is panting. "I wanna be on top."

Jake kind of chokes on a laugh. “‘Course you do.” 

Her panties are eased down her legs, but Jake doesn't move from between them; if anything, Jake spreads them wider, pinning her open with his shoulders, pinning her down with a steadying hand on her pelvic bone.

"Jake..."

It’s closer to a whine than Nora would’ve liked. 

"Just a second, sweetheart," Jake soothes, words an unhurried drawl. His rough palms run over her quivering legs and back again. "Now I've been thinking about these pretty legs in those goddamn boots all night. I'm not quite done down here. Need one more from you."

His warm breath ghosts across the apex of her thighs, open and dripping for him. "You've got one more for me, don't'cha?

He regards her with a wide and leonine grin, a knowing grin.

"Yes," Nora whispers.

Jake rewards her with a bruise sucked into the inside of her thigh; a gentle but firm press of his canines; a flick of his tongue over the sore patch. "Good."

And as Jake spreads her open and presses in with his mouth and his tongue, savoring her like a lavish dessert, Nora slumps back on the rumpled sheets, hair fanning out around her like a golden halo. Her mouth opens in a soft gasp as Jake drags her back under. 

Late evening still pours through the window, casting the whole room in a golden glow, a dreamlike haze.

Everything feels more intimate somehow.

It's not a rushed press of hands and mouths in the darkness, desperate to keep quiet in the quiet of the night. It's a slow exploration – or at least, as slow as either of them can stand. It’s feverish and leisurely and intoxicating. No one’s in a rush. 

As Nora steadies her breathing, recovering from a brain-melting-out-of-her-ears orgasm, Jake eases her boots and her socks from her feet. He kisses her ankle, kisses the hollow behind her knee, cheek scraping against her skin.

Standing, Jake reaches for his belt buckle. His mouth shines in the waning light, eyes slanted and warm. He loosens his buckle one-handed and in one smooth motion, drops his blue jeans, leaving him in his black boxers.

He stands in front of her, straining against the fabric, and Nora’s mouth actually waters.

She kneels on the edge of the mattress and eases the elastic down until Jake’s cock is revealed, hard and proud and beautiful. Her lips part in an admiring exhale, and Jake chuckles, stroking her cheek with the side of his thumb. 

His amusement is short-lived.

It becomes something darker, richer as Nora wets her fingers with her tongue and wraps them around his cock and strokes him once and again. A bead of pre-cum catches on her thumb as Nora runs it across the slick head of his cock.

Looking up at him, Nora sucks it from her finger, and Jake’s chest heaves with a ragged exhale.

A strained curse escapes him. “Shit.” 

Nora smirks, and Jake sucks in a deep breath.

She doesn’t do more than press a glancing kiss to the mole below his v-line; do more than lick at the underside of his cock; do more than let out a satisfied exhale at the weight of him on her tongue, eyes fluttering closed, before Nora pulls back.

Her voice lowers into something honeyed, something teasing. “Say please for me, cowboy?” 

Then, Nora is on her back in the middle of the mattress. 

Jake looms over her, breathing hard, chest heaving and flushed; coarse hair brushing against her breasts.

"As much as I've been fantasizing about your mouth..." He runs his thumb across her glistening lips, and Nora can’t stop herself from kissing the pad of his finger. “... I really want to fuck you right now. How’s that sound to you?” 

Good. So good.

But Nora can’t pass up an opportunity to be a little smug.

“What’s wrong?” Nora asks. "Afraid of embarrassing yourself?"

"Yes," Jake says. "I'm so fucking worked up right now I'll come in about six seconds with your mouth on me. And right now, I don't wanna come before I've had a chance to feel you coming around my cock."

His earnestness is so goddamn sexy that Nora loses her breath for a second. "We can probably make that work."

He smirks. “Thought so.” 

Jake stretches out on the mattress, rearranging the pillows with one hand and reaching for her with the other. He draws her in until Nora is in his lap, her hands braced on his massive shoulders, running over his muscles. 

“Condom?” Jake asks. He runs a hand over the length of her spine until Nora arches into him with a sigh. He palms at her ass and ducks his head to mouth at her breasts, sucking and licking and nibbling. She'll have marks in the morning for sure. He's a biter.

"I have an IUD. And I'm clean."

"I'm clean," Jake mumbles against her collarbone. "I haven't been with anyone since I met you."

She freezes, and mistaking it for discomfort, Jake lifts his head.

"We can still use one," Jake offers. She can read his sincerity in his eyes. "I've probably got one in my wallet or something."

“It’s… not that.” Nora shakes her head. “It’s… No one? Really?” 

As Jake shrugs, Nora’s arms rise and fall with the motion.

“No one.” Jake brushes a strand of hair from her face, resting his palm on her nape. “Just you.” 

Chest pinching, Nora grasps his neck and kisses him hard, almost bruising.

He makes a low sound against her mouth, and as Nora wraps her hand around his cock again, squeezing his length ever so slightly, Jake moans. He wraps his hand around hers, guiding her to run his head across her dripping entrance.

Jake slicks his cock with her arousal, coating himself in her wetness with hard and quick motions, and starts to press in.  

Her legs shake as Nora sinks down on him, slow. God

She bites her lip at the delicious searing stretch of him. God.

Nora gets halfway down, mouth falling open, and and Jake swears under his breath. A reverent sound. He says it like a Sunday school prayer.

"Goddamn, sweetheart." Jake kisses her sloping shoulder, her slack jaw, her open mouth. "You feel so good. You're so.... You're so fucking perfect. Jesus Christ."

She braces her hands on his shoulders, on his bulging arms, and eases down – slow, one inch at a time, and when Jake is finally – blessedly – seated inside of her, Nora can feel a prickle of sweat at her brow. 

She moves, almost like a reflex, desperate for friction, desperate for more, but Nora's barely moved when Jake seizes her hips, pressing in, and holds her in place. She's pinned open, knees spread wide, denting the sheets on either side of his massive and muscular thighs, and full, so goddamn full.

Her brow pinches in frustration, and Nora rocks down experimentally, but Jake firms his grip. He stills her movements.

Her brow wrinkles, and Nora rocks down experimentally, but Jake firms his grip and stills her movements.

"Jake," Nora complains or maybe, pleads. She doesn't even know anymore.

All Nora knows is that Jake is so big. 

"Ah, darling. Let me savor this for a second," Jake croons, brushing her hair back from her damp forehead. His voice sounds strained around the edges, which is no small satisfaction. He's as affected as Nora.

And when Jake moves, finally, Jake starts slow. He savors again.

He holds her hips and guides her up and back down. He pushes in so deep and so slow Nora can't help but feel like Jake is punishing her somehow. He is making her feel every inch of him. His pace is downright excruciating.

She needs more. She needs needs needs.

He handed her an ace earlier, and Nora reaches for it now. 

She licks at his neck, a broad stroke of her tongue across his sweaty skin, and whispers, “Please, Jake,” hot against the shell of his ear. She nibbles at his earlobe. "Please."

Jake bucks up into her. A gasp punches from her chest, and Nora digs her nails into his shoulders.

 “Please what?”

Nora can hear the smirk in his voice. She doesn’t care. 

“Fuck me. Fuck me until I cry. Please."

It’s like Jake was waiting for those words. 

He fucks up into her at a near brutal pace. Rocks her down on him in hard and delicious and delirious strokes until Nora is gasping against his shoulder.

And Jake runs his mouth.

"Look at you, sweetheart," Jake drawls. He sounds so in awe and so unbearably smug. How is it even possible to be both? "Those're some pretty sounds you're making for me right now. How's it feel? How's that cock you begged for feel?"

Fuck. She clenches around him. 

A wide grin stretches across his face, and Nora wants to kill him. She never wants to be anywhere other than right here. 

“You’re… ah, talking too much. You’re ruining it.” 

She’s such a liar. 

"S'that right? You don't wanna hear about..." Jake rolls his hips and hits a spot deep inside of her that makes her keen. His smirk widens. “How much I fucking love the way you feel around my cock, so goddamn good?"

"How pretty you looked when you were coming all over my face, making the prettiest sounds? How wet you got for me? How gorgeous you look right now?" He seems to notch in deeper with every word until Nora is almost boneless against him. "You sure about that, sweetheart?"

She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t feel capable of answering.

His lips glance over her cheekbone, smoothing and mocking in equal measures, and mouth over to her ear. Jake rasps, "Well, by all means, sweetheart, shut me up."

Nora draws in a steadying breath. And pushes him back into the pillows.

“There’s my girl,” Jake murmurs in his melted brown sugar voice, hoarse with desire, and Nora damn near melts. 

Instead, Nora plants her hands on his chest and rides him, determined.

She rises up and sinks back down in a sudden motion, knocking the breath out of both of them. She rocks down on him, clenching and squeezing, until Jake is the one who is ragged and uneven and desperate. He grows sloppier, kissing her shoulder, open-mouthed and moaning. 

“God, Nora,” Jake groans, a rough sound, and Nora will never forget the wrecked sound of her name on his lips. No one else should ever say her name.

She kisses him.

And kisses him and kisses him and gasps and moans into his mouth as Jake holds her hips hard enough to bruise and circles her clit with precise and delicious circles. A shock of arousal pulls in the pit of her stomach with every deliberate caress. 

“Come for me. Come around my cock. Need to feel you come around my cock,” Jake urges in a strangled rush of breath. He must be close. “Please.” 

Nora comes with a soundless moan. She sobs his name into his shoulder, biting down, moisture spilling down her flushed cheeks, scratching down his back.

And soon after, Jake has her on her back on the bed, pinning her knees open and plunging in deep until Jake follows her over the edge and spills inside of her with one last groan.

After, Jake pulls on his boxers and gets them both a glass of water and fetches her a damp washcloth. She pushes it aside with a languid smile and drags herself out of bed to use the bathroom. She doesn’t want an infection. 

Indigo shadows grow long in the room, bruises of the night, as Nora lies across the bed, arms crossed underneath her head, chest resting on her forearm, watching him. He drags his fingers down the length of her spine, drawing invisible patterns. She feels content and warm.

And Jake is gazing at her in this intense way, eyes deep and green and smoldering.

He is gazing at her like gaze is a diminutive of stargaze, not another word for look; like she is a whole night sky, unraveled and wide and open before him, and Jake's determined to map out every last constellation, commit them to memory.

She wonders if he has always looked at her kind of like this; like he's afraid to look away.

“Go on a date with me,” Jake murmurs.

She blinks, lashes skimming her cheeks. Her voice is a kind of drowsy hoarse. “Hm. Where?” 

A small smile pulls at his mouth. “Let’s see. You already turned me down for what? Dinner and coffee? What else’ve I got left?” 

She grins against her arm. “Breakfast. Lunch.” 

“Breakfast,” Jake repeats. “I make a mean pancake.” 

“Do you?” 

“I do,” Jake promises, solemn, a hand-over-heart level of seriousness. “Family recipe.” 

“I don’t even think I have the ingredients for pancakes in the kitchen,” Nora admits.

He coasts his knuckles across her back, over her shoulder and back, and Nora closes her eyes, relaxed.

“I know a good diner,” Jake offers, voice low and rasping. “They’ve got coffee.” She opens her mouth. “And non-dairy milk.” She closes it again, pressing her lips together in a half smile and squinting her eyes open.

“And is this magical diner your apartment?” 

He laughs. A real eye-crinkling laugh.

“No, smart ass, it's a real diner on Orange."

"Shame. I kind of wanted to see your apartment," Nora says, rolling over and stretching her arms above her head. "You've seen mine. It's only fair."

"Careful..." Jake warns. He closes the distance between them, wrapping an arm around her side, pulling her close. "If I get you in my bed, I might wanna try and keep you there."

"Well...." Nora winds her leg around his hip to pull him closer. He grows harder against her leg, already leaking. "You can definitely try."

Her lips curve, and Jake grins.

And as Jake rolls her under him, hands skimming up her sides, and pushes inside of her again, Nora catches a glimpse in the distance over his shoulder. A firework sailing upwards and bursting open in a shower of sparks, wide and beautiful, across indigo skies. 

end note: wowwowwow it's been a good 33,000 words of build up so i really hope i did them justice 🤍 likes are always appreciated, but comments and reblogs make my whole day. i love hearing from y'all.

read the next chapter here!

[kingofanemptyworld]

oh. wow. finally have an idea for a jjk fic and it’s a body swap AU. never written one of those before. even better, it’s not Itadori and Fushiguro being swapped, it’s Itadori and Nobara.

granted I have one specific scene in mind that I’ll need to build the entire fic around but that’s par for the course. it’ll be fine. probably.

it does give me the excuse to write both itafushi and nobamaki though so I’m gonna see where this takes me

[idk-bruh-20]

Irondad fic ideas #115

Y'all remember that face-changing tech Natasha wore during the end of Captain America: The Winter Soldier?

Tony wears some of that face-changing tech so he can attend Peter's high school graduation unrecognized

The ceremony is great. Peter is thrilled to have both May and Tony there. Tony gets to be vocally proud of Peter and nobody hassles him. Everything is going perfectly

Until, of course, Flash has to open his big mouth one last time

Maybe Flash says something particularly hurtful. Maybe Tony just can't bear to see his kid's light dimmed by this asshole on a day when he should be celebrating. He's under strict orders from Peter, May, and Pepper not to make a scene

Alas. This face-changing tech is so easy to take on and off

Let it never be said that Tony's not a dramatic bitch

[webbedmirror]

i’ve been thinking about ways to ethically source ectoplasm and i think Gotham Bay could be the solution?? Like there’s enough death that the ectoplasm is potent and using water gives physical means to extract the ectoplasm

[the-chaotic]

「— A Stranger Savior 」

「Resume ― 𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢𝐟 a mysterious stranger appears and saves Tatsuya and Tsukumo from the accident? 」

「pairing ― Kohaku, Tatsuya and Tsukumo. 」

「カオス ― Writing from Kohaku's perspective is so difficult, I hope I did it well and didn't mischaracterize him. I also tried to keep a consistent chronology of events. 」

Kohaku is still trying to understand what happened.

He thinks that it was all just a hallucination induced by stress and anxiety, but seeing Tatsuya and Tsukumo being checked by paramedics and giving statements to the police, he knew that none of it could just be his imagination.

Everything about that week was sending him into a collapse; first Tsukumo talking about how Tatsuya was worried about him and Mugen and then the fight against the Amamiya brothers among the other many problems. Kohaku felt like she was going to explode at any moment.

When Tatsuya asked to meet with him the day after the fight, Kohaku didn't expect much, he knew that his friend would talk about the path Mugen was taking and he thought he was ready to hear everything that could be said.

But when Tatsuya, the person he valued most, confronted him with the truth, he knew he had enough.

Tatsuya was right, he was scared. Afraid of change, afraid of his friends slowly leaving, afraid of being alone after everything. And all of this led him to be trapped in a spiral of constant anxiety that was preventing him from see what's really happening around you, especially with Mugen.

His breaking point was when he arrived at the Mugen base to relax and by chance overheard a member who was there with another person using his name and that of his gang for dark things.

It was at that moment that Tatsuya's words reached Kohaku and led him to an epiphany.

The next moment, it was as if a part inside him said that he was ready to start accepting the changes that were happening around him, that even though it was difficult, in the end, he was not alone because he had friends who were there for him and that they wouldn't leave him behind. He hopes it's not too late.

Collecting her thoughts, Kohaku decided to go after Tatsuya to apologize about his behavior and the things he said before.

While looking for his friend, from afar on a deserted street he saw him with Tsukumo by his side, which was a perfect opportunity to apologize to him too.

“Tatsuya!” he ran to a stop in front of the two and took a minute to gather the words, “I…”

Kohaku couldn't finish before Tatsuya forcefully pushed him to the side and that was when he no longer knew if he had hit his head on the ground and passed out or if he was delirious because he had no idea how to explain what he saw.

He saw a car coming at high speed about to hit Tatsuya and Tsukumo when, without him knowing from where, a figure appears in the middle of the two, pushing them to the ground and, with inhuman strength, slams both fists on the hood of the car completely kneading.

The brute force of the pack causes the car to fly over the three, skidding frantically with a sharp sound at least 60 meters away, completely crushed and destroyed.

Tatsuya and Tsukumo looked as shocked as Kohaku at this moment. Looking back, the car was completely destroyed and smoking with a strong smell of gasoline, there was no way in the world that whoever was driving it could have survived.

Still in shock and a little desperate, Tatsuya called the police while Tsukumo looked for any injuries on the other. Kohaku got up to go to the other two when he quickly remembered the mysterious savior.

He looked around the space looking for the person when he saw them standing far away. Even with the distance, he tries to record what he can of his appearance, which isn't much. What made him even more incredulous was that even with the loose clothes, the figure didn't seem to have any muscles that could justify its strength.

In the end, none of the three came away with any serious injuries other than a few scratches on their hands. When the police asked for their statement, Tatsuya took the lead and said what had happened but not telling them about the person who saved them, he just said that at the last second the car lost control and overturned. The police officers accepted this excuse.

Neither Kohaku nor Tsukumo questioned him about why he didn't tell the truth, because they also didn't know if they should. Besides, who would believe it? Maybe it would be better this way.

They were walking away after being released when something caught Kohaku's attention. On the sidewalk, there was a blue and white bracelet with a broken clasp. He quickly picked it up without the police noticing and put it in his pants pocket. That accessory probably belonged to that mysterious person and was the only clue he had, so he decided to keep it. Something told him that it would be important to keep that belonging.

You punch the wall behind you in frustration creating a large hole.

You almost ruined everything.

You took a few deep breaths to regain control and stabilize yourself. You weren't sorry for saving those guys, but that action would have consequences and it didn't help at all that two of them were wearing the vest of the infamous Mugen gang.

I hope dad doesn't get upset.

You knew that as soon as you got home you would get a lecture from your father for being reckless, for exposing yourself like you did, but trying to think positive, your identity was safe thanks to the large hood of the sweatshirt you were wearing.

You take off the sweatshirt you were wearing and put it in the backpack that you had left hidden in an alley, although those guys had left by a different route than you, prevention was never too much.

Your phone vibrates and when you pick it up and turn it on, a simple and straightforward notification of a message from your father saying 'I'm waiting at home' glows ominously.

Well, Shit.

After putting away your cell phone, as a form of consolation, you touch the beloved bracelets on your wrist only to notice that one of them was missing.

Please, somebody kill me now!!