#my expressions can look so cursed during sketching sometimes

[saxiphonoart]

Trying to get over my "character in a void just doing a pose" problem by drawing THREE characters in a void, but, like, interacting and stuff.

Also your first look at Coney/Magenta. Haven't properly sat down and done a redesign pass for her, so it's kinda messy. I have no idea how to draw her hair at this angle, lol.

[lastsubstance]

How the TS gang feels about Vere

(The Alchemist.) When everyone disperses and you have to choose who to follow.

Asking about Vere.

You follow Ais.

MC: I was surprised to see you and Vere are close.

Ais: Mm. Blessing and a curse.

MC: From what I’ve gathered, most people think he’s… I don’t know. An asshole?

Ais: And water’s wet.

I wait for him to elaborate or add his thoughts, but he doesn’t.

MC: So, what do you like about him?

He lets out a quiet laugh, as if amused by my question.

Ais: Lotta things. You already named one.

MC: You like that he’s an asshole.

Ais: Temperament matches the drapes. Look good in blood and better in tears.

               Favorite thing’s the tail. Sometimes, it frizzes up if you –

He catches himself, clear his throat. It’s hard not to let the disappointment show in my expression.

Ais: Vere is one of the most honest people you’ll meet. Just don’t listen to a single thing he says.

Those sound like complete opposites to me.

You follow Kuras.

MC: How do you know Vere?

Kuras visibly stiffens, and I remember the venom in Vere’s voice when he grabbed me.

“That fucking doctor.”

It looks like the feeling is very mutual.

Kuras: Regrettably, Vere is one of my worst patients. How did you cross his path?

MC: He stole my room key.

Kuras: You are fortunate that he did nothing else.

               He is far deadlier than he seems. There is a reason he is not at liberty, a reason for the collar and chain.

He seemed pretty dodgy to me already. I hesitate, waiting for Kuras to elaborate, but he seems to find even the thought of Vere distasteful.

You follow Leander.

MC: What do you know about Vere?

Leander shakes his head slowly, his expression grave.

Leander: Vere. A living example of the Senobium’s cruelty.

               Most days they keep him on a short leash. I’m surprised you ran into him.

               So, tell me, what’d you make of him?

—OPTION SELECT—(Select "I want to know him more")—

MC: I want to know more about him.

Leander: Wouldn’t we all. He’s mysterious, and not just because the Senobium keeps him locked up.

               The way they treat him…it’s just not right.

MC: Do you know why he’s a prisoner?

Leander: Nobody knows. He’s been imprisoned for as long as anyone remembers, but whatever he did must’ve been awful considering the punishment.

               He’s charming, but like any Monster he’s dangerous. If you ever seen him out hunting, you’ll know what I mean.

Leander swirls his glass, choosing his next words carefully.

Leander: Don’t fall for his looks. He’ll rip your throat out for fun.

—OPTION SELECT— (Select "He’s rude")—

MC: Is he always so rude?

Leander snorts, but a smile tugs at his lips.

Leander: To everyone but Ais.

               If Vere’s ever since to you, you should take that as your hint to run.

MC: Why would the Senobium let someone so dangerous hang around in bars?

Leander: As long as he gets his job done, they don’t care.

               And I mean, I don’t mind having him around. He can be fun, and he’s got a real…presence.

MC: What exactly does that mean?

Leander shrugs and laughs under his breath.

Leander: He’s nice to look at. Mouthy, but his tongue’s the least dangerous part of him.

You follow Mhin.

MC: How did you meet Vere?

Mhin’s face scrunches like they’ve just bitten into a rotten lemon.

Mhin: That perverse fleabag jumped me during Fogfall. So I stabbed him and left him in the futter where he belongs.

My heart thuds hard in my chest. Their voice is icy with disgust; the night air feels warm by comparison.

Mhin: It’s only a shame it didn’t stick. I suppose I’ll just have to keep trying.

I swallow hard, a sour feeling twisting in my stomach.

MC: I take it your opinion hasn’t changed?

My voice comes out a little shakier than I would like.

               They glance at me, and a flicker of something – guilt? – flashses across their expression, before it’s buried by irritation.

Mhin: He fucks with people for kicks, every sentence out of his mouth is either crass innuendo or a conceited putdown, and whatever he’s done is bad enough that the Senobium has him on a leash.

               There are Monsters living on every other street. He’s the only one who needs a muzzle before he’s taken out for a walk.

Belatedly, I close my mouth.

[rxgueone]

SEEN

Word count: 4,999

Summary: Austin, who strongly dislikes the oc. Eventually falls for her, and isn’t afraid to admit it.

Warnings: fluff, cursing, enemies to lover trope, arguing, emotional cheating, all I can think of.

Tags: none.

Note: I don’t know what’s been up with Tumblr lately. But this app has been duplicating and deleting paragraphs. So if this story is a bit messed up. I apologize. This is also based off of something that happened to me with the chic I’ve been seeing. We’re about to hit two years so rad. This story is based off of mainly her perspective and to what she’s told me when dealing with her friends who use to constantly judge not only our relationship but as well as me as a person so that’s also rad. But yeah. Story based off of mainly how she sees me and why she loves me etc etc. I love her sm. She’s genuinely perfect. So… I guess you could say this is technically just a super long love letter to my girl. So if she sees this. I love you.

MASTERLIST

—

The blonde sat down in silence. His body hunched over the bench he was sitting, legs crossed, with a pen and sketchbook. He was constantly glancing at the reference photo of Venom that was on his phone. Sketching out some sort of figure of the Marvel Villain.

Behind him was a girl in black pantyhose, a black skirt and black shirt. She had raven colored hair, that was long. However compared to him she was quite little and petite. He hadn’t noticed her presence as he was quietly sketching.

The girl recognized him. He was Austin Butler, the most outspoken guy at the campus. A man who she had hated greatly, and she knew he felt the same way over her. The pair had gotten into several heated debates about controversial topics. He was never afraid to stand up for what he believed in. When she had met him, he was dating a girl named Ana. Who was very short compared to him.

She never understood how Ana could put up with Austin. A brash and blunt man who never seemed to know how to shut up. But, this was the first time he looked at his lonesome. And she watched him draw in his sketchbook.

He never had many friends either. He always looked to be alone ever since he and Ana broke up. He had such a cold expression on his face, he was emotionally unavailable most of the time. And he had changed since the breakup, still outspoken but less or more so.

She cleared her throat, wanting to compliment the drawing. “That’s a nice drawing you got there.”

The pencil stopped moving as he turned to face her. “Oh,” he blankly looked at her. Looking at his drawing again, then at her, “appreciate that. It’s Venom.” He had a simple tone. His voice was raspy, but it had a husky twist to it. Almost seemed unreal how deep someone’s voice really was. She forgot how deep it was in all honesty, even despite of their heated debates.

“Oh… Venom.” She whispered. “Mind if I sit with you to watch?” She asked quietly. She was expecting him to reject the offer, considering their deep dislike towards each other- or, so she thought.

“Yeah, go ahead.” He flicked his head, motioning her to the empty spot. She blinked, taken aback by this. But nonetheless, she had offered, he took it, so she should go through. She sat down at his side, close to him to watch the pencil move against the paper.

She said nothing for some time, not wanting to disturb him. During this time, Austin’s eyes would sometimes wonder off to her face. She was prettier than he remembered. In fact, he never thought she was pretty, purely cause they were typically yelling at each other. He figured he’d spark up a conversation. “You know anything about Marvel?”

“No.” She answered, glancing at his face. “I dunno much about Marvel.”

“Me neither,” he admitted casually, “I just like drawing.” Once the sketch was finished. He began to tighten up the drawing so it could look more of an actual figure instead of just circles and messy squiggles. “More of a Star Wars guy.”

“You like Star Wars?” Her eyes were now focused on his face.

“Yes.” His tone remained monotonous.

“I’ve never watched it.”

“Would you like me to tell you about it?”

“Sure. I’d love to hear about it.” She shrugged. Her brown eyes had remained on him. As he continued to sketch Venom, she listened intently to his words as he talked about the love he had for the series. He sounded passionate, and she couldn’t lie, it was interesting and attractive how someone could talk so passionately about something they felt fondly for.

Her head was slightly tilted the whole time as she listened. She couldn’t believe that she was sitting with Austin, casually talking to him. She thought he’d be mean or hostile towards her. But he seemed so casual and chill, like they had never once argued a day in their life. For some reason, this too charmed her.

She blinked, thinking it’d be awkward to mention it. But she decided to anyways. “I thought you’d be meaner.” She said once he finished his monologue about how great Star Wars was. Austin looked at her with half sleepy eyes. His face was unreadable but she assumed he was confused. “Cause well- y’know, you and I use to go at it.” She chuckled nervously.

“Oh.” He looked away for a moment. “Yeah well,” he started, “I know how to properly loathe people. You were debating with me because that’s the whole point of English Literature. You debate about topics and stupid shit like that. You were only doing it to get the A. I was doing the same. Nothin deep about it.” He shrugged it off. “It was professional, not personal.”

She was surprised by his laid back response. “But I mean— I would ignore you and everything too after that.”

“So?” He smirked. “Don’t matter does it? You’re talkin to me now.” This man was full of surprises. He was laid back. Incredibly so that it seemed unreal. But on his face was a smirk, a smirk that showed friendliness. “We’re still friends. You may not consider me one. But I consider you one. So, I’ll wait for you to talk to me. I’m like a dog.”

“You shouldn’t compare yourself to a dog.” She was taken back from how low he saw himself. Never has she seen someone refer to themself as a dog, and for some reason he didn’t seem too bothered by it. He just looked back at the sketchbook.

“It isn’t an insult to myself.” Beginning to shade in the parts of Venom’s body. “It’s not an insult if it’s true. I’m like a dog. I wait and wait. My ex girlfriend ignored me for a total of six months, and I waited for her.”

“Ana?” Scooting closer to him until their knees were touching. He gave a nod. She looked at what he was wearing. Black jeans, a white shirt underneath his Vans hoodie, with a pair of Vans sneakers. “She ignored you for that long?”

“Like I said Lyra,” he looked at her eyes now. She saw nothing but empty gray orbs. As if he was use to being treated that way. With a blank expression, “I’m a dog.” He returned back to sketching. “You hated me. Your friends hated me too. Most people on this campus hated me. Even my girlfriend ignored me. So… y’know you gotta wait till you’re actually used or some shit.”

“But… nobody should be treated that way.” She spoke softly.

“Oh? When I debated with your whole entire friend group. One of your buddies made a whole post about it on Instagram. Then I got attacked for it.” He scoffed, his tone still showing no range of emotion. He didn’t seemed annoyed, he didn’t seem sad, he didn’t show anything.

“We did that?” Not even being able to recall the event. Austin couldn’t help but chuckle when she answered him. He gave a nod once more, his brows raised in amusement. “Oh- I’m sorry about that. That was incredibly immature of us.”

“Yeah. It was.” He began drawing in the background of the sketch. “But I don’t blame you. It was him. Not you.”

“But I’m friends with him?”

“But, you’re not him.” He put the sketchbook away now. Closing it shut to put it beside him with the pencil on top. “So… I look at you differently. Like I said. I know how to loathe people. I never had the privilege to really loathe someone properly.” Their eyes locked with each other. They were sitting incredibly close.

Maybe she didn’t hate him. Now that she was actually talking to him. He seemed chill, interesting with the way he thought. Yeah, maybe she didn’t hate him. Maybe she believed she did because her other friends hated him, but her? No.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know that.” She murmured, realizing that he was much different than she first perceived. He chuckled lowly once more, shaking his head. “Well- I don’t hate you either.” This caught his attention. Their eyes were still locked with each other. He had been listening to her intently, his arm over the bench, leaning back on it. With her hands underneath her thighs, with their bodies turned towards each other.

“You don’t?”

“No.” She shook her head. “I thought I did honestly. But now that I get to know you… you’re super chill.” Her hands pulled out from underneath her thighs, nervously twiddling with her fingers.

“Then I’ll see you here tomorrow, huh?” As if he was suggesting the idea to become actual friends. She had nodded her head in agreement. Not wanting to treat him like a dog, like the way he saw herself.

From that day on. The pair would meet up with each other on that bench every day. He’d probably bring some snickers, for himself mainly cause she didn’t like chocolate. But they had began to grow closer to each other as the days pressed on.

Lyra’s priority was always her friend group, and Austin wasn’t the priority. She cared more about her friend group than she cared about him. But at times, she would often catch herself talking about him.

“What’re you so focused on?” One of her friends asked. Noticing that she had been on her phone more, as if she was expecting a text message.

“Oh- a text from that guy I was talking about earlier.” She revealed to them. They quirked up their brows, surprised by the answers.

“You seem more interested in him.”

“Oh, well y’know he’s cool.” She brushed it off as if they weren’t even there. They had laughed at her new interest in him, going back to talking about whatever they were talking about. She had known that if they found out if she was talking to Austin Butler they would have made fun of him.

But for some reason, she began to prioritize him slowly. Slowly he was chipping away at her heart. At times when he would meet with her, they would just sit at the bench at talk. Get to know each other more. With his arm around her shoulder, and her leaning against him.

He was learning more about her. And the more he learned. The more he realized she wasn’t really a good girl like the front she put up for the audience. She wasn’t innocent nor pure like the front she put up. She was mean but she was also kind to him, she would listen to him talk about random things he enjoyed, or would vent to her about how the storage room flooded again at work.

She learned that he was a person filled with anger. He grew up in a culture where he was taught to never show emotion. So he was mostly monotonous with everyone he met. The only time he would actually show emotion was when debating with someone, but that emotion was usually annoyance, nothing more, nothing less. She learned he was impulsive and battled with his demons often. That he needed someone stable there to keep him calm, he needed someone who was patient and understanding. He needed that.

She learned that he was also a handyman. For some reason she found him to be the coolest in the room. He had revealed that he could weld, fix motorcycles, he knew how to cook, he had so many things about him that were surprising. Such as how his favorite color was pastel pink. She found this to be especially shocking due to the fact he was such a burly dude. Tall and blunt with no emotion, who really loved puppies and loved the color pink. When she needed him to help her with something, he was there. Always.

She learned that he would cope with himself by writing. His stories were always different in her eyes. With a world filled with nothing but hate, with a world that is constantly tearing itself apart, writing stories can help put it back together. Making up a poem on the dime for her just like that. She had figured that he’d write about her, about their friendship, about everything.

And so, she had came to the realization that she was slowly falling for him. For a man who was blunt, honest, unemotional, but that was fine for her. Due to the reality of him being an immature sweetheart.

—

At the time he had been talking to a girl for awhile. He would often vent to Lyra about the girl. About how she would belittle him and tell him how nobody would love him as much as she did, why Ana left him, why people treat him like a dog, etc etc. she would just go on with belittling him.

It was eventually so bad that Austin simply told Lyra. ‘I just want to be a good man.’ He would whisper in such a weak and soft tone, exposing his vulnerability to her.

Never before had a man expressed such a genuine desire to be good. Was he belittled so much that he genuinely saw himself as a bad person? To this. She would simply answer with: You are a good person.

And he was. He wouldn’t hurt a fly if he could. It was if he was afraid of hurting people. With his background, he didn’t want to hurt anymore people. He would always listen to Lyra, and she could be herself around him. Sometimes she would twirl, with his hand holding hers to help. Something she was embarrassed about but loved doing due to the skirts she wore.

He admitted to liking her skirts. He admitted to liking everything about her. Saying that she was kind and patient, which meant she was perfect to him. But she never believed him, however he believed his words with everything he had. He had fallen for her, and promised to protect her while they were friends. He had vowed his loyalty to her even as friends. So she could tell him anything she couldn’t tell her friends.

One day by the park, they had been sitting beside each other. She was eating ice cream that he bought for her. “You alright?” He asked.

“Yep! Vanilla is an awesome flavor!” She smiled up at him. A crack of a smile plastered on his face as he kept watching her eat quietly.

Austin had gotten a hint that maybe Lyra felt the same way he felt for her. He saw her as the most beautiful woman in the world. She wasn’t what he first thought of her. She wasn’t a bitch. She was kind, gentle, and understanding. She was whiney and bratty, but she cared deeply for him, he knew. She would listen to how he felt. She would listen. Which was all that mattered to him. Nobody, not even the girl he was seeing could even do that for him.

To him, Lyra was the most perfect woman in the universe. The way she would skip or sometimes ramble about stuff was what made her so perfect. The fact that she would comfortably lean on his shoulder without judging him. The fact that she wasn’t shy to smile. The fact that she was able to sit down with him. To look at him. It was all he could ever ask for from her. The way she would just wrap him up in all her love, the way she would touch his hair to make sure it was okay and not messy. Sometimes he’d just walk around in ripped up clothes due to how old they were and the fact he couldn’t afford anything, she never judged him for that.

He wanted to show her the world. He wanted to show her how grateful he was. Even with the girl he had been currently talking with, how he felt miserable. But with Lyra she would make him smile. Cupping his face as she spoke, gathering and stealing all his attention. Twirling to show off her skirts. For a short while, he thought he could never love again, not after that girl he had been actively talking to, not after the girl that made him feel miserable. But then Lyra found him that one faithful evening.

In all his misery, her calm and gentle smile, her soothing voice was there to save him. When he felt the most lost. She was there for him. She was his Juliet to his Romeo.

So on that day when he gathered up all his courage. He figured he would shoot his shot. “Do you like anyone?”

“Huh?” She gulped down, licking her lips. “You asked me this already.” Her tone showed genuine confusion. Puzzled why he would ask her this while she was eating ice cream.

“I was just curious. I hear things.” He shrugged. “So…?”

“I got a crush.” Revealing only that to him. “What about you?”

“Yeah I got a crush too.” Blinking his dazed eyes, she perked up a brow. Austin? Liking somebody? When he was seeing a girl? Of course he likes someone. Maybe he just wants to amuse himself.

She chuckled to herself. “Yeah? Is it the girl you’re seeing?” Continuing off the assumption that he wanted some entertainment.

“No.” With a shake of his head, he hunched forward off the bench. With his elbows on his thighs, pushing his lengthy figure up.

“Oh-“ she blinked, now she was curious. If it wasn’t her. Then who. “Alright then who do you like?”

“You.”

“What?”

“You.” He reiterated. “I like you.” With eyes staring at hers. She had froze in place. She couldn’t believe how casual he was about this. As if confessing wasn’t nerve wrecking. The bastard even had an arrogant smile on his face. Amusing himself with how shy she had evidently gotten. Her face flushed a light shade of pink, her knees rubbed against each other.

Hurriedly eating the rest of the waffle cone. “Well-“ she gulped down the last of it, wiping her lips with a napkin he gave her, “-I admittedly like you too.”

“I know.” He shrugged. “You don’t do a good job at hiding around me.” Leaning back on the bench. He stared into the sky as if this was an average Tuesday.

“How can you be so casual about this?” Lyra had gotten multiple confessions in her life. All of them were hosted with boys who had their heart pumping in their chest.

Austin shrugged, thinking about it. “I guess… because I’ve accepted that if I get rejected then that’s too bad for me.”

Now that she had known Austin returned those feelings. She wanted him. She wanted him all to herself. But, how could she even admit that. How could she even say she wanted him. Austin had let out a sigh, a disappointed sigh. Which then again caught her attention. Now with his body turned to her. “May I kiss you?”

“What-“ she was still having trouble that the man she use to spite was now a man who liked her, and the fact that she even reciprocated those feelings for him was more surprising.

“May I kiss you.” He didn’t lose his calm tone. Knowing that she was incredibly nervous. “I know you just ate ice cream but my heart is about to explode.” Even with half opened eyes and a relaxed tone, he was nervous.

“Okay.” She nodded, and she watched as his face inched closer to hers. Until she felt their breathing against each other.

“Close your eyes.” He instructed. And she did. He smiled a bit. She’s cute. Tilting his head, their lips now against each other. His arms snaked around her hips to bring her closer. Instinctively, she had her arms around his neck. With her hands going up to his hair. It was soft.

Pulling away from her, he pressed his forehead against hers before finally pulling away enough to get a good look at her. She blinked up at him, and for some reason he was reminded of a doe. He couldn’t help but slightly smile at how cute she had looked. As if she was processing she had just kissed him. “Not bad, huh.”

“Yeah…” she admitted. “Not bad at all.” Seeming breathless by him. A low chuckle that resonated deep within his chest was his only response to how breathless she was.

—

However with the girl getting in the way, he and Lyra couldn’t be together. Without Austin’s knowledge, she had been seeing another man, and eventually that man confessed to her. To which, she had accepted his feelings. And when he had found out, he grew furious.

“You’re dating him? Darcel?” He had his arms folded across his chest. Standing in front of her, with his eyes narrowed down to her. “That goober?”

“You did not just say goober, Austin.” She was trying to take him serious but with the word Goober. She couldn’t. She saw him as a childish guy. “Austin, I don’t even know why you care so much! You’ve been refusing to date me for the last two weeks!” She was sitting on the couch in the middle of his living room at his apartment.

“Okay who gives a fuck, Lyra! I want you. Be with me!” He shouted out of frustration. She blinked, surprised by how randomly he had just asked her out. “Just- who gives a fuck about her, yeah? Just be with me.”

“Oh well that’s a bit too late now. I’m not gonna leave Darcel for you.” She was calm, her legs crossed, folded arms.

He sat beside her now, staring at her eyes, frustrated. Gulping down his anger, he inhaled deeply to calm down. “Tell me this honestly. Do you love him?”

“Scuse me?”

“It’s a simple question Lyra, do you love the guy or not.”

“That’s rather rude of you.”

“Why can’t you just answer the question?” He scoffed, leaning back against the couch with his body turned to face hers.

“I-…” she trailed off, twiddling with her fingers again.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “So you’re playing him.” He muttered. Watching her hand reach out for his, he allowed her to hold his hand in hers. She looked down at his piano fingers, playing with them.

“Well y’know…” she began, “I just- I dunno. I love you. Not him.”

“So then be with me. Why play a dude.” He seemed to have calmed down now. She looked up at his gray eyes. Like usual, dazed and half awake. Proving it.

“Well, Austin. There won’t be an us. It’s over, between us.” She clarified for him. Wanting to make sure that he understood she wouldn’t leave Darcel for him.

“Well, might be over for you. But not for me.” He grabbed the remote of the TV on the coffee table, switching the TV on. She looked at him up and down. He’s got balls. She thought to herself. Something that she loved about him.

—

Darcel had seemed to get the idea that Austin had feelings for Lyra. He had spotted Austin standing uncomfortably close to her at a party the three of them had attended. With his head leaned down close to her face, from what Darcel saw. Austin’s eyes were so focused on her face, clearly listening to her words.

He had his hands on her hips to hold her. She seemed to be casually talking to him. Not noticing the gestures. She wasn’t even pushing him away. At one point, Darcel had overheard Austin telling her that he loved her.

“God Lyra, I love you. Y’know that?” His eyes looked her up and down. She was wearing his flannel jacket, underneath was a black shirt that showed a bit of her cleavage, and a pair of jeans. “You look pretty as hell.” He whispered.

“Yes. I love you too. Now hush down before people hear you.” She hissed.

“Darcel ain’t gonna know.” He shrugged casually. His eyes wandered across the party. Locking with Darcel’s who had been standing there was a cup of beer in his hand. His black hair slicked back. Austin had smirked at Darcel, flicking his head before Lyra had grabbed Austin’s face to force him to look at her, missing his attention.

“What’re you even lookin’ at? You’re making me whine again.”

“Sorry princess.” He wouldn’t kiss her. Even though he wanted to.

Eventually, Darcel and Lyra had gotten into an argument. He had yelled at her to cut Austin off. But due to her love for him, she had rejected the offer to cut Austin off. They would bicker multiple times about it.

He had enough of her now. He had dumped her there and then. “You stay away from him you hear!” He snapped, wanting the last word. “He’s in love with you.” Before slamming the door shut.

She stood there for a moment. Rolling her eyes, she had known that Austin was just a phone call away. To which, she took that phone call.

Just as she wanted. He had came over to her place. They were sitting side by side, her arms had been wrapped around his neck. He had smiled against the kiss, and she had finally understood that he was growing more comfortable with her. So comfortable that he had an actual smile on his face. He loved her. He did.

“So he dumped you.” He wanted to clarify. Even in spite of his blunt tone. She could tell it was a question. “Why?”

“Thought you had feelings for me and didn’t trust me because I refused to dump you.” She shrugged.

“Ah, I see.” He nodded understandably. “Well, guess you’re mine for the taking now.” He leaned down again to kiss her once more. Her hands digging into his blonde hair, with his arms tightly wrapped around her hips.

“Yeah, I guess so.” She smiled.

“How you gonna tell your friends that you’re with me?” Austin had known that Lyra’s friends hated him.

She shrugged. “I’ll figure out a way.”

“Rad.” He grumbled, scratching the back of his head. His brows raised as he sighed.

—

Lyra sat with her friends. All of them surrounded her. The eldest one had glared down at her. “You’re dating Austin Butler? The douche who is opinionated as fuck and doesn’t listen to anybody for shit?”

“You haven’t seen him.” She had a calm tone.

“We all talked with him!”

“Talking isn’t debating.” Not wanting any of this to get to her. She shrugged it off. “You haven’t seen my man.” Looking at them all. “He loves me and I love him, we decided to date. You haven’t seen him. You haven’t seen how he treats me. How he kisses me. How he looks at me.”

She believed that fully. His eyes would always soften when he looked at her. Leaning his head down close, or just leaning in her general direction so he could clearly hear her. The way he’d sometimes crack a smile from something silly she’d do. Or how he would teach her how to dance.

She would step on his Vans, and he’d hold her hand in his, with one hand on her waist. Showing her the steps to a dance.

The way he held her, with his arms propped up on her hips. Sometimes she’d straddle his lap, with her head on his chest. He would keep his arms around her hips, caressing them as he spoke to her in a soft tone. She would lay there, listening to how his heart would race whenever she told him she loved him deeply. But when they laid together. That to her was heavenly.

With her head laid on his chest, her arms around his surprisingly small waist with their legs tangled. She would listen to the beat of his heart, watching as her head would rise then fall in sync with his breathing. How deeply he breathed whenever he was asleep, he had looked like a relaxed baby.

How protective he was over her. How he would always hold the door open for her. Always holding her hand whenever they were out for a stroll around the city. She loved him, and he loved her. He was never afraid to show his love to her, he would sit with her and tell her; I love you, forever and always, with my heart and my soul. You have my heart. I love you Lyra. I love you forever.

None of them had seen her man. None of them had seen him. Seen him for who he truly was. You haven’t seen my man.

[wanderingjournalofshadows]

principium

This journal is a remnant of a wanderer, an adventurer of sorts.

More precisely a solo RPG journal for me, traveling through the mists, and exploring the wonderful and horrifying place that is the home setting of Ravenloft.

The Hickman couple created something in 1983 that captured the fans of gothic horror and at the time emerging Dungeons & Dragons enthusiasts - it became a cult setting for many alike.

My personal experience with the world of Ravenloft runs back to 2017 when I first started to run Curse of Strahd, the 5th edition variant of the classic module I6 - Ravenloft. I was just starting college and gathered a new group of friends to guide them into the mists of Barovia.

Since then I ran the campaign two more times, with more or less success, but I knew that it is the perfect setting for me if I ever wanted to play D&D.

So what is the premise of this blog?

I intend to delve deep into the lore of the setting and explore it through the lenses of a character who travels through the mists and gets to know the colorful (albeit desaturated) Domains of Dread.

I'll write about my adventures, as I slowly slip into the role of this character, and hopefully enjoy my time over the weekly sessions of a couple of hours, and leave behind something that is enjoyable to read as well, since I do have my aspirations of creative writing.

It is also a practice of writing and my (non-existent) English skills, since I'm not a native speaker of the language, but if I'm to write, I need to hone the skill well enough to create something that captivates the readers' curiosity.

So expect grammatical issues, or sometimes errors in semantics, as I power through descriptions and ways to express my experiences during play.

Aesthetics? Format?

I also try to leave behind sketches, and make it pleasing to read this journal. I'm already thinking about the formatting of the text so one can separate the narrative from the game mechanics, and only read the fiction emerging from my dice rolling and decisions. Solo Roleplaying is a very interesting concept in itself, that deserves a dedicated post later on.

I think my time with Play-By-Post (pbp) games gave me a certain standard when it comes to "written play" and how certain things should be presented.

Writing in first person or third person will be always one of the difficult decisions when it comes to the tone of fiction. For the setting the first person perspective offers a certain kind of intimacy, especially to convey the character's emotions, that might be a better option to convey a personal experience. Bram Stoker's Dracula (Read it if you have the time) was also an inspiration for this choice, since the plot is told through letters, written from the perspective of the characters.

And while reading I will listen to music that inspires me, I'll most likely leave a Spotify/Youtube link at the beginning of each post to have an audio ambience for the entry.

In the coming weeks I'll figure out the blog aesthetics as well, refreshing my CSS skills and/or looking for a suitable template.

So who will be the Wanderer?

I don't know at the moment, but I need to find first where I should start. There are many wonderful resources online that can help me choose the first Domain of Dread to venture to. What I also need to choose is the rules themselves. Since the first Ravenloft was written for AD&D 1E - I might opt for using an older version of the traditional formula. There are some pros for it:

It's OSR compatible. I have a truckload of OSR resources, that can be fairly easily adapted to it, thus giving me more creative and gameplay freedom.

Lots of compatible Ravenloft materials. Lots of resources exist for AD&D 2E which also has an easy conversion backwards, if I would ever need to have that, but again the difference between 1E and 2E are minor.

It's simpler. While it's obscure in nature, it is less complicated, and less restrictive with certain aspects of the game, compared to 3E/3.5.

It's crunchy enough. 5E is nice, but lacks a certain kind of crunch that I liked about the older editions. AD&D 1E might have just enough that will be still simple enough for solo play, that I don't have to spend too much time figuring out the system while playing.

In the next post I'll be exploring my options for the character and the first Domain of Dread.

But I think it's good to write down the foundation of the thought process, and I hope it gave perspective for you as a reader on what the hell I'm doing here.

Cheers,

Mythwriter

[mae-gi-writes]

Once Again (PT.3) | Iwaizumi Hajime (Haikyu!)

ONCE AGAIN | PART THREE

Summary

Iwaizumi’s broken marriage results in his five-year-old son trying to match him up with his primary school teacher, whom he thinks will make a wonderful replacement for a mother. 

Genre: fluff, angst, f! Reader x dad! Iwaizumi

A/N: A little Iwa and Hoisuke sketch to accompany this chappie ❤ Thank you for all the love and support. My inbox has boomed since I last posted and I’m so grateful that it is being appreciated by y’all :,) <3 

ON TO PART THREE! Let me know what you guys think of this part :) xx

PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART 

------

"Miss Y/N! You came!"

Hoisuke has a beam on his face the moment you step into the Iwaizumi household. That slightly calms your jittery nerves as you remove your shoes and step in, balancing the container of cookies in your hand.

"Hi Hoisuke," you greet back with a smile, "I brought your favourite cookies."

"Really?!"

"Really," you hand him the container with a grin, relishing as he oohs and aahs as he gets a whiff of the said baked treats. He beams up at you, "thanks miss Y/N. You're so cool."

"Not as cool as you are," you ruffle his hair and he giggles, before grabbing onto your hand and tugging you inside, "come, Daddy's warming up the pizza."

To be honest, part of you had combusted when you'd read over Iwaizumi's message repeatedly to make sure you weren't reading it wrong. The other part of you was screaming that this was definitely out of bounds and plus, could you consider this to be a sort of date?

No, of course not. Definitely not. He'd invited you over as a friend. And because Hoisuke liked you.

When you put it like that, it stung a little.

As Hoisuke drags you into the living space, you spot Iwaizumi grabbing for beers in the fridge and he nods at you, "hey."

"Hi," you reply, feeling a bit shy.

"The pizzas just got here," he says, chin jerking towards the pizza boxes already set upon the coffee table, surrounded by four plates, "a friend of mine is joining. I hope you don't mind."

"Oh no, not at all."

"Uncle Tooru! He's the best volleyball setter ever!" Hoisuke adds with a clap of his hands, eyes sparkling with excitement, "do you play volleyball miss Y/N?"

"Nope," you singsong, "I can't even catch a ball."

"But you always tell us to do well in PE."

"Do what I tell you and not--"

"Not what you do," Hoisuke sings along and you can't help but laugh before ruffling his hair fondly, "at least I know you're listening in class!"

"I always listen to you, miss Y/N."

"Unlike his father," Iwaizumi points out while walking over to the pair of you and handing you a beer can, "whom he never listens to."

"But you don't listen to me, daddy."

"Wha--yeah I do."

"Noooo uncle Tooru had to beg you to invite miss Y/N over when I told you a hundred times!"

You burst out into a fit of laughter just as Iwaizumi hollers out, "wha--No! That's--"

"Uncle Tooru said that you should man up and invite her otherwise he'll do it himself," his son chatters on, oblivious to the redness rising in his father's ears, "what does man up mean, miss Y/N?"

"Okay that's enough babbling," Iwaizumi's hand shoots out to press down onto Hoisuke's head. He nudges it towards the couch, "bring miss Y/N to the living room. Scoot."

"But--"

"Now." His father scowls. His son scowls back and you try to shove down the round of laughter bubbling up your throat, for they look like the spitting image of each other and they probably don't even know it.

You reach out, tugging Hoisuke by the shoulder, "come on then. What movie are we watching?"

It makes you slightly giddy on the inside to hear such words fall from Hoisuke's mouth. If there's one thing you've learnt from being around children is that they never lie. That, coupled with the way Iwaizumi's face has reddened a deep shade of tomato, is enough to cause a small tingling in your chest.

Since Oikawa is goig to be late, the three of you decide on watching Harry Potter -- Hoisuke's current obsession at the moment -- while munching on too-greasy pizza and washing it down with beer, coke for the minors. It's been a while since you've watched the series, thus finding yourself cheering and hollering along with Hoisuke which feels like you're seeing it for the first time all over again.

Multiple times, Hoisuke would turn and beam up at you, sometimes hugging your right arm and burying his face into your shoulder during action-packed scenes. You'd be lying to say you don't enjoy his warmth sticking to your side, sniffing the soft baby scent of his hair that still clings to him. The smell of childhood filled with innocence and maybe out of impulse, you pull him a little closer.

You're so immersed in the moment to notice the pair of coffee-coloured eyes are gazing at you with growing tenderness.

"Hellooo! Cool and Handsome Uncle Tooru is here!"

You jump at the sudden intruder's voice booming through the apartment, followed by Iwaizumi's scoff upon meeting your eyes. Hoisuke bounds up without delay, rushing to the door while crying out, "uncle Tooru!"

"Hi my beautiful boy!" Oikawa does not hesitate to sweep him up into his arms, kissing his cheek in affection and causing the child to giggle, "how's my favourite person doing? Has iwa-chan been treating you well?"

Hoisuke nods jovially, giggling some more when Oikawa pinches his cheek, "alright alright. You look dashing--oh, Iwa-chan! And this must be the famous Miss Y/N you've both been telling me about?"

You pink at his words but it doesn't faze Hoisuke in the least, "yeah! Isn't she pretty? She's the best teacher ever and her cookies are amazing!"

"H--Hi," you nod at Oikawa shyly, quickly avoiding his gaze to stop yourself from combusting with embarrassment. You've forgotten how beautiful this man actually is even though his reputation preceded him.

"Ahh it's nice to meet you Y/N," he flashes you a sweet smile, causing you to flush right down to your toes while you manage to stutter, "n--nice to meet you too, Oikawa-san."

"I see why Hoisuke and Iwa-chan like you," Oikawa turns to wink at Iwaizumi, "I approve!"

"Shut up Shittykawa," Iwaizumi scowls.

Oikawa gasps mockingly while covering Hoisuke's ears, "Iwa-chan! Not in front of the child and the lady!"

"I said fuck off--"

Oikawa's quick to slap his shoulder, hollering, "no swearing either! Oh gosh, excuse him Y/N. He gets very flamboyant whenever I'm around. If ever he does swear at you, it's just a matter of showing his affection."

You let out a laugh, spurred on by how red Iwaizumi's ears are, "I'll keep that in mind. I didn't know Hoisuke's dad was such a potty mouth," you say, narrowing your eyes playfully at the said man who scowls in return.

"Only when Oikawa's around," he states, crossing his arms over his chest with an expression that mimics his son's sulking.

"What's a potty mouth?" Hoisuke asks as he and Oikawa take their respective seats, the latter swiping a slice of pizza out of Iwaizumi's plate, who growls and kicks at his shin in turn.

The handsome man groans while you turn to Hoisuke, "potty mouth means someone who swears a lot."

"Like daddy?"

"Uhm--" you stutter, his response causing Oikawa to burst out laughing, "yes! What a bright little mind! Totally like your Uncle Tooru!"

Before Iwaizumi can bash Oikawa's head in, you hurriedly resume the movie with the excuse that the best part hasn't come up yet. That simmers down the atmosphere a little, all eyes now captivated by Harry Potter and his friends fighting against the ogre. Hoisuke gasps, nails digging into your arm as he latches on for dear life, all actions not going unnoticed by the pair of men.

"I like her," Oikawa mouths out to Iwaizumi, whose scowl deepens tenfold.

As per what the rumours stated, Oikawa is fun and easy-going to hang out with, a complete stark contrast to his best friend. You understand why people tend to gravitate towards him the more the evening wears on. It’s not just the fact that he puts you at ease and is naturally adept at making conversation, but it’s in the genuine spark of interest in his eyes, a look that says that he’s listening to you even if that might be faked on his part. It’s that expression stating that he cares, that makes you realize why Oikawa Tooru had been such a hotshot back in your high school days. 

So why do your eyes still manage to find their way to the brooding figure on the other side of the couch, who is filled with nothing but spiteful comments and sarcastic responses? 

Oikawa's little 'pssst' snaps your attention back to the present to find the sais man pointing at Hoisuke while mouthing "he's asleep." Indeed, your eyes travel down to Hoisuke's tiny figure slumped against your side and your mouth curves up in an affectionate smile.

You're about to shift him into your arms but Oikawa beats you to it, deftly slipping the boy into his arms and glancing between you and Iwaizumi with that same knowing smile that sets you on edge, "I'll tuck him to bed. Iwa-chan, buy me snacks would you?"

"Hell no--" Iwaizumi starts protesting only for Oikawa to walk out of the room, whistling softly without waiting for an answer. You sigh silently, pressing your lips together and glancing at Iwaizumi from the corner of your eye.

He averts his gaze, but not quickly enough, grunting softly, " wanna go?"

"To the convenience store?"

He nods, already moving to grab his jacket by the door as you scramble to join him while trying not to act so desperate to spend just a little more time with him.

The evening is colder than you'd expect, a mixture of wind and rain that makes him curse slightly while you hurriedly open up your umbrella the moment you step into the street. He nods, mutters a 'thanks' and guides you down the pavement where you jostle your way through evening strollers.

Quite surprised by the amount of movement on the street, you catch yourself asking, "is your neighbourhood always that busy?"

"I think there's a fancy fair around the corner," Iwaizumi sidesteps a man as he speaks, his shoulder brushing yours and sending warmth all the way down to your toes, "give me that."

Without warning, his hand engulfs yours holding the umbrella up and jumping at the contact, you quickly retract your hand, "thanks," you murmur, glad that the dark conceals the red splotches dotting your cheeks.

Your mind races to find something --anything -- to get you out of this awkward predicament. You'd die if he finds out how fast your heart is beating, "so uhm--Oikawa-san seems nice. You still keep in touch with him frequently then?"

"More like I can't get rid of his annoying ass," Iwaizumi mutters.

You chuckle, causing his eyebrow to quirk up, "what's so funny?"

"I'm just wondering whether Hoisuke will turn out like you when he grows up," you can't help but grin up at him, "you have a talent for dissing people."

"Only the ones worthy of my attention."

"Am I not worthy of your attention?" You tease.

He scowls down at you, "you're Hoisuke's teacher, that complicates things."

"In what way?" A passerby suddenly nudges against you and you stumble slightly, only to feel Iwaizumi's arm clasp your shoulder to steady you.

He's warm, your mind chants. And he smells good. Like citrus.

He, on the other hand, doesn't seem to notice your flustered countenance, "watch it," he barks out. Then, he turns back to answer your question, "how do I know you won't make Hoisuke fail his grade if I upset you too much?"

"Woah there mister. I didn't know I was that low on your list."

"That's not what I meant," he growls. A few weeks before might have caused you to fear his temper. But things are different now and you've come to know that it's just in Iwaizumi's nature to be so rough around the edges.

So you just bump your shoulders against him, flash him an understanding grin, and say, "I get it, hothead. No need to get riled up."

"What'd you call me?!"

Bursting into fits of laughter at how easily triggered he gets, you reach up to ruffle his hair, "down, boy--"

And that's when it hits you -- you are touching Iwaizumi's hair. Iwaizumi.

Oh fuck.

Your hand drops like wildfire, body instantly cowering away with a furious blush, "I'm so sorry," you squeak out, "that was not appropriate I know--"

Someone else bumps into your back which knocks you straight into the said man's chest. His hands find your waist on instinct as he steadies you both and for a minute, the world stops moving. Nothing matters, apart from the fact that your face is pressed against his torso, his scent overwhelming your nostrils with bliss, his warmth making you melt ever so slightly.

"Asshole," you hear his dim hiss like an echo in the back of your head. Dazed, your eyes stay glued to his shirt in hopes that he won't notice your embarrassment, "s--sorry about that," you squeak out.

Only then do you feel his gaze slide down to your face. He asks gruffly, "you okay?"

"Fine."

Dear god. Someone kill you now.

"Come on," and before you can protest, you feel his warm hand wrap around your own as he tugs you along, ensuring that you are tucked into his side while he weaves through the throng of people.

You're glad he can't see your face, nor the way your pulse is racing underneath your skin.

And the more you gaze at the strength of his shoulders, the more you are hit by a crumbling realization:

That you might be falling for Iwaizumi Hajime, and that might be the worst decision you’ve made yet.

----

He tells you about his married life when you sit outside the convenience store that evening, about how young and inexperienced he was, and how it had ended on pretty bad terms.

The fact that he even opens up about the topic surprises you, but nevertheless, you want to hope that it's his way of showing that your relationship isn't just tied by Hoosuke.

“Why...” you hesitate slightly, tentative, unsure whether one word will cause him to clam up, “why did it not work out? With you and Hoisuke's mother?” 

It is to be expected that you are met with his silence. It’s stoic and filled with warning, and you quickly scramble for an out, “I’m sorry, that was inconsiderate of me,” you bow your head and bite your lip. 

“She wanted more.” 

His words catch you by surprise. You blink, before looking up at him. He doesn’t look away.

It takes a moment. Then, he murmurs: 

“She wanted more...of everything. Things I couldn’t give her.” 

It stuns you, that he’s so outright. Your mouth opens, but you don’t have anything to say, and you don’t realize that you’re holding your breath until he continues thickly, “she was never satisfied with what I gave her. Always complained that I wasn't enough of a man to sustain a family," he pauses, "I think she was envious. She worked in a big corporation as a financial auditor, and her friends -- well, they all live pretty decent lives. So when we always had our arms full with cleaning up after Hoisuke, they went to get cocktails and eat sushi. I guess she felt like she was missing out somewhere along the line."

It's not the things he says, it's more about the way he says it, voice so thick with emotion that you can hear the tears about to fall from his lips. Your own chest aches with sympathy and your fingers ache to reach out to just hold him.

But you're not that close. You know it's not within your boundaries.

Iwaizumi chuckles before your mind can form a coherent answer, "sorry. Didn't mean for it to get depressive."

You turn to look at him, gaze at the way the streetlight dances over his side profile and down his jawline, "You don't have to say sorry, Iwaizumi-san," pausing and unsure whether you should go on, you decide it's worth the risk, "and while I don't blame her priorities, well, ...was money really such an issue that she left you and Hoisuke behind?"

He shrugs half-hearted, "not my place to say. I was labelled the cheap bastard that wasn't worth shit when she decided to sleep with her ex."

Disgust coils in your stomach, but you decide on letting the anger simmer silently in the pit of your stomach. You don't realize, however, that your fist is clenched so hard into your lap until the warmth of Iwaizumi's fingers flutter over your own.

You look up in surprise only to find his dark orbs searching your face, "hey," he murmurs out quietly, voice surprisingly soft, " s' okay."

You flush against the chilly night air, "sorry," you mumble, "I just-- I know how it feels like. Not to feel like you're enough."

He doesn't respond, only watches you intently. You continue, "my boyfriend cheated on me back in college. I didn't know about it, until six months later."

Iwaizumi sucks in a breath and his fingers tense over yours. Your throat feels scratchy, "so I know the feeling."

"Asshole," is what slips out of his mouth. You chuckle half-heartedly, though with the way he isn't pulling away from your hand makes you feel warm and giddy on the inside.

You'd like to think that this little bit of time spent together has brought you closer, if only to share your woes. But one thing's for sure, you think to yourself as you slowly walk back to Iwaizumi's flat now that the crowd has thinned out, Is that you both have Hoisuke's best interests at heart.

And that is your top priority that you should not forget. Even if you can feel your breath tug in your chest every time your eyes linger a little too long upon each other's.

----

Ha, who the hell were you kidding?

It’s almost impossible to put the certain dark-eyed, dark-haired scowling face of a man out of your mind as the next week comes by. It’s even harder when Hoisuke is more than intent on spending time at your desk in-between classes, chatting on about what he and his father were up to throughout the week. And though you restrain yourself from asking too many questions burning at the back of your tongue, you can’t help but be drawn to the small snippets of Iwaizumi’s life as presented by his son. Even if it’s presented by his son.

So why do you find yourself back in his apartment the very next week with flour all over your clothes ans currently coaching Hoisuke to make figures with his clumsy five-year-old hands?

"This is hard miss Y/N," Hoisuke pouts, arms dropping to his sides, "can't you do it?"

"But that would be no fun," you nudge him playfully as you work on your own little cat figure, "all you need is patience, practice and love."

Glancing at the clock above Hoisuke's head to see that it's already past six in the evening, you wonder where Iwaizumi and Oikawa have disappeared off to. They hadn't told you anything, only that they were picking up some groceries. You guessed it was merely the thought of baking that made them so reticent.

"Don't worry miss Y/N. Daddy's coming back soon," Hoisuke says, as if knowing exactly the thoughts occupying your mind.

"Where did your daddy go anyway?" You decide to play along and ask casually as you move behind Hoisuke to help him mold tiny fingers.

"He and uncle Tooru said that they wanted you to taste the food from the sushi place they love," he then adds casually, almost like an afterthought, "daddy said you looked tired."

He said what now? Your eyebrows shoot up in curiosity.

The sound of the door opening grabs your attention, revealing a dishevelled Oikawa in the doorway with grocery bags hanging from his arms, "we're back with food!"

"Uncle Tooru! Look at the cookie I'm making!" Hoisuke doesn't hesitate to tug onto Oikawa's shirt and drag him to the kitchen counter to marvel at the little misshaped man. Dusting your hands onto your apron and turning to help Iwaizumi, your step falters upon noticing the undecipherable expression shadowing his features.

"Iwaizumi-san?" You blink.

It's gone in a flash, replaced by his usual scowl, "sorry we're late," he murmurs as you help him with the takeaways. You try not to think too much into the way he'd been staring, but your own heart skips a beat at the possibility that maybe--

Stop. You mentally slap yourself. Stop it right there.

Similarly, Iwaizumi is having the exact same mental debate.

Don't get him wrong. There isn't anything he loves about the fact that you've just created havoc in his kitchen. Had he insinuated it when he'd asked about your famous cookie recipe? Maybe. But shit man, call him old and cranky but the amount of cleaning up after the mess in his kitchen is something he isn't looking forward to.

But that small nugget of stress instantly melts away the moment he lays eyes on you and Hoisuke, together. Hoisuke is giggling, you are holding onto his hands, maneuvering them so as to make a semblance of a human limb. You're both dusted with flour, pink in your cheeks, and Iwaizumi swears his heart is going to drop out of his chest.

"Daddy daddy! Wanna see the man me and miss Y/N made?"

"That miss Y/N and I made," you corrected out of impulse, grinning as the child repeated what you saie with no less conviction, and Iwaizumi forced himself to move towards his son with nonchalance, "let me see."

Now that he thinks about it, he shouldn't be inviting you over so casually like it's a weekly thing. And maybe you don't even want to be there. Maybe you're just doing him a favour because you pity him. That's enough to make him sick in his stomach.

But this thought dissipates the more the evening wears on and the more he catches your soft eyes, the motherly affection you radiate towards his child, the gentle giggles falling from your mouth.

Iwaizumi wants it. He wants it so bad his heart aches.

And Oikawa seems to know exactly what he's thinking. Or maybe he's too obvious.

"This is so good," you groan in satisfaction while digging into the takeout sushi. Oikawa doesn't hesitate to pipe up, "right? Iwa-chan literally dragged my butt out of town for th-- fuck!"

He howls, clutching his leg where Iwaizumi had kicked at it in growing irritation and when you look at him in confusion, he feels his face grow red, "don't listen to him."

"Uncle Tooru, you're a bad man. You said the F word," Hoisuke chimes in, "it's okay though, daddy. You don't have to be embarrassed."

The redness of a fire engine can't compare to the flush riding the back of his neck. He wishes for the ground to swallow him at this very inetant, though his lips do quirk up in a smile seeing you burst out laughing before ruffling Hoisuke's hair.

"I see the way you look at her," Oikawa tells him a few nights later upon meeting up at the gym where they both train a few nights a week. It is also one of the few times where Hoisuke stays at his mother's place.

Iwaizumi grunts in response. He turns his head away to focus on his pushups, but if his best friend can deduce from his face alone, then that's an obvious way of showing his embarrassment when he is past the point of denial.

"She likes you too you know," Oikawa casually throws in, wiping the sweat from his face as he straddles a rowing machine, "she's like an open book."

"You don't know that," Iwaizumi hisses as he bends his arms, lift them with another grunt.

"Oh yes I do. And if you're smart you'd do something about it before someone else comes in to swoop her away."

As annoying as he is, Oikawa has a point. The nagging thought eats away at his subconscious mind the more Iwaizumi turns his feelings over in his hands. Despite this, he invites you out with him and his best friend one Saturday night and is mildly surprised that you accept so quickly.

"How have we never met if you went to Aoba Johsai?" Oikawa asks while munching on a french fry. As per his request for greasy comfort food, they'd ended up dragging you to one of their local eateries that make the best burgers in town, "would've noticed a cutie like you."

You can't help but roll your eyes, grinning, "simple, I didn't have any talent. I sang like I was deaf and had two left feet. And don't get me started on sports."

"You could've been a cheerleader," Oikawa smirks evilly, causing you to swat him and reply, "unless I wanted to come out of high school with two broken legs, which I did not."

"Good thing anyway, Iwa-chan hated those cheerleaders with a passion," Oikawa nudges him, "whenever I'd get bombarded with them he'd just scowl and they would scurry off like ants. They were scared shitless!"

"As if you didn't like watching those cheerleaders," you throw Iwaizumi a smug, pointed look with raised eyebrows, to which is scowl deepened. But you're used to it at this point, it doesn't even make you flinch.

"They were annoying and whiny. Why would I like them?" He muttered into his strawberry milkshake. A surprising revelation, considering his bitter, rough countenance.

"Cause they were hot."

"Cause they had long legs."

You and Oikawa blink at each other before you burst out laughing. Iwaizumi merely rolls his eyes, "idiots," but his mouth says otherwise, tugging up in amusement.

"Do you have a girlfriend, Oikawa-san?" You ask aa you munch on your burger.

"Bah, girlfriends don't agree with me."

"He's too much of a playboy to get himself a girlfriend," Iwaizumi mutters loud enough to reach your ears and you snort at the dagger-eyed stare Oikawa throws him, "I can't just give that," he motions towards his figure, "hot bod to anyone, Iwa-chan!"

"Mine's hotter than yours."

"Shut up! Why are you always so mean to me? You know I've been working my ass off for those back muscles!"

Your snort causes your milkshake to spurt from your nose and as Oikawa yelps and scoots furthest away from you, Iwaizumi doesn't hesitate to thrust a bunch of clean napkins in your face, chuckling deeply as he eyes you with the same fond amusement he's been denying himself of in the last few weeks.

Is it selfish? To want more of you than he can have? To feel the naked throb of his fingers that ache to reach out and just tuck your hair behind your ears?

Of course it is. If he does that, he'll cross a line he isn't quite certain he's ready for yet.

Daddy, do you really really like Miss Y/N? Hoisuke's voice is as clear as water that same evening, after he's tucked his son in, after all lights have dimmed in his flat and he sprawls atop his bed with heavy eyelids and a content stomach.

Yes, he thinks to himself as his eyes slowly slip shut, I think I do.

Fuck.

-----

Taglist: @multi-fandom-fanfic, @168-cm-png, @bakugouswh0r3, @yatoatyourservice, @ayocee, @marvel-ing-at-it-all, @astrolcve, @lilith412426, @elianetsantana, @schleepyflocci, @oohlalie , @kaashikoi , @tendo-sxtori , @iwaroses , @its-the-aerieljeane , @lalalemon101 , @lanaxians-2 , @dora-the-grownup , @sharin-gone , @nekomavsnohebi , @crayonwriting , @imafan , @random-fandom-girl-24 , @bucinhajime , @izumikunmy , @iwaoioioi​ , @evesmores​ , @meri-soni-meri-tamanna​ , @paintedstarres​ , @okadaxo , @michaki​

[avionvadion]

Just a quick sketch. The thought popped in my brain when I was outlining and it was like- frick, that’d be cute. 

Story snippet below

I flinched at another sound of the sky roaring. Rain pounded hard against the walls of Ramshackle, almost threatening to break down what was left of this poor building. I always said it would give way during a strong enough storm; I just hoped this one wasn’t it. Oooh, please no. I yawned, eyeing the clock on the wall with distaste. 

It was way past midnight now. Even though I knew sleep wasn’t something I should want, what with the curse still existing within me, not being able to rest was awful. Even more so when every single clap of thunder left you anxious and constantly looking over your shoulder. 

I wasn’t even that scared of it. I think I was just more worried that lightning would strike a tree and send it crashing down onto the building, coincidentally right where this room was, and would kill me and my cat monster companion instantly. Grim didn’t seem to care at all- snoozing away on the broken down mattress. 

Unable to handle much more of this I stood up, needing to get rid of this negative energy. I carefully left the room and headed down the stairs, pacing around the lounge and rubbing my arms, telling myself it was fine. The storm started shortly after school hours and I was too nervous to change into my pajamas, just in case I had to pick up Grim and make a run for it to Heartslabyul for safety. 

Where did it even come from? I grumbled under my breath, shivering as I felt a cold draft enter. Frick- did one the boards come loose? The wind was blowing pretty hard out there; the rain itself sounded like hammers against the walls. I walked over and flinched as the thunder clapped again, before taking a deep shaky breath and trying to figure out what was wrong. 

That was when I saw it- or rather him- from the windows. It was the fireflies that gave him away, always shining so brightly in the darkness of the night. I honestly thought it only made him look more mysterious and charming. Frick. Okay- calm down. Focus. 

Wait. Why is he outside? Oh gods, more thunder is- 

I swear my heart almost stopped when I saw the amount of lightning that flashed across the sky. While beautiful, it was also daunting, and I found hurrying to open the front door. “A-Are you insane!?” I wheezed, shouting as loud as I could to be heard over the crazy downpour. 

Mr. Horns turned, chartreuse eyes seeming to glow brighter than usual. His clothes and hair were soaked, but he didn’t appear to care at all. I yelped and ducked my head down at another clap of thunder before waving at him. 

“Get in here! You’ll get struck!” 

The fireflies seemed to double in intensity and number, and after a moment that felt like an eternity the man finally started to move, walking at such an agonizingly slow pace I grew impatient and panicked, rushing out there barefoot- not caring if I got soaked so long as my friend was safe. 

“Faster! C’mon!” I grabbed his arm, tugging him along with me to the door. “Jeez! I-It’s freezing out!” 

I shivered, slamming the door shut with my back against it. Mr. Horns stood there silent, not saying a word as the storm continued to rage. Coughing and rubbing my arms once more to try and get warm, I looked at the taller fae incredulously. 

“You- just- oh my gosh, okay. Just- take you coat off there, alright? I’ll go get a towel.” 

And so I did. The ghosts were a little surprised to see me fully dressed at this time of night, but I waved them off and grabbed what I needed. Then I headed back downstairs, nearly stumbling over my own feet and falling down the stairs when I saw that the rain had soaked through Mr. Horn’s jacket, leaving his white uniform shirt partially see-through, the fabric sticking close to his muscular form. 

Holy shit. 

Nope. No. Calm down. Oh gods, he rolled his sleeves up. Breathe, girl. There was really something about rolled up sleeves that got to me, and my obvious affection and attraction towards Mr. Horns only made it worse. As much as I hated it sometimes, I was really grateful for how oblivious he could be. 

Swallowing down the lump in my throat, something that definitely wasn’t a cursed rose petal, I awkwardly continued down the stairs and headed over, standing in front of him with as stern an expression my flustered self could muster. I held the towel up with both hands, intent clear by the way I was doing so. 

“Lean down and I can dry your hair.” 

Kneeling would work better, actually. To my surprise, instead of offering one of his usual arrogant smirks and making a cheeky comment, the man followed my instructions without complaint or amusement. Overall he seemed... bothered by something? I frowned, worrying my bottom lip as I stood on my toes and wrapped the towel around the back of his head, carefully avoiding his horns. 

It wasn’t easy, but I think I figured out how to dry his hair. 

Now about this silence... 

Mr. Horns wasn’t one to talk about his problems, so I normally had to guess and go from there. Yet something seemed different this time- a quiet sort of rage that far surpassed his usual signs of anger. I had a feeling it went deeper than not being invited to something this time. 

So, not knowing what else to do, the idiot that I am began to scold him. “Are you trying to make yourself sick?” I questioned, staring at him intently as I tried to discern what was wrong. His eyes bore into mine, full of emotion that his facial features did not convey. “Don’t just stand out in the rain like that! It’s storming out! You could have gotten hit by lightning or something!” 

No response. I inhaled sharply when I felt his hands rest on my waist, very much not used to such intimate contact, body very nearly jolting at the sudden touch. I wiped some of the rain water off his face with the towel, ignoring the way my heart picked up pace, especially as the quietly bubbling anger in his eyes softened into something warmer and more gentle. 

“You... You had me worried, you know?” My voice shook a little, a bit of vulnerability making itself known as I forced myself to admit how concerned I was. “I know you’re some powerful immortal fae, but I’m pretty sure even you would get... hurt if you got zapped by lightning. So...” 

I blinked a couple times, patting gently at his horns with the towel to soak the water up. The way we had to stand for me to do this left his face more than a little close to mine, our noses almost touching. I could feel his warm breath brushing my skin. 

“Yeah.” Towel falling back around his neck, I loosed my hold and stood back on the palms of my feet. It was seriously cold in here, but my face was as warm as could be. Due to our height difference I easily caught sight of the way his collar was unbuttoned, leaving his neck and part of his chest exposed. I made my eyes flick up to his face quickly. “Don’t... do that. I-I quite like you living, you know.” 

Mr. Horns watched as I pulled out of his hold, my arms folding across my chest as I looked away stubbornly. I seriously hated the things this person made me feel. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw him raise the towel up to his face, the majority of it still wrapped around his shoulders. The fae closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, shoulders starting to relax. 

Straightening to his full height, he lowered the towel from his face and focused his attention on me with a solemn smile. “My deepest apologies. I did not intend to cause you concern. Please, forgive me... my darling little human.” 

That-! 

My face became even warmer, eyes wide as can be at the affectionate term. It never failed to make my heart stutter or turn me red as a beet, and seeing my reaction the man chuckled, the sound low and beautiful in nature, though to others I knew it would appear quite sinister. 

I worried my bottom lip again, glancing awkwardly to the side and up at him- who still looked so breathtaking- before fiddling with my sleeves and mumbling, “You know you’re forgiven. You always are...” 

His smile only seemed to become more sad at that, despite the tenderness his gaze held. “Indeed, it seems to be so. I remember not a single time when you’ve held a grudge against me. I almost dread the day.” 

A part of me wanted to laugh at that, but I resisted. When I saw how sad he looked when he said that it was hard to joke. Mr. Horns was being serious. He really did dread the day I would harbor a grudge. And... seeing that I found my racing heart ache, nearly breaking at just how truly lonely he was. 

“Hey.” 

He hummed quietly, not protesting or moving as I stood in front of him and grabbed his hands. Brown met chartreuse and I smiled softly. I didn’t even notice how the storm outside had calmed down tremendously, rain more like tiny pebbles compared to before. 

“It’s okay.” Whatever was bothering him, that left him this upset- I was here. “I’m not scared of you and I’m never going to be. You’re my friend, remember?” 

I squeezed his hands gently, and ignored the thump in my chest when he squeezed back. 

“You’re Mr. Horns.” 

Ah- there it was. His eyes flashed with an emotion I couldn’t identify and he seemed to brighten. He had taken his gloves off earlier, so I could feel how cold his skin truly was, and even see his black-painted nails. His long fingers curled around mine, and my eyes went wide when he raised my hands up to his face- pressing my palms to his cheeks. 

“Yes...” He murmured, lashes fluttering as he closed his eyes. “To you, that is who I am. My darling little human... Eleanora Quince.” 

[thejolteonmastertjspoilers]

The Monoma Meta Nobody Asked For

I don’t remember who it was on Reddit that said it makes sense for Monoma to be one of the most empathetic characters in BNHA cuz of his Quirk, (his quirk allows him to walk in the shoes of other people in ways most will never be able to even if for 5 minutes at a time), but let’s talk about it for a minute.

Monoma is a character full of contradictions but there’s a method to the madness. 

Let’s take a real deep look at the manga shall we?

It’s pretty much canon that Monoma trash talks 1-A so much in-part b/c he cares that much... too much... about his own classmates.  It’s implicitly obvious based on the way he interacts with his classmates and phrases his rants at class 1-A. 

The fact that he’s obviously influenced by Vlad is just the cherry on top. 

He’s prideful of not just himself but also his friends.  Let’s break down the nuances there.

Ch196 above, Ch207 below.

Empathy

The kid has a way with words. 

The kid has a weirdly poetic way with words.

He goes out of his way to encourage or reassure his classmates in a deeply thoughtful manner at every given opportunity.

He hyped up Setsuna Tokage before her battle with Bakugo and we saw him grin in pride when Komori took down Tokoyami. 

Whenever Monoma does criticize his classmates, it’s always frank, honest, but constructive, with the intention to help them improve.  He’s even contrasted with his own teacher for being relatively more kind in the delivery of his criticism (see the next screenshot).  Given that Monoma’s shown to be strongly influenced by Vlad, this particular difference stands out.

You never see an anime/manga character get fancifully philosophical & genuinely helpful like this unless they are an adult, usually the MC’s mentor.  Monoma’s legit acting more like an anime mentor than any of Deku’s multiple mentors.  lmfaooo.

Realistically speaking, all of this, the philosophical speeches & level-headed advice, takes an incredible amount of emotional & mental labor.  The kid’s practically doing half of Vlad’s job for him.

It’s during the joint training arc we begin to see why his classmates put up with him and are on friendly terms despite how obnoxious & cheesy he can be & how often they need to keep him in check.

It’s clear even as far back as the sports festival that his classmates don’t actually hate him, despite the smacks & tough love they also just shake their heads with a smile on their face as they say “sorry about him,” cuz that’s just the way he is.  They love him anyways.

He’s an annoying little sh*t but he’s their annoying little sh*t.  Perhaps they even realize why he acts the way he does towards class 1-A, it’s because he cares too much.

Sketch translated by @aitaikimochi​

Putting Up An Act

I think there’s actually even more to it when it comes to his rowdy & brash behaviors. 

Monoma is empathetic because of how his Quirk works.  He needs to learn to use the Quirks of others in order to become a hero.  In doing so he logically needs to become privy to all the Quirk’s weaknesses, not just their strengths.  Not only does he need to become privy to these often deeply personal details of one’s lived life, he needs to experience them, even if for just five minutes at a time.  It’s natural, even necessary, for Monoma to become exceptionally close to his classmates.

But he’s only like that because of how his Quirk works.  It’s his naturally nurtured self.  His conscious self, though, is notably different.

What we see when Monoma says he and Shinsou need to do unheroic things to get by is not his naturally nurtured self, but is a conscious decision.

At some point in his life, Monoma came to the conclusion that being too kindhearted all the time will be weakness.  This is clearly implied, almost outright stated when we heard Monoma’s thoughts when faced with Deku’s Black Whip, “All of the hopes and dreams in my mind from when I was younger are gradually becoming these heavy burdens... like some sort of curse.”  I am 99.999% sure it’s Monoma’s thoughts being shown there because the speech pattern & context don’t match up to Shinsou or Midoriya at all.

Basically, Monoma is a little sh*t because he saw his own empathy as a weakness, and overcompensates for it.  He’s trained himself to be brash & mischievous, likely from a very young age given how consistently brash he is.  We can see a little bit of this when interacting with his class-B classmates as well.

It was @thyandrawrites​ who first noticed this in this post, but here we see Monoma scolding Kendou after losing the beauty contest, giving perhaps too much tough love & TetsuTetsu steps in to Kendou’s defense.

Given how Monoma during the Joint Training arc clearly said everything he did to motivate his friends to do better, this is likely not an isolated occurrence.  The dude cares way too goddamn much for anyone’s good.

Yet there’s something else up with the guy too, something else that contributes even more to his unhealthy obsession with the rivalry vs class-A.  The dude has some serious self-esteem issues but is too prideful to seek real help.

Self-doubt

The fact that he’s the only member of class-B who failed the midterm despite having an intelligence stat of 5/5 speaks for itself.

Him failing the academic exam would be a sign of serious issues going on under the surface in itself, him failing the practical means he probably failed b/c he couldn’t hold his own and his teammate had to pick up the slack.

Him failing b/c he held back his teammate would have hit very close to home since we now know he was told “You can’t be a hero if you can’t do anything yourself” since he was a kid.

Basically, yet another reason he continues to antagonize class-A is a textbook example of someone pushing their insecurities onto someone or something else.

For something often played off as comedic relief there’s a lot of layers as to why Monoma does what he does.

But wait, there’s f*cking more.  There’s actually a particular reason Monoma expresses his insecurities in this unhealthy manner, and that reason ties into what I’ve already begun to address about his empathy.

Another Act

I don’t think it’s accident that the first time we see him have a real heart-to-heart with someone is when he’s attempting to do it for the sake of someone else.  Even if it is in a clumsy manner that ends up annoying Shinsou, it’s the intent I’m interested in here.

We almost never see Monoma receive or accept praise or reassurance, he’s always the one giving it.  He always makes it a point to put himself in the position where he’s being the emotionally strong one. 

He got over class 1-A securing their victory exceptionally fast, ready to put on a strong face for Tokage and the rest of his class.

The few times we do see him genuinely depressed, he’s distancing himself from others.  

He’s afraid of holding others back not just as a hero, but emotionally as well.  His instinct to be emotionally strong for the people he cares about stems not just from his strong empathy and caring nature nature itself, but also from his pride, insecurities and conscious decision to do everything he can do.

This is why he’s too prideful to seek or accept real emotional help & ends up venting his emotions in unhealthy & destructive ways.

His many depictions as an actor of sorts was intentional.  He juggles many acts, he puts on an act of emotional strength for his classmates, and he puts on an act of cruelty to get by as a hero.  To antagonize people in an attempt to throw them off their game.  Sometimes... oftentimes even, he misapplies these charades & gets carried away.  Oftentimes he fails entirely, he’s trying to do some hella complex things for a kid.

Finally, His Pride

Let’s not kid ourselves here, the dude has a major superiority/inferiority complex.  He fails to see how needlessly cruel he’s being when saying class-A asked to be attacked by villains etc.

I’m willing to bet he’ll be in a phase denial for a while now that Class-B and Class-A have gotten more openly friendly in recent chapters.  But because he cares so much about his classmates he’ll likely eventually come around to adjusting to a new frenemy relationship with 1-A... with much difficulty when we take his pride, insecurities & self-righteous envy into account.

He’ll probably end up being Tsundere about everything to protect his ego and so Horikoshi can keep using him for comedic relief lol.  Even if he does realize a lot of what he’s done was f*ked up, he’s too brash of a prankster to ever go fully soft on them either.

TL;DR... Monoma is a piece of mf work.  Not surprising really.

[sombreboy]

First love | yandere!virgin!jjk

▎ 18+ ▎ xtremity; 2 ▎ pairing: sub!jjk x femdom!y/n ▎ genre:smut ▎ word count: 3.2k ▎ warnings: sexual tension/pining, cursing, oral(f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex.

Request by anon: Could I request yandere virgin jungkook smut where hes in love with the reader who's a tattoo artist and one day they hook up?

He's been hopelessly in love with you for what feels like an eternity at this point, but in reality it has only been for approximately a year.

But it did feel like an eternity, so it might as well have been.

Jungkook first met you when he was looking to get his first tattoo, and ended up contacting your business to personally ask you about your work, and you had gladly tended to his needs and made him feel incredibly comfortable within the first few seconds. He knew, even when he'd simply only heard your voice, that he felt something.

And eventually he had gotten his first tattoo from you, and his second, and third...

As of now he had several tattoos covering his arms and hands, all from the one and only person he ever wants to mark his body with art.

He cherished every little piece you've created on his skin with every fibre of his being, feeling nothing but joy everytime he looks himself in the mirror.

Ever since you met Jungkook one year ago, he's grown into a handsome, confident man that you've grown fairly close to, probably because you've spent more time with him than any other client in your studio. Conversations were awkward at first, and he was very nervous, but quickly you made him feel at ease with your skills with the needles.

And with time, spending time together with this beautiful man, came the flirtation. He'd grown more bold lately, he's been working out a whole lot more. If his growth in frame was anything to go by.

Tonight you were about to definitely see this upclose.

Jungkook called you in the middle of the day, seemingly not as busy as you.

Before you could answer with your automatic work-response, he beats you to it,

''Y/N, I want to get another tattoo.''

You scoff, ''Another? You literally got one last week.''

You weren't wrong, he mused. But he was addicted to you. The pain from the needle, the touch of your hands. He craved it more than any drug.

''I keep your business running.'' He laughed, and you mirrored it. He always found ways to tease and make you laugh in one go.

''Well, what do you have in mind?''

''Surprise me.''

''Okay.. We can figure it out. Any idea where you'd want it?''

Jungkook ponders for a moment before whispering, ''Chest, maybe...?''

You inhale deeply from your nose at the thought, ''Chest... That one hurts a lot, kook. Are you sure?''

He groans internally at the thought, he really hoped it would hurt,

''I trust you. Are you free today? I can come by right now.''

You check your empty schedule, remaining silent for a second to make it seem like you were actually checking for an empty slot,

''Yeah, I'm free.''

Jungkook's lips curl up in a wide, teethy grin, ''See you soon, then.''

He hangs up, unable to wipe the stupid smile off of his face as he bounces with joy on his couch.

Loving you was the best thing in the world.

The bell chimed when Jungkook entered your studio, he scanned the surroundings, noticing that there was nobody else here but you.

He saw you sitting by your desk, working on a tattoo sketch with the utmost focus. He could tell by the way your tongue poked out to wet your lips, eyes fixed on the perfect lines you created on the paper, you didn't even notice when he came in.

Jungkook doesn't say anything, simply admires your beauty and professionalism. He felt so lucky to be in love with you, you were just perfect. Gorgeous. Smart. Everything he wants. Slowly, he sneaked closer to get a little peek on what you're working on, standing just close enough to lean over behind you to observe.

He inhales quietly, the smell of your clothes was his absolute favorite, the mild scent of laundry detergent. You rarely used perfumes, and for that his sensitive nose was thankful, and fell even deeper in love with you. Sometimes he'd even buy the same detergent to make sure his clothes smelled the same.

It isn't until Jungkook inhales in a little too hard through his nose due to an itch that you hear him, jumping in your seat with a yelp as you turn around to give Jungkook a fist to the cheek. whack!

''Fucking hell Jungkook, you scared the living shit out of me!''

You held your hand to your chest with widened eyes, looking at Jungkook whom was just as shocked as you by your reaction.

''Ouch, you're stronger than you look.'' Is all he said as he rubbed his reddened cheek, but smiled nonetheless. You punched him, but he wasn't even mad about it. He oddly... enjoyed it, another mark on his body because of you, reminding him that he's alive. That's really as deep as his love goes for you. The only thing making him feel truly alive.

''And you're a lot lighter in your steps than you look, fuck, are you okay?'' You stand up to remove his hand from his cheek to take a closer look at his cheek that now had a small cut from your ring-clad fingers.

He breathed out a chuckle, but inhaled just as quickly when you grazed his cheek with your fingertips. Your touch heated his body up with several degrees at an instant.

You noticed his subtle reaction, you always did, you were incredibly observant when it came to people. You weren't quite sure if it was because of the pain, or because of you, but a part of you kind of hoped it was the latter.

Growing bolder yourself, the pads of your fingers travelled down to his jawline, eyes fixed on the way the muscles danced underneath his skin when he clenched it.

He's definitely affected by you.

''Would you like to take a look?''

Jungkook swallowed, ''W-what?''

You withdrew your hand, and to that Jungkook had an internal protest at the loss of your touch.

''I finished the sketch for your tattoo.''

Jungkook relaxes slightly, a part of him disappointed. He thought you meant something else,

''Ah, yes. Let's check it out!''

You sat back down in your chair and Jungkook sat down in the seat for clients, expectantly waiting for you to roll over and show him. He grabs the piece of paper and inspects it, a smile growing on his lips.

''What do you think?''

He looks at you, teeth on full display in his sweetest bunny-like smile that creates small wrinkles in the corners of his eyes,

''I love it. Let's go!''

The buzzing sound of the needles digging into his skin was the only noise filling the room for a hot minute, but with time Jungkook's small grunts in pain joined in.

It was definitely a lot more painful than he expected it to be. However, being the glutton for pain that he is, he loved it. Especially since it was coming from your hands.

The buzzing stops and you look at him with furrowed brows, slightly rubbing your thighs together. His noises were getting a tad bit too erotic for your ears.

''Are you holding up okay, kookie? Need a break?''

He exhales deeply when you stop, a small layer of sweat had built up on his forehead and neck, making his skin glisten in the most delicious way as he looks up at you with half lidded eyes,

''I'm okay... I-is there a lot left?''

You shake your head, ''Almost finished, you've been doing so well.''

He shines at your praise, a light breathy chuckle rolling off of his lips. He might as well have had you between his legs at this point considering the state he's in. He had put his t-shirt over his crotch to hide his half hard cock, slightly embarrassed by how insanely affected he is by this.

''Okay, okay... Finish it please.''

You bite your lip, wondering if he really thought you were oblivious to his current state.

You weren't. But you said nothing, because you enjoyed the almost fucked out look on his face.

The buzzing continued, finishing off the piece as you listened to the weak, choked out whimpers he's trying so desperately to hold back.

''Voila! A masterpiece has been created.'' You practically beam out with pride as you put the needle down with one hand and wiping his skin with the other before inspecting it properly. His chest heaved up and down with shallow, ragged breaths as he looked down as well, a small smile on his lips when you await his reaction,

''I l-love it so much, wow!''

You nod, a wide smile once more on your lips as you cover his tattoo with the plastic to protect his skin.

''Now, you already know the routines of this, so I'm assuming I don't gotta do a reminder.''

He shrugs, ''I know how to take care of my tattoos, don't worry.'' Looking up at you, he winks, making you scrunch your nose a little before rolling closer to him on your chair. His smile drops when you lean closer to his ear to whisper,

''Are you just never gonna tell me how badly you want me?''

Jungkook coughs, choking on his own air,

''W-w-what?!''

You smirk, crossing your arms over your chest,

''You really think I'm that dumb? It's so obvious that you're a glutton for my needles, you're a complete mess every single time. And you keep coming back. Do you want me?''

His eyes widen, the cocky attitude he usually rocks completely washed off of him when your bluntness hits him like a truck, now blushing as he looks down in his lap, running his fingers through his hair several times as a common ritual of his during nervosity.

You tsk your tongue when he doesn't respond right away, making him raise his eyebrows in slight annoyance.

''I guess you don't... Well–'' You stand up and walk towards the entrance to have him leave, but before you're able to, his large hand grabs onto your wrist to yank your body against his, clashing your face into his chest with a thump.

''Fuck! What?'' You take a step back while looking up at him, his expression more stern this time, clearly annoyed but also slightly nervous. His tongue rolled on the inside of his cheek as if he's in thought while staring at your expression.

''Y/N, you're making such rash assumptions before you even let me answer... How rude.''

He cocks an eyebrow as a tease, taking one step closer to close the distance once more, feeling the heat radiate off of his bare torso. You feel your mouth salivate already.

''Rude, hm? Then answer me quicker.''

Jungkook pouts, blowing raspberries at you before leaning down slightly to stare directly into your eyes.

''Yes.''

''Yes?''

Jungkook licks his teeth, one hand carefully moving to smooth the pad of his fingers over your jaw down to your throat,

''I want you.''

His face falls as soon as he says so, softer and more genuine,

''But I have to tell you something then...''

You cup his face with your much smaller hands, lips barely grazing as you speak,

''You can tell me anything, kookie.''

His breath coats your lips when he exhales the words out quietly,

''I've never done this before.. I-I mean... y-yeah..''

You tilt your head, ''No way, you're not a Virgin.''

Jungkook chuckles, ''I'm serious.''

You gesture with a hand running down the skin of his torso down to the hem of his pants, ''Looking like this, you've never had anybody? It's quite unbelieveable Jeon Jungkook.''

He exhales a shaky breath at the way you used his full name, shuddering under your touch, ''I'd never lie to you, I mean it.. So, please..''

You quickly swap the 'OPEN' sign by the door to 'CLOSED' before pulling at the hem of his pants, leading him to the back of the studio. He gladly followed, loving your clear enjoyment of dominance over him.

Jungkook gasps when you suddenly turn around to press his back against the wall, looking up at him with a tiny smirk before crashing your lips against his. He seemed to be surprised, but with the way his hands quickly came to grab onto your waist to pull your body closer to his own, you could tell he was extremely into this.

He breaks the kiss, breathing heavier against your lips as he speaks,

''Y/N, I want you.''

You nod, your fingers already playing with the button of his pants as you stare at his newly tattooed chest for a second before smirking back up at him, ''I want you too. What else do you think we're doing right now?''

He smiles, kissing you once more before removing his pants with you, an already rock hard erection for you as he Breathes out a nervous 'hah',

''I really want you... But...I'm a little nervous.''

''Yeah? Why is that, kookie?''

He bites his lower lip, groaning quietly when your hands roam down his exposed abs to his pelvis,

''I-I really like you, and...''

You nod, ''I really like you too.''

He shakes his head, a shameless moan rolling off his lips as you pull down his boxers to stroke his length,

''Ah fuck–.. No, I mean... It's my first... My first time.''

You nod, stroking him gently, ''Your first time. I still can't believe you.

He nods, biting his lip as he watches your hand wrapped around his length with awe. You don't let go, slowly still pleasing him but your face was displaying disbelief,

''No way... I mean, look at you...''

He leans harder against the wall as he's slowyl losing his focus, shaking his head,

''I promise. I'd never- s-shit.. I'd never lie to you, Y/N..''

You smile a little at his state, stroking him a little faster, ''Yeah? You'd always tell me the truth?''

He nods, knees going weaker.

''Good to know.'' You ended the conversation there, withdrawing your hands to strip yourself off of all clothes. He stares at you with awe as if he's never seen a naked woman before... Of course he had, many times. But they weren't you.

As if he was possessed by new courage, he grabbed you to switch positions, now pushing you against the wall instead, pressing his hot body against yours as he starts kissing your neck, down to your breasts. You moan out for him, hands tangling into his dark locks as his kisses move down lower and lower until he drops to his knees in front of you. His doe eyes stare up at you, the way he smiles up at you with squinted eyes before closing the distance between his tongue and your cunt makes your entire body shake with excitement.

''Ah, Y/N... You're already wet.'' He whispers, a tone of both arousal and surprise. His tongue gets braver, more experimental as he slips it between your folds with greed. He was always greedy, and tried so hard at everything he did. This was no exception, ''You taste to good, shit...''

''Keep doing that, Jungkook, please... use your fingers.'' You command with a breathy voice. He loved when you used his real name, cock twitching from the way you told him what to do, and he gladly obeyed.

As you wished, he spread your legs further apart, never once letting his tongue leave your cunt as he pushes a finger inside of you. You hold onto his hair and lean back against the wall as leverage, grinding your hips against his mouth already. He adds Another finger, pumping them slowly in and out of you in a 'come hither' motion to hit that spot inside of you as he alternates between sucking and swirling his tongue around your clit.

''I-I'm gonna cum, keep doing that, oh god, fuck!''

He speeds up his tongue, but keeps his fingers rhythmic and deep as he works you over the edge, the orgasm hitting you like a wave as you moan out in pleasure, digging your fingers into his hair, making him moan out with you in both pain and pleasure.

Legs shaking, he holds your hips as he stands up to Place kisses on your lips.

''Did I do well?''

You nod with a scoff, ''Yeah, yeah you did well.. If you couldn't tell.''

He gave you a shit-eating grin, ''I just wanted you to say it... Now, I still...want more.''

You feel his aching, rock solid erection pressing against your stomach as he Breathes warmly against your lips.

''Are you sure you want this? I mean, with me?''

Jungkook frowns, pulling you into a hug where he kisses your cheek before whispering into your ear, ''I've never been so sure in my entire fucking Life.''

That being enough, Jungkook finally puts use to his strength to press you up against the wall, one of your legs pulled up by the back of your knee as he lines himself up with your sopping entrance, ''I've wanted this for so long.''

You figured he meant having sex in general, but he truly meant to finally have you. Claim you as his with his own body. Give you himself.

''Let me know if you like it differently...'' He says quietly, waiting for your nod as he resumes to simply do what he wants to, which is to waste no more time. He pushes his cock inside of you, drawing gasps and small moans from your and his own lips. He stops when he's filled you up completely, breathing out in bliss as he feels your warmth embrace his length,

''You feel so...s-shit...so tight..''

You smile, and he leans in to kiss you, sucking on your lower lip as he begins to thrust his hips against yours in a feverish greed. Your body feels so good, your cunt squeezing him, no fucking feeling could ever beat this one.

Well, for the next few minutes.

''You're so big, Kookie..'' You whimper, and his cock grew ever harder inside of you, hands holding onto you roughly as he fucks into you with all the power and energy as he's got, sweat building on his brow and shallow, heavy breaths mixing with his groans in pleasure.

''I'm gonna cum soon, Y/N, I'm s-sorry...''

You encourage him, squeezing your cunt around his cock as you feel his thrusts begin to lose their rhythm into a sloppy, hungry movement to chase his orgasm.

''Oh my god, I'm ... I'm cumming..'' He whines, giving a couple more hard thrusts before stilling inside of you, a guttural groan erupting from his chest as he fills you up with his cum.

You have your arms wrapped around his neck, sliding down the wall as he drops to his knees with you in his arms. You hug eachother, leaning against the wall with Heavy breaths and sticky bodies.

You withdraw to look at his fucked out expression, and he puts his forehead on yours.

''Y/N.''

''Hm?''

''I want you.''

''You just had me.''

No, not like that, he thought. He loves you. He needs you.

Jungkook chuckles, running his fingers through your hair as he sighs,

''And it was Amazing. Did I live up to your expectations?''

You squeeze his cheek between your thumb and index finger,

''Of course, you're gonna have to do it again though to make sure.''

He bites his lip, leaning in to kiss you once more. He was so addicted to you, he didn't even want to let you go right now, or ever,

''Round two? I swear you'll fall in love with me if you give me one more chance.''

''Round two it is.''

© sombreboy 2020. Do not repost, edit or translate.

[sugar-petals]

Can u introduce yuzuru to us the caro way?👀

so you want to know about the one and only. ♡😌

yuzuru hanyū (25) of sendai, japan: the most beautiful ice prince with a heart of gold.

….an artist clearly not of this world, he’s been sent to us from another realm. 19 world records, two olympics won, dubbed the greatest figure skater of all time. and the most precious bean on top of that.

but let’s start from the beginning, shall we ♥︎

so, want to spot yuzu on the ice? use this checklist. slender silhouette, an even slimmer waist, feather-like outfits (he sketches those himself; the fandom lovingly calls him swanyu), soft blushy face. he has great androgyny.

outside of performances, you see him either with a deer’s gaze or the brightest, biggest eye smile. also, he’s usually found sitting with his wife: 

which is the ice 😄 these two are together forever. you can discern yuzu from a mile away by how he treats his working ground. 

there is a purity to him. you’d not guess that this is one of the most ardent athletes if you didn’t see what’s around his neck after competitions. the guy’s cuteness is as compelling as his skating technique.

look for it: yuzu’s face is super suave and rosy up close, even after his most energetic performances. some men are handsome, others pretty, he is both. 

even acoustically, he’s hard to miss. applause is all around, and he’s highly expressive. if you see a crying young man getting the high score, that’s yuzuru hanyu. you’ve not seen more beautiful happy tears.

and score reactions, anyway:

so, aye loves, the rumors are true. a cutie-pie off the ice, animated, a real unabashed meme — yuzu is easy-going, talkative. cheery, cheeky, one of a kind. his facial expressions are a league of their own.

if you thought this is the sort of guy who watches cat videos, you are correct 😄

yuz-uwu hanyu, everybody:

his undoubtedly feline behaviour is often unexpected, it stands out with its adorableness, too. a sweetheart par excellence. 

and, how else could it be: vice versa, the big beast on the rink. he’s cutesy, dorky, very well-spoken in daily life, but when it comes to skating, his seriousness escalates. you blink once and suddenly hanyu is a bedazzling, strutting lion :’D his performances stun with confident elegance.

he becomes full of ardor, drama, and focus. you’d never suspect so much fire burns in him. a showman and ambition icon, hands down. 

his skating is dynamic, perfected, and emotional. if you want to see art and the extra mile, tune in when hanyu competes.

the downside is; more light, more shadow. it leaves him crawling on the ice afterwards. yuzu performs so hard, it’s worrying.

he delivers it all. you won’t believe it:

this guy is an asthmatic.

the symptoms aren’t as bad as they used to be, but there are still regular attacks. he said that he’ll never take it as an excuse and often recalls how he started skating because of it. he’s a badass, extremely inspiring. yuzuru defies all limits, including gravity. his jumps have legendary status. 

off the rink, you guessed it: he turns into a wholly different person. 

it all dissolves completely when he’s dorking around again. 

don’t let it deceive you, he’s the no other option than first place type. he could not be any more decorated with titles, he achieved the grand slam in all competitions as of 2020. and still, king of sportsmanship hanyu is respectful and smiley towards all colleagues and never lets anyone feel left out. especially when it comes to his juniors (e.g. yuma kagiyama, 16, below) which says a lot about him.

he bows in every direction before an audience, too. lower than a 90° angle, even. this is more polite than any existing formality in japan.

talk about audience: i introduced fellow japanese skater shoma uno last week, who’s more uncomfortable with social contact and aggression. yuzu, extrovert he is: the exact opposite. he withers away with no people and competition. he’s befriended rivals, had crises over not having someone who could challenge him. when a competitor retires, he’s the one crying in their arms (e.g. with team mate and bff javier fernandez from spain below).

beside his competitive spirit and princely wow factor, hanyu is popular for his winnie pooh tissue box that he caresses, squeezes, and carries everywhere. he loves good luck charms & rituals, pooh is the most important one.

fans throw pooh plushies on the ice after his performances because of it. since it’s gotten so intense, yuzu recently started cleaning them up himself on top of the flower girls for the upcoming skater who could get delayed otherwise. (more about what happens with the piles of plushies later.)

so, the burning question is. 

what made yuzuru hanyu emerge so outstanding an entertainer? how does someone causing so much uproar become like that? it’s not just what kind of appearance he was given, although he really looks his part to a T. you don’t have to be an insider to see it right away.

like literally to a fault. and you can tell the way his blades sound on the ice is different. it’s soft even if he does the most hardcore quadruple jumps. i think it’s because his drive to do this is a higher one, hanyu has an altered relationship with the ice. where his devotion comes from has a more severe reason so, massive trigger warning. 

this is no exaggeration: yuzuru is considered a hero to the japanese. a survivor of the earthquake 2011, he narrowly escaped the collapsing rink in his hometown on that very day. he’s often talked about how the ice shattered underneath his feet and it was the moment that defined his life forever. he could have been dead by the age of 16. his motivation has been set ever since. this man is compelled by something bigger, that’s why you hear it and you feel it. he wants to skate not just for himself but others and seize every day. 

much of his copious charity work — that’s where all the pooh plushies go — went to mend the consequences of the tsunami ever since, he’s looked upon as a great hope in japan. the minister gave him the people’s honor award in 2018. 

now you know why yuzuru has such a fanbase and treats the ice as sacred, you see it in every gesture. his manners are without a single flaw, he helps staff repair the ice after performances. 

you might think it’s odd, but he honors the ground. he’s invested in the integrity of it. that’s why he’s the best skater. it’s gratitude and the will to live fully.

he hates to fall on the ice, he hates to damage it. alongside his feathery weight, that’s why the sound he makes while gliding along is so tender. 

i think that’s also why hanyu’s signature element is the ina bauer. it doesn’t rely on brutal force, instead this element slides across the rink like a swan. yeah, oh my god.

it’s his most well-known dramatic move. the way he surrenders into it. 

hanyu’s back arch and perfect split allow him to do elements no other male skaters can. his biellmann spin, for instance. i know, it’s ridiculous.

and those are just two elements of dozens and dozens. hanyu is a kinetic wizard. i highly rec this record-breaking delivery of his olympic program. in front of his home crowd! he’s just… mind-boggling. i live for his smiles here.

exceptional skater, exceptional mentor: it’s time we look at another puzzle piece that made yuzu the way he is. the masterful brian orser is hanyu’s beloved coach. missing gold by just one mistake at the olympics 1988, brian is now committed to give others what he couldn’t have— successfully so.

orser took the ice prince to gold twice, this hasn’t happened in 66 years. brian is the nicest and most supportive pooh carrier and yuzu’s utmost rock. hanyu’s talent rests safely in these hands.

he gets strict about punctuality lmao! but other than that, his guidance is gentle. canadian he is, brian’s courteousness mixes well with yuzu’s politeness. their bond is strong. as. hell. 

brian picked up yuzu from rock bottom several times. most fateful being hanyu’s accident with a fellow skater during competition warm-ups nov 2014. they collided at a high speed, it was unspeakably nasty. yuzu got knocked out for half a minute and had grave breathing problems but still decided to skate on with what later turned out as an almost-concussion. brian was the most worried ice dad in the world that day.

yuzu cried and crouched and bled like mad and my heart has been broken ever since. i hope he never suffers like that again. promise me you don’t search up the video, it’s a harrowing watch like a stab to the chest. sadly enough, hanyu’s body has still been a notorious wreck, esp. ankle issues regularly give him a hard time 😔

it hurts like a bitch with every jump landing but he takes meds and still manages to win, god knows how. sometimes even with crutches on the podium. at his worst, he’s still the best, it’s a tragedy.

he’s been recovering, or always is, but he pushes himself through injuries. his ambition and perfectionism are boundless. the cause is more important to him than his well-being. this is not an easy guy to stan once you see how he sacrifices and self-destructs. so, it’s good someone protects him. 

mostly from himself because nobody has profoundly surpassed hanyu. he has let himself no choice than to contest himself. not even health, only age can stop yuzu. i think that brian understands this ‘curse of a genius’ effect. his mere presence can make hanyu say these rare words:

his two other coaches contribute to that. tracy wilson (left) has proven to understand his playful side the best while ghislain briand (right) helps yuzuru deal with his fears. so you got 3 people taking care of the golden boy. brian once said: “he is very sheltered” and you can see it’s true.

yuzu eased into learning english and communicates well with his coaches. like with everything, he studies hard and often forces himself to speak during interviews to practice. his skills are astounding. his speaking voice is also very soothing, very amicably low and high alike. yuzu is highly intelligent. he always says something eloquent and interesting.

now, privately, hanyu is very much like you’d expect someone so devoted to skating would be like. he doesn’t go out, has no social media, can’t eat nor sleep very well. no cameras allowed during practice. it figures he is attached to winnie pooh, think about it. in the cartoon, pooh is someone who sleeps, eats, and engages with friends plenty. 

these are the things hanyu can’t do, doesn’t have time/energy/incentive for. he is barred from balance in life but can at least admire this little carefree plushie for it. especially because pooh represents eating lots while yuzuru doesn’t have a good relationship with food (he says it doesn’t go well with jumps etc.), hanyu lives vicariously through him. 

what’s more, you have to see how he throws himself onto others and never wants to let go, yuzuru is extremely cuddly. 

to the degree that mere social customs can’t meet how much he really needs. so, what else can he resort to, he loves mascots and plushies. it’s how the tale goes in japan generally, tough work ethic, high responsibility, high pressure, so people turn to cute fluffy things.

he always fondles pooh’s head, even pretends he’s come to life so he has someone to snuggle with. i think that his isolated lifestyle doesn’t help. so, he gets his affection at least there, you can see how happy it makes him. and again: he does this all for charity.

that’s why fellow skaters are so important to hanyu. it really brings out his social spirit and comforts him best, it’s so wholesome. i’ve not seen someone react so relieved to being embraced, like he’s not been touched for months. skating this, skating that. at the end of the day, hanyu wants love.

as he once said, what motivates him is to express himself in the first place. hanyu is a romantic. it’s written all over him. it reflects in his music choices, his elegant motion, how he designs his outfits:

… and how thoughtfully he talks about marriage. he has big plans for starting a family and coaching after he retires. i won’t be the only one squeezing lucky charm pooh in my imagination so it turns out well for him. please make this heart of gold heal and see all his wishes come true ♡🐻

[gumnut-logic]

Warnings: Virgil/Kayo

He was her idiot.

-o-o-o-

Her Idiot

He expected to find her in the gym.

But she wasn’t there.

A quick search of her room and most of the rest of the house proved she wasn’t there either.

He bit his lip. If Kayo didn’t want to be found, his chances weren’t good.

The hangars also failed to reveal his girlfriend and an hour later he started to worry.

“John?”

“I’m sorry, Virgil. Don’t ask, she has already scarred me for life last time I told Gordon where to find her when she was upset.”

“Gordon?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that explains the retaliation. What did she do?”

“I’m not going there. Trust me, you don’t want to either.”

“C’mon, John, I’m worried about her.”

There was silence at the other end of the line.

“Please, John, you can put all the blame on me. I just need to make sure she is all right.”

“You’ll fix my shower?”

“Your shower?”

“My shower.”

“When did it break?”

“Hasn’t broken yet, but I’m sure it will if I point you in the direction of a beach on the north-west side of the island.”

“Thanks, John.”

“I am hiding behind you, big brother. Your girl is scary.”

He smiled. “I know.”

“Hmph.”

Virgil signed off and, grabbing a hat and sunnies, set out for the northern side of the island.

It was late afternoon, but the sun was still at burning strength, so it wasn’t long before he was uncomfortably hot in his long shirt. So he shed it and tied it around his waist, leaving a thin tank top his only protection against the sea breeze.

it was wonderfully cool on his bare skin.

He made good time, jogging part of the way, keeping an eye out for their missing security specialist.

It hadn’t been a good day.

A cascade of poor luck had seen Alan, Kayo and a young woman trapped in a house during an aftershock in Japan. The ground beneath the house had fallen into the river that had undercut the foundations. Kayo had had to make a choice between saving her brother or saving the civilian.

She had tried for both.

Lost the civilian.

And only just managed to catch Alan, who had consequently swung into an exposed beam and gashed his leg open, severing an artery in the process.

It has been bad.

Her yell for help had torn at him, but he had been responsible for six other civilians at the time and had been unable to respond immediately.

Gordon had made it first on the scene. By the time Virgil had been able to make it to her side, she had shut off from the world, her expression ice as she held her wrenched shoulder.

She hadn’t said a word to anyone on the way to the hospital. Virgil stood beside her as Scott questioned the incident.

He sat beside her as they waited for Alan to get out of surgery.

And stood behind her as his little brother woke up.

Now, three days later, finally at home, his little brother was safe in bed in his room, and she had vanished.

He walked past the little cliff and beach they had dubbed ‘their beach’ and continued further around the island. The trail became rocky from that point onwards and he had to clamber over several spots where a path wasn’t really possible.

He still couldn’t find her.

“John?”

“If she breaks my furniture, you’re buying me all new.”

“John.” This had gone beyond a joke.

“Climb down to the beach, there is a small sea cave.”

“There is?” He clambered over jagged basalt, cursing under his breath as it scratched his palms.

“Haven’t you explored the island, Virgil?”

“Uh, been busy. And I don’t have the advantage of Tracymaps.com satellite view.”

“Perhaps you should come visit more often.”

“Yeah, sure, John.”

His brother’s vague snort answered that one fairly clearly. They both knew separating Virgil from Two was not a good idea, for anyone.

He hurdled over a last chunk of rock and his feet hit sand. The little beach was bleached coral white with a scattering of weathered basalt. The high tide line was sketched out with shell and debris from the last major storm, and in the cliff lining the shore the debris disappeared into a darkness where the cooling basalt had left a natural cave that the sea had since chewed on.

Virgil whispered into his comm. “John, is that cliff face stable?”

“Of course. Do you think I’d let our sister under it if it wasn’t?”

“Okay, I get it. Sorry, reflex thought.” A pause. “Does she come here often?”

“Virgil, I keep many secrets. It is my job. I’m already lined up for crucifixion having told you where she was, I’m not going to be drawn and quartered for extra fun.”

“A little over dramatic, don’t you think?”

“She’s your girlfriend, you tell me.”

“She’s your sister.”

“Exactly. I have no protection, despite those twenty-two thousand kilometres. Just remember that this is on your head. Thunderbird Five out.”

A mumble under his breath, “FAB.” And Virgil approached the cave.

It was small but deep. A handful of rough and weather-worn stalactites hung from the entrance like teeth.

“Kay?” His voice was eaten by the darkness, but there was a slight change in the shadows as her face turned to look at him. As his eyes adjusted, and he belatedly remembered to take off his sunnies, her figure, seated on a rock protrusion towards the back of the cave, became clear. “Honey?”

“I’m going to kill John.” It was muttered under her breath and he doubted he was supposed to hear it, but cave and acoustics did it for him.

“You do realise you have him terrified.”

“Obviously not terrified enough.”

“You can blame me. Leave him out of it.” It was firm, but it needed to be said.

She unfolded like a cat, her slim body straightening in the darkness. Her shorts hung low on her hips, her crop top leaving her belly bare. She’d obviously come out here for a run, but it hadn’t been enough. She stalked towards him. “Blame you?”

Despite himself, a spike of concern shot through him. She was half his size, but he knew she could take him on sheer skill alone. Sure he could pin her with his mass, but he doubted she would give him the opportunity.

But then this was Kay, the woman he loved.

“Blame me.”

The little cave blocked the sun and chilled his skin. He shivered.

She walked right up to him and barged into his personal space, simply looking up at him. Then simply stepped around and walked past without saying a word.

He turned to follow her and the sun blinded him for a crucial moment. He grabbed for his sunnies, but in that split second she was gone.

Damnit.

“Kay?” He stepped out onto the empty beach. “Kay!” How the hell had she done that? “For Christ’s sake, Kay, I’m worried about you!”

“You should be more worried about Alan.” Her voice was smooth as honey, from above and behind. He left a gouge in the sand as he spun, looking up to find her crouched on the cliff above the cave.

“Alan is fine.”

“Lucky boy.” She stood up, still cat-like and turning, began to climb further up the hill behind the beach.

“Kay, please!” He made for the rockfall that had allowed him onto the sand in the first place and threw himself up the climb. It appeared that his lot in life was to chase those he cared about. Scott knew how to throw a marathon when he didn’t want to talk. How the hell had he managed to end up dating his brother?

By dating his sister.

If his hands hadn’t been scrabbling over sharp basalt, it would have been a facepalm moment.

“It wasn’t your fault, Kay!”

“Yes, it was.” She was gaining distance, she was just too damn fast.

“No, it wasn’t.”

She stopped and turned towards him, anger in her eyes. “How was it not, Virgil? I let her die and I nearly got Alan killed.”

“It was shitty luck. Sometimes things just happen. You saved Alan. He is recovering.”

She stared at him, her lips thinning to almost non-existence.

And he saw it in her eyes. The fear, the horror and the anger, always the anger. He wanted to reach out and draw her into his arms, hold her tight and reassure her that it would be alright.

But it wasn’t alright. A woman had died.

Kay was out of reach.

And she turned away.

“Kay?”

“Leave me alone, Virgil.” She started climbing again.

“No.”

“Please.”

“No.” And he started clambering over rocks again.

She stopped and turned angrily again. “Why not? If you think being in a romantic relationship gives you the right to harass me, Virgil Tracy, think again.”

He straightened. “No, I care, Kay. That’s all. If you think I’m going to leave you out here to beat yourself up, you’re sorely mistaken.” A pause. “And if you think this is simply because of our current relationship, you’re obviously amnesiac.”

She glared at him as he continued to climb over the damn rocks. “You’re right. You’ve always been a pain in the ass.”

He chose to ignore that, and focussed on climbing without taking the skin off his palms.

Damn the sun was hot.

He could feel her eyes on him, but he refused to look up. Part of him was questioning his decision to come out here and butt in on her grief. Maybe she didn’t need him? Maybe she could handle herself. Maybe he was being an ass. But the thought of her suffering alone and berating herself, like he knew she was, for a twist of fate that would have burnt any of them...his heart just hurt.

So maybe he was being selfish. Maybe he was out here for his own reassurance that she was okay.

But goddamnit, he loved her and she shouldn’t have to face this alone.

“You’re bleeding.”

He couldn’t help it, he jumped. “How the hell do you do that?”

She was crouched on the rock just above him, her eyes scanning him up and down. A smirk appeared on her lips. “If I told you, I would have to kill you.” She nodded her head in the direction of his right hand. “You’re bleeding.”

“It’s just a scratch. I didn’t think to bring my gloves and climbing equipment.”

“You don’t need to follow me.”

“Yes, I do.” And he continued to climb until he was eye to eye with her.

“Why?” It was whispered.

“Because I love you.”

“You are going to use that as an excuse for everything, aren’t you.”

“Possibly.” He sat on the rock next to her and stared out at the ocean. “I remember a beautiful young girl hiding behind her father’s legs, staring out at the five of us. You had a bruise on your cheek and you were afraid to speak to any of us for days. Dad said you had fallen and hurt yourself.” He looked sideways at her. “But that is not what really happened is it?”

She was staring wide-eyed at him, fear in that beautiful green.

“Having the Hood as a member of your family couldn’t have been easy.”

“No.” It was forced from her, a rush of exhaled breath. “Virgil, don’t.”

He stopped. Every muscle in her body was wound like a spring. Flight or fight was on her face and he feared he had gone too far, touched topics that should never be touched.

“You’re not alone anymore, Kay.” He didn’t dare reach out, fearful that she would flee.

But she simply turned away, staring out at the ocean. “I know.” Whispered. “But I can’t afford...”

He waited.

She looked at him and the fear was back. “I can’t.”

He held out an arm, simply offering himself. “You don’t have to.”

Her eyes bounced from his to his arm, obviously assessing what was on offer. There was a battle in her gaze.

“Come here, love.”

The war flickered over her expression again. “You really are a pain in the ass.”

He dared to smile just a little. “But I’m your pain in the ass.”

“Yes, you are.” It was whispered as if it was a decision made. She dropped her legs over the edge of the rock and sidled up next to him.

He let his arm drop around her shoulders and drew her in gently. Just like he had wanted to do since he had set eyes on her. Leaning over he kissed her hair. “Love you.”

“I know.”

He just squeezed her tighter.

They sat there as the sun headed towards the horizon. No words said. At one point, she unwrapped his arm from around her and placed his hand in her lap, turning it over to expose the scratches on his palm. They were minor, but she glared at him anyway.

He shrugged.

She wrapped his hand in both of hers and kissed his knuckles.

He grinned.

“You idiot.”

“But I’m your idiot.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes.

But she didn’t let go.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[oneletteredwondered]

Wanna fight? Gunna smooch about it? Coward?

Prinxiety make out fic

Happy birthday @just-call-me-the-intrusive-thot !

--

It’s nearly midnight when they start fighting. 

Virgil had been on the couch just messing on his phone for the past few hours, had actually passed out at one point, but woke up at such a time that allowed him no hope of actually going to bed proper. He remained lounging on the couch even after most of the others went to sleep or hibernate or whatever. All except Roman who looks a little worse for wear as he trudges over, most likely overworking himself again, and plops himself right on the open cushion next to Virgil.

A silent wave of his hand and a pad of paper and multicolored pens appear next to Roman as he begins to draw the night away, too many thoughts in his head to fall asleep. Virgil enjoys the silent company for what it is, both doing their own thing without the threat of having to do anything.

They remain like that for an hour or so, every so often glancing at each other just to see if they are still there or awake. Sometimes Virgil will show Roman a random meme that earns him an exhaled puff of laughter, but it’s during one of those random glances that Virgil catches sight of what Roman is drawing so diligently in his sketchbook.

“What are you doing?” He asks with a single raised eyebrow. Roman jumps and stares at him as if not remembering that Virgil could speak.

“Drawing of course!” Roman boasts, awkwardly angling his sketchbook away from Virgil’s prying eyes. Virgil levels him with a deadpan look and quick as can be lurches forward and pulls the book from Roman’s hand. Roman screeches and lunges after him but Virgil is lankier and manages to hold the book away from his grabby hands.

His eyes didn’t deceive him. Roman is drawing kissing. 

To be fair, the sketches are rather good, sloppy in their speed but it makes them feel more emotional in a way with how some of the figures curl around each other.

“Something on your mind Princey?” Virgil teases and relinquishes the book back to it’s proper owner. Roman lets out a very undignified huff and snatches his book to his chest.

“As if it’s any of your misery business,” Roman starts, pauses, and then wails, “But YES.”

Virgil snorts into his hand as Roman throws himself across the arm of the couch, hand to his forehead dramatically.

“It has been ages since my last kiss conquest and I am loathing the time,” He recites as if he practiced the line in the mirror, which Virgil would almost bet money on that he has. He rolls his eyes and kicks Roman lightly.

“I would hardly call it a conquest,” He says with a smirk. Roman mock glares at him and sets aside his sketchbook with another huff, then, like a mature adult, sticks his tongue out at Virgil. Virgil kicks him again just a little harder.

“Besides,” He says with an air of innocence that quickly turns sour. “You’re probably not even that good.” The reaction is instant, Roman’s jaw drops and he lets out an outright offended gasp.

“You need a nap!” Roman chides him and Virgil snickers behind his phone at the reaction. Roman looks positively bristled, arms crossed over his chest.

“I'm a good kisser,” Roman mumbles to himself but Virgil hears it all the same.

“Sure you are,” He taunts. Roman puffs up his cheeks.

“I’m better than you!” He shouts and points an accusatory finger at Virgil. Virgil sneers playfully and smacks the hand away, sitting up a little more from his lazy position. Maybe if they had this conversation years ago, Virgil would be worried about arguing with Roman about anything, but he can see the threat of a smile on Roman's face and knows it’s fine to banter back.

“You doubt me?” Roman asks him then, a hand to his chest to feign distress.

“Hell yeah I do!” Virgil says back right away to goad him. Roman gasps loudly. 

“Fiend! As if you're any better!”

“Better than you!” Virgil echoes Roman’s previous words.

“Is that a challenge!”

“Fucking bring it Princey I'll kick your ass at kissing."

“I will beat you with all of my love!” Roman says back and he's on the edge of bursting into laughter just as Virgil is.

“You wanna fight about it? Gunna smooch me? Coward?”

They've steadily been getting closer and closer to each other, inching bit by bit on the couch until their knees touch, and though he was literally just egging Roman on, the quick kiss catches Virgil entirely off guard. It’s firm, a press of lips just to be there, and Roman pulls back nearly just as quick, both of them wide eyed.

Roman looks just as stunned as if he also didn't expect for him to do that. In the sudden silence Virgil can feel his heart pound hard in his ears. They stare at each other and then Virgil lets out a hysterical giggle he'd be embarrassed to make if Roman didn't make the same noise.

“I uh,” Roman starts but he's smiling. Virgil can feel something wild and fizzy in his chest, sort of like anxiety but more excited.

“Got caught up in the moment?” Roman asks as a way of explanation, giving a sheepish smile. Virgil snorts and turns his head down to hide the bewildered expression on his face, that slowly slips away as he wonders if he should say something, and then if he's waited too long to say something, and then if it's now awkward because he hasn't. He looks over to Roman who is just smiling to himself like a loon, and Virgil talks without thinking.

“It wasn't that good,” He says teasingly with a small smirk and the spark in Roman’s eyes tells him that Roman doesn't take it badly.

“Oh really?” Roman says challengingly, angling back into Virgil's space. Virgil shrugs and leans closer to him, gripping his hoodie to hide his shaking hands.

“I mean, you could do better,” Virgil says, trying to go for casual even if his heart is beating like crazy. He bites the inside of his lip and wonders if he looks as hopeful as he feels. Roman smirks something wicked at him.

“In that case-” and Virgil freezes as Roman puts a hand on his shoulder to push him into the back of the couch so he sits right. He barely registers what's happening when a leg swings over both of his, and Roman is settling on his lap proper. One hand goes to his cheek that warms him to his toes and an arm is thrown over his shoulder to draw him in.

Virgil is a little more prepared for the kiss this time, able to see Roman grin at him before he closes the gap between them. He closes his eyes and allows Roman to press him into the cushion behind him. His hands go to rest on the top of Roman’s legs simply to keep balance, feeling the warmth of Roman through his pants. He lets out a soft sigh into the kiss.

Their lips move together, slowly at first, testing the waters of each other. Gentle and easy, letting the initial nervousness melt away as they get more used to each other. Virgil finds himself relaxing into the couch at the touch.

Then Roman lifts himself a tiny bit and the hand on Virgil's cheek angles his head up to be able to kiss him deeper, lips moving with more urgency. Virgil follows along, heart feeling like it may burst in his chest as he digs his hands harder into Roman's legs. A hand curls into his hair and tugs just enough to send a thrill down his spine.

Roman sighs into the kiss, perhaps a little whiny, and presses into him more and Virgil snaps his hands up to Roman’s back and drags him down to bring them flush together. They can’t very well get much closer but they’re still going to try with the way Roman’s arms circle over his shoulders. Virgil grips at his shirt in return, wanting more but not knowing where to start because he wants to start everywhere.

He lets out a small groan when Roman ventures to poke at his lips with his tongue, asking if that's a more they can do. Virgil would be a fool to deny him in this moment, so he kisses harder, widening his mouth just that little bit that Roman needs to press their tongues together, groaning again when Roman goes right to sucking on it.

Virgil keeps pace with him, licking into Roman’s mouth just as much as his hands wander up and down the Prince’s back, feeling him move and arc into the touch while Roman focuses on stealing his breath away. Hands hold his face to keep him close, not that Virgil would want to go anywhere else. 

He's buzzing inside, feeling like he can run miles with the amount of passion Roman is pouring into him, continuing to press him into the couch. His chest lurches when Roman moans softly and he grips Roman's shirt like a lifeline to keep them both grounded.

It’s then Virgil notices the slight back and forth of Roman’s hips on his lap, almost unconsciously. Virgil trails his hands lower to rest on his waist, feeling the motion, then grabs Roman and guides him into a full rock.

“Shit,” Roman breaks away to curse breathlessly, face red and looking down at Virgil in a daze. Virgil knows he’s not fairing much better despite any possible foundation he wore. He gives a lopsided smile that is returned before Roman leans in for another kiss.

He feels Roman move to push him down into the cushions, but adrenaline kicks in and Virgil shoves off the back, shooting up from his semi slouched position and meets Roman over half way to the kiss, clashing their lips together and pressing their chests flush. Roman lets out a squeak that spurs Virgil further. He angles Roman back, causing both of them to latch their arms around each other so Roman doesn't fall. Roman’s hands are burning on his back where they are splayed out, twisting the fabric of his hoodie, and he can feel Roman's thighs squeeze around his.

There's no more nerves as they kiss, no trepidation or caution. They kiss more openly, allowing tongues to push against each other. Virgil gets Roman to let out a low groan when he sucks on his tongue boldly, the noise once more sending a thrill down his spine. He pulls Roman impossibly closer and moves their kiss towards heady. Virgil feels so alive.

Roman responds eagerly, tugging at Virgil's hair happily and moving his hips back and forth with renewed purpose, finally managing to sit up a bit more so he's not in danger of toppling. He tilts Virgil's head to deepen the kiss and Virgil whimpers. 

They can barely keep still, hands moving all over wherever they can reach. It's almost a jarring pause when Virgil drags Roman’s bottom lip between his teeth and pulls back tantalizingly slow. He feels Roman shudder under his hands and nips just that much harder at his lip in response.

They are both panting, lips red with the amount of force they put behind their kisses. Virgil can feel his heart so hard against his ribs he wonders if Roman can feel it too.

Roman swallows hard and Virgil zeros in on the way his throat bobs at the motion.

“Well?” Roman asks breathlessly. Virgil blinks at him trying to get the daze out his head.

“Well what?” He says smartly. Roman smirks infuriatingly, which he shouldn't be able to pull off with his face as red as it is.

“Was that better? You gunna admit I'm a better kisser?” He teases. Virgil snorts and playfully tosses Roman, causing him to stumble off his lap and into the seat next to him.

“You wish,” He says and lets out a very dignified noise of his own when Roman takes the fall to his advantage, grabbing Virgil by his jacket to haul him over and on top of him. Virgil lands with a huff, hands braced on either side of Roman’s head, eyes wide and worried that he might've hurt Roman in his fall. Roman grins cheekily at him though so Virgil glares with no anger at him and slots their legs together comfortably. Once settled Roman fists his jacket to yank him into another burning kiss.

Virgil presses him into the cushions now, one hand going to trail Roman’s side, feeling the muscle there as Roman breathes heavily and arcs into the touch, his other hand remains by Roman's head to keep steady. He grunts when Roman bites his lip, potentially in revenge, and Roman uses the surprise to his advantage, slipping his tongue into Virgil's mouth and maneuvering in such a way that if Virgil was any less proud, would have made him melt, and it partially does, letting himself fall to his elbow by Roman's head.

Two can play that game and he puts a hand on Roman’s hip right where his thigh meets the juncture, and presses him down with a roll of his hips. In the harsh gasp Roman let's out, he curls them tighter, moving his lips more passionately.

Roman throws his head back to breathe but Virgil doesn't care much for it, dipping his head to latch onto Roman’s neck. He pulls skin between his teeth and sucks hard. Roman lets out a whine and writhes under him, gripping at his shoulders and jerking his hips up for friction. Virgil presses down to give it to him and laps at the skin he’s captured.

“Shit Virgil, shit,” Roman manages to say and Virgil smirks into his neck, a thrill going through him at the reaction, and moves up to kiss hard at Roman's pulse point. He groans as Roman pulls his hair and pops off when tugged harder. Roman looks properly disheveled with his eyes hooded and the look he gives fills Virgil with wanting.

They crash their lips together again, arms circling around each other to bring the other as tight as they can. Whatever focus they had before is gone as their mouths move with each other, lips working seamlessly and little flicks on tongue spurring them on for more. It’s Virgil this time who eventually tilts his head to be able to lick into Roman’s mouth more so, whining when Roman sucks at his tongue with no reservation.

They shift their legs as best they can, Virgil bracing himself on his knees as Roman lifts his free leg over Virgil’s back to squeeze him down. With his body partially supported on Roman, Virgil's hands begin to wander. Down Roman’s sides where he can reach, then low across his back feeling some of the heated exposed skin there from where Roman's shirt rid up in their shifting that causes Roman to sigh deeply, and lower still across his rear and his thighs. Virgil grips it tight and bites Roman’s lip.

They're both panting when they pull apart, hips rolling gently just to feel some kind of friction that Virgil can feel the tingles of all along his spine. He dips once he feels less light headed, going to the other side of Roman’s neck and kissing at the skin closer to his jaw, Roman lets his head fall to give him access, digging at his shoulders to keep him there.

Virgil licks at the skin, nipping softly, teasingly, then sucking the skin in and biting down to hold it. Roman once again arcs into him, throwing his arms over Virgil's back and using his leg as leverage to rub at Virgil’s body where he can’t reach. Then the leg caught between Virgil's lifts until it can't anymore, giving Virgil some pressure he didn't have before. He rocks forward and bites harder, Roman giving a small shout at the action.

Virgil releases the now marked skin and moves quickly to kiss him and swallow the noise down. Roman grips and tugs at his clothes harder now, more desperate, kissing more harshly. There’s an ache and their lips will be swollen after this and neither can find the will to care. Not with Virgil's hands on Roman’s stomach warm and firm and Roman’s legs keeping them wrapped up. The pull apart and Roman’s chest heaves with the amount of air he’s taking in.

“You good?” Virgil croaks out cause he has to make sure. He's answered with a bright grin and another kiss that steals his breath away. Roman slows the pace, making their kisses more languid than heated. Carefully Virgil shifts his legs out so he's not kneeling but more so laying on top of Roman with his full weight. 

He’s worried about being heavy but Roman lets out a content sound so he stays there, he slides his hands around to spread across Roman’s back, not gripping any more but keeping him close, the hands now in his hair are not tugging but holding him gently. Even with the pace change it still makes Vigil warm inside.

He moves his lips with Roman’s letting him take the lead of the kiss this time around, and sighing himself when Roman gently brushes their tongues together. The hands in his hair move down his spine to rest on his waist. When they part again, Virgil drops to smush his face into Roman's chest, feeling him breath against his cheek.

“So now how is it?” Roman asks once he's regained energy to talk but still a little winded. Virgil still has enough energy to be a little shit.

“Mmm, I don't know," He lazily lifts to his knees and elbows to smirk at the incredulous expression on Roman's face. "Come back Thursday to try again.” He says. Roman stares dumbly at him and looks at the clock on the wall with a glare.

“That's in seven minutes!” He whisper hisses. Virgil just shrugs from his awkward, but very comfy, position.

“Guess you'll have to wait,” He lets out an exaggerated sigh. Roman growls and throws his arms up.

“Screw Thursday!” He yells and swings his arms over Virgil to haul him back in for another kiss. And Virgil would kiss him back but he’s laughing too hard.

[toastedbuckwheat]

Hello! May I ask how you draw? I'm currently learning how to myself and would be highly interested into a step to step process by you! Like from sketch to the done thing (no color necessary)

Hello there!

I dunno how I feel about showing how I work/giving advice to someone who’s learning (and I say it as a pro artist who went through years of traditional art education) because when I do the illustrations you see here on my tumblr I BREAK THE RULES you’d learn though life drawing routine, and give in to bad habits, and my methods are rather unplanned and chaotic which makes it difficult to pinpoint significant stages. But I used my portable potato to take some photos during working on my last piece, so I’ll throw it here with a bit of an explanation of what’s going on.

Before I begin - and because you’re about to look at a mess of a WIP - I’d like to give you some general advice that generally makes life easier when you draw (again, things that I learned in traditional arts education - another artist might advise you the complete opposite, dunno!)

Work holistically. Forget them satisfying-to-look-at clips on instagram showing someone produce a hyperrealistic portrait starting from an eye, with each and every element emerging being finished before they proceed to another part. It takes a lot of talent, yes, but these are ppl redrawing a photo in a kind of a mechanical manner. Most artists don’t work this way. Especially if you’re working without a reference, or if you’re doing a life drawing - your process will be layering and changing and finding what works best to give an impression of what you’re drawing rather than reproduce the exact image, and your artwork is likely to look messy most of the time.That said: don’t start with the details. Don’t spend too much time on a particular part while neglecting others. Your goal is to keep the whole piece at the same level of ‘finished’ (even though it’s unfinished - do I make sense?) before you’re confident that everything is where it should be and proceed to the details. So sketch out the composition first. See how things fit, what’s the dynamics. You’ll save yourself from limbs sticking out from the frame, odd proportions etc etc.

Because it’s a game of relationships between different parts of the picture/scene. I ask you not to worry about finishing a single element before laying out the rest because you’ll find that said element will look different once the other part appears! For instance - you might think that the colour you picked for a character’s hair is already very dark. But once you’re done with the night sky background, you’ll find that it’s in fact too light, and doesn’t work well with the cold palette. You’ll have to revisit different parts of the image as you go to balance these relationships and make the picture work as a whole.

Give an impression of something being there without actually drawing it ‘properly’- because details are hard, mate. You’ll see that my lineart usually has hardly any, and my colouring is large unrefined stains, but the finished thing looks convincing. Like, fuck, I can never focus on how Crowley’s eyes are really shaped. So I just turn them into large glowing yellow ellipses crossed by a line, and heard no protests so far.

Don’t panic if you messed up (you probably didn’t anyway). It might turn out to be a completely unnoticeable mistake - because, remember, things work together to balance each other, so another finished off prominent element will probably drown that badly placed line that looked so visible and out of place a second ago. 

It might not look good before it’s finished. I’m mostly immune to it after years of drawing, and my recent illustrations all follow a specific method (ykno, my sunset glow effects and all that) so I can kinda predict the next stage. But I do my linearts on a specially picked crap paper, I don’t bother erasing the smudged graphite, and it looks messy af until I make the background white in Photoshop. Conclusion: you might have a moment of doubt as you work through a piece, but try to break through it - I often suddenly start to like what I cursed a minute before! - and try to finish it even if it’s meant to be bad. This way, looking through your past pieces, you’ll see the progress. And trust me, I can’t even look at my art from literally three months ago. It’s normal.

Now, pics! The sketches are paler in real life, but I increased the contrast a little so you can see something.

1. Laying out the composition! 

I wanted to just show them kissing, but I got carried away due to some Art Nouveau inspiration. As you might have noticed, most of my illustrations are quite self-contained (ykno - they look like a sticker on a plain background). So I wanted a tight swirl bordered by Aziraphale’s wings creating a sort of rounded, yin-yang like bubble around them. Consequently I made the whole composition revolve around their heads. 

2. Adding more details to the sketch. It’s messy af. It will be messy until I’m done. It’s fine.

3. These are the fineliners I use for the linearts! They are made by Uni-ball and come in light and dark grey. I also sometimes use the guy on the left - ‘Touch’ sign pen by Pentel, when I want more brush-like, wider strokes. I work in grey because when I scan it and do my usual boring trick with sunlight highlights - which is an Overlay mode layer in Photoshop - the highlights ‘burn out’ the lines too and make them vanish a little, and the lighting effect gets more striking. I also like to use the light grey ones to make something look pencil-y without actually using pencil, because pencil fucking smudges.

4. It smudges! So because I am right handed, I start inking from the right hand side, no matter how tempted I am to do their faces first.

5. You can see the composition directions here. I made it intuitively, but ofc some ppl actually use grids etc to lay out their drawings.

6. See how pale ans thin the lineart was at first? I kept adjusting it as new inked parts were appearing. It starts to look nice and consistent now! 

7. Finished lineart? There are some mistakes which I later corrected in PS. Notice that Aziraphale’s face has hardly any details on it - I tried to make the drawing suggest his expression rather than risk overdoing it. 

8. Photoshop time!! You can totally do what I did here even if you don’t have a graphic tablet. I used Curves tool to enhance the lineart, then Quick Selection Tool to select the background around around my sticker-like piece and filled it white (on a new layer ofc). I keep this white layer on top of the layer order so it works as a mask as I colour. I decided I did not like the hatching shading underneath Aziraphale’s halo, so I erased it with a Stamp tool (because I wanna keep the textured grey fill my crap paper naturally gives me!). It’s done roughly but won’t be visible once the thing is coloured. 

9. And the reason why I keep the grey shade instead of easily getting rid of it by using Curves/Levels is because when I set this layer to Multiply mode and colour underneath, it gives me this nice desaturated look like from an old cheap paper comic page. It works as a natural filter! But of course I can’t do bright colours this way, so all my glowing highlights happen ABOVE the lineart layer - on a separate layer in Overlay mode! 

Finished thing here!

_____

Commission infoBuy Me a Coffee - help me with my transitioning expenses!Prints and stickers and things on my Redbubble!

[malecsecretsanta]

Merry Christmas, notquiteascrazy!

For @notquiteascrazy​. I hope you'll enjoy it Lex, I tried to stick to your likes as much as I could!!! Merry Xmas, darling!

Read On AO3

*****

The air was thick with snow and the smell of roasted chestnuts and marshmallows, and Alec was staring out from the window of the subway that was taking him home.

He sighed in relief thinking about the fact that at least for the Christmas week, he had a job. At least he wouldn't be forced to stay home alone, drinking a beer and eating a microwave heated pizza, and thinking.

He couldn't go home, not this festivities, not after having left his family business shoving his car and house keys on his father’s desk, shouting that the price was too high for his mental health, seeing all his family's eyes widen in disbelief, because Alec had never said no to anything. Never a quarrel, never an argument, never a sign of disappointment. Anything.

He had endured through high school and university, studying something that made his stomach twitch in disgust still he brought home the best grades, the best results, the best graduation a parent could have ever asked for.

But working more than twelve hours per day for it? It soon became too much to bear.

After two years of sleepless nights, pills, too much coffee, and the beginning of panic attacks, he'd decided to quit and leave that horrible life he crazily had thought he could force himself into.

Sometimes he would say to himself that maybe he hadn't tried hard enough, that maybe if he'd resisted a couple of months more, it would have become a routine, but he was aware that that could have never happened.

Alec hated numbers with all his heart, since he was a kid and that really wouldn't do in his family. For centuries, the Lightwoods held a huge business accountant studio that worked with the most outstanding industries, firms of the country, and even some others abroad. He was the eldest, he was supposed to be the heir. But he wasn't. He'd never been, and he never would be.

Izzy, she was the right one. Strong, sharp, determined, assertive and good enough to bring the best out for the family business. She was, and Alec loved her so much. He loved her fierce steps along the corridor when she was angry at someone, the way her voice turned sharp and hard on the phone when she discovered something she didn't like, the way her decisions were quick and always right.

He, instead, had always loved crayons and pencils. He loved the feeling of wood between his fingers, the smell of paper whenever he bought a new sketchbook, the rustling sound of his sleeve or his arm when it slid on the paper, and the brush of the pencil lead as it traced lines that gave life to the images that filled his head.

He wanted to become an artist, to go to an art school and then to an academy of arts, but he never had the courage to ask, never dared to hope, Alec ended up letting the days flow by until it was too late.

So there he was now, living alone in a one-room apartment in the outskirts, shifting from one temporary job to another. Apparently, he was "too much" for every position he applied for.

Too qualified, too experienced, too well paid, too grown up, too tall, too clumsy, too smart, too handsome, too… everything.

Izzy and Jace promised him they would come to visit during the holidays, but Alec knew that his family’s Christmas celebrations were something that they couldn't escape from that easily, with relatives, colleagues and business partners coming from all over the place and staying there until the late hours.

He dropped off the subway and walked home, grabbing a kebab along the way.

He switched on the kettle and slumped on the small couch he opened to sleep in at night, covering his legs with a blanket, patiently waiting for the little electric stove to heat the small room, picking up his phone and texting his siblings he had found a job for the Christmas’ month.

He stood and grabbed the kettle, pouring the boiling water into a mug filled with tea leaves, letting the steam soothe his icy red nose and warm him up. He looked outside the small window at the snow silently falling on the buildings.

He opened the bed and threw himself on it, still clothed. He took his sketchbook and started drawing, staring at his hand gently swaying on it, until he fell asleep, his head dropped on one side of the pillow, his hand clutching the pencil, as the Christmas lights and decorations glimmered on his black locks.

Magnus strolled into his office, his eyes shadowed, his beard a little longer than usual, his tie hanging loose around his neck, as if he hadn't the time to fix it properly.

"Are you ok?" Raphael asked him, a worried look on his face.

"Yes. No. I'm definitely not. It's been the worst night I had in years. Max has thrown up six times to the point his face turned green and I spent the night on the phone with Cat trying to figure out how to stop it and making him drink small sips of water, so he wouldn’t be dehydrated. I'm... fuck , I need another coffee, Raphael," he stopped and crashed on the huge armchair behind his long desk.

Raphael went to the coffee pot and filled a cup, putting some cream in it.

"You could have taken the day off you know? You're the boss here. No one is checking if you come to work or not."

"Are you insane?" Magnus glared at him as he sipped his coffee, it's December, the mall is going to be full and I have to check everything and I … I…"

"You don't want to be alone, I know."

Magnus' expression turned sad and distant. He sighed deeply, staring into the void.

"Probably not," he added, "Anyway, let's get back to work, is everything fixed? The extra decorations, the elves, the little presents for the kids coming and...oh my god, Santa? Have you found him?"

Raphael nodded smiling.

"Your kind of guy to be honest, dark, tall and handsome."

"Ah, stop this Raphael. He's gonna be dressed in a Santa costume, a huge pillow on his belly and a white long beard. Also…you should know that Mr. no one  has become my favourite kind of guy."

"If you say so,"  he smirked.

Magnus stood up and left the cup on his desk, waving his hands in the air, dismissing whatever Raphael wanted to argue back.

"Anyway, let's go and see the elves, I'm curious," and he opened the door, gesturing to Raphael to follow him.

Alec woke up earlier than usual, waiting like twenty minutes for the water to warm and finally shower.

He knotted the towel low on his waist, cursing the cold wind that crawled from underneath the gaps in the window’s frames and went to the sink, grabbing his razor to shave. He stared at his image in the mirror. Why was he even shaving? He was about to wear a long white beard for a week. He brushed his knuckles on his stubble and smiled. It looked good on him. His father never wanted him to grow a beard. He used to say it made him look scruffy and that wouldn't go over well with their clients and partners. But now, who cared anymore? He put the razor back in the drawer and went to the stove to make some coffee. He dressed up slowly,  and ate some toast, while chatting with Jace.

The subway was full of people going to work, some of them dressed in their grey and black suits and he felt relieved; he didn't miss that life at all. He took his sketchbook from his backpack and started portraying their faces, the worried and the sad ones, the abandoned lover and the happy newly wedded one. All of them in their morning run to face the day.

The receptionist stopped him as soon as he entered.

"I'm Alec Lightwood, ehm, Santa Claus…"

"Oh, yes Mr. Lightwood, you're a little early, but since you are already here you can go to the locker room and change. Here's your costume."

She was staring at him, a goofy smile on her face. As he walked away he heard her murmur to the other lady next to her that it was a pity to cover all that glory with a Santa's costume.

He chuckled and took the elevator.

The pillow on his belly was soft but huge and it made him uncomfortably hot, and the faint beard itched a bit on his neck. He wore the heavy boots and realized he was already covered in sweat. It was going to be a very long month.

He entered the Children's Land and spotted the man who interviewed him last week. He was standing next to the most enchanting creature Alec had ever laid his eyes on. He stood frozen in the middle of the large hall of the toy shop, just staring, until Raphael noticed him.

"Oh, there you are! Magnus, he's our Santa Claus," he said and pulled Magnus from his wrist toward the tall red and white figure.

"Alec? Oh, can I call you Alec, right? This is Magnus, the real boss here."

Alec was glad to be disguised when Magnus fully turned to look at him. The man was strikingly beautiful, probably just a little older than he was.

He extended his hand and Magnus mirrored him, shaking it for a split second that to Alec seemed like an eternity.

"Strong grip," Magnus said smiling, "perfect for Santa. Also, your height is just perfect. Let me hear your voice, have you practiced lowering it a bit?"

Alec nodded and was about to let him hear his best Ho Ho Ho , when Magnus' phone rang.

"Cat? How is Max feeling? Better? Oh, thank god, he needed some good sleep. Any fever? No? That's good."

Alec knew he shouldn't have been listening, but he just couldn't help it.

Of course he was married. Of course he had a kid and a beautiful wife waiting for him at home.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when Raphael suddenly asked him to follow him toward the big wooden sleigh they had put on the right end corner of the shop.

"This will be your place. You will have a big jute sack behind where you’ll put the letters and a basket full of candies and lollipops for the kids after they have told you their wishes."

Alec listened and nodded.

"Can I make a little drawing for them? Just a sketch of their name or favourite hero?" he asked.

Raphael looked at him amused.

"You can draw?"

"Yes, I'll be quick, I promise."

"Of course you can Alec. It will be an amazing surprise for all of them."

Alec turned and saw Magnus talking to his kid on the phone. His face was soft and he was smiling as if the child could see him. His mind went back to an image of a younger Robert smiling at him. He felt a rush of longing for those days when he was exactly the son their parents had dreamed of. Responsible, always on track, confident, always in the right place at the right moment.

While they were happy, he was overwhelmed. The more they grew proud, the more he was ashamed of himself. The longer they seemed sure of who he was, the further he didn't even know where to begin.

He spun and found Raphael looking at him, brows up to his forehead.

Fuck! He realized he had been staring at what was technically his boss.

He scratched his fingers on the back of his neck trying to think about something good to say and justify his weird behaviour.

"Ahm… he's good with children...not many men are … ehm… it's kinda rare I mean…"

Raphael delighted in the embarrassment he glimpsed in the young man in front of him, and waited amused until Alec fell silent with a frustrated grunt.

Raphael took pity on him and finally laughed, wholeheartedly.

"Yeah, he is.  They love him before he even starts to speak and he can convince them to do whatever he asks. They're kinda spellbound ."

"Yeah I know the feeling."

Alec’s cheeks reddened a bit and he closed his eyes cursing himself for talking without filters, realizing what comment had just left his mouth.

"I mean," he tried, "I know the feeling of being spellbound."

Raphael turned around a little  smirking, “Yeah, he has this effect on everyone he meets."

Alec walked toward the sleigh, checked the basket filled with sweets and sat down, adjusting the pillow on his belly and stretching his legs. He knew they would be bent until late that afternoon. He was glad he hadn’t shaved that morning, otherwise, his pale and delicate skin would have been scratchy in the evening.

He took his sketchbook from his backpack and the crayons, the beautiful watercolour ones that he received on his last birthday from Izzy and Jace, and set them on his left side.

Raphael instructed a couple of photographers where to position the cameras and searched for Magnus again, leaving the last decision up to him. He was the best organizer but he really lacked any sense of aesthetics, which, instead, Magnus was overflowing with. The man was fixing the red berry and frosted pine cone garland on the railing of the stairs, fully concentrated on the task.

"Magnus? Have a look here," he said, "our Santa's sleigh is ready. Just waiting for your last touch.”

Magnus revolved toward the voice and stared for a moment at Alec and the setting, his gaze so intense that Alec felt the urge to divert his eyes. Magnus moved slowly toward the sleigh, bending near the footboards to fix the fake snowflakes and the pine branches.

His movements were slow and graceful, the back of his neck was flexing sinuously following the motion of his hands and fingers, and Alec couldn't keep from staring. His nails were painted in a dark green polish, matching the colour of the spikes in his faux hawk. He was elegant and extremely professional, but there was something sensual too in his overall outfit.

His eyes were stuck to Magnus' fingers that were now fixing the red velvet cloth and cushions on the sled.

"You like the color of the polish or my rings?" Magnus asked abruptly without turning his head and Alec rolled his eyes, because of course he wasn’t able to do anything without being noticed.

He didn't know what to say because, honestly, he liked them both, a lot.

Magnus must have realized his embarrassment because he resumed his talk without even looking at him.

"I picked the dark green this morning because it matches the beautiful colour of the pine needles and also because it matches perfectly with the burgundy red suit I am wearing. The rings...well, they are just a sort of second skin, I never remove them, not even when I sleep or shower."

Alec remained still and silent, lost in Magnus' voice.

"I don't bite, you know. You're allowed to answer or say something," Magnus added seriously, just before bursting into the softest laughter Alec had ever heard, "I'm just teasing you, I was joking."

Alec smiled behind the white soft beard, "Both, I like them both," he whispered.

Magnus stopped his movements and finally raised his head to look at him. He was kneeled on one leg, looking at those hazel big eyes standing out from the furry grey brows. They shined like two emerald gems.

Magnus then stood up and leaned toward Alec, grabbing his white fluffy collar and adjusting it around his neck, next his palms swept over his shoulders and tugged at the fabric a little, to make it adhere to Alec's shoulders. They were broad and straight. The last touch was reserved for his hat. He fixed the pom-pom and then his fingers curled up the mustaches above Alec's lips.

He cocked his head and took a moment to check what he had just done, "Now you're perfect, the perfect Santa. Raphael is the best at making real what I have in mind."

"Raphael knows so well what the boss likes," a voice replied.

"He's right," Magnus said to Alec smirking, "he knows me so well. Ok now. I know he already told you what this whole Santa's thing is about, but I will remind you anyway. Kids will queue here, you will take them on your lap and have a little chat, then ask them for a wish, pick up a candy, and offer them to take a picture with you. Remember the pictures are for free, it's  just for the joy of the kids, and…"

"And while they are waiting for the print I will make them a little sketch."

Magnus frowned.

"Raphael told me I could. I'll be quick, I promise."

"You draw?" Magnus asked.

"Yes."

"As long as you don't make the people wait too long, I think it's a wonderful idea. Keep the last one for me, ok?"

Magnus turned to Raphael.

"Let the kids come. We're ready for the magic to happen."

Alec's first week flew by quicker than he had imagined. He enjoyed talking to the kids and smiled at the incredible, sweet, improbable desires they shared with him. He gave them the sweets and a quick sketch; an animal, a toy, a star, a word, something he made just for them.

Raphael was amazed by how quickly Alec actually sketched. The queue was flowing regularly and no clients complained about waiting too long. Their Santa smiled and laughed with the kids and he didn't seem to become annoyed or bored.

Alec always listened with the same attention, always gave the children space and time to talk, enjoyed their sense of wonder, comforted the sad ones, knew how to deal with tantrums and tears, and never missed to give an encouraging smile to the parents waiting.

In that week, he fell asleep happily after such a long time.

Working at the mall turned out to be very exciting and interesting. Alec had always been fond of people, even if he wasn't very talkative and extroverted. He mostly loved to observe them, the quick glances between the ones in love, the farewell and welcome embraces, the arguments and the tears, the gazes lost in nowhere, the grandparents holding the hands of the kids, and of course, the kisses.

In the days he spent there, especially at the times his shift started and finished, when the mall was emptying, he loved watching Magnus interact with his employees. He was struck by how different Magnus was from his father.  

Magnus was always the first to arrive and the last one to leave, he always had a smile for everyone, he paid attention to all their needs, and always found the right words to say, supportive, encouraging, and caring. He brought coffee and sweets, he offered them lunch and then sat eating with them, laughing and having fun, and whenever he could, he would help them.

There was something in that man that had Alec yearning for his presence whenever he wasn’t around, that had him staring at him when Magnus wasn’t noticing, admiring him. He was beautiful inside and out.

"His wife must be so happy," he absentmindedly said to a cleaner one night as he was helping him pull up all the trash bags. Wei was the oldest one at the mall, and Alec had become his friend. He loved to listen to his stories and his memories, and got his fill of wisdom every day. Alec opened up to him like a father, sharing his personal life, his dreams and his sorrows. He remained with him long after his Santa’s duty was over, listened and helped along the way.

"Who?" said the man.

"Mr. Bane."

Wei stopped moving and cleaning, putting his mop on the floor, smiling at Alec.

"Magnus?"

Alec looked at the old man and smiled, hoisting up two other bags.

"Yes, Magnus."

The man looked back at him, pensively, and then talked.

"Magnus isn't married, and never has been. If you are referring to the fact that he has a child, I will tell you a story worthy of this time of the year. Tea first," and he went to the counter of the locker room and poured some in two cups, handing one to Alec.

"Three years ago, Anne, a young girl that worked at the bookstore, died unexpectedly in a car accident. She was the mother of a two-year-old boy, named Max. When Magnus heard that the social services were searching for a place for Max to stay for the night, he offered to take him home with him, and never left him since then. He applied for adoption, since he was the closest thing to family for that girl and her boy and since he was raised in foster care…"

The man looked at Alec, an unreadable expression on his face, something between awe and seriousness.

"I hope you'll have the chance to know him better, Alec. Magnus is one of the kindest souls that tread on this earth. He's caring, gentle, soft, selfless, he holds a special place in his heart for each of us. He knows all our histories, he never misses a birthday or an anniversary, he covers our shifts when we need a day off and no one can replace us. He's so incredible, that he's almost unreal."

He stood up and took the mop again, "I have noticed the way you look at him."

Alec swallowed, his cheeks getting crimson, "I… I don't…"

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, he doesn't deserve to be alone," and he bent to grab some empty bottles.

"Leave that to me," Alec said and was quickly on his knees to collect them.

"You're just as kind as he is," Wei said and threw some paper cups in the bin.

Alec remained with him, and they talked until Wei had finished cleaning.

"Your dad will understand sooner or later," he said putting his coat and scarf on.

"He might, but he'll never forgive me," Alec sighed.

"He will understand one day that there's nothing to forgive Alec, you don't have to apologize to anyone for giving voice to your true self, he will understand, believe me. Just give him time."

Alec nodded as they went outside and decided to take a walk. He looked up at the grey thick sky, thinking about Magnus.

He opened his drawing book and checked all the sketches and portraits he'd made of Magnus while he wasn't watching. It would have been really nice to know him better, but December was almost over and he did not even have the chance to present himself.

He exhaled. In another life, maybe.

On his part, Magnus realized he was always finding an excuse to go to the children's store. There was something in that Santa that drew him closer, even if he had never seen his face. The way he moved, his soft, tender voice, the way he got lost in his drawing, and the way he answered the kids. Raphael always made jokes about the fact that he should go to the locker room and have a closer look at the man, but Magnus always dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

As Christmas approached, Alec noticed that Magnus was often around and he never missed the chance to draw him on many different occasions.

“You should show him," he heard Raphael say behind his back as he peeked at the sketch Alec had just made of Magnus standing beside one of the Xmas trees of the mall, sipping from a coffee cup, absorbed in reading, his brows furrowed, his lips curled in concentration.

Alec suddenly felt a wave of embarrassment wash over him.

"Magnus loves beautiful things, and your portrait is amazing, you really should," Raphael stated as he walked away.

Alec closed his sketchbook when a loud thud tore him out of his thoughts. He rushed and found a crying kid on the floor, his knees up to his chin, a thin rivulet of blood on his wrist.

Alec knelt beside him, his voice soft and tender, "Hey, it's all right, I'm here. Can I have a look at your wrist?"

The boy raised his head and found Santa Claus kneeling beside him, asking him to have a look at his injury. He looked around confused, not really knowing what to do, until his eyes rested on another man standing behind his back.

"I'd let him if I were you, his touch might be magical."

Alec looked up and saw Magnus looking at him, gently nodding, encouraging him to go on. So he took the boy's hand and lifted his wrist to have a look at it; then he took out two small packages from his right pocket. He showed them to the kid.

"What's your name?" he asked softly.

"Tom," the boy whispered.

"Okay, Tom. Now I will wipe your wound and disinfect it, it won't burn or hurt, I promise. Then I am going to put a magical Santa patch on it, how does this sound? Will you pick up the drawing while I clean it?"

"Mr. Bane…" Alec started only to stop when Magnus stepped in.

"Magnus." Magnus corrected.

"Magnus can help you pick one, if that's all right?"

The boy smiled and nodded.

Alec passed the small box to Magnus and for a moment their eyes locked. Magnus smiled at him, wide and open, and his gaze softened as their fingers softly brushed, and Alec felt something cracking inside of him, like an egg breaking to let a new life peek through.

He made quick work of the little wound, covering it with a candy cane-shaped patch.

"Now,” he added, “since you have been really brave, why don’t you follow me to pick some candies out from my basket near the sleigh?"

"And I will go and search for your parents," Magnus added, "remain here with Santa."

Later that evening, he was putting his black coat on ready to go home when he heard someone coming.

"Who are you?" Magnus asked, looking surprised at the handsome man standing outside the locker room.

Alec turned and saw him, he seemed almost in a rush. He was about to answer, but he realized he couldn't breathe.

“You don’t look like a thief, so, care to tell me who you are?”

"I’m Santa. I mean, the guy dressed as Santa. My name is Alec," his voice came out barely a whisper.

"Pardon?" Magnus asked him, almost not believing he had heard well.

Alec swallowed as he felt those chocolate eyes scanning him from his feet to the last of his black locks.

Magnus blinked as his heart skipped a beat. Damn Raphael, he was right.

They both remained silent as the veil was raised, staring at each other as their hearts were fluttering.

Finally, Magnus extended his hand to him, "Actually I was searching just for you."

Alec grabbed his hand and squeezed it, his grip strong and certain, "Why?"

"I wanted to thank you for today. The way you acted with that boy…,"

"It was nothing...”

"You turned a bad event into an amazing one, one he will remember for all his life. Plus, you didn't have to, and you did anyway. This says a lot about the kind of person you are, and I never take such things for granted."

Alec was still holding his hand, stuck in a sort of trance. When he realized that, he retracted his palm, "I'm sorry, I need to go…, my sister is waiting for me outside…,"

Magnus nodded.

Alec adjusted the scarf around his neck and moved toward the exit.

"Ah, Alec? We are having a small Christmas party on the 24th, after the mall closes for the clients, why don't you come? It's an open party, we all bring families or partners…," he stopped, waiting for Alec to say something.

"I'd love to, yes, thank you. See you tomorrow," he left and headed to Izzy's car, his heart racing, his head a bit spinning.

Izzy needed just a glance to understand, "Are you ok?"

Alec looked at her and licked his lips, twice, "I don't really think so."

"What's wrong?"

He pressed his fingers at the corner of his eyes, exhaling, "Fuck, Izzy, I think I've fallen in love."

"And what's so terrible about it?"

Alec looked back at her, almost desperate, "He's the owner of the mall, beautiful and sexy as fuck, smart, and kind, and...what do I have to offer him?"

"Yourself, Alec. And believe me, it's not something you easily find around nowadays." She turned the engine on and drove him away.

After the last bowl of popcorn was over, Max was almost asleep against Magnus' chest.

"Dad?"

"Mm?"

"You were happy tonight when you came back from work, did something happen?"

Magnus kissed him on his head, gently, "Maybe, yes. I was thinking...We have a special Santa this year, do you want to come and make your wish?"

"You'd let me again?”

Magnus nodded and heard Max hum happily.

In that last week, Magnus found every excuse to be around Alec, and Alec always welcomed him with his bright eyes and his soft smile. The more Magnus stayed with him, the more he felt the desire to know him better. Magnus found himself thinking about which books Alec liked reading, what kind of movies did he watch, or what was the food he wanted to eat on a snowy night.

Magnus really wanted to invite him for a drink, but it was Christmas week and Max was at home with Cat the whole day, waiting for him to come home. That was what being a father was about. Putting Max first, every time, and Magnus knew not many would want a committed relationship with a lone parent.

Christmas Eve was really busy. Alec was searching for Magnus, but he never showed up. He wanted to see him one last time, since he’d decided not to show up to the party. He wanted to thank him for having made this month the best he had in years. All the customers had almost left when he spotted him at the end of the queue, holding a little boy in his arms, and chatting with him.

Max was the last kid of the day. Magnus knelt, putting him down and letting him walk toward Alec, to make his wish for this Christmas.

He knew that Max always asked for one thing, no matter if it was Christmas or if he was blowing his birthday candle, or watching a shooting star. All the others Santa had always given him silly answers, -- this is not a thing you can ask Santa, or this is a thing you should ask in your bedtime prayers, or Santa brings only toys-- , leaving Max always sad and deluded.

Why was he expecting Alec to give a different answer, he didn’t know.

As Max came closer, Alec opened his arms and pulled him up on his thighs, looking at him.

“And you are?”

“Max. Dad said you are a special Santa, so maybe you are the one who can finally help me with my wish?”

“I’ll do my best. What is it?”

"Can you bring my mum back?"

Alec felt like he had been slapped by a cold hand right on his face, as his eyes filled with tears.

He raised a hand and caressed Max’s cheek, staying silent as some seconds passed by, conscious of the other pair of eyes that were staring at him, aside from Max’s.

Alec thought carefully about the answer and then he started talking, “I wish I could, Max, but I can't. There are many things that happen in life that we can’t turn back or change, no matter how much we’d want or try to. Your mum has passed now and this means she can't come back, but there is something you can do about this. You can find her in the small things of your life, in the scents that remind you of her, in the melody she used to sing when she lulled you to sleep, in the words of a story she used to tell you at bedtime, in the way your smile probably looks like hers, and…,” he raised his gaze to look at Magnus who seemed visibly touched by his words, "... in the love your dad is giving you. In this way, it will be as if she never really left you. I know you miss her presence, her touch, and her voice, but if you close your eyes and search into your heart, you will find her there.”

Max looked intensely at the man in front of him, processing the words, serious and concentrated, then his face brightened in a sunny smile.

“Dad was right, you’re the best Santa I have ever met.” Max replied as he looked between his dad and Santa. He may not have his mom’s warm hugs anymore but Max did have his Dad’s embrace and bedtime stories. “Thank you Santa. I think you’re right.”

Alec let out a startled laugh as he held the candy basket out for Max, “Now, any other wish I can help you with?”

“Is there something you wish to have back and can’t, just like me?”  Max finally asked, picking up a candy cane.

Alec inhaled a sharp breath, “Of course there is.”

Max smiled and looked up at Alec, “Then come and spend Christmas with us, so you can tell me.”

Alec cleared his throat, “Leave a plate with cookies and a mug of hot chocolate, and I’ll see what I can do, ok?”

Then he kissed Max on his head, picked his sketchbook and drew a big comet on it. Giving it to the kid he told him, “Never stop believing Max, the best things come to us when we less expect them. Merry Christmas.”

He stood up, tearing another sheet from it, walked toward Magnus who was still kneeling and staring at him, handing him the drawing, “This is for you.”

Magnus looked at his portrait on the paper. He wanted to say something, but voices and laughters were coming from the hall of the mall, signalling that the Christmas party was about to begin.

“Magnus, Max?” they heard Raphael call.

Alec stepped back, grabbed his pencils and went to change his clothes, leaving Magnus and Max there.

He felt his heart aching at the idea of leaving without a word, but he knew that going to the party would have only meant to feel even worse when he had to say goodbye. He dressed up and before leaving he put a drawing next to the locker of each of the persons he had met and worked with, in those days.

“So you’re not coming,” he heard Wei say.

He turned, his eyes were red with unshed tears, that he wasn’t ashamed to show. “It would only be worse later. I’m already lost. I don’t want this to be out in the open, and if I ever get in there, with him, with them, I won’t be able to disguise it. Thank you for being my friend and confidant while I was here,” he told Wei as he hugged him, “Watch over him and make sure he’ll give his heart to someone worthy. Say goodbye to everyone, it’s been an honour working here.”

He patted the man on his back one more time, and then made his way out, deciding to walk home and let the snowflakes wash away the tears that were streaming down his face.

At the party, Magnus was trying to get distracted, but his mind was fixed on Alec, on the way he answered Max, and on the way the boy had seemed to want Alec in their lives.

Maybe he was the right one.

He would have asked him out, if only the man would show up, but he didn't, and Magnus had lost his hopes.

He was standing next to the bar, drinking and staring into the void.

"Drinking to celebrate or to forget?" Wei asked him.

"Neither of these, just drinking and enjoying the two days of rest we have ahead of us."

The old man hummed and took a glass himself.

"It seemed you were searching and waiting for someone who didn't come," he said, “Alec went away."

Magnus frowned and then exhaled, his voice turning sharp and bitter, "Ah yes, I call it the lone parent effect. It never fails to strike."

Wei looked at him, savouring his cocktail. The man looked to be weighing something in his mind before he spoke.

"He went away because he has feelings, and feared that these weren't reciprocated."

Magnus put down his glass on the counter.

"Who told you?"

"He did, just before leaving. And that's not the only thing I know about him."

Magnus shook his head, smiling, feeling his heart expand.

"Sit here with me and let's have a talk, Magnus."

The morning sun hit Alec right in the eyes and he cursed himself for not closing the curtains enough last night when he’d come home. He remembered feeling sad and being a bit tipsy, after stopping along the way to have a couple of beers.

He wasn't really used to drinking, so he always ended up confused and hobbling, until there was a couch or a bed to fall into.

Alec got up and stretched his arms and legs, staring at the thick snow already covering the roofs, and still falling from the pearly grey sky.

Jace and Izzy were out of reach for a couple of days, trapped in all those pompous meetings his parents always held at their place.

He put the coffee pot on the stove and took a pan, opened the fridge and looked at the watch. Nine o'clock. It was going to be a very long day.

He toasted some bread and cooked two sunny side up eggs, and put the plate on the table. He was scrolling his phone while eating, chuckling at the secret pics his siblings were sending him, before taking the still fuming cup of coffee, and going back to the couch, opening a book.

After a while he went to take a shower and then warmed some other coffee before getting dressed.

That's when he heard the doorbell ring.

He quickly put on a thorn old sweater he used at home and a pair of loose sweatpants. It must have been the old lady on the first floor, she knew he was alone.

He opened the door, threading his hand through his already ruffled hair and lost all his capacity to think and speak when he saw Magnus and Max, hand in hand, standing on the threshold of his small apartment, on that Christmas morning.

He wanted to say something, but didn't know where to start from. Magnus was looking at him, a shy smile on his face, a doubtful look in his eyes, as if he was sorry for showing up without calling him first.

Luckily Max was there too.

"So your real name is Alec?" the boy asked him.

Alec looked at Magnus, asking for silent permission, before nodding back.

"Me and dad had a talk about Santa," Max giggled, "he says that mall Santas are only interns right now. Like high ranking elves! Now I know why no one could help me, but at least, your words were honest, and we are here for a reason," and he elbowed his father on his leg.

Magnus seemed lost for a moment, trying to find the right words, then looked at Alec and said, "We were wondering if you would come and spend these two Holiday days with us. Our home is big enough and we have a spare room."

Alec looked at him and shrugged, incredulous.

"I want you to come, Santa Alec, please."

"And you?" Alec asked Magnus.

"I would love to. I would love to know you better, if you'd let me."

Alec smiled and it felt as if the sun had ripped through the clouds, even if it was still snowing, "I would love that too."

Magnus winked at him, "So that's settled. We will wait for you in the car while…"

Alec grabbed his wrist, pulling him inside.

"I'm sorry I didn't invite you in, I was… distracted. If you both don't mind the small place, I have some warm coffee and I can make you a hot chocolate Max."

As they sat on the couch, Alec warmed the coffee and prepared the chocolate.

The radio was playing in the background -- It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas --, Alec looked at Magnus intensely as he handed him the cup, and maybe, from now on, life was really beginning to look a lot like something they had been waiting for, for a long time.

[blossom-hwa]

Repeat [Epilogue] - Mark |Swing!|

And so it ends! Thank you everyone who made the journey with me, ESPECIALLY @deathbykpopboys​ FOR GIVING ME THE IDEAS TO WRITE ONE OF THE STORIES I’M THE MOST PROUD OF <3 <3

Fair warning: this might be confusing to readers who aren’t into the Marvel cinematic universe (MCU). There are spoilers for the movies! I do have some of my personal headcanons in here, so if they bother you, just don’t read it! 

Pairing: Mark x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, Spiderman!au

Triggers: a lot of cursing :)

Word Count: 6.9k

When the rogues move back into society, there are suddenly a lot of new people looking into the relationship between Stark’s personal interns. Luckily, they’ve only got good thoughts about it, even if the kids are a little mushy sometimes. 

Alternatively:

Five ways the Avengers see (and love) the spiderkids’ relationship.

Release >> Epilogue: Repeat

NCT Masterlist | Swing!

i.

Steve doesn’t have too many hobbies. This came as a result of being sick all the damn time during his younger years at the height of the Depression. He was always in bed, and he never really knew when he was just going to keel over and kick the bucket.

Art, though, is something he’s taken with him from younger self to his Captain America days. Especially in this modern age, there’s so much more to sketch. Steve takes interest in the tiny things – glitter pens, microwaves, things that other people have taken for granted as ordinary parts of their lives. He didn’t have those in the Depression, but now he does.

It’s weird.

When he moved back into the Compound, he spent a lot of time outdoors. He wanted to talk to Tony, to apologize for his secrets, thank him for his work on the Accords, maybe clear the air a little, but Tony would just disappear into the lab where only he, Banner, Pepper, and the interns are allowed. So he just picked up the sketchbook Bucky bought him for his last birthday, some pencils, and a Dodgers hat, and went out to observe the city.

It took his fingers some time to figure out how to shade the way he did when they were slim, translucent things. They’re bulkier now, thicker and stronger, and if he isn’t careful, he sometimes snaps his pencils in half. But as the days go by, his fingers gain back some of the delicacy of touch that his younger, sicklier self had.

Art is how he can express himself, now. Even though Nat and Sam like to tease him (what is it that kids say now? Clown him? He thinks that’s it) for having a speech ready for every occasion, Steve finds himself tongue-tied a lot more often than he can admit. Art is how he finally confessed to Bucky – a simple portrait of his long-time best friend turned crush, done with the pencils he’d bought Steve for Christmas.

A lot of the Avengers deal in things that could be considered delicate – archery, knife-throwing, cooking – but only Nat really does any form of art. She dances ballet, but even that’s something very defined, very precise. It’s razor-sharp, the way she does it. And her art form carries a lot of bad memories for her, whereas Steve’s mostly brings back good times. The days where he felt good enough to go outside. The days before the war, when Bucky would bring him onto the fire escape of their shitty little apartment and they would just stare at the city in front of them.

Soft things and sharp things are very separate in Steve’s mind. Art is something soft. Something pretty, something beautiful, something nice. He hesitates to call fighting or sarcasm or weapons evil, exactly, but they aren’t very beautiful, either.

For this reason, he doesn’t understand, at first, how the two Stark interns ended up together. At first glance, they’re polar opposites – one a spitfire, the other always calm. Loud laughter and a cutthroat tongue coexisting with quiet words and a thoughtful mind.

It doesn’t make sense to him, until he walks in on a scene one day that almost makes his heart melt.

He’s on his way out of the Compound to go outside and maybe people watch. Sketch a bit. He has his pencils in one hand, sketchbook in the other, when the strumming of a guitar sounds from farther down the hall. Steve walks out to investigate.

Mark is sitting on the couch, guitar in hand. Steve briefly remembers Mark playing it before, but not too much. It’s beautiful, really, and he stops just at the end of the hall to listen for a bit. Mark’s hands strum the guitar in quiet chords. They’re delicate, Steve realizes – thin, lithe, graceful. Soft. Similar to his own when he was younger, just minus the boniness and sickly white tinge.

His eyes then focus on the girl sitting next to him, head leaning on Mark’s shoulder, typing with razor concentration on the laptop in front of her. Sharp, precise, focused.

But though Y/N’s eyes are steely, her body language is anything but. She leans into Mark with an undeniable softness, a pliability that lets her sink into the couch and his body. Mark, meanwhile, sits up, his back straight, though his hands move delicately over the strings of the guitar.

In this moment, Steve feels dumbstruck, almost. The interns combine sharp edges and rounded curves into something that, even to his eye, is truly beautiful. They’re not solely delicate and soft. They’re not solely refined and precise.

They’re both, jagged points fitting perfectly into smooth curves. And there’s beauty in that.

Quietly, he walks back to his own room, the image of the interns on the couch burned into his mind. His fingers start moving his pencils back and forth on a fresh page.

Neither of them will probably ever know, but they are the reason Steve now sees beauty in sharp edges and precision. Perhaps he still prefers the delicacy of sunsets or the gentle waving of leaves in the breeze, but he understands it, understands the way Y/N and Mark come together. He sketches more – one of Clint’s arrows stuck in a target, one of Sam’s wings slicing through a block of concrete, Natasha’s ballet.

There’s beauty in everything, Steve realizes. Not just aesthetics and pretty things.

He likes this point of view. He likes it a lot.

Smiling, he sketches some more.

~

ii.

Bucky Barnes has often showed his love through food. It was the way he knew his Ma loved him, even if her face was drawn in most of the time and she didn’t smile a whole lot. None of that mattered, not too much. Bucky knew he was loved in the way she scraped away from her own portions and put them onto his and Becca’s plates, in the way she would give them the best bits of bread and the meat on the few occasions they could afford it.

So when he found Steve, that was the way he showed his care. Showed his love. He shared his meager lunches with the sickly kid who had a penchant for art, bought him medicine and swiped apples for him. He cooked for Steve in their ratty apartment, made him something extra nice to cheer him up a bit when his mom died. And when Bucky went off to the war and couldn’t take care of Steve upfront anymore, he sent back his earnings with explicit instructions for Steve to eat as much as he could.

He wouldn’t say he’s really good at cooking, at least not at first. His meals on the front could barely be called meals – some bully beef, bread, and biscuits. He tried, sometimes, to make things look nicer, make them look more palatable. In the end, though, he gave up. There wasn’t any point.

Then Steve came, newly muscled and broad. He saved Bucky’s regiment and formed the Howling Commandos, and Bucky had someone to care for again. Someone to love. Because even though Steve was physically stronger, to Bucky, he was still the reckless kid from Brooklyn who kept getting up after he got knocked down. He needed someone to protect him.

So Bucky started cooking again, trying to put together edible meals from the few rations they had. He cooked not just for Steve, but for all the Commandos – Dugan, Morita, Jones, everyone. It was the best way he knew how to show he cared, something beyond slaps on the back and teasing jokes. He got better at cooking, at making food that wasn’t just edible but also tasted good.

Then he became Soldier.

After all those mind-numbing decades, he might have thought his cooking skills would have disappeared. Being a highly trained assassin who slept for long periods of time in a cryochamber after each mission didn’t usually leave much time for fucking around in a kitchen. But surprisingly, when the rogues went on the run and Bucky landed himself in various safe houses around the country, he found he could still work his way around a kitchen, even though his metal arm overheated sometimes. Wanda helped, then, using her telekinetic power to airlift things in and out of ovens. Slowly, his cooking skills improved. And when he made the old meals, better versions of the special things they sometimes ate during the depression, Steve would tear up. Because Bucky remembered.

Then he moved into the Avengers Compound.

Tony never really lashed out at him like he sometimes did to Steve. No, Bucky hadn’t hidden things on purpose from Tony. He knew what he had done as Soldier. But somehow, the silent, awkward treatment he got from Howard Stark’s son was worse than if he’d yelled at him.

So for the first few weeks, even though he was itching to cook something just to keep his hands busy, he couldn’t bring himself to enter the kitchen other than to get some snacks. Raisins, usually. Raisins are good. Bucky has no idea why Steve hates them so much. Or why Wanda calls him a grandmother for liking them.

Then Y/N comes into the picture.

Bucky’s been alone in cooking for so long that he’s almost forgotten that other people can express care in the form of food as well. None of the rogues can cook too well – Steve is terrible in the kitchen – and even during the war, he was the one who took care of the food.

So when he finds one of Tony’s interns in the kitchen, soup boiling on the stove, he’s almost blown away.

From his first impression, Y/N was snappy, quick-witted, and fast on her feet. That’s how she landed a black eye on Clint fucking Barton before Nat took her down with the thigh-hold. And yeah, now he knows she’s Silk, apparently, but her reaction time is scary.

That first impression changes the moment she smiles at Bucky and invites him to sit at the kitchen island. He comes in, a little scared (he feels like one of those characters in that game Wanda plays – Simps? Sims? Something like that), but she just laughs and tells him Mr. Stark won’t murder him for sitting in the kitchen. “I’ll give you some soup too, so you have an excuse to be here,” she grins.

Jokes like that don’t usually go over him that well (murder is a bit of a touchy subject, especially with regard to Tony), but the teasing glint in her eyes somehow gets him to relax. So he sits and listens while she talks.

As the soup boils, she explains that she’s making it for Mark, who has a slight headache. It’s samgyetang, a broth with chicken, garlic, rice, and ginseng. Her parents used to make it for him when he was sick and Aunt Mei had to work, and when they died, she took over the job.

Bucky listens mostly in silence, reforming his opinion on the abrasive girl he met a month ago. She’s less snappy now, and though she quips a little about how bad Mark is in the kitchen, she’s quieter. Softer, out of worry.

It hits him as she’s ladling the soup into bowls, one for her, one for Mark, one for Tony, and one for him. She’s expressing her love in a way that Bucky knows and understands – food. She loves Mark and she loves Tony, and though she probably doesn’t feel the same way towards him, she still cares. She cares enough to fill a bowl for him, to place it in front of him with a spoon and fork and not the chopsticks he isn’t accustomed to.

He almost cries, looking down at the bowl of hot soup. It’s nothing like the simple meals his Ma used to make for him and Becca, but the meaning is the same. “Thank you,” he says quietly.

“You’re welcome.” The smile on her face reminds him of Becca, and maybe what his Ma’s smile would have looked like if he remembered more of it.

The soup is delicious. Rich broth, tender meat, rice that melts in his mouth. For a moment, he forgets himself as he tells Y/N that she has to teach him how to make this. Then he snaps his mouth shut, afraid of having overstepped.

She just laughs in delight, promising that she will the next time she comes to the Compound. Then she traipses off with the other three bowls on a tray, reminding him that there’s more soup in the pot if he or anyone else is still hungry.

Bucky slowly eats the hot soup, savoring each bite on his tongue. He’s long expressed his care through meals of his own, but only now, decades after his Ma, has someone done the same for him.

It feels strange. But it feels good, to know that someone can understand him in this way. Even if that someone is an almost stranger.

(Later, she comes back out again with Mark, both of them talking quietly about something or the other. Bucky’s just come out of his room to find Steve, but he finds himself stopping for a moment just to see the worry in her eyes as she looks up at him, the love in Mark’s eyes as he kisses her cheek. In that moment, he knows – it is love. It’s true love, real love, even though the two are only in college. It’s the way he feels about Steve, and the way Steve feels about him. It’s something beautiful.)

He starts using the kitchen, at first while Y/N is in there, and then he starts venturing in on his own. With time, Tony starts coming in too, and accepts Bucky’s apologies in the form of soups and meals and desserts.

Y/N brings Mark into the kitchen too, eventually. Bucky worries at first that he’s intruding on time with her boyfriend, but he quickly realizes that isn’t the case. Somehow, the love between Tony’s interns isn’t something that isolates others, that forces people away. Instead, it’s something nourishing, something that brings him in and makes him feel comfortable and peaceful even as they bicker in the corner.

Through the kitchen, through Y/N’s loud laughter and later Mark’s petulant whining at how she clowns him too much when it comes to cooking, Bucky learns once again how it feels for someone to care for him in the language he knows.

The interns’ love is the kind that Bucky has always wanted, the one he hasn’t allowed himself to have. He loves Steve and Steve loves him, but Bucky’s always been terrified that something will tear him away from Steve again. So he’s kept his distance a bit, even though Steve keeps trying to pull him in.

But as he starts laughing with the interns as he and Y/N work on new recipes, Mark and eventually Steve acting as the taste testers, he allows himself to believe that he and Steve can have this love too.  

~

iii.

Natasha’s spent her entire life reading people. She didn’t used to be so good at it, not in the Red Room (the knives Irina snuck into fights and the subsequent scars are proof of it), but she’s learned. She’s adapted. Reading people, she has learned, is a survival skill.

Most people she’s worked with wear masks. They don a smile, cordially shake hands and speak with pleasant words, but they don’t mean any of it. They’re always looking for something, whether that be power or wealth or whatnot. Natasha’s learned to figure out what that something is, very quickly.

She’s naturally suspicious of people. And though that might not be the nicest trait for someone to have, it keeps her safe. So she doesn’t care.

That’s why she keeps a close eye on the interns. It’s just for a bit, anyway. She’s curious how two teenagers got so close to Tony, even if they are Spiderman and Silk – after all, Tony has never been the warmest person to strangers.

But these kids, they’re so unapologetically honest (brutally so, sometimes, especially with Y/N). Natasha’s only caught them with little white lies, like who ate the last Oreo (that was Y/N) and that I’m not really injured, Ms. Romanoff, seriously (that was Mark). The only thing they’re really hiding from people is their alter egos as spider vigilantes, and that’s understandable. Natasha herself would really have liked to keep her Black Widow identity a secret, but, well, certain events made that impossible.

They’re honest in everything – their lives, which haven’t been the greatest, their studies, which are top-notch, and most importantly, their love. It takes a special type of courage to display their kind of love so freely, so openly, when they’re so close to the public eye. Sure, Tony’s gone to great lengths to keep the press away from them, but it demonstrates the trust they have in each other, to defend, to protect.

At first, Natasha doesn’t think it’s real. They have to be faking something. She’s seen too much of the world’s darkness to blindly believe their love is as deep as it appears to be. They’re so young. It doesn’t make sense.

Then the Stark gala rolls around.

Officially, it’s to welcome the rogue Avengers back to society. Unofficially, it’s a networking opportunity – people get to scope out new competition, maybe make some promises or some trades (or some bribes). Some people will get “poached” by other companies. Others will be doing the poaching themselves. Or losing employees to the poachers.

Natasha doesn’t particularly love this environment, but she does enjoy putting leering men in their places. So she’s going.

The interns are too, apparently. This will be their first time out in the open with reporters and journalists, and Tony’s been going nuts trying to make sure they won’t get harassed. Natasha knows this because FRIDAY sometimes bitches to her about her boss.

She wouldn’t worry too much. If someone gets too overbearing, she’s been teaching Y/N and Mark better self-defense. They’ll be fine.

It’s the night of the gala, and Natasha’s waiting around with the other rogues in the ballroom. A few people have approached, but nothing too terrible. In fact, as she holds a champagne flute between her fingers, she feels kind of bored. No one’s acting out yet.

Then the interns walk in.

The first thing Natasha registers is how they’re just looking at each other. To Mark, it’s like Y/N’s a piece of gold and glass, a star pulled down from the sky to rest in his hand. Meanwhile, Y/N looks at Mark like he hung the moon in the sky, plucked the stars from the galaxy and put them in her eyes.

Natasha won’t lie – Mark cuts a striking figure in the suit of Pepper’s choosing (because Tony is a fashion disaster, if left alone). Pepper’s stylist has put together Y/N’s look in a way that makes her literally shine. But the way they look at each other isn’t just admiration for each other’s beauty – it’s something much, much more.

Hm. She still doesn’t completely believe it, though, and as reporters start swarming into the ballroom, she loses sight of them anyway.

Several glasses of wine and champagne later, Natasha feels sufficiently loosened up to tolerate more human interaction than the minimum. She slips away from the rogues, indulges a politician or two in a dance, and eats all the hors d’oeuvres off of a platter. If anyone wants to point that out, they can get a six-inch heel to the face.

(Fights almost always break out at a Stark event. Either physical or verbal. Tony’s used to it. He probably wouldn’t care, especially if she was fighting some asshole like Ross.)

Somewhere in the pleasant slight muddiness that comes with her tipsy state, Natasha sees the interns again. Neither are twenty-one yet, so Tony’s forbidden them from imbibing any alcohol (and has probably told the servers not to give them any). Knowing them, though, Natasha expects Y/N will probably find a way to steal a glass of wine or something at some point.

But they’re not drinking now. They’re not eating, indulging reporters, or fending off over-curious business owners. They don’t look tired from the evening. They don’t even look bored, like Bucky does on the other side of the room.

Natasha watches them idly, fully ignoring the conversation that she’s supposed to be participating in. Dr. Phelps can talk to the Surgeon General. She’s not interested, especially when Mark drags Y/N, protesting, to the dance floor.

Really, Natasha would have thought Y/N would be the one dragging Mark there. She’s always been the more outgoing one, the more confident and mouthier one. But as Mark starts leading her in the figures of the slow dance, she can see why the roles have been switched.

Mark is a natural dancer, not the best Natasha’s seen, but good enough to not bump into anyone around him. Y/N, on the other hand, is barely above having two left feet.

It’s strange. Y/N has always had faster reflexes in training and is far lighter on her feet. But it’s not too weird. Yelena was always better at fighting than Natasha, after all, but Natasha was always better in ballet. She supposes this is something similar.

Dancing, to Natasha, has always been something precise, something sharp. In the Red Room, one leg an inch too low merited a slap on the backs of the thighs. But Mark, even though Y/N’s stepping on his toes every two seconds, is only smiling. There’s no sign of irritation on his face, just pure, utter adoration and awe as he looks into her embarrassed expression.

That’s when it hits her. She might not have believed it before, but this is the love she’s read about in story books. Plain and simple, intricate and complex. It’s just love. That’s it.

So it is possible, she muses over her latest glass of wine. It is possible to love someone so deeply that it doesn’t matter how they inconvenience you. It is possible to love someone so much that their faults just become things to love, not things to hate.

Y/N accidentally bumps into some important-looking man in a business suit who snaps something at her. She bites right back before turning to Mark again, the snark on her face melting into adoration.

Mark looks like he’s never been happier.

Natasha smiles, slipping away from her boring conversation with the excuse of needing more wine. She’s happy for the spiderlings.

Because if anyone in the world deserved this happiness, she thinks, it would be the two pure hearts stumbling gracelessly around the ballroom floor.

~

iv.

Wanda misses Pietro. But it doesn’t do anyone good to lie around missing someone, does it? So, true to herself, she takes the pain, buries it deep in her chest, and does what she believes is right – she follows the rogues.

Her sense of right and wrong has been askew, before. She will admit that. Blinded by her desire for revenge, she allowed Hydra to experiment on her. She ignored the dozens of other dying experiments, focused only on hers and Pietro’s survival. She sided with Ultron, wrought havoc in the world until she found his true plans.

But then she joined Stark.

Wanda may never admit it, but she thinks that was the single best choice of her life, aside from keeping Pietro alive with her for sixteen years. Her moral compass righted itself when she joined the Avengers, when Clint Barton took her aside in Sokovia and told her to choose – stay a child, or become a hero. Because she couldn’t be one or the other.

(A child who has seen war becomes an adult overnight, after all, no matter how young they are.)

Sure, Stark essentially imprisoning her in the Compound was a factor in her choice to join Cap. But she also remembered Sokovia, remembered the death and destruction of her home country, and knew how much more would have taken place had the Avengers not had free reign to do what they must. The Accords were drawn in a time of necessity, she knew. But they were too strict. Too harsh.

The world has made (relative) peace with the rogues, now. She’ll take it. Cap’s team has more or less earned their place again among society, after all, what with taking down most of the Hydra bases left in the world.

But she doesn’t feel comfortable in the Compound, not at first. Stark’s renovated it, made it look very different from the prison it used to be for her, but she still doesn’t harbor the kindest feelings towards the man. He’s changed – there’s no doubt about that. She believes he truly means to stay out of the weapons business that killed her parents and wrenched her life in the opposite direction. However, the fact still remains that he took it upon himself to decide what was best for her, without taking her opinion into account at all.

There isn’t much to do. There’s only so many times she can spar in the training room, even after meeting Dr. Strange (she’s very thankful for him, of course, but he’s also kind of mean even if he means well). Hydra didn’t neglect her schooling too much when it became clear she and Pietro were going to survive, and she’s smart, so Stark enrolls her in online college, just for a couple of years. “You can transfer to a physical college if you want, then,” he promises.

Online school is boring, though. She’s responsible, of course, but pre-recorded lectures suck and the homework is more or less a breeze.

And what is there to do during her non-busy hours besides curl up on her bed and try not to think of her deceased twin, her other half, her older brother by twelve minutes?

(By God, she wants to hear him say that to her one more time. Just once more.)

She knows Dr. Strange worries about her on the days she walks into his mansion on Bleecker Street, eyes downcast and face pale. She knows Clint sends her concerned looks when he visits with his kids. Stark even awkwardly mentions therapy, and though she brushes away the offer, a part of her wonders if she should’ve taken it.

Then the interns crash into her life. Literally.

She met them, briefly, that first time Stark forgot to inform the rogues of his interns and forgot to inform the interns that it was moving day, but the fight was a blur and then she was busy trying to get her life together for a couple of months, so she never got to meet them properly.

They meet properly when Mark trips over one of Morgan’s toys on the floor, sending his tray of foam coffee cups splattering to the floor. A spray of liquid lands on Wanda’s feet as she’s walking into the living room.

“Shit,” Y/N says eloquently. Then – “Mark, you idiot.”

“Sorry.” Mark hastily stands up, sending Wanda a very apologetic look. “Let me get a napkin or something. Burn cream?”

Wanda waves away the offer. “It wasn’t too hot,” she says. “Here, let me help.”

“No, no.” Y/N snatches the napkins from Mark before she can take them. “You’re the victim of Mark’s clumsiness, we can do the honors.”

Then she slips on a puddle of coffee and lands on her ass.

Mark starts snorting. Wanda doesn’t know if she should be calling for an ambulance or laughing.

A pained “I think I broke my ass,” rises from the floor.

Wanda settles for laughing and decides in that moment that she likes the interns very much.

It’s the right thing to do, she thinks, liking Mark and Y/N so much that she starts feeling like her life has a bit of meaning again.

(She’s never the third wheel – it’s always the three of them. Together.)

They run around Stark Tower, playing harmless pranks on the Avengers who can take it – not Bucky, not yet, and Natasha would probably hunt them down – but Clint and Steve are fair game. Y/N and Mark make her listen to their favorite songs, playing them until two a.m. on the nights they stay. With their help, she finishes her coursework even faster than she used to, but even though she’s got more free time now, there’s so much more to do. Read books, play games, go thrifting (and teach Y/N how to have a better fashion sense, Jesus). There’s so much, now.

There’s even more when Y/N and Mark slowly introduce her to their other friends. Haechan is a sarcastic piece of shit but Wanda loves him for it, while Jaemin’s a little quieter but definitely far more affectionate. Yeri is a beautiful specimen, out of this world (yeah, Wanda definitely has a crush on her), and Jihyo has the best sense of humor.

Wanda doesn’t know how she lived before she met the interns, really and truly. From them, she sees that her existence with Hydra was just that – existence. Not living. Even when threats hit New York and they all have to fight together, it’s still living. Because Wanda now has something to protect, to defend again.

(Privately, she admires them, wonders how such pure-hearted people could be friends with someone as broken as her. She admires that their first instinct is to protect, not to destroy. In battle, the spiderlings take the job of protecting the civilians, evacuating them, using their abilities to defend.

Wanda can’t. Her power is more destructive than protective, and many people balk at her ability to see into their minds. So she focuses on tearing down buildings, breaking apart killer robots, throwing aliens onto the ground and twisting them so they won’t be able to hurt anyone anymore.

Y/N and Mark are Avengers, though they sometimes joke that they’re not really true Avengers. Avengers work out the large-scale events, Y/N says. She and Mark just look out for the little guys. That’s how Spiderman and Silk got their start, after all, and even now, they haven’t left behind their day-to-day duties in Queens.

Wanda thinks that makes them truer Avengers than the rest of them. She and the others? They only destroy, sworn to protect Earth at all costs. But if Y/N and Mark weren’t there to protect the people? Well, Earth wouldn’t be Earth without the humans who populate it.)

The rest of the Avengers hate them. Sam relentlessly yells curses when another bucket tips over and douses him in freezing water. Clint groans when he finds his arrows covered in webbing (“I thought I hid them well this time!”). Dr. Strange loathes it when the interns come to pick Wanda up from training (“Put that down, Ms. Y/N, or so help me –”). Steve literally leaves the room whenever the three of them are together because he knows they won’t stop making references to his old Captain America PSAs (the day Y/N and Mark sat down to show Wanda all of them was the greatest day of her life).

Oh, but Wanda loves it. She loves the life that the interns have given her once again, the freedom to act her age and not so much older. With them, she learns to cope. She goes to therapy at their suggestion, citing the help they received with their own troubles. She gets better.

Sometimes, though, she feels guilty, that she’s enjoying life so much when Pietro is gone. She still has bad days where she lies on her bed, unblinking, thinking these thoughts, staring at her ceiling plastered with little glow-in-the-dark stars, wishing with her entire heart that her other half was still alive. And even on her good days, where she and Y/N and Mark and Haechan are fucking around at a coffee shop or something, she’ll look out at the sky and think, I wish you were here, Pietro.

But it’s okay. In the end, she knows that he’s there. Watching, listening, smiling down on his baby sister by twelve minutes.

(By God, she can still hear his voice saying that.)

And he’s happy for her.

~

v.

Tony, by nature, is a forgetful person. Or at least he likes to say so. It might just be the result of purposely forgetting too many family dinners or Stark events, to the point that he’s just become forgetful. And who can blame him for not wanting to see Howard Stark any more than he actually had to?

It’s not too bad when it comes to the science stuff. He’s got a pretty good head for remembering what needs to go where, whether or not DUM-E needs greasing again, and oh fuck, I need to put this thing in before that thing otherwise the house will explode. Sometimes there are minor accidents, but he doesn’t talk about those.

(His interns do. They’re terrible teenagers, those two, in particular Y/N. Mark’s a little nicer. But he loves them anyway, even though they give him gray hairs.)

But when it comes to people? Social situations? Telling other living human beings things?

Yeah, he’s not the best at that.

To be fair, he’s been making progress. Every single year he’s managed to remember that Pepper is deathly allergic to strawberries (he doesn’t need a repeat of that time he fucked up and brought them as an apology, which only made things worse). He remembers date nights, he remembers (more or less) when he has to attend a meeting about the Accords, he remembers when Pepper sets up dinners with him, Rhodey, and his interns’ families.

So he’s been doing better. And if he “forgets” one or two meetings with Fury or that nitwit Secretary of State Thaddeus Ross, no one gives him too much shit for it. It’s not like he’d care, anyway.

But sometimes he still forgets extremely crucial information, and the aftermath makes him suffer dearly for it. Like now. It’s been months since The Incident, and he already thinks he’d like to be six feet under.

Because ever since the newly pardoned no-longer-war-criminal Avengers moved into the Compound, Tony has had a permanent headache (not that he didn’t already have one, what with Morgan learning to walk, but now it’s worse) in the form of his interns mixing with the newly reinstated Avengers.

In all honesty, he should’ve known this would happen since the day he forgot to inform the new freeloaders that he had two new interns and consequently forgot to tell the interns that it was moving day for the former rogues. But since he was woefully shortsighted, the ensuing chaos resulted in a broken table, a knife in the wall, a chokehold, a thigh hold, a black eye, and an arrow embedded in a bookcase.

Well, the table needed replacing anyway. And the most important thing at the time was that somehow, amidst the chaos, Morgan didn’t wake up.

After that disastrous first meeting, though, they’re all getting along surprisingly well. Sam likes to rib on Y/N, who just snaps right back. Steve likes to draw while listening to Mark play guitar. Nat and Clint have taken it upon theirselves to teach them both more self-defense, Barnes sometimes cooks with Y/N (and the food is surprisingly good), and Wanda gets along with them like a house on fire, which results in far too many pranks and broken items around the Compound.

(It’s not even just the pranks. It’s the sheer chaos that the three young adults bring when they put their minds together. They yell the randomest shit even when they’re beating off attackers and it drives him and the others nuts. 

Example A. After Wanda enrolled in the kids’ university, they had a chemistry test at some point and got called to battle immediately after. 

“WANDA, WHAT DID YOU GET FOR QUESTION TWELVE?” Mark yells as he rounds up a group of civilians. 

“298!” she screams back. 

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Y/N pauses in webbing an alien to start yelling. “I GOT 312!”

Tony thinks his brain is going to explode. “Kids, please focus on the fight –”

“Y/N, DID YOU FORGET TO CONVERT CELSIUS TO KELVIN?”

There’s a beat of silence. 

Then a loud “FUCK” sounds over the comms, and Tony isn’t kidding when all the Avengers wince or flinch at the pure chaotic rage exuding from Y/N’s person. 

Scott Lang, who literally just came by for a visit, later asks Tony if it’s going to be like this when Cassie gets older. Tony just pats the poor man on the back and wishes him luck.)

It’s part of the spiderkids’ charms, Tony thinks. Despite their different personalities, they fit together like positive and negative, like two opposite poles. And in this, they drag other people into their bubble of laughter and joy. Like they did with him.

There’s been a lot of bad in Tony’s life – Howard, the party years, his parents’ deaths, all the death threats he’s gotten from others (and himself – that palladium wasn’t doing good things to his blood). But there’s also been a lot of good – Jarvis, Rhodey, Pepper, Badassium, the other Avengers, and the latest additions: his interns, and now Morgan.

There isn’t anything specific that Y/N and Mark do that make him feel good about life, he thinks. It’s just the way they fit together so well, the way they bring a sort of comfort to his own fucked up existence. It’s there in the way Mark will hold out a hand for a tool in the lab and Y/N will immediately hand the correct one over. It’s there in the way Y/N makes soup for Mark when he gets a headache. It’s there in the way they play with Morgan, two college students laughing and smiling with a babbling baby with sticky, messy hands.

Tony hasn’t always been able to recognize love. It took him a long while – his childhood didn’t have a lot of it, and what little he got was from either Maria, who was often cowed by Howard’s presence, or Jarvis. Rhodey was the first to introduce him to something other than distant familial care – love between friends. Then Happy came along. Finally, with Pepper, he found someone he wanted to wake up to every single day.

That’s how he zeroed in on his interns, the day he drove up to their little apartment and flipped their lives inside out. He was taking a break with Pepper, but he could recognize the aura between them. The way Y/N looked at Mark, the way Mark squeezed Y/N’s arm when she started getting agitated.

Tony knew, from the start, that these were two kids who had seen each other at their best and worst points in their short lives and had made the conscious decision to keep caring for each other, to keep loving each other. And from the biographies he’d pulled together when he first started searching them up, they had had a lot of bad points in their lives to see each other at.

He couldn’t believe they weren’t dating. It wasn’t possible. But at the time, that hadn’t been the point, so Tony had just assumed that they’d figured things out and finally gotten together sometime after Germany. They certainly looked it – even through the dark circles and stifled yawns and half-lidded eyes, they never strayed from one another.

Imagine his surprise when they told him months later that they were finally fucking dating.

Honestly, Tony thought he was going to have a fucking aneurysm, but he stayed himself. But after the panic attack (and the resulting scene where he nearly cried in front of his two high school interns, one of whom had just had said panic attack, what a fucking mess), he’d immediately gone off to Pepper to rant. When she kicked him out a half hour later, he went to Rhodey, who was much more obliging (mostly because he ignored Tony the whole time).

And as the years passed, as he watched them transition from awkward high school students to awkward college students, their friendship and love only grew into something more beautiful that Tony never actually thought he’d see. Two brilliant minds who stayed geared on kindness and love and protection even after years of heartbreak.

What more could Tony ever want to see?

(Well, Morgan growing up. That, he wants to see more than anything ever. But that’s beside the current point.)

Tony walks into the living room to his favorite interns sitting at the piano. Mark’s holding the guitar Tony got him for his nineteenth birthday after finding out his old one broke and Mei couldn’t afford to replace it. Y/N has her hands on the piano that Tony got her for her twentieth after she mentioned she used to play, but Johnny had to sell their keyboard when money got tight. Wanda’s flicking through her phone on the couch, Johnny’s trying to keep Mei from experimenting in the kitchen, while Clint plays with Morgan and Nathaniel in the background.

Despite this, Y/N looks at Mark like he’s the only person in the world, while he looks at her like she hung the stars in the sky. The living room is quiet, broken only by Morgan’s and Nathaniel’s babbling, but it could be silent for all his interns cared.

He just watches them with a smile on his face as they begin playing in tandem. Tony knows Y/N is primarily a classical pianist, while Mark likes to learn pop tunes on his guitar, but when they come together, it really is something beautiful. Neither are perfect players, but when they begin a song, it’s like everything else disappears, and only two things exist – the music and them. Even Morgan and Nathaniel stop babbling to listen.

Eventually, they’ll finish the piece. Maybe they’ll play another one together. Y/N might show off the latest Chopin she’s been working on, or Mark will play a song he’s just finished composing. They’ll look at each other with those dopey smiles and star-crossed eyes, and they’ll kiss.

Wanda and the kids will probably groan in mock disgust. Johnny and Mei will exchange smirks. His interns will just laugh it off, maybe start a tickle fight with the kids or a brawl with Wanda. There’ll be a lot of kicking and yelling and laughing, and then they’ll tire and raid the cabinets for snacks.

It’s Y/N and Mark’s world, Tony thinks, and the rest of them are just living in it. It’s a messy existence, and Tony knows his headache isn’t going to go away anytime soon. In the face of this chaotic peace, though, he can’t bring himself to care at all. He can only be grateful to be a part of it.

The love between his favorite interns brings people together. And as he watches them smile at each other across their instruments, listening to the music they make under their fingertips, Tony wouldn’t have it any other way.

[paperwayne]

steady.

50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” ➡ 1. Holding their hands when they are shaking.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Word Count: 2,450 words

Warnings: None

I.

You’ve known Jason Todd long enough to know how sticky his fingers can be. It’s a talent, really, something to be admired in the slums of Gotham; an apple here, a wallet there, and more recently, tires right off of cars.

Stealing isn’t wrong if you’re trying to survive. But sometimes, you can’t resist doing it out of pleasure rather than necessity.

Jason’s hand is clean and warm as it curls firmly around your wrist – a habit that has now become a signal, back when you had been loose-lipped and jumpy whenever the two of you walked past the cashiers at stores – and you tear your gaze away from the crude caricature of Batman you had been scribbling onto an Etch A Sketch you had found, blinking as your friend glances at your artwork.

“Funny,” he compliments, and you crack a smile before he jerks his head slightly toward the exit. “C’mon, let’s go.”

You give the gummy Etch A Sketch a few vigorous shakes and slide it back onto the dusty shelf from whence it came. As you and Jason make your way to the door, the old man at the register stares suspiciously. You smile at him, innocent in your youth.

The door is just about to close completely before it swings open again, but by then you had crossed the street.

“You little brats, get back here!”

Jason’s grip on you tightens and that’s another signal.

Run.

You don’t have to look to know that Jason’s biting down a grin as you drag each other along the dirty, buckling sidewalk, evading indifferent passersby as the cashier shouts out a few expletives in vain. You keep your breathing in time with his, pumping your arms as you leap over cracks and clumps of yellowing grass. Jason’s hand slides down from your wrist to wrap around your own hand, vicelike and stubborn. It’s easier to run that way, you think.

Eventually, you find yourselves in an alleyway that’s mostly empty, save for a homeless woman dozing off next to the dumpster. Jason lets go of your hand to unzip his jacket while you do the same. The trash bag behind you crackles when you shuffle back to lean against the brick wall, panting.

“So,” he murmurs, blue eyes a steely shade of grey in the shadows of the alley, “Purple or green?”

“… Green.” You try to swallow and moisten your parched throat. “R-Red or orange?”

“Something wrong, [Y/n]?”

You pause when Jason asks that question, one of his eyebrows raised. His gaze darts down to the pairs of socks in your two hands. That’s when you realize that they are shaking, and it’s a split second later when you realize that it’s because your hands are shaking. Trembling, more like.

“Oh.” Immediately, you clench your fists, embarrassed as you try to still your jittery fingers. “I didn’t even – it’s nothing.” In the brief moment of skeptical silence, you say the only other thing that automatically comes to mind. “Sorry.”

Jason’s curious expression morphs into one of confusion. “The hell’re you saying ‘sorry’ for?” he asks. His tone is a little rough, but when you blurt out another ‘sorry,’ he has the sense to soften a bit. “’S’nothing to say sorry for. We didn’t get caught, so you don’t gotta be shaking.”

You nod, looking down, and he sighs.

“Here.”

He takes your red pair of socks and tucks it into his pocket, then unceremoniously presses the candy bar with the green wrapper into your hand and places your other hand over it. You think that he’ll pull away soon, but he doesn’t; his hands engulf both of yours like some sort of sandwich, and then they stay. His skin is no longer warm like it had been in the store, but his hold is just as firm as it had been when he gripped your wrist not ten minutes ago.

Jason stares intently at his hands and yours, and after a few minutes, he finally lets go, satisfied.

“It’s choco-caramel,” he says, as if nothing had just happened. “Lucky guess.”

You tuck the candy bar into your jacket pocket, hands steady.

II.

You’ve known Jason Todd long enough to know that sometimes, he feels too much.

There’s a whoosh of air as your bedroom door opens, and you think you hear yourself mumble a few protests as the door slams loudly behind Jason. Eyes squinting, you reach out to turn on the bedside lamp, flinching when you click it on.

Heavy, angry breaths heave from the boy’s chest when you fix your gaze upon his hunched-over figure. His mask is gone, but the rest of his uniform still displays its bright and cheerful colors, a stark contrast to the darkness rolling off Jason in waves. Your eyes trace downward from his hair, matted and sweaty from a night of patrolling, to his arms and his hands, straight and stiff at his sides.

Anger still bubbles beneath the surface of his skin, you can see; it escapes in the form of shaking arms and fists.

“Jay?” you murmur in the choking silence.

As if awakened, Jason whirls around to kick the wall. It’s enough to jolt the rest of the sleep out of you, and you blink as he continues to slam his foot against the plaster and concrete, cursing both under and over his breath.

“Dammit! Dammit! Dammit!”

“Jason!”

You throw the blankets off you and cross the room, grabbing his arm. He tears away just as quickly, jaw clenched as he shoots you a venomous glare that’s not quite all there.

“Why the hell are you in my room?!”

“This is my room!”

“No, it’s —” Jason cuts himself off as he finally registers the contents of your bedroom, gaze flitting across your stuffed animals and the Etch a Sketch on your bedside drawer. His mouth tightens, and his expression crumples back into one of irritation.

“No, you’re staying here until you tell me what’s wrong,” you state firmly when he moves to open the door again. Reaching out to touch his arm once more, you hold it as you lead him to your bed and sit down at the edge. “Did Bruce get mad at you again?”

Jason scoffs, high-pitched and loud. “He’s always mad at me during patrol. He’s got a stick up his ass.”

You examine the way he clenches and unclenches his hands in his lap. His breathing is still uneven. “… Something went wrong, didn’t it?”

“He got shot.”

“Bruce?” You frown. Though it’s obviously painful, you know that Bruce’s been shot before, and he gets over it pretty quickly every time.

“No. A – a kid. He was little. I wasn’t quick enough. It was in the leg, but Bruce said if I stayed back the bastard wouldn’t have fired the gun in the first place.” Jason spits out the words like they’re poison. “The hell does he know? He’s never used a gun in his life.”

You chew on your lip. You can picture the scene all too well, bits of memories of Crime Alley shootouts and family homicides filling in the gaps. You can imagine the scream of the child. You can imagine the argument in the Batcave afterwards, Batman glowering over Jason like the Gotham Clocktower, dark and disapproving, as Jason throws his mask down and stomps away.

“Did the kid get to the hospital?” you whisper.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” You breathe out slowly, deliberately. “That’s good. I’m glad.”

Jason is quiet. You look at his hands again, and as if in a daze, you reach out to hold them.

The gloves are dirty. You pull them off as his hands unclench, blinking down at the pale skin mottled with purple bruises at the knuckles. You turn them over to inspect his palms and fingertips as if you’re about to read them, prophesy about his fate or something, but really you just mean to look at them for the sake of doing so. It brings you back in time, touching his hands. They’re still rough with callouses. Still shaking.

“As long as you’ve stopped them,” you mutter, relaxing your hold as the tremors slow, then fade from his muscles. “It doesn’t matter how you do it as long as they don’t do it again.”

“Thanks,” he says. It’s forced out, but it’s sincere. You meet his eyes when he extracts his hands from yours, fingers pulling away as slow as pulling taffy, and they’re tired but resolute.

You almost kiss him that night. But you don’t, thinking that a better time would probably come, when both of you are older and wiser and happier, and when Jason would perhaps not mind kissing you.

That chance is buried along with Jason a few months later, and with it, a part of yourself.

III.

You used to know Jason Todd.

Used to, because Jason is gone. You had been there at his funeral. You had watched his casket get lowered into the ground, and you had thrown a dumb flower at it like it would magically make a wooden box with a dead body prettier somehow. You had cried for him.

Jason Todd is dead. But then Uncle Alfred calls, and all of a sudden, you aren’t so sure anymore.

Although Bruce had initially objected, Alfred tells you about the empty casket and the Red Hood. He asks if any men had visited you lately, or if you feel like someone’s watching you. You tell him that you’d probably be dead if either of those things happened. He chuckles.

He tells you that Bruce sends his regards. You hang up.

It’s kind of ironic that you almost get killed that same night.

Your ears are still ringing and the frigid night air makes it hard to breathe; the ghost of a cold, hard pistol pressed against your temple renders you dizzy. The whole thing could have been avoided if you’d remembered to test the battery of your damn taser this month, but you hadn’t, and now three bodies are in the alleyway – yours; the man that had touched you, now deceased, lying on the asphalt; and a strange man with the gun that had won.

The rest of the smoke finally dissipates from the barrel. Your savior for the night spins the weapon in his hand before tucking it away at his hip, strolling over to crouch down at the thief’s side. With no great effort, he shoves a hand underneath the corpse to roll it over.

You stand, still quite in shock, as the man in the red helmet reaches into the dead man’s back pocket and plucks out a square, leather object. He stands up and holds it out to you, and you realize that it’s your wallet.

You take it. “Thanks … er …”

“Red Hood,” he says, looking down at you. It feels like he’s staring.

“Yeah,” your heart is in your throat and you will the next few words to come out smoothly, “I know. I’ve heard about you.”

“Well, shucks, I’m flattered. I bet the rumors are full of sunshine and rainbows.”

The words seem innocent, but the tone is familiar. You know this tone and manner of speaking. It’s baiting, a subtle prod to reveal yourself, and overwhelming curiosity leads you to reciprocate.

“There’s not many vigilantes out in Gotham who aren’t under the bat, you know.”

The Red Hood barks out a sharp laugh. “Don’t need the bat when I’ve got a gun.”

He’s right, though you know Batman certainly wouldn’t appreciate that reasoning. Your gaze darts down to the leather holster cradling that deadly weapon. You wet your lips, cautiously, as he leans against the wall opposite you and waits for you to talk again.

“You could’ve just knocked him out.”

“I also could’ve let him splatter your brains out. Life’s full of possibilities.” He uncrosses his arms, and you, for some insane reason, stay where you are as he suddenly pushes off the wall. His voice lowers. “So’s death.”

Your next words are exceptionally careful. He’s getting closer, the white eyes of his helmet washed in shadows as you meet them as solidly as you can. “I’ve heard about that too.”

(Despite your greatest efforts, you feel your hands begin to shake. No no no. You cross your arms to hide them and look more put together than you feel.)

“Really,” he says. “Do tell.”

“My uncle,” you begin slowly, “was just telling me today about a casket that was recently dug back up in the cemetery. They found that the person in it – who was supposed to be in it – was never there.”

“Wow. That’s wild.”

“Yeah. Wild.”

God, your hands won’t stop shaking. They tremble, suffocating in the crooks of your elbows, and you’re growing more and more frustrated as the Red Hood just stands there, infuriatingly silent as he watches your patience slowly unravel until the last thread snaps.

“Look,” you finally exclaim, taking a single step forward; your voice is hoarse and desperate and barely above a whisper. “Jason, if that’s you, tell me. It was just us for so long – you owe me a yes or no, goddammit!”

Your fingers are achingly, annoyingly stiff. Tremors wrack through each tendon and joint. Breathing heavily, you realize that you’re now gripping his biceps, blunt nails digging into the soft leather of his jacket, and that you’re standing much closer to him than you thought you were.

A solid minute passes. Then, slowly, the Red Hood reaches up to grasp your forearms, his hands dragging down to meet yours as they pull away from his jacket. You bite your tongue, glaring at the space between you.

Jason squeezes your hands tight, and then he lets go.

Your arms drop down to your sides, limp, as he pats your shoulder, looking to his left. “Your apartment’s just across the street, right? You’ll probably make it,” is all he says.

You just nod emptily and amble out of the alleyway, mind blurry while he trails close behind, leaving the corpse of your assailant where it had fallen. There’s no cars driving around right now so you just walk across the street without looking both ways, only stopping once you reach your apartment door and have your key out to unlock it. 

You turn around before opening the door; no one’s around, naturally, and you exhale and step inside.

As soon as the lock clicks, your legs give out underneath you. You crumple on the cold tile, hands folded and crushing against your mouth in some semblance of a prayer, and start to cry – and you can’t, for the life of you, figure out why.

__

[50 Wordless Ways to Say “I Love You” prompt list (requests using this prompt list are CLOSED)]

[mcfanely]

Nightowls

With Chamille’s idea running none-stop through his head, Cole found himself more and more sold on the idea of donning a mask again, but for a completely different reason than being a ninja. Now, it all comes to whether Cole can make himself do something he hadn’t done seriously in years. 

Chapter 04 - I’m Thinking, 1886 words

As the night drew to a close, and the sun had already passed the horizon and was steadily rising into the sky, Cole still hadn't made his way back to the monastery. The night like always, had been hectic and fun. Chamille had grabbed onto the hood of his jacket a few times to try and drag him into the stage area, and Cole had successfully nearly choked himself by refusing to move anywhere that wasn't that little bit further away from the centre of the crowd. But he had been thinking. 

To say he was hung up on what Chamille had said was an overstatement, though he was giving the idea a bit of thought. That, just like when he was a Ninja running around in a mask all those many years back when their faces weren't on the front of newspapers and their names weren't attributed to being the saviours of the city multiple times over, having his identity under wraps had provided clear advantages. 

The main one, before he'd told his dad the truth, the secret identity had allowed him to keep up the lie that he was still attending Marty Oppenheimers' even when he'd run away, whilst actively being a ninja and helping people. It was nice because he could go from a Ninja that people could look up to, to a random guy on the street that no one batted an eyelid at. 

The fact that people knew who he was and what he did now? Cole didn't mind. He knew that he was good at what he did, he knew that now that people knew him, that they had a face to put the Elemental Master of Earth; he could stop feeling like he needed to keep that part of his life a secret and just live it up to the fullest. He was a Ninja, he was happy for people to know that. 

But the idea of wearing a mask, to put distance between himself as a person and something he was totally not thinking about doing, was a good idea. 

So much so that when it had passed six in the morning, Cole had successfully stayed awake for twenty-four hours, and he was still up and about a couple hours later. Why the single arts and crafts store in Ninjago City had later opening hours than every other store on the high street, he had no idea. Though it did give him time to up his coffee intake to a total of three cups from three different cafés, along with commandeering a public restroom to wash as much neon paint off his face and his clothes as he could in order to stop himself from looking like a walking advert for a traffic cone. All before the store opened.  

It came off his skin and out his hair easy enough, but his hoodie was definitely a lost cause. He'd have to have faith that a wash would fix it, but he didn't have high hopes. 

So with coffee in hand, and an extremely vibrant jacket tied around his waist, Cole was the first customer into the crafts store and he had some form of idea as to what he needed. Cardboard, a plastic mask base, some thicker and stronger elastic and an assortment of paints. Specifically, oranges, blacks and whites.

The more he looked around, the more that caught his eye and the more ideas he got about what he was going to do. So maybe he bought a few extra things, like some paint that apparently glowed in the dark? Or an assortment of his own neon paint since he had to make up for purposely spilling a load of it over Chamille somehow?

Cole left the store with a full bag slung over his shoulder and set off back to the monastery. Now all he had to do was come up with an excuse for why he was walking into the monastery nearing midday after he'd clearly been shopping, and why no one had seen him leave that morning - because he hadn't even been there. 

He had time, though. The trek up the stairs back to home was enough to think up a multitude of excuses, the only hindrance to his plan was the absolute mess that was his hoodie and jeans, decorated artfully with paint. 

The plan was to get to his room, change, then make an appearance. 

Only sometimes, as good as Cole was at strategic thinking and plans, there were always hiccups. That being on his way past the living room after sneaking past Kai massacring a training dummy in the courtyard, he hadn't taken into account that anyone would be sitting down and having a rest. The sound of the game console should have clued him in, but Cole had already stepped past the open doorway without much thought. 

"Cole, you're back!" came a loud voice, and internal cursing quickly followed. 

He situated himself with his head poking into the living room, his painted clothes carefully hidden behind the wall so they weren't on show. 

Sat on the couch, the light from the TV reflecting in their eyes and the music paused along with the game, was Lloyd and Jay. Jay beaming with a wide smile and a crooked eyebrow, he'd probably just beaten a particularly hard level. 

"Where were you?" Lloyd questioned after a moment, his tone far too measured and concerned for someone his age; and in the space of a second Cole realised that if they'd found out he wasn't there that morning, that they might have worried. 

He hadn't even thought of that. 

Cole let out a small breath and gave a smile, "Headed to the city pretty early on, walked there. I didn't mean to worry you guys or anything."

Jay interjected, "Worried, us? Nope, you just missed train-- oomf."

Lloyd's hand came to a stop over Jay's mouth, and the lightning ninja gained a glare that could strike fear into the lesser man, "When you didn't come out I tried your door, it was sorta open." He said, then winced a little, "I didn't go in or anything, but I could see you weren't in there."

The tone was careful and casual, and Cole almost felt bad that he was going to lie. Or at least, he wasn't going to be fully honest. Why lie if he didn't necessarily have to, anyway? "Sorry, kiddo. I should have told you what I was doing before I left."

Even though I've never even been here since last night. 

Cole held up his bag in one hand, as physical proof that he had been somewhere, and he had bought something, but that still didn't seem to sway the calculating expression on Lloyd's face. 

Though whatever tension there was, if any, was broken when Lloyd's face shifted into one of disgust and promptly pulled his hand away from a cackling Jay's mouth. 

"Ew, gross! You licked my hand?" He questioned, his voice moving up in pitch at the end. 

That just made Jay laugh harder. 

Cole took that moment as the excuse he needed to leave the situation. Only when he was half way to his room did Jay's head poke out the lounge. 

"You know you have paint in your hair?" He called, questioning. 

Cole's hand quickly went up to the back of his head, to be met with the coarse feeling of dried paint that was in fact there, and had been missed during his effort to clean it all off earlier that morning. He cringed, but shot Jay a slight smile, "Got pranked by some kids walking back. I thought they'd missed." Cole grinned, then shrugged. "I'll be in my room, showering."

"Dude, too much info!" 

"Wait until you realise what I do with my clothes when I shower." 

Then it was Lloyd's turn to give a holler of disgust. 

Cole laughed at their revulsion, and slipped into his room without much fanfare. 

Twenty minutes later, and a fresh change of clothes, he was sitting in the center of his room with a towel wrapped around his damp hair and his morning purchases neatly arranged on the floor in front of him. 

He knew what he wanted to do, he already had a rough design sketched out on a rogue piece of paper; his pencil was held between his teeth and he was staring at the paints. 

The dawning realisation of what he was planning to do finally hit home. It wasn't as if he'd told anyone about his idea, it was currently just himself and his thoughts, and Cole was already second guessing himself. 

"This is a stupid idea." He mumbled to himself, his voice quiet in the already present silence of his room. Usually he had music playing on his phone or something to the like, but now all he was doing was thinking. Thinking that what he was going to do- no, not what he was going to do, what he was debating on doing- and just realising how much he hadn't even taken into account. 

Cole didn't dance for anyone. Sure, maybe he'd do a general jig if there was a good song on the radio, but who didn't? Yet dancing, proper dancing, he hadn't done it for years; and not for anyone but himself. 

Why was he even contemplating going against the grain? Why now? What made that moment different, what made that time the right time to consider getting back into dancing? Was it the fact that he now saw these amazingly talented people every time he went to Nightowls? The way they just so easily stepped into the centre of attention, directly into everyone's line of sight and not get bothered by the many pairs of eyes staring back at them? That they could blank it all out in favour of just performing and doing what they loved? 

Cole let out a heavy breath, before he lifted the scrap piece of paper with the mask sketch up in front of him. He had a good idea what he wanted to do, a design that would be pretty ironic, a personal victory in a way. One that only he would be aware of, really. He had everything he needed. It was all out in front of him. 

Cole set the paper down, took hold of the towel in his hair and started rubbing the last of the dampness away. He stood, folding the towel over the chair at his desk before he left for training. 

He needed to stave off exhaustion first, he needed to get his blood pumping and muscles warmed. He needed to wake himself up as much as he could after such an extensively long day, then he'd think logically about what he was going to do when he wasn't feeling as tired. 

Maybe that night Cole had gone to sleep as soon as his head had hit the pillow, at the late time of seven in the afternoon. Maybe he even slept solidly through the night and woke up on time for the following days training, not a nightmare in sight. 

Maybe his mask was already under construction, pencil markings already sketched out on the mask base, the idea already blooming into fruition. 

Maybe he would dance.

-

From the beginning

Ch 03 > Ch 04 > Ch 05

AO3