#he can't help talking to you he can't stop divulging his past

[linktoo-doodles]

dig me up, let me go

[fluentmoviequoter]

Don't Believe Everyone You See (Is Too Good to Be True)

Summary: After seeing Dalton in the Further and meeting him in the real world, (astral-projecting) reader joins the fight to close the Red Door.

Read Part 1 Here!

Warnings: spoilers for The Red Door (divulges from the events of the movie, but spoilers are still present!), canon-typical violence and descriptions of the Further, Josh calls reader 'kid', angst, fluff. 2.3k+ words

A/N: Thank you for all the feedback and support on part 1! I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it, and as always, please let me know what you think. :)

Flipping the page, you continue taking notes on The Further We Go. You and Dalton had ventured into the Further last night but still aren't sure how to close the door. Unfortunately, you think, the only way to do it seems to be from the other side. As you finish the chapter, Chris sends an SOS text, and you know that can only mean one thing, Dalton.

You leave everything behind and run toward Dalton's dorm, taking as many shortcuts as possible. The closer you get to him, the more you feel the tug of the Further. Though you can't see them in this realm, you know spirits are following you. Finding an abandoned spot outside his dorm building, you stand still and close your eyes as the sun sets, walking out of your body and running up the stairs to his dorm. Chris is in his room with his body, plugging lights in and warding off the spirits. While you're watching her, someone else comes into his room. You recognize Mr. Lambert from Dalton's picture of the door.

"Mr. Lambert? I'm a friend of Dalton's. Can you get us into his mind?" you introduce yourself before asking for help.

"Call me Josh. Yeah, I think I know exactly where it took him," Josh answers.

You follow him into the Further and soon enter a house filled with toys and memories that obviously make Mr. Lambert – Josh – uncomfortable. He leads you to the attic, or more accurately, Dalton's mind, where his memories are playing on repeat. A large dome of chairs is built up in the middle of the room, and a chain extends underneath them.

"Hand me that hammer, kid," Josh asks.

You hesitate for a moment, but you can see that he wants to save Dalton, and whatever caused him to act the way he did in the past is long gone.

"Is it the same demon? That made you…" you trail off as you pass him the hammer.

"No. But it's close enough," Josh answers quietly.

He grabs the chain and pulls, Dalton screaming on the other end as he gets dragged from under the chairs. Josh raises the hammer, and Dalton yells for him to stop, panting as the hammer knocks the cuff off his ankle.

"You tried to kill me! I saw you!" Dalton accuses.

"These things get in our mind, Dalton. One controlled me, and there is one coming back for you. We have to get out of here."

Josh helps Dalton stand, and Dalton sees you over his shoulder. He hugs you tightly before lowering his hand into yours and running behind his dad.

"What are you doing here?" Dalton asks.

"Chris texted. You needed help," you answer.

As you pass through the door, Josh slams it closed and leans against it, asking Dalton to help him keep it closed.

"There's nothing we can do," Dalton argues, his hand still holding yours.

Josh looks into Dalton's eyes and smiles as he says, "Go."

Dalton begins to argue again, but his dad shakes his head.

An idea pops into Dalton's mind, and he looks away from his dad, his eyes finding yours.

"Let's go," he says to you.

"Dalton, I don't think I can leave," you admit, loosening your grip on his hand.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"When I came in, I was surrounded. There's no way that they didn't, you know. My body was unguarded."

"Don't. Don't do this. We have to try."

"Dalton," you whisper, touching his cheek as a tear rolls down yours.

"Go live. I'll make sure your dad gets out."

"I can't leave you. This can't be goodbye."

"We'll always have the Further. Go."

He pulls you in for one last breathless kiss before turning and running, leaving you in the Further, where you always knew you'd end up.

"Mr. Lambert!" You call as you run back to the door and lean against it.

"What are you doing, kid? Why didn't you go with Dalton?"

Something splatters on the door, and Josh frantically looks up.

"Paint? Paint! It's Dalton!"

The red-faced demon punches the door, his fist breaking through between your face and Josh's.

"Mr. Lambert, move! Dalton almost has it covered, get out of here!" You yell over the sounds of the demon.

"No, you're coming too."

"I can't."

He sees the tears in your eyes and shakes his head slowly.

"Go check on Dalton. Tell him I love him?"

Josh nods, looking at the paint covering the hole and traveling downward before he pushes off the door and runs toward the real world. The last of the paint drips to the floor, the now black door shining as the light flickers out. You slump against the door, sliding down it to sit. It feels like a lifetime ago that you ran into Dalton in this darkness, and now it's the only place you'll ever have him.

"I love you, Dalton Lambert," you whisper. You see that your hand has been in a puddle of paint and raise it to your chest, holding it as you pull your knees up, trying to convince yourself that you're holding Dalton instead.

The Further gets darker, and soon you can't tell where you end or the Further begins.

"Mom, is Dad back?" Dalton asks breathlessly as his mom answers the phone.

"Yeah, he's back," his mom answers.

"Dalton, where are you?" Josh asks, taking the phone.

"My dorm."

"Is she with you?"

"Chris is with me."

"No, Dalton, the girl that was in there. The one that told me to tell you she loves you. Where is she?"

"I don't know," Dalton confesses, standing and running his hand through his hair. "Dad, I don't know what to do." He starts crying as he continues, "She said her body was unguarded, but I don't know where she was or if I could-"

"Bud, slow down. I'm leaving right now, and I'll be there as soon as I can. If you find anything before, call me."

Dalton leaves his dorm room and begins circling campus, looking for you. He stops by a tree, pushing his fist against it and wondering if punching it would take any of his pain away. He regrets leaving without trying to help you and wishes he had stopped to ask more questions or convince you to come with him.

"Dalton, we've looked everywhere. I don't know where else we could check," Chris says quietly. "I'm going to give you some space before your dad gets here, but call if you need anything, ok?"

Dalton nods, and Chris pats his shoulder before walking away. Approaching the corner where he started searching, Dalton sits against the side of his dorm building. Tilting his head slightly, a gap in the fence reveals itself in the moonlight. Dalton stands and sees several loose boards a few feet away. Perfectly shaped, as though someone has used it to pass through numerous times, Dalton pushes one board and steps through, feeling his heart drop to his stomach as he sees a figure slumped in the middle of the abandoned courtyard.

You groan as you force your eyes open, nearly crying at the sight of your dorm room, the copy of The Further We Go, and your notes sitting on your desk in the same place as before you ran out to help Dalton. Hoping not to see Dalton and make the pain worse, you leave your dorm to explore the campus one last time.

Dalton knows he should call his dad, but he can't. Instead, he cries as he cradles your body in his arms. Dalton whispers apologies into the night, too scared to project and try to find you again. Eventually, he texts his dad where he is, then throws his phone in the grass beside him, holding you tighter as the last of the ambient light fades to darkness, not unlike the night you met.

The closer you get to Dalton's dorm building, the darker it gets. You try to convince yourself not to go to the last place you remember, but the morbid curiosity of if anyone's found your body and what happened after you started projecting leads you on. Climbing through the bushes on the far side of the field, the moment your foot touches the grass, you lose consciousness again.

"Dalton? I'm so sorry," Josh says as he pulls the fence boards closed again. He kneels behind Dalton and rubs a hand on his back.

"It's my fault," Dalton confesses, his voice cracking.

"What can I do for you, bud?"

"There's a book we were reading together in the building across the quad, room 707. Can you go get that?"

"Yeah, bud. I'll be right back."

Your hearing is the first thing to return, but you feel so heavy that you don't want to open your eyes. Despite the heaviness, you feel hands on you, like someone is holding you in their arms. You hope it's not a malicious spirit and continue to delay opening your eyes.

"I'm so sorry. My dad told me what you said. I wish I could've heard you say it because I love you too. Please just say it one more time," Dalton begs somewhere above you.

Your heart breaks at the desperation in his voice.

"I love you, Dalton," you say, surprised to feel the words.

You snap your eyes open at the sensation, and Dalton lifts his face; wide-eyed as he looks at you. His hand flies to your neck, pressing against your pulse point before his tears increase as he begins laughing.

You join him in the wet laughter, wrapping your arms around his neck as he shifts you upright to sit in his lap. Dalton buries his face in your neck as you press your nose into his hair.

"I thought you were dead," he says, pulling back from your shoulder to look at your face.

"That seems to be a theme with you."

"Are you ok?" Dalton brushes his fingers down your face as his eyes scan you, looking for any sign of injury.

"I'm fine. You saved my life, Dalton. You saved everyone in this realm."

"I left you."

"I asked you to because I thought it was the only way. But I'm back, so it doesn't matter."

Dalton hugs you again, smiling into your neck and pressing occasional kisses into your skin. Your hand travels to his hair, fingers gently scraping his scalp.

"You know what does matter? That I love you," you say into his ear.

Dalton jerks back quickly, nearly pulling you to the ground with him.

"I love you. So much. I've loved you since I first saw you in the Further."

"When you thought I was dead?"

"It's our theme," Dalton teases before gently grasping your face and bringing your lips to his.

His kiss is one of love, relief, and absolute devotion. Your hands settle on either side of his neck as he tilts his head back to deepen the kiss.

"Ahem."

You pull back just enough to look over his shoulder, then stand out of his lap when you see who it is. Dalton rises beside you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders and bringing you to his side.

"You see that little device in the grass? You can use that to call people and tell them pertinent information. Such as, say, 'Hey, Dad, you know my dead girlfriend isn't actually dead so you can head back now,'" Josh says as he passes the book to Dalton.

"Thanks, Dad. And I'd say I'll call next time but this isn't happening again," Dalton responds.

"Jokes aside, I'm glad you're alright, kid," Josh tells you. "What you did back there was commendable, and I'm glad you're willing to settle for someone like my son."

"Thank you. And I'm not settling, I love him."

"Chapter 7: What to Do When the Girl You Love Tries to Sacrifice Herself but Miraculously Comes Back to Life," Dalton reads.

"I'm going to go back to Dalton's dorm and order pizza. Enjoy that chapter," Josh says, winking at you before exiting through the fence.

"It does not say that," you exclaim, trying to wrestle into Dalton's arms to see the page.

"Step 1: Kiss her until you can't remember your own name. Done!"

Dalton drops the book and grabs your wrist, where it's trying to pry his hand off the book.

"That's a library book," you complain, but your worry quickly evaporates as he kisses you again.

You pull yourself closer and lean against Dalton, losing yourself in him until you have to take a breath. Dalton leans his forehead against yours as he attempts to catch his breath.

"Do you remember your name?" You ask teasingly.

"Nope. But the only one that matters is yours," Dalton answers. He leans over and picks up the book before taking your hand and leading you toward the fence.

Dalton's hand squeezes yours as he says, "Thank you for coming back."

"Thank you for giving me something to come back to. Something to love."

"Chapter 18: Love and the Further."

"Shut up."

"It literally says that."

Dalton lets you into his room, ignoring his dad and opening the book. He points to the chapter on the table of contents page. Then he flips to the actual chapter and reads the first line.

"'It can be tempting to try to mix love and the Further. Don't. One of you may end up stuck in the Further, especially if you are both projectors and encounter danger.'"

"Been there, done that," you say as you sit on Dalton's bed.

"How did you two meet, anyway?" Josh asks.

"Well, we were both in the Further," Dalton begins.

He says, "I thought she was a trapped soul," as you say, "I thought he was a trapped soul."

"It's our theme," Dalton adds quickly, winking at you before continuing the story.

Just a few weeks ago, you tried to convince yourself Dalton was a spirit; now you're sitting in his dorm room laughing with his dad over pizza after saving the realm and coming back from the depths of the Further. Maybe everything, and everyone, isn't too good to be true.

[drabbles-mc]

I Can't Do This

John B Routledge x F!Reader

For Day 17 of @whumpril's 2023 Challenge: cry for help / "I can't do this"

Warnings: angst, no use of "y/n"

Word Count: 943

A/N: I was overdue for some John B content. Love this boy.

OBX Taglist: @garbinge @passionatewrites (If you want to be added to any of my taglists, please let me know)

In the weeks that followed the disappearance of Big John, you remembered the constant weight and tension that hung in the air at the chateau, or wherever John B was. You couldn’t blame him. You couldn’t imagine the stress that he was carrying around with him every day, not knowing where his dad was or when he was going to come back. If he was going to come back.

That first month after it all happened was the first time you ever remembered John B being quiet. For better or worse, he always had a conversation, a story, a joke, something. It was never quiet when he was around. But suddenly it felt like there were endless hours of silence when you would stop by. Coming from him, the lack of words was the loudest cry for help that you could think of.

You tried to pull it out of him, get him talking about anything. It didn’t have to be about his dad, about how he felt about it all. It would’ve been nice, but really you would’ve been willing to listen to him rattle on about math homework at that point. Or another conspiracy theory. You were starting to worry that he was just going to shut down altogether, because despite your best efforts he was never in a mood to divulge anything.

It didn’t stop you from coming around, though. A few times a week you’d go over to the chateau right after school and stay as late as you could before it would land you in hot water with your own family. They cut you a little slack because of the circumstances, but you still couldn’t just up and move in with him the way you would’ve been on the brink of doing if you had been unsupervised.

You had the bags of takeout carefully stacked in the basket of your bike as you pedaled your way up to the chateau. When you could swing it, you tried to pick up dinner for each of you, or you’d try to schmooze Kiara and her parents into giving you something for free from The Wreck. Tonight you had enough money to grab something for each of you from a spot in town. John B may not have been much in the mood to talk anymore, but he still never said no to the food you brought over. You had that going for you at least.

The two of you were sitting on the couch, paper plates resting in your laps. The television was on to cut the silence, but you hadn’t said anything since you offered him some of the food that you’d brought. The fact that he sat in the living room with you rather than scurrying off to his room and slamming the door behind him was a win in your book. You didn’t think that he really wanted to be alone—he just didn’t know how to be around someone else right now either.

When you were both done and you’d thrown away the empty containers, for a brief second you thought about leaving. You weren’t sure what else there was for you to do for him. You lingered in the kitchen for a second, just watching him even though you couldn’t even really see his face. You waited to see if he made any move to get up. The two of you were long past him needing to see you out the door, but there was something about the way that he seemed to sink deeper into the couch that pulled you back over to him.

Sitting down on the couch, you tucked yourself against his side. He was tense for a moment, and you thought that he was going to pull away, but then he relaxed against you. Draping your arm across his stomach, you let out a small sigh. After a few seconds, you felt the pressure of him resting his head against yours and he slid his arm around your back.

You wanted to have something to say, but you didn’t know what the right thing was. Taking a long, slow breath, you allowed yourself to ease into the silence. You had to be okay with that.

The two of you had been sitting, silently watching the television when you felt John B take a shaky breath in. You felt like you could hear the quiver of his inhale. Sliding your hand up so that it was resting on his chest, you asked, “You okay?”

You weren’t looking up at him, but you could feel him shaking his head. “I can’t do this,” his said, his voice low and raspy, like it’d gotten rusted from lack of use.

Your lips curved into a frown at the admission. “I know it feels like that, but—”

“He’s gonna come back, right?” he asked, voice still not quite sounding like his own.

“John B—”

He pulled you tighter against his side, like he was afraid that he was going to lose you too. “Tell me he’s gonna come back.”

Tears stung at your eyes as you melted into him a little more. “He’s gonna come back,” you told him, giving a small nod of extra reassurance.

He leaned into your more, body starting to tremble as he gave way to all of the feelings he’d been trying to keep bottled up. “Promise?” he choked out.

You knew that you shouldn’t make promises that you had no power to keep, but you couldn’t deprive him of this. Nodding, the side of your face brushing against the thin fabric of his shirt, you said, “I promise.”

[randalsgrave]

Sweetness and Light: Part Eight

Five months later...

I've been through the ringer lately with school shit and back-to-back submarine deployments (someone please tell the Navy that I'd really like extended time with my husband; I'm tired of him being on the boat); needless to say, this has been on the backburner for a minute and it was high time I get this written for y'all's enjoyment. Thanks so much for your patience; I can't wait for you guys to read this. <3

Things start heating up for Bob and Katie.

BobxFemale!OC. F/C: Kacey Rohl

Word count: 7.2K

MAJOR WARNINGS: 18+ ONLY. SMUT. MINORS DNI.

MINOR WARNINGS: colorful language, not beta-read (we die like men)

***

Week 6, Monday. It’s been barely a minute since the morning portion of instruction finished, and Fanboy is already accosting Katie. Well, not accosting - more like sidling up alongside her with his arms folded and his eyes glimmering with… something. She wouldn’t necessarily call it ‘accusing’, but whatever it is, it comes pretty damn close to it. 

“All right, spill - what happened this weekend?” 

Boy, nothing gets by you, does it? “What do you mean ‘what happened this weekend’?” 

“Oh girl, don’t even,” Fanboy retorts with a snort as they wander out into the hallway. “You and Bob have been staring and smiling at each other alllll morning, which leads me to believe that something happened between you guys. So, what happened?” 

Despite Fanboy being rather annoyingly perceptive about her love life (damn him), Katie can only chuckle. “Really hell-bent on winning that five bucks, huh?”

“I mean, it’s an easy win for me; it’s obvious you two have something going on.” 

“Either that, or you’re seeing things. Speaking of seeing things, what’s this I hear about you seeing a girl in Los Angeles? Halfpint said you were gone all weekend with someone-”

“Ah ah ah, we’re not talking about me; stop avoiding the question-”

“Oh my god - we went to the aquarium and looked at fish. Happy now?” In her defense, she is telling Fanboy the truth - she just fails to mention the kiss they shared in the kelp forest exhibit, the hours of conversation, and the secondary kiss she gave him after he walked her back to her room. It’s not like it’s important for him to know the details right now. 

Fanboy knows she’s lying - or, at the very least, he looks at her like he knows she’s lying, complete with his hands on his hips and his eyes narrowed, just the tiniest bit. “You’re not telling me something. I dunno what it is yet, but I’ll figure it out - and you’re in trouble when I do.”

Katie heaves a sigh. “You’re really not gonna let this go, are you?”

Fanboy sounds almost affronted when he scoffs at her. “I’ve got five dollars on the line; of course I’m not letting it go.” He sets his garrison cap squarely on his head and lines it up with the bridge of his nose, then starts for the front door - only to double back and lean in towards Katie. “Her name’s Gianna, by the way.” 

He’s already walking by the time Katie thinks to respond. “You better gimme details on her, Garcia!”

“Only when you gimme details on you and Bobber!” he yells as a final farewell, just as the front doors cut him off with a loud clang!

Katie can’t help but groan. Can’t he at least give her the courtesy of some privacy before divulging the details of her love life? Apparently not. Nosy-ass.

“Boy, Fanboy’s in fine form today, isn’t he?” Bob’s come up behind her, hand brushing her shoulder blade to let her know that he’s there. 

She ignores the tingling she gets from his hand brushing against her and sighs. “You heard all that, huh?”

“Yeah… What was that all about?” 

Katie blows a raspberry with her lips, shakes her head. “He’s being nosy about this past weekend. He’s got money riding on you and me getting together.” 

“Wait…” Bob’s eyebrows furrow. “There’s a bet going?” 

“Five dollars that you and I become a thing in a matter of weeks,” Katie explains. She doesn’t even try to hide the wince on her face. “In my defense, I didn’t do shit to encourage him. He made the bet all on his own.” 

“Sounds like something he’d do,” Bob replies with a hum as he’s positioning his garrison cap. 

They’re outside now, making their way towards Katie’s 4Runner. The sun’s hanging directly overhead, beaming down and hitting Bob’s hair in a way that turns it to gold in the light. For a second, it’s all Katie can focus on, all she wants to focus on. Christ, he’s handsome…

She coughs after a moment. She hates to end it so soon. “Yeah, well, his competitiveness is making him badger me for money. He’s pretty well convinced you and I are a sure thing.” 

“Well, what do you think? Are we a sure thing?”

Katie’s breath stops mid-inhale. Oh boy. She should’ve known that it was going to come up; she just wasn’t expecting it to come up as soon as it did. 

She forces the air out in a small exhale, purses her lips as they climb into the 4Runner. “I think…” Choose your words carefully Katie… “I think we only just realized we have feelings for each other,” she says slowly. “And… while we’re figuring out where we wanna go with those feelings, I think I want to take things slow with you.” 

She’s half-expecting Bob to hang his head in disappointment, or to say something passive-aggressive in response - anything to suggest she’s in the wrong for trying to set boundaries and manage expectations. It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened to her. 

To her surprise, though, Bob nods. “That’s more than fair. Certainly makes things a little less intimidating.”

When he says that, Katie’s not sure if he’s speaking for her, or for himself. 

In any case, she hums in agreement as she starts the car up - then smirks. “If last weekend was any indicator, though, I’d say things are heading in a good direction.” She reaches over, slips a hand into Bob’s, squeezes softly as her eyes meet his. “Wouldn’t you agree?”  

Bob gives her a grin and his own squeeze of her hand as a reply. Wholeheartedly, it seems to say. 

She smiles, cranks her music volume, and points them  in the direction of downtown San Diego. 

Likewise, Bob. 

Likewise. 

***

Tuesday morning is a timeframe like most others these days - early rise, quick rinse, fresh flight suit…

And coffee with Bob in his lodge room. 

At 0730 he’s in his usual spot behind the kitchen bartop, hand-grinding coffee beans and keeping a casual eye on the kettle on the stove, watching for steam. Equally, Katie is in her usual spot too, elbow on the counter, propping up her head resting in her hand, eyes on Bob, lazy, sleepy half-smile on her face. She likes watching him make coffee for the both of them. It’s soothing, a balm for the unpleasantness of waking up early in the morning. 

Beans sufficiently ground, Bob pops the cap on the grinder and dumps them into his French press. “This stuff smells phenomenal. Where did you get it from again?” 

“Y’know James Coffee over on India Street?”

“Oh yeah, those guys. Been meaning to check ‘em out sometime. How’s their coffee?” 

Katie nods. “It’s really good - kinda’ fruity. At least that’s what the guy who sold it to me said.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” Bob takes the kettle in one hand, wets the grounds with some water before giving them a stir. “You can smell the berries and chocolate in the beans.” He pours the rest of the water into the press, all the way to the top, then sets the plunger. “It’s gonna make a helluva cup of coffee, I can tell you that much.” 

He splits the resulting liquid between two white mugs, and hands one off to Katie, who takes a single long sip and hums serenely. Warm, toasty, and chocolatey.  Bob’s right - this is a damn good cup of coffee. 

“Dude, can I just, like… Take you back to Virginia with me when this is all over? Have you make me coffee everyday or something? Like goddamn.” She takes another sip of coffee, revels in the rich, fruity taste, the heat warming her insides, the caffeine flowing through her. “Seriously, I don’t think I can go back to my Keurig after this,” she says with a laugh. 

Bob chuckles as he comes around the bartop and takes the seat to Katie’s left. “I dunno. Big daddy Navy might have something to say about that, but” - he takes a long sip - “I’m sure we could figure something out.” 

“Eh, it’s nothing an SRC can’t take care of.” 

A shrug and a lip-curl of agreement. “SRC’s do take care of a lot of things.” 

“See? Problem solved.” Katie takes another pull of coffee. Right now she can’t get enough of it, it’s so good. “Just say that you’re, I dunno… establishing a coffee mess detachment in Norfolk. Y’know, something that says ‘mission critical’ and makes upper leadership happy.” 

“Spoken as if it’s actually gonna work,” Bob replies with a snicker. 

“Oh what, you think it won’t?”

“Trust me, I wish it would.”

“Oh, it definitely will. I mean, it’s gotta; I’ve got cute guy-supplied coffee on the line here.” 

Bob’s cheeks color, and there’s just the tiniest hint of bashfulness in the smile that crosses his face. “Cute, huh?” 

“Oh yeah.” She leans into him, hand running feather-light down his forearm before resting atop his free hand. “Very cute.”

Her heart still pounds in her chest when she leans in further and kisses Bob. She may be the picture of cool and collected on the outside, but there’s no controlling the anxious shriek of her nerves, the too-fast rush of her blood through her veins as her lips brush his, taste him. Kissing a man certainly isn’t a novelty for Katie, but… 

This is Bob Floyd she’s kissing now, and Bob, he’s… Well, where the hell does Katie begin? He’s…

Unlike anyone I’ve ever met before. 

She pulls back, surveys his face for a moment. Bob is blank-faced - dumbstruck, even. Clearly he wasn’t expecting a kiss this morning. 

“What about what you said yesterday?” 

Despite the hammering in her ribs, she sidles up next to Bob, leans until her lips are just close enough to brush the shell of his ear. Bold of her. VERY bold of her. “Just because we’re taking it slow, doesn’t mean I don’t want to kiss you,” she whispers. 

Katie can practically feel the heat coming off of Bob all of a sudden, can feel the goosebumps prickling across his skin. Hell, his breathing hitches for a second. So. Close proximity definitely has an effect on him. It’s a bit of a mean thing to do this early in the morning, but she’s definitely got his attention with that. She’s also fairly certain he’s not going to complain much about it, if he even complains at all. 

A moment later, Bob replies. “Well,” he says around a thick swallow, “thank god for that, because I haven’t stopped thinking about kissing you since Saturday.” 

He hasn’t? 

He turns back towards Katie, and picks up where she left off, nice, easy, no pressure. Unlike Katie, though, he doesn’t pull back after the one kiss. No - he stays there, wanting more, giving more. His hand comes up to cup her cheek, so nice and tender, and suddenly Katie’s the one with goosebumps. It’s so… intimate. It’s closeness that she hasn’t had, not in a long, long time. 

And it’s closeness that she wants more of. 

Her hands move of their own free will, creeping up to cradle Bob’s jaw, every bit as tender as the embrace he has her in, more more more please more - 

And then the soft rattle of a doorknob turning has them breaking apart and shoving away faster than they have time to process. Dashed is the moment of closeness, the moment of bliss that Katie was all too happy to let herself sink into - like a bubble bursting and fizzing into the ether.

The door to the left-side bedroom swings open, and out comes Rapture, swiping a hand down his sleep-riddled face, the very picture of ‘I’m up too early against my will’ as he all but stumbles into the shared space. 

He’s utterly oblivious to his WSO having kissed their fellow aviator all but two seconds ago, to the flushed pink tinting both their cheeks, their lips.  

And dare Katie even think it for a second, but she’s… annoyed by the sudden appearance of Bob’s front-seater. Very annoyed. 

“Pre-class coffee?” Rapture mumbles, to which Bob nods in answer. “Smells good.”

“Man, you have no idea. This stuff is amazing. You want a cup?”

Rapture all but moans. “Please.”

It’s a fight to keep a scowl from creeping across her face. Goddamn it Rapture, you couldn’t have done this earlier?

Bob seems to sense the thought running through Katie’s head, because his eyes dart to hers as he stands and goes to fix a cup of coffee for his front-seater - and if she’s reading the glimmer in them correctly, it’s definitely saying “I hear you.”

Perhaps he also had other things in mind before Rapture showed up. 

In an attempt to be conversational while waiting on the coffee, Rapture turns to Katie. “How’re you doing this morning?”

“Not too bad. Enjoying my one moment of peace for the day before other people see fit to destroy it.” The smile on her face is polite, but tight. Very tight. Pointedly tight. 

“Christ, that’s a mood,” Rapture mutters before taking the coffee Bob’s just passed to him and drinking, seemingly unfazed by the wording and stiff expression - and heaves a long sigh of bliss. “Y’think anyone’ll care if I take the mug with me off lodge property?”

“Uh… No?”

“Good. This is coming with me then. Fuck, this is good.” He takes another sip, smacks his lips, starts for the front door. “I’ll see y’all at the schoolhouse.”

Then, Rapture’s gone, breezing through the front door, leaving Bob and Katie to slump in the kitchen. Universe: one. Two romantically involved aviators: zero. 

“God bless my front-seater, but he has terrible timing sometimes,” Bob all but groans. 

“Yeah, tell me about it. S’pose we oughta’ follow his lead though and get moving; muster is in 15 minutes.”

“Yeah, you’re right; we should go. You driving or am I?”

“Eh, I’ll drive.”

“All right. Just leave your mug on the counter; I’ll wash it later.” Bob scoops up his notebooks and study material, dumps it into the black Navy-issued backpack resting against the kitchen floorboards, loops his arms through one of the straps, grabs his garrison cap off the counter. “Ready?”

“Whenever you are.”

“‘Kay. Let’s go.” 

They march down the hall towards the stairwell at the opposite end, strides long and purposeful, minds clear and focused now. At least, Katie’s mind is, no thanks to Rapture and his sudden interruption. It’s definitely for the best though; being half-dazed and delirious from a kiss while learning rigorous combative flight technique is probably not the best state to be in. 

They’re making their way down the stairs, boots all but thundering as they hit the steps, when Bob comes to a standstill right at the bottom. Katie’s lucky she catches herself in time; one more step forward and she would be tumbling over him. 

“You good there?” 

“Fine. Just forgot something, is all.”

Katie’s eyebrow shoots up. “Yeah? What’s that?”

Bob says nothing else - just turns and leans into Katie and kisses her, right there at the bottom the stairwell, one second, two seconds, three. When he pulls away, there’s a grin - a self-satisfied, mischievous one - on his face. “That. We’re good now.” 

“You’re so ridiculous.” Even though her eyes roll and her voice scoffs, her lips still curl upwards in a smile.

“Can’t help it that I like kissing you - and that I’m gonna take every chance I get to do it.”

And with that, Bob smiles broadly, nudges Katie in the shoulder, and pushes through the door into the lobby, leaving Katie to follow with her mouth in a silly grin and her face flushed. 

So much for having a clear mind today.

***

The outdoors call to Katie today, more than usual. It probably has something to do with today’s lecture and hop being on the more hellish side, but by the time everyone’s released for the day and she’s made it back to her room to change, the initial reason doesn’t matter all that much. She just has to get outside, and soon. 

She texts Bob and Fanboy as she’s swapping over to shorts and a sleeveless t-shirt. “Going hiking, y’all wanna come with?” 

Bob’s answer comes through almost immediately. “Sure. Where to?”

“No idea,” Katie texts, shrugging as she does, as though Bob can somehow see her reacting to the message. “You wanna pick?” 

As Bob takes time to ponder, another message chirps through - Fanboy this time. “Fuck it, why not?” his message reads. “Where we going?”

“No idea. Bob’s picking a spot.” 

“Cool cool. Bobber, where to?”

“Uhhhhhh thoughts on Bayside Trail? Two and a half mi roundtrip and it’s right along the ocean.”

Ah, a nice, quick oceanside hike. More importantly, a nice, quick oceanside hike at golden hour. How pretty - and romantic, Katie realizes a second later. 

Shit. Fanboy is definitely going to read into this now. 

She swears to herself, threads her braided hair through the back of the ball cap Bob bought for her, pulls it down tight on her head. She suddenly finds herself praying to the higher powers that be, asking them to please, for the love of all things holy, let her (and Bob, for that matter) have a nice afternoon without any prying questions from their friend, or (Christ) even so much as a sly sideways glance at the two of them. 

HA, she thinks, then groans. Who the fuck am I kidding? 

Much to Katie’s surprise, though, he doesn’t. In fact, Fanboy hardly says a damn word the whole time they’re together. Even when it’s an hour and a half later and she and Bob are drifting and talking to each other a good deal closer than most friends would, he doesn’t say anything. 

Maybe he doesn’t notice, Katie thinks briefly, right before shaking her head. No way. He’s noticed and he’s just choosing not to say anything. 

She all but confirms this when they reach the trail’s terminus and she snaps a picture of the three of them, standing high above the ocean in all its blue- and gold-hued glory, and goddamn it if Fanboy doesn’t smirk in the picture - smirk at her, more specifically. 

Yep, he definitely noticed. 

And he makes as much clear when he knocks shoulders with her on the return trip and murmurs to her, “Still think you’re not paying me that five bucks?”

“Yeah, when hell freezes over.”

“Y’know, that day might be coming a lot sooner than you think.”

“Fanboy, I’m gonna kill you.”

“Yeah yeah, only after you pay me.”

Insufferable, that one. Really and truly insufferable. 

And yet, Katie doesn’t have it in her to resent Fanboy. For as much as he pokes at and pesters her about it, for as much as it drives her damn nuts, they both know that there’s a point being made:

Something is brewing between her and Bob, something big, and to continue to deny it is a fool’s errand. Fanboy’s right, and not only does he know it, but Katie knows it too. 

…She’s still not giving him the money, though. 

***

She hasn’t stopped thinking about Tuesday morning. 

It’s been two days since then and her face still feels warm where Bob had laid his hand - tingly warm, good warm. A man caressing her face the way he did isn’t a novel experience to her - at least, it shouldn’t be; past boyfriends and flings have made similar moves in similar situations, but none of them affected her the way this one, this man, did. 

It’s made Katie realize lately how badly - how very, very badly - she wants Bob to touch her like that. To touch her in general. To run his hands over her face and her body and…

Her cheeks go from pale and freckled to burning and flushed in a matter of seconds. It paints a wonderful image in her head, but she scolds herself. They’ve only just started figuring things out; she doesn’t need to be having those thoughts just yet. 

But here she is, having them anyway. And she’s not in much of a rush to stop them. 

Hands on her face. Hands on her body. Hands everywhere she can think to put them. 

Oh god, she’s in trouble. She’s supposed to be meeting up with him in five minutes for some studying, and in his room, no less. How the hell is she supposed to manage that with the thoughts, the images racing through her head? 

Katie groans, tips forward and lets her forehead smack against the mirror in her bathroom. “Please, I am begging you,” she moans to herself, “get your shit together. You’re supposed to be taking this slow, remember?”

If only it were so easy to keep that in mind. 

She splashes some water on her face, wills her brain to stop racing and the flush in her face to disappear. The flush proves easy to dispel. The thoughts? Not so much. They circle and circle, over and over, and goddamn it, this is so not helping. 

It’s only when she forces herself to think of the most unsexy things in the world - namely, UCMJ articles and the Navy code of ethics - that she’s able to feel calm enough to handle things. She’s in control. She can do this. 

…Right?

Turns out that’s a lie - a big, fat one, because when Bob greets her in his doorway five minutes later, wearing a USN hoodie with the sleeves bunched up to reveal the tone of his forearms, Katie’s body goes hot and all thoughts of calm and control go flying out of her head. 

Did he have to wear something that shows off one of the best parts of him?

Thinking those thoughts about a friend of yours… Have you no shame?

For once, Katie doesn’t wince at the nagging little voice in the back of her head. 

“All right, I’ve got Thai food on the counter,” Bob says without a moment of hesitation. “I say we eat first and then dive into studying.”

It’s enough to snap Katie out of her momentary stupor. She nods in agreement and follows him through the doorway. “What’ve you got?”

“Summer rolls with peanut sauce, pork pad kee mao, and green curry with chicken. The pad kee mao’s good but if you’re not a fan of spicy, I’d skip it.”

“Well,” Katie asks as she takes a plate from him, “how spicy are we talking here?”

“Like a five, maybe a soft six out of ten.”

“Am I gonna be doubled over in your bathroom in twenty minutes if I eat it?”

“Eh, I don't think so. If you can handle last week's Chinese food, you'll handle this just fine."

Katie’s first response is to purse her lips in thought - then to take the spoon nestled in the noodles and dump a big scoop of them onto her plate. “Guess we’ll see how I’m doing in twenty minutes then.”

Luckily for her, twenty minutes go by without any issue (fire-coated throat and tongue notwithstanding). She makes a mental note to order from this place sometime after going for her second serving of pad kee mao and green curry. Or, better yet, to just have Bob make all her food decisions from now on. He hasn’t steered wrong yet and the food he’s picked out only seems to get better. 

“All right - so, what do we wanna go over?”

“I mean, anything and everything,” Katie shrugs, “but uh… Lecture notes? Lab notes? Flight observations?”

“Lecture was pretty dense today…” Bob flips open one of his many notebooks, eyes scanning through line after line of bullet points and side notes. “Wanna start with radar?”

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

And so it goes. Books are flipped open, old notes are thumbed through, new notes are scribbled down in the margins. For Bob and Katie, it’s the heaviest use of their brain power outside of the schoolhouse. 

Three hours later, at 2100, they sit side by side on the sofa in Bob’s living space, dialed into their studies while vaporwave drones in the background, poring over pages and pages of notes and analysis, over papers that lay scattered across the coffee table, over… Well, who really knows at this point? 

Katie traces a line of text with the tip of her pen, willing the words to, one: make sense; and two: stick in any way possible. Whether it’s due to the late hour or her own subconscious desire to stop learning for the day, none of what she’s reading is making much sense to her. 

Seems like there’s only one thing to do at this point. 

She sighs, turns to Bob, whose eyes seem to rove over the same paragraph repeatedly in his book. “Is your brain as soupy as mine or…?”

Bob snorts. “Katie, if you tipped my head to one side, I’m pretty sure it would fall out of my ear.”

Noted. 

“So we’re calling it for the night then?”

A nod. “Yeah, we’re calling it.” 

“Fair enough.” Katie flips her guidance book shut, tosses the pen onto the coffee table with a curt sigh. “Now what?”

“Dunno - we relax, I guess.”

“As if we don’t relax together every weekend?” Katie says wryly. 

“Ah, that’s different. That’s ‘morale is high and we have a whole day to ourselves’ relaxing. This is ‘stare at a wall and contemplate our life choices’ relaxing.”

“Seems a little sad, but I suppose you’re right.” Katie sinks back into the couch, blows a strand of hair out of her face. “I am kind of wondering what I got myself into here.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, y’know, wondering why I said ‘sure’ to my boss when he told me I was going to TOPGUN, that sort of thing. All it’s done for me is get my ass kicked.”

“Well, even if it is getting your ass kicked, I’m glad you’re here.”

“Glad someone is,” Katie replies with snark. 

“Hey, c’mon now, I am. You’re one of the few people keeping me sane here.” 

“Oh, is that why you’re so interested in me?” 

Bob only gives Katie a look that can be described as withering, but it’s hard to call it that when he can barely keep a smile from spreading across his face. “You know it’s for more than that.”

“I know. I’m just teasing. Oh man…”

Katie tips to the side, into Bob, her temple knocking into the curve of his shoulder. Bob, meanwhile, stacks himself on top of Katie with a sigh, cheek pressing into the crown of her head. His hand comes to rest on the inside of her leg, by her knee, but he doesn’t dare inch it up any further than that. 

It doesn’t matter. Even in a spot so unassuming, his hand on her knee is enough to send lightning ripping up her spine.

Hands on her face. Hands on her body. Hands everywhere she can think to put them. 

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. This man is going to be the death of her. 

“Guess it’s my turn to be the nervous wreck now,” she comments wryly, voice bordering on a rasp. 

She can feel Bob frown against the crown of her head. “Why do you say that?”

“Y’know how you weren’t able to stop thinking about kissing me? Guess it’s my turn now.”

“…Is that so?”

“Mm-hmm. Your hand on my knee is, uh, having quite an effect.” As if emphasizing her words, her knee gives a twitch beneath his hand. 

“If it’s making you uncomfortable I can take it off-”

“No, no. It’s…” Oh man, why are words suddenly hard? “I want you to keep it there. It’s… It’s nice.” 

“Yeah?”

She manages a nod, the words failing her this time. All she can think about - all that really matters - is his hand on her leg - that closeness between them. 

Oh, they’re playing a dangerous game now. Katie realizes it the second the thought goes through her head. After that first kiss in the aquarium, she’s realized just how starved for physical contact she’s been, and with Bob being more than willing to give it to her…

Oh yes - a dangerous game, indeed. 

And Katie can’t bring herself to care all of a sudden. 

She turns, curls into him with a long, soft sigh, face pressing into the curve of his neck. He’s warm - so warm, and it radiates through, soaks into her, and it damn near makes her hum. This. This is nice. Real nice. 

She drapes an arm loosely across him, nuzzles into Bob, seeking the heat of him. 

Bob is utterly still beneath her. 

…To hell with it. 

Katie removes her face from the crook of his neck - only to lean in, mouth slanting over Bob’s in a soft, questioning kiss. Do you want this? 

His hand slides up her shoulder, rests on her neck, pulls her closer, ever so gentle. Please. 

She obliges. More than that, actually; she pushes in hard, steals the breath from his lungs and replaces it with her own. She needs to be close to him, as close as humanly possible - needs to feel him in some way. 

And Bob? Bob meets her halfway every time she dips in, meets Katie touch for touch, kiss for kiss, sigh for sigh. His teeth prick down on her lower lip and tug it into his mouth, and it’s all Katie can do to clamp down on the heat surging between her legs. The thoughts from earlier resurface. She can’t get enough of the way he feels against her.

She needs more. 

She threads her fingers into Bob’s golden-brown hair, nails digging ever so gently into his scalp. It’s been a long time since she’s done this - shamelessly made out with a man, lost herself in the fog of lips and teeth and tongue. Lips that burn hot against her own. Teeth that pull her in close, into him. Tongue that tastes her. And god, is Bob good with them - better than she would’ve guessed. 

It makes Katie wonder what else he’s capable of… 

Makes her wonder where else he could make her burn and feel utterly breathless. 

Before she’s even fully aware of it, her leg is thrown over Bob’s lap and she’s half straddling him, body going through motions she hasn’t been through in ages, motions she’s all too happy to surrender herself to - that is, until Bob groans beneath her, and suddenly her brain catches up with the rest of her body and it all comes to a screeching halt. In an instant she’s pulling back, her breath frozen in her throat and her eyes wide in mortification. 

“Oh my god-” She shoves herself off, puts some desperately-needed space between the two of them. “I’m so sorry, I got totally carried away-”

“Katie-”

“I’m not trying to give you mixed signals or force you into something-”

“Katie-”

“I swear I wasn’t trying to-”

“Katie!”

Katie freezes, a deer caught in the headlights. Did she just royally screw things up? 

Her heart is hammering in her chest as Bob, with his mussed hair and flushed cheeks and full lips, reaches over and takes her face in both his hands, thumbs brushing over the lines of her cheekbones. “Look at me, look at me - it’s okay. You did nothing wrong.” 

“But- But you groaned and-” Why, why, why does she sound like a nervous high-schooler? Christ - she really is out of practice with this… 

Bob chuckles, and a bit breathlessly at that. “I can’t help it when I’ve got a girl practically on top of me, doing some real nice things to me…” 

“I, uh… don’t know if that helps.”

“Katie, it’s fine. I’m having the time of my life here. I mean…” His eyes travel downward, and Katie follows them, and… 

It’s the first time she’s looked at him since they started this whole thing - really looked at him. And now that she’s here, in this moment, there’s no missing the stiffness in Bob’s jeans. It’s a total rush of blood to the head, seeing how she’s affected him.

Katie lifts her head, light blue gaze meeting Bob’s newly dark blue gaze. “Do you want me to keep going?” 

“Oh god, more than anything, but…” He’s gentle as he takes her hands in his. “Do you wanna keep going?” 

The warmth pulsing between Katie’s legs all but screams ‘yes’ - but she finds herself sighing and drawing back. “Maybe we should hold back a little, or… I dunno. I think if we’re trying to take it slow and figure things out, this kind of isn’t the way to do it… Y’know?” 

“Yeah, you do have a point there.” 

She’s waiting for the 180, the moment when he tells her that he is, in fact, disappointed in her for stopping and guilts her into changing her mind. Only it never comes. Of course it never comes, because it’s Bob, and why on earth would he do that? He’s not one of the boyfriends of days past. 

And he’s certainly not her. 

“D’you want me to walk you back?” 

Yes, and lock us in my room and pin me to my bed and- “I appreciate the offer, but uh, there’s that slight risk of getting handsy again and uh…”

Bob’s lips quirk up in a smirk. “Well, who says that’s a bad thing?” 

The heat in Katie’s core flares like a sunburst. Whether or not Bob knows it, he’s making it damn difficult for her to want to slow this down. 

“I think I’ll walk myself back,” she answers softly - then smiles. “But thank you.”

She doesn’t give Bob a chance to convince her to stay, or even to reply; to do so would be to invite trouble - tempting, fun trouble, yes, but trouble all the same. 

She stands, gathers up her instruction binders and notebooks into her arms, her pens clasped in one hand, key card clasped in the other. “I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“See you.” His eyes remain locked on her, smoldering despite the easygoing, sweet smile on his face. It’s a look that sends heat blazing through Katie’s body. 

Yes, time for her to go. 

She turns, makes for the front door, slips through it, her steps silent. 

She’s certain she can feel Bob’s eyes on her long after the door shuts behind her. 

***

The walk back from Bob’s room to Katie’s own is a long one. 

At least, she tries to make it that way. She makes her steps slow and measured, takes the stairs down to the first floor, then all the way back up to the third, and makes her steps even more slow and measured going down the hallway…

All in an effort to quell the burning of her body, the burning between her legs. 

Something happened tonight - something big. Something earth-tilting. 

Something that makes Katie want to turn on her heel and march right back to Bob’s room. 

To finish what they started. 

She approaches her room, heart thumping, pounding in her rib cage, body aching - aching in ways it hasn’t in a long time. Christ, everything in the realm of intimacy hasn’t happened in a long time. It’s been years between partners - hell, flings - and now she seemingly has one again and everything in her just… aches. Yearns. 

Needs. Needs needs needs. 

There’s only one light on in the living space of her room. In the bedroom to the right, it is mercifully black, quiet - the perfect environment to help quiet the storm roiling within her. 

Hopefully. 

Her study materials are tossed into the living space without a second thought, the single light shut off with a paw of her hand against the wall. She slips into the bedroom, closes the door, takes the one, two, three, four steps to her bed before twisting and falling back-first into it. It takes minutes for her to adjust to the darkness surrounding her, to the stillness that comes with it. 

To the thoughts, the feelings it seems to invite. 

Katie knows full well that she is alone in the room, but the darkness seems to conjure shadows, figures. Figures that can move. Figures that can do things. Things to her. 

Things she had half a mind to do with Bob earlier. 

Hands on her face. Hands on her body. Hands everywhere she can think to put them.

They were definitely going somewhere before her thoughts had stalled her and pulled her out of the fog, somewhere heated. Katie had felt one of his hands trailing down her side, coming to rest on her hip, fingers flexing, gripping firm yet gentle. Bob had wanted her there, just as much as she’d wanted to be there, and…

The ache is back. And it’s between her legs again, warm and pulsing and wanting. She squeezes her thighs together, bites her lip at the pressure it creates. 

And it does nothing to alleviate the burning she feels. In fact, it intensifies it. 

She needs more.

She needs release. 

Somewhere in the five seconds it takes her to figure out what her body is desperate - screaming - for, Katie’s heartbeat goes erratic, off-sync and shaking in her rib cage. This. She really hasn’t done this in a long time. 

Her breath stutters out of her mouth in shallow breaths as she reaches down and undoes the button and zip of her jeans, pushes them down to a bunch around her knees. The cool air from the air conditioning nips into the skin of her thighs and she twitches, presses her legs together again, writhes when it gives her that sweet, warm pressure, those goosebumps prickling across her skin. They’re featherlight, almost like the barest brush of a hand. 

What Katie imagines Bob’s hands feel like, brushing ever-so-gentle across her bare skin. 

She can envision it: the long, delicate fingers, the soft tips, the veins running along the back, those beautiful, beautiful hands just… touching, tracing, whispering along her. 

Her hands move along the same trail he would take with his. They skim up the length of her quad muscles, drift up and across her hip bones, her stomach, the sensation like small bolts of lightning and heat on her skin. They continue upwards, nudging up the hem of her t-shirt, the band of her bralette, up and up and up, and they whisper across the swell of her breasts, now pebbled and sensitive in the chilled air of her room. Then, imagination has them moving back down, across the planes of her stomach, across her pelvis, and then her fingers alight along the lace edge of her underwear and… 

She contemplates leaving them on and simply pushing them to the side, or even just dipping her hand beneath and forgoing the extra movement. She has no need for it, for all the suspense and built-up tension and thrill.

But what would Bob want? What would he do?

Bob, Katie decides, would pull them down - not all the way, just to around her thighs, just enough to give him full view, full access. He would want to see all of her; Katie’s sure of it.

So, she inches her underwear down, grants herself that openness, that exposure. The cold air breathes across her, across the wetness of her, and she shudders at the sensation and fuck, she needs to touch herself now. 

Her fingers go low and drag upwards through her folds, arousal wetting the tips, and it’s bliss as they circle her clit, nice and slow and steady. She imagines it’s Bob doing it, that it’s his fingers circling her, rolling across her most sensitive parts. It could’ve been his fingers, his hands doing this, if she hadn’t let her brain catch up and she’d just let them feel, lose themselves to the pleasure, she thinks. 

No matter now. She’s in the dark, and here, anything is possible. Here, Bob can give her the touch, the pleasure, the release she so desperately craves. 

Somewhere in the back of her mind, deep in the recesses, a voice - a shitty, cutting one - hisses at her that what she’s doing is the height of crass, the height of disgusting, masturbating to someone she knows but isn’t quite involved with. She gives the thought maybe a half-second of consideration - and then decides that she doesn’t care, not as her fingers tease and touch and stroke softly. She finds that the voice deadens to a whisper the more she does it. 

Of course, Katie finds that it disappears entirely when she drops her hand fully between her legs and slips her middle and ring fingers inside, palm pressing against her clit as she curls into her own velvet softness, breath leaving her lungs in a gasp, because oh good god, she forgot how good this feels…

And then she thinks of Bob doing it and suddenly her body blazes. 

He had a gentleness to him when he touched her earlier in his room. The way his hands ran over her, sure and warm and soft… It’s that same gentleness she pictures, feels in the hand between her legs, that same soft touch that she writhes and arches against. 

Hands on her face. Hands on her body. Hands everywhere she can think to put them. 

It’s not long before heat, sinful and borderline unbearable, is pooling low in her stomach and her cunt is fluttering around her fingers, desperate for one more touch, one more stroke that will send her over the edge. It’s an effort to keep her moaning contained; she has to bite down hard on her lip to keep it from floating through the walls - but god, she can’t help herself. The things that run through her head, that she feels… In the dark, it’s Bob’s hand that Katie rides, his fingers that clench her bare breast, pinch and roll her peaked nipple…

And in the dark, it’s his thumb that drags up and presses into her clit, rolling and stroking across it, and it feels so good that it makes Katie want to sob, and… and…

It’s enough. She comes hard, a ragged cry tearing from her mouth as her body bows and spasms against the bed, against the hand still sliding into her, drawing out every last little bit of pleasure, until she finally collapses against the mattress, chest heaving with the intensity of it all. For something so… one-sided, it’s left her feeling spent - utterly mindless. 

A feeling she hasn’t had in a long while.

Haze quickly fills her, the sleepy, sated kind. Katie doesn’t even bother redressing, or crawling into bed properly. She shucks off her half-removed clothing and flings them into the darkness of her bedroom, to be dealt with in the early hours of the morning. Then, she pulls the nearest edge of the covers over her, and wraps, swaddles herself within them, warmth immediately seeping into her naked body and lulling her, easing her into sleep. 

Burning blue eyes are the last thing her mind conjures before she slips off into oblivion, warm, black, and depthless. 

@thestagsheadsblog @everything-i-love-in-life @docdetective @luckyladycreator2

[ladyodaskonpeito]

Pairing: Angeal Hewley x Genesis Rhapsodos

Genre: Fluff

Word count: 792 words

Obviously, Angeal takes pride in his works. His reputation has been known to precede him across Midgar, after all. He has been a five-time bestselling author in the ShinRa Times and has won Best Fiction on the Gaia Fiction Awards for three years in a row now. Although he strives to remain humble throughout his fame, it will not do well for him to downplay his achievements when questioned by his long-time friend.

"I'm not sure you know what you're doing anymore, Angeal," That is, unfortunately, what Genesis uses to start their conversation that evening before he proceeds to complain about how badly Angeal's priced work was adapted into a screenplay.

"I would have been advised by the team of writers working with me if the problems are as blatant and as severe as you're making it out to be," Angeal tries to explain despite knowing that these attempts are more often than not, futile when it comes to Genesis. "The starring actors did not voice even a single objection to the lines that I have written for them. They've complimented the lines, even."

"That's because the actors you've cast are subpar at their jobs and don't have the balls to talk actual sense into you like I do. They're too busy trying to lick your boots!" Genesis snaps. This demeanour of his isn't new to Angeal at all. In fact, this conversation seems to be heading in the direction of the many conversations that they've had as of late.

"Well, Genesis," Angeal can't help but let his exasperation show. "If it isn't the same topic we've discussed over and over again since the TV show adaptation of Fearless had been in the talks."

Genesis rolls his eyes, despite that being what Angeal wants to do in response to this entire situation.

"We've been over this before. And like I've said - multiple times now - there is no way for you to be in the show, not when the cast has been set ever since the directors thought of picking up this story of mine! How are you still not over this issue when it is already the season finale?" Angeal is never one to raise his voice, especially not to someone as important as Genesis. "I'm not sure where you want us to go with this by constantly nitpicking on the project that I've got going on."

"I'm totally not jealous of you or anything if that's what you're insinuating," Genesis shrugs as if he hasn't been showing his frustrations just two seconds ago.

"Then what is it? Why has it occupied your thoughts so much that it has been almost everything we've talked about for the past five months and a half?"

Genesis shakes his head at Angeal's enquiry. It appears that he doesn't want to divulge anything else.

"This isn't fair, Genesis," Angeal folds his arms, ready to get to the bottom of it. He isn't going to let this go unresolved again this time, what with the topic threatening to sour their relationship.

He presses for an answer again after Genesis' silence lasts for a few moments.

"I..." Whatever this is, it doesn't seem to come easy to Genesis as it always does. He shuts his eyes before taking a deep breath.

"Is this about your pride as an actor, is that what's bothering you?" Angeal prompts. After all, they've known each other since they were kids, so he's confident about his gut feeling. "I've already said it was nothing personal, you and I both know that you'd fit perfectly into the show but castings don't always go the way writers want-"

"I hate the fact that other actors get to spend the last five and a half months with you on set!" Genesis finally opens his eyes before interrupting Angeal. "I hate how they must have been trying to hog your attention all to themselves when you could have been there seeing me in action and bringing the character you wrote to life! There's your answer, happy?"

Angeal has to admit, that is not what he saw coming. Nonetheless, the surprise he feels does not stop the corners of his lips from lifting in amusement.

"Took you long enough, huh?" He eyes Genesis' sheepish expression fondly. "To think that I had to wait until the fricking season finale for you to finally crack."

He then pulls Genesis into his strong arms, deciding that this would be the most appropriate gesture to soothe Genesis' wounded pride. Thankfully, the gesture is reciprocated almost immediately, suggesting that the red-headed male didn't mind being the one to yield. At least not too much.

"Promise me you'll be more open to telling me what you feel now that we're officially lovers?"

Writing practice: A movie star and a bestselling author's conversation about the epic season finale of a TV show - writing prompt courtesy of The Foundations of Fiction LinkedIn course.

Angeal's work was named Fearless because I lack creativity like that (。・ω・。)

[hyunsuks-beanie]

Make You Smile

Pairing: Best friend! Haruto x gn. reader

Genre: Comfort fluff; angst; friends-to-lovers trope

Content Warnings: High school au!; Mentions of dating someone elder

Word Count: 1.46k words

Mellow speaks: I'm so soft for this one!!! I loved writing it, and Haruto is an adorable guy to write for sksksksk. I hope everyone enjoys! Also, I've just been so tired since college started that I haven't had time to go through my inbox and messages, but please bear with me. I promise I'll get to them asap!

Tagging: @yogurteume (this one's one's you bestie) @ivyvesisi @sweethyuka @sunshinelixie-lee

You don't see where you're going, your feet moving on their own as they carry you through the hallways of the dormitory. You've walked through these halls so many times that it's second nature to you by now, something that's comeing in handy at the moment, making navigating through the floors easier when tears are blurring your vision.

A minute later finds you in front of the door you were looking for, your fist ready to knock. But just when it's about to make contact with the wood, you hesitate, not keen on letting anyone other than your best friend see you in the state you currently find yourself in. You just stand there a moment longer, mustering up your courage even as your tears continue to fall.

"I need to see him," you tell yourself, finally knocking as you take a deep breath in. Then another, waiting to hear the latch unlock. And when it does, Haruto's face revealing itself to you, his hair ruffled and his cheeks puffed from having had overslept, you all but throw yourself at him.

"Ah," he exclaims, his voice groggy as he takes a step back in surprise. But his arms get wrapped around your smaller form out of habit, your hands grabbing onto the collar of his T-shirt as you cry into his chest. He's been through this way too many times to not know what to do. He knows what you need right now is lots of cuddles and your favorite movie playing in the background, and so, that's what you're going to get.

He pulls you into the room, his hand rubbing your back as he rests his chin atop your head. "What happened?," he asks, his otherwise nonchalant voice laced with concern. But you've never been one to divulge your feelings quickly, choosing to instead shake your head against the fabric of his tee, silently telling him you're not ready yet. Haruto can only sigh in response, pulling away to lead you over to his bed.

Sitting you down, he's quick to take his place next to you, his arm now around your shoulders as he pulls you into himself. "You know you can tell me," he urges again, placing a gentle kiss to your temple. But you still refuse to talk, making him sigh once more as he uses his free hand to search for his laptop.

Continuing to alternate between rubbing your back and kissing your crown, your best friend puts in all his effort into making you smile again, while also trying to stop his heart from breaking a little more with every stray tear that slips past your cheeks. He hates seeing you like this. Hates whenever your usually cheerful demeanor gets lost behind sadness. But at the same time, he can't lie and say that he doesn't feels touched by by fact that you trust him enough to make you smile again.

Because he wants you to always be happy, and even more than that, he wants to be the one who make you happy. He wants to be yours, to kiss you, to love you, to make you feel special. He's had a crush on you since forever, but never had the guts to tell you just how much he cares. And so, he's settled with looking from a distance, making you smile as your best friend and showing you he cares through his actions.

Sniffling a little, you lift your head up from his shoulder to look at him, your bloodshot eyes making his heart clench. The movie is already on Play, the sound of your favorite character a soothing static to the deafening silence of the room. Haruto looks over at you with eyes full of worry, and you can't help but want to cup his cheeks and apologize. Apologize for always dragging him into your mess. You don't want to, you really don't. And still, you always end up doing so anyway, because you know he's the only one who can fix you back up. He's the only one who can mend your heart, since he's the one who owns it.

You're in love with your best friend, wanting to be the one to make him smile. But all you can do is run into his arms whenever life gets hard, thanking the heavens that he's always there. All you can do is ease his worry a little, by telling him what's bothering you in the first place. That's the reason why you say, "I'm ready," your voice barely above a whisper as you bite your lip.

And so the story starts, Haruto's expression turning more incredulous by the second as you tell him about how your roommate tried to set you up with an older guy who's friends with her boyfriend. "He's like....at least seven years elder to me, and when I told her I'm not interested, she called me a 'pretentious saint,' saying that I just pretend to be a goody-two-shoes because I know I'm never going to be good enough for anyone." By now, your face is buried in his chest again, a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill. You feel a hand stroke the back of your head once more, the grip around your body tightening as Haruto tries to suppress his growing anger.

"And that wasn't even all," you whisper a minute later, your voice quivering as your cheeks become wet. "She even called me names and said I don't deserve to be happy." You're crying by now, your form shaking as you think back to all the harsh words you had to hear that day. Haruto, meanwhile, has had enough of your sadness. Pulling away, he is the one who cups your cheeks, lifting your face up.

"That's enough," is all he says, "I don't want to hear another word about the stupid shit she put you through." When you look into his eyes, they're brimming with tears and filled with anger, concern, and something else you can't quite place. You open your mouth to reply, only to get cut off when he lifts his finger up. "Now you listen to me. You're none of the things she called you. You're not pretentious. Instead, you're the most genuine, amazing, and caring person I've ever known. And it's completely okay if you weren't interested in that sleaze of a guy."

You can't help but giggle a little at that, pointing out how he doesn't even know if the guy is a sleaze or not. "That isn't what matters, Y/N," he dismisses you, a smile on his face as well. "What matters is that you know just how beautiful you are as a person. You don't have to be good enough for anyone, because I know for a fact that you're way out of everyone's league. You're smart, you're kind, you're funny, you're understanding, you're pretty, you're everything anyone could ever ask for. And you deserve to be happy. You deserve all the happiness in the world, and that's why I have always been trying to protect that adorable smile of yours. Because it's worth protecting, and because you're worth loving."

When he stops to catch a breather, you still have tears in your eyes, but this time, the smile that plays at your lips tells him that's they're happy ones. And that makes him smile too, his heart fluttering in his chest. "Actually," he begins again, taking a deep breath as he prepares himself to say the rest. He knows it's now or never, and he can't risk letting you walk back to your room without knowing just how worthy of being loved you are. "I'm kinda happy you didn't agree to going on a date with whoever he is. I would have been too sad if you did."

"And why is that?," you ask, your heartbeat erratic with you already having caught on to the answer. "Because I-," he starts, only to cut himself off as he's overcome with shyness, hiding his face behind his big hands. And that's when he hears it for the first time that night. Your laughter that he loves so much as you say, "I see. Well, if it helps.....I like you too."

It takes Haruto a moment to process what he just heard, but when he does, it's like his body moves on its own, his arms engulfing you as his lips find their way to yours. The kiss is sweet with just a hint of saltiness thanks to your tears. The rest of what happens is a story for another time, but just know that when you show up to class the next day, your best friend-turned-boyfriend is there to see you off with a kiss to your cheek.

[mariesdameron]

Can I Stay?

Llewyn Davis x F!Reader// Friends to Lovers

Based on the song 'Can I Stay?' by Ray Lamontagne

Read 'Let it Be Me' with Llewyn Davis inspired by the Ray Lamontagne song.

CW: Smoking, Drinking, Homelessness, Bar, Slight angst, Depression (mention), Sexual Content

WC: 4,656

Read on Ao3

Number three. You were number three on the Llewyn Davis's rotation of couches. You had been number five, but you had been promoted to your current placement after many late nights spent over whisky on the floor of your living room. Llewyn strumming mindlessly on his guitar as you both spoke of your childhood, regrets, and hopes for the future.

- - - -

You had moved to New York within the last two years, looking to start a new chapter in your life. You decided to leave behind the broken marriage and sordid past in the dumpster of a small town you had grown up in. Luckily for you, you easily slid into a server job at a small bar in the village. It wasn't bad for your first job in the city. It was a safe harbor for aspiring and failed musicians alike. This was where you met Llewyn.

You remembered the first night you heard him sing. It was relatively slow that evening; only a few regulars mulled around. Several unknowns bungled on stage, setting you up for a numbing headache. It wasn't that you didn't like folk music, but many of the voices that came into the bar sounded the same, raspy and whiney, definitely no Bob Dylan's hiding in this muck.

The stage had been empty for a good hour, much to your relief, when you saw him, strolling through the tables, guitar case in hand. You rolled your eyes; there went your solitude. Looking around the bar, you realized it was deserted. Dropping your tray on the empty table, you sat down and slid off your flats.

You decided to take pity on the guy. Playing in a near-empty room did little for anyone's self-esteem. You eyed the man on the stage carefully as he got himself ready. His attire was what you expected from the folk scene, a worn corduroy jacket paired with a charcoal collared button-up underneath.

His standout feature was his full head of dark curls. You watched as he picked the strings on his worn instrument, his head bent as his fingers worked deftly. His voice, deep and smooth, sounded from his chest, and your eyes grew. He was good; no, he was better than good. He was awe-inspiring.

Emotion saturated every key. You rubbed at the goosebumps that spread up and down your arms. Glancing around the establishment, you expected to see the rest of the room entranced. To your astonishment, the few were busy nursing their liquor in front of them instead of paying attention to the rich melody from this curly-haired Nick Drake.

You let yourself get carried away with each tune, mesmerized by the way the man's face contorted and evolved with every minute, occasionally stopping only to light a cigarette between melodies.

The hand on your shoulder snapped you from your haze. The bartender spoke to you softly to pack up for the night. Hesitantly you turned your back to the music and finished your shift.

- - - -

You gripped your bulky purse on your shoulder as you made your way towards the subway. Walking through the city after dark was something you still were not accustomed to. You resolved that it probably would never be something of joy for you.

As you tapped the pedestrian light, you turned and noticed the curly-haired man from the bar jogging towards you. You cleared your throat and tucked your hands in your coat pockets as he stood breathless next to you.

You felt his eyes on you as you both made your way across the street and down the stairs to the trains. He was keeping quite the proximity to you, and it was starting to make you agitated. You stopped in front of your line, taking a deep breath. You turned and addressed him.

"Can I help you?" Your voice sounded surprisingly firm, and you were thankful.

The man shifted on his feet, setting the guitar down carefully. He ran his hand through his waves, his dark eyes attempting to not lock with your gaze.

"I am not a sociopath or anything. I swear. I just recognized you from the bar. I am not following you; I am heading to a friend's place." You bit down on your lip as the man's eyes finally met yours. He was more attractive closer up than on stage. You scolded yourself mentally before nodding to him.

"Okay, good. As long as you're not a sociopath." You said with a smirk as the train halted in front of you. He shuffled close behind you as you entered and took a seat; you motioned to the empty seat to your left. A reluctant smile spread over his face as he nestled himself into the spot.

The next thirty minutes felt like an hour but in the best possible way. Llewyn, you had learned, had been playing guitar since he was five and had been up and down the east coast in attempts to be signed by a successful label.

He had all the stories of a typical starving artist, couch surfing through a list of close friends and fellow struggling musicians. He customarily had no more than twenty dollars in his pocket and had a chain-smoking problem. You filled him in on how new you were to the city and divulged that you hadn't had a chance to meet many people. You heard your stop announced over the staticky speaker. You motioned towards the door.

"That's me." You both stood at once. "Oh? Is it yours also?" You cocked your head as he hurried out with you.

"It is. I didn't say earlier. I didn't want to, ya know... Freak you out." He said, a slight smirk dancing on his lips. You felt a rush of warmth spread over your face as you saw him light up. You got the feeling Llewyn wasn't a particularly cheerful sort of guy. His face looked years younger when he smiled.

"Well, I guess I will see you around?" You left your sentence hanging, shamefully hoping you would get to hear his soulful voice again. He shrugged and agreed simultaneously.

"I think so, yeah." He said, shifting on his feet, his energy now more awkward than before. "I will see you around." He said as he pulled a cigarette from his jacket. Turning, you started in the direction of your apartment.

You heard your name from behind; Llewyn walked towards you, a cloud of smoke following him. "I should at least walk you home. If that's okay with you? It's kind of late." You studied his face, the lines near his eyes, the sharpness of his jaw still prominent under his scruffy dark beard.

"Well... As long as you promise not to kill me. I guess it will be okay." Llewyn busted out in laughter, shaking his head.

"Sure, I'll do my best."

- - - -

You dropped the plastic tote and grocery bags onto the kitchen table. After a few minutes of shuffling around, you grabbed the tote and carried it into the living room. Llewyn had been rotating stays at your house for the last couple of months. After your first encounter, you both struck up an instant friendship.

You were cautious at first, unsure of his intentions. However, after talking with many patrons around the bar, you found that he was still pining over another. This closed the doors of temptation and romantic inklings.

Despite the occasional lingering glance, you had done a decent job checking your attraction. After all, Llewyn was a rather interesting fellow to keep company with, and you lacked friends. You walked over to the tattered box that was dismally stuffed between your bookshelf and wall.

All of Llewyn's belongings resided in that box. The first few months of him rotating through, he would bring it to the next location. As of late, he had been leaving all of his worldly possessions with you. After many months of staring at its pathetic state, you decided to replace it with something a bit sturdier; a plastic tote.

Carefully, you started to remove the items, one by one. The box seemingly was mostly records; there was the expected Dylan, Donovan, and Cohen. Surprisingly, Carolyn Hester and June Carter Cash. Skimming over the tracks, you noticed a corner of a photograph peeking under the cover. With a shake, the picture slipped into your hand. Looking back at you was the cutest ringlets and babe face that you had ever seen. You audibly sighed as emotion washed over you.

Sliding it back in its place, you started filing the records in its new home when a series of familiar knocks hit your door. You weren't expecting Llewyn that night. Jumping up, you jogged to the door. Llewyn greeted you with a weak smile, his eyes tired and hair wet, clinging to his forehead.

Wiping his hair from his face, you stepped back and let him inside. Walking to him you realized he was drenched through his jacket. He turned and shrugged his coat off, draping it on the back of your kitchen chair.

"It started pouring like five minutes from your place. Because, of course." He waved his hands in front of him as he shook off his shoes. You skipped to and from the bathroom for towels. Llewyn rubbed his head as he entered the living room. "Why are my records on the floor?" Llewyn questioned, walking towards the pile.

"Well, as you can see, I was trying to transfer said 'pile' into 'said' tote. I wasn't expecting you." Pausing, you moved towards the records. Llewyn stepped in front of you, blocking your way.

"Nope. I got it. Thanks for the tote, though." He smirked, picking up an album. Dropping the towel to the floor, he started to fiddle with your record player. As soon as the song hit your ears, a grin spread over your face. Llewyn smiled softly and pulled his cigarettes from his pocket. "I haven't listened to this one in a while. You can't beat Dylan and Cash." He hummed, placing a cigarette between his lips.

Pointing to the window, you bent over and grabbed the towel. Before you could walk away, Llewyn grabbed you by the hip, swaying playfully along to the melody. Tucking his unlit cigarette behind his ear, Llewyn tugged at the towel, letting it drop to the floor. Your body responded intuitively to the music that called to you as Llewyn drew you to his chest. This was unexpected. You were comfortable around each other; physical touch wasn't completely random, but this was different. Llewyn's deep brown eyes studied your face as he began to croon.

"I'm a-wonderin' if she remembers me at all.

Many times I've often prayed.

In the darkness of my night

In the brightness of my day."

His voice never failed to transcend you into a state of calmness. Your body relaxed as his arms encased you. Llewyn closed his eyes as he continued to sing, his face migrating closer. His forehead brushed against yours. Suddenly your nose was filled with the distinctive spicy fragrance of whisky. The smashing impact of reality snapped you from the touching moment. Shaking your head, you swallowed down the sadness creeping up your throat. You resented that you allowed yourself to entertain this minute of tenderness. Llewyn tilted his head as he rustled the last lyrics.

"What?" He hummed as you began placing distance between you.

"What are we avoiding tonight, Llewyn?" You challenged as you clutched the towel and went towards the bathroom. Llewyn ran his hand through his curls and lit a cigarette. "Window!" You shouted as you walked back into the living room. Llewyn raised his hands in protest before he opened the window and huddled on the floor. You crossed your arms defensively, trying to shake the feelings of his embrace and how easily you just fell into it.

"It's been a night…." Llewyn muttered as smoke curled from his nose. You nodded knowingly. Llewyn had been stumbling around the last couple of months in and out of whisky benders. Typically, you had no trouble offering up affirmations and positivity; tonight wasn't one of those nights.

"Okay?..." You breathed, frustrated. Grimacing, he waved his hand in the air.

"What is your problem?" He huffed, suddenly searching through his pockets. Dropping yourself onto your couch, you shielded yourself with a pillow. You needed to get it fucking together.

"Nothing, just checking in… You weren't supposed to be here tonight." Llewyn pulled out a slip of paper and threw it on the coffee table. "Another person to add to the rotation?" You bit the inside of your cheek. There was no mistaking the saltiness in your tone. Llewyn was apparently oblivious to your annoyance.

"The new address and phone number of my unknown child and their mother." He drew a long inhale of his cigarette. Whatever remaining negativity that resided inside of you dissolved. Llewyn had only just found out he had a child right before you met him. It was something that he grappled with frequently, but on occasion, it would consume him, leading to many nights of him staring at the bottom of a bottle. Intuitively, you slid down the couch towards him.

"And? What now?" Your question was hushed and gentle. Llewyn stared down at the floor for a few moments before taking another drag. You ignored the fact that he was missing the window entirely.

"Nothing...What would I even say? Or better yet, what would I do?" His voice shook with the last sentence. Llewyn's tongue darted over his bottom lip. Standing, he crumpled his cigarette in the tin can that he kept under the windowsill. "Would you want a homeless loser of a father who sang to drunks for a measly twenty bucks?" Running his hand through his hair his eyes found yours.

"Is it okay if I am here?" The weight of his gaze laid heavy on your heart. The pain radiating off him was immeasurable.

"Of course. Always." You answered with a genuine smile and nod of the head. Llewyn's face winced at your expression before his walls slammed down. The change showed in his body language almost instantaneously. There would be no more talking now. He had retreated further inside of himself.

Purposely, you stood and wrapped your arms around his center. He stood quietly, letting you hug him before he locked you to his chest in an embrace. "It won't always be like this, my friend." You hummed into his chest. Llewyn's arms stiffened in response before he released you.

"Yeah..." His eyes said differently as he attempted a feeble smile. Kissing your forehead, he turned and started making up the couch for bed. You wanted to linger, make him understand that he was meant for more than what life was currently serving him.

Llewyn turned knowingly and shook his head. "It's late. Sleep well, sweetheart." You observed him for a second before walking to your bedroom: your soul and heart aching.

- - - -

"Seriously, how could you let it get like this? It's a rat's nest." Your hand dropped from Llewyn's hair as you went back to counting your tips from the night. The bar had closed for the night, and Llewyn was strumming his guitar and nursing a scotch as you wrapped up your nightly duties.

"Do I strike you as someone who gives a shit about their hair?" He scoffed before pausing to write in his notebook. The notebook he refused to let you see. He said someday the contents would be taught in music classes, long after he was dead. Fame after death was a real aspiration of his. You rolled your eyes.

"You try too hard to be cool. You aren't that mysterious." You roughed up his curls and untied your apron, pocketing the chunk of change left from patrons. "I'll cut it for you. You are staying over anyways." Llewyn exhaled loudly before a smirk replaced his scowl.

"I said I don't care about my hair. I didn't say I wanted to be walking around half bald." Laughing at his own pathetic attempt at a joke, he started packing up his guitar. "Sure, why the hell not?" Llewyn shot the rest of the scotch down before turning to you. "Shall we?" He put his hands on your shoulders and led you out of the bar.

- - - -

Llewyn sat in the middle of your kitchen, a towel draped around his shoulders. The bright white overhead caused his eyes to strain after hanging in the depths of the nightclub all day.

"I don't think I've had a kitchen cut since I was a kid." Knocking your knee against his legs, you motioned for him to spread out. Smirking, he did, and you positioned yourself directly in front of him.

Carefully, you began trimming. Llewyn contently focused on your face, observing you as you nibbled your bottom lip with each snip. As you worked through his hair, you began to hum mindlessly.

Llewyn grinned, waiting before he joined you in song. His voice pulled you from your trance. His soothing voice washed over you. And suddenly, you were very aware of his closeness and your fingers in his curls.

Your eyes caught his gaze. Clearing your throat, you drew your focus back to his tresses. A tiny pleased sigh exhaled from Llewyn as your fingers passed over his scalp. Without thinking, wanting to hear more of his little noises, you began stroking his head.

Llewyn shut his eyes and began to hum again as his hands migrated to your hips. You breathed deeply as his fingers smoothed against you, rubbing circles, his eyes still closed as he carefully drew you closer.

Nuzzling his head into your stomach, Llewyn enveloped you in an embrace. Tucking the scissors in your jeans, you wiped Llewyn's hair from his forehead, prompting him to turn his face upwards, his deep brown eyes earnest and absorbing.

"How happy it would make me to see your face when I awake.." Llewyn purred into your stomach before standing abruptly. His hands darted to your face as he seized your mouth in a kiss. You dissolved. The scent of scotch and cigarettes bewildered your senses as he swept kisses along your jaw before seeking out your lips again.

The desire that you had been burying since the moment you met Llewyn surged. Your fingers frantically found the hem of his shirt, eager to feel his warm skin. A smile crept over Llewyn as your fingertips pressed into his back. He had unclasped your bra before you understood what was happening. His hands effortlessly cupped your breasts, stirring a moan from you. Seemingly this was precisely what was needed to set the moment ablaze.

Llewyn shifted you to the wall, tearing at your jeans. His face flushed as he continued to kiss you while freeing both of your pants. Your thoughts were hazy, high off of his touch. Llewyn's hands were everywhere all at once. And then he stopped, stepping backward, breathing heavily. Llewyn shook his head and pulled on his pants. The realization that you were entirely stripped, panic rushed over you, suddenly exposed and feeling self-conscious.

What just transpired? And why did it end? Llewyn glimpsed over at you, his eyes cloudy, his mouth drawn into a frown. He snatched up your top and pants and handed them to you before turning his back to you and walking into the living room. Dressing quickly, you followed behind him.

"Llewyn?" You sounded as he danced his shoes on. "Where are you going? You are just going to leave?" You huffed, the anger rising in your chest. He was not about to just walk out of the door after groping you down in your kitchen. Llewyn turned, uneasiness radiating off of him. He opened his mouth to speak before stopping and fumbling out a cigarette.

"This" He motioned his hand between you. "Can't happen, He mumbled. Your thoughts raced in confusion and anger.

"What do you mean, this can't happen? It was happening just fine to me. You seemed like you were okay with it..." You could hear your confidence faltering, the fear of rejection bubbling up. Were you about to get blown off by this man that you had confided in late into the night, drunk and emotional, the man that slept a couple of feet from your head? Your friend? Llewyn groaned and ran his hand through his waves.

"I was okay with it... Jesus." Swiping his tongue over his bottom lip, he lit his cigarette. You snapped your fingers at him, shaking your head. "Fuck, really?" He snorted before storming to the windowsill and discarding the cigarette into the can. "Look, it's just not a good idea. You..." he hesitated, his nostrils flared as he scrubbed his hand over his face. "I am a fucking loser babe, you know it, I know it. You deserve someone that at least has an apartment." Fussing with his hair again, he started back to the door. You angrily dived in his way.

"No, no. Stop. I get to decide what or who I want in my life. And it doesn't ma-" Llewyn raised his hand to stop you.

Grimacing, he uttered. "It does matter. It matters a lot. Your friendship means something. You mean something." He paused. "I am going." His dark eyes pleaded for you to listen. You moved back, letting Llewyn walk past. You didn't turn to look and listened for the closing of the door before allowing your tears to fall.

- - - -

Part of you prayed that Llewyn would skip tonight's gig. You weren't in the mood to play nice with him, and you certainly weren't feeling very chatty. You had spent the entire night going over the events of that evening. The taste of his lips, the warmth of his touch, and the way you so quickly gave yourself over to him. You felt stupid, like a schoolchild that was caught writing his name in your journal. It made you furious to think that Llewyn was attempting to take the 'just friends' road.

He was the one that kissed you. He had to have known that you had feelings for him. How many weekends did you spend bopping around record stores with him? How many nights of eating snacks and watching old movies? You got him the very spot that he plays in for this establishment. You slammed down the rag onto the bartop.

You were hurt more than anything. You thought that Llewyn was different than the others, but doesn't everyone think that? Sighing, you glanced at the clock. Five minutes past his usual starting time, and he was nowhere to be seen. Maybe you were going to get your wish? You wiped your hands on the front of your apron. Nodding to the other waitress that you were going to go on break. As you made your way through the room, you heard his voice over the microphone.

Can I stay here with you till day breaks?

There something you should know I ain't got no place to go

Can I stay here with you till the day breaks?

How happy it would make me to see your face when I awake

Turning, you listened as Llewyn plucked his guitar strings, his eyes locked with your figure. Gradually, you stepped around the tables towards the stage.

Lay with me in your thinnest dress

Fill my heart with each caress

Between your blissful kisses

Whisper darling, is this love

Seating yourself at the front table, you folded your hands in your lap. Llewyn nodded to you. A humble smile spread over his face as his eyes followed you to your seat.

Can I stay here with you through the nighttime

I've fallen sad inside

And I need a place to hide

Can I stay here with you through the nighttime

I'm all alone and blue

Won't you take me to your room

You took a deep breath as Llewyn sang to you. Of course, this would be how he would choose to fix things. Your eyes followed the movement of his lips, his gorgeous long lashes, and irresistible curls. Tides of sensations surged over you with every verse.

Lay with me in your thinnest dress

Fill my heart with each caress

Between your blissful kisses

Whisper darling, is this love

Whisper to me is this love

You knew you were crying, but what wasn't anticipated was Llewyn's glistening eyes shining back at you from the stage. The last line hung heavy in the air. Is this love? Suddenly, your feet were carrying you out of the bar.

- - - -

You paced back and forth in front of your couch. You had called the bar and told them you had gotten sick and had to go quickly. You were waiting, waiting for his familiar knock on the door. You knew he would show up. Where did that song come from? How long had he been sitting on that? Possessing those kinds of feelings? You jumped when you heard him.

Looking at the clock, he had given you an hour to yourself before he followed you home. Swallowing down the rush of anxiety in your throat, you opened the door. Llewyn looked surprised to see you open the door, probably resigning himself to the idea that you weren't going to let him inside. You moved, signaling him to enter. Locking the door, you joined him in the living room. Llewyn was already seated in his spot by the window, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

"I didn't think you would answer." He murmured as he rotated the lighter in his hands.

"Yeah, I wasn't sure I was going to either." You sat at the farthest end of the couch from him. Llewyn shifted in obvious discomfort.

"Look...I am sorry about last night...about the way I left." Llewyn's nostrils flared as he stumbled through his words. "You know...I've been writing that song for months. Telling myself that I would share it with you once it was finished, so you would know. But last night." Llewyn stopped gnawing his bottom lip for a second before taking a drag from his cigarette. " I didn't expect last night to happen. The timing was off. I wanted to be more stable, more...secure." His eyes sank to the carpet. "You deserve so much more, I know that..." You balled your fists to your side, cutting him off before he finished.

"I don't care, Llewyn. I don't care if you are secure." Llewyn shook his head dejectedly.

"Right, I am sure everyone wishes one day that they can meet Mr. Poor and Homeless and have them sweep them off their feet." He grimaced at his words. Standing, you moved to him, falling to your knees in front of him.

"They why sing the song? Why come here?" You murmured, staring into his clouded eyes. Llewyn's lips trembled as he took a quick puff from his cigarette before dropping it in the can.

"I couldn't stay away...I couldn't get the taste of your kiss and smell of your hair out of my fucking head." Llewyn rapped his brow. "I am in love with you, despite my best efforts." He hummed, lowering his gaze to his hands.

Slowly, you moved your hand to his head, carefully running his waves through your fingers. Llewyn surprisingly turned and caressed a kiss to your wrist before pulling you closer to him, cupping your face in his hands.

"I don't deserve you." He whispered, touching your foreheads together. Shaking your head, you rubbed your nose against his.

"You don't, but I will keep you anyways." Beaming at Llewyn's growing smirk, you tugged tenderly at his curls before drawing him into a deep kiss.

- - -

Lovelies (Oscar & Everything content): @cornmousequeen @sacklerscumrag @caillea @direnightshade @finn-ray-nal-beads @mylifeisactuallyamess @mac-ren @huxdameron @leatherboundbirate @theoncrayjoy @poedameronloverx @maybe-your-left @blissful–moon @hopeamarsu @butyoudidthis4what @xxcatrenxx @blowthatpieceofjunk @roanniom @jynzandtonic @millenialcatlady

If you enjoy my stories, let me know! My Inbox is open, and I welcome comments! Please reblog if you fancy sharing this piece.

[classysassy9791]

Fandom: Inuyasha Genre: Romance/Humor/Fluff Pairing: InuKag Rating: T

Originally written for @inukag-week on tumblr circa 2016, now officially being updated. Its been a hot minute, hasn't it?

For InuKag Week - Day 2: Warmth

Part 1 l

Part 2 Word Count: 2,600

Can also be found on FFN and AO3.

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Kagome couldn't remember the last time she had laughed so hard.

Sometime between the moment she met the arrogant, rude man known as Inuyasha and the three shots she had consumed, they had fallen into a flirtatious banter that she rather enjoyed. Gone was the pompous jerk who had so rudely called her audacious names, replaced by a man who proved to actually be decent company.

No, she hadn't forgotten about their initial meeting, but as she downed another shot of whiskey, she realized she didn't much care. For the first time in months - maybe longer - Kagome found herself enjoying her evening. With her shackles removed and her inhibitions lowered, she relished in the sweet taste of freedom that had been sorely lacking from her life.

"You did not!" she squealed with absurdity in her tone, clamping a hand over her mouth.

Inuyasha chuckled, tilting his glass and giving a half-shrug. "I did," he confessed sheepishly, but not at all ashamed of his actions. "Miroku ran down the dorm hall, completely naked, screaming after me."

Kagome shook her head. "I can honestly say I have never stolen my roommates clothes while they were in the shower. Or pulled any pranks on them, really."

"To be fair," he continued, signaling the bartender for another round. "He actually met his girlfriend that way."

"By running naked down the hallway?"

He nodded. "Knocked her down and stopped to apologize."

"Still want to leave the tab open?" Kouga interrupted.

"Yeah, that's fine." Inuyasha finished off his beer. "Another round of whiskey shots while you're at it."

Flashing Kagome a smile, Kouga took their empty glasses. "You're going to dry me out."

"It's still early," Kagome barbed playfully. "Your bar will last until midnight at the very least."

He chuckled, filling up their shot glasses and handing them another drink. "Oh, thanks. I was afraid I'd have to close up soon."

Leaving with a, "flag me down if you need me," Kouga wandered to the other end of the bar where a busty blonde waved at him.

Typical, Kagome thought sourly. On the one hand, she didn't like the way her thoughts were turning, considering she didn't really know Kouga, and hated grouping him in with the rest of the spineless male population she had become accustomed to - especially since he was a bartender and it was literally his job to tend to the needs of his customers. But on the other hand, she couldn't help but feel bitter about his attention leaving her. Maybe it was because she had so blatantly been deprived of it for so long, that her longing for companionship had been exacerbated ten-fold.

Taking a sip of beer - which she had switched to once they started doing shots - Kagome heard her phone buzz in her purse again; it had already gone off several times during her conversation with Inuyasha. She finally pulled it out and unlocked it, frowning at the array of messages popping up on her screen.

Inuyasha raised a brow at the irritable look that overcame her expression before Kagome sighed and locked her phone. She quickly downed her shot of whiskey, not even bothering to 'cheers' him.

"Everything okay?" Inuyasha questioned, against his better judgement. There was a reason people showed up by themselves at a bar on Friday nights - either to drown their sorrows in whiskey or to find company for a few fleeting, midnight hours.

Kagome pressed her lips together. She didn't come to the bar to talk about her problems. She wasn't some sad case that needed a therapist to pour her drinks. If anything, she wanted to forget about the emotional damage that had been inflicted earlier that day. Her heart had been broken, her ego bruised, and no matter how many times her friends had told her he wasn't worth it, their sympathies didn't make her feel any better.

But, alcohol had a funny habit of turning into truth serum, and she found herself spilling her guts before she could stop herself. "Just my ex-boyfriend - er, fiance - blowing up my phone."

Inuyasha chuckled. "Can't take a hint, huh?"

Kagome shrugged with a bitter smile. "I mean, he broke off the engagement. Not sure why he can't follow through with his decision."

She had expected sympathy, perhaps even empathy. That's what most people offered in a situation like this, when they didn't know what to say or how to react. But Kagome was caught off-guard by Inuyasha's next question.

"How long were you together?"

Kagome eyed him curiously, his honey gaze hiding a wealth of understanding. "Five years," she answered him, twirling a strand of her dark hair around her finger. "Planned our life together, put a ring on it, and even booked the venue. But… I suppose he got cold feet a long time ago."

"His loss. What kind of bastard would put someone through that?"

She hummed thoughtfully, but didn't answer. It wasn't in her best interest to start talking about the past now, and she would rather take the spotlight off of herself all together. "What about you?" she asked her barstool companion as she took another sip of beer. "Any lucky ladies in your life?"

Inuyasha chuckled mirthlessly. "Nah, not anymore."

Kagome arched a brow. "Dare I ask?"

"Not much to tell. Her career and ambitions drove a wedge between us, and she decided they were more important than me. Simple as that."

"Sounds high maintenance."

He grinned. "Something like that. I mean, she knew what she wanted and didn't care what stood in her way. Even me."

Kagome felt an ache beneath her breast for the man beside her. She knew the pain of rejection very well. "Put out in the rain just like a dog. Doesn't that bother you?" she asked, tilting her head.

He frowned at her choice of words, and Kagome knew she may have touched a nerve then, but the alcohol had stripped her of her filter apparently.

"Well, I guess we're all damaged somehow," he replied with a shrug.

She scrunched her nose. "That's a bit thoughtless."

"What can I say? Shit happens. Get over it."

And then Kagome suddenly remembered the arrogant, rude, condescending jerk she had met when she had sat down at the bar earlier in the night. She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you such an ass?"

Inuyasha smirked while bringing his beer to his lips. "You are what you eat?"

Kagome let loose a growl of frustration. She had only known him for a short time, but she had quickly learned that Inuyasha was the most infuriating human being on the planet! "Your immaturity is revolting," she stated matter-of-factly, waving down Kouga for another shot of whiskey. She was definitely not drunk enough to deal with the way the conversation had turned.

"I'm not known for my friendly disposition."

Kagome glared at the man sitting next to her. "Is it fun being a jerk to me? Does it satisfy you?"

Inuyasha chuckled. "Actually, it is pretty entertaining."

She rolled her eyes. "You know, Inuyasha. You can hide behind that fake bravado all you want, but I know you're just a big softie underneath."

"Keh," he grumbled, finishing off his beer.

Kagome threw him a glare. "What? No witty repartee?"

He set down his empty glass with a little more force than usual, grabbing Kagome's attention. "I know your type, wench," he snapped, his amber eyes boring into hers. "I know exactly the kind of person you are; all high and mighty, acting as if you're better than everyone else. You think you can show someone how great life can be and how fantastic it is if I would just try. Well, sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but not everyone is worth saving, all right?"

His words left Kagome stunned into silence for a brief moment. How did their witty banter only a few minutes ago turn into this? This… This denied anger and unadulterated cynicism had Kagome reeling, her thoughts turning to what exactly had penetrated Inuyasha's life so completely that he had such a negative outlook on such.

She pursed her lips. "How much do you think you're worth?"

Inuyasha shrugged. "Like twenty bucks. Or two twinkies." He grinned at his own comment, but Kagome didn't find it very funny.

If anything, Kagome felt pity for him. No matter how bleak her life became, she always managed to find the good in it. If a person couldn't do that… Well, that was a pretty sad way to live. "As much as I would love to hear you divulge all of your secrets, this is a great song and I feel like dancing."

"Look, wench," Inuyasha barked out, his anger palpable. "I'm not looking for your validation. I'm pretty fucking happy with my life of dirty pennies and whiskey bottles. We don't all need to be Barbie."

She looked over at him, the low dim of the bar lights shining off his silver hair, and found she could only nurse one wounded heart at a time. "I just wanted you to leave tonight and think the world is a little less horrible than you thought."

"Hey, pretty lady," Kouga greeted as he appeared at the perfect time with another shot of whiskey for her and a full beer, stealing her full attention away from Inuyasha.

Kagome immediately downed the shot and chased it with her beer, ready to forget half of the night and lose herself in the music pounding through the speakers. As the evening wore on, the bar became busier, and the DJ had started up a round of tunes that had half the customers on the dance floor.

Kouga watched her curiously, arching a brow. "You alright there?"

"Dance with me?" she called over the bass pounding through the speakers. Oh yes, it was now the time of the night in which she had no qualms for asking for what she wanted.

He chuckled and glanced over at the other bartenders who appeared to have things under control. "You can steal me for a few minutes."

Kagome grinned and giggled like a school girl, leaving Inuyasha behind without delay. Kouga met her at the end of the bar and took her hand in his as she pulled him out onto the dance floor.

Some upbeat dance music blasted through the speakers. Kagome moved and swayed through the bodies crowding near the DJ, the vibrations of the music becoming part of her energy, raising her up several levels at once. Gone were her heartbroken wallows and the biting arrogance of her barstool companion. Her mind buzzed with pure joy. She moved in her dress like her hips were made to sway, the black sequins catching the disco ball that twirled above, causing her to glitter on the dance floor.

Kouga pulled her close, his strong hand pressed against the small of her back, his chiseled chest pressed against hers. She ran her fingers through her messy hair and pulled it to the side, feeling the beat of the music pound with each beat of her heart. Bodies pressed in tighter all around them. Kagome felt the part of her that was really her come out to play, to feel the vibe of the music and let her body go free.

"You're beautiful," Kouga's voice whispered in her ear, sending shivers down her spine.

His lips looked soft and very kissable, and Kagome knew her decision-making skills were indeed hindered by the alcohol that buzzed through her veins. And then his attention was caught by something else, his royal blue eyes pulling from hers to the outskirts of the dance floor. He said something to her, attempting to shout above the music, but his words were swallowed up by the electric beat that kept her entranced.

Kagome felt his hands slip from around her waist and he disappeared into the crowd. She didn't bother to follow, her hands playing with her hair, her hips moving to the music as she lost herself within it. This was what her heartbroken soul had fiercely needed; a night to forget all the troubles of the day.

Large, meaty hands found her waist, but they were unfamiliar and too warm to the touch. Kagome felt a warm flush find her cheeks as she gazed up to meet a stranger's hazy stare. He pulled her in close - too close - and even in her alcohol-ridden mind, she felt mild panic begin like sparks in her abdomen.

She tried to push him away, first gently and then forcefully, pretending to laugh at his behavior. "Thanks for the dance, but I need some fresh air."

"C'me on, baby," he slurred, pulling her tighter to his sweaty frame, his hot breath rolling over her skin. "We just met. Let's dance s'me more."

Kagome frowned. "I said no." Before she could stomp on his foot and fight her way out of the throng of dancers, the man was forcefully pulled away from her. They became separated by another man, one with very familiar silver hair who had his back to her. She didn't hear the words exchanged, but whatever was said was enough to send the man scampering off to the other side of the bar.

Inuyasha turned around, his piercing honey eyes studying her expression, before his hand gently wrapped around her waist. His grip on her wasn't strong like Kouga's, or possessive like the stranger. Inuyasha's hand was warm against the small of her back, and the anxiety she felt moments ago melted away.

"You okay?" he asked, swaying his hips in tune with hers as they continued to dance to the beat of the music.

She grinned up at him. "Were you worried about me, jerk?"

"Keh," he grumbled, his lips pulling into a smirk. "I despise you more than any other human I've ever had the displeasure of meeting. You're loud and wild and apparently have no sense of self-preservation. You also act like you have the mental capacity of a five year old."

"Are you flirting with me?" she barbed in return.

"Maybe."

His hand found the back of her neck, his fingers finding purchase in her hair, his hips grinding against hers. Warmth pooled into the pit of her stomach, his breath caressing her skin, and she moved her lips to find his.

Kagome barely had a moment to react before he pressed his tongue to the seam of her lips and delved inside her mouth. It was a very sloppy kiss with the strong scent of beer being exchanged between their billowing breaths. Her arm reached up and tangled around his strong neck. She pulled away and arched up into his broad chest, letting a moan escape in the contact of body heat against her own, before she drew back into his lips.

She could nearly taste the slight bitterness of the beer as it rolled off her tongue and seeped down her throat with every push of his tongue against hers. The kiss coupled with the beer and whiskey humming through her system obliterated every thought. For the first time that day, her mind was locked into the present. Her usual concerns for her life were suspended, and she had no wish for the kiss to end.

But as the music changed, they pulled apart. Inuyasha's skin shimmered with sweat and his amber eyes flecked with gold held her gaze. The beat of the music consumed them under the crazy neon lights, and Kagome felt alive during a night that was still so young.

[astorytotellyourfriends]

Ooh, for the smut dialogue prompts how about 3 & 80 for Luke/Carrie/Reggie?

well uhhh this definitely ballooned into something MUCH longer than i anticipated so uhhh hope you enjoy this ~2k of ... yeah. you know what this is.

-x-

Carrie can't take her eyes off of Luke. He finally spotted someone he's interested in and she gave him a kiss before he left her side, but she hasn't stopped watching him the whole time.

It's the whole reason they came to this club in the first place. Carrie's been here before, dozens of times, but not since she met Luke. She was a little worried about divulging that side of her past with him but ultimately was relieved to discover that Luke didn't mind at all. In fact, he was far more interested than she ever would've imagined.

And from what it looks like to Carrie, he's fitting in like he's been coming here all along.

Carrie smiles as Luke and the guy he's been chatting with for the last ten minutes both look over at her. She wiggles her fingers in a wave and the guy returns it; even in the dim club lighting she can see the flush in his cheeks as Luke puts his mouth to his ear.

She tries to hide the thrill that runs through her when they both start to approach her, giving them both a look of mild interest before Luke slips his arms around her waist and whispers into her ear.

"How do you feel about adding another person to the mix?" he asks, making her laugh a little. It's basically a rhetorical question at this point; they've talked about this at great length and both agreed it's something they wanted to do. Carrie's heart swells a little regardless, it's sweet that Luke's checking in just to be safe.

She looks at the guy Luke brought with him and extends her hand to him. "Carrie," she says.

"Reggie," he replies with a smile as he takes her hand and leans down to kiss the top of it.

Carrie hums with interest and turns her head towards Luke. "I like him."

"So do I," Luke replies in another whisper. "So?"

"How do you feel about two at once?" she whispers back, grinning when Luke groans in her ear and tightens his arms around her waist.

"Now?" Luke asks eagerly.

"You up for it?" Carrie asks, turning her attention back to Reggie who's still holding onto her hand. "With both of us?"

"Definitely," Reggie says as Carrie pulls him towards them, smirking as his flush deepens when her hand goes to his belt.

"Then we should get a room," she says, looking back and forth between Luke and Reggie. "And have some fun."

Carrie leads them back towards the private rooms, relieved that there's a familiar face at the doors who waves them right through. There's an open door towards the end of the hall that signals the adjoining room is empty and the three of them disappear through it, closing and locking the door behind them.

"First things first," Carrie says as she tugs Reggie close to her, capturing his mouth with her own and kissing him fast and hard. He responds to it immediately and wraps his arms around her body, pulling her flush against him as Luke watches with heavy-lidded eyes.

Carrie gasps as she pulls away, smirking as she catches her breath and gives Reggie a gentle push towards Luke. He follows her direction without delay and soon the two of them are kissing and putting on a show for Carrie that makes her whole body tingle with desire.

She's pleased to see that she still knows her way around one of these private rooms and quickly finds a bottle of lube and some condoms. While the boys are distracted, she strips down to nothing and then clears her throat to get their attention.

Both of them turn to look at her and she feels warm all over as their eyes roam up and down her naked body. Luke groans, looking almost pained as he stares at her. Carrie grins, knowing full well the only reason he's disappointed is because he didn't get to help her get undressed.

"Reggie," she says as she holds out the bottle of lube, "will you help Luke get ready?"

She raises her eyebrows and sucks her bottom lip into her mouth as Reggie approaches her, taking the bottle of lube from her hands as he nods. Carrie turns her eyes back to Luke and crooks her finger at him, silently telling him to come and join them.

"Get undressed," she says, looking between both of them before she gives Luke a kiss.

"And then?" Luke asks with a moan as Carrie pulls away from him and sits down on the bed in the center of the room.

"Then," she says as she lays down, putting herself on display as she spreads her legs. "You can join me," she adds, slipping one of her hands between her legs as both of them openly stare.

Reggie and Luke both quickly take their clothes off, and Luke climbs onto the bed while Reggie opens the bottle of lube. Luke seizes the opportunity to kiss Carrie while he can, but after only a few seconds she's pushing his head down between her legs and he moans excitedly as she pulls her hand away from herself and lets him take over.

"Luke," she moans, letting out a giddy and breathless laugh as he licks her. She glances over at Reggie who's standing stock-still and watching the two of them. "You should open him up," she says, snapping Reggie out of his thoughts. "So you can join us."

"R-Right," he says as he steps up behind Luke, setting the bottle of lube aside before he cautiously touches Luke.

Luke moans against Carrie and pushes his ass back towards Reggie, who rewards him by rubbing his finger over Luke's hole and carefully pushing one finger inside of him. Luke sucks hard over Carrie's clit and she cries out in response, moaning appreciatively as Reggie starts fingering Luke open.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Carrie says as she runs her fingers through Luke's hair, smiling at him when he looks up at her with his mouth still pressed against her. "Just wait til he's fucking you."

Luke's eyes roll back into his head and he doubles his efforts to get her off, pulling out all of his tricks to make her fall apart from his tongue.

"B-Better do it fast," Carrie says with a gasp as she and Reggie make eye contact. "He's very impatient."

Reggie chuckles and slips another finger into Luke, opening him up as quickly and thoroughly as he can. Luke moans and pushes back against Reggie's fingers, sliding two of his own into Carrie just to make her scream again.

"Luke," she whimpers, closing her thighs around his head as she starts to shake uncontrollably. "Fuck, don't stop."

A few seconds later she cries out and arches her back as she comes, moaning and gasping as Luke continues to lick and suck at her. She fists her hand in his hair and pulls his mouth away from her when she gets too sensitive, and Luke looks so pleased with himself that Carrie has half a mind to smack him.

But before either of them can say anything, Reggie adds a third finger and Luke shuts his eyes tightly as he groans. Carrie licks her lips as she looks at Reggie, feeling an overwhelming sense of arousal as he grins at her. She turns her head to see around Luke, groaning a little to herself when she sees the size of Reggie's dick.

"You sure you can handle him?" she teases, pulling Luke's hair a little harder to get him to open his eyes.

"Yeah," Luke answers immediately.

"Can he handle both of us?" Reggie asks and Carrie meets his eye again with a wicked grin.

"Only one way to find out," she replies, running her fingers through Luke's hair again. "Time to switch places, baby."

Luke grunts a little as Reggie pulls his fingers out of him, while Carrie slides across the bed to retrieve the condoms she'd grabbed earlier. Luke stretches out on his back in the space she vacated, watching the other two with excitement in his eyes as Carrie passes one of the condoms to Reggie.

"Rules are rules," she says as she looks down at Luke, tearing open the other condom. He grunts again as she rolls it onto his dick while Reggie does the same to himself with the other.

Carrie straddles Luke's waist but doesn't reach for Luke's dick again. Instead she glances over her shoulder and watches as Reggie lubes up his cock and lines himself up with Luke's hole. He looks to her for permission and Carrie slowly turns her head to look down at Luke.

"You ready?" she asks, though she already knows the answer.

"Yeah," he answers with a low groan. "C'mon."

Carrie laughs as she turns her head back to Reggie. "You heard him."

Reggie grins as he slowly pushes into Luke, sinking into him inch by inch at a steady pace. Carrie watches Luke's face as it happens, feeling her own arousal increase as he shivers underneath the two of them. As soon as Reggie's hips meet Luke's ass, Carrie puts her hand on Luke's dick and carefully guides it inside of her.

She moans when Reggie helps keep her steady, taking his hands off of Luke's waist to hold onto hers. Carrie turns her head and seeks out his mouth for a kiss, all while sinking down onto Luke's cock and clenching around him.

"Fuck," Luke moans loudly as the other two make out in front of him. "Oh, god."

Luke slips his hands up Carrie's thighs and squeezes, pulling her attention away from Reggie and drawing it back to him. She smirks as she slides one hand around the back of Reggie's neck while she presses the other over Luke's at her hip.

"I think he wants you to fuck him," she whispers as Reggie kisses her neck.

"I can do that," Reggie murmurs as he pulls his hips back a little and thrusts into Luke, creating a chain reaction where Luke's hips fuck up into Carrie and they both moan.

"Yes," Luke moans as Reggie does it again. "Fuck, feels so good."

"Oh, god," Carrie whimpers as Reggie cups her breasts in his hands and fucks his hips into Luke even faster. She starts bouncing up and down on Luke's cock in time with Reggie's thrusts, all three of them making enough noise that if the rooms weren't soundproof then they'd surely be heard by everyone in the club.

"Fuck," Luke groans as he starts rubbing Carrie's clit with his thumb. "Baby, it's so--"

"Yeah?" Carrie laughs breathlessly. "Does his cock feel good?"

"Yeah," Luke whines. "So good."

"I bet it does," she replies with a breathy moan as she slides her fingers into Reggie's hair, scratching against his scalp as he nibbles at her neck.

"Bet you do, too," Reggie groans in her ear as he plays with her nipples. Luke starts singing her praises a second later and Carrie basks in their attention as she clenches around him.

"So fucking good," Luke grunts. "God, baby, you always feel so fucking good."

"So do you," Carrie says, gasping when Reggie thrusts particularly hard and Luke fucks up into her roughly. "Oh my god, don't stop."

"Yeah," Luke adds, "don't fucking stop."

"Fuck," Reggie moans as he tries to do it again and again, giving the other two exactly what they want. He sinks his teeth into Carrie's neck and she cries out as she comes around Luke's dick, clenching around him so hard that he shouts in desperation.

"Ohh fuck, fuck, fuck!" Luke screams as he comes, and a few seconds later Reggie's hips still against him and he follows the other two.

Carrie tugs roughly on Reggie's hair as his hands grip her breasts tightly, releasing a few seconds after as he shudders against her. She slumps against him and tips her head back onto his shoulder as Luke gently rubs her thighs.

"God," she says with a soft laugh, humming as Reggie kisses her skin. "That was…"

"Yeah," Reggie says, laughing along with her. "Th-Thanks for that."

"We should be thanking you," she says as she turns her head and noses at his cheek, smiling when Reggie catches her mouth in a kiss.

"If you both come down here," Luke says in a mildly petulant voice as the other two turn to look at him. "I can thank you properly."

Carrie snorts. "So impatient."

"I like kisses too," Luke grumbles as he pulls at Carrie's hips. She giggles softly as she slowly lifts herself off of Luke's cock, letting Reggie help her and Luke pull her down to the bed. Reggie carefully pulls out of Luke next and lays down on Luke's other side.

They each take turns kissing Luke thoroughly and Carrie feels another wave of desire wash over her as she watches Luke and Reggie.

"Maybe we should keep you," she teases as she cups Reggie's face with one hand, rubbing her thumb over his cheekbone as he blushes.

"Yeah?" he asks as his blush makes its way down his neck.

"Yeah," Luke agrees, licking his lips as Carrie rests her head on his chest. "If you want."

"I, uhh," Reggie laughs under his breath and nods his head, "I definitely wouldn't mind."

prompt lists | filled prompts

[hot-wiings]

The Chapter Contains Enji Todoroki. If this makes you triggered, or uncomfortable don't proceed.

Edited: 5-18-20

#1. I Love How You Patch Me Up. 

You let out a sigh as you dabbed Touya Todoroki's eyebrow with a cotton ball. He hissed as the hydrogen peroxide soaked ball of cotton made contact with his skin, burning him as it cleaned out the cut.

"Sorry."

"Just stings."

Touya watched you from the spot where he sat on the barstool. You pulled your lip between your teeth and he knew you were upset. Upset that you had to make him sit through the extra pain of cleaning out his cuts with ointment and peroxide. 

You weren't just upset, but livid. Livid that his father would hurt him like this. Livid that his mother didn't step up and protect him. Most of all, you were livid that she wouldn't even stay around to clean him up, but rather left him to patch himself up.

Your heart hurt for Touya, it truly did. You knew what it was like to have your father, a respected man, lay a hand against you—that's how you originally met Touya in the first place.

You were both in a local drug store looking for peroxide and medical materials, the same day with the same purpose and reasons. You both happened to reach for the same bottle as if fate intended for you to meet. You ended up helping him patch himself up that day.

You carefully pressed a bandaid over Touya's eyebrow cut before moving onto a new one. Your eyes briefly flashed down to his teal orbs before going back to your task at hand.

"Why'd he get so angry this time?"

"I told my parents I wanted to apply to UA. Enji told me I wasn't cut out to be a hero, I disagreed."

"And your mother? What did she say."

"She didn't say anything... But I know she agrees with him."

Your hand pressed down harder on Touya's cut. Sensing your anger, Touya pulled your hand from his cut cheek to his mouth. Ignoring the pain from his busted lip, he kissed your tense knuckles.

"I hate them so much. I hate how he treats you. I hate how she doesn't stop it. She doesn't even try!"

"Can you really blame her? If she intervened then my busted face would be hers. If he didn't hit me, he would be hitting her."

"That's not how a mother should act. A mother would step in, a mother would protect you. You protect her so much, but she has never done shit for you."

"How would you know? You don't even have a mother." 

His comment deeply bothered you, but you knew that it didn't come out of malice but rather a defense. It didn't make it hurt any less, however, you didn't retaliate with words but actions. 

With a tight smile, you soak a cotton ball in hydrogen peroxide and aggressively press Touya's lip with the substance. He winced, but he couldn't be mad. You would never hurt him on purpose, instead, you took out your anger by cleaning him up, something that you knew would hurt him but something that essentially needed to be done. 

"I'm sorry, that was mean." 

"It was."

"I just hate when you talk bad about her, she's not a bad person. He is, but she's not. She's sweet with Fuyumi and Natsou, it's just cause' I look so much like him. She thinks I'm just like him."

A tear falls down from Touya's pretty teal eyes. It dribbled down his cheek and mixed in with his cuts. You turned your own gaze to the ground, as you couldn't help but let a few of your own fall as well.

"You're not your father Touya." 

"You're right, I'm not my father. That's why it doesn't matter if I let him hurt me, cause' at least I know I'm not enabling a monster like him to hurt my mom."

Touya slips his arms around your waist and pulls you closer between his legs. He used his hand to tilt your chin up making you look him in the eyes as his other hand traced circles into the bare skin of your hip above your jeans.

"I wish we could just get away from them all." 

Touya let his head rest against your chest and he softy murmured into your skin as you ran your fingers through his bright orange locks.  

"One day I'm leaving and I'm not coming back. You'll come with me, right?"

Your lips quirked up into a small smile. You leaned your neck down and kissed the top of Touya's head.

"Of course. After all, you'd be hopeless without your unlicensed doctor."

"I think you meant my pretty, unlicensed doctor." 

Touya could still feel the heat from your kiss on his head, lingering and begging for more. It was then in that moment as you patched up his wounds that he realized how he really felt about you. He really wanted to say those three unspoken words, the words he was so cautious about handing out, but he didn't. Instead, he held his best friend and let her patch up his face. 

#2. I Love How You Won’t Let Me Go. (Even When I Push You Away.)

He knew what he was doing was horrible. He knew what he was doing was going to break your heart. He was doing the worst thing. It would be like stabbing you in the chest and twisting the knife. 

Touya Todoroki knew what he was doing would hurt you, but that didn't stop him from packing his bag with any essential items he would need. He knew it would hurt you, but that didn't stop him from discreetly leaving you a heartfelt goodbye letter in your mailbox before he headed off to school. 

He knew it would hurt you, but that didn't stop him from walking to the nearest bus stop right after school got out. He knew it would hurt you, but he still bought a ticket to the farthest destination anybody would look for him, a ticket he bought a week in advance from his departure date. 

He knew it would hurt, yet he still attempted to go through with it. What he hadn't expected was to see you standing there at the bus stop when he arrived. He hadn't expected to see you, arms crossed with a furious look spread across your face. 

"Were you really going to leave?" 

His eyes flowed from the scorned look of betrayal on your face down to your hand which held the letter he left in your mailbox. It was bunched up in your fist and your knuckles were white from clenching it so hard.

He could see the tears building up at your eyes, and his chest felt heavy with regret. He pulled on the arm straps of his backpack tighter. He was scared of hurting you. He was careful to choose his next words, wary of breaking you even more. 

"How did you even get from school to home to here so fast?" 

"Maybe if you hadn't been avoiding me like the black plague, you would've known that I was absent from school today." 

"Why were you absent? Did your father-"

"Don't. Don't ask about my father. You don't have that right, not after you broke your promise." 

The tears started dribbling down your cheeks and you looked up at the sky to avoid looking at him with your blurry tear-filled orbs. 

"You promised. You promised that you would take me with you. You said we’d escape our parents together… But you were going to leave without me. You weren't even going to give me an actual goodbye."

Your voice sounded quiet and simply broken. The tone you used with him was hurt and lifeless. He wished you would scream, he wished you would yell. Anything would be better than the broken tone you held. Anything would be better than the broken tone he caused. 

"How could I take you with me? I'd just be dragging you down."

Touya took a deep breath and closed his eyes, mentally preparing himself for the words he had to say to you. 

"You wanna know why I got so distant? My mom got put in a mental institute and our last conversation was her telling me I was gonna end up just like Enji. I can't be anywhere near you. I won't let myself treat you like he treats people." 

Touya made the motion to turn as his tears started to leak down his eyes. He started to turn away from you, letting his last words to you serve as a goodbye. You quickly grabbed onto his arm, stopping him and pulling him back. You would not let him go, not like this. 

“I'm not a good person, [Y/N], it's better if I just leave." 

"I will not let you walk away from me, I will not let you walk away from the past seven years. If you can look me in the eyes and truthfully say our friendship has meant nothing, that I have meant nothing to you, then I'll let you walk away." 

“That's not fair. I could never say that to you. I'm not leaving because of you. I'm leaving for you. For fuck's sake! If my own mother, my flesh and blood, couldn't love me then no one can. I'd just drive you insane.”

“That's bullshit! Cause' I love you, and I'll always love you." 

The thing you so belligerently tried to keep from your best friend was out in the open. You felt naked and vulnerable now that the words were out of your mouth.

"You love me?" 

His voice sounded so hesitant and scared of the answer. He looked at you but you were looking at the ground, scared to meet his eyes. You took a deep breath before divulging in the secret you kept so well. 

"You’re the reason I have the strength to wake up every day despite knowing what's in store with my dad. You make it worthwhile every day when I see you in school, you make me feel like I'm actually important. I love you, I've always loved you... And if you still want to leave despite knowing that, then just leave.”

Touya cupped your cheeks in his hands and tilted your face up, forcing you to look up at him. His hands on your cheeks felt warm, you wished for nothing more than to stay like that. 

“You always take time out of your day for me. Whether it's homework, an injury, or just to ask me about my day, you're there. You’ve never once got disgusted by my scars. I think I love you more than I value my own life and that scares me.”

Touya pressed his lips against yours. They felt warm and soft. You could smell his distinct scent of ash from his quirk. Words could not describe the way you loved the way ash smelt on him.   

“But I can't stay with a family who hates me. Come with me doll. Leave your shitty dad and come with me.”  

“Touya, I’d follow you to the ends of the earth if it meant being with you.”

#3. I Love How You Don’t Judge Me.

With a grocery bag in his hand, Touya unlocked the door to the dingy motel room you had been staying in together. It wasn't much, but it wasn't somewhere someone would think to look for the son of the famous hero Endeavor. It wasn't much, but you didn't care as long as he was with you. 

Touya locked the door behind him before walking further into the motel room and dropping the grocery bags at the foot of the bed where you laid reading a book. You looked up from your book and smiled at Touya. 

“Hey there.”

Touya leaned down to your face and pressed his lips against yours, giving you a quick chaste kiss. 

“Hi.” 

"What’d you get at the store?” 

“I got some instant ramen.”

“Same as yesterday, yummy.” 

You picked up the grocery bag and carried it to the tiny microwave that the motel had provided in every room. 

“Instant ramen in a rundown motel room. I'm sorry, I know it's not ideal.” 

You turned your head to the side to look at Touya. A smile played on your lips as you made eye contact with him. 

“I knew what I was signing up for when I came with you, besides, I like instant ramen.”   

You added water to the containers and popped the ramen inside the microwave before pressing on the right buttons to turn it on. Touya came up behind you and wrapped his arms around you. He gave you another chaste kiss, this time on the side of your temple. 

“Will you dye my hair?”

“Really? I really like your orange hair.” 

You turned around in Touya's arms and looked him in the eyes to see if he was serious. It was so out of the blue, he had never had any interest in dying his hair before. As you ran your hands through his orange locks it wasn’t hard to guess what was going through his head. He was a spitting image of Enji. 

“I have a job interview tomorrow, but I don't wanna go to it like this. I don't wanna go to it looking like a younger version of him. I want a whole new identity.”

“I really like your orange hair, but I'll love you no matter what hair color you've got.”

You walked over to the second grocery bag Touya had brought home and pulled out the black hair dye. You ripped the box open as Touya took a seat on a wooden chair in front of you. You ripped open the powders and dumped the powdered dye into the liquid chemical bottle before placing a lid on it and shaking it up. 

“Tip your head back.” 

You ran your fingers through his hair and applied the dye thoroughly as you rubbed it in his roots. You made sure not to leave a single inch of orange hair untouched. 

You washed your hands and set a timer on your phone before retrieving your ramen bowls from the microwave and placing one in front of him and taking your place in the chair across from him. 

“Thank you, doll.”

“Of course babe. I just hope it takes to your hair well, orange hair can be unpredictable when dyeing. We might have to go to the store and get another box.” 

Touya sat there with you, happily eating away at the ramen you cooked for him. He wasn't sure how much time had passed when you asked the question he dreaded you asking. 

“What's the job interview for?” 

Touya bit down on his lip as he debated whether or not he should tell you. If he honestly told you what the job was, then you might get mad. On the other hand, he wanted to have an honest relationship with you. 

“It’s for a position in the league of villains.” 

You stared at him speechlessly as the timer went off on your phone. He wasn't sure what to make of your expression. You didn't look mad, or angry, but you didn't look happy or pleased either. Despite being best friends for most of your lives, Touya couldn't identify your expression. Not being able to tell what you were feeling made Touya nervous.  

“You should wash your hair.”

“[Y/N]-”

“Go wash your hair before it falls out!”

He knew you were angry. He thought you were. You had to be. So instead of staying to talk it out, he retreated to the bathroom to wash out the chemicals as you took a seat on the edge of the bed. Each minute that passed felt like years to the both of you. 

After what felt like a millennium, Touya emerged from the bathroom with a now black stained towel in his hand. You took a deep breath before smiling at your lover as he walked closer to you.

“You want to be a villain?” 

“I- I know you're upset and disappointed, but I can't be a hero. I can't be that heroic guy you want and need. You can judge me all you want, but I can't be that.”

“Oh, baby… I would never judge you.” 

You reached up and grabbed Touya by the sides of his head. With your thumbs, you wiped away the tears that had begun making their way down his cheeks and you gently pulled his face down to yours. Touya got on his knees and wrapped his arms around you as you cradle his face on your chest. 

“I’m not upset, or disappointed either. You want a new identity, I understand that. I literally just dyed your hair, I'll even help you pick a new name. I was just shocked to hear you say, villain.” 

“I can't be a hero [Y/N], they're so corrupt. I- I can't be someone like Enji. He was a hero and he was a bastard. I'm sorry if you hate me for this but I can't be someone like that.” 

“Hey, I said I wasn't gonna judge you, and that meant I wouldn't ever hate you either. It just scares me. Hero or villain, it's a risky occupation.”

You run your fingers through Touya's newly black damp hair. It felt nice to him and it did miracles to soothe his tears. There were countless times where he found himself in this exact spot growing up, usually after he and Enji had a fight. 

“It's a risky occupation. But hey, if you get to do something dangerous, then I can too.” 

“[Y/N].”

“If you're joining the villains, then I am too. Who else will bandage up your wounds properly? Somebody's gotta keep you alive.”

Touya pressed his lips against yours. This kiss wasn't a chaste one like earlier, but one of longing and want. It was filled with lust and passion and hunger. 

“Okay, we’ll do it together.” 

#4. I Love How You Reassure me. 

You sat on the closed edge of the toilet in your shared apartment as you stared down at the tiny thin stick in your hands. You were nervous and your whole body was tense as you stared at the stick with anticipation as you waited for the timer on your phone to go off.

Every passing minute felt like decades and with every passing second, the pounding of your heartbeat got faster. The timer beeped and you looked at the stick for the results. Two lines were present signifying positive. 

The tears sprang from your eyes. You weren't sure what the appropriate response should have been but the whole situation left you feeling overwhelmed. What kind of lifestyle would you be bringing a child into? You were a villain now, and although you worked for the league of villains in a more medical aspect, your lover, the father of the baby, held a big role for the league of villains. 

Occupations set aside, you weren't even married, nor did you and Dabi, the name Touya was going by these days, had much knowledge on how to raise a child. Yet the more you thought about how you carried something so precious in your womb brought a soft smile to your face. The more you thought of raising a child with Dabi, you felt better and more secure. 

You heard keys jingling in the apartment doorknob followed by the sound of boots coming in the doorway and you could soon hear Dabi's deep voice resounding throughout the house.

"Sweetheart? I'm home."

You started to panic as you heard him walk closer to the bathroom. Should you hide the test, or just tell it to him straight? There was a slightly unsettling feeling in your stomach that Dabi wouldn't be happy about the predicament, but you had an open and honest relationship with Dabi. 

The door to the bathroom was pushed open and Dabi made his way inside ready to scold you. 

"You're sick, you should be resting in bed." 

Being sick was just an excuse to take a day off from league work to slip away and buy your pregnancy test. To be fair, you were sick earlier due to morning sickness.

"I'm feeling better now, and, I uh, I have something for you." 

You looked at the ground and ran one hand through your hair nervously as you used your other hand to push the pregnancy test into his hand. He took it, not even realizing what it was. Not even realizing how that tiny stick would impact his life. It didn't take him long to realize what it was as he looked down at the pink stick with two red lines.

"This a pregnancy stick."

"Yeah." 

"Two lines. Is that positive?" 

"Well, I wouldn't be giving you a pregnancy test if it was negative, would I?"

Dabi numbly took a seat on the edge of the bathtub across from you. To Dabi, children were not in the life plan, he never even let himself entertain the thought of kids. Sure, you were financially better than when you first left home together, rather than bouncing from dingy motel to motel you lived in a nice apartment, but you were both barely over twenty-one, your career choice was villainy, not to mention you both never had the best example of what a parent should be. 

"It has to be wrong, we've been careful. You- you can't be pregnant."

Your eyes which had been trained on the floor finally looked up and met Dabi's orbs. You knew he might not want your baby, but you hadn't expected him to look so distraught and sick about it. 

"Well I am, and I'm not aborting. This child is a part of you and me, I won't abort them." 

"We can't raise a child." 

"I can raise a child, what you mean is that you don't want to raise a child together." 

"I didn't say I don't want to, I said I can't." 

A tear dribbled down Dabi's cheek. You pulled him off the edge of the bathtub, onto his knees with his head against your chest. His comfort space, the space he would always find himself crying as he grew up. You ran your hand through Dabi's raven dyed hair, your signature move to quell his tears. 

"I know what you're thinkin' and it's not true. You're not gonna be like him, you're not him."

"He's always going to be biologically a part of me. He was a shit dad and a shit husband. I don't wanna be like him."

"Just cause he's your dad, doesn't mean your gonna be like him. You're a good man and you'll be a great dad. You're not gonna hurt me, or this baby. You won't be like Enji." 

Dabi slid his head from your chest to your stomach. A smile made its way across his stapled face as he let himself entertain the domestic thought of having a family with you. 

"If we're having a baby then we might wanna look for a bigger apartment."

#5. I Love Everything You Create. 

Dabi leaned over the sleek black bassinet and peered down. His precious baby lay there sound asleep. She had trademark teal blue eyes like his, but your nose. although she looked very distinctly you, she had red hair from Dabi. Although it was very Todoroki like, he didn't care. He didn't care that it tied him to Enji because it also tied her to himself and you. She was his baby, his pride and joy. She was the greatest gift you could have given him. She was his and yours to cherish and love, he wouldn't give that up for anything.

The baby began to stir and Dabi hesitated as he looked at her. Sometimes she would just fall back to sleep, but today was not one of those days. Her little cries began to start and Dabi swooped her up into his arms. With her head against his shoulder, he carefully swayed her back and forth immediately quelling her cries.

She didn't fall back to sleep but she laid there quietly in his arms. She was just a little over a year old but she was already a daddy's girl.

"You hungry?"

Dabi smiled as he heard Akari's little excited gurgles and giggles. He carried her down to the kitchen and pulled out a container of baby food from the fridge. Before quickly tossing it in the microwave.

Dabi pulled Akari closer to his chest and away from his shoulder so he could move around and do things in the house while securely holding her. Akari, deciding she wants more attention, pulls her hands towards her father's face and yanks on one of his staples.

"Ah."

Dabi swiftly put Akari in her baby high chair before grabbing a towel and wiping his face to get rid of the small blood that came along with the staple.

"Da! Da!"

Dabi weakly smiled in his daughter's direction as to not worry or frighten her. This wasn't the first time she had pulled his staples out, but it didn't hurt any less with each time she did it. Once the bleeding let up Dabi tossed the towel on the counter and picked Akari back up, giving Akari the attention she was trying to get.

"You're daddy's little menace, aren't you? Huh?"

Akari giggled and buried her face in Dabi's neck, it sent a smile onto Dabi's face. She was so perfect and every second he spent with her he couldn't understand why Enji ever treated him and his siblings the way he had. When he held Akari all that came to his mind was how he would do anything to protect her. Her and you. All he could think about was how precious and special you both were to him.

"Why didn't you wake me?"

Dabi turned his head to the side to see you leaning against the doorway. Your head was all over the place due to bed head and you wore Dabi's oversized t-shirt and a pair of jogging pants. You looked completely frumpy but to Dabi, you were nothing less than perfect.

"I wanted to let you sleep in."

"I enjoyed the sleep, but I'd rather have been up with my lovelies."

You walked over to Dabi and Akari. You dipped your head down to hers and kissed her head before leaning up to kiss Dabi, you stopped midway as you saw his cheek. You brought your hand up and creased his cheek.

"Did she pull your staple out again?"

"Yeah. She's got a mean steak, I still think we should have named her Void."

You reached into the cupboard to pull out a bandaid to patch your lover up.

"Void is such a bad name, so was Winslow."

You took the wrapper off the bandaid and pressed it against Dabi's face. He gave you a soft smile as he placed his hand over your hand that was on his cheek.

"I'm glad you married me, you know that right? I know we did it cause' you were pregnant, but I wouldn't change it."

You pressed your lips against Dabi's briefly before pulling away and smiling at him.

"You and Akari are everything to me. I love you, and everything you've given me. I wouldn't change it, and I wouldn't trade it for anything."

[masterofmagnetism]

my head is the room, and the room's filled with broken glass (oh, the pieces i can't put back)

“She’d never seen him make a mistake, never seen even for a second Erik Lehnsherr lose a scrap of the control he always seemed to keep a tight leash on.”

WHO: Erik Lehnsherr, Jean Grey @jeaniegreysummers​, and Lorna Dane @mistressxfmagnetism​ References to Kara Danvers, Alex Danvers, Lena Luthor, Scott Summers, Maddie Pryor, & Charles Xavier WHEN: 14 days before [redacted] WHERE: Genosha WHAT: A father-daughter sparring session goes terribly wrong.  One slip of the tongue brings a two-decade-long deception crashing down, leaving no one unscarred. In which Erik royally fucks up many many times, Lorna discovers the truth of what happened to her mother and stepfather, and Jean questions whether her trust has been well-placed.  WORD COUNT: 13.1k WARNINGS: Strap in: violence, gaslighting, manipulation, brainwashing, plane crashes, murder, PTSD, death mentions, trauma, infidelity, abuse, and egregious acts of hypocrisy.

ERIK: Peace was a fragile thing.

Sure, they'd won their island; won independence, freedom, safety, a breath of fresh air (well, fresh-ish; one could only ask for so much when New York City sat just a fifteen minute ferry ride away).  Genosha was growing nicely, people were settling in, and everything seemed to be going well.

Erik should be happy, but instead he found himself agitated and on edge.  Complacency was dangerous.  Faith in humanity's ability to leave them alone had always been hard to come by, and a few signed pieces of paper did little to ease his worries; the Native Americans had gotten their treaties, too, for all the good it did them. With humans, danger was always lurking somewhere on the horizon, and he refused to lower his guard.

Which is where the training came in.  Mutants couldn't understand their powers better without using them, without pushing their limits and seeing how far they could go.  Ric had gone from quaking buildings to dragging an island out of the sea.  Jean had the Phoenix at her disposal, sure, but even outside of it she was classed as an Omega-level telekinetic.  No upper limit.  Here, where it was safe, she needed to push what she could already do.  ( He needed to know how far she could be pushed. )  And Lorna... well, he'd seen her do far more than she was doing now at a much younger age. She could do more, be so much more.

A good father, a good leader, would help them find out just how far they could go.

The last set of projectiles successfully deflected, Erik retaliated against their joint attack with one of his own, reversing the magnetic fields around his daughters' feet to off-balance them as he sent a return volley of his own.

JEAN: The war was won. That’s what Jean kept repeating to herself, in the brief moments she had in peace and relative quiet. The war was won, and yet she hadn’t stopped for even a second, barely an instant, to look around at what they had accomplished. Her days and nights blended together as she attended to training and patients at Sara Memorial Hospital, Genosha growing up around her as she built their new healthcare system from the ground up. She was desperately out of her depth and she knew it, but the level of education most mutants could hope to attain was slim to none. The people who arrived in her department wanted to better themselves, and she would do everything she could to pass on her knowledge, soon finding that her abilities could be used in new and unique ways to aid her mission.

The Phoenix would protect her. She would protect her family, her country, her people. Jean knew that now, without a shadow of a doubt (maybe a small shadow). The Phoenix would protect her, but the minutia of creating this new life? That was down to Jean, and she had been neglecting her training up to this point. Luckily, she had one of the best teachers in the world on hand, and a fellow student just as eager to refine her abilities.

“Are we playing dirty, Erik?” Jean called out, an exhilarated smile on her face as she pushed out her hands, focusing on the atoms in the air around her and forcing them to steady so she could float above the ground. “I thought we were going for a warm up round, first.” Of course, if he was going to play hardball -- as she knew he would -- Jean wasn’t going to hold back. She looked over at Lorna, winking at her as she formed a telepathic link between them.

Think of it as comms, she thought at Lorna. How are we getting around this?

LORNA: Winning Genosha had felt like a dream, and for the first few weeks Lorna was waiting to wake up from it. Waiting for their victory to be snatched out from under them. The war was won, but how long had they been at war? She didn't know how to be at peace any more. She didn't trust that it would last. Even in times when she felt unbreakable and untouchable, she was angry. Angry at the thought that they would try. Because she was sure someone would.

Training with Jean and Erik was a good distraction from that. She had seen Erik do things she could imagine having the power to do, but she was sure that anything he could do, she could too. He'd simply had longer to train, she reasoned. She could become stronger, especially with the right teacher. And now, she finally had the time to learn.

"Erik doesn't know how to play fair," Lorna countered, pushing straight back against his magnetic fields. She'd found that they seemed to reflect each other in that way; the polarity of her powers mirrored his, but perfectly opposite. She couldn't completely undo it, but it held her steady for now.

Hearing Jean in her mind, she glanced over with a grin of her own. Distract him. Break his concentration and I can try reversing it on him. Try being the operative word. This was unfamiliar to her, but hell if she wouldn't mimic what she felt. Unless you've got a better plan?

ERIK: He grinned across the field at the two of them as they stabilized themselves. "No such thing as playing dirty, Jeannie. You play to win or you play to lose." Erik tilted his head, felt his powers branch out and sink into the ground beneath them.

"Besides, you two don't need a warm-up round. Not my girls." Even now, he could see by their shared glances, the two of them were scheming. No doubt courtesy of Jean's telepathy. He'd expected that, though.

Lorna's magnetism pressed at his own, a tug that required actual work not to cede to.

An idea took shape, and Erik smirked before wrapping his powers around a piece of scrap metal in Lorna's side of the bubble, creeping up from the ground. He could resist her pull. It couldn't, not without direction, and he gave it none, letting it sail toward his daughter and pick up speed.

JEAN: Scott kept looking at her, lately. She couldn’t track his gaze from behind the shades, but she’d never had to in order to feel his eyes on her. He kept looking at her, reaching out over the kitchen table as they sat reading or eating dinner, leaning against her side when they walked. He wanted her to talk about it, she knew. He wanted her to let it go, wanted her to stop crawling back into that space where she bottled everything up, shoved it into cardboard boxes barely contained in the back of her mind and pretended desperately that they were never there in the first place.

(It was always Charles who told her to control it. Erik was the one extending a hand, that sharp smile on his face, suggesting that she was a little too tense for her own good, that letting off just a little steam would help. It was always Erik that had faith she wouldn’t crack the world in half when that happened.)

The problem with letting go, though, was she needed something to let go of. Jean’s family -- her biological family, at least -- were gone, dead, buried. All of them were dust with the exception of Maddie, and Jean felt nothing. Unless Scott, Erik or Maddie told their friends, Jean wasn’t going to be the one to divulge her latest failing (and tragedy). She had other things to focus on.

There was always another battle to focus on.

They’d fought so hard for this that Jean was content to focus all she had on the here and now, in this moment of relative peace. (A small part of her mind wondered how Erik could slip off Lorna’s tongue so easily when even as a child herself, it had been preceded by hesitation, always ... Erik, always on the brink of something else.) “There are different ways to win, though,” she called back, sending a telepathic confirmation to Lorna regarding her advice. “Alex Danvers seems a little irritated at you for throwing her friend down an elevator shaft.”

It was teasing, of course. Hurting people was never something Jean revelled in, at least not when she was in her right mind, but … well, she had to admit there was something appealing in it. “But if we are playing to win, you have to know my dirty is a little different to yours.” Only a little, and there was far less distance between them than Jean had once thought, but where Erik used a little more physical means of intimidation, Jean was all mental. “I might not be able to use telepathy, but there are other ways to get into your head. Everyone’s got secrets, right?”

LORNA: The last year had been a turbulent one for Lorna in more ways than she could count. But a prominent one stood before her. Erik. Magneto. Her father. Lorna had known for a long time that her dad wasn't her dad. That Magneto was her father. But for a long time she'd rejected it, rejected him, in the way she'd felt rejected by him. Abandoned even. Those letters, coming just once a year, was not enough to make him her dad. But these past months... Lorna had nearly slipped up more than once, even if Erik rolled off the tongue easier than anything else still. But after everything that had happened... He was finally feeling like her dad.

And they were more alike than Lorna had ever realised. Lorna had been told most of her life how much she looked like her mother. How she took after her. But she had seen this year that those things that no one could place came from her father. Her anger, her stubborn sense of justice. Her instabilities. She saw them mirrored in him more than she'd like to admit. But it gave her insight into him beyond what one ought to have in just a year.

"Definitely," she added to Jean. Although she was insanely curious about what Jean was saying, Lorna knew that she had no time to listen. Jean was giving her an opportunity, she had to use it. She wanted to know about these secrets, but she didn't have a chance right now. Not if she wanted to win this fight. She pushed hard, reversing the pull of their magnetic fields until he was thrown off. Feeling the scrap metal sailing into her own field, Lorna glanced over her shoulder and using the momentum it had already gained, flung it towards Erik, hard and fast.

ERIK: There were pieces of him in all of his children. Not just genetically, not in the literal sense--Jean and Scott were his as surely as any of them, blood ties or not.  Each bore some glimmer of his best and worst qualities.

Lorna had his powers, of course. She had his drive to protect what was theirs, to pull no punches against enemies that would see them hurt or killed, his ruthlessness. There were other things, too, things he'd caught glimpses of here and there over the last few months; hints of the waves of manic focus and the subsequent crashes. They didn't talk about it, just like they didn't talk about Erik's drinking or Lorna's risk-taking or the million other unhealthy coping mechanisms they'd both collected.

Scott had his strategic mind, the sort that could fine-tune plans until they were elegant pieces of art rather than a simple series of hopeful steps. He had that charisma that drew people to follow him, into peace and war alike. He had the same distrust of authority figures, even the ones he cared for, after years of being abused at their hands, that creeping paranoia that colored Erik's thoughts more often than he cared to admit.

Jean had his fire--and he had Jean's, now, in the most literal of senses.  Jean, who had known him longer than any of the others. Whose care for those she loved was enough to drag them back from the grave, who welcomed Erik back with open arms even after he'd left in a way that the others had taken longer to do.  She'd been in his head, after all, one of only two people he trusted enough to let his guard down with; at least until the Phoenix. (It didn't make sense, he knew, because it was hers more than his, but it shushed that there was no need to worry her, no need for her to know all his secrets, and so the guards stayed up more often than not, these days.)

It was easy to get into their heads, because they were so much like his own. But he'd overlooked the all-too-simple detail that that connection went both ways.

Jean was right--she didn't need the telepathy to get in his head. She mentioned Alex Danvers, mentioned secrets, and had he been prepared for that sort of conversation, he might have been able to keep the expression of shock-guilt-annoyance off his face. But he wasn't, so he didn't, knocked off-balance by the non-sequitur.

How much did she know? That was the important question, and even though he got his face back in order quickly, his mind was slow to follow, branching out into questions and hypotheticals and what-ifs.

"I don't know what you--" he started, only to be cut off by a sudden push from Lorna, followed shortly thereafter by the piece of scrap he'd tossed in her direction. He cursed, and managed to bring up a small shield. It wasn't enough to stop the impact, sending him flying off his feet.

Erik grunted as he hit the ground, mind moved on from the topic of Jean and Kara to the fight. Adrenaline sang in his veins, and Erik rolled to flash both of them a grin before reaching out with his powers as he'd experimented with a few times while the Sentinels were a threat, curving the light ( electromagnetism was his ) that should bounce from him to their eyes up and away.

A disappearing act.

"Time to think bigger."

JEAN: There was so much of the world that Charles and Erik respectively had prepared her for. Charles taught her empathy, compassion, built on an innate, natural desire to help people that Jean had been fostering since she was a child, that was threatened when Annie bled out on that pavement and when she spent her teenage years facing off against hatred and discrimination. Erik taught her something sharper, bringing out that other side, the side that was desperately angry at what her family was facing. Jean saw the way people glared at Hank on the street. She heard the thoughts that went through her parents’ minds when they looked at Scott. She knew what every single person thought about mutants within the city’s boundaries, and it was enough to drive her insane -- if she hadn’t had Erik.

It was Erik who taught her how to breathe, how to recentre herself, how to trust in her own instincts. Mutant abilities, he said, were their birthright, their culture, the only legacy they were allowed to keep. They were protective mechanisms and the way for them to propel their people into the future. Being mutant meant being powerful, and for so long Jean had been terrified of that power. Erik never was. He never faltered. He never thought to hide her away, never told her to dampen those flames.

In many ways, as ironic as it was to admit, the skills and qualities Erik had taught her were more likely to attract the Phoenix in the first place rather than anything else. He was a part of her, even if there were years when they both pretended they were nothing other than mutants on opposite sides of a civil rights movement, employing completely contradictory tactics to get what they deserved.

Now, Lorna got that opportunity to learn. She got the opportunity to teach. Jean knew Lorna long before the truth was revealed about her parenthood. The young girl was already leading mutants underground, navigating borders and laws, putting herself at risk to defend those most vulnerable. It wasn’t Erik who made her that way -- it was all Lorna. Spending time with two of the people she loved most was as close to paradise as she could get.

(Death, she told herself, was inevitable. It would happen to all. Her parents, her siblings, her nieces and nephews -- they would just come back. Sara hadn’t, not yet, but it was all a matter of time. The Phoenix wouldn’t let her suffer.)

Erik faded from view, and Jean closed her eyes immediately, focusing on a lesson he had taught her once more. The atoms in the structures around her -- the ground he was standing on, the air that moved around him, the breath leaving his lungs -- moved and interacted, painting a telekinetic picture of exactly where he was standing. Two metres to the left, three in front, she sent to Lorna, but he’s moving quickly.

Her focus maintained until a niggle in the back of her head made it waver ever so slightly. The look on his face when she mentioned secrets … it was likely to be a trick of the light (surely that would be his justification) but Jean and psychology always ran closely together.

“Are we hiding today, Erik?” she called out. “I thought we were all about transparency these days.” (Half teasing, half serious -- the perfect balance, Jean thought, even as she could feel in her chest something would come of it she wasn’t anticipating. She was telepathic, not psychic.)

LORNA: Lorna envied Jean in some respects. While Lorna had been left with almost nothing from Erik, no guidance or support to speak of, Jean had been half raised by him. Jean had had what Lorna had yearned for from her father, even when her longing turned to resentment. And it was evident now with how easily Jean could affect the usually stoic Magneto, with just a few words, knowing just how to distract him so that Lorna's attack would land. Lorna just hoped that Jean didn't feel that flash of jealousy in her. It wasn't Jean's fault after all. And now wasn't the time, she had to focus.

Especially as Erik disappeared. Lorna's eyes widened in surprise. I didn't know that was possible. Her thoughts immediately jumped to the possibilities; anything Erik did, surely she could do to some extent. Lorna took Jean's advice on Erik's location and reached out mentally, letting the world around her fade into one of magnetic fields. Looking for Erik's patterns, for the disturbances. She couldn't focus on what Jean was saying, letting the conversation happen around her for now. Instead, she picked up the scrap metal around them again and flung it at Erik.

ERIK: Appearances were often deceiving. It was a cliche for a reason--90 years of life had proven it true time and time again. People pretended to be things they weren't, situations were rarely so clean-cut as they appeared, and your senses could be made to betray you a million different ways. Most people focused on what they saw in front of them, plain as day, and let that control their actions. But there was so much more to focus on, especially in a fight. Neither Jean nor Lorna let his disappearing act throw them off-guard; Jean closed her eyes to focus on her telekinesis instead, near-instantly, and after a moment of visible surprise, Lorna was stretching her hands out and feeling at the world that thrummed around the two of them constantly, that web of magnetic fields and electricity that Erik hadn't properly seen until the Phoenix.

He was moving fast, trying to stay ahead of their senses as best he could, and so he didn't have a qualm about speaking when they were focused on so much more than the source of his voice. "I am transparent, Jean, or are you not paying attention?" he tossed back cheekily.

Another toss of scrap metal in his direction, and this time he was ready for it. His focus on keeping himself hidden dropped, energy instead directed toward freezing the projectiles in their path like he had on a beach in Cuba a lifetime ago. It had been harder, then, but this came as easily as breathing.

"Well done, Lorna," he praised, because controlling as many different things as she had been with any degree of accuracy was difficult and she'd done so beautifully. He waved a hand, and the scrap began to liquify into bands of silvery metal around him, falling into orbit around him at its center. "You're still thinking small, though. Scrap is easy for your opponent to see, easy to predict. We're surrounded by bigger metal, in buildings and the ground and the sky that you can use without anyone seeing it coming."

He'll regret his next words for the rest of his life. He'll regret them the heartbeat after they leave his lips, in fact, but they come out anyway. He'd try to blame it on the Phoenix, later, blame it for a looser tongue, for focusing him too much on the fight and not enough on the conversation.

But it was all him. Getting lost in the fight was easy, and he didn't realize how little focus was on his words rather than the metal swirling around him until the damage was already done.

"We're surrounded by buildings, and drowned ships in the bottom of the harbor, and drones and satellites and a hundred other things above our heads, anymore. In a fight, use them. What's buried, what's hidden, what's aloft. I've dragged a submarine out of the sea, you've pulled a plane out of the sky, I know you're capable of more than flinging scrap metal."

He realized a second later what he'd said, but it was far too late by then to suck the words back inside.

JEAN: This was what it was all for, Jean thought to herself as she looked over at Lorna, her sister, watching the exhilarated smile on her face and seeing how she moved and adjusted to the fight. It was so easy for them to think themselves invincible, at least when they first developed their powers. Jean was the only child in school who could rip the gym from its foundations, who could hear exactly what her crush thought about her, who could manipulate teachers’ opinions with the click of her fingers if she wanted. When she was among the others in the Institute, she realised how much technique came with being in the big leagues -- and Lorna was by far a major player. This was the purpose of Genosha: a place for them to grow and develop in their gene given abilities, somewhere they could learn and teach and feel the world around them in ways only mutants could.

“I pay attention to everything, Erik,” Jean called back. “It’s just what I comment on that you know of.” The lessons that he was giving Lorna now were the same ones as he had only started when Jean was so much younger. While others prophesied control, boxing her emotions, Erik always encouraged her to let go (perhaps if she listened to him more, she would be a different woman now. Maybe if he had stayed, she wouldn’t feel this way). “Feel the environment, Lorna,” she said. “You’re a part of it, it responds to you.” If there was anyone who could think outside the box it was Lorna, who was quick witted and sharp in a way few other people were.

Of course, it didn’t take a quick wit to catch onto the implications of what Erik said. Even Jean, who had no knowledge of what he was referring to (a fight they’d faced together, perhaps, without her -- an idea that pulled unnaturally towards jealousy, even as a grown woman) could read it all over Erik’s face. It was unintentional, a slip of the tongue.

She’d seen Erik on the opposite side of a battlefield, watched him as he lost soldiers and families alike. She felt his grief, his guilt, his pain -- heard him talk about it, counselled him through it, bonded with him because of it.

She’d never seen him trip up like this. She’d never seen him make a mistake, never seen even for a second Erik Lehnsherr lose a scrap of the control he always seemed to keep a tight leash on.

“Erik,” she said, her focus disappearing entirely, the world settling down around her, the fight cold and forgotten. “What are you talking about?”

LORNA: She needed to think bigger. To pull from everything around her. The world was made of metal, she could control it all. Part of Lorna wanted to snap at Erik that maybe she'd be better, more advanced, if she'd had a teacher. If she hadn't spent her entire childhood hiding her powers and her adolescence being self-taught. But she bit her tongue, nodding instead. Taking Jean's advice, her mind began to try and rework how it viewed the room, try to see another angle. Until Erik caused the fight to come crashing to a halt.

Lorna half stuttered to a stop, all focus on Erik's use of their shared powerset, and how she might use that, gone. Instead, his words echoed in her brain, louder and louder until it felt overwhelming. ...you've pulled a plane out of the sky...you've pulled a plane out of the sky...you've pulled a plane out of the sky... She went deathly still, eyes locked on her father, her hands glowing without her even meaning to. To say Lorna hadn't been on many planes was... both true and untrue. Her dad--her mother's husband--had been a pilot, and up until the age of three, Lorna commonly travelled by plane with her parents. After the engine malfunction sent his plane crashing to the ground, leaving her the only survivor thanks to her powers manifesting, Lorna had hardly stepped foot on a plane. She'd only been in one crash. Only seen one plane crash. No. No way. The engines had malfunctioned. Lorna's powers just protected her.

"What are you talking about?" There was no room for taking it back, no acceptance of excuses in her voice. Erik wasn't making a grand statement of what she could do, he said she had done it. "Erik." It occurred to her briefly that he might be making it up, but for one thing she didn't believe he was that callous or cruel. For another, his own shock spoke otherwise. (And lastly, though she wanted to ignore it, something niggled inside her. Deep within her mind, she knew he was telling the truth.)

Lorna turned on Jean. "Do you know what he's talking about?" she demanded, half accusing and half begging for answers. But Jean seemed as lost as she was.

ERIK: The moment seemed to stretch on forever, the three of them standing frozen in silence. His daughters staring at him in shock--and anger, judging by the slow green glow appearing at Lorna's fingertips. There would be no convincing either of them that he'd misspoken. No way to take the words back, to pretend like he'd said or meant anything other than precisely what he had. Maybe one of them, one-on-one, he would be able to sway. But not both.

Damn it all.

The moment stretched taut, and then they were demanding answers almost in unison, and Lorna was turning on Jean, and Erik sidestepped and cleared his throat, watching the two of them carefully. Erik was rarely on the defensive. Even more rarely with his own children.

"Jean doesn't know, Lorna," he said, snapping their attention back to him. "It was a long time ago. She was a child, still.” Erik looked between Lorna and Jean, took a half-step forward and then lingered there, unwilling or unable to coax himself closer. "You know what I'm talking about, Lorna," he said quietly. "You don't remember it. You were too young." He took another half-step closer. "It wasn't your fault. I need you to know that."

JEAN: There were parts of Jean that Erik would always understand more than almost anyone else. There were parts of Erik that Jean didn’t need telepathy to understand on a fundamental level, to empathise with and connect them together. Some of those parts were good -- their determination, their curiosity, their desperate pursuit of knowledge, their dedication to family and mutantkind. Other parts …

Well, other parts were this. Other parts involved Jean, mere minutes after seeing her parents’ blood soaking into the carpet, looking down at a traumatised teenager and deciding that the best course of action was to make her forget. Derry was dangerous. She was angry, she was desperate, she missed her father and her aunts and uncles and everyone she’d ever known. She was, arguably, better off not knowing what happened that day, better off passing all the trauma onto Jean and living her life as best she could with a family who always wanted kids, a family who Jean knew would treat her well --

But that didn’t mean what Jean did was the right thing. It was easiest, perhaps. It was the most simple solution. It was the best one for Jean, instead of being looked at as a murderer by one of the last blood relatives (no, not blood) she had left. That’s what it came down to, in the end. The decision she made along with Maddie, the decision she made to the sound of Scott’s silence, was to clean up one of her own mistakes, to make it easier to live with.

Is that what Erik did here? Was that the legacy she was doomed to repeat, and Lorna as well?

Erik corrected Lorna quickly, and Jean blinked. He protected her, she knew that. He protected all of them. His daughters were his life, and she’d long been considered in that group. Protecting your family meant doing what was right for them, didn’t it?

(Jean loved Scott more than life, and she dragged him from the grave after he died fighting for a cause he believed in. She adored Maddie, and she never put voice to the fact that she doubted her sister was even real, that she still believed even now she was someone else entirely, someone she lost long ago. Jean loved people. She protected them. But what she did to them … it wasn’t right.)

It wasn’t your fault. It was the same thing he said to her when she approached him about her family, when she told him of the massacre that had occurred. It was the same thing she would say to Rachel, if the roles were reversed -- taking the responsibility onto her own shoulders, even if it was a lie. It wasn’t a lie, Erik said, and this time, when it came to Lorna, Jean believed it without a doubt.

She was only a child. A plane from the sky. (Jean thought of the nightmares that haunted her husband, then, of a parachute strapped to his back and propellers in flames and his brother screaming, clutched to his chest as they tumbled through a field, their parents long gone above them.)

“I think we need more information, Erik,” Jean said quietly, finally, the inside of her cheek tasting of blood on her tongue. “Just … tell us what you mean. It wasn’t anyone’s fault, right?”

LORNA: Jean didn't know. Even before Erik said anything, Lorna could see that. She trusted Jean implicitly. More than she trusted Erik some days (although she'd never really know if it was just that part of her that had felt rejected talking or an actual gut feeling that led her to question him). But Jean didn't know, and Erik wanted to protect her from Lorna's potential misguided anger. Lorna wasn't angry yet. She was confused, wary, but not yet angry. Erik's hesitant walking towards them and beginnings of an explanation, however, were making her think that was about to change very quickly.

You know what I'm talking about. Lorna's mouth twisted slightly as she summoned the words. She so rarely spoke about it. "The crash that killed my parents. The engines malfunctioned. My powers protected me." Erik had found her before emergency crews, brought her to her aunt and uncle. Too traumatic for memories was what the doctors had told her, what they'd told her aunt and uncle when she hadn't remembered any of it. It was her mind protecting itself. She'd been so confused. But Erik didn't say that... "No. I didn't remember it even as a kid." She did remember the aftermath though, even now. The grief, the loneliness she felt. The funeral. But not the crash.

She had to know. Because if it wasn't an engine malfunction... If it had been her... Why? Most mutants powers didn't trigger until they were teenagers, unless they were needed. Lorna had assumed it was her powers saving her that triggered them early. But she couldn't have brought down the plane if that were true.

She had to know. Her eyes turned to her sister.

"Jean. Show me. Even if I don't remember, the memories are there somewhere, right? Can you show me? I need to know what happened." She looked back at Erik. "Maybe it will help me understand what I can do," she added, daring him to argue.

ERIK: It wasn't anyone's fault, right? Erik huffed, shaking his head and scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Oh, no, it was someone's fault. But certainly not Lorna's."

Erik nodded slowly as Lorna mentioned the crash, though what she was saying wasn't the truth. It's what she'd been told, what she'd been led to believe. She would know that was a lie, soon enough, but Erik could still do damage control. Keep her from getting the full story, because some things were better left buried.

Lorna asked Jean to pull out her memories, and Erik's response was near-immediate. "No. Teasing them out by force could be retraumatizing," he said, crossing to stand next to them. "I can tell you what happened. Show you my memories of that day. If it brings the memories forward on its own, that's one thing, but Jean should not have to go digging up things that were buried."

He turned to Jean, and let his mental walls come down a bit. He knew she'd feel the anxiety, the frustration, and hoped that she didn't care to follow it to its source as to why he didn't want her in Lorna's head. "Let me show her."

JEAN: It was far from the first -- or the last, undoubtedly -- time Jean had been caught in the middle of a family dispute. The X-Men were closer than anything Jean had experienced before, but they were still volatile kids who had no idea how to be a part of something, and that came with challenges. She spent the majority of her teenage years smoothing over disagreements between the boys, and it seemed as if that legacy was continuing now -- only this time, it wasn’t petty disputes over what girl they were dating or how long they took in the shower. This time, it was something ground shaking, something that made a pit drop in her stomach and had her mind fading into silence for the first time in as long as she could remember.

(It hadn’t been that long. Her mind had been silent since she found her parents bleeding out in the carpet. Try as she might to distract, she hadn’t found something yet. Maybe this was the universe answering her prayers in the most masochistic way it could. It seemed fitting, given her history.)

“Memories are never completely gone,” she agreed, but then Erik was speaking and he had a point too (he always had a point. He always had a fucking point. That was how he got out from under everything, wasn’t it? Their last conversation about Kara, that day on the Raft, the hundreds of missing days they hadn’t discussed since they happened). She turned to look at Erik, meeting his eyes for a long moment before letting out a sigh. “Fine,” she said. “But if either of you start to splinter in any way, I’m done, and I don’t care how angry you are at me. These memories are only being shown if they come naturally. I’m not messing with heads.” After all, Jean was more inclined to break than heal, these days.

She looked over at Lorna, gaining her consent silently once more, and then touched a hand to Erik and Lorna’s forehead, closing her eyes, focusing on allowing the memories to filter through from father to daughter, using her as the bridge.

ERIK: Erik will be happy if he never has to set foot in fucking Tennessee ever again. The music grates on his nerves more often than not, the accents grate worse, and while he doesn't have anything against a good mountain, he does have something against the idiots who built roads two steps from a 700-foot drop.

He's on one such road, in the middle of nowhere with the radio of his car crackling in and out despite his best maneuvering of the antenna, when he feels it. He's not sure what it is, but it may as well be a flare to his senses in a sea of nothing but trees and the muted thrum of iron and copper in the mountains beneath his tires. A sharp flash of energy that actually steals his attention away from the road for a moment, because it feels almost like a blast from himself. What the hell--? Not very much sleuthing is necessary, though, because in the next few moments, a plane that had been frittering at the edges of his sense in the clouds above comes quite literally crashing down into the forest perhaps two kilometers away.

A rescue team will take hours to get out here, at least. He can fly (or close enough), and he's not one to leave well enough alone, and a little niggling at his conscience sounds feels suspiciously like Charles’ expectant stare, so he lifts his car clean off the road and carries it across the sea of trees until he can navigate it down to settle in a small clearing a few hundred meters from the crash. He's out of the car and making his way toward the plane in moments, shirt pulled up over his nose against the smoke. He stumbles across the first body with the bulk of the scattered wreckage, a face that strikes him as familiar making him pause and stop to wipe the blood from her face. "Suzanna?" He reaches for a pulse, and nothing meets his fingers, so he moves on to where he sees the bottom of the plane and the seating on its side.

Then he hears the crying, and sees a young girl with hair greener than the trees around them sitting unharmed in the wreckage. He's drawn to her, almost like a--oh. She was the flash.

LORNA: Lorna didn't really want to accept Jean's terms, but there was no arguing. She nodded to Jean, closed her eyes, and let Jean connect her mind to Erik's memories.

Lorna watched Erik's memory, somehow both separate from him and in his mind and feeling what he felt. Was this what telepaths felt constantly? Maybe not so intensely for one person as this though. But still, she felt the irritation from Erik as he drove, then the shock to his senses that Lorna recognised. She'd felt that before, but in reverse; when Erik used his powers, especially if he was close. Then the plane fell, and Lorna's heart clenched in her chest. It was familiar but she still couldn't remember it. As if there was something preventing her from accessing that, like it was shouting from behind glass.

Lorna tensed as they got closer, and the unstable feeling she couldn't shake intensified. Part of her didn't want to see this. She'd hated planes for years, but she'd never had nightmares of this night. The doctors her aunt made her see had said it was her brain repressing the memory (just like Erik said). She had insisted on knowing, had to know if what Erik said was true about the plane. Had to know why she'd made it crash. But this wasn't those answers. This was just the destruction she'd caused.

Even in memory, the smoke irritates her lungs and her eyes. She followed Erik's memory, right beside him until they both saw her. No. No no no. Lorna didn't want to see this. This wasn't what she was looking for. Her mother, injured and bloody. More than injured. Dead. Lorna felt it like a stab through the heart, and she's sure it's strong enough for Jean and Erik to feel through their shared connection too. Lorna knew she'd lost her mother that night, but looking at this wreckage and knowing what Erik felt... she knew she'd done this. She'd killed her mom. And her dad. Where was he?

Before Lorna could look for him, she heard the crying. Her crying. Unharmed, she looked dazed and frightened. Confused. And she can feel it in Erik's memories, as well as in all the metal around her--calling out like only metal she'd manipulated did-- that she'd done this.

"That's enough," she snapped, easier to indulge her anger than any of the other feelings. Some of which she didn't know if she could name. They were feelings she'd had in her mind for years, but brought to the front. "This doesn't show me how I did anything or why. I want to see my memory."

ERIK: Just like that, they were snapped out of the memories, Erik's focus landing squarely back in the present just in time to hear Lorna's frustrated demands.

His own remembered grief from finding Suzanna melded with Lorna's response to seeing her mother dead; her anger was nudging at his own, her concern.

Her questions.

Erik shook his head immediately. "No. Lorna, those memories got buried for a reason. Your powers manifested early, you brought the plane down on accident, I found you. There's no need to go combing back through buried memories for something that will only make you more upset. It's for your own good, Lorna."

He looked to Jean, and there was something like fear edging into his mind, and he knew she could probably feel it if she was paying attention. "You said you wouldn't force out any memories. If that didn't bring them out for her, you'd have to dig them out yourself. Tell her you won't."

LORNA: They might have been buried, but they were closer than they'd ever been. Lorna knew she knew those woods, knew that that smell was familiar, even if she couldn't place it with a memory. And it would never leave her alone if she gave up now. Even as it was, she was upset and on edge (she killed them. She downed the plane and killed them) but not knowing wasn't going to help.

"I wasn't asking your permission," she snapped at Erik. He'd been there, he'd known this entire time what she did. Had he taken her straight from there to her aunt and uncle? Left her like she was a stranger he didn't care about? He'd known she had powers, that they were out of her control and he left her. Was she even angry right now? If she was, it felt hollow and that scared her too. What she felt more than anything was cracked. Twisted. And muted, like something was trying to get out but it was stuck.

She turned to Jean. "Please. I need to know." The tremor in her voice was slight, but there, as was the one in her hands. She didn't want to say what she said next, but she had to convince Jean somehow. "I'll find someone else to do it if you won't."

JEAN: History repeated itself. Jean knew that all too well. Every battle she faced, every loss she suffered, it didn’t come by itself. No experience was ever truly unique, and she used that to relate to the people around her, used it to come closer to them even when she was underground for years before, used it to remind them that she was human too (even if she wasn’t so certain of that fact, these days). History repeated itself, and she almost knew what would happen long before she acted as the conduit for this memory, for emotions that were as turbulent as they were intense.

They were the same, Lorna and Erik. They felt things more strongly than most, felt them in a way Jean could scarcely put into words, and she adored them for it. Her family were dead, and a part of her died with them, but standing here between Erik and Lorna, two people she loved desperately, she could almost forget all of that. She could almost convince herself she was still breathing, that her lungs weren’t made of lead.

They were the same as each other, and they were the same as someone else, too. The memory uncurled, the recognition settling deep in her gut. They were the same as Jean and Charles.

(This is for the best, Jean. The last thing you want is to hurt someone. Trust me. Let me in.)

That’s how she knew what it looked like. That’s how she knew.

For years, she’d focused on telekinesis. She’d locked the part of her mind off that could traverse through neurones, could pull apart memories and traumas, the part that could hurt and heal in equal measure. She used the power that could wound physically, but not in a way that would last (sometimes death was better than the alternative). For years, Jean pretended she wasn’t an Omega level telepath, denied her training, and Charles … well, he’d never fought back against it. He’d focused his efforts instead on Betsy, or Emma, because playing with an atom bomb never ended well.

Maybe she would’ve missed the signature if she didn’t know how it felt to have that block in her mind, that empty spot -- maybe she would’ve missed it if she didn’t love a man whose consciousness was a patchwork quilt. Maybe she would’ve missed it if she didn’t know it all along.

No. No, she didn’t know it all along. She would’ve told Lorna if she did. She would’ve--

Would you? a voice asked. Did you talk to Kara Zor-El, Jean Grey? Did you ask her?

Jean swallowed thickly, lowering her hands from Erik and Lorna’s temples. Erik was looking at her, she could feel his gaze on her side of her face, but she was focused on Lorna.

Dangerous. Volatile. Better off not knowing. They’d both been told the same things -- and Jean found hot tears pricking at the corners of her eyes that she managed to blink away just in time.

“She’ll find someone else,” Jean said, turning only half to Erik. Someone like Sinister -- someone like Emma. “It’s deep,” she explained to Lorna. “Trauma must--”

She reached for her again, focusing her abilities, and that’s when her gut feeling was confirmed. That’s when she knew.

The block was intentional. The block was familiar, calculated -- exactly the same as what she had performed on Derry, Maddie’s hand clutched in hers, sweat pooling in their palms.

Jean stepped back, gaze shooting between father and daughter. “Someone altered the memory,” she said.

You could fix that.

No. No she couldn’t.

You’re powerful enough. Why do you hold yourself back?

She was a battering ram in a china shop. She would rip Lorna’s mind apart.

Is that the reason?

“I can’t get it,” Jean said. “I won’t risk you by trying any more.”

ERIK: Lorna was insistent, but right now, it wasn't her that he needed to convince. It was Jean.

Jean, who was avoiding looking at him straight on. Whose jaw was working, whose eyes were glimmering with unshed tears that she blinked away before they could fall, whose sentences came hesitant and incomplete.

Jean knew about the block, and he knew that she knew even before she finally said that the memory had been altered.

And she still couldn't look him in the eye.

But she said no. Erik tasted bitter relief on his tongue, and turned to look at Lorna. "Let it go, Lorna, please. Everything there is in the past. Leave it there."

LORNA: Lorna implored Jean with her eyes as she seemed to consider it, needing to know why these memories were so buried. Why she felt like they were clamouring to get out but slipping backwards? What had her mind pushed away? Was she so broken? Perhaps she didn't need to stand at the gates of hell to be twisted. She'd been called unstable before--even had it used to defend her once--and she hated it. She didn't like feeling like the ground underneath her was unsteady, like she was falling with no way to slow herself.

Jean seemed to understand, finally. And Lorna wasn't making an idle threat; she'd find someone. Someone would help her. She'd just much rather it was Jean. She trusted Jean, implicitly and unwaveringly, with her life and with her mind. With her memories and everything that she'd kept private or hidden from the world. Jean would leave that alone, just dive to this moment. Find out what was banging inside her to be released.

Someone altered the memory.

No. Lorna frowned. No way. There was no one who could have done that. She'd never remembered this moment. Ever. Her aunt and uncle had always said so, her medical records from the aftermath had always said so. She had no memory of it, no nightmares, no nothing. She asked for her mommy and daddy because she didn't understand where they'd gone, so genuinely and consistently that they'd surmised that she wasn't faking either. No one could have had a chance to tamper with her memories between when the crash had happened and when Erik had found her and left her with her remaining family.

No one.

Except.

Unless.

No.

Lorna's eyes narrowed.

He wouldn't. Not the man who had famously worn a metal helmet that kept out telepaths, who Lorna knew did not permit them in his head without his knowledge and consent. He wouldn't mess with her head as a child like this. Would he?

Lorna stared at the face of her father, inspecting his reaction to Jean's statement. She watched the relief when Jean refused to dig past this block.

There was the anger she'd expected to feel before. Igniting in her chest, twisting in her heart like the dagger she'd felt seeing her mother dead (killed).

"Jean. You can." She ripped her eyes away from Erik, letting the anger stay on him. "Please. I trust you. Whatever happens is on me. But I need to know." She looked to Erik. "Someone altered my memories. Shouldn't I know why?"

ERIK: Lorna always was expressive. Erik watched her face twist from pleading and doubtful, to confused, and then her gaze landed on him and something hardened between her eyebrows and in the set of her jaw and he knew she was putting pieces together.

And she was getting angry.

Nowhere near as angry as she would be if she saw the memories, though, and he was still certain that he'd done the right thing in burying them--not just for himself, but for her. Seeing her mother's body had triggered a strong enough response. Seeing the whole event? Out of the question.

But Jean was considering it, under Lorna's pleading gaze, and Erik's expression hardened. "Jean," he said, and his voice and expression went from desperate, pleading father to the sort of hyper-calm that settled right before a fight. "Do not drag those memories out. I'm not asking, I'm telling you. Do not. I forbid it."

That didn't sound like father Erik, but general Erik. King Erik.

JEAN: Whatever happens is on me. Her sister said that, a lifetime ago — long before Jean was a married woman, long before she was even part of the X-Men, back when her mutation had only just come to the surface and their parents worried themselves into a black hole trying to prevent their daughter from ripping the city apart. Jean had one of her migraines, and the house was shaking. Tears were streaming down her face, her parents were praying in the basement, her brothers were screaming, and Sara just walked into Jean’s bedroom, sat down beside her, and said, whatever happens, that’s on me. I’m choosing to be here.

Sara died for that choice. Jean didn’t kill her, at least not directly, but it was her fault that she was dead. People claimed to want to take the risk, but that was only until the adverse effects came around, only when things turned tragic, and with Jean ... well, tragedy was something of a given.

“You say that now,” Jean said, keeping hold of Lorna’s hands, “but if something goes wrong here, now, you won’t be around anymore. It’s not a physical harm I cause, Lorna, it’s so much worse than that. You’d never come back. You might want to take that risk now, but you’ll thank me for stopping you later.”

(She sounded like Charles. She sounded like Charles and for the first time, for a reason she couldn’t exactly pinpoint, the concept of that familiarity made her sick to her stomach.)

Erik said her name, and it stopped Jean from saying anymore. It stopped her dead in her tracks, because the icy level headedness he was demonstrating now … well, she had seen it before. The U.N. Those memories from Cuba. Every time she faced him as a teenager, and he pushed her to be the best she could be.

Or the worst.

Jean’s hair began to stand on end. She felt a flicker in her mind, knew instinctively her eyes must have flashed with fire. He thinks he can forbid us, came a curling whisper.

“No one tells me to stop anymore, Erik,” she said, calmly, even as her arms cracked with glowing amber. “Especially not you.”

And with the force of the Phoenix behind her, Jean reached for Lorna and cracked the memory apart.

LORNA: Lorna was about to open her mouth to argue, to insist against what Jean had said. But before she could, Erik stepped in. In a voice she had rarely heard from him, but one she knew instinctively. And one she immediately hated in this context. In a fight, a war, that voice was important. Someone needed to take charge. But here? The war was meant to be over, and her memories should not be a battlefield. And it seemed Jean reacted just as negatively to his command. Lorna barely had a chance to close her eyes as Jean reached for her and broke the seal on the memory.

Lorna was sleeping, curled up across two seats in main cabin of the small passenger plane. They were flying home after one of her daddy's jobs, and Lorna was more than used to falling asleep anywhere like this. But tonight, she was woken up by shouting. Fierce arguing, coming from the front of the plane.

Lorna hated the shouting. Just as she woke up, she felt the plane dip and her mom screaming something about killing them before it righted again. "Stop!" she cried. "STOP!" She started sobbing, hating when they fought. They fought all the time, and her mommy was always so quiet after. Her daddy got so angry.

In the cockpit, Arnold Dane had decided that right now was the time to confront his wife about what he had learnt; she had cheated on him. Here, where she couldn't run away from the conversation. It had quickly turned to a screaming match that had now woken the brat he now knew wasn't actually his daughter.

"Now you've woken Lorna!"

"Go make the brat shut up then!"

Her mommy came down to the back, looking both frightened and angry. "Be quiet, Lorna!" she hissed. But Lorna shook her head.

"Stop fighting! STOP. STOP!" With the last cry, there was a creaking noise and green light. Lorna, too upset to notice, kept shouting to stop. But her mother could only look on in horror and terror as her daughter lit up green. Lorna squeezed her eyes shut and screamed one last STOP.

Then there was an incredible sound. A tearing, creaking, scream of a noise, like the world was coming apart around her. And it was. The metal of the plane ripped itself apart in the air, the engines cutting off mid flight and the wings beginning to detach as the now flightless plane dropped like a stone. Lorna screamed again, terrified this time, but when she opened her eyes, she was on the ground. Hiccupping from the crying, but unharmed.

And now lost. She couldn't see her mommy or her daddy, only wreckage that she knew was the plane. Smoke filled the air, hurting her eyes and lungs, making seeing and breathing harder. Lorna began to cry again, but this time it was far quieter. No longer the screaming of a child, howling to be listened to, but the unstoppable tears of one who was lost and afraid with no one to help her.

She tried to stand up, to go find her mommy or daddy, but her legs wouldn’t move. Not because they were hurt, but her whole body seemed to not want to go anywhere. Too afraid, too shocked, too overwhelmed by everything. All she could do was cry and wait. She didn’t have to wait long. The sound of a car approaching reached her, and then soon after that, a man appeared. She watched as he found her mom, bending down and then standing up. Lorna knew then, though she didn��t know how, that her mom wasn’t coming back. She let out a quiet wail of despair, wanting nothing more than her mommy to comfort her.

The man turned to her, and Lorna was startled by the pull she felt. It was like the feeling she felt when the green lights started, like how magnets attracted each other. He came towards her and Lorna let him pick her up, clinging to him. She didn’t know why, but he made her feel safe. Safer than she’d felt on the plane when her parents were arguing. Than when her daddy shouted and raised his fists.

As if summoned by her thoughts, there was movement from the rubble. Bleeding and dazed, but still alive and mostly uninjured, Arnold Dane pushed himself from the wreckage he’d landed in. Lorna, seeing him and knowing how angry he'd be, clung tighter to the stranger. She always hated when her dad was angry. He was scary when he was angry. The stranger felt safer.

ERIK: Arnold Dane stood, looking dazed until his eyes settle on Lorna and Erik, and then his expression turned hateful. "So you're the freak bastard my wife fucked." Erik's arm tightened around Lorna, and he cupped a hand over one of her ears, pressing the other against his chest. Her arms tightened around him, too, and he knew she was afraid not of a stranger like she should be, but the man she thought was her father. Had he ever hurt her?

"That would be me," he confirmed coldly. "Which must make you the abusive swine she was trying to get away from."

Arnold sneered. "She wasn't trying to get away from anything. She knew I was the best she was gonna get. Came back every time I called, like a good bitch. She wouldn't have been able to take care of the brat without me and she knew it."

Erik shifted Lorna on his hip, glanced at Suzanna in the rubble, and then back at Arnold, expression frigid. "I should've killed you for her as a parting gift three years ago. She was insistent that you were doing better. I knew better, but she was so sure. The things love does to you. G-d knows you didn't deserve it from her." The metal of the rubble around them was buzzing, his anger charging the air. Erik tucked his head down against the girl's--his daughter's--and told her to keep her eyes closed.

And then, with a wave of his hand, pieces of shrapnel sharpened into needles. A clench of his fist sent them through the man's limbs and drove them into the ground, like a butterfly pinned under a microscope. Erik ignored the screaming, silencing it with a piece of metal over the man's mouth a moment later, and set Lorna carefully on a flat part of the rubble. He offered her a warm smile. "You stay right here, hm? I'll be right back. I promise."

Three minutes later, Erik was scooping Lorna back up into his arms, that same warm smile on his lips and a new splotch of blood on his jeans. "Come here, darling. Let's get you somewhere safe."

LORNA: She didn't understand a lot of the words her dad was using. But she recognised them as ones he'd hurled at her mom before. Ones that made her mommy flinch and shout back. Ones that Lorna didn't like. And clearly the stranger didn't like it either, because he covered her ears, pressing her head against his chest until the words became muffled and all she could hear was the beating of his heart in his chest. Rhythmic and steady, nothing like the racing of her own as she sniffled and tried to stop crying.

From where she was held, she could see her mother laying lifeless, and rather than calming down, soon Lorna was shaking. Trembling against the stranger. She didn't hear what he said to her dad, nor what her dad was sneering back. Nothing until the stranger urged her to shut her eyes. But even with her eyes closed and her ears covered, she heard the screaming. She felt the metal moving, like a sixth sense now blown open wide and sensitive, and felt it pierce something that screamed.

She was sat down, and Lorna kept her eyes closed at first. But she was curious. Too curious. She opened them just a bit, peering through her eyelashes, and watching as the man made sure her daddy was never going to yell at her or hurt her again. When he turned back, Lorna squeezed her eyes shut quickly, pretending she hadn't seen the images that burned into her retina. Nor heard the sounds that echoed in her ears. She didn't know why, but even still she trusted this man. Maybe it was the pulling in her to him. Or maybe it was that he protected her. He scared her too, but he protected her. But she let him pick her up, nodding as he promised to take her to safety.

Somewhere safe, apparently turned out to be what looked to Lorna like a doctor's office the next day. "Where are we?" she asked the man--Erik, she knew now. "Am I going home?"

ERIK: Erik had been plagued with the guilt of killing his own mother since he was 14. He wouldn't allow Lorna to live with that guilt. To know that she'd downed the plane and killed her mother, that her powers had saved her life but not Suzanna. And he didn't want her to remember Arnold, either--better to let her think there was just an accident. Nothing she could've done. It was for her own protection. And he didn't want to introduce himself to his daughter as the murderer of her stepfather. The memories needed to be wiped, buried, deleted.

Charles could do it. Whether he would was a different consideration, and Erik couldn't be sure the answer was yes. He didn't need the weight of Charles' disappointment on him for asking, or worse yet for seeing what Erik had done in the first place. Jean was too young. Emma Frost was absolutely out of the question. So Erik had reached out to some of the old network and heard of this man. Discreet and damn good at what he did, as far as his reputation went, and that was enough. Needed to be enough.

"Soon. We're just stopping for a quick check-up, alright?"

The telepath walked in, and Erik shook his hand, introduced himself, and explained the situation in quiet terms to the man, smiling over at Lorna every so often. Erik laid out very clearly defined limits on what he wanted wiped, the man agreed, money changed hands, and then the telepath was pulling up a chair to sit in front of Lorna, Erik standing off to the side between them, watching closely. Protective.

"Hello, Lorna," the man said with a smile, and something in his gaze  was shimmering. Soothing. "Erik here was just telling me all you went through yesterday. How stressful that must have been, far too stressful for a young girl like you. I want you to relax for me--there's a dear. Just listen to me..."

The telepath pressed forward into her mind, and the last thing she saw was Erik watching over his shoulder, brow knit with concern.

LORNA: The memories ended there, with them being wiped from her mind, buried deep inside. As Lorna came back to the present, stumbling back away from Erik, she realised absently that that clawing feeling was gone. These memories were released from their box, and they were no longer crying to get out. But now she had to deal with it.

Her cheeks were wet, tears fallen when she wasn't aware. The metal around her creaked--much as it done in her memories--responding to her anger, her shock, her horror. She'd killed her own mother. She remembered more things more clearly now than just the crash too. Her 'father'--Arnold--had scared her more than she'd ever remembered before now. It was as though when certain memories were blocked, her mind allowed others, connected to them, to fade too. Lorna shook like a leaf, her mind running a thousand miles an hour. "You. You took my memories!" With barely a thought in her head, or a twitch of her hand, metal hurtled towards Erik to pin him to the wall. It was the easiest thing to grab onto, her anger at what Erik had done to her, rather than face what she had done to her own family. What he had hidden from her.

JEAN: You need to learn how to cast the thoughts out, Jean. Charles’ voice came back to her now, smooth and comforting and always so deeply in control, even when Jean felt as if she was going to scream as the world shook around them. Anything that isn’t yours, just let it pass by. Take some of the feeling, but you can’t take it all. No one person can hold the world’s pain alone.

No one person could hold all the pain. No one person could hold that much grief, or that much suffering, or that many secrets. No one person could hold all the cards, and yet here they were, once again, Erik pulling the rug out from someone he claimed to love.

(No. He loved Lorna. He loved her so desperately he built a country for her, protected him from himself in the most painful way a parent could. His absence had never been for his own benefit, Jean knew that, she’d seen the aching before Lorna came into their lives. She knew Erik, knew him better than almost anyone else. She was his daughter.)

But he just kept surprising her. He kept surprising her, and it was never with anything good. The memories of what happened with Kara, those flames in her eyes, her demanding that Jean stayed out, were still fresh and burning in her mind. The memories of the tears streaming down Lorna’s face, her shaking hands, they wouldn’t leave anytime soon. They wouldn’t vanish as quickly as Erik wanted them to.

He wouldn’t be able to talk her out of this one -- and yet, when Lorna reacted, Jean stepped in just as quickly. She waved her hands, forming a telekinetic shield that prevented the metal from wrapping around Erik’s arms, from escalating the situation further than she knew her sister would want, when she was calmer (they always ran so hot). “Lorna, that’s enough,” she said. “Erik, just--”

Shut up? What the hell did she say to someone who made fire burn in her chest and a cold pit drop into her stomach at the same damn time? What Erik had done, what he had altered, wasn’t all that different from what Jean and Maddie had done with Derry, the decision that she made for the greater good in spite of the grey it caused on her husband’s face. Who was Jean to judge, when faced with a similar situation she made the same decision?

“We have fought and died for this home,” Jean said instead, her voice strong and confident and not wavering nearly as much as her resolve (or her mind, which jumped from place to place). “If you think I’m going to let father and daughter tear each other to shreds on its soil you have another thing coming. Erik made a choice. It was a choice that you may not agree with -- God knows I’m not sure if I do -- but the decisions we make aren’t always the best. Sometimes we make mistakes. I am not going to let you do this, Lorna. You don’t want to do this.”

ERIK: The memories slipped away, leaving in their wake exactly what Erik had known would happen. Exactly what he'd warned against. Exactly the reason he'd buried them in the first place, and exactly why he'd forbidden Jean to try setting them loose.

Lorna's face was wet with tears, shivers of shock wracking through her body, and every parental instinct Erik made him want to wrap his arms around her shoulders and let her sob into his chest until she settled. But he didn't need to be a telepath to know that would be absolutely unwelcome; Lorna's emotions had the metal around them trembling, the same way it did when Erik's temper was at a breaking point, and he knew what was coming in the moment before it happened.

Except that the metal never quite touched him, because Jean threw up the defense that he himself wasn't going to raise. But she still wasn't looking at him. Whatever she had to say to him was aborted quickly, redirected to Lorna, and Erik felt a lash of anger curl through him. What would she have had him do? Had Arnold walked away from that plane crash alive, Lorna would have ended up in his hands again, or Erik would've been forced to reveal himself to the courts to fight it. And how was he to let her live with the guilt that had lived in his mind for over 70 years if he had a way to stop it?

A way that had been perfectly effective until Jean cracked it open. Anger sang at his fingertips, but for once, for once, Erik held his tongue, watching his daughters in deceptively stoic silence.

LORNA: She wasn't going to kill him. Not really. Probably not. She just wanted him immobile, stuck where she wanted him, so he couldn't get away. So he couldn't avoid this. Later, she'd almost certainly be more grateful to Jean, once she realised how out of control her powers were at that time. It had been a long time since she'd lost control like this, but it was to be expected. Her mind was trying to deal with a traumatic event it had never fully processed. It was no longer equipped for those memories, perhaps never was. So Jean was right to stop her. That didn't mean Lorna liked it right now.

"Enough? I haven't even done anything to him yet."

Damn Jean and her words. She had never needed her powers to get in Lorna's head, to convince her. She knew Lorna too well for that, and right now she knew what to say to get Lorna to back off. We fought and died for this home. It struck a nerve, but it worked. And she was right. Lorna didn't want to kill Erik. Especially not after learning what happened with her mother.

You killed her. You killed her. Youkilledheryoukilledheryoukilledher.

Lorna let out a cry of frustration, far more directed inward than at either of the people in the room. She couldn't get her mind to stop racing, tumbling over itself as it spun in circles and tore her apart. With a flick of her hand, she pulled the metal from Erik, throwing it to the floor and letting it spin away to the far wall. She wanted to break, to cry, to try and figure out how to even begin to process all the things she had seen. She wanted someone to hold her and tell her it would be okay, even if they didn't know if it was true. But she was so angry too. So angry that all of this had been taken away from her. Angry at herself for losing control. Angry that Erik had fought her trying to see this. Scared that she could hurt him and Jean.

"I..." She had no words. Nothing came to her. She swallowed hard, stepping back, away from them both.

JEAN: She wanted to be on Lorna’s side. More than anything, Jean knew the pain that came with being alone -- with feeling as if there was no one who understood the turmoil that was ravaging through your mind, that was changing things so irreparably you could never go back to who you were before. She knew what that felt like, and she always promised that she’d try to prevent other people from suffering the same emotions if she could, that she would prove to them they weren’t alone, that they had a friend, that they could work together. After all, Erik could stand up for himself -- was stronger than even Jean gave him credit for so many years ago -- and he would want her to defend his daughter, if she could.

But she couldn’t. Not entirely, at least. She could understand where she was coming from, could empathise, but condemning Erik’s actions were impossible when she had made the same decision less than a few weeks before -- a decision that had the last remaining member of her family outside of Genosha struggling to remember where she came from, no idea of who she truly was.

“Lorna,” Jean said. She couldn’t be on Lorna’s side completely, and she could feel their bond stretching. She could see her physically step back, could hear the pain in her thoughts. “Don’t do this.” Don’t leave. That was the worst thing a person could do when they were in pain, but it was what they defaulted to every damn time. “We’re here for you. Don’t walk away now, please.”

ERIK: Erik knew anger better than he knew anything else. Better than love, better than pain, better than fear, he knew anger. Like a shadow that never left his side. Charles had told him all those years ago on the lawn of the Institute that there was more to him than pain and anger, that he could be good.

But Charles had been wrong about a lot of things. Shaw, for all that Erik hated the man, had been right. About humans, about the world, about Erik. He'd won the day, won the safety he'd always said he wanted for his family and his people, and yet the anger, the fire in his veins hadn't cooled. It'd gotten worse.

( All his children fell to fire, eventually. It was only a matter of time. )

Lorna's anger was electric, ozone on the tongue, but she was crying out and backing away, and Erik wasn't holding his tongue, anymore--now it was lead. He wanted to reach out and stop her. To echo Jean, to tell her everything would be alright and tell her to stay.

Magda had looked horrified, just like this. Had backed away, just like this, one foot behind the other until she ran, and Erik could see how this was going to end already. Nothing new under the sun. He could beg her to stay, but he would beg and she would leave like she had, and the thought of begging and failing yet again made him sick.

Maybe it'd be better, if she left. Erik had a way of destroying the lives of all of his family, one way or another, eventually, a one-man wrecking ball despite all his love. Despite trying. She'd reappeared in his life and he'd dragged her straight into a war, put her on the frontlines and watched her plunge her hands into the mess with pride. She'd been better off with her aunt and uncle, that much was increasingly clear, and Erik wasn't sorry for what he'd done in the memories.

He was sorry he'd been selfish enough to let her come to him.

So he didn't reach out for her, despite the itch to wrap her in his arms and protect her (she needed protection from him, not from him). He didn't apologize, because it would've rang hollow. And he didn't ask her to stay, like Jean did, because he'd stopped asking people to stay by his side after Cuba. Because he was not a good man, he was a dangerous one.

Lorna backed away, one foot behind the other until she ran, and Erik stood there with a blank expression and watched her go.

[maybeformepersonally]

Fic: from up here you can't beat the view (just watch me now)

Authors: kishere (@filisaceaf) & maybeformepersonally

Beta: @always-okay-katie

Artist: @kthnwss

Word Count: 22.6k

Rating: E / Explicit

Warnings: some slight internalised biphobia (it’s not a main plot point in the story) and brief mentions of Dan being bullied before the story starts. 

Summary: It's 2009 and Dan finds Phil on the internet when a well-meaning mate of his recommends him to a certain site she likes. Dan quickly becomes a fan: watching Phil's videos religiously and interacting with him on his socials. And, soon enough, Phil starts noticing him. 

A familiar enough story on the surface but here's the catch: Phil has never been involved with YouTube. Phil is a camboy.

Author Notes: We'd like to thank @phandombigbang for organizing this event and finally giving us the opportunity/excuse to write together that we had been searching for. We've been talking about this universe for a while and the Big Bang seemed like a great way to start the series with a bang so to speak. That does mean there are going to be other parts coming out in this series!

They always said it takes a village to raise a child and this is ours. I would love to thank our wonderful beta @always-okay-katie and our exceptional artist @kthnwss they dealt with our (reallyreallyreallyREALLY) erratic writing process and they are a blessing. We also have to thank the Phanfic Writing Discord (in particular @counting2fifteen and @sudden-sky) for alleviating some fears and looking over the fic along with the encouragement and support you have given.

Link to art: here!

(We don’t have enough words for how blessed we were to get these absolutely stunning art pieces to illustrate our story. The art is so ridiculously good guys, go show Kate some love and appreciation.)

[Read on ao3]

Chapter 1: sometimes you gotta try something new and that something new is a cam site

Dan could do this, he thought as he slowly hit the letters on his keyboard. 

Nicole had recommended the site when he’d been rolling on the floor of his room, going back and forth about finding men attractive. Again. He was bisexual, but he wasn’t sure just how bisexual he was. The occasional sneaked look in a locker room and some sweaty kisses at a party in the woods didn’t seem like enough to base wanting to have sex with guys on. 

“Have you ever even watched porn, Dan,” she had asked before laughing at him as he choked on the swig of Jack he had swiped from downstairs. Dad had been drinking more lately and wouldn’t notice the bottle had dipped low if he watered it down. He flipped her off and coughed a few more times to clear his throat. 

“You’re vile, Nikki,” he said, ignoring her as she gave him the finger in return. 

“Well? Have you,” she challenged, pulling her hair back into a ponytail, going from ‘funny Nikki’ to ‘serious, going-to-give-you-advice Nikki’.

“I mean... a little, but it didn’t really. You know,” Dan said, flustered as he didn’t make eye contact. “It didn’t feel… real.”

“It’s porn; there aren’t that many plumbing problems in the world. Have you tried live cams?”

“Live cams,” Dan echoed back hesitantly, feeling his nose wrinkle in confusion. He didn’t want Nikki to know he didn’t know what those were, but from the knowing looking on the girl’s face, he was failing. 

“Yeah. People like, film themselves getting off live and you can pay them for more private shit if you want,” Nicole explained. “I have a site I like sometimes. The girls on it are pretty hot.”

“Jesus Christ,” Dan muttered, glad about the shitty Skype connection between here and America. “I’m not having an issue with hot girls though.”

Nikki rolled her eyes at him and stared at him. “You… could look for guys on there… Daniel.”

“Brill idea Nicole,” Dan sassed back. “Let the underaged boy try to find… something… on the porn site.”

“Adult cam site,” Nicole corrected immediately. “And you don’t have to pay. There are plenty of people who use it just because they are exhibitionists.” 

“I… maybe. Send me a link,” Dan said after thinking it over for a minute.

So here he was, three days later in a finally blessedly empty house. He was sitting in a shirt and some boxers as he slowly typed out the link into a Firefox window. Dan could have just clicked on the link, but that felt too definite. Typing it out himself gave him some sort of… plausible deniability. ‘Haha, what a mistype,’ he joked with himself as the page loaded and wow. 

That was a lot of naked skin. 

Like a lot of skin. 

Mostly tits, but he spied a few chests that looked like they could potentially belong to dudes. He clicked on the first one he saw and made a face. It was a little too hairy for his taste. Not that he was averse to a hairy chest. Maybe. He didn’t know what he wanted, really, but he knew it wasn’t older with an extremely hairy gray chest that had the kind of moans that he thought made porn so inauthentic. 

Dan huffed in disappointment and looked in the top left corner, finding a drop down menu. He clicked on it and blinked at the… staggering amount of choices on the site. BBW, Anal, Trans, and… Gay. There it was, that stupid label, in gaudy, yellow letters, waiting for Dan to click on it as his cursor hovered over it. He clicked on it and felt his body relax as he saw so many more options available to him, and scrolled. And scrolled. Clicked on a few streams and exited out but none of them felt right until him.

xoxoAmazingPhiloxox 

First of all, he was hot. Inky black hair and insane blue eyes that Dan kept looking into when he wasn’t looking at Phil’s hand squeezing himself through (of all things) Donkey Kong boxer-briefs. Dan realized after five minutes that his eyes weren't just blue; it was a kaleidoscope of blue, green, and yellow. Second of all, the username had a little star next to the name, which Dan assumed meant they were good at what they did. Dan certainly thought Phil was good at what he was doing. Phil was talking as opposed to sitting there and just moaning, which… kind of helped actually, even if he was answering questions from another viewer about why he chose those hideous pants. He didn’t even have his dick out yet, just squeezing the outline of his dick through his boxers and Dan was hooked like the other 1500 people watching the stream.

“Well bigduck71, thank you for the tip, sometimes, I just get hard playing video games. It’s not that I’m attracted to the characters,” Phil was explaining, breaking off to moan into his elbow, “it’s just that I imagine that someday I’m going to have a boyfriend. I’m going to have a boyfriend to cuddle up next to me while playing video games and then if we want, we can. You know.”

Phil looked shy for a brief moment, but he stopped talking to pull out his dick after a very generous (at least $10 seemed generous to Dan, it was his first time after all) tip and Dan felt himself go from half-hard to fully hard. Fuck. His dick looked so good. Dan wanted to kiss it because it was pretty, the way its head was red and looked shiny, and it looked girthy from how wide Phil’s fingers were stretched around it. No guy should have that pretty of a dick and face and body all together; it was going to give the rest of mankind a complex, Dan thought as he reached down and squeezed his own erection, letting out a whimper as Phil continued to speak.  

“If we want, I could push him down and kiss him. I don’t think I would rut against him immediately; I think we could just make out, me laying on top of him, and the sounds of the Sonic title screen playing in the background,” Phil broke off here to hum the opening from Sonic Mania. “And I would kiss him until his lips were swollen. Slide my hands slowly underneath his shirt and touch how warm his stomach and sides are. Wait until he’s grinding up into me and grind back against him. I hope he grabs my ass, to pull me against him. Like it’s a decent ass, right? It deserves a little grab?”

Phil turned around and showed off his ass. He gripped it, his nails digging into the pale flesh that was dotted with the occasional mole, pulling apart a miniscule amount. Not enough to expose his hole, but enough to tease and show what he wanted his imaginary boyfriend to do to him.

Dan estimated he had bigger hands than Phil. He could probably grip his ass well, he thought as his hand sped up against his dick. Dan came embarrassingly quick when Phil turned back around and he was staring into those multicoloured eyes. He was mortified at how fast he came and no one was even in the room with him to justify him feeling this level of mortification. Reasons why Dan’s a fail, Dan thought as he felt the come cooling on his hand. Coming to an emo talking on a shady cam site and Dan hadn’t even typed anything into the chat yet to let Phil know he was watching him.

He waited until his heart rate slowed down a bit before typing in a simple ‘thank you’ with a little heart emoji attached to it before closing out of the screen to go clean off his hand.

*

“So how did it go?” Nikki asked him a few days later on Skype. Dan shrugged which made her roll her eyes. “You didn’t even do it, did you? Wimp.”

Dan sighed and looked up to meet her brown, judging, judgy little eyes and nodded. “I did do it. It was...”

Dan trailed off, unsure of how much he wanted to divulge to her. Because he did jerk off and while Nikki was pretty chill, he didn’t want to gross her out either. Did he want to say how enlightening it was to see a guy who had such beautiful eyes he wanted to go swimming in them? Did he want to talk about how he hadn’t stopped thinking about the show the past three days and was going to try and find him again because his face kept popping up in Dan’s mind all the time? Did he want to talk about how reaffirming of his sexuality it was to know how insanely attracted he was to men and that it definitely wasn’t a phase?

“It was fine,” was what Dan went with. 

“Ahhhhh,” Nikki said, her face transforming into something teasing. Apparently his poker face had been slipping since he no longer had to use it on a daily basis to survive. “Dan’s got a crush.”

“I don’t have a crush,” Dan huffed, voice going embarrassingly high for a moment. He took care to speak at a normal pitch after that. “Just… I have a mild curiosity.”

“Sure, buddy. Sure,” Nikki said, her tone drawing the words out before diving into a tangent about how insanely hard one of the missions in Black Ops was, and how it had been kicking her ass.

*

The “mild curiosity” kind of becomes a thing: Dan will get horny and instead of just using his ‘wild imagination’ (thanks every teacher he had in primary school), he’d go on the live cam site if he needed something to visualize. He didn’t always go straight to Phil’s page to see if he was online; he does try and look at other camboys, but none of them keep his attention like Phil. Dan was pretty sure it was because he treated the audience like a regular audience, but he just happened to touch himself while talking and playing music. 

Dan was a bit obsessed with Phil’s accent; it was very Northern and different than the chav accent he heard at school from the wannabe gangsters. Like today for example, Phil was just talking about something random going on in his life and Dan wasn’t even watching him to see if he was touching himself. He was working through his maths homework and had his headphones in to just listen to Phil talk as he tried to remember what his completely unintelligible maths teacher had said during class. He gave up after a while and turned his attention to Phil’s show, cushioning his head on crossed arms as he laid on his stomach. 

“So today I filmed something for my class,” Phil was explaining on the webcam. “It’s kind of different but a couple of my mates really liked it.”

Phil broke off to laugh at something in the chat.

“No, no, tiittyfucker96 nothing like this. I don’t think I could look them in the eye if I showed them a recording of me doing this,” Phil said, idly twisting a nipple and letting out a laugh that trailed into a moan as he (assumingly) pinched his nipple harder. Dan never thought someone could be so care-free during sexual situations. He was constantly worried that someone would hear that he had been with a girl and say that his bisexuality was a phase or that he was faking being straight which made him nervous to be intimate with anyone, even his ex-girlfriend. So watching the way Phil’s eyes would flutter in enjoyment as he gripped himself, watching the way Phil would give choked off laughs as he read filthy comments? It… it made Dan want to gain that kind of confidence. 

Before he had fully thought through his actions, he was typing into the chat-box, lucky that the basic, no-payment level of being a site member still allowed for chat interaction with the cam-workers. 

‘how r u able to be so confident on camera?’ 

Dan waited after hitting send and felt himself start to grow antsy after a mere second. He had sent messages before, casual things like ‘is that muse in the background’ or simple thank yous after he’d come. He didn’t think he was going to get anything out of Phil, but then he heard his now familiar laugh, and when he looked up he saw Phil’s tongue sticking out the side of his mouth, something Dan shouldn’t be fixated on but he was rapidly learning that his fascination with anything and everything Phil didn’t make any sort of rational sense and his dick simply didn’t care. 

“Well Dennis, no Danis. Danis-snot-on-fire.”

Dan wanted to die. He had been noticed and for all the wrong reasons. Why did he use the worst username known to man? Now everyone probably thought he had a snot fetish or some shit. 

“Very creative username,” Phil chuckled, looking right at the camera and giving the world’s most awkward wink Dan had been on the receiving end of. Mainly because he was trying so hard to wink, tilting his head to the side and trying but only managing to blink. Dan muffled his laughter into his elbow because if he was laughing, his mum would know he wasn’t completely focused on his homework and come in to check on him, and he really didn’t want to explain why he was doing his maths homework shirtless.

“Watch out guys, it’s about to not be a sexy time for a moment. But to answer your question, Danis,” Phil said as Dan resisted the urge to throw himself out the window every time Phil called him the wrong name, “I get my confidence from all of you guys. It’s actually part of why I first started camming in the first place. When I first started, I was pretty awkward. Like I did bad angles and there were times I got so nervous that I’d uh. You know. Go soft. But everytime someone said something encouraging, it really helped boost my confidence to what’s in front of you now. I kind of just learned that the worst thing that will happen is you’ll have to try again. So yeah!”

Phil ended the talk with jazz hands.

Dan hated how he tracked the way Phil’s hands moved, imagining how warm they would feel in person. His maths homework sat uncompleted as he had himself a wank to the freckles he wanted to bite on Phil’s shoulders.

*

It only got worse with time. This… infatuation. He’d still search the site for new camboys sometimes, but he got bored easily, grew frustrated when he didn’t find what he liked. He knew what he liked, was the thing. He knew who he wanted. The problem was: he only had access to the open camshows Phil made, at the moment. 

There was a whole library of old camshows archived on the site, but it was locked for paying clients, and paying clients needed to have a credit or debit card and to be verifiably 18 or older, which Dan wouldn’t be for another month. And even then, he’d still need to get some kind of card. Which was way too much trouble just to get more porn, right? There was plenty of free porn on the internet. He didn’t need a paid membership. He didn’t.

But he wanted one, he really, really did. There were years worth of Phil camshows in there, plus some kink-themed clips, and special features like the superchat, and Dan craved. 

He tried to hold off his burgeoning interest, but soon enough he’d fallen into a rabbit hole of online sites where Phil interacted with his subscribers and answered questions and uploaded photos with funny commentary; fallen never to be seen again. He couldn’t stop scrolling, couldn’t stop reading his twitter, his #asks tag on tumblr, his dailybooth (especially his nakedbooths, which he posted whenever he hit a milestone), his answers on formspring (almost all of them were sexual, and fuck, Phil had a way with words).

He had now reached the point where his mind drifted automatically to Phil whenever he wanked, or even when he got turned on, like the two things went together, a Pavlovian response. He’d accrued quite the collection of Phil-specific fantasies, and all his old fantasies had now cast Phil in the starring role. And he’d become addicted to checking Phil’s socials more than was maybe reasonable.

Like now.

Dan refreshed tumblr at just the right time to see that Phil had answered a few asks. 

anonymous asked: how big is ur duck

amazingphil: [picture of a rubber duck next to a 50 cm ruler]

Dan couldn’t hold back a snicker at the response. He’d discovered that Phil was hilarious very soon after discovering that he was gorgeous, and though he mourned the loss of opportunity to get a Phil dick pic, he had to hand it to him. It was funny.

Dan clicked on the ‘amazingphil’ url to check if there were any more answers yet. Phil normally did a few at a time.

And today was no exception. 

anonymous asked: is it true that you did linguistics at uni?

amazingphil: it is! I’m an english language and linguistics graduate. sounds professional, huh? i got good grades and everything. i could totally tutor you if you’re having trouble with your homework, i’ll even bring out the glasses if you’re into it… (i’m into it)

anonymous asked: whats your favorite sex toy

amazingphil: oh, this is a hard one. mmm... probably my blue vibrator? tho the purple dildo that comes inside you gets a special mention too, maybe it’s that it’s new and i’m still super excited about it lol but if you saw that one camshow where i used it you saw how much fun i had with it ;) and i’ve used it a few more times already so...

Dan had seen that camshow. That thing was huge. And Phil had taken it like it was nothing, moaning and pushing back on it like he couldn’t get enough of it. Dan had come twice during the half-hour-long liveshow. Dan refreshed the page, and a new ask appeared.

anonymous asked: hav you tried bondage? i’d luv to tie u up ;)

amazingphil: i haven’t actually! but i might be up for it with someone i trust. but i’ve thought about it! it’s a hot fantasy. i’d like my partner to tie just my wrists the first time, to ease me into it, but a second time i think it could be fun to be spread eagled, wrists and ankles, back to the bed. i’d like to be on one of those four poster beds so that you could have my legs up in the air. i think i’d like to be fingered slowly when i can’t move away, teased a little and then fucked into the mattress while spread open like that with no friction on my cock so i can’t come until you’re done with me and then you get to decide how to make me come, i bet that’d drive me wild. i can get a bit needy in that kind of situation haha but that’s half the fun of it, yeah? that’s y’know, sth i think about sometimes :)

“Ngh.” Dan was suddenly very hard, his mind having taken a wild swerve into the gutter as soon as he’d clicked on Phil’s blog if he was being honest, but that took it to a whole new level. He wasn’t sure how true these were, but the idea that these were actually Phil’s fantasies, that this was what he thought about when he got off by himself, it always made it so much hotter for Dan, so much more effective. He wasn’t sure if it was just that Phil talked about his actual fantasies differently and he was picking up on it on some wavelength, or if he just got off to the idea of knowing something so intimate about someone he was attracted to.

He wanted more, so he refreshed the page again, barely resisting the urge to touch himself as he squirmed just a little on his seat.

The page refreshed, and there was a new answer.

anonymous asked: ur so hot i love ur cock i want to sit on it and ride u until u scream

amazingphil: mm… this cock? [gif of phil’s groin from the chest to his thighs, completely naked, he’s pumping his cock slowly, once, twice, the third time, as his fingers reach the head, a few drops of precome slide down his fingers, then the gif loops] yeah that sounds nice. but i think i could make you scream first... race you? ;)

“Fuck,” Dan breathed out, his own cock twitching sympatheticaly inside his pyjama bottoms. He reached down to squeeze it and couldn’t help but buck up into it, breathing ragged and mind already lost in the fantasy. How would it feel to sit on Phil’s lap, to tease him by rubbing against him, to have Phil finger him open and then kiss him while he slid down onto that pretty cock, feel it stretch him until he bottomed out and then stay still, perfectly, maddeningly still, until Phil couldn’t take it anymore and said “please, Dan,” and then to move up, feeling that cock dragging against all those hidden places, making fireworks go off behind his eyes, until he was almost all the way out, and then-

Dan had pulled out his own rock hard dick and was pumping it furiously, basically fucking his fist by this point, imagining himself bouncing on Phil’s cock, picturing how Phil would grab his ass, how he’d grip him by the thighs as he pushed him down into his cock, how he wouldn’t be able to resist fucking up into him, hips rising without even thinking about it. 

In the stark reality of Dan’s bedroom, he brought his hand up to pinch his own nipple and moaned; in his fantasy, it was Phil’s long, elegant fingers doing it, Phil’s fist around his cock as he fucked him, Phil leaving bite marks on his collarbones, telling him how fit he was, how good he felt, how much Phil wanted him, and just like that Dan was spilling into his hand and his shirt, pressing his mouth into the fleshy inner side of his bicep to muffle the whiny, breathy moans he couldn’t quite keep in, and the pleasure came in waves down his body, had him writhing in his computer chair for several long moments that felt like a short eternity, and left him a boneless lump, breathing too hard and staring unseeingly into the computer screen.

“Huh,” he muttered to himself once he’d come down from it. That was... really good, actually. 

The gif was still playing on the screen. Dan right-clicked over it and saved it on his computer. For reasons.

*

Next came the not-so-natural progression of his little hobby into a whole new level. It began as a fantasy.

He’d been spending so much time in that damned camming website that it was hardly shocking that the thought would form in his mind. What would it feel like to be in front of the camera? What must it feel like to feel so confident about your own body and sexuality that you can put yourself on display like that with the expectation that people will come, that people will watch, that some will even pay for the privilege of telling you how good you look or to ask you to touch yourself in a specific way? How did someone like Phil feel, knowing he can turn on his webcam and have thousands of viewers’ undivided attention based purely on how hot he looks as he gets himself off, thousands of eyes following his every movement, his every word, feeling their blood rush and their flesh crave at the stroke of his fingertips? 

The first stray thought was followed by another, then another, and it all built momentum until he found himself caught up in the fantasy of having all those anonymous eyes on him, wanting him, wishing they could be touching him, thinking he was so desirable that they wanted to pay him in exchange for scraps of attention. 

So Dan laid down on his bed, over the covers, naked (so that the anonymous men from his fantasy could take him in, could watch him, all of him, on display like-like art, or a celebrity, or something worth attention. Someone deserving of this kind of attention). Instead of following all the shortcuts he knew would get him to the finish line faster, he thought about what Phil (and the few other camboys he’d tried watching) did to tease and titillate their viewers. What would they like to see, if there really were people watching him?

He ran the fingers of one hand lightly down his neck, shivering slightly at the sensation, then down his collarbones and further down his chest until they reached one nipple. His other hand was resting to his side, gripping the duvet in an attempt to anchor him and help him pace himself. He tweaked his nipple, squeezed it between two fingers, and his hips swivelled a little in place at the bolt of pleasure. Dan’s eyes never strayed from his own body, trying to see what others would see if they were looking at him right then. His cock was hard already, resting flush against his lower belly and throbbing a little. 

He trailed the fingers down, teeth catching on his pink plump lower lip as his hand reached the crease where his hip met his thigh and he bypassed the hard flesh aching for attention between his legs in favour of running his nails down his inner thighs, leaving reddish lines on the pale soft skin and moaning softly at the sensation. Would his viewers like the noise? Would they like him? Would these hypothetical men (and while he knew the people who watched the camshows weren’t all men, it was important to some recondite and unexamined corner of Dan’s mind that they would be primarily men) be intrigued enough to want to stay and continue watching him?

Dan imagined it, countless men watching him in lust, unable to resist sneaking a hand down pants that felt too tight and rubbing one out, never taking their eyes off Dan’s form as they fantasised about all the filthy things they’d like to do to him.

He dragged his fingers down to grab a handful of his own ass, squeezing one cheek and  spreading it slightly to reveal the puckered flesh between the cheeks, spurred on by the mental image of faceless men rutting into their own hands at the sight. He ran his fingers teasingly around the rim, sparks of pleasure shooting up from the place where his fingers made contact and moving all the way into his core. He tamped down on the urge to thrust his hips into the air in a natural bid to find friction.

He considered his options briefly, fingers tapping a delicious rhythm and making his legs spread a bit wider by reflex, and reached out with his other hand to fish out the lube from his drawer. He didn’t do this every time - it meant more work and cleanup - but right then he knew it was just what he needed. 

He coated three fingers as quickly as he could and returned his hand to its previous position between his legs, bending his legs and planting his feet firmly on the mattress for leverage.

He teased around his rim for a bit longer, his other hand wandering aimlessly up his body as he pretended that he was waiting for a hefty enough tip before indulging his audience. Someone would crack, he thought; someone would want it so bad that they wouldn’t even care about the money, they’d just send it over, and Dan would smile at the camera in satisfaction before dipping one of his slick fingers slowly inside.

He’d talk to them, probably, during the whole thing. He’d tell them how badly he wanted it, how hard he was, how much he needed it. It was quite unlike anything else, that particular feeling; and when he craved it, nothing else would do. He’d ask them playfully if they wanted to see how well he took his own fingers, he’d beg them so nicely to please hurry up, he needed more, one finger wasn’t enough and he was ready, he was so ready for more, but he couldn’t until he got another tip, right? So please? Pretty please?

And then another tip would come, maybe more than one, and he’d thank them, looking straight at the camera again, and he’d reward them by sliding another finger with the first, twisting them slowly (and here he’d be unable to keep his hips on the bed, he could feel himself losing that battle as they bucked up into the air by their own accord), and fuck he couldn’t keep the noise down, not when he was like this, but that was fine, wasn’t it? His viewers would like that, they’d probably compliment the whiny moans he couldn’t keep down whenever he brushed his prostate, they’d love them, if anything they’d ask him to make more noise.

Another? he’d ask, he’d request, and the tips would flood, as would the praising comments. He was close, and he hadn’t even touched his prick at all. He pulled out the two fingers he’d been using to furiously finger himself and dropped some more lube on them, before reaching back down and slowly, too slowly, sinking three fingers inside. It burned a little, but the pleasure was far more intense; it made his eyes close and his jaw slacken and he had to grip the duvet again to resist touching his throbbing cock. 

It didn’t take long before he was thrusting his fingers in and out, effectively fucking himself on them and letting out high, desperate-sounding short little whines. He imagined countless people (men) watching him, devouring the picture he made with greedy eyes and tight fists, getting off to the fantasy of him, fantisising about what it might feel like to fuck him, what he might look like with their cock up his arse rather than his own fingers, thinking probably that they could wring out even sweeter sounds out of him with a proper cock, like some of Phil’s viewers said to him all the time.

He was feverish with the thought, the sensations, he wasn’t sure he’d ever been this hard (he’d certainly never sounded this desperate, this needy before), and the stray thought of Phil’s viewers made him think of Phil and what if he was watching too? Pretty much everything Dan knew of camming he’d learnt from him. Would he think Dan was good at it? Would he be proud? 

Would he want me too?

The thought settled like an itch under his skin, setting him on fire. He unclenched the hand gripping wrinkled cloth to grip himself, felt his cock twitch as soon as it was (finally, finally) given some attention, and he tried to go slowly at first but he couldn’t, he couldn’t, the pleasure had been building for so long, so he just thrust into his fist and fucked himself on his fingers and imagined being watched and wanted and desired for all of it until the pleasure undid him. Wave after debilitating wave, all he could do was lie there and let it wreck him, and whine through it. 

He was left in a messy, sweaty, shaky tangle, quite sure that he’d just had the single most intense orgasm of his life and wondering if he’d even be able to walk to the bathroom for cleanup before his parents came home from work. 

(He was, eventually, but it was a close thing.)

*

Okay, so he’d discovered he had an exhibitionist kink. No big deal. It didn’t mean he had to do anything about it. 

Sure, he liked the idea of being watched by people who found him attractive, but that didn’t mean he’d necessarily enjoy the reality of it… Not to mention, exposing himself in the way that he’d been imagining - by doing a camshow where strangers could watch him - worked great as a fantasy, but who knew what kind of people he might attract... What if he got awful comments instead of praising ones? What if no one turned up? What if they didn’t even like him? 

The thought caused a ball of anxiety to settle somewhere around his lower chest, much as he tried to dismiss it. This kind of thing self-regulated, right? If someone checked him out and didn’t like him, they’d just leave to find someone more to their taste… 

Well, that thought didn’t help at all. With a grimace, he pictured a stream of people opening his camshow only to leave moments later, when they saw what he looked like, or heard how awkward he was. That’d be even worse than no one showing up.

And why was he still thinking about this, anyway? It wasn’t like he was actually going to go ahead and do it. It was just a crazy idea. 

He didn’t really want to do it. And he couldn’t, anyway. It’d be a disaster. 

And who knew how dangerous it might be. Better to file the thought away for wanking purposes and move on to more realistic endeavours in the real world.

...Right?

*

Apparently not.

He could not stop thinking about it. 

Every time he got off, even when he was watching Phil’s shows (and Phil’s shows were as captivating as they came), his mind drifted to this shiny new fantasy of his. He imagined himself in Phil’s place, imagined that the comments and tips were for him, (imagined that Phil was watching him, one of his regulars, that Phil was thinking about him when he grabbed and tugged and teased his own skin, when he lost himself in the pleasure, when he moaned and shuddered so prettily, when he talked about his future boyfriend).

And it wasn’t just that he was fixated on the sexual fantasy (though, that was how it got started). No, he’d started actually thinking about it. What it might entail. How it might go, as a job. How often he’d have to do it to live off it. 

He didn’t actually know if it would be viable as a way to make money, as a lot depended on whether people tuned in to watch him, and he couldn’t predict that. But surely it had to be a more attractive prospect than his shitty job at Asda, which he was barely holding on to as it was.

Going by the terms and conditions posted on the camming site (which he’d obsessively read several times over, heart in his throat and cheeks burning and feeling foolish and young and inexperienced), he’d get a fixed rate for number of subscribers, but the amount was negligible unless you were one of the heavy hitters. The real money would come from tips and private shows, and Dan was not sure he was ready to try doing private shows yet.

He wasn’t sure that he was ready to do any of it, if he was honest, but the more he thought about it, the more he was certain that he wanted to try. He wanted this.

It was a bit mad, yeah. Not the sort of thing you could bring up at Sunday tea time with grandma, that’s for sure. Not the sort of thing you could list on your resumé as a professional lawyer, either. And that wasn’t even going into the matter of romantic relationships, and how potential partners might feel about it. 

It was atypical, socially transgressive, scorned and undervalued by mainstream society; in a word, it was decidedly queer, in every sense of the word, but damn it if that wasn’t Dan all over. 

That’s how he felt, anyway. 

Maybe he should embrace it.

[Read the rest here!]

[thousandeyesand-one]

The Alliance of Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen

I was re-reading ADWD recently & I came across something that prompted this meta..I don't know if this has been done before it probably has been but since the S07E07 script has been released I really wanted to address the politicality of everything this season. This is gonna be a thread!

S07E01- DRAGONSTONE

There isn't much jonerys build up as such in this episode instead both Jon and daenerys's individual storylines are set up. Jon organizes Northern defence which is literally his entire motive this season to strengthen & weaponise the Northern army against the coming Storm. Daenerys reaches Westeros, dragonstone more accurately. Her storyline is set up as a new force in the game here to retake the iron throne & unite Westeros under her rule.

S07E02-STORMBORN

•This episode is where the collision course of these long lost targ babes was set up & no am not talking about tyrion's or sam's raven. I am talking about Olenna Tyrell. During the council meeting of daenerys & all her allies they discuss their battle plans after which Olenna advices dany. I may be wrong but olenna's advice sounds very similar to quaithe's prophecy/advice. The show didn't really adhere to dany's one too many prophecies in the books. Her stay in Qarth was much more prophetic than the show bothered to show including quaithe. She was in the show but not nearly as highlighted as the books treat her to be. Here are the quotes..

".. peace never lasts my dear. Will you take a bit of advice from an old woman?" *dany nods* "He's a clever man, your hand, I've known a great many clever men I've outlived them all. You know why? I ignored them the Lords of Westeros are sheep, are you a sheep? No. You're a Dragon. Be a Dragon."

                                                         -Olenna Tyrell S07E02

"Hear me, Daenerys Targaryen. The glass candles are burning. Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and Griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal." "Daenerys. Remember the Undying. Remember who you are." "The blood of the dragon"

                                                                  -Quaithe (ADWD)

•So like many other character amalgamations or character moments amalgamations that the show has done over 6 seasons before, Olenna served quaithe's purpose in S07. Because her words set daenerys's behavior & mindset for the entire length of the season. Olenna's/Quaithe's words are completely in contrast to what Mel said earlier in that episode.. " D: .. and you believe this prophecy refers to me?M: Prophecies are dangerous things I believe you have a role to play as does another.. the King in the North Jon Snow." "Summon Jon Snow let him stand before you & tell you the things that have happened to him.. the things that he has seen with his own eyes" Mel unlike Olenna or quaithe asked daenerys to stand equal to someone. To consider this Jon Snow guy & his story as both of them have a role to play in the Long Night. Daenerys soon turns this mel's prophetic orchestrated alliance into political one by commanding to send a raven to ask Jon Snow to Bend the Knee.

When they are discussing about making this invitation a political one this ☝️is how Mel reacts she doesn't approve of this but she doesn't say anything coz she learned from her mistakes. "My time whispering in the ear's of Kings has come to an end.. " She let this alliance that she set up take a shape of its own without interfering as to how or what! 

•Jon on the other hand ever since he saw the Night King at Hardhome his mind has been hell bent on the Great War. He was barely ever interested in the politics of the Seven kingdoms so now is no different time that he is using his position as King in the North to ultimately fulfill his main motive of securing the North against the AotD. Although Tyrion's raven arrived at Winterfell it spoke nothing of Mel but it was a very political invite. It's hard to say whether mention of Mel's recommendation would've made Jon & Ser Davos trust this message right away or negate it, but tyrion doesn't speak of it. Like a true shadowbinder Mel worked from the shadows & did what she wanted to do bringing Ice & Fire together! Jon knew this was political but he didn't approach this in a political way, sansa did, not Jon. Sansa talks about this being a potential trap about how North is one of the Seven kingdoms that daenerys wants to claim but Jon wants fire & dragonglass over anything else, both of which is exclusively available only with Daenerys. "We need this Dragonglass my Lord's we know dragonglass can destroy both white walkers & it's army, we need to mine it & turn it into weapons. But more importantly we need allies.. Night king's army grows by the day. We can't defeat them on our own we don't have the numbers. Daenerys has her own army & she has Dragon fire I need to try & persuade her to fight with us." This was never political for Jon he always ever had one goal which was to overcome the AotD either by hook or by crook. He never meant to be King in the North, even though North is truly been his home, he fought for Winterfell because he had to unite North against the dead. He is using his position as King in the North to see this mission through. Little finger tried to get all schemy & game of thronesy with Jon Snow in the crypts & Jon choked the political Mary out of his windpipe. He left the politics & the Kingdom to sansa & went to dragonstone to attain dragonglass & possible military help against the AotD.

S07E03- THE QUEEN'S JUSTICE

•Before the monumental meeting of Jon & Daenerys we are given a brief personal moment between Jon & Tyrion weight of which comes from their time together travelling to the wall before there was any conflict between the Starks & Lannisters. Indirectly daenerys's command by missandei brings the political in that moment by asking jon & ser davos to give up their weapons. On their way to the castle on the bridge/walkway the conversation Jon & Tyrion have.. "J: My bannermen think am a Fool for coming here.. T: of'course they do, if I was your hand I would've       advised against it ... General rule of thumb Stark men   don't fare well when they travel South. J: True. But am not a Stark." He knows he is not a stark by right just like he knows he isn't KitN by right but by public proclamation. He isn't here to fight for that but for what he has always fought for. The Great War. Then after entering the throne room the conversation between daenerys & Jon also had some picks I wanted to get to.. ▪Video Daenerys is applying Olenna/quaithe's words to use & remembering who she is & that the westerosi lords are sheep & to be a Dragon against the sheep. Similarly Jon isn't going to give up North that easily sure he isn't here to defend his title but the Kingdom trusted him to lead them he can't that easily surrender to a Targaryen that clearly all the Northern Lords hate.    ▪Video Jon tried getting political with daenerys by bringing up the mad king & all but daenerys instead reminded him of himself & shut him up. He dropped the political past vs past act & stuck to the present & did what he came here for to get her help. But daenerys is trying so hard to sticking up to being a Dragon remembering who she is that she forgot Mel's advice to take Jon Snow's help but rather remembering olenna/quaithe's words. Jon makes it very clear that he is not her enemy but daenerys is just not convinced & is still sticking to her Dragon-ness, not giving up on what she wants. "The army of the dead is real. The Night King is real I've seen them"

Daenerys is reminded here☝️ of what Mel says to let Jon Snow tell her what he has seen. She still continues to live by Olenna's/quaithe's words to not trust anyone & treat the Lords of Westeros as sheeps & to be a Dragon so daenerys ends up giving that big ass speech of how she was born to rule the 7K & Jon still doesn't care about either his rule or her conquest sticking up for the only thing that is of utmost importance to him.. ▪Video     Then finally Ser Davos gave the Jon Snow speech because c'mon like Jonny boi just can't with words. Specially coz he tried getting close to daenerys & was stopped by the dothraki instead Daenerys walked closer to him to show her strength which along with her speech definitely intimidated Jon. No matter how much people don't like to face it Jon was attracted to daenerys in the very first meet & Daenerys well she was being cocky at first but At the end she did realized that she found Jon Snow interesting. At this point Jon tried telling dany what he's seen, just as Mel asked, which nobody believed. Ser Davos was about to say what happened to him, his rebirth, just as Mel was hoping, which jon stopped him from divulging because if they didn't believe in the AotD then there is no way they'll believe in something that plays with the absolute concept of Life & Death. He didn't want to come across as a northern nutcase. Upon being forced by tyrion to kneel he at last unleashes his true political stance on daenerys. ▪Video 

The first Jon & Daenerys meet was less Jon vs daenerys & more Melisandre vs Olenna/Quaithe advice. Dany is just as confused between those advices as Jon is eternally confused with every situation that's why he asks "am I your Prisoner?" You guys this he doesn't get diplomacy this dude has no political bone in his structure!

•Next it's the Tyrion-Jon conversation on the cliff where tyrion confirms to Jon he isn't a prisoner & that he should try & make this work because there is still a chance. Jon respects tyrion, tyrion is the person who started Jon Snow the boy on the journey to become Jon Snow the man that he has become. Jon tells him what everyone told him to expect of the mad King's Daughter but tyrion instead tells him to form his own opinion about her & gives his own learned opinion to him, Jon values it just as he valued tyrion's opinion at castle black.  Same way tyrion persuades daenerys to make this work & that there still a chance to forge an Alliance. Daenerys trusts tyrion that is why she chose him to be her hand his opinion matters to her as of now..      Daenerys sticks with remembering who she is but also can't seem to forget Mel's advice about listening to Jon Snow.

•Then next is the first meeting of Jon & Daenerys that really introduced Jon to daenerys & Daenerys to Jon previously the Queen met the King & King vice versa. Daenerys is reminded of Mel's advice again about listening to Jon Snow, she heard Jon Snow but didn't really believe him. That's why she turns back to look at him deliberating him on a whole. Battling Olenna/quaithe's advice vs Mel's. She finds jon genuine more genuine than anyone she's ever met but that she has this inner battle in her head regarding trust.

S07E04- THE SPOILS OF WAR

•In this episode there was the beloved Cave of sexual tension scene. Where Jon gives more proof to daenerys that the army of the dead is real. Daenerys completely heeds Mel's advice of listening to Jon like REALLY LISTENING to Jon instead of like prior she just heard him. All the carvings proved he knows what he is talking about & it's the truth. Not to mention they also realize they are attracted to each other.  Just as they leave the cave Daenerys learns all her allies have been decimated & the unsullied have been lead astray into a possible trap. Now she realizes that she has been wrong, neither was olenna's/quaithe's advice wrong nor was Mel's advice wrong. Both advices were correct she placed them on the wrong people she should've ignored tyrion not Jon. Finally just to check whether this time round she is right or not she immediately puts jon on the spot to advice her neglecting tyrion.

"I never thought dragons would exist again. No one did. The people who follow you know that you made something impossible happen maybe that helps them believe you can make other impossible things happen. Build a World different from the shit one they've always known. But if you use them to melt castles & burn cities, your no different, you're just more of the same." 

Jon's honest advice makes it clear to her that he is trustworthy as in he is not a clever Lord or anything like tyrion. Just an honest dude who knows what he's doing & stays true to it. Properly placing quaithe's words "Hear me, Daenerys Targaryen. The glass candles are burning. Soon comes the pale mare, and after her the others. Kraken and dark flame, lion and Griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying. Beware the perfumed seneschal."   "Daenerys. Remember the Undying. Remember who you are."    "The blood of the dragon"         This advice this prophecy doesn't speak or relate to Jon in anyways. Because dany can trust Jon. Finally figuring every thing out for good & truly remembering who she is & ignoring any of tyrion's advices she mounts her dragon & goes to war. And you know when you wake the dragon .....

•Jon on the other hand didn't have a prophecy or anything to understand daenerys but he had missandei who he talked to about daenerys. Prior to which Ser Davos told him that almost everyone can tell Jon is attracted to Daenerys. He knows that. It  might even have intensified as he saw his younger, naive self in daenerys. His self who said the same words to Mance that daenerys says to him. Jon doesn't deny his feelings just addresses it.. Jon then realizes daenerys is trustworthy & also realizes her conquest isn't just a power hungry quest for dominance she truly wants to do good in this shit world.

S07E05- EASTWATCH

•Episode begins with Daenerys talking to the leftover Lannister soldiers & trying to change their allegiance. Of'course the infamous Tarly's burning scene which in actuality was daenerys ignoring tyrion's advice & being the blood of dragon, remembering it & reminding everyone at the same time. She wasn't being or becoming mad she was staying true to being a Targaryen. Not Mad. Just being a true Targaryen Queen in Westeros with the blood of dragon & not the Queen that tyrion wanted her to be. And the Tarly's had a long time Karma coming for them. Instead of blaming it on karma most people blame it on daenerys. IGNORANCE 

•Then Jon Snow is waiting for daenerys targaryen on the cliff & we get a Jon-Drogon moment. Which by every standard more than confirms to us the audience that Jon is a Targaryen. But unlike us daenerys doesn't know about S06E10 ToJ revelation  so what's in this for her? Except for who would ever dare to love a Dragon there's actually a bit of quaithe's advice.   "Remember who you are Daenerys. The Dragons know. Do you?"

"It makes the moment entirely between Jon & the Dragon" -Dan Weiss, Game Revealed Ep 5: Fire and Bloodlines.

So in this moment the dragons knew. Book dany will probably smell something rightaway but show dany doesn't yet know about Jon's bloodline or she doesnt have this ☝️ part of quaithe's advice/prophecy. When the jon-drogon moment ends another moment between Jon & daenerys begins.

After understanding how olenna's/quaithe's advice fits & where it fits exactly daenerys starts looking into Mel's advice to look into Jon Snow. She is already attracted to him & finds him interesting that for the first time she brings up the mystic side of things that she was ignoring talking about something she found worth pondering. Same with Jon once he found what daenerys actually is he started taking interest in her conquest for the first time initiating a political discussion. On top of which their attraction to each other is also increasing by the minute as they learn more about each other. Also arrival of Jorah & Daenerys's unusual connection with him gave Jon the heebie jeebies.

•Then there is the council meeting with Jon & Daenerys as unofficial allies discussing their next move in an understanding. Tyrion proposes the plan to capture a wight.       •Considering that the running theme this season has been trust for both Jon & Daenerys. This scene is the starting of their romance in a much more deeper way. Daenerys has struggled with trusting people specially this season & it was evident to Jon when he first met her she obviously didn't trust him. When he saw her lash out on tyrion he knew she doesn't trust him anymore than she trusts Jon but when she met jorah it was clear to him looking at her vulnerable side come out with jorah that she trusts him. But at that point jon is deeply attracted to dany & he is aware that he doesn't have the connection with daenerys that jorah does due to a lot of shared history. So this scene was basically Jon asking daenerys to start that connection with him, compared to jorah he is a stranger for daenerys, he asks her to trust him because it's their best chance at a relationship. Jon taught daenerys the very concept of achieving that together he was talking about in the caves, which daenerys was confused about. And then beyond considering any prophecies or advices for the first time she trusts Jon. Because he first put his trust in her.

•Then the glorious see off scene between jon & daenerys before jorah silently slips away from daenerys upon seeing Jon walk upto her. Upon seeing dany embracing jorah & he yet again asks daenerys whether there is trust between them or not. Bringing up her conquest he asks her about his position in her life & she answers him not quite giving him what he wants to hear. She doesn't declare her trust for him but actually is playful about it. Unsure whether either of them have that right on each other to make either of them divulge any more info in uncertainty they depart from each other. The reason why Jon doesn't turn around, because as of now he isn't in Love with daenerys but rather he is in the process of getting there, anyone who has fallen in Love atleast once in their life knows there is a time after attraction & before love where ego's & uncertainty's has to be crushed. Jon doesn't wanna look like a pussy. Jorah on the other hand has been in love with dany for a long time he doesn't care about looking like a pussy he knows dany knows he is a p.. So he turns around.

CONTINUED..

[soniabigcheese]

Distractions

"Has anyone seen Alan?"

He was met with various 'nos' from everyone.

"I'll go find him."

Grandma grasped his arm and shook her head.

"Leave him be son," she said quietly, "he just needs some time alone."

Scott's brow furrowed and he was about ignore his grandmother's request, but instead he sagged his shoulders and nodded in resignation.

It had been a tough rescue ... and furthermore, not their most successful. There had been a few like this and Scott had become used to the fact that they weren't perfect and couldn't be there all the time.

But for Alan, each failure cut him to the core. And to watch helplessly as the young girl plummeted to her death, that will be with him for a long time.

So he needed a distraction. And here it was, the peace and solitude that he desired. It was also a connection to the mother he never knew.

However, it was something that he didn't want to share with his brothers either. Because 'men just don't do this sort of thing'.

A crackle brought him out of his reverie, and the hologram of John appeared. It was their own agreed upon signal, for the times he'd needed some 'private time' to work off any pent up stress.

Although, living on the same island together, with big mouth Gordon around, nothing was ever a secret for long.

He could have confided in Kayo, since she'd been the biggest secret keeper around. What with that revelation about the Hood being her uncle.

Now THAT was one hell of an eye opener for everyone. But they'd all gotten over it ... eventually. Some took longer than others. Namely Scott.

But hey, that was in the past. Now, he had to face John's scrutinous eye.

"Hey John."

"Hey Alan. What you doing there buddy?"

"Nothing .... OW!"

"Doesn't sound like nothing."

"None of your business John."

"Okay. Sorry for asking.... it's just that everyone's worried about you."

"I'm fine."

His voice sounded muffled as he was sat there sucking his finger. Damn, that needle hurt.

"You don't sound fine. Want me to go find the others?"

"NO!"

The thoughts of everyone seeing what he was doing absolutely horrified him. Hastily he tucked the offending item away under his quilt and drew his knees up to his chest.

"It's ... it's just that ... " he replied heavily, he didn't honestly want to talk about it ... but John had a way of drawing things out of people, "that kid ... you know? The look on her face ... how are their family going to feel when they find out?"

"Scott's dealing with that. Anything else on your mind?"

Alan sniffled, wiped his eyes and noticed the bead of blood seeping from the hole he'd made in his finger. He took a section of his tee shirt and wiped it over the wound.

"Promise you won't tell anyone?"

John quirked his eyebrow suspiciously.

"Depends on what secret you're about to divulge."

Alan glared meaningful at the hologram until John sighed.

"Okay, I'll turn on the private broadcast channel."

Alan whooped, pounding the air with his fist.

".....buuuuuuuuut...."

He stopped when he heard the warning tone in his older brother's voice.

"If it's anything illegal. Everyone HAS to know. We can't be compromised ... and we did promise dad that we'd all look out for one another. Do you understand?"

"Yeah yeah...heard this speech so many times."

Slowly, he pulled the item from under the covers and unrolled it, careful not to get any droplets of blood on any part of it.

John gave out a gasp, his eyes widening as he looked at it. He hadn't seen this in a long long time.

Alan took John's silence as a prompt to explain further.

"Remember the last time we were at the old homestead? I went exploring in the attic with Gordon. He got bored so I stayed and rummaged a bit further. And found this!"

He stroked the fabric with a gentle but loving hand.

"Grandma told me that it belonged to Mom. That she was working on it on and off and intended to complete it ... but never did."

There was a long silence, cut short by a sniffle from Alan. John stayed quiet and waited.

"With grandma's help, I've been using this as my own distraction technique. Because sleep and playing video games weren't helping."

John smiled softly

"Good for you," he replied, "can't wait to see it finished, framed and put in a prominent position for everyone to see."

"Oh no!"

Alan clutched the tapestry to his chest.

"Nobody must ever know. Okay?"

John shrugged.

"Sorry, was just an idea. And okay."

He leaned over and smiled again.

"I'll let everyone know that you're fine. But ... you might have some explaining to do with that finger though."

Alan laughed.

"I'll tell them I caught it on a cactus."

John joined the laughter.

"I thought that was Gordon’s old trick."

There was a beeping sound coming from Thunderbird Five.

"Gotta go. Got another emergency."

He turned and looked back at his youngest brother with pride.

"I'm proud of you," he said quietly, "we all are. You're doing a great job."

[taekwonduh]

Don’t Forget, Pt. 3

Summary: “It is okay if you do not remember me, I can do the remembering. But in a world where I hold absolutely no place in your life, not even as the girl who knew your name before your face, I think it would be a place too cruel to live in.”

Characters: Jungkook, (she/her) Reader, Taehyung

Tags: Angst, romance, food for thought

Memo (Prologue), Pt. 1, Pt. 2

There is a certain lucid quality in the way time ticks while on commute, the idea of leaving behind a neighbourhood so faithfully occupied during the past years of your life for a territory beyond breeds a sense of detachment in your system. Your body remains bound by the ropes of reality, yet your spirit wanders with no desire of  ever returning.

Perhaps it is in your best interest that you cultivate the habit of breaking away every once in a while, though admittedly, the prospect of retreating into the dreams that afflict you so for comfort, be they night or day, is terribly ironic. But you cannot help it. You suppose it is to do with being born a dreamer. Trodding through life with no solid plan, the tiles behind you crumble with the lifting of each foot, and the path ahead is formed in the space where your feet land next, a future made of earthquakes that threaten to pull you under.

Nothing is ever clear to you. Not reality. Not dreams, certainly not the days ahead. And you question why you continue to go through with such uncertainty, why you have not yet called it quits with the world and cross into the other side when the boundaries that separated each half have long blurred and blended together.

You like to think that up until last night’s events, you have lived a life in search of answers to questions you did not know to ask.

His name is Jungkook.

“Y/N… You okay? Who was that guy?”

His name is Jungkook.

“Hey- hey, look at me. What’s wrong? Did he say something to you?”

His name is… his name is-

“Taehyung… I can't… I can’t remember his name.”

You remember barreling back to your bedroom, nearly ripping the drawer off its hinges with the sheer force of desperation. After all that has happened, the deja vu sensations, inexplicable memory loss, and the very bizarre but definite swap in places between you and Taehyung’s incident at the pier, you are hit with the sudden fear that perhaps in the time you spent away, the mysterious book might have disintegrated into nothingness. Another mind trick. Another surefire step towards irreversible insanity. 

But you are immensely relieved to find the item still within the confines you thrust it, grasping the book and locking your door. You finally work up the courage to discover its’ contents. To learn the answers which you always believed you worked tirelessly towards, but in actual fact have been going around in cowardly circles, feigning ignorance and hoping the misaligned pieces of your memories will somehow adjust themselves and find their rightful place. 

The reason why you have put the book off for as long as you have is the underlying rejection of everything you have believed in, everything you live for. The book, expectedly, throws your entire world off its axis. 

There are photos of you. Photos of Taehyung. Of a boy named Jungkook. The pier. Your neighbourhood back home. Alongside these polaroids are penned memorabilia, in a recognizable style of writing belonging to a single person— it is yours.

taehyung died three years ago, on graduation day. you were supposed to meet at the intersection at 8, but he had gone to the pier instead. he died by suicide. he did not leave any note. on this day, you met with an accident trying to look for him.

please do not call mrs. kim anymore. 
- 23.04.16

“Why were you at the pier?”

“I was looking for you.”

“Why would you be looking for me at the pier? We promised to meet by the school gates at eight-thirty sharp. You said if I were even a second late, you would pretend to not know me even if we managed to get into the same class in high school.”

“Taehyung?”

The train doors shut, carriage picking up speed as the now empty station is gradually left behind. There is a boy beside you. There is always a boy beside you.

He looks up from his phone. “Hm?”

The eyes you spend your entire life looking into appear foreign today. The disparity is not in its physical qualities, for the pools of liquid chocolate remain crystal clear, a reflection of the light that pours in from the glass panels adjacent your heads, it is perhaps in what lies beneath it— in what he holds within.

when you finally move on, the first thing i want you to do is pay more attention to taehyung. i feel like this all started because of his incident. if you can, save him, if you can’t, just keep waiting at the school gates. keep waiting until someone calls you and tells you the news of his demise. that is how you will keep your memories.

Even though it might not have been this life in which you lose him, you cannot help but feel as though there is a dormant element of sorrow that he locks up in a place so deep you cannot hope to find unless you sink your own two hands between his ribs and tear up whatever’s inside, destroying all that is good along with all that is bad. That is a resort you never wish to turn to, and you may only take comfort in the fact that you have somehow managed to save him. That he is here with you. 

He is here.

“Do you believe in a parallel world?”

The boy cocks his head, corner of his lips elevating into a lopsided smirk that gives away intrigued amusement, curiosity of why you might suddenly pose such an uncharacteristic question. He first decides to answer it. “I could be convinced.” The shift in his gaze to meet yours sparks electricity upon your skin, and you find that although your bodies are pressed against each other’s sides, though you can feel his heat radiating towards your profile, you are beginning to think that much like the dreams you lose track of each time you awaken, you might, on a day you least expect, lose him too.

“Why do you ask?”

“Imagine that there are little doppelgängers that live on a planet and follow a timeline that is linear and parallel to ours. They live a similar life to us, except sometimes the decisions we make aren’t always one and the same. So that results in certain… branches that lead to outcomes different from the ones that happen here, in our world. Imagine, there is a whole new world created for every choice we make and didn’t make. In those worlds… do you think we are still friends?”

Taehyung shifts in his seat, his shoulder leaving yours in his act of turning his entire upper torso to face you, a position that is no doubt awkward in the limited space of his seat, but sufficient in indicating that there is something he wants to find out.

“Where is all of this coming from?”

“I dunno.”

“Okay, let’s start small then. Is this about last night? I know you probably don’t want to talk about it, but it keeps bugging me. You just ran, Y/N.” You suppose Taehyung must have known the somberness he was portraying would push you further into discomfort, and as concerned as he was, he does not want to guilt-trip you into divulging anything you were not ready nor willing to. And so he contorts his features into one of his signature unsightly yet comical frowns, shape of his mouth forming a drooping rectangle, eyes slanted outwards with the pull of muscle, his eyebrows tilted at an angle to match. With that face on, he proceeds to whine in a small, child-like voice, “You ditched pier night.”

And you burst. Uncontained, heartfelt laughter tumbling from the back of your throat out your mouth, shattering the early morning daze that hung over the rest of the train car. A few eyes shift towards you. But you could care less. 

“Stop making that face!” Your palms fly up to cup his cheeks, thumbs pushing and molding the flesh to rid that ghastly expression from his otherwise handsome face. Taehyung, relieved by your joyous reaction, eases back into his usual laidback demeanor, his own hands coming around yours to bring them down. 

“Well?”

“Well…” You answer his prompt pointedly, sighing into your next words, “I’m still figuring things out. But what I can tell you is that ever since that coma… things haven’t been the same. I don’t know what’s different, I just- I just feel.”

“Do you think we should pay another visit to the hospital? Maybe they might’ve missed something—”

“No, it’s not that. Don’t worry, Tae, I’m working things out. And when I actually have the answers to my own questions, I’ll gladly answer yours. Hmm?”

The mystical qualities of a train ride away from home dissipates into a familiar sensation of emptiness the moment a warm hand is wrapped around your wrist, and you are lifted from your seat towards the car doors, merging with a disarray of early morning commuters on their way to offices, schools, workplaces. The crowd is thick like wet cement, your senses held captive to an atmosphere so hot and humid that instantly all bearings are lost, and you rely solely on Taehyung’s lead to get you out. If this is what ensues a commute, it has become apparent that you detest it.

“Thank God we’re not late,” your companion huffs as he straightens the quality of his pristine new uniform, smoothing out wrinkles and dusting off lint. Though you don garments that are entirely alike, only tailored to suit each gender, you have found that from the time a communal code of wear was first introduced to you both at the age of seven, your dearest friend has always managed to find ways to look starkly superior in his clothing in contrast to you.

Maybe it is in his physique, broad shoulders and filled chest to match his tall and still growing height; perhaps it was in the choice of hairstyle, kept simple enough to abide by conventional school dress codes, yet presenting a tasteful styling in the way his bangs fall in a voluminous arc down his forehead, parted just over the the arch of his left eyebrow, a classic boyish look. Today, he sports his new pair of eyeglasses, an accessory he had showed off generously earlier in the morning when he came to pick you up. The look probably would not have been considered anything special if pulled by anyone else, a sight that blends into the surroundings and is easily skimmed over. You suppose that is the leverage over you he possessed by birth. 

In your trek from the train station towards your school, you are joined by many other youths sporting outfits identical to yours, and surprisingly enough, it is quite easy to tell freshmen apart from more senior students. Like yourself, they carry crisp new backpacks, bulky with the weight of brand new textbooks possibly packed inside, style their uniforms strictly in line with the specified guidelines, and in their eyes, they hone the same glint that currently shone in Taehyung’s— excited for a new start, anticipation of the new experiences to come.

Even as the school compounds gradually come into view, marked iconically by a domed roof atop a massive brown-brick structure, you find trouble in drawing out a sentiment to match your peers. To say that it feels as if you have done this before would not be a stretch; the transition from middle to high school in terms of routine does not feel all that drastic. Aside, of course, from the hour-long commute-from-Hell you now have to make. It continues to follow the same monotonous regiment of rise, work, sleep, repeat. What sort of new start could one possibly hope for? You have not the slightest clue. 

Upon your arrival to the parted steel gates, beyond which is an expanse of a yellow dirt field, at the core of which is a lush, green quad where wooden benches and umbrella-like trees are spread for the students’ lounging convenience, you discover a handful of senior-looking students, supposedly part of the welcoming committee, ushering in the students with smiles much too bright for such an early morning.

Amongst them, a particularly sharp boy catches your attention with his refined posture, herculean-shoulders and tightly wound school tie; his aura alone sets him apart from the rest of his comrades, exuding sublime confidence and ultra authority in his greetings to fellow students. Supposedly having been aware of this quality, the intimidation he knew he would surely evoke in students is neutralized by two lovely crescent-mooned eyes, his plush, pink lips curved into a matching smile, displaying prominently that despite the richness of his features, he too, remains a teenager like the rest.

You observe him keenly throughout your passing through the gates, leaving the sidewalk and entering at last the compounds of your new school, and you cannot help but be tinged with disappointment when the celebrity-esque boy misses the chance to offer you one of his well-rehearsed introductory phrases. Instead, you are merely shuttled along with the rest of the crowd around the perimeters of the quad, ascending a short flight of steps to pass through a set of warm, red wood double-doors, propped open by two rubber stoppers to facilitate the heavy stream of students arriving for the school day.

Officially within your new school quarters, you and Taehyung unite with other fresh-faced students towards the completion of the first step at getting yourselves oriented— finding your class registers.

At the end of the broad, linoleum-floored hallway you now stand within, lined on one side with display shelves of trophies, medals and framed certificates, and the other, with various club announcements, colourful nutrition posters, advertisements for upcoming school events, was a large whiteboard clipped with sheets of rolling paper dictating which student was assigned to which class. You and Taehyung would refer to this whiteboard, find your classes, and disperse. Albeit due to the sheer amount of people herded around it, Taehyung suggests that you wait at the outskirts for him to come back with the necessary information. You are much too small to be pushing through a crowd like that. 

“Bad news, Y/N, we’re separated,” Taehyung announces, looking evidently dejected by the conclusion of your once unbreakable nine-year fate as classmates. “You’re in one-four, I’m in five. Good thing is all the first year classrooms are on the same floor. At least that’s what I heard. Let’s get going?”

You nod affirmatively, angling your body towards the stairs. “Yeah.”

Once on the third floor, the lot of students on the way to their assigned classrooms spill into yet another boxy hallway, this one significantly less decorated, walls lined with chunks of metal lockers waiting to be taken up. The rooms are relatively easy to find, from the left of the stairway are classes one to four, and to the right are five to eight. Ultimately, this is where your and Taehyung’s togetherness reaches its momentary end, and the boy parts with you after an affectionate clap on your shoulder, wishing you good luck and a promise to meet for lunch. 

The subsequent absence of his warmth beside your shoulder is larger than you ever thought it would be, and though there is the assurance in knowing Taehyung is only one room away, the fact that you now go solo licks a hot flame of nervousness up the back of your neck, your footsteps grow significantly heavier as you trudge to class.

You are amongst the final few to enter, and like any sizable crowd trapped inside a room, it is no surprise to find that the seats towards the back have all been filled, and you very barely snag a desk at the furthermost column from the door, seating yourself between a girl in front and a boy behind. As the last remaining desks are filled, a man appearing to be in his early-thirties strides into the room, obliterating every decibel of conversation with his preppy entrance, now becoming the center of utmost attention.

He dresses himself rather casually, in a blue knit vest over a white dress shirt, khaki slacks and brown boat shoes. And upon assuming position between the presentation desk and the whiteboard, he lifts his spectacled gaze to size up the class of twenty, nearly thirty-odd students seated in their neat five by five, single-file organisation of desks, all poised and perked. 

“If this is the class environment for the rest of the term, we are going to breeeeze right through it.”

The stiff silence in the room is punctuated at last by the hearty chuckle that the man proceeds to let loose, joined only a second later by the harmonious laughter of the other students. The man, introducing himself as Mr. Nam, then begins to break down the events for the rest of the day— first of all going through administrative matters, sorting out the issue of lockers, handing out class schedules for the semester and recruitment pamphlets for various school clubs and sports teams. He goes on to guide you all verbally on the expected movement throughout the day: after the thirty minute homeroom, the entire school would gather in the main hall for a welcome (and for the returning students, a welcome-back) ceremony that would involve recapping last year’s achievements, laying out the expectations for this year, and the introduction of new faculty members.

Seated amongst your new classmates, some of which you have already broken ice with, you delight in the chance to catch Taehyung in his own plastic chair some rows behind you, already surrounded by a hefty group of male friends. You suppose at this stage the girls are still too shy to make advances, but surely they will come— they always do.

And at last, to conclude the two-hour long ceremony, the dean invites up a student whom he addresses as the student body president, handing over the podium to the sharp-looking student you were all but disinterested in just moments ago. The boy skips up the steps at the side of the stage, bowing slightly to the senior figure before assuming the now vacated position at center-stage. 

“Good morning everyone, this is student body president, Kim Seokjin.” The cheers that erupt following this brief introduction hails mostly from the returning students seated towards the back, according to their years. Firsts being at the very front. Seokjin allows them, and perhaps himself, a moment to revel in the applause, before promptly continuing with his speech, “I’d just like to say a quick welcome to all our new students, our prestigious members of faculty and my own committee extend our warmest regards. We promise you’ll have a splendid freshman year ahead. And to all my returning juniors, friends, classmates and seniors, a great big welcome back to the grind after a wonderful two-month vacation that I am sure was well-spent.

“Now, to get on with business, I am pleased to announce that our highly-anticipated homecoming night will be held two weeks from now, on the 14th July, Friday evening. Details will be posted on the student portal, so as always, visit the site to register your attendance. No one wants to show up to a party uninvited. Following that, we will be kicking start our week-long of sports tryouts and club recruitment for our lovely freshies, there will be a fair held in the quad by your seniors to try and rope you into an extra-curricular you don’t always actually need… but will enjoy nonetheless.

“And just before we close the semester with finals, the school will be having our annual Arts Fiesta month, during which all our arts teams will hold concerts, guerilla performances, exhibitions and more. You may find all the information on the respective extra-curricular notice boards located in the main hallway on the ground floor.”

Like his professional predecessor, Seokjin continues to lay down the events for the rest of the school year, albeit his tone is laced with a code of humor much more appropriate for the audience that it keeps everyone’s focus on him. At the bell, the ceremony is concluded and you, along with the rest of the freshmen, are shuttled into the cafeteria while the seniors return to their classrooms. 

The massive movement traps you amidst a bunch of unfamiliar faces, and it despairs you to know that you can no longer spot Taehyung in the crowd, having lost him to the taller bodies around you. Hoping to meet him outside the hall, you resign to the crawling pace of the crowd, one tiny step at a time until you finally pour out of the entrance like a drain unclogged.

The hallway outside is a clutter of frenzied traffic, some heading one direction towards the cafeteria, the others going another to hang out in the quad, and then there are little cliques blocking up space by the notice boards, the water coolers, chatting and waiting for their friends. You find an empty space against the wall and press your back into it, standing on your tiptoes to screen the crowd for the familiar black-rimmed glasses set against healthy golden skin. 

It turns out that when put in a crowd as big as this, it is near impossible to distinguish Taehyung from literally hundreds of other people following the exact same trend. Since when did so many people start wearing geek specs?

As the last of the herd trickles out, the hallway significantly clearing and decreasing in activity, all having gone on to spend their lunch break with friends, you are stuck in the same spot, no sight of Taehyung whatsoever.

You do, however, come across a rather peculiar scene taking place inside the emptied school hall. With the bulk of students gone and faculty members returned to their classrooms or the lounge, only a handful of council members remain, busying themselves with the stacking up of plastic chairs and pushing them to the back of the hall. Amidst the myriad of floor-scraping screeches, light jokes tossed around to brighten up the otherwise mundane task, you recognize the taller of a pair of figures to be Mr. Nam, and the other to be that of a fellow student. 

The humbly slumped posture of the student gives off an impression of apology, guilt, perhaps, and you can only assume the student must have done something to warrant a light chastise. As your mind wonders what could possibly have been the reason for it, you notice a bright red backpack still slung over the student’s shoulders, a hint that he could possibly only have just arrived, and therefore missed his chance to leave his belongings in the classroom. 

Right at that moment, the conversation appears to be concluded by a friendly thump on the boy’s shoulder, and their bodies turn towards the doors, towards you. 

That is when you see him. 

Chestnut hair. Round, curious eyes. Lightly tanned, troubled skin.

He sees you too. But you are well aware of the fact that the recognition flashing in his eyes in that moment is not at all aligned with yours. You remember each other from a different time. Different memories. There is the thought of how this is even possible at all, yet he is now standing before you, gazes locked, lips pursed. 

“Oh? You look familiar!” You’re certain you must not have looked anything less like a deer caught in headlights, and suddenly you are questioning why you have foolishly left yourself in plain sight, in the direct line of conversation with a teacher who looks particularly eager to be addressing his new student. “Let’s see… Y/N, right? What are you still here for? Not joining your classmates at lunch? The school food is really good, scout’s honour!”

“H- Huh?” The response comes out astray, obviously distracted. You are forced to avert your vision from a set of smoldering charcoal eyes to the kind (yet insensitive) teacher standing before you. “Yes, I plan to. Was just waiting for someone.”

“Is that so?” The man begins to smile, his larger, veiny hands coming upon the younger’s shoulders, the whites of his knuckles evident of a light squeeze being delivering from his fingers to the muscles beneath. For a first meeting, the two seem rather friendly. “Don’t tell me you know Jungkook over here?”

The focal point of your shaky vision once against resumes on the boy, who openly watches you, keenly awaiting your next response. 

“Jungkook…?”

“How do you know my name?”

who… are you? his name is jungkook. he sings at the bar. he says he doesn’t want you to remember him. when you wake up tomorrow, decide what you want to do with this information. 
- 22.04.16

“N- No, no I don’t.”

“Ah, is that so? Well, there’s lots of time to get friendly. He’s the last one to join us in class. Super, super late, but forgiven since we go way back.” Mr. Nam turns to the boy beside him, grin stretching even wider as his tone takes on one of affection, “See, Kooks, a whole lifetime of perks await you if you have me for a teacher in primary school!” The boy amiably joins in laughter, though the poor, ignorant man remains clueless about the massive elephant trapped between you and him. “Anyway, there’s no one left in there other than the student council. You’re better off checking the cafeteria to see if your friend’s already waiting. Go with Jungkook! He’s about to head there anyway.”

Your heart leaps from between your ribs, lodging itself in the back of your throat, and you find yourself stuttering, garbling, nearly choking, as the words struggle to gather on your tongue. “I- I- I was going to… to the washroom first, a- actually. Seeyouaround, Mr. Nam!”

And you spin curtly on your heels, ninety-degrees towards the path of escape, muscles cramping up from the restrain on your legs from bolting out of the conversation.

You are unsure if it is the heat of embarrassment earned from your display of conversational skills, or lack thereof, that burns the skin on your back with hot, white flames, or if it is the mystical properties that inevitably surround a daylight rendezvous with the very embodiment of all things you cannot explain, the equation that you are unable to make sense of that has come to mock you in the flesh.

The muscles in your leg lose strength the moment you round the corner, your entire frame doubling forward, chest heaving, breathing laboured. No matter the volumes of air you take in, the exhaustion does not recede, it instead grows in magnitude, transitioning from mere breathlessness to a frame-splitting ache blooming in the center of your chest, a sadistic twist-and-wring rhythm taking over the once steady beats resonating within ribs.

This is a feeling not at all foreign to you. In fact, it is so familiar that it is akin to a homecoming. The only thing that registers beyond the rapid pumping of blood and the hammering in your chest is the vague echoes of a paragraph that you think your mind will never be fully rid of. Not when the very subject of it has broken the chains binding it to dreams, and is now present within the realms of your reality.

my last request is this: apologize to jungkook. he says that you are someone who has suffered enough, but your pain does not nearly amount to his. you are able to forget, but jungkook remembers- he carries everything with him to the next day and the next. but let’s say you meet him and he does not recognize you- just leave him be. i think he deserves to live without you, because all his memories of you are laced with suffering. i do not want that for him in his next life, and i am sure you do not want that either.