#does not count with how brief & 1 angle

[mydearmando]

“it only leads to trouble” - john walker x fem!reader

pt. 1 of the “touch” mini series

pt. 2 here

pt. 3 here

summary: you suppose it’s natural to touch people who you live and work with. you touch everyone on the team. walker does, too. so you don’t know why it bothers you so much when he touches you.

pairing: john walker x fem!reader

word count: 3.3k

warnings: thunderbolt!reader, reader has spider powers (similar to spider-gwen’s), physical fight scene, mentions of violence, idiots in love (but they don’t know it yet), tension, that’s it for now

author’s note: babes I’ve never posted a fic before. i’ve written a few, but they’ve never made it to actual posting. there are so few john walker fics and he gave me a brainworm, so I had to help fill the void. please enjoy. also this picture makes me laugh 🤭

The most annoying habit of John Walker’s was his tendency to touch people.

You saw it amid battle, when he helped Ava launch towards a target. Or when he and Bucky went back to back, spinning and folding around each other, each using the other to cover their back.

When he trained with Yelena, the two of them adjusting each other’s stances for improvement.

When he played video games with Alexei, and they celebrated a win, grabbing each other by the arms and shaking hard while yelling in victory.

When he interacted with Bob, clasping a hand on his shoulder as he looked over at what the quiet man was reading or eating.

It was natural to touch people when you worked together and lived together, you reasoned with yourself. You trained with Bucky, shared food with Yelena, cuddled under the same blanket with Ava during movie night, and listened to Alexie when he grabbed you by the shoulders and attempted a pre-battle pep talk.

You touched everyone on the team. And Walker did, too. So you don’t know why it bothered you so much when he did it.

Maybe it was the way that he touched people that bothered you. He wasn’t hesitant, like Bob; considerate, like Yelena; brief, like Bucky; or fatherly, like Alexei.

No, John Walker didn’t just touch people. He grabbed them.

With his militial history and the super-soldier serum, you figured it made sense that each action he took was underscored by a certainty and strength. When John Walker acted, it was with confidence, however false. Beneath his skin, there was a thrumming of power—a poorly-contained vigor that released in bursts of energy and might. He was like a spring mouse trap, both physically and verbally, constantly braced and prepared to launch fists or words.

The comfort and self-assurance in his actions bled over from battle into daily life, and his daily life happened to include the rest of the team, which also happened to include you.

Before John Walker, you never had a problem with touch. Before he made a habit of adjusting you in training, grabbing you without warning and moving your arm this way, kicking apart your legs that way, or correcting the way your hip was angled, all in the name of a better fighting stance. You’d stand there in shock, the heat from his hands—really, his paws—bleeding through your training gear.

Before he made a routine of stepping into your personal space, leaning down to mutter quips or snarky comments in your ear about something or someone in a low husky tone. You froze in the presence of his sturdy body, his chest milimeters from your back, squeezing the air out of your atmosphere.

You shivered.

There were other things that bothered you about Walker, too.

Like how he made a habit of being a self-confident asshole.

He bickered, took Yelena and Ava’s verbal bait that launched the three into never-ending arguments, and was incapable of controlling his words and volume when he was frustrated. Some days he tried—was able to bite his tongue—but you could see the lingering aggression in the way he clenched his jaw and flexed his large hands, neck twitching minutely to the side, blue eyes looking up to the sky as if to help himself calm down.

He was capable of having a shitty attitude that bothered most of the team on a good day, and on a bad day he was similar to an overly strong, downright petulant man-child.

And honestly, you were pretty good about hiding your… touch problem with Walker. You got along with him pretty well, all things considered, and had found it pretty easy to stay out of his way and have a somewhat congenial relationship with the blonde super soldier.

He was just annoyingly large, and he was fucking tall, and overall he made you very, very uncomfortable. As long as you avoided taking his snarky bait and stayed, as a general rule, about 5 feet away from him at all times, you were in the clear of all confrontation—verbal and physical—with John Walker.

*****

It came to a head in Nuuk.

The team had been sent to Greenland to investigate a distress signal coming from an old, underground, abandoned S.H.I.E.L.D. testing site. The quinjet, piloted by Bucky, was heading towards the uninhabitable north, the location of the testing site, when the radio started picking up local calls.

Something was happening in the capital city, and Bucky had to quickly re-route there.

You awoke to the creaking of metal as the quinjet took a sharp turn, rubbing sleep quickly from your eyes. It had been a rough night last night, plagued with nightmares that kept you in a continuous loop of falling asleep and waking up soon after, heart pumping too fast to be able to fall back asleep. Then, when you eventually would, it was back to a nightmare again. A vicious cycle that resulted in dragging yourself out of bed at mission call time with bags under your eyes and a drained body.

You scanned the jet to find Bucky and Yelena at the helm, discussing some form of approach. Alexei was sitting in a jump seat a few seats down, pumping his fist to what he called his “hype playlist”. Ava was asleep beside him, undisturbed by the movements and low singing of the oldest super soldier.

The final soldier you noticed last, standing towards the back of the jet, one arm raised and his fist wrapped in a fabric ceiling handle, stabilizing himself as he stood.

He looked every part of a weary soldier, you thought, as he stood there. There was a looseness in his form, as he swayed on his feet with the movements of the jet, but a tightness in how he clenched the handle holding him upright. As though his body was tired, but he wouldn’t allow himself to relax, forcing himself to stay up while everyone else on the team sought rest in the few moments before the inevitable battle.

You observed him in the low light, details difficult to make out, but his silhouette clear. The way he stood wide-stanced, his tactical gear emphasizing his lean yet sturdy silhouette. He was bulky, but not overly built—athletic with enough muscle to pack a finishing punch or jump 30 feet into the air. His head nearly brushed the ceiling of the jet.

How annoying, you thought, that someone as frustrating as John Walker was allowed to be so tall.

It was only when your eyes decided to trail from his broad shoulders upwards that you noticed that he was looking at you.

Your eyes met briefly, his blue eyes darkened by the way his brow furrowed as he looked at you. How long had he been looking at you? More importantly, how long had he been looking at you, looking at him?

“What, is something wrong?” He asked, mouth downturned.

You blanched. “No, no. Just… tired.”

Walker scoffed. “Dunno how you can be tired when you slept the whole way here.”

And there it was. A snappy retort. Normally you wouldn’t bite, but sleep had been so hard last night, and you really weren’t in the mood, and—

“How do you know I slept the whole way here? Were you watching me?” You accused, leaning forward in your jump seat and resting your forearms on your knees, tone sharp.

You could see his bicep tighten as he twisted his wrist, re-wrapping his hand around the ceiling handle and tensing. Successfully baited.

“I didn’t have to watch you to know you were sleeping. Your snoring gave it away.” He clenched out from between his teeth, brow furrowing further.

Brain still riddled with sleep, you gave up on cleverness. “You’re such a—“

“Girls, you’re both pretty,” came Yelena’s uninterested voice from the cockpit. “Now please, stop bickering so we can plan what the hell we are going to do when we land.”

You sighed and leant back in your seat, crossing your arms over your chest and looking away from Walker.

He, however, had different plans.

You heard his heavy footfalls on the metal floor as he took a few steps closer to where you sat. You willed yourself not to look up.

“I’m such a what, Bug?” He asked lowly, teasing in a quiet voice, quiet enough for it to be missed by everyone else.

Blood boiling, eyes narrowed, and a scowl on your face, you looked up quickly. And you really, really shouldn’t have.

Walker stood above you, his head tilted to the side and slightly downwards. His lips drew into a mocking smirk when he saw your facial expression. Surely revelling in the fact that the immature nickname had successfully gotten under your skin.

Up close like this, you felt the air grow thinner. His mass nearly blocked out the rest of the jet around you, his shoulders taking up a stupid amount of space. His blue eyes—lighter up close like this, you noticed—flickered across your face, soaking up your rare show of frustration.

“Say what you were going to say,” he murmured teasingly, lips returning to his signature annoying smirk that had your fists tightening and your face flushing.

Your eyes flickered to Walker’s lips, pink and plush, and suddenly the air was too stuffy with the smell of him this close, and his breath was too warm across your face, and—

Cheeks burning, you lifted your forearm and used it as a bar to push firmly against his chest, attempting to put some space between the two of you. It did nothing, as he was built like a brick wall and hardly moved from your pushing alone. However, he backed away once your arm made contact with his chest, understanding your intention.

“Get out of my face, Walker,” you murmured, crossing your arms again and leaning back in your seat.

As you closed your eyes to avoid looking at him for too long, you missed the disappointed look that crossed his face. You had given up, and John found himself unsatisfied.

*****

The fight in Nuuk didn’t take long to handle. Jailbroken and reprogrammed Stark bots swarmed the small city and attacked the team upon arrival. They were fast and their guns were powerful, but they were fragile due to age and the many years they were left to rust.

After some initial fighting, Yelena and Bucky had left to intercept the control center, found by Ava underneath the city. Which left you, Alexie, and Walker fighting the remaining bots on the street level.

You shot a web towards a nearby window ledge 4 floors up, tugged, and launched yourself into the sky with your legs first, toes pointed, colliding with a bot and kicking its metal head clean off. Landing swiftly on the window ledge, you surveyed the field.

There was Alexei, barging into a crowd of Stark bots. He threw his arms outward as he stormed through, clotheslining most of them and ripping the others apart with his hands. A loud bellow, part laugh and part war cry, emerged from him.

A little closer, on the sidewalk in front of the building you perched on, you saw Walker fighting a different crowd of bots.

A group approached him from the front, unleashing their bullets upon him. He launched his shield in an arch, cutting through the group with minimal effort. You had picked up his shield before—that was no easy task, to throw it with that much power.

Another few bots approached him from both sides, causing him to unholster his gun and shoot one side down before swiftly jumping up and side kicking the remaining bots on his other side.

He landed on both feet and sharply shrugged his shoulders forward, huffing like a bull. He did that a lot during fights, you had noticed, almost as though he was re-igniting his adrenaline. His blonde hair fell in front of his eyes, helmet long gone. Wiping a hand across his brow, he smeared more sweat and dirt upon his forehead and face. He was covered in dust, and you figured you probably were too.

He looked like an animal.

You felt your muscles tighten.

Before you could get lost watching him, a trio of bots on a hoverbike approached you, firing bullets. You shot a web onto one, and grabbing the web with both hands, you pulled it away from the hoverbike before ramming it back into the unit, sending the whole group smashing into a building across from you.

You returned your attention to Walker, where he was fighting off a larger horde of bots, launching his shield, shooting his gun, and throwing his fists. You had to give it to him, despite your argument earlier—he was taking on double the bots you were in your tired state.

The bots around Walker began to multiply, swarming him from all sides and causing his movements to become slower. One grabbed onto his side, and swiftly Walker caught his shield, swung it around his chest, and, gritting his teeth, smashed the shield into the bot’s head.

They were gaining on him, and fast. He had resorted to grabbing them with his empty hands and breaking them anyway he could—smashing them into each other, over his knee, and crushing a few heads with his hands alone.

For a moment you were stunned by his movements, his brawny body a blur as he wielded his powerful hands.

Quickly from your position above, you started grabbing assisting your teammate—grabbing bots with your webs, using their bodies to yank some away and then knock others into each other a few at a time. Walker hadn’t seemed to have notice your positioning yet. Your webbing, combined with his calculated fighting, began knocking down the Stark bots’ numbers quick.

One of the last remaining bots latched onto his back, pulling at his face from behind with its mechanical hands. It covered his eyes, surely digging into his skin, and Walker let out a groan as he tried to rip the creature off his face with his hands, shield discarded.

Hurriedly, you shot a web at the creature, yanking it off of him with all of your might, and flung it into the building below you.

The super soldier turned quickly, looking for the source of his salvation. He tilted his head upward, blue eyes squinting in the sun as they found you above him.

For a moment you stayed there, staring at him as he stared back. The fight now finished, he stood—motionless, shieldless—his arms lax by his side as he stared.

Why was he staring?

As you pondered him, you spotted a bot approaching from behind. It carried a large blade, swung backwards over its head with two hands, prepared to strike down upon your ally.

Who was still turned away, looking at you.

Before you could spit out a warning to Walker, on instinct you slung a web at him, landing it right in the middle of his abdomen. He looked down, stunned, and then blinked back up at you as you grasped the web with two hands and pulled.

The bearded soldier stumbled forward a few steps, just enough to miss the blade slicing through the air and sinking into the ground behind him. He whirled around on the creature, accidentally yanking you forward a little by the web still connecting you, and punched it square in its center, sending the bot careening into a concrete wall.

For a moment, you paused—relieved—before glass rained down upon your head as a something slammed into your body from above. You crumpled into a pile with what you soon discovered was a bot, quickly attempting to throw it off. It gained on you, holding you down on your back, and for a few moments you tumbled with the creature, trying to stay on the ledge while keeping its hands from your throat. Eventually, you slammed your foot into its center, kicking the bot up and off of the ledge.

You heard a male voice shout your name—John—and turned to see a large hovercraft careening directly towards you and your perch from above, milliseconds from making impact.

Suddenly, you were jerked by your wrist and yanked from the ledge. Before you could make any sense of direction you collided with a solid surface, hard.

A grunt sounded from above you, and a heavy weight wrapped around your waist.

Head spinning, you looked up to see Walker staring down at you, dirty blonde hair askew from fighting and hanging over his forehead. There was a fine layer of gray dust covering his face, aside from his eyes where he had wiped a strip of skin clean.

His eyes shone even brighter than usual like this, cool glaciers amid the gray cloud around you. They flickered across your face, and up close you could see the results of battle on the soldier’s face. A few small cuts scattered across his face and jaw, interrupting his thick beard. One gash stood out on his forehead, cutting from his temple to above the middle of his right eyebrow. His nostrils were flared and his lips parted as he breathed, chest rising and falling harshly.

He looked tired, but alive. As though despite his weary body, he had more adrenaline to expel. Much more.

Enough to yank you across 30 feet and 4 floors.

As if suddenly realizing your position—your body held up against Walker’s, his left arm wrapped around your middle—you scrambled away hastily, pushing at his chest until he released you onto your feet.

You avoided making eye contact with him as steadied yourself and attempted to ignore the heat crawling across your cheeks. Brushing off your suit, you focused your attention on your waist—as though you could brush off the scalding ghost of his arm wrapped around you, and the way his hand had splayed across your side, his fingers lightly digging into your flesh to find purchase.

You looked up to find Walker glowering a little, eyes locked on to your hands as he watched you clean yourself, his brow furrowed and mouth set in a frown.

Maybe you were a little too hasty in wiping him off.

His foggy eyes flickered back to yours before he scoffed.

“Jesus, you’d think I groped you or something,” he said lowly, gesturing at your body vaguely before rolling his eyes and turning towards where Alexei was finishing off the last of the bots.

Speechless, and still a little shocked—or disturbed—you followed behind him. He rubbed at his neck for a moment and you stared at his hand. The same one that was currently branded into your side.

You wiped invisible dust off your waist again.

When the dirty blonde pulled his hand away from his neck, you noticed that a pink flush had taken its place, running from his neck up to his jaw.

Another moment before, “You’re welcome, by the way,” was thrown over his shoulder.

You stopped.

“What?”

“You’re welcome,” he shrugged, still walking forward. “Y’know, for saving your life?”

A laugh you couldn’t help burst forward sarcastically. “I saved your ass twice before that, so if you saved me, fine, but know that you were only able to because I saved you first.”

He continued walking. But you hated feeling like you had been ignored.

“Twice,” you added.

Walker stopped, causing you to nearly collide with his back. He whirled around and stared down at you with a scowl.

Damn his height and damn him, you thought, infuriated at his immediate attitude.

Two sets of narrowed eyes met, each flaming and daring the other to say something. He held your gaze for a moment longer before he faltered, glancing down at your mouth, which you were sure was set in an unattractive frown.

He inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled sharply through his parted lips, your sight flickering to his pearly teeth.

“Whatever,” you watched his mouth form around the word, quieter than you had expected. Defeated. Then, “Sorry.”

And with that, John Walker stormed off, leaving you feeling both disgusted by him and his touch, and disgusted by yourself and your actions.

if you made it this far, ily 💙🫐

blog makeover to come soon

[shxtodxroki]

𝚁𝚞𝚗𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝙿𝚞𝚙

Summary: While taking a walk to try and break yourself from the dull cycle of life you’ve found yourself pushing through, a runaway dog puts you face-to-face with the handsomest stranger you’ve ever met in your life, and one who just may be interested in you too at that. 

Flufftober Day 1 Prompt: Lost Pet Meet Cute

Warnings: Swearing I think, A bit melancholy in the beginning (but it gets much fluffier as it goes on), a dog (gently) jumps on the reader, reader is implied to be in college/school

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Gender Neutral! Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

Check out my full Flufftober masterlist here!

It’s funny how quickly time can fly by when you’re not paying attention. When you’re so focused in on all the small details of your life and failing to see the bigger picture, when you’ve found yourself lost in the seas on your mind and the monotony of an everyday routine. It’s easy for days to turn into weeks, weeks into months, and to forget about the fun spontaneity life can bring when you allow yourself to be a part of it.

Summer’s shift to autumn was always a difficult adjustment period for you, with the return of school and the many arduous hours of homework that came along with it while still struggling to maintain a job and enough income to pay rent. Most days were a drag through your morning routine and into classes, time slipping by between them until you were finally forced to swap out your textbooks for your work uniform as you spent your evening working to earn a living wage. Life was tiring, and in the interim between summer ending and your body and mind adjusting to a new school schedule, you hardly found time to just be with yourself and your thoughts. But eventually the monotony and consistency of your routine became too dull to continue, and you feel you must allow yourself a small break from your typical Sunday homework session for the sake of your mental state as you took the opportunity of a sunny day to go on a walk and clear your head a bit.

Despite the simplicity and clichè-ness of it all, just the feeling of fresh air in your lungs and the slight chill of the autumn wind against your skin does wonders for your mind in that moment. It gives you a moment to intentionally try to push the stressors you so often face at work and in school into the back of your mind, to try and find small things along your walk to focus on in order to distract your mind from the issues and troubles that so often plagued it. 

The couple walking along the opposite side of the street, and the way they smiled so brightly at one another, leaving you unable to tell if they were newly dating or in their honeymoon phase or if they still carried so much adoration for one another after several years together. The squirrel that ran across the street right as a car drove by, forcing the car to a screeching halt as it challenged itself without a care in the world as to who or what else it may inconvenience. The colony of ants all huddled around a large, sharp lollipop chunk on the sidewalk beside you, all eagerly enjoying the sweet treat. It may seem like a clichè, but taking a moment to notice the small things manages to give you a hint of calm as you make your way along the cement path, if only for a brief second before a sudden interruption comes darting your way.

At first, all you can see is a large, dark mass of fur. It seemed fairly far off initially, little more than a shifting blob, which is why you find yourself startled when you find its paws pressing against your stomach in a matter of seconds, suddenly right on you when it had been so far off moments ago. The animal’s sudden contact immediately has your heart racing as you momentarily freeze with shock, but as it quickly becomes apparent that the dog has no harmful intentions and is only angling towards the granola bar stuffed into your bag, the pounding in your chest begins to soothe itself a bit. Its fur is soft and well-groomed between your fingers as you give it a tentative pet, and the way its tongue hangs from its mouth in an almost lopsided grin and it gazes at you with the most eager expression instantly melts any of your remaining worries.

As you gently pet the dark, fluffy canine, you faintly hear a voice that grows louder moment by moment shouting repeatedly. And it doesn’t take long for a man’s silhouette to reveal itself to your gaze, rapidly running towards you with a fairly frantic look clear on his face as he grows closer. It doesn't take long to put together that this is likely the dog’s owner, prompting you to stand as the dog falls back onto all fours at your side, blissfully ignorant to its owner’s approach as it continues sniffing at the bottom of your bag for the tasty treat held within.

“There you are! You can’t just run off like that, you brat!” The strange man hisses out towards the dog once he grows close enough to slow his pace, and even though he had been running quite fast, he somehow doesn’t seem winded at all, nor does it seem like he's broken a sweat from the sudden activity. The subtle scent of vague powdered sugary sweetness makes its way into your system as he approaches, and when he looks up to meet your eyes and offer a confident yet slightly apologetic smile, you're engulfed in a sensation not unlike a bucket of cold water unceremoniously dumping itself onto your head.

He's undeniably gorgeous, completely stunning from head to toe. There's no way around admitting it. Soft, glowy skin, shimmering cyan eyes peeking out from beneath a pair of round sunglasses, and flowy white locks that expertly frame his skin as if each individually placed by the gods. His grin is so relaxed, so simple, and yet it incites that classic rom-com butterfly effect that always seems to signal no good. But his stance seems genuine, if slightly guarded, and his gaze appears relaxed and friendly as you're finally greeted with the sound of his voice up close.

“Sorry about him, he’s like an escape artist or something. I think his leash may need to be sized down a bit.” The man apologizes, his voice only worsening your infatuated stupor with its smooth tone. He's truly ethereal, you can’t seem to find a single flaw on him as he continues to speak. “I hope he didn’t knock you down too hard or anything, are you alright?”

He’s still smiling as he speaks, even with the hint of concern present in his voice. It takes some effort to bite back a swoon, but you know you should respond, to soothe the inkling of worry in his stunning features. Maybe, if luck was on your side, you could even make a good impression. You knew you’d likely never see him again, but even making him smile once would improve your day immeasurably.

“Oh, no, I’m okay. He didn’t knock me down or anything, just jumped up looking for food. I think he smelled a snack in my bag.” You muttered, a slightly awkward smile on your face as you managed to avoid stumbling over yourself or your words. And his smile brightened at the reassurance, only making your legs feel more weak as he reached out to grab the dog’s collar, prompting you to speak once more. “He’s a beautiful dog, by the way. And super fluffy too, he seems well-groomed.”

The man’s grin only brightens at your compliments, a creature of pride even to his core as you feel a flutter in your chest from the sight of the crinkles beside his eyes through his glasses. “Yeah, if I don’t keep up with grooming, he sheds all over my shit.” The man mutters with a small laugh, his eyes bright and vibrant as they meet yours with an almost eager look. “But he’s my kid’s dog, really. He’s young, but I’m trying to teach him to care for the furball himself with what he can.” He continues on, and at the mention of a son, you feel your heart drop slightly even though you knew hopes of any more than passing friendliness from the man were beyond far-fetched.

“Ah, how sweet….. Does your partner like the dog?” Though you feel like you’re being obvious, struggling to hide the disappointment in your eyes even if this stranger was far too radiant to not already have someone by his side, you can’t bite back in the question even as it feels a bit pathetic to ask. But suddenly, you catch a quick flash of what seems almost like concern in the man’s gaze before he quickly manages to mask it, though there’s a titch of urgency in his voice when he speaks again that you feel wasn’t present before.

“Oh, no. No partner for me.” He’s still composed as he speaks, but you think you can detect a slight rush in his words, one that brings the flutters back into your abdomen despite yourself. “Both my kids are adopted, found them in a bit of a… rough situation, so I took them in. I’m not even old enough to be their bio dad, honestly.”

His last comment makes you laugh, the mood lifted at his obvious attempt at self-flattery. But the realization that he’s somehow not already taken lightens your heart and your laugh alike as you look at him with a glimmer in your eyes, unable to stop yourself from wondering if just maybe, he was so eager to correct you because he saw something in you, too.

Before you can question much else, however, you’re drawn back into the realities of your world as the alarm you set for yourself to return home and continue studying sounds off from your phone. Despite how much joy your walk had brought you as a break from your typical monotony, and the way you wished to talk to the handsome stranger until your lips turned blue and your feet stopped working, you didn’t have any more time to waste when your academics lay waiting at home for you.

“Damn, that’s me. I guess it’s time for me to head home and get back to work.” You try to keep the annoyed grumble out of your tone, an apologetic smile crossing your face as his eyes widen in surprise at your words. “It was lovely meeting you, though. And this sweet little guy, too.” You mutter while mentally preparing to walk away from the first person to bring a spark into your life in quite a while, threading your fingers through the dog’s fluffy ebony tufts one last time as you prepared to walk away from the meet-cute rom-com you had built up in your head.

Until a hand reaches out, gently grabbing the fabric of your jacket to halt you briefly.

“Wait, you’re just gonna walk away before even giving me your number?” He mutters with a lighthearted grin that betrays just a hint of nerves. And it’s impossible to care about seeming a fool with the way your heart lights up at his words, an eager smile replacing your mopey one in an instant as he speaks once more. “Maybe one of these days when I’m walking this guy, you can join me. My kids may even come with me to the dog park.”

The subtle excitement in his voice is hard to catch, yet the subtle details give way to the clear mutual interest between the two of you. And as you happily type your number into his contacts list, even working up the courage to add a cheeky heart emoticon beside your name, you feel the melancholy and frustration of fall and school and work all meld into this moment of positivity, showing you a horizon of light and a hope that this may be the change you’ve been looking for in your life. 

A/N: Hi hi everyone, happy Flufftober! I started writing this right at the beginning of September to hopefully get myself started preparing for this month early, so by the time this is actually posted it will have been a while since I actually worked on it. But I just couldn’t resist starting off the month with one of my favs and one of the (obviously lol) most popular characters in my survey! I hope y’all enjoyed this, I’m so so excited to hopefully get through the rest of Flufftober as well with y’all! My requests are also open right now, so if you have any requests feel free to send them over to my inbox :>

Taglist: @flufftober @ace-lavender

If you’d like to be added to any of my taglists, you can fill out this form here! Thank you for your support <3

[adamastache]

Teft Pornbattle Prompt Poll

Say that title out loud three times fast lol. This here is the prompt poll. Reference the announcement HERE if you're lost. Reference the shipping poll HERE for ideas or vote if you haven't yet!

Because tumblr polls limit the character count, I've decided to list the prompts out in the body of this post. Then I'll put their respective list numbers as poll options with a brief note if I can fit it. Vote for which number you're interested in seeing a short fanfiction featuring that prompt! Remember, there's a Max 1k word limit so keep that in mind! One-shots are best if you're still unclear.

Additional resources: There are various NSFW/Smut prompt generators or resources out there. I'll be listing a handful that seem useful at the bottom of this post. If you don't see a prompt that you want to read in this poll, try those links out and reply/reblog with your prompt idea. Please make them doable, use common sense and I'll add it to the masterlist at the end of the week

THE LIST OF TEFT PROMPTS: (Use X for your chosen pairing(s))

1. Someone from Bridge Four each week gets gangbanged, this week it's X1. Normally, everyone goes one by one but tonight, Teft and X2 decide to fuck X1 together. Does Teft get really into X2? Or does he really enjoy seeing X1 get fucked?

2. Sometimes, Teft feels too guilty or shameful to return home after visiting the moss den. He makes a deal with X to punish or humiliate him to clear his head

3. Teft is a lucky experienced middle between a husband and wife who want to try pegging for the first time. The wife pegs Teft, the husband takes notes, and how it goes from there is up to you

4. Teft masturbates while thinking about X in particular. Spren or another character could watch, or Teft could be completely alone with his thoughts

5. Teft and X do moss together. X enjoys the going up and coming down of the trip while Teft hates it. X starts to get touchy feely while on moss and Teft starts getting into it

6. Teft is used to being a top, but during a make out session, X is lying on top of Teft and it gets steamy enough where X wants to try topping. How Teft takes it (literally?) is up to you

7. Teft has the honor of being the center of attention in a (reverse? mixed?) gangbang. He gets absolutely wrecked and ran through in the best possible way Minimum of 4 people, no max #

8. Grumpy, grouchy, little patience, swears and grunts a lot. That’s Teft. X decides (or takes/loses a bet) to find out if Teft’s like that in bed too. Is he? Or is he a gentle, caring, slow and passionate lover? Or something else expected or not?

9. In need of emergency funds, Teft auctions his gay virginity to the highest bidder: X

10. Teft is not allowed to use their hands as they perform oral on X. If Teft can't manage, X just might have to tie Teft's wrists…

11. Teft gets (gentle?) femdommed by X1 and X2

12. Five times Teft uses stormlight inappropriately with X and the one time they just have regular sex

RESOURCE LINKS:

Stormlight kink meme (there's Teft prompts already or you can just sub Teft in for whichever prompt you find - give credit if not your original prompt please and thank you)

Smut Generator #1

Smut Generator #2

Smut Generator #3

Prompt/Kink Generator

Otherwise google or tumblr search for Kinktober to find specific kinks ok bye!

[juggalomary]

Hey pookies I’m back. After about a month of no chapter four I finally finished it. I technically could’ve continued this on but I want the chapter count higher. Anyways it’s midterm week until Friday the 28th so I will be a bit inactive (even more). Without further ado chapter 4 of who is this kid!!!!

Warning! This chapter has violence, attempted suicide, panic attacks, and brief nondescript vomit, take care and message me if I missed anything!

Ringing in the new year does not mean tinnitus from bombs and guns going off without proper ear protection, but 1 cannot complain as he is still alive. He can’t wait to go back to the compound, he misses the relative quiet of it all. December 31, 2024 his orders were to execute a commander working in the American CIA. Her name was Laswell, they got the intel from a man that macarov trusted just enough to believe. So here 1 sat in the edge of a neighboring building to a luxury hotel that the party was being held, his sniper resting gently on his shoulder and the rubber shavings starting to dig into his chest.

He sat for another hour before the target came into view, a middle aged huge woman with blonde hair hanging around with some brunette of her same age. He focused in on her, leveling the crosshairs with the base if her skull. He waited for a second, hoping she would step fully in front of the window. After three minutes of her not moving he finally decided to take the shot. He ran the risk of it not going and hitting it’s mark, but in reality that was low.

His fingers tightened on the trigger and he re-readied his aim. As his shot was about to go off someone from deeper inside the room tackled her to the ground. He cursed to himself, of course the glare of his fucking sight gave him up. He thinks about trying a different angle and getting her from there but a set of footsteps behind him had him whipping around.

A 6’4 behemoth of a man with a fucking skull on his face muttered something, probably about the damn rubber and how you can’t sneak around on it. He stopped and whipped his gum out when he saw 1 trying to find a way onto the buildings fire escape.

“Hey arsehole, SAS hands where I can see them!” He shouted, the voice he recalled from an earlier mission he was sent in to blow a bank up. He did not obey, capture was not an option, suicide before capture.

Within that mindset 1 crawled over to the edge and let himself fall off of it. He fell,for only a second before he hit something and suddenly couldn’t breathe. He felt blood drip down his back as he sat up, attempting to catch his breath. Upon further investigation he realized he just landed on the balcony of some horrified family’s apartment. He landed on the cold metal and smashed a, (just his luck) cactus in a terracotta pot.

His head was bleeding and there was definitely a crack in his hip. He could feel his heartbeat through his entire body. The was a definite boot thumping sound coming from the inner hallway of the building.

He hobbled to a standing position he groaned and broke in the glass door. Realizing his mistake as the tall man breaks in the front door in and sees him. As the both realize that 1 is not getting out of this, 1 dives into the floor between his legs and pops up behind him in the kitchen, big ass knife in hand.

As the commotion ensues a middle aged man comes out with a shotgun from one of the bedrooms. The tall man shoos him off with just a glare. In this time 1 took it upon himself to slit his wrists. Suicide before capture.

He couldn’t feel his hand. He could already feel the blood dripping down towards his elbow. Hie tried to grab the knife when he saw the tall man turn around to face him but his hand wouldn’t move. He fought hard against his body but couldn’t. He had sliced his tendon in half. He let his knees buckle and his head hit the cabinet.

The tall man was on him in a second, shouting into his comms and holding his hand over 1’s wrists. He caught a decent amount of the conversation coming from the tall man before he passed out. He had evaded capture, Makarov would be proud.

——————

He came to for the first time in the medical helicopter. He woke up screaming and thrashing, he didn’t form any coherent words, or at least any that could be translated by someone around him. He was sedated again when he nearly flipped the backboard he was on over with him strapped to it.

He woke up slightly, eyes and motor function not working but he could hear. He was in some sort of building now, there was no helicopter blades screamingly loud in his already damaged eardrums. He heard the tall man from New Years speaking to some gruff man with a scouse accent.

“I hated the damn thing, got shit from the brass about regulation. Kind of missing the ugly thing now.” The gruff man said. He didn’t want to know what he was talking about, clearly regulations were broken and therefore he had to be punished. It’s not like he could avoid it, he was a prisoner to an unknown army.

“I kind of miss when he wasn’t a suicidal maniac who let me call him Johnny. Now that you mention it though he does look like an egg.” The man from New Years quipped back. Who were they talking about, who was Johnny, and how has he never seen him before. He’s gone against this group two times and has never seen a Mohawk, and that’s something he was sure he would if remembered. He listened for a few more minutes before he was to exhausted to listen any more. He fell back asleep for three more days.

——————

Five days in he woke up fully. A younger man in a baseball cap sat next to him, asleep and snoring lightly. He didn’t attempt to wake him up, that would get him a beating.

He found himself barefoot and not covered with a blanket, instead restrained and in just a hospital gown. The skin (could it be considered that if it’s just scar tissue?) was tight and sore. The air conditioning was in high and blowing right on him. He had no time to get back into his body before he was screaming, he could take most any kind of torture, but the cold room as he called it was the worst. Old wounds would become tight and sore, and he was almost always left unable to walk because whatever wet skin was on the floor would freeze to the concrete and rip his skin when he was stood.

This was the first time he had been tied down, maybe he wasn’t supposed to be injured. As he fought up against the restraints he felt a pop and then throbbing pain in his wrist.

He fought more and more, he could feel warmth spreading throughout his wrist. He couldn’t hear anything other than his own labored breathing and the sound of air whooshing. Distantly someone was screaming, not completely unusual, definitely not something that would freak him out.

He was writhing, trying to get out of there, he was in so much pain already, but it wouldn’t be much help as a strangely warm hand fell on his chest. He instinctively shouted some Gaelic and Russian mixed insults and thrashed even harder. The hand stayed for a second before hastily removing his restraint in his good arm. He went to grab 1’s hand and put it in his pulse point, but when he grabbed it he got punched in the head.

1 was now shouting desperately and trying to find his way out, the world was blurring and blackening at the edges. As his hand tried to grab something he hit a IV pole and knocked it over. That proceeded to rip out a NG tube they had stuffed in his nose to try to start reversing the malnutrition. He gagged at the sensation and threw up onto his lap as the nurses and security burst in. He was laid back down and restrained again. When he couldn’t vocalize that he was panicking because he was getting tortured in the cold room they sedated him, “for his own good”.

[coffeeheartaddict2]

Burden or Expectation

Book: Open Heart (pre series)

Characters: Tobias Carrick, F!OC Bethany Carrick(née Lewis), M!OC Edward Dwight Carrick.

Warnings: swearing, mentions of past sexual indiscretions

Category: Angst

Rating: PG

Word count: 1441

Summary: Tobias questions some decisions he has made in his life after a heated confrontation with his dad.

Authors note: So I have Tobias as being a single man. There has been the occasional time where he has questioned this but generally he is happy with his decision. This is set when Tobias is 35, so before book 1. This is the time he questioned his decision the most. Thank you @jerzwriter for the Totally Tobias Tuesday that inspired this work.

🦶🏽🦶🏽🦶🏽🦶🏽🦶🏽🦶🏽🦶🏽🦶🏽🦶🏽🦶🏽🦶🏽🦶🏽

Christmas 2017, Philadelphia.

For the first time in what seemed like an eternity Tobias was heading home for Christmas. Tobias loved the Lewis family Christmas. He has many fond memories of Christmas spent with his mum’s family and later assisting with the food drive at their church when he was old enough. It was with his mum’s side that he was able to truly enjoy and appreciate the joys of Christmas. His mother’s neighbourhood was a far cry from the South End of Boston but he always enjoyed coming back.

He pulled up to his mum’s house and she was sitting on the porch.

“Good to see you ma,” said Tobias as he embraced her.

“Good to see you, Tobias. You are looking well.”

“I am always happy to come back here, no matter how brief. You know that.”

“I am, how is work?”

“Busy, being a trauma doctor and on a another team makes for being busy. My latest article in the New England Journal of Medicine seemed well received.”

Tobias sat down to afternoon tea and was caught on all the happenings with his mum’s family.

“And daddy dearest?” Asked Tobias.

“I wish you would not call him that…”

“I have called him worse ma.” Said Tobias.

“I know.” Said Beth, “he is still your father at end of the day, Tobias.”

“And a bang up job he did, barely bothering to try and make an effort in attending things, and when he does bringing his latest conquest and when he is not working or sleeping around, spent the time criticizing me for my choices in what I did at college.”

“There has always being expectation of preferred college courses within that family and I am so proud of you for choosing your own path…”

“And I have always appreciated that, Ma.” Said Tobias.

They had a light dinner and prepped some of the food for the next day.

“It would be nice if you bought someone home with you one of these times.” Said Beth in jest.

Tobias winced. He knew one person who would have loved a Lewis family Christmas and they were still not friends.

“I know the two directions you are angling ma. I am happily single, my life is full and I am not missing not having a serious relationship.”

“And Ethan?”

Tobias again winced. “He has his own life ma.”

Tobias was not lying but he knew that it took a lot for Ethan to trust him back in college and that was ruined in a moment of stupidity.

“Well I am still sad that after all this time you have remained on the outer. Life is too short for such grudges.”

“I know ma, I know but if you are someone who has found trusting people difficult…”

Beth nodded in understanding. They finished the preparations and they turned in for the night.

The next day was Christmas. His aunts, uncles and cousins all converged and enjoyed a feast. Tobias had not remained overly close to his cousins but it was always enjoyable catching up with them all. Tobias was the only one who worked in the medical field, many of his cousins were teachers or social workers working within their communities. Tobias always found their stories of their work fascinating as they did his.

The meal as always was enjoyable and the grown ups all sat down and watched the kids play with their new toys. One thing Tobias loved about his cousins is that none of them questioned him about his lack of children or when he will have any. He enjoyed his cousins kids though and they seemed to appreciate him.

The next day came. Tobias was enjoying his time at home until he saw a car pull up. He had not seen his dad since he graduated medical school but he knew it was him.

“Tobias, son, how are you?”

“As if you fully care, father but I am well.”

“Well Boston seems to be agreeing with you.”

“It has. Now please leave.”

“I thought you would be happy to see me.”

Tobias rolled his eyes.

“Seriously, my feelings towards you have not and will not change.”

“No Mrs Carrick?”

“Ma is home.”

“Not what I meant, Son.” Said Edward, curiously. “You are 35son…”

“And what does age have to do with it? Huh?” Stated Tobias, rather annoyed. “Just because you had 2 failed marriages and I shudder to think how many affairs by the time you were my age…”

“What, don’t you want to continue the family name?”

“What some pretentious tradition of alternating between Dwight and Theodore? Or more lawyers to make all our lives difficult? Surely any illegitimate children you have could carry on the legacy just as well.”

Edward was taken aback.

“You need to settle down, Son.”

“No, I fucking hell do not have to, especially if it is at your behest! Again please leave.”

“A man of your age should be settled.”

“Who says I am not, I own a nice house, a fulfilling career, I have all I need.”

“You need a wife, son.”

“No I do not and even if I was seeing anyone whom I thought I could and would settle with, I certainly would not be informing you.”

“Why not, you are still my son.”

“Yeah well you could have fooled me!”

Bethany could hear the escalating voices and she came out to investigate.

“Edward, what brings you here?”

“Came to see Tobias since I heard he was coming down.”

“Where are your manners Tobias, come in Edward.”

Edward enters and Tobias follows.

“Seriously father, why now? If memory serves, you have made no effort to see me since I graduated medical school and the only two things you did was show off your latest conquest who if I recall was same age as I was when I started medic school at the time and state how much and I quote “a fucking failure because I graduated second in the class.” I had a GPA of 3.97. I found a niche in trauma, I have been published and in the process of being the head of trauma and on a diagnostic team also so again, how is the being in your words a fucking failure?”

“Well you were not the top, you did not get into a top notch residency and your lack of wife…”

“Not a top residency, it was and still is a top residency program and it was a great experience and stop being a hypocrite. If marriage was all it was cracked up to be then you would still be married to my mother and honoured your vows.”

Tobias gets up to leave the room and stops at the door. “For the record father, I am happy with my lot in life.” He walks upstairs and packs his bag. Beth follows.

“Leaving already?”

“Well if he is going to just sit there and criticise my life choices then I will leave. Sorry ma but there is only so much of that man I can take.”

Tobias packs his bag and heads to his car.

“I hope you are happy, once again ruining what has generally being a happy time. Since I did not make myself clear enough the last time I will repeat myself and I would much appreciate you doing something that is obviously against your principles and honour my request and do not contact me again.”

Tobias started his journey back home to Boston. He was annoyed that his trip had been cut short. What was bugging him more though was his dad’s opinions of him. It was something he generally ignored. Nothing seemed to be good enough and he accepted that and he was also happily single so why was it bothering him. He put it down to the initial anger but when it had not subsided he knew that he needed to seek help.

A few weeks into the new year Tobias started seeing Dr Rasmussen. Over the coming months they discussed Tobias’s childhood, his dad’s extra marital affairs, his dad’s expectations, medical school, and non-work aspects of his life. As time went on he again became happy in his decisions to remain single and not settle down and get married.

He had a strong role model in Beth who never remarried and who had a happy and fulfilled life without another man. He knew career was not everything but he also knew settling down for the sake of doing so was also not healthy or a reason to do so and he was more than happy with that.

——-

Authors note 2: A little history. Tobias walked in on his dad having sex in his home office with someone who was not his mother. He was 9. Bethany divorced him. He married that woman and they eventually divorced. Tobias was expected to be a perfect son who would go on to study law at UPenn. Tobias had other ideas. Edward was not a faithful man, he bought a woman that was not his second wife to graduation, and had a different woman it seemed whenever he saw him. He has one half sibling he is aware of that is older than Tobias, from a relationship before Beth. Tobias would not be surprised if there were others.

Tagging: @jamespotterthefirst @jerzwriter @genevievemd @liaromancewriter @potionsprefect @a-crepusculo @bex-la-get @crazy-loca-blog @alj4890 @youlookappropriate @cariantha @trappedinfanfiction @socalwriterbee @tessa-liam @lucy-268 @schnitzelbutterfingers @binny1985

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

[storyspinner91]

Chapter 3: Planetarium Stickers on a Bedroom Ceiling

Summary: The gang heads for the spaceport, moving cross-country and fending off more GaleForce attacks along the way. They're headed to the same place, but it's not certain that they're all going there TOGETHER.

[Another old chapter; I just finished the first draft of ch. 15 and it's a doozy, it is 13,000-some words which is too long, but I'm happy I've got a draft and it's very late where I am so have this as a little celebration.]

Chapter 3 is sort of a filler chapter - we're moving from point A to point B - and sort of a final bit of exposition. It's notable because it's the first chapter where I started to let the Oh Hellos songs dictate the structure of the chapters themselves, not just the ideas. See, this song - #3 on Notos - is a purely instrumental track, Planetarium Stickers on a Bedroom Ceiling. And as I was sitting down to write it, I thought, "What if I did a chapter entirely without dialogue?" And, well, here we are. This is why there are what I've called "vignette" chapters in this stories - they correspond to the points where there are no lyrics/vocal lines for the songs.

Back at this point, I was also toying with more actual play of Lancer when I was writing - I had characters/mechs built for the 5 protagonists and was running them through little combats. A "mission" in Lancer is pretty typically 3-4 combats, and I did indeed run 4 combats for the "Escape from Tir Asleen" mission: the fight at the Summer Manse, two combats on the road, and the fight at the spaceport (chapter 4).

What I realized in doing that is that TTRPG gameplay often does not make a compelling story. More on that next time, but suffice to say: about the only thing I kept from that was the idea of there being two fights on the road, mostly because I realized that with 5 POVs I could tell the story very efficiently as "before," "fight 1," "brief rest," "fight 2," and "after." I'm happy with how that came out, and I'm happy people seem to like this chapter. It's doing a lot of exposition work and more building in world details: it's the first hint we get of Kenneth as an NHP, it's the first bit we get of Boorman's adapted backstory, and it's the first time we see Elora hack anything (indeed, it's the point at which I realized, "Oh you know what would be a fun magic-equivalent? Hacking!"). I had a lot of fun writing the Elora and Boorman sections of this, in particular. They're fun characters to write for; I enjoy the I-Don't-Know-What-I'm-Doing aspect of Elora at this stage, and I just love getting to write Boorman. Always gonna lean into that "Wait, I thought Kit and Jade were already dating??" angle with him.

And, of course, the title of this song is weirdly perfect for Jade to close out the chapter, which after all remains in "her" book. I flag a couple of things here (especially establishing the "mechs are powered by fusion reactors which can go Very Boom"), but it's mostly about her feelings for Kit. As so many things are with Jade. But the planetarium stickers tie in nicely to the line from the show about Jade counting stars before falling asleep, a line we've all made much of in the fandom space, I think. (It will recur later in my story, too.)

And, of course, I already start breaking my own rules by putting one line of speech into the end of this chapter. To set us up for the heartbreak of the next. ;)

[artleaguemdcnorth]

2D FINAL CURATED PORTFOLIO 6/11/2024 - (DUE DATE NOON 6/11)

The following assignments should already be posted to your class blog. 

Make sure title of assignments are listed and dated on each post. 

Make sure assignments are posted. 

You have already done this , you are just checking back and adding dates and titles.

This is a checklist of what we did this semester.

If you are missing the work you must state it in the class blog. 

Doing so will lower your portfolio grade. 

2D Class Assignments for Summer A- 2024

1) Artist Reflection posts (videos) 

2) Sketchbook ideas for Franz Klein 

3) 3 Franz Klein inspired paintings. 

4) Line assignments - 

    a)Vertical Horizontal  b) diagonal

    c) curved  d)   all lines 

5)  a- Chaos  &  b - Order

6)  a- 5 Blk Shapes in White background 

     b) 5 Wht Shapes in Blk background

7) Color Theory Charts- sketchbook

8) 6 in square Swatches

9) 3 colors that become 4

10) Vibrating colors

11) Two  6 inch squares with 2 inserts in an  Analogous color schemes( Joseph Albers inspired)

12) Examples of your sketchbook showing three ideas for colors to be used in the midterm assignment and 1 drawing a day for 7 days series from the sketchbook.

13) Midterm Assignment with artist statement 

14) Final assignment - Book & Album Cover with artist statement. 

15) Museum assignment

CURATED FINAL PORTFOLIO - 

Your artwork should reflect your visual sensitivity, your intellectual curiosity, your creativity, your motivation and self-discipline.

Your selections in a good portfolio allow you to present your technical and creative prowess.

In curating your own portfolio you select work that expresses those qualities.

You are showing what you have learned and how you have perfected those techniques.

Most of you will be continuing your education in the arts.

Learning how to select your best work will be an asset to you later on and this assignment gives you an opportunity to practice .

As you begin to select your assignments, choose those artworks that best show your skills and progress in class throughout the semester. 

YOUR PORTFOLIO SHOULD ALREADY HAVE THE ABOVE WORK IN YOUR TUMBLR.

CHECK IT AGAINST THAT LIST.

In addition to that list you will now create a new post titled Curated portfolio  and follow instructions below to include assignments. 

This final Curated blog will close the semester as you show your participation in the 2D class.

2D  Curated Portfolio (8 ARTWORKS)

Select 5 of your best works from the semester and  one from the start of the semester for a total of 6.

You will also include your best piece from the Final assignment and the Midterm.

Include  a  brief artist statement explaining why you have chosen them. 

Think about the following as you go on to choose them: 

In response to the assignment how well does it reflect the ideals and requirements (instructions) . 

How do they express your creative talents? 

How do they show your progress from the start of the semester to now ? 

How do they express your ability to perfect your craftmanship? 

What does your work say about your ability to express critical thought through your resolution of the assignments and your approach to creating art? 

Remember , this is a college level writing assignmnet.

Submit your Final Curated portfolio by noon Tuesday 6/11.  

Please note that any missing assignments from the above Class list will count agaisnt you in regards to your final participation grade.

TIPS:

Below are some tips on perfecting your portfolio:

-Choose your best completed work.

-Use correct lighting at home to photograph your work.

- Make sure you frame your work correctly.

This means correct lighting, sharp image , work framed correctly in vertical format

( There should be no showing of floor, bed sheets, table , slanted , side angle or blurry images, over exposed images)

Complete your submission to Tumblr by  Tuesday 6/11/24  at 12pm.

Process to submit your work:

Post link of your completed curated Tumblr blog entry to the threads post for this blog.

All students must submit this link by noon Tuesday.

I start grading assignments Weds morning.

Please note the evaluation rubric for your class:

( No Tumblr = F grade ) 

Make sure I have the link and I can look at your work.

DUE DATE 6/11/2024 by 12PM.

[bloodsuckingfiends]

Of Stars & Blood- Chapter 1

Summary: After the party's first eventful day, camp gets set up, dinner gets eaten, bonding ensues... so does avoidance.

Pairing: Astarion x Elendil (named Tav)

Note: Tav is a high-elf whose adult, chosen name is now Elendil

Warnings: brief mentions of grief and blood

Word Count: 1.2K

A/N: If you've missed it, the original prologue has been updated with more content added!

Series Masterlist

AO3 Link

The rest of the day’s itinerary consists of the party of four gaining three more members, agreeing to save a druid from a camp of goblins, and setting up their own camp for the night. All of which occurs with Elendil keeping her distance from Astarion, no matter how much her ridiculous brain tells her to go to him. As she begins the process of setting up her tent, her mind begins to flood with questions. The way Astarion had flinched and pulled away from her, and the way his face fell before he quickly recovered. It made no sense to her. Then again, it made no sense why or how he was alive. She watched as his body was lowered in his grave. Elendil picks up a stake, steadies it, and starts to secure the tent ropes into place. He looked pretty much the same as the evening before his ‘death’, nothing to note that was out of the ordinary, though he seemed… tired. His quips and attitude come quicker than it had when they were younger. The look in his eyes was one that she had seen before only when he was distressed, or scared, or…-

That was it. That’s what was different.

His eyes.

Rather than the shining, emerald eyes she had come to cherish the memory of, his irises were now the deep shade of the wine that the two had often shared and gossiped over.

But why?

Elendil begins to mull over ideas of why his eyes were different when Gale’s voice wrenches her from the spiral,

“Today was… tense, to say the least. You looked a bit distressed after our initial meeting with Astarion, so I thought I’d come over and make sure everything’s alright.”

“Oh,” she startles a bit , “thank you Gale, that’s very kind of you. I’m alright, or rather, will be. Just need some rest, is all.” Her thumb and forefinger pinch the bridge of her nose, and she looks up at the wizard.

“Well good. If you need anything, you know where to find me- oh yes I had also meant to ask, if you don’t mind my asking, who Tav is?.” Gale looks at her curiously.

Elendil’s lip curls up in a slight smile, “Tav was my adolescent name. When elves are born, their name given to them by their parents is their adolescent name. When we turn 100, we choose a name for ourselves, I suppose as a way to celebrate our coming of age.” she explains, “I’m surprised you didn’t know, being the famed wizard of Waterdeep.” she teased playfully.

Gale chuckles at the jab, “While I do have quite a big appetite for knowledge, there would hardly be much to learn had I not spaced out my mealtimes.” he smiles warmly and bids her well before turning to continue helping Shadowheart with the campfire and supper for the evening.

Elendil straightens up, stretching out her cramped up muscles, and achy bones. When she turns toward camp, she catches eyes with Astarion, who swiftly looks back to the book he has balanced in his hands.

It’s almost comforting to see him like that. With his nose buried in a book, one curl of his meticulously styled hair falling across his forehead from the angle his long neck is at. He’s dressed down, in simple trousers and white ruffled shirt, almost a perfect mirror image of those evenings they had spent sitting on the sofa in his parents library, studying their chosen subjects. That ache in her chest returns.

She wants to talk to him. Understand everything that is happening and has happened. Where he’s been. Why he seemed frightened for that millisecond after they had embraced each other.

Has Elendil done something wrong? It was difficult not to just immediately fall back into the comfortable rhythm they had, when he is before her looking nearly the same.

Shadowheart calls out that dinner is prepared, and Gale serves bowls to everyone except Astarion who states that he was going to go for an evening stroll before eating.

“I’ll simply serve myself when I get back dear, no need to worry.” he deflected Karlach’s concern of him not eating.

Elendil has half a mind to follow after him, perhaps talking in private about things, but ultimately decides to stay where she is seated on a log. Her eyes follow Astarion’s lithe form as he gracefully walks into the treeline.

_____________

Astarion’s steps are careful, calculated. He steps with purpose, moving smooth and seamlessly casual as leaves camp, his stride becoming stealthy the moment he’s out of the group’s line of sight. It doesn’t take long for his senses to pick up on the heartbeat of a doe, not too far off.

He’s quick. His legs carry him silently to loom over the grazing doe, before swiftly pinning her and biting through the pelt and sinew of her long neck. The moment his incisors pierce through the artery, his mouth fills with the sharp and sweet taste of blood.

He tries to be precise, and meticulous so as not to get a speck of blood on his shirt. He couldn’t have them finding out his true nature. Not this early on at least. No, he needed to gain their trust first. Gain companionship with the ragtag group of infected survivors.

A few last pulls from the deer’s throat, and Astarion has successfully drained the animal of life. His thumb swipes at his bottom lip.

It was best to stop a bit farther down the river they had set up camp on, to wash away any remnants of his meal from his skin.

_______________

His mind a bit more clear, now that his appetite was temporarily appeased, Astarion wonders some more about who exactly this ‘Elendil’ or ‘Tav’, as he had known her, was. He had no other explanation for how she had come back in his life at such an odd point in time, other than Cazador had something to do with it. Whether his vampiric master had paid Tav well, or perhaps cast disguise on one of the spawn and sent them, Astarion was unsure, but he was sure of one thing; anything even mildly positive, often turned out to be a guise, a tool to utilize against him in cruel ways.

Astarion returned to camp, he was just on the outskirts, hidden in shadow when he picked up the sound of Elendil’s voice, and the softer sounds of Karlach and Shadowheart acknowledging what she had to say with gentle hums.

He was far off enough to only pick up bits and pieces of her words that were interlaced with Karlach’s occasionally more boisterous responses,

“-grown up together.”

“-father worked on portraits-“

“I don’t know what happened.”

Astarion’s heart seized a little at that, though he didn’t know why. There was no reason for it when the hope that this was truly Tav was slim if not non-existent. Instead of dwelling on it, he decided now was as good a time as any to wander back to his tent for the night, and when his presence was known, Elendil’s last sentence trailed off to silence. Her eyes locked with his yet again. This time, Astarion held her stare, emboldened by his hunt perhaps. She averted her gaze, a visible flush on her cheeks in the firelight, the corner of Astarion’s lips quirk up in a victorious smirk.

Perhaps he would have the upperhand in this situation.

A/N: Apologies for the shorter chapters at the moment! As the story progresses, I do plan on chapters being a bit longer, but for now, we're just kind of setting things up!

Tags: @thexhostess @roguishcat

[woozi]

hiii yza… this ask’s a bit of a long one but! thought u might appreciate some svt rambling from yours truly, car crash anon. I was rewatching a bunch of dance practices lately (been on a real svt kick trying to find all the moments of them singing live during dance practices bc I enjoy that. I did find them only I didn’t take any notes which will be tragic for me like a year later I bet) and noticed that like. there’s this part in HOT (the like… post-chorus? whatever comes right after the hot hot hot bit) where both hoshi and dino take center for a brief period, and what they do differs. and the Way it differs is like, the move hoshi does really focuses on his lower body while dino’s focuses like. on the upper body. arms and shoulders. it's a great time for me no matter what bc like hey. my biases. but this did remind me of the kind of unhinged ask I sent u where I mentioned that hoshi like. almost imperceptibly bends his knees a little more in the fear chorus. It did get me thinking tho like. I feel like that’s a really distinctive characteristic of how he dances—the way he uses his lower body, I mean—and I always enjoy taking note of it? it just adds a little extra… pizzazz, yknow? so I thought I’d pick a few moments of like. things I think r really indicative of hoshi’s style. to share. (apologies I did not also include dino stuff in this ask bc I think it would be… way too long. to appease my own self I want to say that somehow it was only today I noticed that during vernon’s bit in _world hoshi and dino r having fun in the back lol)

clears throat. firstly in insomnia zero II #1 mingyu makes fun of how hoshi stands and I’ve never stopped thinking about it bc its so true. I genuinely love it. not really music in that one but I have to mention it

off the top of my head, hot & god of music both have hoshi feature in a lil solo dance that draws attention to his legs (god of music to a lesser extent but I did replay the beginning of the little instrumental solo for the god of music dance practice so many times bc hoshi’s legs like shift sooo quickly in his bit)… cheers has his iconic line and that bit definitely has moves centered on his lower body.

okay now moving past the parts that could conceivably be normal to mention lol. in the inside seventeen for the bss circle chart awards around 4:55 hoshi’s fun little improved adlib absolutely counts as smthing that I see and just go “oh that’s so distinctively hoshi” for me. like. the way his hand is on his hip and the exaggerated degree to which he’s leaning. to that regard… if u look up a fancam of crazy in love from the ode to you tour around 2:30 there’s this lil dance break bit they’ve added and like. the Angle at which hoshi puts his hands on his hips is like. he’s bending back and his legs are planted fairly forward and it makes a really striking pose to me. let’s see… there’s also his choreo for bad which is like. that drop where he just like… slowly squats into a kneeling pose is like. yeah. that makes sense. and then there’s a move where he like. bends? rolls? idk he sits a little differently and it’s like. that same thing. OH. ok I think I can describe it. there’s this way that hoshi will like. lean back and SINK into a pose that I really like. like there’s this drop and it feels really… stable? which happens in both fear and crazy in love and in bad. and it happens right at the beginning of touch. love that performance. touch also has his basically doing the limbo in one of the choruses.

(also I didn’t know how to put this in the ask naturally but. I don’t think I’ve seen this opinion before even though I feel like it should be common. So. I just need to mention that crazy in love is simply THE hoshi song for me. like. on the vocals end it’s a GREAT showcase of the different places his voice goes: first lower in the intro, and a really good demonstration of the distinctive way he shapes his vowels, and then after the chorus, it’s higher and lighter, and then he starts off the final chorus and his voice has a different vibe then, too! i really struggled with picking out hoshi’s voice when I first got into seventeen because like… it sounded like different voices at different pitches to me I guess? anyways I wrote a guide to myself about it (out of curiosity I opened up that guide again and. Why is it almost 5000 words.) and I’ve never had trouble since. and then it’s like. he’s always great at dancing and he’s got a lil fun dance break in the ode to you concert. awesome. also I like the song.)

CAR CRASH ANON HI!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <3

the way u keep rewatching footage is SAUR saur interesting to me that's very blair waldorf love it 😋 ALSO HIGHLY AGREE WITH THISSSSSSSSSSSSSSS, i noticed that too!! also love how perf u's in the middle of that sequence 😋 also SOOO true!! i feel like hoshi's energy brings a more rugged and raw feel to his dances which i think is just SOO fitting for him tbh. and u wON W THAT PLS FDJFDJKFDJK

AND NOT CONCEIVABLY NORMAL 😭😭😭 LOVE HOW U EVEN MENTIONED TOUCH TBH?????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????????? one of my favorite hoshis <33

and u would be right 😋 hoshi IS a very versatile performer and i think he just has Something (a certain je ne sais quoi 😭 LMFAO) that really draws u in about him <33 obsessed w how much love this ask exudes for the dude u r SOO horangdan <3333

and thank u for sharing these w me <3333333 love that, and i missed it sm!! hope ure having a great one 😋

[silversweetpea]

Extra Cup

Pairing: Marc Spector x Reader 

Summary: Some answers, some new questions, and some slightly better tasting coffee.

Warning: Cleaning of Marc’s injuries but they’re surface level, some brief discussions on death and dying that are framed in the past tense for Marc and hypothetical for the Reader.

Word Count: 1959

Author’s Note: This is technically written as a small second part to Coffee Dates but It can probably be read as a stand alone if you don’t feel like reading a slow burn set up right now. Just know that Marc didn’t tell reader about Steven you had to figure it out on your own, you had a running joke where you try to guess his name, and this takes place immediately following the museum fight at the end of episode 1. Also that I am deeply deeply in love with Marc and Steven still. It’s honestly a problem at this point. 

❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀✿ ❀✿❀

It’s quiet in his apartment. You hadn’t expected it to be so messy, so full to the brim with books that openly discuss topics of interest and post cards from his mother hanging off the fish tank. Marc, his name still settles strangely on the tip of your tongue, foreign and familiar all at once, just sits next to you on the couch, body angled towards you despite the cushion of space between the two of you.

You’re only half sure that you’re not loosing your mind.

“You’re allowed to ask questions,” Marc’s voice isn’t gentle not like it was on the rooftop. It’s more tentative than anything else, as if you’re going to run away at any moment and he would let you.

“I know.” Your voice is equally as tentative, as if you’re not sure that you’re not going to run away yourself. There’s warm light cast on the two of you from the lamps at the side of the couch and it reminds you of that first morning. ”I just don’t know where to start.” 

Marc nods and lets his gaze linger on his own hands for just a moment before he sighs. 

“My name is Marc Spector, and uh, you’ve met Steven.” Your turn to nod. You can see now that the postcards on the tank are addressed to Steven, not Marc, signed by his mother. 

“Sort of.” He had seemed nice. You feel a little bad that you didn’t have the chance to actually talk with him.

“We...share a body.” Marc continues. You’d known that of course, it was that or teleportation to explain what had just happened in the bathroom but he wasn’t Dr. Strange by any means. At least, you thought. A lot of what you had thought before now was proving to be wrong. 

“And an apartment?” You try for a joke but it barely seems to land. The man in front of you who is desperately trying to look like he’s not watching you and failing, gives little more than a scoff. 

“And an apartment,” Marc’s gaze lifts to scan over the room quickly and you take the second to look him over. He’s the same man that never orders and dutifully drinks the terrible coffee you make him. The same careful eyes and soft dark hair, the same potential to pounce in his posture even now that the two of you were out of danger, and even the same bruised and bloodied knuckles. You should be afraid or nervous but no matter how hard you root around inside of yourself you can only find worry.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” Marc’s eyes are back a new line of stress in his face as he begins to frantically look over you. You reach for his wrist and hold it up slowly. The fear slips away as he realizes you’re talking about him and it shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. “Your hand is pretty beat up.”

“It’s fine. The suit heals most of the wounds up when I use it.” You want to ask about the time he got stabbed and collapsed in the booth. If he couldn’t use the suit or if he chose not to. 

“Well you’re not using it right now and you’re hurt so either sailor moon it up or tell me where I can find some bandages.” Your thumb rubs circles into his pulse point as you look over the injuries .It keeps you from looking at his face and seeing what may be there. The expressions of just a few seconds ago had left your head reeling. Marc was never this expressive in the diner, you’re not sure what to do with an open book when all you’ve known is coded messages.

“In the bathroom,” Letting go of his wrist hurts in an aching sort of way and you do your best to look for the dresser in his bedroom on your way. There’s rips in his sweater from the glass and the thing in the museum was and it’d be nice to have a change of clothes to shove at him. Instead you just see sand and a cuff on the bed that you make a mental note to ask about.

“Shouldn’t you be freaking out right now?” The question comes as you root through the toiletries to find his first aid kit. You let the question sit between you as you finally find the blue box. You don’t know what to say. There should be anxiety or fear or anger at the lies but there just isn’t. 

"I’m taking a rain check on it.” Is what comes out of your mouth as you make your way back to the living room and Marc nods again. He remains quiet and still as you sit down again, closer this time so that you can pull his hand into your own easier. Silence is quickly becoming a third member of your....whatever it was Marc and you were. He doesn’t hiss in pain from the disinfectant, nor does he shy away when you begin wrapping the knuckles. 

“It’s not Sailor Moon, it’s Moon Knight,” Another peace offering. Marc isn’t the most comfortable with handing out information, you know that much about him for certain, and yet again he’s doing so without prodding or pushing. This is why, you think to yourself, this is why I’m not freaking out. 

“I was half right,” when you chance a glance at him there’s a ghost of a smile and it feels like a win. “so then Mr. Knight-”

“Different suit.”

“How did all that happen?” His hand is done being cared for but you don’t let it go. Marc doesn’t pull it back either though so you allowed yourself this comfort. The openness he was trying for seemed to be slipping away and with a small shake of his head and a grimace he speaks again.

“It doesn’t matter really,” His gaze lingers on the two of you connect and you give his hand a small squeeze.

“It does to me.” Your tone is quiet but firm, and you don’t move your line of vision from his face. A decision that lets you see the way that he struggles before speaking. 

“I died. That ordeal was the price of not staying that way.” The speed at which your heart drops to the floor makes you sick. His tone is even carefully casual, eyes still locked on your hands and the way your grip tightens is reflexive this time. 

“You died?” There aren’t always physical scars left behind from a near death experience. You know better than that, but you can’t help looking over him again, reexamining the shadows of his face and what they may be hiding. 

“Yeah. It’s not nearly as fun as you’d think,” There’s a halfhearted smile, an attempt to brush off your concern and as warm as you feel at the concern for your emotions its meaningless to you at the moment. The hand not grasping his moves to cup his cheek and the smile slips.

“I didn’t think it was fun at all.” There’s an intensity in the gaze you two share. It’s not the first time that his eyes have made your mouth run dry with the emotion in them but its the first time that you don’t break first to busy yourself, just hold his face and wait. “Are you okay? When did this happen?”

“A while ago.” His mouth barely opens when he speaks, words little more than a murmur as your companion looks at you like he’s waiting for a shoe to drop.

“Marc,” His name feels like an ember under your tongue, burning slowly and surely but only a breathe away from igniting into something more. You’re not sure if the fire would burn you up into ash or help forge you into something new. You can almost feel him lean into the hand on his face but you don’t dare mention it. 

“I’m alive.” Another murmur. Another hard swallow. You wonder if Marc is worried about what may spill out of his lips if he was a bit looser with them. You also wonder if he would let you kiss him again. 

“That’s not what I asked.” You’re sure there’s more anxiety in your veins than blood and you’re not sure it will ever stop. He died and he’s trying to brush it off like crumbs from a shirt. Your mind lingers on that monster from the museum, was it another one of those? Was it something worse? Did he have someone with him when he died or was he alone. Gods you hope he wasn’t alone.

“I’m sorry.” He says after a minute and the anxiety moves to defensive anger, hand dropping from his face so you don’t do something stupid like actually kiss him again. 

“Don’t you dare. Without you I’d be dead right now-”

“Without me you wouldn’t have been in the museum at all.” Marc’s own anger flares up, you can see it in the tension in his shoulders in the way that his own hand tightens on your own, in the furrow of his brow. The venom in his voice isn’t directed towards you but it still stings. “You wouldn’t been safer if you had never met me.”

“And I’d be all the worse off for it.” The knee jerk response gets another scoff from Marc and you wish you could just get into his head, just for a second. There has to have been some way for you to get through to him that he mattered to you, that he was important to you and you wouldn’t trade anything for your four am talks on anything and everything. But for all you don’t know about Marc Spector, you remember how to make him smile. “For one thing I definitely would have failed the test without you.”

And smile he does, even if it’s weak and lasts for barely a second, you can see the tension drain in part and even a baby step is better than staying still. 

“You could have died.” Another whisper, rawer. You don’t have the time to pick apart the layers in his voice but gods you want to. There’s more than anger there, more than fear. Marc is still looking at you, but it feels more like when you’re trying to convince someone to believe you and for all that happened in the past twenty four hours, you don’t. 

“I could be hit by a car tomorrow and die. I could eat bad fish and get food poisoning. I could be roped into a bank robbery but you know what I didn’t. I met you. That’s more like,” There’s a thousand things you want to say, a million allegories you could give him but you know deep in your bones that Marc wouldn’t let you get hurt and that meeting him was the best thing that could have happened at 1:36 am on a Wednesday morning. “That’s more like winning the lottery.”

“Right.” You pull away first, closing the first aid box and standing. There’s a tinge of disbelief but you can see in his shoulder’s that you’ve gotten your point across for now. 

“No, really, you’re a godsend. A great way to offload stale donuts and raise my gpa.” There’s a bit more of an authentic laugh behind you as you begin to move about the kitchen, quickly falling into familiar steps of making tea. There’s more information you’ll need before you leave, and there’s bound to be an uncomfortable conversation or two in the hours to come, but for now there’s just the two of you and that’s enough. 

[trip-tuckers-hyperspanner]

The Time During The Away Mission - 3

5 Times Trip Was Dumb + 1 Time He Wasn't

“Commander, I would highly recommend not touching anything brightly colored in a habitat like this one,” T’Pol said, watching Trip rifle through the foliage out of the corner of her eye. She was scanning the area with her tricorder. “There are plenty of species in this environment that could be highly poisonous.”

“Don’t worry your pretty little head, missy,” Trip hummed, crouching down to study the dirt. He poked at some moss like it might crawl away or squirm or something. “I grew up in the American South. During my teenage years, I spent my summers in the Keys; my sister still lives in Florida.”

“I am familiar with Earth geography, Commander. It doesn’t excuse your dangerous behavior.”

“Is it really logical to worry about me?” he smirked. He swiveled his head to look at her. She was totally expressionless, save for the slight raise of her eyebrow. She always did that around him.

“It is logical to tell you that your behavior is illogical. What is not logical, however, is letting this obvious precariousness rule over my mind.” She closed her tricorder and clipped it to her side. She stood beside Trip as he continued to look. “This planet has highly enriched soil. It’s quite impressive; it would be suitable for colonization and farming.”

“Yeah; it would be a great summer home, don’t you think?” He dusted off his thighs and stood up — he had gotten a few leaves stuck in his hair. He waltzed over to T’Pol. “This biome reminds me of Florida, actually.”

“Do you miss your family?” T’Pol inquired. She turned to face Trip more fully. “You have spoken about them frequently since we arrived here.”

“I guess I do. But it’s not only that — I guess I just trust you more. I like what we’ve got goin’ on.” Commander Tucker set his hands on his hips, swaying a tad as he took her in. “You’d say we’re close, wouldn’t you?”

“You are indeed one of the few individuals I prefer to spend my time with,” she answered. She very gently plucked a leaf from his head and removed it. 

“Yeah, me and that guy you’re sweet on,” he teased, bending down so their faces were closer. She removed another leaf. “Are you gettin’ anywhere with him? Or do I need to talk with him and convince him he’s missing out?”

“I would say there is sufficient progress concerning our future courtship.”

“What about your fiancé Koss, huh? Are you still gonna marry him? Or does this attachment of yours just count as a little dalliance?” 

As T’Pol removed the last pieces of foliage from Trip’s hair, she took a brief moment to think up a response. She had neglected to consider how much he knew about her personal life. “It would be more logical for me to mate with a human when my objective is to study human culture. That is the purpose of my placement on Enterprise, is it not? I would be able to report on every aspect of human life from a personal angle.”

Trip frowned. “So you’re sayin’ you’re only interested in this poor guy because he’d make your job easier? Does he know about this?”

“It is not the only reason. It is simply an added bonus,” she told him. It was an attempt to calm him down before his temper continued to build; she wouldn’t want his feelings hurt before she reached her proposition. “My reasons for picking my mate are entirely personal; however, I must consider every aspect of it before I make my final decision.”

“And Koss just isn’t a good fit anymore?”

“Koss and I desire different things in life. I briefly considered staying his betrothed when he threatened my mother’s position at the Vulcan Science Academy, but thankfully, logical reasoning won at the end of the day. Her reasons were valid to the High Counsel. Not to mention the charges were clearly falsified.” She squared her shoulders. This was the only indication she was pleased to be telling him such things. “Koss and I no longer have a marriage agreement.”

Trip’s jaw dropped. “T’Pol! You didn’t tell me any of that,” he scolded lightly. He grinned widely. “So you’re not engaged anymore? Oh! Wow! Just wait until your guy hears that.”

“I anticipate his reaction will be somewhat similar to yours.”

“Can I be there to see it?” he asked, excited.

“Perhaps. I must tell you that you know him quite well,” she informed him. She started walking deeper into the forest they had been surveying. Trip followed.

“I do? It can’t be Malcolm, can it? You know he and Hoshi just started going out or something, right?” he asked, having trouble keeping her pace. She was more graceful than he was; he was tripping over everything (pun intended). Every rock, tree, and root caught each limb he possessed. 

“I was aware of their courtship before they were,” she said. She turned back to Trip, letting him catch up with her. He stood as close as he could to T’Pol without touching her. “Are you alright, Commander?”

“Of course, I am. Don’t get a bee in your bonnet, missy. And also, I knew you did since I was tellin’ you everything I thought was goin’ on, wasn’t I?” He brushed his shirt off. Suddenly, he made a very harsh expression. “It’s not Archer, is it?”

“Would it bother you if I were considering Captain Archer for courtship?” she asked. As soon as she said it, he knew Jon wasn’t even in the running. Still, it rubbed him the wrong way when he thought about it.

“It would, actually, considering he’s the highest-ranking officer on the ship,” he said. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. “And also, also, I don’t think you two are well-suited.”

“We work quite well together.”

“It doesn’t mean you should go off and get married. I mean, think about it. He likes water polo. No one likes water polo.” Trip pushed a branch out of T’Pol’s way. “Okay, aside from that terrible suggestion” — He bobbed his head to add even more emphasis than his voice did — “who could you possibly be interested in that I know very well?”

“He’s only a candidate for courtship,” she reminded him. She waited for him to pass under the branch. “He would still have to accept my proposition.”

“I don’t understand why anyone wouldn’t,” Tucker said sincerely.

“Would you?”

“Yeah, sure, if that was the kind of relationship you and I had,” he said nonchalantly. T’Pol suspected he had never considered a serious relationship with anyone in many years. She doubted he even realized he was on the list.

“I appreciate your high opinion of me,” she said instead. Clearly, he was not ready for courtship. “It is comforting to know you will be supportive of my choice.”

“Oh, no, T’Pol, that’s not what I said.” He crossed his arms. They still hadn’t resumed walking. It appeared Commander Tucker couldn’t walk and talk at the same time. “I said you’re the kind of gal who no one would refuse. That doesn’t mean I think any nobody deserves you.”

“Do you have an opinion of who does?” she questioned.

“Someone that fits all your qualifications. Handsome, smart, interesting, and caring. Archer might if he was more interesting in the world of romance. Trust me, I love the guy to pieces, but he’s not compatible with you.” He tilted his head as he thought. “Malcolm’s taken. Travis is handsome, smart, and caring, and he’s got interesting aspects. I don’t see you two together, though. Phlox…” He winced. “He’s got three wives, but not your type, I’d say.”

“You have very informed opinions,” she complimented. “But that does not answer my question about who you believe… ‘deserves’ me.”

Trip stuck his tongue out as he continued to think. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I don’t like the idea of you with anybody here, actually.”

“Perhaps you’re experiencing jealousy?” she suggested.

“Naw.”

T’Pol gave him a pointed look. “Are you certain this is not denial, Commander?”

“Believe me, T’Pol, I am happy as long as you’re happy,” he said, giving her a soft smirk. “Is it my fault that there’s a terrible range of options on the Enterprise?”

“Perhaps your perspective is skewed.”

“I seriously doubt it.”

“Despite my species’ limited telepathic abilities, I cannot read your mind, Commander.” She looked him over. Trip rolled his eyes as he felt her judgement.

“Then I s’pose you’ll just have to believe me,” he said. “What about me, huh? What if I asked you to make me a ‘candidate for courtship’?”

It seemed he was catching on. T’Pol gently nodded once. “You would be considered if you were sincere in your question.”

“And who do you think I would be a good fit with?” he ventured. He bounced on the balls of his feet. “Since you’re so logical.”

She had a glint of humor in her eyes. “Perhaps a woman with a niche taste in old-fashioned human entertainment systems.”

“Someone we know, T’Pol.” He laughed. “Who’s good for me?”

T’Pol took a sharp breath in. “Ensign Sato is already courting someone else; Lieutenant Briggs is not compatible with you in any way except physically; even with the other officers below you who could satisfy you both emotionally and sexually, it would be highly inappropriate for you to pursue a relationship.”

“So nobody, then?”

“I’m sure there is a perfectly sound candidate for you, Commander,” she said.  She considered the chances of this being an example of poor human flirtation tactics. “Would you like me to look?”

“Are you offerin’?”

“Only if you would desire it.”

“I’m happy the way I am, T’Pol, but thank you for askin’.” He chuckled at her and then continued walking. He was overtly pleased with himself. “Let’s see what else we can find in this forest, huh?”

T’Pol let Tucker lead this time. As they wandered over logs and little creeks, she asked, “Are we searching for more plant life or are you suggesting we look for animals?”

“Oh, why not both? This is a survey, isn’t it?” Trip scratched his head. “D’you think there’s a pond nearby?”

“Your constant search for pleasure distracts you from the task at hand.”

“It’s making the best of my situation, actually,” he smirked, wagging his eyebrows at her. “Besides, you know you love goofing off with me.”

“We do not ‘goof off.’”

“So asking me about which candidate is best for matehood is just… part of the job?” he asked smugly. T’Pol merely whipped out her tricorder and scanned the area once more. 

Commander Tucker set his bag down on the ground, turning to a tree. “Do you think the captain would allow for romantic relationships on board?”

“Of course,” she answered. “As long as crew members aren’t directly working with each other or in the same chain of command, there would be no reason to forbid it entirely.”

“Even if it’s unprofessional?”

“A lieutenant from the armory courting an ensign linguist would not directly impact team performance,” she continued. She took in her findings and saved them. M-Class to the very core. The only unusual part of the planet was its bright pigmentation. “You have no reason to worry for Lieutenant Reed and Ensign Sato. Their relationship, if handled properly, will only impact their ability to serve on some away missions.”

“How would that work for you, then? With your guy?” Trip asked, setting up the equipment for a widespread inspection. He pulled out a tripod and set up a specially-designed device T’Pol had not yet had time to make inquiries about. It was fascinating to watch him work under these circumstances. 

“It will be no different than how it is now, Commander.” 

He hummed as he tapped several buttons on the device. “That’s all calibrated… Did I convince you not to pursue him or something?”

“You did not,” she told him honestly. “Our relationship would simply not be affected by the chain of command.”

“Even though you’re Archer’s first officer?”

“I’ve thought it all out, Commander. Do you doubt me and my abilities?”

Tucker shook his head. “’Course not, but I still think it’s…” He trailed off and made a face. “Besides, the only person who could be pretty unaffected is me.”

T’Pol didn’t say anything. 

“Or is this guy just so low on the chain of command that he barely exists?”

The Vulcan turned to the human. “I would suggest we stay on topic for the remainder of our survey mission.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

[venusiangguk]

gold rush | jjk (m)

>>pairing: jungkook x reader

>>genre: pwp, smut, college au (kinda), established relationship

>>word count: 5k+

>>warnings: oral (m/f), fingering (f), phone sex, normal sex, explicit sex, slapping tits, slapping, crying, degrading, dirty talk, all the sex stuff, jks a lil mean and condescending but it’s very cool and sexy

>>notes: hello! this is my first post on here :) it’s part of a longer scenario i’m just seeing how it’s received before posting the full length version~~

>>summary: jk comes back from a weekend away and he wants to show you just how much he missed you. 

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

It’s a Saturday night and you’re laying in your boyfriends dorm room bed by yourself. You’re bored and alone because Jeongguk had an away tournament that was far enough to warrant a hotel for the weekend. Typically you would have tagged along like many of the students at your university, but you had had a test on Friday that you couldn’t miss. Which is why you found yourself wrapped in one of his t shirts, under his blanket scrolling absently through your phone not really paying attention to anything much, just going from app to app.

Due to the lack of anything better to do, you boredly slipped your hand under the waist band of your panties. Not particularly horny... just passing the time you would say. You casually ran your fingertips over your smooth lips before yanking your hand out, being struck with an idea. You quickly type a text to Jeongguk.

you :

hi

i’m touching myself rn

Short sweet and to the point. You nibble on your lip as you see the typing bubble pop up not even 5 seconds after it says ‘delivered’.

koo 🥴:

hi

pics ? 🥺

You roll your eyes. Two years of dating and that’s still how he responds.

you :

no way

wyd rn ??

koo 🥴:

:(

why not

i’m at dinner w my team

jimin and tae say hi

-insert pic-

You smile at the pic your boyfriend took of his friends. You were pretty close to all of the team but more so Taehyung and Jimin, seeing as you and Jeongguk would go on double dates with the couple quite often.

you:

tell them i said hi and that they should kiss 😌

Immediately he responds.

koo 🥴:

they said only if u send me pics 😌

You laugh before snapping a selfie to send to him.

you:

you didn’t even ask them but ok 🙄

koo 🥴:

ur in my shirt while jerking off ?

😩 🤌 🏻

pics PLASE

PLEASE**

You giggle and you’re about to respond when you get a facetime call from him.

“You’re so impatient,” You scold. From the looks of it, he’s in a bathroom stall.

“And you’re so mean.” He pouts. “Lemme see ‘em.”

You think about being annoying and making him wait more, but he looks so handsome and hopeful that you just can’t bring yourself to tease much. You grab the bottom of his loose t shirt and pull it up and tuck it under your chin. The cool air of the room makes your nipples harden and you grab one of your tits in your free hand and squeeze and shake it gently. “These?” You ask sweetly.

His eyes are hooded and he subconsciously runs his tongue over his lips before biting the plump bottom one softly. He’s blushing when he says, “Mhmm, they’re so pretty. Will you lick them for me, baby?”

You groan. “You know I hate doing that.”

He swallows, and fusses with his hair for a second before his hand goes out of frame again. “I know it just- makes me so hard, I love watching you do it. You don’t have to though.”

You sigh and grip under your boob, and do your best to get your nipple to your mouth. They aren’t small but at the same time they aren’t the biggest so its kinda tough, but if you really try you can get it done. Once you swirl your tongue around your nipple, you hear a soft moan come from your phone speaker and you feel it go straight to your pussy. You suck on your nipple a little more before pulling off with a loud pop!

“Are you hard?” You ask, a slight shake to your voice as you get more and more turned on. He nods. “Are you touching?” He nods again. “Show me.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He pulls his sweater up and holds it between his teeth so you can see his toned stomach as well as the bulge in his pants. He runs his hand over it, toying with the tip some, making soft muffled noises fall from his lips. His stomach tenses a little bit.

You put your hand down your panties again, and tease a little at your clit. “You look so good, I wish you weren’t so far away...” You whine quietly.

Jeongguk groans and brings his face back into view. “I know, baby. I can’t even stay here with you to help or coach will get suspicious. We are supposed to be team bonding before the final game tomorrow.” He rolls his eyes. “I’ve got to will this boner away and go back out there.” He sounds like it pains him as much as it pains you to finish off alone.

“Take it out really quick, just for a second,” You say quickly before he goes.

He scowls playfully. “I really can’t stay, so just a little.”

You lick your lips and nod quickly, rubbing your fingers on your clit a little faster.

He gets the angle right and unbuttons his pants and pulls his hard cock out just enough for him to stroke up and down. He groans once he gets a hand around himself at the same time that you let out a high pitch moan.

Jeongguks cock is so pretty. It’s fat and plump and pink. Shiny at the tip where he’s already leaking. He always gets so wet for you, just like you get wet for him. His hand wrapped around himself is truly a sight. His long slender fingers moving up and down before the whole hand grips around his girth. He’s thick and long and the thought of him filling you up makes you whine and your pussy pulse.

“Are you touching yourself baby?” He whispers.

You nod. “Yes, yeah... please come home. Right now.”

He hums on a laugh. “Show me how wet that pretty pussy gets for me.”

You swirl your fingers around your wetness before bringing the glistening digits up into view of the camera. He groans and his head falls back before putting the camera back down to his cock to show you how fast he’s stroking.

“You get that wet for me even though I’m miles and miles away? How slutty baby... How do you taste hmm? Sweet like when I last tasted you just a couple of days ago?”

You’re just about to suck your fingers into your mouth for him when you hear a door open through your phone speaker.

“Kook? It’s time to stop jerking off and participate in the bonding activities, Captain .”

You can tell from the deep voice that it’s Taehyung that came to get him. You giggle quietly.

“Yeah yeah, I’m coming give me a minute.” He says through the bathroom stall. He sighs, and gives you a playful eye roll like he’s exasperated.

“Don’t cum while I’m here, and be thankful that it was me that came to get you and not coach. Bye y/n!” He says loudly.

“Bye Tae!” You squeak as you hear the door close.

Jeongguk groans, but smiles lazily at you. “Guess I gotta go.”

You hum. “Guess you do Captain.”

He laughs a little as he does his pants back up, tucking his now mostly soft cock away. “I love you. Cheer me on tomorrow. I’ll see you after, but I probably won’t get back to the dorms till late. Are you gonna be there still or are you going back to yours?”

“I’ll wait for you. Score a goal for me, and text me later. Love you.” You smooch at the screen and Jeongguk does the same before the call ends.

And with that you are once again left alone, but a lot more horny than before the talk. So you do what any sensible person would do.

You pull up the hub.

~~~

Jeongguk walks into his dorm room around 10 pm, and the first thing he sees is you, right where you were when you hung up the night before after your little facetime sesh. The only difference is that you’re wearing a different shirt, still his, and you have ice cream in your hand and your laptop set up on your lap a show playing in the background.

At the sound of the door opening your eyes find his and you quickly set your food down on his night stand, and fling the covers off your lap, paying no mind to the mac book that is now buried somewhere under his comforter, before squealing and flinging yourself into his arms.

He grabs you easily, bags dropping to the floor, hands under your butt to keep you hoisted. You wrap you legs around his tiny waist and smush your lips to his cheek and mumble a distorted, “I missed you.”

“Okay so kiss me about it,” He says back, eyes glinting and lips puckered.

You giggle, placing your hands on his cheeks, angling your head to slot your lips between his. He parts easily for you, and starts to walk you both back to his bed before he drops you where he found you. You bounce lightly and take a second to take him in.

He’s wearing oversized comfy clothes, grey sweats and a big white long sleeve shirt. His long hair is soft and shiny, falling over his pretty face delicately. He must have had a shower at the hotel after the game. He looks soft and oh so sweet. You just want to devour him. From the looks of the semi in his pants, he’s feeling the same way about you.

“Ah, already getting hard for me?” You coo, hand cupping him over his sweats. He pushes against your palm, unashamed. “You just got here baby.”

He shrugs looking down at you. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you all weekend. I had to rub one out in the bathroom room last night as soon as we got back to the hotel. Tae and Jimin were right outside.”

You nuzzle into the material of his sweats feeling his cock quickly become fully erect as you mouth at it. His hand comes down to cup your cheek, run through your hair. “I watched porn after we got off the phone.”

“Did you?” He asks, shifting away for a second so he can pull his sweats down, leaving him in his briefs. You see a little wet patch where the tip is. You suck lightly over the material and he moans loud and clear for you. He sounds so much prettier in person, over the phone just doesn’t compare.

“Yeah, came so hard. Was thinking about you and me.”

“Fuck. Did you make a mess all over my sheets?”

You shake your head as you slowly pull the waist band of his briefs down his hard cock. Once it’s free it bounces in front of your face, flushed and begging for your mouth. You stroke lightly while saying, “No, but I did find something that I wanna try.” You flick your tongue under the head and the hand in your hair tightens and pushes slightly. You part your lips and let him in.

“Mmm, you can tell me all about it once I’m done with you. I can’t wait any longer baby. Swallow me,” He moans, both hands going to the back of your head and pulling you farther onto his cock. He jerks when he feels you swallow around the tip. “So fucking good.” He sighs.

You let him have his way, fucking your throat a little, although he’s much gentler than he usually is when he does it, and he does it for a much shorter time. He must be tired from the weekend, or he must have something else in mind for tonight.

“Lay back baby.” He says when he pulls out of your throat, crawling on the mattress. He finds your discarded laptop and places it under the bed out of the way. You both remove the rest of your clothes before you do as he says and he settles down between your legs.

You figure since he got hard literally on arrival, that he wouldn’t waste time with teasing, would get right to the good part. But no. He takes his sweet time kissing, licking and biting at your thighs, squeezing them roughly in his hands. He nuzzles into your skin flicking the lightest lick over you pussy lips before pulling back and blowing a little. You gasp and roll your hips, trying to get him closer to where you wanted, spreading your legs even farther apart, presenting yourself to him. But he’s having none of that.

“Stop fucking squirming,” He groans before you feel his grip tighten on your hips. But still he doesn’t go where you want him, so you fight against his hold.

“Stop teasing then,” you whine with a scowl.

He bites at your inner thigh. “Hush baby.”

You huff and hit your tiny fists on the bed, frustrated and fussy. “Make me.”

Jeongguk stills and you gulp. He glances up from between your thighs, and he quirks an eyebrow at you.

“What was that?” He asks, much too calmly.

“I said make me.” You whisper poutily.

He sighs and sits up. You get to whine for just a second before you’re yelping and squeezing your legs shut. He just smacked your pussy.

“Shut up.” He says. He doesn’t sound angry, very casual in fact. He rubs his hands over your legs, easing them back open. “Y’know y/n, I had a very long weekend. Travelled hours to play 4 games in two days. Travelled hours back.” He’s running his fingertips over your pussy lips, smearing around the slick you know is pouring out of you. You shiver. You love it when he gets like this. You love it every time your guys are together, but when he’s extremely one way or the other, extremely dominant or extremely submissive? It just makes your entire body burn and your pussy ache. “I even scored a goal for you in the final.” He glances at you, finally sneaking his finger between your folds, he grazes your clit and you shiver, legs spreading even more. “All I wanted to do was get home and take care of you... Make my girl feel good...” He’s rubbing circles around the little nub and your hips slowly start to rock into his touch, breathing heavy from the pleasure. His girl. Yes. You’re his girl. You tell him so.

“Really?” He asks. You nod. He hums. “That’s funny because all I see here is a brat .” He spits out, before another smack lands on your sensitive cunt.

You cry out, trying to close your legs again, but he holds them open. He settles between them again and says sternly, “Now be good. I’m going to do it how I want. Do you understand?” You whisper a tiny yes. He sighs like he’s relieved that you’re not going to be difficult and put up much of a fight, so he can finally do what he’s been wanting to for days. He pushes back on your thighs so your cunt it fully exposed to him, and he spits on it before rubbing his fingers around the sticky mess. Every time he rubs over your clit you twitch, but you’re trying to be good.

“So fucking messy baby. So gross.” He says sweetly as presses his tongue flat on your opening before licking all the way to your clit. He moans at the taste of you despite his words just a moment ago and your eyes roll back. He’s in a mean mood now. And you’re gushing for it. “You’re lucky you’re so pretty baby... because your little cunt is so nasty , just leaking all over the place. I’ve barely even touched her, and she’s dripping down to my sheets. How did you manage to keep them clean while I was gone hmm?” He doesn’t let you respond, quickly sucking your clit into his mouth suctioning it just a bit before flicking the tip of his tongue over it quickly.

“Ah, f-fuck-“ You gasp. You raise yourself onto your elbows so you can watch. He hums around your clit before he flicks his eyes to you. You whimper, squeezing your eyes shut before falling to your back again, not able to handle the gaze he gives you.

He pulls off and uses his fingers to open your lips and pull the hood back before making his tongue flat and licking slowly over your exposed clit.

“Oh my god- That’s- that feels so good baby,” You say between breaths. Your legs are starting to get a slight tremble to them but still, you pull them farther back, making yourself as open as you can for his tongue.

He hums and then smiles, biting at your clit gently, making you jolt. “Feels good baby?” He rubs his fingers all over your core again. You nod and he says, “Could have felt good before and not had spanks if you weren’t so fucking bad.” He swats your cunt again lightly, before sighing and kissing your clit sweetly. Your head is spinning from the switches in his mood but you love it. Love that you don’t know what to expect when he slides his fingers into you. He moans and rests his head on your inner thigh, watching as his fingers slip in and out of your heat. He looks like he’s in awe of your cunt, watching as it clenches and sucks his fingers in. He looks so lovely between your legs.

“Always so fucking tight, can’t wait to get my cock in here.” When he says ‘here’ he curls his fingers inside of you and your back arches off of the bed, and you moan his name loudly. “That’s it baby...” He whispers against your core before he starts to thrust his fingers into you, curling on the pull out. He adds his mouth and you start to shake. Your hands find his hair and you pull him closer, feel him lick and suck at your clit like its the best thing he’s ever tasted. He moans while he eats your pussy. And he has the nerve to call you nasty. He’s absolutely filthy.

“I- close-“ You choke out, relishing in the sloppy wet pleasure that his mouth and fingers are giving you.

He says ‘mhmm’ against your clit before pulling away to get out a quick, “Fuck. Yeah you are, cum for me.” and then he’s diving right back in, focusing on where you’re most sensitive, your clit and your g spot.

“There baby, yeah- fuck , don’t stop ,” You whine quietly as your body tenses. Your legs are shaking out of control, before the string in you snaps and you cry out. Your thighs close around his head and you grind your cunt into his face riding out your orgasm before it gets too much and your try to squirm away. But Jeongguk holds you there until you’re almost crying from the overstimulation.

You pull at his hair, begging him to stop, and finally, he does. He pulls away from your messy cunt, and lays himself on top of you before kissing you deep, wasting no time sticking his tongue in your mouth so you can taste yourself on him. You moan and twine your fingers through his long hair, arching your body to get as close to him as you can. You feel him start to rut his cock over your sensitive core, and gasp. He’s so hard, you can feel him throb against you. He pulls away and grips his cock at the base, lining it up with your pussy before sliding it up and down, teasing your clit even more, mixing his precum with his spit and your slick. He focuses his frenulum on your clit, and his hips twitch. His head rolls back, and his mouth opens in a silent moan. He pulls back and when he looks at you again, he looks wild. His eyes are dark with desire and his pupils are blown. His hands grip at your body like he can’t get enough of you. You’ll have pretty little bruise blossoms all over your body in the morning. Finally, the tip of his cock breaches your center.

You’re so hot, and tight, and so fucking wet around him, that Jeongguk can’t keep the moan that falls from his lips locked away as he pushes inside of you. He pushes all the way to the hilt, you can feel him flush against your clit. Your mouth falls open in pleasure, but your eyes never leave him, the first thrust always being your favorite. Finally getting filled up like you wanted. You can feel him in your belly, heat pooling there as he lets you adjust to his size. Sometimes he likes press his hand into your tummy while he fucks you. Says can feel his cock splitting you open. You watch the man above you part his lips and furrow his brows in pleasure while he does his best to not go too fast, tries not to thrust into you wildly like he so wants to.

He’s leaning over you, hands on the side of your head. You run your palms up his sides, whispering, “I’m good, you feel so good. Give it to me please.” You lean up and press a kiss to his collarbone.

He’s quick as he hikes your legs up and hooks them on his shoulders. He rests some of his weight on you, bending you in half as he starts moving his hips. He pulls out to just the tip before slamming back in with one swift motion. Your hands claw at his back, the angle he has you in allowing him to reach even deeper. Gasps are punched out of you as he starts to set his brutal, sharp pace, not forgetting how bad your were earlier. He’s going to make sure you feel every inch of him for days.

“Oh my god, fuck. That’s so fucking good, Jeongguk. Please fuck me,” Your moans are high pitched and close to sobs.

He leans back some and spreads your legs wide, hands on your ankles to keep them open and he looks down slowing his thrust to watch as he slides into your little cunt. Your pussy is swollen and pink around his cock. He can see your arousal shiny on the base of his cock. “Fuuuck,” He moans as he closes his eyes basking in the feel of you clenching tight around him. He’s slowly pulling his cock from you, only for you pussy to pull him right back in. “This pussy was made to take my cock, huh?” He says speeding up. You nod and tell him, “Yes only your cock gets me this wet, this fucking hot.” He pumps his cock into you hard enough for you to get jostled, so your words come out in choppy and incoherent moans.

The way he’s fucking you makes your tits bounce, perky and pretty. He growls and leans down to suck a nipple into his mouth. You arch into his touch, cute little mewls falling from your lips as his tongue flicks over the small bud. You brush his long hair out of his eyes, holding him to your tit as he makes goosebumps rise to your skin.

“That feels so nice baby,” You say. It’s quiet and desperate, you head thrown back, neck extended and bared to him.

His eyes flick up to look at you, still playing with your nipples. He sees you bared in submission and can’t help the hand that rubs up your torso all the way to your neck. Just begging to have a hand around it. He pulls off your your tit, letting one of your legs fall to around his waist and you moan loud and long as the picks up his pace again.

Your favorite position. He knows how to fuck you any and every way, but like this he fucks you just right, making you fall apart in no time at all. The hand around your throat tightens at the sides, making the moans and whines that come out of your mouth high pitched and airy. The lack of blood flow to your brain makes you feel lightheaded and fuzzy, almost euphoric as he fucks you into submission. His free hand smacks your tits lightly, and you clench from the dull pain as they jiggle. Jeongguk swears.

“God your pussy is just milking my cock, not even letting me pull out all the way. Such a greedy , selfish little cunt. Can’t get enough of this cock filling her up.” He grips your hips with both hands and watches your pussy swallow his cock.

You giggle, soft and delirious as you feel the first signs of your orgasm pool in the pit of your belly, right where Jeongguk’s cock is pounding into you.

“You think that’s funny?” He questions. He grips your jaw and makes you look at him. Your cheeks are smushed and your eyes water from the hold he has on you. “You think being a selfish, greedy little slut is funny?” He presses against the side of your face, biting at your cheek like he just needs to sink his teeth into something to let out some of the pent of feelings coursing through his veins.

“I just love it. Love your cock so much,” You whimper.

Jeongguk pulls back so he can look into your eyes again. He looks at you mockingly. “You love it?” His voice is condescending and it makes your pussy drip. “You fucking love it?” He looks crazed as his hips jackhammer into your cunt, the slaps of his skin meeting yours ringing loud and clear throughout the dorm. Bless his poor neighbors.

“Yes, yes I fucking love it,” God you’re going to cum.

He feels how close you are, sees the way your legs are trembling. He’s moaning when he says, “Shit baby, show me how much you love it. Show me, make that little pussy cream all over my fat cock.”

You nod helplessly as your body jerks in his hold. You can feel your pussy contract over his cock as he brings you the precipice of your pleasure. Tears fall from your eyes from how overwhelmingly good it feels.

Jeongguk fucks into you a few more times, the last of your orgasm leaving your body, as you listen to the higher pitched moans falling from his lips at a faster rate than before. He gasps as he pulls out and positions himself over your heaving chest, cock right in your face as he fists it fast.

“Fuck, open you mouth,” He says, voice dripping with pleasure. You do, smiling, tongue out. He groans deep before his hips jerk and he whispers, “I’m gonna cum,” with heavy lust filled eyes. You feel the first shot of cum land on your cheek.

“Mmm yeah, cum all over my face,” You hum, blissed out.

He milks every last drop of his load out, and you suckle on the tip until he’s whining and shivering, pulling back with an overwhelmed, overly sensitive gasp.

He catches his breath for a second before he gets up and makes his way to bathroom. He sees you about to wipe the cum off your face and says, “Wait a sec.”

You sit patiently, criss cross apple sauce, cum on your face, eyes red and wet from the tears you shed, until he comes back with a wet wash cloth in one hand. He makes a stop at his bags on the floor and fishes his phone out.

He sets the wash cloth on the night stand next to your forgotten, melted ice cream and pulls up the camera.

“Smile baby,” He says, softly giggling.

You do, big and radiant, throwing up a little finger heart. You hear the shutter a few times before his phone takes the place of the wash cloth on the night stand. You reach for it to clean yourself, but he pulls away, wanting to do it himself.

You smile as he concentrates and gently cleans up his mess from your face. His tongue peaks out of his lips and you peck him. He stills before scowling with a small smile, and continuing.

“You look so pretty when you have my nut all over you face,” He says absently. His thumb brushes under you eye. “When you cry too.” He cups your jaw and runs his thumb over your cheek bone. “I wasn’t too mean was I? Too rough?” His eyes search yours. You shake your head.

“No I like it when you get like that, ‘s sexy,” You say wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him so that you both are laying down. You wrap around him like a koala. He yawns and settles in your hold, snuggling into the bed.

“Okay good. You can be mean next time,” He sounds sleepy.

You scoff, knowing that you both know that when you take control it’s in a softer way. Degrading and being mean was his thing, what you liked. Jeongguk liked to be praised.

“Yeah okay,” You say sarcastically. “You’d cry in a non sexy way if I was even half as mean to you as you are to me,” You scratch at his scalp and he purrs.

“I’m sensitive,” He whines. Another yawn. “And sleepy. Shhhh.”

“Jeongguk wait,” You say.

“Hmm?” He says already close to knocking out.

“I wanna eat your ass next time.”

“Mhmm, okay. Now sleep please. Turn off the lamp.” He turns over, wanting to be the little spoon.

You know he didn’t actually listen to what you said, but that would not stop you from holding the ‘yes’ he gave you over his head in the morning when he’s more coherent. You flick off the lamp, and throw an arm over his waist. He snuggles back into you, fitting his body against yours. You kiss his shoulder and say, “Okay, remember that you said yes in the morning.”

All you get in response is a soft snore.

-------------------

and there it is! let me know if u want me to finish and post the whole thing! comments and feedback are appreciated!

part 2 here!

part 3 here!

[babblydrabbly]

Trust Me Pt. 2 (Rick Flag x Reader)

[Gif]

Pairing(s): Rick Flag x Reader

Characters: Rick Flag, Mentions of Amanda Waller.

Rating: General

Word Count: 1k+

Warning(s): Language, mentions of blood/violence; Suicide Squad (2021) spoilers, mentions of Suicide Squad (2016).

Summary: You were Waller’s rat. Her eyes and ears where technology failed in the field. You represented Rick’s failures and Amanda Waller’s iron grip. So why does he give a shit when you get yourself hurt on a suicide mission? Rick’s first impression has changed a lot since then, but so has yours. Part 2/?

A/N:  Pt 1 

Taglist:  @rrtxcmt @to-be-or-not-to-be-2021

---

You were infuriating. 

You hadn’t spoken two words to Rick since your initial introduction. She’ll be observing operations and providing support on your next mission out, Waller had said smugly. 

Rick threw open your thin dossier when it showed up on his desk for the first time, noting your standard experience in the field. Standard marksmanship. Standard everything. Your speciality was data analysis, for fuck’s sake. When the fuck would Flag need one of Waller’s number-crunching desk jockeys during a life or death mission? 

He even caught you rolling your eyes at his pep talk as the jet took off on your first flight out. Granted, it was the same speech he gave all the new members, but you certainly hadn’t heard it before— And it wasn’t for you.

But you played your part. Not a word during mission planning or the briefing— Not much chatter during the mission itself either— But a hell of a lot during debrief afterward. You even sent Waller a secondary report to be noted off record; A long laundry list of what could have been done more efficiently under team leader’s command. Him. You typed up a 2,500 word document just to drag him through the mud.

Which he read, of course. Several times. 

When his secret contact in Waller’s war room handed him the report, Rick noticed how nervous the man looked, and how quickly he hustled away. Rick wouldn’t have guessed half the bullshit you bothered to put in writing. 

“’Occasional pushover?’” Rick later says abruptly, interrupting your lunch. You jump as he slaps the report down on your desk. There’s stacks of paperwork everywhere, of information about every potential suicide squad member, every past one. Waller has you juggling multiple angles in between your mission outings.

You swallow what’s left of your wilted salad, turning pale, “Where did you get that?”

“’Tendency to be lenient toward prisoners.” Rick continues. He falls into the chair across from you, leaning back with casual disdain. 

“You weren’t supposed to—”

“What? Know how incompetent you think my command is?”

“I didn’t say incompetent.” 

“No,” He agreed, “You used every other word in the damn dictionary to say it.”

“Would you let me talk?” You crossed your arms and faced him. 

Rick threw a hand up, then calmed down. He watched as you stood, hurrying over to your office door to close it quietly. 

“It wasn’t personal.” You say as you sit back down.

“It’s a five page essay.”

“This isn’t high school, Flag.” You snapped. You spin the printed document around to look down at it. Rick leaned forward, a giant in your small guest chair, his elbows resting on his spread knees. He waited for you.

You exhale. “It’s... basically just what Waller wants to hear. What she already thinks of you. I didn’t say anything she doesn’t already complain about.”

Oh good. 

“Nice.” Rick huffs. “Good to know what kind of job I’m doing.”

“Why do you give a shit?” You suddenly ask. It wasn’t like Waller was keeping him from leading the task force. He was still a Colonel. You want to say as much, wondering how any of this could possibly get to someone like Rick Flag.

You observe how he looks away. How his brows pinch together. It was your job to take in the details. To convert it all into a sum game. Months ago, a good chunk of the stacks on your desk pertained to Colonel Rick Flag and Task Force X’s first run. When Waller told you what you would be doing, you wanted to be prepared.

So you read the data. Saw what he was like on paper. You conjured what you considered a total picture of the man before you ever met him. 

Which was why, after seeing him in the field yourself for the first time, you didn’t know what to say. 

You had seen what other security personnel were like at Belle Reve. The humiliation and the torment. You didn't have to go down to the prison building often, but you could hear the screams and the violence on the other side of the wall just the same. 

You read about the nano-bomb protocol, and how Rick initially had the power to blow each and every member’s brains out right there on his wrist— How he didn’t hesitate to use it the first time it happened. 

After that first mission, it was like you’d studied a totally different person. 

The man in the chair before you sighed, putting something heavy away behind his eyes before giving you a small shrug. “Guess I don’t.” He says. And when he leaves, you watch as he purposefully does not take the report with him. 

---

If the shouting match in Rick’s car hadn’t given you a headache yet, this lecture certainly would. You sat in your chair obediently as Amanda Waller ripped you a new asshole. You nodded your head in the right places. You wondered what Rick wanted to say to you, but didn’t. He was right—You weren’t fired. But you sort of wished you were if it meant you could just stop listening and get some rest.

“—Understood, [L/n]?” Waller finished firmly, eventually. 

You nod, giving an apologetic, “Yes, Ma’am.” 

You shuffle out of the war room with your debrief packet in your good hand. You feel a dull ache pulsating from the side of your face. When the warm night air hits you as you exit the building, you realize you don’t know where you’re going. 

“You ready to go?”

You blink up. Rick is closing his driver’s side door shut in an empty parking lot. He waits for you to come down the steps until you’re standing at the bottom in front of him. 

You glance around, “You’re still here?”

A faint look of bemusement. “I said I was getting you home after, didn’t I?”

“To the barracks?”

Rick unfolds his arms and approaches you closely, looking you over in the dark. “You’ve got a week’s leave, [L/n]. Did Waller even talk to you?”

You find yourself being ushered back into the car, and Rick does that thing where he closes the damn door for you like you can’t do it yourself. Like he’s taking care of you. 

“So, you gonna tell Siri where I’m takin’ you or what?” He quips, saddling into his seat. When you look at him his smirk dissipates. Suddenly, there’s a warm touch holding your chin in place, a thumb and forefinger turning your head as Rick examines you carefully. You feel a light puff of breath graze your cheek he’s looking at you so close.

“You popped a stitch.” He murmurs, concerned. As he says it, you feel the trickle of fresh blood seep down to the corner of your eye. You feel the exhaustion of three days without sleep wash over you, of all the adrenaline finally flushing from your system in one last sigh. You pull away from his careful grasp and lean back in your seat, closing your eyes.

“Just head into town.” You hear yourself say. You ramble off the cross streets and building number before finally slipping into something like sleep. 

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Come Now, Little Prince

Prompts: Hey uh... *brushed off dust from crashing in through the roof* Could you write something about Roman or Remus having Agoraphobia and them getting trapped somewhere? My brain just wants to relate. If not that’s fine! Love your writing! - anon

Might I suggest,,,, writing trope where the severely hurt person goes to their nemesis and says “sorry, I just didn’t have anywhere else to go” but it’s with Roman and Janus - 1namelessalien1

Ahh, yes, the inevitable. Honestly a lil surprised I haven't done this sooner but here we go! Finally...

Read on Ao3

Pairings: roceit, dukeceit, creativitwins. can be platonic or romantic you choose save for creativitwins. they brothers

Warnings: roman gets stabbed and has to get stitches, agoraphobia

Word Count: 7611

Cities are full of bright lights and shadows alike. Those that live in the light, the heroes, the 'good guys.' Those that live in the shadows, their grisly work only illuminated when the sun deigns to show its face again. Sometimes the shadows are too deep. Sometimes the spotlights are too much.

The Prince, Roman Prince, is the Golden Boy of the city. The newsreels, the cameras, the public adore him. But they don't see the winces when the bulbs go off right in his face, or whispers to be better, do better, perform better from the people that pull him aside after every daring adventure.

No one knows the name Janus, but they know his work. They don't shout, they whisper. They huddle together in the dark, searching for the light so as not to get caught in his coils.

But sometimes, when spotlights are too bright and shadows too flat, a little prince will make its way into the snake's den.

He didn’t mean to.

He didn’t mean to.

It just—his hand slipped and they fell and they—they—

He didn’t mean to drop them. They weren’t—they weren’t supposed to fall but the knife hurt too much and he flinched and he—he—

The choppers roar around the roof, battering his head with their noise, noise, noise. The wind whips up around the concrete railing, whistling, whining, wailing as the body falls down, down, down. The searchlights glint off the knife as they pull it down with them.

And then he is alone, in a crowd, on the top of a roof, king of the clouds.

The lights glare in his face as their body disappears. Then…then…

Then fear.

———————————

One of the best things about being seen as a ‘super villain,’ and how gauche is that term, is that no one wants to ask too many questions when you rent an apartment. There are really far too many landlords that want to get to know you, want to be your friend, while knowing full well that they participate in a system where there is no ethical consumption or behavior. Really, if he ever starts renting his own property, there will be no illusions on his end.

But hey, at least these ones know not to put their noses where they’ll get bitten off if they poke too far.

Janus sighs, opening the cupboard and taking the teacup down. The kettle whistles merrily on the stove as he reaches for the tea boxes.

Black, green, white, herbal…really, there are so many options. What to have for tonight, then? It is awfully late in the evening, there’s no real justification for consuming caffeine. Then again, he’ll do what he likes.

His phone buzzes. His real phone, not the one everyone sees him carry when he’s out and about. He rolls his eyes and takes the kettle off the heat as he spots the name on the text notification.

R. Sanders: 1 new notification

“What’ve you done now, Remus,” he mutters as he slides the message open, “and which one of your messes am I cleaning up now?”

The message opens to a report. Brief, as is the style of all the reports Janus demands, but the thing that gives him pause is just how brief.

Remus, as one can very well imagine, is…not exactly compliant when it comes to following the rules. And while that can be useful in its own special way, it does mean that Janus occasionally has to factor emojis out of Remus’s reports.

Well, more than occasionally.

But this time the report is two sentences. Janus pours the water into the teapot as he glances over the words.

R. Sanders: Slaughter down at 85th and Marilyn. The head of the beast is cut off.

Well, on paper, that should be a fantastic report. The rival infringing on Janus’s turf has been, ah, taken down a few notches.

That’s undermined considerably by the fact that this report lacks any of Remus’s enthusiasm.

Janus sighs as he settles on the loose-leaf blueberry mint tea, placing the cup aside to brew as he wanders toward the window. Perhaps Remus is simply tired from all this work today. It wouldn’t be the first time the man’s manic energy had been tempered by a good amount of strenuous activity. And cutting off the head of the beast was never going to be a simple job to begin with. True, it was always an issue with causing more collateral damage than Janus was personally comfortable with, but what’s done is done.

The city starts to slumber, the last of the pleasant natural light fading from the sky, giving way to the horrid stained brown of the light pollution. The skyscrapers barely flinch in the oncoming night, instead choosing to stand firm as the workers inside slave away. The smaller shops close their doors, the nighttime crowds vanishing into subway tunnels and bus stations. Janus leans against the window, the glass reflecting the elegant lines of his suit alongside the angles of the buildings.

If he were slightly less himself, he’d say it looks like he belongs here.

When the light fades further, he sighs, turning away and fetching his tea. He drops into his favorite chair next to the window and raises the cup to his mouth.

The head of the beast has been cut off. He has no appointments, no reports, no debriefings to attend. He has his cup of tea, Remus will handle anything that blows up on the networks. It is the perfect evening to be alone, secure in his apartment.

So of course, there has to be something that sends a prickle up the back of his neck.

Why is Remus’s report sitting with him like this? This should be fantastic news, he should be willing to open the bottle of champagne that’s sat in preparation for this moment. And yet, as he raises the cup to his mouth again, his teeth hit the rim and he jolts, spilling a little more than he meant to into his mouth. He swallows, thankful that there’s no one else here to see it, and sets the cup and saucer aside.

He folds his gloved hands behind his back and goes to the window again.

If there were something wrong, someone would tell him. He has eyes all over the city, ears everywhere, and those under his employ know better than to try and cross him. Remus is alive and well—clearly, given by the way the evening’s progressed so far—and wouldn’t hesitate to gleefully drag anyone he suspected into his rooms or an abandoned warehouse.

He spares a glance over his shoulder. The phone stays silent.

Fingers tap against his hand as he looks down. Not for the first time, he wonders what it must be like, down there, scurrying about, without the faintest idea of what it looks like from up here. Oh, he’s walked on the sidewalk outside his building, who hasn’t, that’s how he gets into the building in the first place, but…not like that.

The outside world is so…temperamental. So many people, so many things. There is no better place to be alone than a crowded city street, but there is no more dangerous a place to be yourself.

When he’s finished his cup of tea, and the prickle has not left the back of his neck alone, he stifles a curse and turns. Remus will listen to him. Or, more precisely, Remus will ramble and scheme and reassure him that nothing is wrong. He might get a strange look—because while everyone else can underestimate how much Remus sees at their own peril, Janus never has—but he will do it.

Janus opens the door, idly wondering if he needs to bring his coat, and abruptly stops walking.

There is someone on their knees right outside his door.

Well.

That would explain the feeling he’s had of something being wrong, how on earth his security system didn’t alert him to their presence is beyond him. He doesn’t bother to hide his sigh as he pulls his cane from the holder and tilts their chin up.

“I’m certain that you must be…”

Janus trails off as he tilts up a chin to reveal a bloodstained, agonized expression of someone who should not be here.

“I’m sorry,” Roman Prince says in the voice of a lost child, “I didn’t—I didn’t know where else to go.”

Janus’s fingers twitch on the cane as he watches the roll of Roman’s throat.

“Y-you said if I—if I—ever needed help one day to know better than to—to try and go back to th-them.”

Remus’s report is beginning to make more sense.

Janus remembers. Janus remembers this upstart pain in his ass getting in the way of many operations, from transports to exchanges to hostage negotiations. He remembers the crooked smile straight out of a movie as this little shit got in the way of everything, including his resolve to not get involved with any of the so-called heroes that ran around in this city in their spandex and naiveté.

He remembers shaking his head at this shiny new one and saying that when he realized the world was much, much grayer than he wanted to believe, Janus would be there to watch. He remembers a softer offer, after a rescue had resulted in a building—abandoned, but a building—blowing up and the poor thing looking like someone had kicked his puppy.

He remembers watching the rival’s henchmen carted off to jail as the hero of the hour was reprimanded for causing too much collateral damage by the people who supposedly adored him.

“You were right,” Roman continues in that lost, lost voice, “I’m—I’m sorry.”

It takes Roman reaching for him for Janus to remember what is going on and the cane jerks his head up higher, forcing him to stop. Janus narrows his eyes at the hero kneeling on the floor, takes in the blood on his face, his neck, his hands.

“Why are you here,” he asks, wrenching that chin just a little higher, “why did you come to me?”

“You said you would help,” comes the reply, “if I—if I didn’t want to do this anymore.”

Has the perfect prince killed someone for the first time? Is that what’s brought on this little display?

His eyes trail lower, looking for the weapon.

The light from his apartment shines on a tunic stained with blood, cut and torn, and a dark, ugly stain that is not getting any smaller.

Roman’s head lolls forward, almost nuzzling Janus’s thigh as it slips off the cane. His hair sticks to his face, too soaked with blood.

Janus’s eyes go wide.

Roman Prince is here, on his knees, bleeding out because he has nowhere else to go. He came to Janus, the person he should trust the least out of everyone in this city, and he’s here on his knees, pleading.

The hand not on the cane twitches, then slowly reaches forward to find the least bloody spot on Roman’s head. It runs gently through his hair and finds its way to his chin, lifting it up once more. Roman’s eyes, full of tears, stare back at him.

“Come inside, little prince,” Janus says, his voice far softer than he would normally allow, “you’re bleeding all over my carpet.”

There aren’t many places to go that aren’t carpeted inside Janus’s apartment, but they make it over the threshold before Roman’s state begins to truly worry him.

How did he even get here? By how much blood there is, surely he would’ve passed out by now? Roman seems oblivious to his inside questions, simply looks around for wherever Janus is leading him before he notices how much blood he’s leaving behind him.

“It’s alright,” Janus says, surprising the both of them, “I can have the floor cleaned.”

Roman just blinks at him. And oh, if it doesn’t hurt to see that innocence still in the eyes of the little lamb, even as the wolf goes to take his arm.

“The bathroom is through this way,” he says softly, “come now…”

It is an odd experience, surely, to have one’s own nemesis bloody, wounded, completely at his mercy, as he strips off his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves, and want to do nothing but hunt down the people that made him this way.

Roman sits like a broken doll, he realizes as he watches the man ease himself down and wait as Janus pulls on a pair of plastic gloves. He is not uncooperative when Janus pushes his limbs to the side, snipping away at the fabric, trying to figure out what precisely is going on. He does not protest when Janus finds the stab wound and presses a cloth harshly on top, nor when Janus grabs his hand and bids him to hold it there, hard. He is not unfeeling, just very, very quiet as Janus begins to douse the pads in antiseptic.

He doesn’t flinch when Janus cleans the wound as best he can—he’s no doctor, after all—before muttering that it’s going to need stitches.

“Oh,” he mumbles instead, “okay.”

“Yes, so—hold still,” he barks, forcing Roman to sit back down, “where do you think you’re going?”

Roman blinks. “You said it needs stitches.”

“Yes, which is why you shouldn’t be moving.”

“I was going to go get the stitches.”

Now it’s Janus’s turn to blink. “I will stitch you up, Roman, now stay.”

And there’s that lamb-like innocence again as Roman tilts his head. “You will?”

“I may not be a doctor,” Janus mutters, twisting to grab the first aid kit, “but I do know how to suture a wound.”

He takes a few more wipes and cleans the blood he can, pointedly ignoring Roman’s attentive look.

“You could be a doctor,” comes the mumble, “you seem…good at it.”

Janus huffs. “Less a doctor, more a medic.”

Roman’s brows furrow. “What’s the difference?”

“A doctor fixes you, a medic makes dying more comfortable.”

There’s a moment of silence. Janus half-expects the poor thing to seize up in fear, tremble before him, or—god forbid—try and fight him, but he does none of that. Because that would make sense.

Instead, Roman just closes his eyes and lets his head fall to the side against the tiled wall.

“You don’t have to make it comfortable then.”

Janus’s hands falter for a moment. His eyes flick to Roman’s bloodstained face before refocusing on the wound in front of him.

“You’re not going to die here,” he says firmly, and if he starts to work a little more quickly, that’s his business, not yours.

“Oh.”

“I imagine you wouldn’t’ve come here with the intent to die on my doorstep, that’s quite rude, you know.”

“…no.”

Now, see, as the best liar in the city, Janus knows when he hears one.

The absurdity of the situation strikes him once again, fainter this time, but still there. Roman Prince is here, bloody, wounded—fatally so if Janus hadn’t started tending to him right when he did— forced to roll over and show his belly, Janus’s teeth at his throat, and yet Janus reaches up to turn that pretty face to his.

“Tell me what happened, little prince,” he commands softly.

Roman swallows. “I didn’t mean to.”

Janus simply raises an eyebrow and starts to stitch up the wound. Roman doesn’t flinch but accepts the silent chide.

“I-it was the building security guard,” he mumbles, “they called in that someone was firing shots in the upper stories and couldn’t—couldn’t get away in time. They were—they—the call wasn’t completed.”

They died while they were on the line, Roman doesn’t say, but Janus hears it.

“Wh-when I got there, there were—they must’ve thought there was a mole in the—on the inside and they started—they were—“

They were killing their own people, Janus realizes, hiding his disgust behind another tied-off suture. He’s starting to have an awful feeling about where Roman’s been tonight.

“Something went wrong in one of the labs. They made a toxin, and it—it—“ Roman swallows— “it drove them insane.”

It made them homicidal, they killed each other.

“I...I think they were going to flee from the roof.”

As Janus ties off the last suture, he freezes.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, no.

“I tried to stop them,” Roman whispers, “I was holding onto them, it was windy, they were going to fall, they ran too fast out of the door, I caught them, I—I had them, they—they were going to be safe but then they—they—“

Janus presses two fingers to the warm chest next to the wound. He can feel Roman’s heart jumping. He rubs in slow circles.

“They stabbed me,” Roman finishes, “and I—I—I—“

A small noise that sounds too much like a sob swallows the rest of his words.

Oh, this poor little prince…

Roman swallows another sob. “I’m sorry.”

Janus tilts his head. “What’re you apologizing to me for, little prince?”

“Well, I can’t imagine that this is how you imagined spending your evening.”

“No,” Janus says, folding his hands in front of him, “but I can’t imagine this is how you imagined spending yours either.”

The little prince bruises as easily as ever, only this time he doesn’t bother to hide behind his bravado.

“Off,” Janus says softly, tugging lightly at the remains of Roman’s costume, “the rest of you needs to be cleaned.”

He watches unashamed as Roman follows his instruction, eyes traveling over the scars littering the body revealed to him piece by piece. Too many scars. When he stands bare, Janus takes his hands and deliberately cleans them of the blood.

Roman doesn’t stop trembling until Janus has cleaned away every last bit.

The costume will need to be disposed of, there’s no saving it. The floor in the bathroom is littered with bits of blood and the carpet near the door will need to be cleaned quickly. Luckily the cleaner that Janus employs is well-accustomed to such a request. Instead, Janus walks back to the bedroom.

There the little prince sits, looking far too much like a lost child. Janus pauses at the door, tugging his normal gloves back on.

The little prince looks far too good wrapped in Janus’s colors.

“Why did you come to me, little prince,” he asks after a moment, “you had no way of knowing that I wouldn’t kill you.”

Roman lowers his head and the lie from the bathroom plays uncomfortably in his head. Janus tilts his head as Roman clears his throat.

“I thought—part of me thought you would.”

A harsh laugh tears out of his throat before he can stop it. “So what, I was to be your confessional? You would fall on your knees, repent, and I would put you out of your misery? Or put you down, like some misbehaved dog?”

Roman hunches his shoulders. Janus’s mirth disappears in a flash.

“…maybe.”

Roman Prince dragged himself from the roof of 85th and Marilyn, all the way across the city to Janus’s real apartment, disarmed his security, and did not once tend to the stab wound in his chest.

Roman Prince witnessed a slaughter, watched people be driven out of their minds, and dropped someone who did their very best to kill him off a roof by accident.

Roman Prince fell to his knees in front of the one man in this city who he knew would be capable of killing him without a second thought.

“…do you want me to kill you?”

There’s a softness in his voice again, one that slipped unbidden into the words to make the blow seem more like a caress.

“I would make it quick,” he murmurs, still leaning against the doorway, watching the little prince, “it wouldn’t hurt.”

Roman looks at him. The child is lost, so lost, and so, so tired. He opens his mouth.

“Don’t you want to?”

…well.

Does he? Certainly, the little prince has caused more than his fair share of mishaps, messes, and mistakes, and putting him out of the equation permanently benefits Janus in more ways than one. And it’s not like it would be difficult. No one knows Roman is here, let alone anyone who would care, and even fewer that wouldn’t expect him to never be seen alive again. Janus could kill him in half a dozen ways in the next minute that Roman couldn’t possibly fight against, a dozen more that would take scarcely any longer.

Unbidden, his mind begins to list off the possibilities. The gun in the cabinet, the knife tucked into his shirt, the poison stored in the bathroom, even snapping the little prince’s neck.

But he takes one more look at the little prince and all of them vanish in an instant.

“Why did you come here?” he murmurs again.

Roman lets out a long breath. His hand on the borrowed shirt tightens and loosens, tightens and loosens.

“You’re the only one I trust,” he tells him quietly, and it’s the saddest thing he could’ve possibly said.

Janus crosses the room and cups the back of the little prince’s neck. Roman just bows his head, the little lamb waiting for another hand to come up and twist. Janus bites back the snarl of rage at how resigned Roman is to dying tonight and brushes his thumb along the curve of his cheek.

Stroke by stroke, he coaxes the tears from the little prince’s eyes and wipes them away.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he murmurs, leaning his weight against the edge of the bed, “there’s nothing you could’ve done.”

“I could’ve held on.”

“You’d just been stabbed, flinching is a perfectly understandable reaction.”

“But I’ve been stabbed before.”

“It’s not like you build up an immunity to knives going into you.”

“But I—“ Roman cuts himself off, curling his fist tightly in his lap.

“What is it, little prince?”

He just shakes his head firmly, lips pressed tightly together, red blooming on his cheeks.

Well, at least there’s blood flowing properly again. “We’re well past the point of embarrassment, little prince,” Janus remarks gently, “and if you’re worried about sharing weaknesses with me now…”

“I got scared,” Roman blurts, sounding every bit the reprimanded child. Janus pets his hair absentmindedly, encouraging him to speak again. When he won’t, Janus hums quietly.

“You were stabbed,” he reminds again, “that’s understandable.”

“Not of being stabbed.”

Janus frowns. “What then, little prince?”

“I…”

“I won’t harm you, little prince,” Janus murmurs when he hesitates.

“…I got scared of being outside.”

Janus’s hand pauses in Roman’s hair before gently lifting his chin. “What do you mean, little prince, that you were scared of being outside?”

“There—there was nowhere to go, I couldn’t get out, I couldn’t escape, there were too many people, the choppers were so—so loud and I—I didn’t know what to do—“

Fucking hell, Janus realizes as he shushes the little prince tenderly, he’s agoraphobic.

Flashes of their fights and altercations start to make more sense now. Why Roman prefers fighting in dark, cramped warehouses, why losing the hero on public transportation was so easy, why he almost never confronted Janus in public in broad daylight even though he clearly knows where Janus lives.

The weight of the expectations on Roman…how difficult his chosen occupation must be…how little support he gets for something that makes it infinitely harder for him…

Janus doesn’t realize he’s cradling Roman’s head until he strokes his thumb down his cheek and feels the soft brush of hair against his forearm. He looks down and sees Roman’s eyes all but flutter shut, lulled by the gentle touch against his face.

Trapped under the spotlights of the world, laid bare, stripped by their merciless eyes, unable to look away, escape from what they would only see as a colossal failure…

No wonder Roman sought out a denizen of the shadows where he could be sure no one would look for him.

What should, by all rights, feel like a cage to Roman might just become a den.

The snake tightens its coils protectively around the little prince and leans down to whisper in Roman’s ear.

“You’re safe, now,” he soothes, “there is no one else here but me, and I will look after you. There are no expectations here, you cannot do something wrong. I’m here to help you.”

The snake hisses in contentment as the little prince slumps into the coils, letting it pick him up and deposit him gently in the mass of the den, leaving only for a brief moment before returning to his side.

“Shh, shh,” he soothes as Roman blinks about in confusion, “you need to rest, I’ll be right here.”

“Why—what—“ Roman’s head hits the pillow and Janus almost laughs at how quickly his eyes close— “why’re you…helping?”

“You came to me for help, little prince.”

“But you…care?”

And oh, if that doesn’t make the snake’s cold black heart beat warmly in its chest.

“You may be surprised, little prince,” it hisses, drawing the little prince closer and closer, “but you’re not that difficult to care for.”

No, Janus decides, resigning himself to a night of little sleep as he watches Roman’s breathing begin to even out, stroking a hand through his hair, the little prince isn’t so hard to care for after all.

The snake has never been one to spare those that wander carelessly into its den, but this little prince did not do it carelessly. And it is surprisingly easy for Janus to soothe the remaining prickle on the back of his neck by scratching his fingers lightly along the back of Roman’s, to gentle the furrow in Roman’s sleep with a murmured reassurance into the little prince’s ear. The night passes slowly as the little prince dozes under the snake’s coils.

Only later, when the sun has begun to rise, does he realize he’s left his phone on the counter. He sighs, extricating himself gingerly from the sleeping Roman and going back to the kitchen.

R. Sanders: 1 new notification

He glances toward the bedroom and opens the text.

R. Sanders: if you don’t get your security system back online yourself in the next 30 seconds I’m coming over

Well, considering this message is from two minutes ago, Janus simply sighs and opens the door.

“That,” Remus snarls as he stalks inside, “is not the point.”

“I was about to reboot the system, Remus, do calm yourself.”

“I’m not the one who spent the entire fucking night in an unsecured location!”

Janus raises an eyebrow. “By all means, Remus, do keep shouting about my security system at the top of your lungs while the door is still open.”

Remus mutters angrily to himself but has the decency—or perhaps, the self-preservation—to quiet down while Janus shuts the door and turns the security system back on.

“Now then,” he says easily, setting the kettle to boil again—blueberry mint really was the correct choice to make last night— “what would you like to drink?”

Remus regards his tea boxes like he regards the new bottles of bleach.

“You still don’t keep coffee in your house, do you?” At Janus’s look, he sighs. “Just hot water.”

“Splendid.”

Janus takes his time setting up his teapot. Looseleaf black tea, a new teacup, the honey laid out just so, all while Remus’s tapping gets more and more impatient. But Remus is a good dog, he’ll wait until he’d given leave to speak again.

“I imagine you must have a reason for infringing upon my privacy this morning,” Janus says as he stirs the honey into the tea, “if not just to turn my system back on so that a corpse could not be tampered with.”

“I didn’t know if you were fucking dead, Jan,” Remus snarls, and oh, the poor thing was worried. How touching.

“I’m fine, Remus,” Janus says, softening his voice just the barest amount, “and it certainly speaks to the faith you have in me.”

“Yeah, yeah, faith in your something.”

“Come now, dear, let’s not be crass.”

“You like me crass.”

Janus hides a smile behind the rim of his cup. There’s the Remus that was missing from the report. Though as he looks at the loyal minion sitting across from him, he sees that something is still bothering him.

“Well, if that’s all then?”

Remus takes the bait. “Wasn’t us.”

“Pardon?”

“The beast,” Remus mutters, still glancing around the apartment, “wasn’t us.”

Then he spots the blood.

In Remus’s defense, Janus did open the door right as he arrived and he was definitely given time to look around before Janus swept him into a conversation. Still, the fact that it took Remus this long to spot the blood is…well.

“Shit—“ Remus springs to his feet— “are you hurt? How many?”

“Keep your voice down,” Janus murmurs, “I’m not hurt.”

“Then explain to me why there’s blood everywhere—“

“Keep your voice down.”

“Why the fuck should I keep my voice down? Someone was here, there’s fucking blood—“

Both of them freeze as a rustle of covers comes from the other room. Remus’s eyes widen and his hand goes to the gun at his side. In two quick steps, he’s almost to the bedroom.

Janus catches him by the arm.

“Don’t.”

The steel in his tone finally gets Remus to settle, the man glancing at the door once before allowing himself to be held in place.

“What the hell is going on here,” he hisses, finally keeping his voice down, “what aren’t you telling me?”

“Stay out of that room,” Janus orders, even though it’s a redundancy at this point, “and tell me what else you know.”

Remus opens his mouth to protest but a look quells him. He glances at the door one more time before sighing.

“By the time we got there, everything was over. There were network choppers crawling over every inch of that place, swarming with civvies. We had to fence to get in. Janus, they—“

If Remus has to take a breath, what the hell happened?

“God, Janus, it’s like someone gave a neurotic thirteen-year-old a hallucinogenic and a sledgehammer and told ‘em the building was a giant whack-a-mole.” Remus shakes his head. “Heads bashed in, eyes gouged out, like they—they—“

“Like they did it to each other,” Janus finishes.

Remus nods, his face pale. He looks up at Janus and it’s the second time in the last twelve hours he’s been caught off guard by someone’s expression.

“Jan, it’s bad,” he says quietly, “if they—we’re lucky it only got into that building.”

“And you’re certain it’s contained?”

“Someone tripped the quarantine field. The building locked down. Only way out was the roof.” Remus shakes his head. “The head of the beast was splayed out on the street, spine snapped in half, bloody knife. Like he was pinned up like a butterfly.”

He quirks his brow.

“Gotta admire the craftsmanship.”

Janus nods. Remus notices his silence and steps a little closer.

“So who the fuck is in that room?”

As if on cue, there’s another muffled hiss.

“Don’t,” Janus says when Remus’s hand goes to his gun again, “you’ll scare him.”

Now Remus looks at him like he'd grown another head. “Who the fuck is in that room?”

Janus bites back a curse when there are more noises.

“The person who cut the head off.”

“If you think that’s gonna stop me from getting in there—“

“Remus.”

Remus subsides, looking at him carefully. Janus sighs. Remus knows better than to directly disobey an order, and if Janus pushes, Remus will leave.

And yes, part of the snake wants to wrap around its den and keep its precious charge safe from anything else.

A larger part of Janus knows that keeping this information completely under wraps will become a liability quickly.

“Watch the door,” Janus says, letting Remus go.

Remus hasn’t worked for him for this long without picking up some of his observational skills, so he goes without complaint. Janus opens the door to the bedroom and has to stop the fond smile on his face as he sees the little prince trying to feign sleep. As if it’s going to work.

He crosses the room and leans down.

“You can stop pretending now, little prince.”

Roman’s eyes open and the snake hisses gently, noticing the pressure the little prince’s position is putting on his stitches.

“By all means, ruin the work it took to suture you up,” he remarks dryly, chuckling as Roman quickly—and carefully—rolls onto his back, “better.”

“D-do—I can go now,” Roman mumbles, “if—if you—if you want. I can leave. You don’t have to see me again, I’ll—I’ll go.”

Janus quirks an eyebrow. “And let you leave without breakfast? How rude of me.”

Roman’s eyes widen. “N-no, I didn’t mean—you don’t—I—“

“Hush, little prince,” Janus murmurs, petting Roman’s hair again, “none of that now.”

Roman’s eyes keep darting around the room, from the closed door to Janus’s hands to his face and away again. Janus frowns.

“Oh, little prince, have you always been so afraid of me?”

“Yes.”

The honesty takes Janus by surprise. Roman Prince has never been afraid of him, at least not like this, like some creature constantly bracing for a blow. He’s responded brilliantly to whatever jibes Janus throws at him during one of their altercations, always ready with a quip on his tongue or a pretty blush to a flirtation. He’s not—he’s never been this.

Perhaps the little prince is a better actor than I gave him credit for.

There are not many people in this city capable of doing that.

Then there’s the sudden realization that the reassurances from the night will no longer work. Roman was safe because he was alone with Janus, there was nothing he could do wrong that would hurt him, there was an easy way to escape if need be. But now Remus is here, there’s another variable to worry about.

And Roman is no match for the both of them.

“Let me have a look, little prince,” he says instead, leaning down to gently tug the shirt up and out of the way. Despite the hero’s movement, there’s no blood, no popped stitches. The wound will still be tender for a while yet, but there’s nothing to worry about. Not at the moment. He says as much, ending with a soft: “sit up, let’s get you something to eat.”

Roman glances at the door again.

“Remus won’t hurt you,” Janus reassures, “not while I’m here.”

Roman’s head whips around so quickly he frets that the little prince will snap his own neck.

“R-Remus?”

Janus blinks. “Yes, Remus, he’s who’s here, he works for me.”

“Remus Sanders?”

He quirks a brow. “And here I thought you didn’t bother to learn my staff.”

“N-no, Remus Sanders, he’s—he’s not dead?”

Not dead?

Judging by the sudden silence in the other room, Janus has about three seconds to brace for it before Remus slams the door open.

Remus’s eyes are giant, his face almost drained of color. Three quick steps and he’s got a fist in Roman’s shirt, wrenching him away from Janus and slamming him up against a wall.

“Remus,” Janus barks, “put him down.”

It says something about Remus’s state of mind that he doesn’t even register Janus’s command. Instead, the man has a knife pressed to Roman’s throat, every muscle in his body bunched up like a clenched fist.

Roman hasn’t flinched. He’s just staring at Remus, his hands sliding and scrabbling uselessly at Remus’s shoulders.

“Y-you’re alive,” he keeps mumbling, “you’re not dead, you’re alive, you’re safe, you’re—you’re—“

Remus abruptly lets Roman go, shoves him further against the wall and yanks the shirt out of the way to see the stitches. The knife goes back in its holster as Roman keeps babbling about how Remus is alive.

“Was it him,” Remus asks in a soft, dangerous voice, cutting through Roman’s babble, “did that bastard stab you?”

Roman jerks his head up and down.

“…well, at least you finally learned how to stand up to your bullies.”

Ah.

Janus must be getting rusty.

“As much as I hate to interrupt the family reunion,” he says, startling the brothers, “I believe there is still business to attend to.”

Remus has the decency to look a little ashamed at directly disobeying several orders now, but the little prince is still staring at Remus like his life depends on it. Janus shakes his head, crossing the room to gently take his chin again.

“You need to eat, little prince,” he murmurs, “come now.”

He doesn’t have to ask Remus to help the little prince to the kitchen. By the time he’s followed them out—and made sure his tea isn’t ruined—Remus has Roman sitting on one of the bar stools, stood next to him, every bit the guard dog as Roman clutches Remus’s tactical vest. As Janus starts to get something together for Roman to eat, Remus doesn’t move once. Instead, he lets Roman cling onto him, mumble to himself, and absentmindedly rub his cheek against Remus’s chest.

Janus sets a plate of food in front of Roman and picks up his tea again, taking a sip and staring at them over the rim of the cup.

This could be a problem.

Remus’s loyalty is not easily won, nor is it easily lost. The man’s been dragged behind a truck by his fingernails and not squealed once. And yet as Remus lifts his head—finally—and looks at Janus, it’s the first time he’s seen that loyalty waver.

Janus stares back. Remus knows better than to try and cross him. Remus himself has been the blunt instrument that disposes of those who did. Remus knows the extent of Janus’s influence better than anyone else, aside from Janus himself.

And still, that loyalty wavers.

The little prince, oblivious to the staring match happening over his head, mumbles a small thanks as he starts to eat. His hands are still shaking. Remus steps closer, pressing Roman further into the counter and the little prince lets him. The message is clear.

This is the one thing of Remus’s that he won’t let Janus take.

Which would be a problem—or wouldn’t be, depending on how quickly Remus cooperates—if Janus weren’t currently dividing his attention between Remus and how his hands are itching to wipe the last speck of blood from the little prince’s hairline.

It takes barely a glance for Remus to understand that Janus would never.

“Little prince,” Janus murmurs, coming around to the other side of the counter once Roman finishes, “I need to have a talk with Remus, do you think you can sleep a little more?”

“I can try.”

“Let’s have you try.” Janus glances at Remus.

“C’mon, Ro-Bro,” Remus says quietly, one arm around Roman’s waist, “back to bed.”

“Re?”

“I gotcha, Roro, I’m right here.”

How adorable.

Remus closes the bedroom door and there’s a long pause.

“Fuck.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Janus takes another sip of his tea. “Does anyone else know what happened?”

“The networks have a hold of the main story, they won’t know what happened inside until the lockdown expires, but Jan—if he was there—“

“The choppers saw him.”

“Shit.”

“They saw him drop the beast’s head but him fleeing the scene won’t look good.”

“I’ve got the team scrambling the data, the location of the beast’s head won’t reach the airwaves.”

“Good.”

Another pause.

“…why’d he come here?”

Janus settles the cup back in its saucer. “…he said I was the only one he could trust.”

Remus snarls. “As if we needed more proof that they treat their people like shit.”

“Believe me, I’ve got quite the list of people I’d like to question.”

Remus bares his teeth. “Don’t do it without me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, dear.” He watches Remus stare at the door. “So…you have a brother?”

“Don’t act like you didn’t know that from the extensive background check you did.”

Janus accepts it, setting the teacup aside. “The famous Roman Prince…oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

Remus’s head flicks sharply around to stare at him. But Janus says it with none of his usual flare, dragging his gloved fingertips along the counter.

“Has he always been so…” He fumbles for the right word.

There isn’t one.

Thankfully, Remus understands what he’s trying to get at.

“It’s hard not to,” he mumbles, “even when I hated him—and I hated him, he was always…”

Remus trails off into silence too.

“There was never a moment where I didn’t know that he was still my fucking brother.”

This is dangerous.

The closest thing Janus has to a weakness, up until this point, has been Remus. And Remus is a loyal man, but even he knows Janus will watch him die and feel only the slightest bit of remorse that a useful tool will no longer be in use.

But not anymore.

“I think he wanted me to kill him,” Janus murmurs, noting the way that Remus jerks in surprise.

“Do you think that’s why he came?”

“He told me that I was right,” he says, “that I was—that he remembered I’d told him if he ever realized he couldn’t do it anymore, if he ever needed help, that he should know better than to go back to the people that pretend to care about him.”

“You basically told him you’d be his suicide gun?”

“I didn’t mean it like that, Remus,” Janus says lowly, looking up.

Remus regards him. “Would you have?”

“Killed him?”

“Yes.”

Could he have killed Roman Prince? Yes, easily.

Can he kill the little prince in the bedroom?

“My God,” Remus breathes, “you can’t do it, can you?”

Janus shakes his head. Like it or not, the snake can’t kill the little prince.

“So what now?”

Janus stands up straight. “The city isn’t just going to let Roman Prince disappear, not like that. They’re going to look for him. He’s going to have to make another public appearance.”

“And we have to clean up the rest of the mess.”

“That we’re used to,” Janus sighs, “that I’m not worried about.”

“You’re worried about Roman’s people trying to look for him.” Janus nods. “We’ve got feelers out, we can keep tabs on that.”

“Good.”

Remus spares another glance at the door. “Are you gonna keep him here until then?”

“Yes.”

He lets out a low whistle.

“Go. Get to work.”

“Aye aye, boss.” Remus fixes him with one last look before he disappears out the door.

Janus walks to the bedroom. This time the fond smile crawls across his face unhindered.

“You don’t have to pretend, little prince,” he says as he crosses the room, “if you can’t sleep, you can’t sleep.”

Roman blinks up at him as Janus sits on the edge of the bed. “Sorry.”

“No need for apologies.” He tilts his head to the side. “I never offered you painkillers, are you alright?”

Roman nods.

“Roman,” he asks softly, “why did you come here?”

There’s a pause.

“You said that you remembered me telling you that you could,” he continues, “and that you…trusted me, and yet you seemed surprised that I was—I am willing to help.”

“Still am.”

Remus’s words play in his head again. “You said you remembered what I said—and you be honest with me now,” he says, giving Roman a look, “did you want me to kill you?”

Roman swallows. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

And oh, Janus has waited so long to hear those words from that pretty mouth but not like this.

He pulls a tissue from the side table and tilts Roman’s head just so to get that last speck of blood, pausing at the way Roman shudders under his touch.

“When was the last time someone touched you,” he asks gently, “before this?”

Roman just shakes his head.

“What is the point,” the snake hisses, “of people pretending to care about you when they don’t give you what you obviously need?”

“You were,” the little prince mumbles, still a beat behind, “I think you were the last person to…to touch me.”

“Before…?”

“Yeah. When we…when you…”

When he had the little prince tied up in the factory downtown, another attempt to persuade him to back off. When he cupped the little prince’s chin in his hand and chuckled as a pretty blush spread across those cheeks. When he let gloved fingers run through his hair and smirked at how easily the little prince lost track of the conversation.

Now, though, Janus cradles the little prince’s face in his hands and lowers himself onto the bed.

“You can have it,” he whispers, running his fingers through the little prince’s hair, “if touch is what you need, you can have it.”

Roman’s eyes flutter, lost on the sensation of Janus’s touch, all but floating on the bed. He starts to curl unconsciously towards him, pliant and still. Janus lets him, moving to wrap his arms around the little prince as he tucks himself under Janus’s chin.

“Why didn’t you tell me,” he asks gently, “that you were hurting so badly?”

He feels the roll of Roman’s throat. “Didn’t want you to think I was any weaker.”

Janus bites back a curse. “Well, I’m afraid you’re about to witness firsthand how weak I am.”

Before Roman can ask what he means, Janus cups the back of his neck and gently, gently kisses his forehead.

“If no one else will do what needs to be done,” he murmurs into Roman’s hair, “then I will.”

If no one else will take care of the little prince that sacrifices so much to protect this city, then the snake is happy to oblige.

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[sakura-ame-no-ai]

"bring a jacket next time."

pairings: tetsurou kuroo x reader

genre: fluff

notes: in japan, their way of checking the time is much different than america. they use 24-hour clocks. so if it was 1 in the afternoon, it would be counted as 13:00 for them.

a/n: it felt like some special holiday for me today and i don't know why... but seriously, how is my last kenma fanfic getting so much love istg- anyways, enjoy this fanfiction! i couldn't think of a good title for this on... :sob:

you sneeze suddenly when a gust of wind blows against your legs. it is indeed cold outside, but the shriveled leaves scraping their way down the street makes it seem much colder.

"why does it have to be so cold on a beautiful night like this..," you mutter to yourself, wrapping yourself with your arms.

too bad you didn't contemplate on bringing a jacket with you before bursting through the door with kuroo calling behind you.

well, now you feel a little guilty remembering that you lied to kuroo that you were going to buy some snacks at a nearby konbini. in reality, you just want to spend most of the night searching for some shooting stars.

you make a brief trip to the park, to which you find everything abandoned. that one big red slide that you always see children fighting to have their turn on is now empty and lonely. the swings seem motionless, too. however, they still rock back and forth every now and then when a chilly breeze rushes by. the seesaw is tilted down at an angle, making one side touch the ground full of woodchips.

you search for that favorite brown bench that has legs made out of an elegant black metal of some sort. soon, you discover it sitting under a big maple tree silently. it faces a metal fence that is as high as your waist, which a beautiful view of a huge lake stretches out on the other side of that fence. you don't hesitate to plop down and make yourself comfy on the bench, admiring the wavy reflection of the glittering stars and moon on the water's surface.

you could stare at such a view all day...

well, you would if you had brought a jacket though.

the cold night air wraps around you, trying to embrace you in a friendly way, but all it does is make you shiver and lift your feet onto the bench. you hug your knees and bury your mouth and nose inside your arms and knees, cursing to yourself about why you were stupid enough to not bring some warm clothing before setting out.

"just like i thought," a voice that sounds very familiar booms out from behind you, making you flinch.

you turn your head around to see a bedhair walk up to you with a cheeky grin.

"tetsu?!" you squeal, a little shocked that he actually know exactly where you were. "how did you know i'm here?"

kuroo is bundled up in a scarf and his nekoma jacket. he also has a thick piece of folded cloth draped over his right arm, making you assume that it's probably a blanket.

"i've never seen you that eager to do some shopping at the konbini, kitten," he replies, taking a seat next to you.

"you've always been a fan of sceneries outside, so that gave me an idea."

you give him a look of amazement, awed by the fact that he knows you very well like you're his child or something. however, it isn't long before kuroo bonks you on the head.

"you little rascal~ why didn't you bring a coat? it's like below 25 degrees celsius, and here you are, hanging out at the park, short-sleeved, and without a jacket or coat."

you whimper at his remarks.

"well, you know i was excited, tetsu..," you pout, puffing your cheeks out.

he chuckles, "nobody was blaming you, ok?"

kuroo takes a moment to peel off his nekoma jacket and place it over your shoulders. you gratefully hug it over your shoulders. other than the fact that it smells strongly of that lavender body soap you gave him, the jacket felt warm from kuroo's body heat, making you feel safe.

an unintentional smile slips onto your lips and you readjust your gaze to the sky.

"say... do you think there will be any shooting stars tonight?"

kuroo lifts a brow before fixing his gaze at the sky as well.

"oya? hunting for shooting stars?"

you nod eagerly, continuing to look up attentively.

"mhm! you told me that it's shooting star season!"

the branches of the maple tree above you sway gently, swishing its leaves together to create gentle rustling sounds.

kuroo smiles and points towards one of the stars.

"do you know how stars are formed, n/n?" he asks you, his finger directing your gaze towards the appointed star.

you squint to make a more intricate observation of the star while racking your brain, trying to remember your astrology lessons at school.

"well... don't stars form from accumulated gas and dust in space?" you finally conclude, remembering one fact your teacher has emphasized back then.

kuroo nods happily.

"yep. stars form when the gravity of the dust and air collapse together, which makes them heat up out of pressure."

he continues to ramble on about how stars mostly contain hydrogen and helium, the lightest elements to exist in the universe, and how stars are, in reality, exploding balls of gas.

you listen patiently as he explains. you are always interested in his nerdy science talk, as well as the way he is invested in his own world when a discussion related to a scientific topic arises.

it takes him a little bit to finish his explanation with a sneeze.

of course, he's not wearing his jacket. that's why.

you take off the jacket you were wearing and hand it to him.

"you're gonna catch a cold, so take your jacket back."

however, he pushes it back into your chest.

"no, kitten. you have it. i'm worried about you more."

you begin to pout, angry that he's always caring for your health instead of his own.

"no, kuroo," you say with an upset look. "this is not my jacket."

you two begin fighting about who should wear kuroo's jacket, exaggerating the possibilities of not wearing one and lecturing one another.

"that's it," kuroo sighs, looking troubled.

at first, you are confused by his words.

"what do you m-"

it was at this moment that kuroo covers the blanket that you forgot he had brought onto his back and then trapping you inside his arms, wrapping your body inside the blanket.

"there, now we're both warm," he smirks.

you take a while to understand the situation you're currently in before blushing madly. you look up at him, only to see that usual proud smirk on his face. he obviously did this on purpose.

"tetsu?! what the actual hell?!" you scream.

"oya? anything wrong?" he asks a little too 'innocently', pissing you off.

you growl back, "of course, you dumbass! people might see us and take this to like a million different wrong directions!"

"kitten, it's almost half-past 23:00. it's really unlikely that we'll be seen since most people are asleep."

you can't counter back, because that sly cat is right. most people are asleep at this time, so it's highly unlikely that you'd get caught like this with kuroo.

you have no idea how to react, so you decide to lean your back against kuroo, resting your head on his chest. at least, you realize that you feel much warmer than wearing his jacket. in the end, you start to relax, paying closer attention to the steady rise and fall of his chest while he breathes.

"do you ever see stars as memories when you look at them?" you ask kuroo, tilting your head upwards to meet his gaze.

"sometimes," he smiles, looks at one of the stars.

"like that one near that giant cloud reminds me of when i stole your meat from your lunchbox."

you cough.

"do you think this is a great time to bring this up??"

he only smirks at you. "you asked if i get reminded of anything when i look at a star."

you pout a little and fix your eyes to another star and point your finger towards it.

"well, this one reminds me of when yaku beat your ass for stealing meat from my lunchbox."

you two begin talking back and forth, saying which star represented which memory, laughing about the old days, and fighting about various things, like who should've gotten to eat that scrumptious piece of steak.

as you come back to argue about the lunchbox situation again, a white streak catches your eyes, snapping your attention back to the sky.

"look, tetsu! shooting stars!" you exclaim.

what kuroo turns his head to look at the sky with you.

sure enough, more streaks of white rain down like a slight drizzle.

"hurry up! make a wish!" you tell him before clasping your hands together before your face and close your eyes.

kuroo looks at you, then back at the sky. after a while, he closes his eyes and makes his wish.

i want to stay by y/n's side, even after i graduate.

however, he doesn't say it out loud. instead, he wraps his arms around your chest after you have finished making your wish.

for the first time in forever, kuroo gives you the most genuine smile that you've ever seen, which surprises you since you're so used to his cheeky smirks. it reminds you of honey and its sweet flavor.

"you know, kitty, we could do this next time," he coos in the sweetest voice you've ever heard him use.

"did you think i'd stop you?"

"ummmm..."

you look side-ways towards the tree beside you before give him your honest response.

"weeeeell, i thought you'd tell me it'd be too late into the night to do something like this and that i wouldn't be able to wake up if i stay up star-hunting."

kuroo chuckles, petting your head lightly with that big hand of his

"things like this are exceptions."

your eyes light up to his words. he has officially announced the permit to stay up searching for shooting stars that you adore a lot. it makes you very happy that you smile back warmly.

"thank you, tetsurou," you sigh, leaning into his chest comfortably.

"it's nothing, y/n."

he continues to stroke your hair in a soothing way as he maintains that genuine smile on his lips.

"just bring a jacket next time, or star-hunting will be off-limits."

[wordsinwinters]

Then Again, Chapter 23: Ice Cubes and Clarity

Summary: After an intense fight and a forced-to-share-the-bed situation during their junior year decathlon trip, Peter and the Reader examine their faults and failings. As they attempt to fix their mistakes and improve their friendship, that friendship quickly begins to evolve into something else. Betas: @fanboyswhereare-you and @girl-tips-from-satan Masterlist (with AO3 links)

Then Again, Chapter 23: Ice Cubes and Clarity

(Word count: 3,473) Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29,  The alarm clock reads 10:28 p.m. on the nightstand between our beds. Alone with Michelle, the room feels emptier and more foreign than when we arrived. Yesterday, its perfect cleanliness was comforting; today, the air of the room has crystallized into a pristine husk of the words, It’s over, at least. The only light in the room comes from the alarm clock and t.v. screen, the two coating us and the angles of our beds, dressers, walls, and window in thin outlines of red and flickering blues, greys, and deep greens. It makes the space feel strangely muffled by subtle motion, like a lightning storm charging over water, too weak to spark. It’s a smidge hypnotic. I keep finding myself tracing the keychain charm in my hand without remembering having taken it out of my pocket.

Basically, too much has happened this weekend and the room is too clean to take our minds off it, and neither of us want to talk. Even in spite of the good parts — our team winning the competition, Peter and I fixing our friendship, untangling everything with him, Michelle, and Ned — this stillness between me and Michelle seems like defeat. The unspoken conversation hangs over us.

She knows, and I know she does. She knows that Flash blackmailed me into missing today and she’s frustrated or irritated, maybe even angry. I don’t know if it’s at me or him. It could be both: mad at him for doing it, mad at me for giving in without a fight. The idea nags like a string tugging just under my ear, the worry that she might be upset with me. But then rationality reminds me: it wasn’t me she yelled at earlier and there hasn’t been a single hint of aggression in her eyes when she’s looked at me; if anything, she must mostly be pissed at Flash. Maybe it’s selfish, but I don’t mind both of us pretending that everything has fallen back into its usual place, at least for tonight, like Michelle seems to want. It’s how she deals with personal stress: she goes silent until she’s over it, or until she says she is. Normally I’d ask her small questions, try and get her to open up and let me help. Right now though, I don’t exactly want to discuss Flash or what happened this morning either. It’s probably best for the both of us to act like we have nothing on our minds. And I think we’re accomplishing that fairly well, given the mindless movie we chose to watch. As Bella tears her arms from Jacob’s grip and Edward steps in to defend their honeymoon plans, I sink lower into the bed. Behind my head, I can just barely hear Ned and Peter’s voices through the wall. Their sentences are short but I can’t make out the words. Every few seconds there’s a change in the buzzing sound of the t.v. on their side of the wall. Of course they’re still channel flipping. I nearly smile. Those two can debate simple tasks for hours— they’re the opposites of Michelle and me, of our decisiveness. In trivial things, that is. It’s part of the balance that makes our friendship work so well most of the time. Apart from Michelle’s self-isolation, today seemed to begin evening those scales out again. Though some moments felt... different, for some reason. After the gift shop, Mr. Harrington briefed us on our leaving schedule for the morning, then asked (for the millionth time, according to Ned and Peter) if we were all absolutely certain there wasn’t anything we wanted to do while in D.C. Aside from Sally’s muttered “Can we set the White House on fire?” joke, no one had any suggestions. So we all hung out in the lobby for a bit. The team (Flash and Michelle not quite included, since they were mostly silent) recapped the entire competition— naturally arguing over specifics and mocking each others’ If my answer is wrong I’m going to piss myself faces. Mr. Harrington had plenty of photos to slide through on his phone (which, by demand, were all sent to a group chat that put our phones into a ding!-ing and buzzing circle of hell, earning some glares from other guests in the lobby). Then, a good hour and a half later, when the hilarity of their Flash’s voice cracked five times within the span of three questions! story had bubbled down to smirk-level material, we all (Mr. Harrington excluded) crammed into Cindy and Sally’s room to play Cards Against Humanity. Finally, the hotel’s too-cold air conditioning came in handy: already being so close to so many people in a small area, we laughed too much for too long and the room bordered on uncomfortably warm. The humidity was tangible. The AC did its best to keep up. At one point, I tried to think of a time when the team had ever laughed themselves into so much pain (again, apart from Michelle and Flash, though Flash did laugh once or twice, when he thought no one saw him, in a way that nearly let me feel sorry for him before remembering what an asshole he’s been; Michelle sat unflinching on the window sill, nose in a book). All I could recall was our dinner, only two nights ago. Maybe it would become a pattern. I hoped so. For the rest of our collective time together, we played card games, flicked through movies, and burned four bags of popcorn in the microwave by accident. (Fortunately, the microwave was in the floor’s kitchen area and a hotel employee, seeming to expect it, was standing by to turn off the alarm with minimal annoyance.) Everything ended up better than I would have thought possible this morning. At best, I expected awkwardness or irritation from the pool incident, but nobody seemed to hold last night’s fight against me or Peter. It was as if nothing had happened. And Peter…. Alone in the hotel during those hours before they came back, I thought he might retreat back into the frustrations he exploded over last night; I thought he might come back still upset about parts of it, still distant and hard to read, or else just quiet. But he didn’t— not at all. In fact, Peter was a bit of a class clown all day. He didn’t fold into himself like he tends to with larger groups. Instead, he made jokes (genuinely funny ones), told stories (“Do you guys remember that one time when Mr. Harrington…?”), and celebrated his wins with as much enthusiasm as when he called bullshit! on his losses during our games. It’s been months since he’s done something to surprise me so much, probably since Christmas. Likely as a way of making up for our fight, he eventually forced Ned — physically — to switch spots on the floor with him so he could sit beside me during Uno. We cheated, but horribly; we probably made it harder for ourselves than anything else. Peter is the opposite of subtle. He kept using his cards to hide his mouth while he whispered ideas about how to attack Ned and Abe, sitting to our right and left. I did my best to establish some form of code to make it less obvious, but he was completely unfocused and picked up on nothing. A couple times, he’d be looking right at me, nodding as I gave him advice, only inches from my face, and then, as if he hadn’t heard a single word, played a card that didn’t match whatsoever. Luckily, since only Abe and Ned were occasionally affected and because most of our plans failed anyway, no one else cared that we tried teaming up. For once, Peter was open (and somewhat of a dork) with the whole team. It reminded me of how he was before his uncle Ben’s death: less guarded, more extraverted, and just... happy. Calm, even. Watching it was almost painful. Not that it was a bad thing he was so happy, just— different. Unexpected. It tipped over boxes of memories I hadn’t realized I’d stored away. A lot of warm ones. Around 9:00-ish, Michelle shut her book and excused herself with a small Let’s go nod to me followed by a hesitant and bring the boys glance. Once we were all out, door closed, we waited for laughter to start up again to cover any sound we might make. Then Peter and Ned quietly moved the extra bed back from our room to theirs. The moment they carried the frame out, Michelle shut our door. A twinge of regret hit me. Part of me had hoped that— but it didn’t matter. At that moment, the high of everything trickled down as if all our energy was melting off into the floor, charging that tiny static storm just above the carpet. I paused a few feet from my bed and waited for her to say something, to explain what was wrong, but she didn’t. Then again, I didn’t expect her to, I just hoped. As Michelle put her book on the nightstand and climbed into bed, I somewhat reluctantly got into mine, thumb running over the keychain in my pocket like a worry stone. Compared to everything else, this part of the weekend was… underwhelming. And that’s when I became hyper-aware that the room was too clean. Our own beds were so neatly laid out (a housekeeper must’ve come in) they gave off an impression of giant frozen ice-cream sandwiches. With the covers peeled down on the right corners, they even looked half-unwrapped. That’s a bit how it feels now, an hour and a half later in the present: we’re both neatly packed into the little freezer storage spaces of our beds. And I think it’s helping. Michelle will tell me what she’s thinking when she wants to, but for now we can numb our brains with some of the most awkward acting in the film industry. It isn’t quite that easy, though. I am still concerned, no matter how much I pretend otherwise. I try to remind myself that she’s stayed this quiet before plenty of times and that normally her anger spills all over her face rather than looking as almost-relaxed as she does, but another voice tells me that normally she’d at least tell me something small to assure me that she’s fine. Don’t overthink it. I glance at her from the corner of my eye. Michelle’s profile is illuminated in dark red, her book cover reflecting the glow from the alarm clock between us. She’s slouched against the headboard of her bed, immersed in her comforter, staring straight ahead at the t.v. screen. Pillows are piled high beneath her back and Ruth Bader Ginsburg seems to glare at Edward from the front of her sweatshirt. If we had exchanged a few more sentences than those necessary to pick out the movie, I would ask her what she thinks RBG’s real opinion on Edward Cullen would be if she had time to watch movies. But I don’t. (Plus, it’s not that hard of a question. RBG would hate him.) Before I look back at the t.v., my gaze drops and I notice something— for all the time she spent reading today, Michelle’s bookmark isn’t too far from where it was this morning. But I do look back. The trees rush by in the window’s reflection across Bella’s face as Jacob���s poor, pained howls blend into the music. Here comes the most boring part of the movie. The driving, boat riding, staring, the agonizingly awkward “human minutes” scene, and the moonlight swimming that always ends with Michelle making a Christ, those are some white people comment just to fill the silence. It’s a good part to skip. And I want to. To step out for a minute and get a breath, seeing as the room is still too still. “Hey,” I say, sitting up and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. “I’m going to get some ice.” Michelle turns her head. She glances at my water cup on the nightstand, picks it up, and takes a sip. She makes a face. “Yeah, bathroom faucet water is disgusting lukewarm.” She looks over to the window sill where she left hers, probably weighing whether or not she’d rather stand up or stay thirsty. Practically hearing her thoughts, I walk over and get it for her. “Thanks,” she says as she takes it. “If you get me some ice too, I promise I won’t spit in yours while you’re gone.” I roll my eyes and smile. Her humor is still there. That short dialog is enough to untie the knots in my shoulders and reassure me that she’s feeling better. “I’ll see what I can do.” Grabbing the ice bucket and keycard, relief rinses my lungs. Maybe she just wanted me to start the conversation. Ironic. The hallway buzzes with sounds of talking and t.v. behind each door, the smell of popcorn and cheap candy faintly hovering around our side of it. It’s calm, soothing. As I hoped, the signature stillness of the hotel is the perfect fresh air I needed. The soft light helps too, but it’s mostly the comfort of knowing people around us are happy and calm. At Abe and Flash’s door, there’s a smaller hallway I turn left into. If I remember correctly, the ice machine is in a small pocket room off to the right in ten-ish feet near the family restroom and staircase. Maybe when I get back, Michelle and I can start a normal conversation. We don’t need to talk about anyth— I turn into the small pocket room. It’s Flash. He’s standing just inside the door, on the phone. And I’m… blank. At this point, I’ve run out of emotions: I don’t feel anything at the sight of him. No, actually, I do— I feel weird. He’s in pajamas. It’s like seeing Coach Wilson at the grocery store, like a Twilight Zone episode. I immediately turn to leave. “Hol— hold on, dad,” he says behind me. “Let me call you back, I’ll call you back!” Within two seconds, he’s in front of me, eyes wide. His mouth opens and closes rapidly at least four times, his hands struggling to make a clear gesture in front of him. Strangely, he looks lost and almost afraid, not at all matching the blackmailing shithead persona from this morning. Then again, he hasn’t been an ass since they got back either. “Wh— how, how,” he sputters. “Why, uh, why haven’t you responded to any of my texts?” Flash seems to stop himself before saying more, which is unusual, given how he constantly steamrolls conversations. God, what could he have sent me? As long as he hasn’t tattled to Mr. Harrington, I don’t care. “I blocked you,” I tell him. “As soon as I bailed on the team this morning, I blocked your number.” His eyebrows furrow together as he shakes his head, as if he’s totally bewildered. “What? Why?” I almost laugh, the anger or annoyance or whatever starting to build again at his act. “Because,” I say quietly, just in case anyone else conveniently shows up, “if I had to give up my spot, I wasn’t going to let you hold it over my head all day. And on that note, I really don’t care how else you want to blackmail me with it, I won’t do anything for you again—” His face twists further into confusion. “Blackmail?” he interrupts. “What are you talking about, blackmail?” My brain halts. For a split second, we stare at one another incredulously. Then he speaks again, voice higher than normal but still straining to be quiet. “Why would I blackmail you?” I look over my shoulder— again, just in case. I silently point toward the room with the ice machine. No matter what, I’m not getting in trouble or getting Michelle and Ned in trouble for the room swap. Once we’re out of sight, I put the ice bucket down, pull my phone from my pocket, unlock it, and hit the message app. “Your texts,” I whisper, scrolling to our conversation, “sound a little threatening, don’t you think?” I shove the phone into his hands. He reads them quickly and gives it back. “You— you thought I was trying to blackmail you?” My face twitches, my certainty faltering. “Are you seriously telling me you weren’t?” “No! It was a joke!” The air goes completely still. I gave up my place in the competition for nothing? Flash’s face suddenly becomes serious, like reality has hit him in the face at the same time. “Holy shit. I didn’t, I seriously didn’t think you would take it that way. Is that why Michelle flipped shit at the gift shop?” “Probably,” I say, weirdly relieved yet freshly frustrated. “I didn’t actually tell anyone but she probably figured it out. Or thought she did.” I missed everything I’ve worked all year for… for absolutely no reason.

Fuck. If I were alone, I’d probably stare at the wall for five minutes in numb shock. But Flash surprises me. “Shit. I’m so sorry,” he says, eyes wide. “I had no idea, I swear. I really thought you were sick. You looked awful. Not that— not like— I mean, you know. For real, I promise, I was only trying to help— I thought Mr. Harrington was being a jerk and no one would back you up.” That might be the first time Flash has ever apologized for anything. If the last couple days hadn’t already been insane, I’d probably be more upset. But there’s a calmness flooding my veins to lower my pulse. It’s done and there’s nothing more to do. Plus, he apparently tried to do the right thing. Even if he ended up doing the opposite. “It’s….” I almost say it’s okay, but it’s not, exactly. “Thank god we won.” Flash smiles for a second, then he goes back to looking guilty and apologetic. “Yeah, I got my shit together this year. I studied. A lot.” So did I. It’s over though, and there’s always next year. It’s a poor consolation, but— Peter. I bite the inside of my cheek, remembering. I’m glad I didn’t start feeling bad for Flash even momentarily. “You’re still an ass.” I consider nailing his forehead with the heel of my hand to get him back for that. “I’m not kidding when I say that if you ever touch Peter or anyone else one more time, I’ll never talk to you again, and trust that I’ll make you regret it.” Flash was about to speak when I paused, but he freezes and his face slackens. He looks like a child caught in instant regret at the sight of a strict parent. “It’s not an excuse, but…” “But what?” “The dinn— I.” He restarts. “It really wasn’t that hard.” The expression on my face must convey plenty. He rushes on. “Understood though. As long as he shuts up once in a while.” He halts, visibly wincing. “Yeah, no, uh, agreed.” “Good.” He nods, avoiding eye contact and sinking into an awkward posture. Maybe it’s because he’s actually apologized and agreed to lay off Peter combined with how genuinely sorry he looks, not to mention the fact he’s wearing pajamas is still taking me off guard, but I do kind of feel a tiny bit bad. Might as well compromise a little. “Sorry I told you to shove it up your ass earlier.” That’s not usually how I apologize, but those were my exact words at the gift shop when he asked me to “just listen” to him. All things considered, I guess I should have. Oops. “It’s cool. I would’ve said the same thing in your position.” He pauses. “Will you tell MJ I’m sorry to her too? And explain the rest?” “Sure.” I shrug. “I’ll even unblock you.” He picks up on the fleck of humor and his lip twitches upward. “Thanks. And again, I’m really sorry.” Neither of us seem to have anything else to say, so once I nod in acknowledgement, he mirrors it, turns, and slowly walks back into the hallway. I pick up the ice bucket and, as intended, fill it. Well, that’s another box to check off. Figuring out how to get Flash to drop the blackmail: done. Now I just need to talk to Michelle about it— His footsteps, which had been steadily fading away, abruptly rush back. He leans into the doorway, looking more like his obnoxious self. “So you actually slept with Peter?” I resist the urge to swing the bucket at him. “Flash, I swear to god I will murder you.” Next chapter

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