#otherwise bro fades away and never returns

[gradient-jeremy-asks]

No Sunlight for Jerm

[worldsover]

Judgement to the Desiccated ft. Karina

length ✦ 5573

genres ✧ sm type future; asphyxiation; blackmail; virtual_servant!Karina;

✦✧✦✧✦✧

Air did a poor job of not being polluted so Lee Soo Man flooded the world instead. The man himself certainly must be long gone and could not have been in charge of that decision but the legacy of his company far exceeds the legacy of any other human collective in history. Once on this planet, gas was the fluid of choice for respiration and breathing was an unconscious reflex. Now there’s Aether by SM. How very on-brand of them to have the liquid air you breathe follow perfume naming conventions.

Open your eyes and exit the sleeping chamber. Aether has you work for each inhalation, it desaturates the color of the bedroom—maybe there’s a subtle but uncomfortable tinge of yellow—and it makes your nose itch. Your muscles wield much less force than they used to because of the lack of resistance the fluid provides. Moreover, it smells like hairspray as though the ozone layer is taking sardonic revenge.

Screens impersonating windows track your eyes to ensure realistic parallax, playing the scene of divine blue heavens that could not exist. An azure sky is a reward for those planets that have an atmosphere and a sun for light to scatter. Your walls are either chrome or drywall white and your whole bedroom is plainly decorated just like the day you moved in.

“Etymology of bedroom,” you think out loud, though it falls on no ears.

“Bedroom is a compound noun consisting of bed and room. Bed goes back to Old English bedd ‘sleeping place, plot of ground prepared for plants,’ which goes back to the Germanic-”

Plants and sleep are both strong words to use nowadays. The former doesn’t exist in nature and it seems you’re the only one who bothers with the latter. Faint buzzing distracts you from the AI’s response and signals you to the nano drones that swim throughout the liquid to process carbon dioxide from your lungs. This whole ordeal could’ve been much worse if you didn’t have brain interfaces doing the hard part of controlling your diaphragm. The most you need is a purposeful thought. Still, it gets tiring having to think the same thought every three seconds. In. Out.

Was the metaphorical Soo Man teaching a lesson in perseverance? You love K-pop and imagine it’s how trainees used to practice dancing, singing, being charismatic. Being an idol had to be as natural as breathing air. Inhale and exhale. Right now with any antiquated programming language you clung on to, you could write a single for loop that did the same job. For every three seconds: breathe in, breathe out.

“What’s for breakfast today?” Not loud enough. “What’s for breakfast?” you think it louder.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready for service.” It’s quite a kindness for SM to blur the bland dystopia you live in by augmenting reality through your neural device. A bosomy woman in a gold-lined but otherwise modest maid outfit appears from the corner of your eye and she bows. Ae-Karina is bewitching and almost becoming of her basis as its graphics have gradually upgraded over the rotations but you wouldn’t misconstrue the avatar as human.

“I said, what’s for breakfast!” It feels impolite to scream in your head, there’s other residents there, but finally the fridge lights up.

“Of course master. May I remind you eating is unnecessary?”

In. Out. Every day, she does remind you, yes. How kind of the company to put all your nutritional requirements in the new air. Aether goes in then Aether goes out. You wish the thoughts of breathing could fade into the background but they’re just like your cravings for food. Always hungry but never starving, whole though not once satisfied. Your eyes pause at her gorgeous face and she tells you there’s bacon. Take it from your fridge. Bacon goes in. Well, the drones take care of the out.

Your assigned living space is the entire 207th floor of a tower. Two hundred and seven floors below the surface. The neighbor a few floors upstairs says that he thinks living deeper is a sign of status. What a luxury. That guy should check the status of his facial muscles, maybe improve his code that lets him tell lies while he’s at it. A couple hundred flights of stairs to swim up is a useless skeuomorphism of skyscrapers in the days of the sun. In fact they were more than useless, you would've preferred a single vertical hallway as it would have let you propel upwards unimpeded. Each floor is the exact same, a glass door that affords no privacy for its residence, a false tree on each side. At the upper levels, malls, convenience stores and other gaudy retail, but it’s the gyms that mock you that you mock in return. They’re always empty.

Finally reaching the top is no true break even if it is a change in scenery. Inhale. Aether tastes a little different up here. Exhale. Can’t say you like it.

Countless satellites form a parody of the star from which the planet flew away, the false image refracted by the upper boundary of Aether. They can’t take away your memories of this star. Looking up at the sky once blinded you with ultraviolet radiation, burning your cornea. It was beautiful. Now everyone’s decided that if they’re playing the part of corporate dystopia, they might as well fit the aesthetic. In a way, it’s self-fulfilling. They wouldn’t have chosen a neon pink sun to compliment the blue and metallic gloom of the cityscape if it weren’t so ingrained in popular media already.

Still, you would’ve expected Google or Walmart to become the megacorp responsible for the state of the world, not a Korean entertainment company. Must’ve been quite the red paperclip scenario. Instead of material design or utilitarian architecture, tacky artistic structures line the streets. The same advertisements for albums that they’ve been selling for the past however long. It's all so obvious, the city could've been designed from scratch to accommodate new forms of travel and goddamn liquid air but instead they went with futuristic Tokyo.

Dubstep permeates your inner ear implants. A notification informs your thoughts that it’s “Hip-hop EDM dance pop with a strong jungle house groove and urban influences.” It’s dubstep. Liquid carries barely any sound so SM affords the option for implants if you're nostalgic for one of the senses. Even though it’s a slower form of communication than direct neural transfer, the noise comforts you. Of course the company would choose dubstep as their background music, but maybe they make money off refunds somehow. It switches to Ice Cream Cake. Much better.

You walk the not so busy roads towards a short brick warehouse in the distance and heavy rain soaks your clothes. No such thing as weather without the sun and water but it’s all simulated anyway.

A warm Seulgi adlib and you know it’s Psycho that starts playing. No, none of your senses are real. The most you could trust is your vision but even that’s being lied to. You could be living in a vat and fed all these thoughts, but then why make it so mediocre? Not paradise, nor torture but a lukewarm in-between. Guess that's what happens when SM Entertainment manages the post-apocalypse. Good on them for trying. The alternative would be a frozen hellscape without solar radiation. Can’t deny their work with geothermal and nuclear energy to keep the Aether warm so that you didn’t have to live underground for the rest of human history. It’s quite great PR to save humanity.

“Hey now, we’ll be okay,” repeats a few more times than you remember.

The Idea Factory Alpha White Delta Green says the neon tubes lighting the front of the brick and mortar building. Your ID card bears a name but it’s not yours, not until they approve your name change. Those usually get processed faster with how often people liked changing their names.

Sit at a desk with a sterile white keyboard and slick new monitor. Type and empty words appear on the screen: “Think for the many, not for the one. We need to think ahead.” A thumbs up. The company appreciates the input. That’s probably enough work for one day. Some SNSD live stages help the time pass, SM certainly appreciated the streaming numbers and it would net you some social points.

It’s hard to say what comes to mind when they ask you to envision a world without the sun and air, especially since it’s what you’ve known for... Two hundred years? There’s no frame of reference, that much you can tell from when you counted seconds to see how often the satellites completed their orbit. SM really took time to have them propel at random speeds, they love withholding sensitive information like that from citizens. To be fair, time is sensitive. Guess the meaning of that phrase changes like all parts of language.

Look around. Dozens of employees at identical workspaces all try to answer the same questions. Naturally, there’s no need for manual labor anymore but there will never be a replacement for human ingenuity. Nice slogan but you know you’re only here for data. Can’t see a need for customer retention though—what’s the alternative, skip Earth? See you on another planet?

“Hey bro, you come up with anything new?” Dave says. Two desks away, you see the enthusiastic, surprisingly spry man play around with a Newton’s cradle. The balls at each end bounce back and forth, not slowing down their rhythm any time soon.

“I think I got something,” you say, “Earth is not the answer. It can’t be, long term.”

“Ooh, I like that. Actually, I really like that.”

“What are you gonna do, copy me?”

“Of course not. You know how much SM hates plagiarism.” Click. Clack.

“Ha. As if there’s a single original thought left in the world.” Click. Clack. The imaginary sounds of metal spheres bouncing play in your mind. They got the volume wrong, no way it’d sound that loud from that distance. “You’d think with all their resources, they’d have figured out space travel by now.”

“I don’t think they want to leave, bro. Wouldn’t be great for profits.”

Your mouth opens to laugh and causes laugh8942.mp3 to play in Dave’s head. “I love it. SM probably hates that sass too,” you say.

“Oh no, they’re gonna arrest me for thoughtcrimes. Nah, they love creativity, just when it suits them. Also, if they actually did bust you for wrongthink like rumors say, I wouldn’t have this on me.” Dave twirls a finger and points at you and you thank his absurd flair for the histrionic that keeps you amused with such drab work.

“NewDrug.mp6. Would you like to play it?” the dry system voice notifies you.

“Woah woah there tiger, hold on.” Dave must’ve noticed your intrigued eyes and holds his hands up. “You might wanna experience that at home. But if you’re interested in more, ask for chicken parm at the vegan place. You know the one.”

Dave leaves his desk. He doesn’t return. You finish your work. Inspire. Expire. You’d rather not.

In contrast to your commute to work, the roads fill with others on your way home. You have to know. Take solace in the comfort of a bench where a huge McDonald’s arch bathes the surroundings and its people with a yellow glow. Really shouldn’t watch it now, especially if Dave says it’s a home type of watch but you have to know. A family of five watches you pass out. They, along with every other passerby, ignore your still body draped over the chrome outdoor seating as you look like yet another junkie. The title is correct after a fashion, the simulation is some sort of new drug. The details of the exploits that happen in the immersive replay wash over you but you don’t need them to know that it’s the sort of lewd that SM would not allow—at least not publicly and not without the right exorbitant payment.

Suit pants and underwear go straight to the laundry. That must’ve been an embarrassing sight but no one bothered to stop you, so it doesn’t matter. Look up where this vegan place was that Dave so presumptuously assumed you knew about and you find that it’s about four Avengers’ stores down from work. He must’ve eaten there before.

“Yo Dave, just wanna make sure, what’s the name of the vegan place called?”

“What are you talking about, man? You telling me there’s some secret underground farms that SM wouldn’t know about?”

You can’t tell when you got to work, a lack of standardized timing would help as well the haze of living in a monotonous dark. “Nah, I mean, for the-”

“I have no idea,” Dave emphasizes each word, “what you’re talking about.”

“I see.”

Work flies by, unusually.

“Hey, can I get a chicken-”

“Uh, this is Maron’s Veggies Only, it clearly says on the sign.”

Clear your throat. “Parm.”

The shifty part-time worker looks around and rubs his fingers gesturing for money. “No digital.”

Over the counter, you pass him a gold coin stamped with a holographic 1 and he hands you a USB stick and a laptop in return. How old-fashioned.

“It’ll sync with whoever you have set as your avatar experience aspect,” the worker says.

“Thanks.”

Ever vigilant as the patrol is, the alleys are the last place you want to go to hide with the obvious criminal element within them all but you head to one anyway. Dump the anachronistic technology in your storage pocket dimensions. Looking at its contents, you’d have to clean that mess up later, but the more you look like an average slob the better. The biggest problem with the inventories is all the people squatting in them. Inspectors wouldn’t care about the archaic ruins you left in yours.

“Welcome, master. Ae-Karina is ready to service.”

“I’d like to go on a date. A special date.” You highlight the key word special and sit on your living room couch. No one’s going to look in your glass door and regardless, you wouldn’t be the pervert for glimpsing into someone’s home.

“Ah yes, master. Ae-Karina is ready to fully service,” she says with a provocative tint in her tone, her sclera disperses to black to match. A pole drops from the ceiling while parts of her maid outfit dissolve which reveals more of the silky skin of her thighs, her lissom arms and most importantly her overflowing breasts. Ae-Karina wraps her legs around the pole and spins around, teasing fingers trace curves on her body to harden you. Her dance is precise but sultry regardless. She pulls up her short skirt to flaunt more of her ass beneath white panties and then pulls down to flourish her cleavage, not trapped by a bra. “Are you enjoying your maid’s show?”

“Very much so, yes,” you say.

Half of a smile forms before a glitch occurs and she teleports next to you, fully nude. It doesn’t pull you out of the illusion however. You just stare and drink in the splendor of her created body.

“You’re not going to touch?” Ae-Karina says.

A feel of her tits and you find it softer than pillows you used to rest on. Soft isn’t much of a character that exists anymore when the whole world is engulfed in liquid. No one has beds, especially with the rarity of sleep. Therefore, her mounds are a consummate dedication to the texture as you squeeze and pinch at her cute nipples.

Her maid outfit rematerializes as she straddles you. It provides more friction to your pants as she begins her lap dance. The weight of her body dragging across your legs and clothed erection induces your carnal impulses further. If only you could fuck the virtual idol. You have to make do with the imprint of her pussy lips on your bulge sliding up and down. Breath in. Breath out.

Ae-Karina pulls down your boxers and spits on your erection. It's not real but her hands so slick on your cock and you let reality slip. Real is for the past, you have desires gratified in the present. There is no real person nibbling at your neck but your nerves activate in sexual desire without discernment for truth. No, she doesn't love you, but when the voracious mass of ones and zeroes says it loves its master, you say it back.

"I love you."

ILOVEYOU infected ten million computers in 2000. An explosion. Calibration engaging. It’s 1:21 PM, Sunday, July 18, 2286 and hypothetically the sun would be out in its full rage. At this latitude and longitude, you’re at what was once the epicenter of all—Seoul, where a fountain caused a chain reaction allowing the hopeful remnant of a world to exist. It lasted a surprisingly long time without the sun and without Aether but the dying planet would succumb inevitably to the ever-increasing contamination so SM of all corporations took charge. A different kind of chain reaction occurred when they acquired a restaurant chain that discovered the recipe for liquid air. The law is on its way and prepared to punish you to its full extent.

You reel while your ears ring. An even sexier version of the woman you already fantasized about appears from your peripheral vision in the crater of your floor. A skimpy cop outfit, striated with reflective material that seems to wane black at different angles, outlines Karina’s curves. She has a tool belt with absurd gadgets, such as a knife baton hybrid, a taser combined with a spray bottle and a Tamagotchi. None of this is necessary. They could just immediately arrest you, impose limitations on your devices. Sure, SM cloned people to deal with underpopulation, but why Karina would be the enforcer is a whole nother issue. Maybe the entertainment company loves their irony?

“Halt. You’re under arrest. Any resistance will be penalized according to the combined Terms of Service of all SM and SM associated products.”

Fucked anyway, you figure you might as well go for it. Escape into your inventory and only seconds later you’re forced out. You manage to get what you need regardless.

“Violation of access rights will be charged to your account.”

It’s so obvious but there’s a reason you kept so much gold in physical storage. As you swim away, the sides of your apartment start to bubble. Bubbles? Already, your limbs feel unsteady. Something’s wrong in the Aether.

“This is standard procedure for escaping suspects that are indoors. Again, this is all agreed to under the Terms of Service.”

“When the fuck did I ever click accept to that shit?”

“When you were born in this world and decided you want to stay in it,” Karina says out loud. You hear her say it. Your physical ears process the vibrations in the air that come from her mouth. Gravity thwarts your desperate escape as your limp body floats on the limit between liquid and air. The atrophy of your muscles becomes apparent within the gaseous atmosphere. She watches you sink down as the room drains of all the false air though her eyebrows crease when she inspects you closer. Your breaths are involuntary. Despite your muscles shorting out, the force of gravity and the pressure of the gas bearing down on you, you’re breathing and you don’t mean to. Her eyes wander farther down. On your pants, a concrete rod stamps the fabric.

“Oh, you like what you see?”

“Shut up, criminal. Anything you say can and will be used against you.”

“Your pussy,” you say and she scoffs.

“Original.” Karina bites her lip as your erection continues to grow behind its prison. You use all effort to put your hands up.

“Please, miss Karina. I’ve been bad.”

“I could punish you even more for sexual assault.”

“Then do it.”

Heat radiates the room in a way you haven’t felt in a while and droplets of sweat form on each of your bodies, especially on the thighs that her revealing outfit parades. Her facial features contort in deliberation and the wait kills you. You bat your eyes at her before Karina takes off her tight shorts and drops herself into your anticipatory face. This makes no sense but none of this life made any sense so you decide to go with the tides.

Centuries of training your respiration has led to this moment, but when you finally have real air to breathe, you spit at the opportunity and choose to suffocate. Then you spit at her pussy and lap it up. Karina’s nectar transfixes your olfactory glands, for once a smell that isn’t the sterile Aether. Your eyes are mesmerized in parallel because of the perfect design of her pussy, a single crease that leads into her hole that your tongue emphatically explores. Karina spreads her thighs wide to reveal a small nub that craves attention. So give it. Suck and swirl and flick your tongue, and the woman provides you the tight clench of her legs as a gift. And the sounds, rediscovered glorious noise. Loud, almost too loud, and clear is how they assault your ears, even surrounded by the flesh of her thighs. Muffled by the weight of her legs, you hear Karina moan in approval but she’s still clearly in charge with how she chokes you with her legs. This is not about your pleasure but hers, and any satisfaction that you derive is not only incidental but probably punishable by SM copyright law.

Karina squirms her hips subtly on your mouth. Her eyes are sharp and she’s just about to stop your hands from moving but she notices them clasp together.

“I’ll do anything to make you cum, please.” you say sloppily as her pussy juices fill your cheeks and drip down your chin.

“God. I can’t.” She takes deep, contemplative breaths. ”That’s more time added on for inappropriate behavior.” Her groaning and brief squeals make her words sound incogent.

You give her a concluding lick and a kiss on her slit. “So what have you been doing right now then?”

Point to a corner of the room and a subtle red light indicates a recording camera. At once, she pulls out a hose from a pocket that could not fit it and the vacuum submerges the room with noise. Her expression shifts quickly to serious.

“We don’t play games here in SMTOWN unless it’s SuperStar so don’t fuck with me.”

“Look who's trying to be a comedian. How about you fuck with me any further and the video gets released.”

“That’s funny, you think you have any sort of power-”

“Yoo Jimin, I suggest you don’t push me more.”

“Where do you know that name from? Right now.” She weighs herself down on your neck.

“You think I don’t have contingencies for if I die too? Karina, we can make this a  win-win scenario. We both get to cum, we both get to walk away unscathed.”

“Fuck you.”

Your weak arms wander between her thighs. At any moment, a feeble punch towards your face or another ten seconds of asphyxiation and she could call your bluff. Even if you did have the ability to expose her perversions in any way, there would be no permanent recourse, not as long SM was in charge. So it surprises you when Karina takes off her shorts. 

“Goddammit. Your cock just looks too good. And your mouth, how are you so good with it?” Put up five fingers when she motions to remove her top as well, and instead she opts to take off your clothes, seizing your pants and throwing them to join the rubble in the room.

A finger slips in, then two and a third dares. Her flawlessly architected pussy lips clings to your digits and Karina shudders in reply. You explore her wetness and find it’s smooth to the point of having no faults, but her juice inside is gloppy and causes your fingers to stick more than the liquids she spills from her slit.

“Who said you’re allowed to have more?”

You lap up the nectar on your fingers. “Then why’d they make you taste so good?”

Your thumb teases her sweet tight asshole and puts just the slightest amount of pressure on it while you finger her with more intensity. The mass of her butt burdens your torso the closer she gets to orgasm. Her eyelids squeeze close and you see her body ripple in anxious pleasure. Karina shows off her pearly whites, teetering on the cliff of hysteria.

“Yes, yes! I’m so close,” she screams.

"Not yet."

“Fuck." Karina sobs, "God. Damn, fuck I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Just fuck me.”

“My pleasure,” you say. There’s no need for you to grab her since she brings herself down to your groin, which you’re thankful for as your arms are as good as jelly now. Fortunately, your cock throbs as hard as ever while Karina’s slit rests on it.

“Say you’ll delete it all, all the evidence, promise me.”

“You’re gonna fuck me first or what?” Your breath hitches while she makes a strangled noise as her velvety walls swallow your cock whole to leave no room for comfort. Her tightness is stifling and you have to start counting just to breathe again.

“One two-”

“Be quiet.”

But there is no quiet when pleas for your cooperation intersperse her excessive profanities when she seats herself into your cock and ricochets up and down. Sweat emanates from her creamy skin while her legs widen to find a better angle for her supporting knees in her cowgirl position. Grapefruit and other citrus mingle with the scent of the sweat, fruits you haven’t seen except on billboards in music videos. As much as your mind crackles and your blood roars for every atmosphere of pressure Karina’s walls provide on each thrust in and out, you can’t help but reminisce on sweeter, more innocent times.

The white fluorescent lights in your apartment sputter. For all the advancements in technology, some among many things never change. Light refracts differently in air, less bright, but you can see the pure enjoyment on Karina’s face no matter the luminescence. Karina slows her ride to pull her hips down harder instead and she jolts when your cock finds the most tender spots inside her pussy and it interrupts her babbling.

Karina almost hyperventilates when she gets up to spit on your cock. She pulls out some kind of meter from her tool belt and sighs when there’s no beeping and you recognize it having to do with carbon dioxide. She gets back to dribbling saliva and the filament trailing down to your shaft mesmerizes you. This spit is real, not simulated, and it wettens your erection in a mix with her pussy juices to paralyze you further in your already listless state. Her bare thighs jiggle and you can’t exert much force with your hands but her buttcheeks are firm with just a bit of give.

“Thank you for this cock, thank you for being bad,” Karina says as you watch her ass sink deeper while her pussy holds your dick taut. She’s frenetic when bounces up and down to play an unadulterated orchestra of slick noises between your groins.

“You’re welcome,” you accomplish getting out the words between planned breaths. Your hands cup her buttcheeks but you fear they may break with how she strikes her ass into you.

Karina turns around once more to give you the spectacle of her facial expressions as she fucks herself into you. Knead her calves laying on your torso and they take no energy to spread them though she brings them back together, compressing your hard shaft within her pussy. A new game you play with her, a separate rhythm of loosening and tightening. Her feet press on your chest to help her bounce, but the way they bear down on your lungs against the timing of your breathing causes you to fumble. Your cock bends straight forward as she plunges herself into you and it sends prickles to your entire skin, making the new angle difficult but worth it. Karina takes your hand and starts sucking on your fingers.

“You want my promise that bad?” you say.

“Yes, as bad as I want your cum. I swear, I need it.”

She draws her knees up to her torso and hugs her legs to keep thighs as tight together as possible. Karina couldn’t keep her word, she was trying to kill your cock with constriction.

“Fuck, your pussy is so fucking tight. God, Karina, fuck. You’re so good.” Even if good isn’t the word you want to use to describe her.

“Do it, please, please. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby. Karina can be a good girl, a good maid, a good cop, whatever you want. Just don’t get me in trouble, please.”

Karina’s mouth stops saying words though her lips writhe, drunk in increasing lust. Her cheeks flush, before the rest of her skin joins in redness while she grapples your chest and whatever spare limb she can find. You still struggle wresting control of your body but nature seems to take over when you drive yourself into her and match her needy cadence. The air in the room is replaced by a new air but it isn’t Aether. Passion, sweat, heat and all fluids that you both exude join squelching sounds, slaps and moans in harmonic bliss when her body tenses and she screams. As her body tightens, her pussy especially holds your cock for dear life and endeavours to wring out all your semen as her wetness throbs and spills. Karina starts counting to three repeatedly and you laugh though your amusement quickly subsides when you feel her juices become more viscous and she continues her ride, even in the dying pulses of her climax.

“Was I good?” Karina asks.

Just a moment goes by before you mentally send her a screenshot of all the recordings being deleted. Karina hasn’t stopped fucking you yet so at least it wasn’t a ploy.

“Thank you, thank you, I love you.” The flexion of her pliant legs brings them all the way back to rest on top of your legs. Karina lays prone above you and finally give you a kiss. The citrusy flavor may be closer to lime than grapefruit but it’s been so long that you can’t remember which scent is which. Lips crash and her tongue lashes out at yours trying to establish dominance. Keep still to let her investigate your mouth while her pussy does the same to your shaft.

You savor the way Karina’s top emphasizes the bouncing of her tits synchronous with the rebounding of her waist on your cock, but your mouth waters when she frees them. Take the shortest moment to relish in the sight before Karina smothers you with her plump globes. You wriggle your face to try to breathe. Inhale, up and exhale, down, but all you inhale is the scent of her orbs’ sweat. Her hips undulate with a pace at least double yours breathing and the echoes of slapping flesh resonate throughout the air-filled chamber. The loudness is unlike any you’ve experienced in a long time. It’s almost a flashbang every time her ass slams into your lap, especially as you start to see white when orgasm threatens to overload you with preludial pulses.

The last words you hear infected ten million computers in 2000. Fade to black. Cut. You’re slammed out of existence back into existence as a sun rebirths both within you, heating your core to a dangerous high, and from your eyes, dazzling you in an unforgiving white light. In the throes of unconsciousness relapsing to consciousness back to tenebrosity, your streaks of semen suspend in the Aether like a dead tree resting from the wind. What flashes your mind in its orgasmic state are two things only you would remember, plants and weather. Your hyperventilation is unconscious but not unwelcome, as it’s the first time in a while your breaths were reflexive even in the liquid air. However, basking in your newfound power, you start to choke. Right. You breathe in and out again. In and out. In. Out. In. Out. Back in.

“Replaying KarinaArrestsYou.mp6.” A hint of vexatious glee in the system’s otherwise dry voice. You don’t stop for it.

✦✧✦✧✦✧ 

AFF, AO3

It’s pretty silly but the idea danced around in my head ever since I saw the absolute Black Mirror concept that SM had for aespa and I concur that Karina is insanely hot.

As I’m writing this, this Kurzgesagt video on the idea of a rogue Earth comes out and now I have to rewrite stuff to make it at least a little consistent. I’m obviously already going nuts with all these ridiculous sci-fi concepts but this video almost feels too targeted to me writing this for me to ignore it.

[vrnicky]

Lets go with some...

Deal breakers and things they admire from someone!!

In a romantic way and also in general! Man, this is going to be long- REALLY LONG-

Gotta thanks @ratsoh-writes lol

Sans:

-His deal breaker is either hating his brother or just being an *ss. Dont get him wrong, he gets when someone is teasing or joking around but when he knows someone is a truly *ss, you've been ghosted. Romantically is literally the same without counting how much he loves his job, if the probably future s/o doesn't want him that busy as he gets then maybe dont be with him??? He can't let aside his job that he truly enjoy for someone that isn't even his s/o-

-Something he admire either platonically or romantically is if they're also invested in their work/studies. That they dont mind having to stay late doing something they enjoy and not being forced to do. If i say knowing to say puns is already too used but anyone can make jokes or be the joke; how the ones with the bubbly attitude just keep being themselves is also something he admires.

Papyrus:

-One of his deal breakers are totally seeing the bad side of everyone like, all of the people and world in general. He doesn't like hearing talking sh*t about someone who they dont know??? Just with the excuse of "just look how they dress!" If you do this, he may just snap at you and just to break any connections; he still believes in everyone until they show him otherwise. That goes for also romantically! Too much jealous and trying to manipulate him is also one.

-Since he already sees the good in everyone what isn't something he admire from someone??? Platonically how they stood up for what they want and dont listen to some "extras" who are just jealous; romantically is another different thing, no matter your appearence because none of them would care but how compasive and kind they are is something he admire from his crushes.

Blue:

-His deal breaker either platonically or romantically for him, is one. Being treated as a child, he HATES it with all of his soul being treated like glass just because he is "small" and cute?? Well, cute he knows it; i think all my sanses would not tolerate someone who hate their brother or talk bad about them. Its a rule.

-If he ever meet someone like him, small, cute at everyone's eyes but they used to win stuff (without going that high) thats something he admires because not all the time he gets what he wants when he ask for it because he is "small" but instead, they can do it without a problem? How cool! Romantically may be acting like you want to act without waiting for everyone to like you, you're the one making decisions, not them!!

Miere:

-He is the most chill with deal breakers and that because.. he doesn't care that much but people making him choose between them or another cigarette/videogames/etc actually makes him mad and mostly uncomfortable, okay, you want me to probably choose you? Then gain it, its stupid how you try to compare yourself to something that isn't alive, for god's sake...

-People who actually give sh*t to people who expect a lot from them, he feels.. protective mostly from those ones since you do you man! He's here to support you in that big step you actually want to do for yourself, not your family, friends, neighbors. He likes their bravery.

Red:

-His more deal breakers were slowly fading away as he got "comfortable" in the surface but he still has one, someone who is really interested in scaring him by getting behind him; yes, it may be stupid but he HATES it because that return him into the underground when he could have been dusted in a blink of an eye, NEVER ever do that to Red.

-If someone can flirty and not get flustered thats a "marry me please" from Red, mostly joking.. unless. But also the fact of compliments that aren't in a flirt fight, genuine compliments also get him and he really admire them, like a lot actually. Use it either just to fluster him and get him grumpy or just do it if you want him to crush on you and deny it.

Cap:

-Lazy people, hands down or well, dirty people. He just can't help it, he hates watching a place so trash down but dont get him wrong; if you work 24/7, he will let it pass and if you're already friends he may help you and even help you organize everything. But if you dont work or study and have everything as a chaos... he may never go to your house again, total mother attitude.

-Now, what you really expect from him, everything in order and everything clean, If you can keep that even with your job or study, he may start being interested in you, legit. Or also if you take your job really seriously, If you want something and you go for it without having to hurt anyone in the process may also crush him hard, he doesn't like the ones who likes to feel superior of other people. If you want to be a good leader, you have to treat your team in a good way if you're expecting them to do a great job.

Black:

-Say something sh*tty about his brother and he is so done with you right now, like, another type of done with you. His brother is his everything and you better not try to ask him to choose between him or you because, sorry not sorry but he's choosing Slim, you had that win from before. Also blaming them about everything they went through. No, get the f*ck away.

-The protective instict towards family is something he will always respect, no questions asked; If you either have older or younger brother doesn't matter, for him it matter how much you protect them for love, of course, dont make them useless, just, let them know how much you care for them and Black would soften a little.

Slim:

-If you call him a baby because of wanting to be with his brother or trying to protect him, you wouldn't get it so dont talk about something you wont understand. Also the fact of making fun of his insecurities affect him HARD. Mostly because of his jealousy, he cant help it because a lot of people are better than him but here you are, making fun of him. People are better than you, after all.

-If you're also touch starved, dont get him wrong, he doesn't want anyone to be touch starved but he may enjoy more if you are since he's clingy even with friends, you're just so soft and squishy! If you're his s/o in the other hand.. he's more flirty clingy or child clingy by your side, you decide lol.

Hans:

-He's really weird because platonically, he hates that his friends or people trust so easily and romantically is the opposite! He hates when his crush/s/o doesn't trust them. That has an explanation, he doesn't trust that easily even with his joker attitude and when he probably accept his feelings towards a person, he started trusting more and more but now they dont trust him??? Like??? That's a really deal breaker for him.

-Now, he admires those people who had been hurt before but still can see the bright side of everything, yet, he doesn't understand them enough. That works for just a friend or crush/s/o. He will admire them not letting a Karen ruin their day too lol.

Edan:

-Saying his brother didn't suffer enough, making him less at what he felt as a toddler in a fell world... yeah basically you gain hate instead of love from Edan. He HATES hearing sh*t of his bro but the sh*t that involves his past or scars. That's his true deal breaker. No matter if its for s/o or just friend, dont say sh*t of his brother.

-Now, one word, fashion. Yes, he may not like dressing up that much as the old lady squad or that but he legit admires people who make perfect outfits that help their tone of skin, hair color, eyes, body, etc look good!

Allen:

-If you remember him how he killed those children because HE PROMISED to give his world freedom.. get the f*ck out of his sight; the sad thing of that is, he wont get mad, he will get sad and his hate towards himself would be stronger, please, dont do it.

-Someone who is really the word generous, no matter if you may ended up without nothing but you help someone in need and not expecting something back. He may crush on you thanks to that, he can't help it.

Bliss:

-If you call him out by the fact he left his brother alone, he has his reasons and both of them already talk about that. Dont bring that conversation ever again in his face, he gets MAD at that. Also hurting or insulting children AND talking sh*t of his brother, he doesn't want anyone talking bullsh*t at the back of his older brother.

-If you're a EXPERT with kids, he may put you in a fricking shrine; dude, he has the attitude of Toriel, of course he will want someone that likes kids and know how to deal with them. Either for just a friend or s/o, he may crush on you tho lol.

Zen:

-Treat him like he is scary and he is some type of weird creature... He may ghost you if you do, yes, he may be more taller and bigger than Sans but he is more soft than him. Of course, he may want you to treat him with patience mostly, his memory isn't the best so he may ask you twice about everything. If you're not patience then you shouldn't have talked to him in first place.

-Again, Patience is the key of Zen and if you either have literally the soul trait of patience or is in your personality; he really admire how patience you can be with either elder people or small kids, he may slowly crush but he may not know.

Max:

-A little the same as Zen, treat him like a weird creature and he may be upset at it and a upset Max is no joke; also treating his brother like a child or abusing his bad memory to get away with something... now that something that would make him MAD, since the famine has passed, he may got the older brother role and someone treating bad his brother make his non-existing blood boil.

-While Zen wants someone with a patience attitude, he wants a kindness attitude, he just wants someone that would be nice to everything and everyone, not giving a single f*ck if is a human, monster, elder, kid, etc. He just want them to be friendly and kind, more because of his scary look with his softie attitude, two totally different things in only one monster; that's him.

[nonbinary-kaz]

Fuckt Up Lil Bros Intro:

a fic that won't get finished so I'm putting it here

When Wylan was eight, his father had finally gotten fed up with him, and had packed Wylan and his mother into a car and taken them to see a specialist. His mother had argued the whole way there, saying Wylan would learn to read when he felt like it, that the strange outbursts would end eventually. After all, Wylan was a child! Children were unpredictable, at best, she’d said. Stubborn. His father had growled something under his breath, along the lines of Wylan being less stubborn and more of a problem.

Then they had walked away from the specialist hours later, and his father berated his mother, throwing all those words she’d said back in her face. Wylan didn’t quite understand, especially not when his father had slammed the car door shut and called Wylan something that Wylan wouldn’t realise until much later was a disgusting, horrible word. His mother had already known, and she had hissed at him to not say such things.

“He’s our son,” she’d said.

“Not mine,” his father had said. “Not if he’s like this. My genes wouldn’t pass this on.”

“Jan Van Eck,” she snapped.

“Your father was always strange,” he said. “Maybe this is from him.”

“I don’t care who this came from,” she said. “It doesn’t matter. He’s still your son. None of this matters.”

“How can this not matter?” he demanded. “He can’t read, Marya. He’s socially inept, and he will evidently remain so for the rest of his life. He’s not normal. He’s not right.”

And she had murmured something lowly and dangerously, something Wylan couldn’t hear from the back. It had shut his father up, though.

Wylan was both too young to understand and too old not to understand words like “dyslexia” and “autism” and “severe anxiety” and whatnot. Looking back on it, it didn’t matter if he knew what it was or not. All that had mattered was the noticeable change in his father’s behaviour to him.

That had also been when all the therapies started. Physical, to get him over how awkward his body was. Occupational, to stop him from getting upset about “minor things.” Speech, in hopes that it would help the reading. Tutoring, because that should have helped the reading. Drugs, to stop him from being timid all of the time.

He hadn’t needed most of those; the most use they gave was to keep his father hoping that he could someday “get better” until they ultimately proved ineffective to his standards. Granted, the medications would continue to help throughout his life, just not the way Jan Van Eck had thought they would.

If Wylan had to pinpoint where his life had gone to hell, it would be that moment he stepped in the car to go to that specialist.

Though, if he had to pick a second point, it would be months later, when his mother had died. He didn’t get to go to the funeral. That was when things had gotten worse from his father, with his mother no longer around to mitigate, to stick up for Wylan. His father started hiding him then, keeping his contact with the world as minimal as possible. He had his therapies, he had his tutoring, he had whatever nannies his father hired, and he had the occasional parties he couldn’t get away from.

He hated those parties. They were loud, and everyone always bothered him, and the food was gross, and his father always yelled at him later for acting like a fool and disgracing the Van Eck name.

The third hellish point in his life, though, was the moment that “Van Eck” ceased to have meaning at the end of Wylan’s name. He could no longer disgrace the name, if the name no longer signified his ties to Jan Van Eck.

Perhaps he should have been happy. He no longer had those parties, no longer had those therapies and tutors, no longer had his raging father. He was free of it all.

But he wasn’t happy. Mostly, he was just… scared.

Wylan hadn’t even known he had second cousins twice-removed until the day he’d been disowned. Maybe that would have been obvious to most people, but his father had cut ties with most of his family. Wylan was certain the only people Jan Van Eck was legally related to anymore was Alys, his new (and insanely young) wife, and their future child (the reason Wylan was finally let loose).

After a long taxi ride, oh-so graciously paid for by his father thanks to Alys’s bleeding heart, Wylan had enough time to fully terrify himself with catastrophic thoughts of what these “cousins” would be like. Jordan Rietveld and Kasimir Brekker could possibly be worse than his father. Hell, the name of the second one sounded intimidating enough.

Wylan spent a short while wondering why they had separate names if they were full-blooded brothers. He’d asked, but at that point, his father had stopped bothering with him altogether, and had walked away halfway through Wylan’s question.

The cab driver said something, but Wylan had lost himself so deep in thought that he couldn’t catch what the man had said.

“Sorry?”

“Five minutes,” the cab driver grunted.

“Oh. Thank you.”

And Wylan sank into his seat, panic beginning to eat him alive.

Wylan had only three bags with him. Two were packed with the essentials: clothes. Just clothes. Well, and the remnants of this month’s medications. But other than that, it was his sweaters and shirts and jeans and underwear and socks and two pairs of shoes. And that was all. The other case had been filled with things Wylan had snuck with him. Paints and easels and canvases and brushes and pens and charcoals and pencils and his flute. He had no clue if his father would’ve let him take them, so he’d hid them in the suitcase and bolted before his father could inspect anything. Perhaps that had been pointless—Jan Van Eck had stopped looking at him the moment he’d announced Wylan would be disowned.

Two of those three suitcases were dropped unceremoniously on the side of the curb by the driver. Wylan had fortunately grabbed the bag filled with his supplies, so nothing broke when the bags thudded to the grass.

“Thank you,” Wylan said to the driver. “I’d tip if I could.”

The driver just shrugged. “Whatever, kid.”

Then he disappeared back into his cab and drove away. Wylan watched as the taxi turned the corner and disappeared, suddenly feeling his heart thud louder and faster than ever before. Everything felt both too real and too unreal at the same time.

“No panic attacks before noon,” he told himself quietly.

“Wylan?”

Wylan nearly jumped out of his skin, and his heart likewise nearly flew out of his chest. If pain was painless, that would be the feeling of his heartrate returning to the pace it had previously set before as Wylan tried to regain his breath.

He turned towards the voice, suddenly filled with so much anxiety that his stomach hurt.

Two people were just a short stretch down the sidewalk, slowly making their way over.

“Wylan Van Eck?” one of them asked, clearly the owner of the voice that had previously called for him.

“Yes,” Wylan said. He discreetly wiped his palms against his pants, trying to get the sweat off of them. “Hi. Um. Jordan and Kasimir?”

The speaker began laughing, and Wylan suddenly noticed his face. It was painted in large scars and marks, a patchwork masterpiece of pristine porcelain and burnt blemishes. They had no distinct pattern, and clearly did not hurt the man, as he smiled widely through them. Wylan did also note that the half-eyebrow missing did add a bit of intrigue to his face, but otherwise… well, Wylan averted his eyes. He found staring at people’s faces to be unbearably uncomfortable in the first place, but this just made it worse. He knew he shouldn’t look at all, really. Didn’t people always find that rude? But according to his father, Wylan not looking people in the eye was rude, too…

“It’s Kaz,” said the second person, his voice harsher than rock grating rock.

He had no scars on his face—which seemed young and fresh, making him seem hardly older than Wylan, despite the hardened lines of his permanent scowl. Either that, or he already despised Wylan. Neither seemed favourable. Perhaps his taxi-ride fears weren’t totally unfounded.

But what stood out more to Wylan was the cane he leant heavily upon.

Jesus Christ, Wylan thought to himself. No wonder Jan Van Eck had never mentioned being related to them before. If he had hated Wylan…

That was rude to think that, though. He shouldn’t think of how his father thought of things. His father’s view of the world was skewed. At best.

“If you call him Kasimir,” the first guy said, “he might kill you.”

Wylan glanced to the kid—Kaz—and then immediately dropped the gaze to the ground. The scowl had gotten deeper. Kaz did indeed look murderous.

“I’m Jordie,” said the first guy, his smile balancing Kaz’s serial killer glower. He stuck out his hand to Wylan. “Jordie Rietveld.”

“Wylan Van Eck,” Wylan said, shaking the preferred hand.

“We know,” said Kaz. He did not offer his hand for Wylan to shake. Wylan noted the dark leather gloves that covered his hands. Interesting, especially when balanced with Kaz’s otherwise dark and grim attire.

Jordie, on the other hand, wore a white t-shirt and faded jeans, looking like a completely normal person. And the lack of near loathing on his face made him preferrable to Wylan. Even if Kaz wanted to kill him, perhaps Jordie wouldn’t hate him.

Not until he learned how much of a fuck-up Wylan was, anyway.

“So, you’re our cousin,” Jordie said conversationally. His eyes searched Wylan’s face, perhaps trying to find the similarities there.

“Not that we knew it,” Kaz said, his rasping voice filled with an unamused tone. Everything about Kaz screamed “unamused,” really.

Jordie coughed loudly. Kaz glanced over to him, something temporarily erasing the annoyance on his face. But then Jordie send Kaz a meaningful look of some sort, and the look returned to Kaz.

“Sorry,” Jordie said.

“No, it’s okay,” Wylan said quickly. “I didn’t know either.”

“Hm,” Kaz said.

“Anyway,” Jordie said, raising his voice somewhat. It reminded Wylan somewhat of whenever Wylan dared speak in his father’s presence at one of those parties, when his father would speak right over him to draw attention away from Wylan. Hiding his screwed-up son. But Jordie didn’t seem… well, Wylan couldn’t say that for sure. He had just met the man. But he did seem to only be doing it for Wylan’s sake, to keep Kaz’s irritation at bay. Again, Wylan couldn’t tell for sure, though. Only time would tell, he supposed. “I suppose… welcome.”

“Thanks,” Wylan said.

“Shouldn’t ‘welcome’ wait until he has actually seen the apartment?” Kaz asked dryly.

“Right,” Jordie said, frowning and blinking. “Right, yeah, that would…”

He trailed off, staring somewhere off in the distance. Then he shook his head, looking back to Wylan.

“Would you like to come inside?” he asked.

“Sure,” Wylan said, because what the hell else was he supposed to say? Someone different could have perhaps found something far more eloquent to say, but Wylan was not someone different. He was unfortunately just Wylan.

“Great,” Jordie said, smiling once more.

He bent down and grabbed one of Wylan’s clothes bags before Wylan could take them himself. Wylan shouldered his supply bag, ready to grab the last bag, but Kaz had already taken it. Guilt rumbled through Wylan’s chest. They shouldn’t help him. They’d already burdened themselves with taking him in; they shouldn’t add more to that. But Jordie had already begun walking away, towards the apartment complex Wylan now bothered to look at. Kaz was directly behind him, limping even worse than before. Wylan’s guilt likewise compacted.

The apartment complex looked… to be fair to the place, it wasn’t the worst place Wylan had seen. He’d seen way worse on his drive over here. But it was rather bad. The white paint had lost most of its life, living a now grim existence as faded yellow ivory. The windows and their sills looked old. That was the most Wylan could say about them. And the fire escapes everywhere looked rusty and rickety. Wylan wouldn’t trust those with his life. He hoped he’d never have to.

Jordie unlocked a side door to the place, then pushed through. Kaz followed, hands too busy with bag and cane to hold it open for Wylan, who had to rush to make sure he wasn’t locked out.

Inside looked about as dreary as out—old, matted carpet covered the stairs that lead to all of the floors, and decaying plant matter and dirt tracks and bug remnants scattered across the tile landing. The popcorn walls had crumbling and faded paint, much like the outer walls.

“Oh, boy,” Jordie said up front. “Here we go.”

Then he mounted the first stair with a sigh. Wylan frowned, wondering what that was about.

He figured it out after the first flight.

“Inhaler,” Kaz said, almost bored, as Jordie wheezed and coughed, leaning against the wall.

Jordie nodded, shouldering Wylan’s bag so he could root around his pockets. He pulled out a white and blue inhaler, popping the cap off as he began to shake it.

“I can take my bag back,” Wylan said, now feeling another layer of guilt. “You don’t have to carry it.”

Holding his breath as he removed the inhaler nozzle from his lips, Jordie shook his head. Kaz just scowled over his shoulder at Wylan, his cane held horizontally in the same hand that held Wylan’s bag as the other hand clung to the railing.

All of this burden they placed on themselves, only for them to sooner or later realise that they wasted it when he showed them just how useless he was.

They had to go quite slowly after that, but they eventually made it to the correct floor. The Rietveld apartment (Wylan assumed it was under the Rietveld name, anyway; Jordie was the older of the two, and Wylan was now dead certain Kaz was near his age) was the first door off the staircase. Convenient, in a small way. Not convenient that the place had no elevators, but Wylan wasn’t about to ask why they lived here and not a more accessible place. There was a reason why people lived in a place like this: money (or the lack thereof).

“Home, sweet home,” Jordie said, unlocking the door to the apartment.

Wylan’s first thought was: It’s bare.

His second thought was: It’s small.

The living space held a crackling old leather sofa, a brown corduroy reclining chair, a coffee table scattered with dents and mail, and flatscreen TV. The TV was the only thing that looked remotely new; Wylan suspected the rest were either hand-me-downs or thrifted.

Beyond that lay a kitchen, removed from the living room by only an island bar. It had space for a refrigerator, oven and stove, sink, and a small stretch of countertop that was surrounded by cupboards and drawers. If all three of them stood in that room, Wylan figured, it would become quite crowded.

He couldn’t see the rest of the place, but a hall led away from beside the kitchen. That likely held the bedrooms and bathroom, and whatever else could possibly be in this small place.

Jordie dropped Wylan’s bag on the sofa. Kaz set the other beside it, continuing to walk until he disappeared down the hall.

“Don’t mind him,” Jordie said, not once losing his cheer. “He’s always a grump.”

“Oh,” Wylan said, unsure what else to say.

“Anyway, this is it,” Jordie said. He began gesturing around the place. “Living room, kitchen… down the hall’s going to be your bedroom on the left. Me and Kaz’ll sleep together in the other one. Bathroom is last door on the left. Um… yeah. That’s about it.” He turned to Wylan, smiling ruefully. “Yeah. It’s not much, but it’s home.”

“It’s… nice,” Wylan supplied.

Jordie laughed. “You’re funny. No, it’s okay. You don’t have to lie. This place is a shithole.”

Wylan wouldn’t have put it like that, but yes. He’d seen the hole in that one cupboard, the chunk missing from the faux marble island counter, the dents in the wall, the crack in that corner of the ceiling…

“It’s not so bad,” Wylan said, generously.

“It’s cheap,” Jordie said, placing his hands on his hips and surveying the ceiling. Oh. Another crack. “That’s what it is.”

“Oh.”

“So,” Jordie said, looking down at Wylan. “Want to see your new room?”

Wylan shrugged. “Sure.”

This time, he managed to grab both cases of clothes before Jordie could reach them. Wylan’s arms felt like they were being torn off, but at least Jordie wasn’t burdening himself for Wylan. Plus, the short hall was nothing like that staircase.

Jordie led him through the hall, pushing open a door with a hole in a conspicuously shoulder-height place. Wylan eyed that warily until the door had swung fully open.

If the rest of the apartment was barren and small, then this was… Wylan didn’t even know the words.

The walls were popcorn white—as with the rest of the place—but they were studded with holes of previous tenants nails and tacks. Nothing lay on the walls currently other than those holes. There was a bed pressed against the back right corner, taking up most of the space. Half of the bed rested below the window (which seemed to lead to this apartment’s fire escape). Another large portion of the space was taken up by a dresser and desk combination. A small stool went along with it, tucked beneath the desk portion. And in the far corner across from the bed, a shallow cut-out of space denoted a closet.

“Used to be my room,” Jordie said. “But I’m in with Kaz now.”

“Oh…” Was there anything that wouldn’t make Wylan feel like guilt was piled so high atop him that he might sink beneath the ground?

“I assume you don’t have a toothbrush or shampoo or anything?” Jordie asked.

“Um, no,” Wylan said.

Jordie nodded. “Thought not. Well, you can use mine for the time being. Shampoo, anyway. Please don’t use my toothbrush.” Wylan managed a feeble smile as Jordie grinned broadly at him. “Use your finger, or something.”

“I do, um…” Wylan fumbled to find the right words. “I have some medications… I don’t know where—”

“Medicine cabinet’s behind the mirror,” Jordie said quickly. “You might have to rearrange a few things to get your stuff in there, though.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“For what?” Jordie asked.

“Moving your stuff around, I guess.”

Jordie frowned strangely at him. “I toldyou to do it. You don’t have to apologise. Hell, you haven’t even done it yet.”

Wylan pulled his lips into his mouth, biting them together. Jordie studied him for a short while longer, then shook his head to himself. The easy smile returned to Jordie’s face.

“I’ll leave you to unpack, then,” Jordie said. “Oh, and we’ll get you those supplies tomorrow. Or sometime soon.”

Then he disappeared out of the room. The door creaked as it swung most of the way shut behind him. For reasons he couldn’t begin to fathom, that summed up exactly how Wylan felt.

Wylan didn’t have hangers for his clothes, he discovered.

“Oh,” he said to himself. “Okay. Um.”

He refolded the sweater he had just pulled from one of the bags, then shoved it back inside. He zipped the bag back up. With any luck, the clothes wouldn’t get all wrinkled. He highly doubted that this place had an iron.

The dresser, he figured, would likely only need to house his underwear and socks. Those could all get tossed in the same drawer. Thus, he could appoint all the other drawers for his art supplies.

Organising those drawers gave him a good hour of clear headspace. He organised them one way before deciding he didn’t like that, then started over.

When he had nearly finished with the drawers, he stopped, staring at the oil paint tubes in his hand.

Why was he doing this? He had no right to. He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t belong here, for any number of reasons. This wasn’t his place. He couldn’t be a burden on two other people—people who looked like they had enough burdens of their own to bear. Yet, here he was, unloading all of the life he could carry into drawers and closets that weren’t his.

Ungracefully, he dumped the paints back in his bag, followed by all of the other supplies he had just spent forever organising. The only thing he left in the drawers was his canvases. Those shouldn’t get tossed around so much. He only had five; he had to treat them with care. He could spare exactly none of them.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a loud cough came from somewhere outside of the door. It hit him, moments later, that he had dimly heard coughing in the background for a few minutes now. But that particular cough was unexpected. And quite horrible.

Wylan moved to the door, cracking it open. He saw a dark head of hair outside, bent over as another cough came. Jordie’s head raised, elbow pressed against his mouth as he coughed again.

“Wy—” a cough cut him off for a moment “—lan.”

He shook his head, then dropped his elbow to reach into his pocket and grabbed his inhaler. Wylan looked away as he primed and then used the inhaler. It was awkward, watching him… well. It was just an intrusion, wasn’t it? And rude. Nobody was supposed to stare at anyone different. Not Kaz’s cane and limp, not Jordie’s scars, not this.

“Sorry,” Jordie said a minute later.

Wylan heard the click of something closing, and he looked up to see Jordie capping the inhaler and ramming it in the pocket of his jeans. Jordie had an amiable smile on his face.

“Asthma,” he said, as if the coughing had been merely some bug he’d swatted away.

“I’m sorry,” Wylan said.

Jordie waved a dismissing hand. “Don’t. I get enough of that in my life.”

“Sorry.”

“Well, that’s new.” Jordie’s smile had broken wider, genuine and confused amusement splitting his face. “An apology. For an apology.”

Wylan tried another, “Sorry?”

“Are you kidding? I haven’t had an actual apology in this house in…” He trailed off with another disregarding wave, but Wylan got the point. Kaz didn’t seem to be the relenting and apologetic type. “Anyway. I came to ask…”

Wylan watched him, waiting for the question. Jordie simply frowned. He looked over to the wall for a second.

“What was I going to ask?” he murmured to himself. “Shit.”

Unsure of this new situation, Wylan felt his fingers fumble for the fabric of his shirt’s hem. Jordie kept frowning at the wall, his teeth gnawing at his bottom lip as he concentrated.

“Jordie?” Wylan asked after what seemed like too long.

Jordie’s head snapped back to Wylan, frown deeper for a split second. Then it erased, reverting to an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I can’t remember what I was going to ask.”

Wylan knew that feeling all too well, but something about the way Jordie had zoned out bothered him.

Suddenly, Jordie snapped loudly, his index finger pointing to Wylan. Startled, Wylan drew back somewhat.

“Dinner,” Jordie said, amusement lighting his face once more. “Dinner. I was going to ask about dinner.”

Still uncertain, Wylan merely stared at Jordie.

“What do you like to eat?” Jordie asked. Before Wylan could even begin to think how to answer that, Jordie said, “We don’t do fancy rich people stuff, though. We’re cheap.”

“Oh. I didn’t… I mean, I’m not… you don’t have to worry about that,” Wylan said, words stumbling ungracefully. “You can just… make whatever you want, I guess.”

“Okay, I’ve heard that before, and that never goes over well,” Jordie said. “Nina’s the only person that has ever worked for.”

Wylan did not know who Nina was, but he still felt guilt gnawing at him. He really did not want to make Jordie change whatever meal he had planned.

“Seriously, it’s okay,” Jordie said. “Just tell me so that you don’t starve and then I don’t have the police investigating me.”

Wylan blinked.

“That was a joke,” Jordie said. He waited a second longer, expecting Wylan’s laughter. Wylan managed a grimaced smile. “Okay. No jokes. Um. Fine. Look. This is what we eat on a regular basis. Chinese takeout. Pizza. Uh. Boxed noodles. Frozen vegetables. Any easily-heated meal. Any of that repulsive to you?”

Truth be told, Wylan wasn’t entirely sure. He’d never had boxed noodles before. Or easily-heated meals. He knew he didn’t like most vegetables—they all reeked or had unpleasant textures (broccoli being the worst offender of all)—but maybe frozen made them different?

“No,” Wylan said. Even he could tell he sounded unconvincing.

“Fine,” Jordie said. “We’ll start with pizza. Nobody hates pizza.” He turned and walked away then, grumbling under his breath, “Not even Kaz.”

Wylan slowly closed the door, utterly confused by that entire encounter.

(and this is all I have written lmao sorryyyyyy)

[ri-ahhh]

bro that ask was so good aside from the daddy part but could you actually write that? grayson stretching it out sounds super hot

“It’s been a while.”

It comes out rushed and breathless, partly from nerves and embarrassment and partly from the way he’s nearly made you lose your speaking abilities by the way he’s been kissing you. The deep kind of kisses where tongues clash and you’re both breathing out hard through your noses, hands grabbing at exposed skin wherever they can. Your legs are wrapped tightly around his hips, pulling them down so your centers meet; the sensation of the unmistakable hardness grinding into the wet heat through your thin shorts is both pleasurable but also maddeningly unsatisfying.

But you can see where this is going — where you want it to go. The two of you have done things already, but never all the way. And you just feel like you should let him know, in case of...whatever. What if you’ve lost your touch for riding? What if it takes you too long to get into it and things get awkward?

And what if that generously sized dick of his that you’ve reveled having in your mouth and hand many times recently, just wont quite fit in any other orifice right now?

Grayson sits back a little and cocks a brow curiously. You let him run his hand up your belly, squeeze a tit through your bra, and finally come to a stop on your cheek. He uses his thumb to tug your lower lip out of your teeth, which had been chewing it anxiously.

“How long?” he asks, a slight air of amusement in his low, raspy tone. It makes you relax a little to see that he clearly doesn’t care, but you still feel the need to be a little coy.

“I said a while,” you answer, clutching at his forearm with both hands and ducking your head the slightest bit to slip his lingering thumb between your kiss-swollen lips.

You suck on it slowly, and in the dim light of the bedside lamp you actually see his eyes lose their green, turning a sensual chocolate brown instead. Grayson shakes his head a little and presses his digit a little further in your mouth, which you welcome with a tiny hum of pleasure as you curl your tongue around it and suck with more force.

“Hm. Well how long is a while?”

Your deadpan look does the talking for you, with your mouth otherwise occupied. Grayson chuckles and pulls his thumb out, swiping the strings of saliva that come with it back onto your lips before ducking down swiftly to kiss you with more passion than you anticipated. It’s not unwelcome in the slightest, though, and you cup his cheeks to keep him close, pretty sure in that moment you’d be happy if his mouth could stay glued to yours forever.

Grayson ruins that thought, however, by trailing his lips to your cheek, across your jaw, down your neck. “Doesn’t matter to me, baby, as long as you’re okay,” he mumbles into your collarbone. “We’ll go slow, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you sigh happily, nerves assuaged and leaving you ready to just enjoy every part of him.

It only takes about a minute for you both to finish undressing. Grayson reaches behind you and unhooks your bra with an effortless dexterity that admittedly makes you flush. You push at the waistband of his boxer briefs with the soles of your feet while he sits up on his knees to whip his shirt over his head, and once he’s naked he gets you there with him by tugging off your soft shorts.

His hands grip your knees and push out, exposing your wet slit to the cool air of his bedroom. Your eyes meet his, and he gives you a devilishly charming little smirk that you know is a direct response to the evidence of how much he turns you on.

You gasp when his fingertips trail lightly over your lower lips, neglecting your clit and going straight for your center. You hike up onto your elbows so you can watch him play with you. He touches you like he’s exploring your pussy for the first time, even though the number of times he’s done this has to be in the dozens by now.

“At least we know we don’t have to worry about lube,” he says, holding up his hand with another cocky grin. His fingertips glisten in the light with your arousal, and you flush lightly as you reach out to take his hand and put it back on your aching pussy.

“Think you can make her wetter?” you challenge, manipulating his fingers against you so it’s like you’re both working you over at the same time. It makes your own lips turn up at the corners to see the way your direct challenge makes his dick bob in the air. “Need you to get me soaked, baby, remember?”

Grayson nods stupidly, transfixed by your words and the sight and feel of you beneath him. He swipes his fingers through your pussy lips one more time, sucks them quickly into his mouth with a quiet grunt, then finally lights upon your clit when he returns them to your center.

You gasp and toss your head back instinctively, hips grinding into his touch at once. You’re sensitive and he knows that you prefer steady, slower circles to build you up rather than any quick motions.

But he doesn’t stay there long, to your slight disappointment, and when you’re practically leaking onto the sheets below, he slips his fingers down to your hole so he can ease just the middle one inside at first. His head dips down to your chest and he plants a big hand by your pillow to support himself above you as he sucks a nipple into his mouth while he adds his ring finger.

Grayson grins against your breast when you let out a pretty moan at the way he curls his fingers inside you. He’s not pumping them really, just letting you adjust to having space taken up inside you. This is nothing knew; he’s fingered you plenty of times, but it still feels amazing. Especially when he simultaneously switches nipples, leaving the wet one exposed to the air, and adds his thumb to the mix as he finally does start moving his digits in and out some.

“Fuck, that feels fucking good,” you whimper, clutching his head to your chest by threading your fingers through his thick, sweat-damp hair.

Grayson looks up at you with his mouth still suctioned around your nipple, his eyes dark and making him look sinfully handsome. He smiles when you clench around his fingers involuntarily, brought on purely by the way he stares at you like you’re the sexiest thing he’s ever seen mixed with that contagious self confidence he has.

“Yeah, you like that?” he says, his voice vibrating against the sensitive peak of your nipple. You nod quickly, and feel his hand shift a little down below. “One more, baby. Gotta stretch you out for me, huh?”

You moan and nod again, eyes locked with his as he slips that third finger inside you carefully, watching your face to guage your reaction to any pain. He only finds bliss, though, when you overcome the initial pinch and let yourself be filled to the fullest you have in...

A while.

By the time he starts moving all of those thick, wonderful fingers inside you together, you’re starting to get desperate for his dick. Not only has it been completely neglected by the way he insisted on taking care of you — preparing you — but you can’t wait to find out how he uses it.

“Gray, please,” you groan, hands clutching at his broad, muscled shoulders. “Fuck me.”

Grayson lets out a little squeaky grunt of excitement before slipping his fingers out of you slowly. “You sure you’re ready?”

“Yeah.” He starts to lean off to the side of the bed to open his bedside drawer, but you can’t resist reaching down and wrap your hand around him. You watch his face for the expressions of surprise and pleasure he lets cross it, caught off guard by your wandering hand.

He indulges for a few moments, then pushes your hand away with an almost resentful groan as he finishes his quest of retrieving a condom. “You’re so tight, baby, I don’t need any more chances of busting sooner than I should.”

Your hands wrap around his back when he returns to you, and you watch him fondly as he rips the package open with his teeth before rolling it onto himself. You open your legs and bite your lip again. “It’s okay. Just wanna feel you inside me.”

Grayson uses some of the copious slick coming out of your pussy to lube himself up, then he lowers himself onto his elbows so he can both reach your mouth with his and place the head of his dick at your entrance.

“Do it,” you encourage, lips slipping against his as you speak. Grayson moans and obeys. He pushes forward enough for the tip to pop in, then rears back some to withdraw and push in a little more on the next thrust.

He’s going slow for your benefit, but by the time he’s managed to get completely inside you can’t help but think it was for his own as well. Your pussy is swallowing him, hot and wet even through the condom as it pulses around him. The fit is tight, as you expected, but the burn is already starting to fade, and the urge to fuck yourself on him is about to become uncontrollable if he doesn’t start moving in the next three seconds.

“Grayson,” you plead in just the one word, but he more than understands it’s bigger connotations. With a growl that comes from deep in his chest, he gets to work, even if it is still slow.

Slow, steady, just how he already knows you like it.

“You okay?” he wonders quietly. Experience is the best teacher, and with a lot of that under his belt, Grayson can tell by the way your eyes roll back and the death grip your nails are digging into his bulging triceps that you’re more than okay.

It’s sweet of him to check, though, and it just makes you want him to give it to you for real now.

You spread your legs wide around his hips and drag your nails down his back, one of your hands settling on his ass and pushing some. “More, baby. Harder, I fuckin want it.”

“Mm, you want my dick, sweetheart?” The octane of his voice has raised some, but it’s still laced with pure sex, and it makes you shiver.

Which makes your pussy tighten around him even more, and Grayson sits up and cups his palms behind your knees so that they’re held steady in his firm grip against the mattress. “You gonna fuckin take me good?”

If you were going to answer with words, any chance of that happening is gone as soon as he starts flicking his hips into yours with the faster — but still steady — rhythm you had been craving. You’re already wound up tight from how well he worked you over earlier. You close your eyes and bask in it, in the sensation of getting fucked so incredibly well. You’re not disappointed in his stroke game, to say the least.

He says your name, and when you open your eyes he wraps one of your legs around his waist and pushes the other one higher up towards your chest. The angle and the depth is fantastic, and you’re enraptured by how ridiculously sexy he is. With a full view of that chiseled torso glistening with sweat, the muscles there clenching and flexing as he fucks you at just the right pace still, you find yourself incredibly close to the edge already.

“Oooh, fuck,” you moan, eyes locked on his concentrated face as you soak in all the goodness he’s making you feel. “Shit, like that — like that, yeah!”

“Such a good pussy,” Grayson growls, which slides into a moan when you drop a hand down to run you own clit. His eyes trail up your body, lingering on your bouncing tits before settling on your blissed-our face. “Wanna feel it cum all over my dick.”

He takes it upon himself to knock your hand out of the way to replace your more delicate fingers on your clit with his rougher ones, and with only a few swipes against the swollen nub, you’re clamping down on him like a vice as your orgasm rips through you.

You vaguely hear yourself calling out his name, but your ears are rushing with white noise. You don’t hear the sweet nothings he whispers into your ear either, even with how he’s folded over you now and working you through it with gentle pets still to your clit while he stays nicely inside you.

You don’t know how long it takes, but as you start to come down, a personal conviction suddenly enters your lust-fogged mind as you push back on his chest lightly. Grayson looks a little confused but obeys your silent command, only for his face to morph into an excited little grin when you push him onto his back.

“Yeah?”

You nod and smile back as you straddle his waist slowly. You feel warm and sexy and like you could do anything you wanted, even though your muscles are already tired and your eyes sting a little with the urge to cuddle up with him and sleep.

And you really want to make him cum. You. Like this. So you plant one palm on his solid chest, reaching down to guide him back inside you as you sink down on his cock.

It’s Grayson’s turn for his head to hit the pillow. “Fuck,” he whispers, tucking his chin to his chest some so he can watch you swivel your hips on his.

You smile wider and move your hands down to his abs, using their solid base as a support for you to rock back and forth on him until you find what he seems to like best. You don’t have it in you strength wise to squat over him, but Grayson is far from complaining as he gets an up-close view at the way your tits sway and jiggle above him, the way your pussy grips him so tight and sweet.

And you get an unimpeded view of what his handsome face looks like as he finally cums — jaw slack, guttural moans escaping his puffy pink lips, muscles clenching as he shoots into the condom. He’s always beautiful when he orgasms, but there’s something special about how he looks under you, inside of you. You’re thoroughly spent physically and emotionally by the time you slide off him and sidle up to him to lay on his chest with a leg hooked over one of his.

“I was worried I’d forgotten how to do that,” you admit jokingly, pressing a kiss to his pec and feeling his heart race beneath your lips. “Could you tell I was a little rusty?”

His fingers reach up lazily to play with your hair and he hums. “Baby, if that’s you when you’re rusty, I think you might kill me when we start doing this every day.”

[emotionalsupportbun-chan]

i'm talkin WIP WIP WIP thats a work in progress

cw: sub Daigo, dom Ryuji, praise kink, hand jobs, feelings

You Look Pretty with Your Mouth Hanging Open

He is sitting in the back of some no name cabaret, eyes glazed into the middle distance. A woman, unpretty enough for her name to get lost in the back of his mind, clings to his arm. She’s telling him about an expensive watch at Le Marche - something jewel toned and European. Like what decorates the wrists of half the girls in Kamurocho. Dime-a-dozen.

But he’s not hearing the plain-ish hostess beg for trinkets. Or at least not listening to her. He lets his boys do that, and splash out on expensive affirmations of counterfeit love. He didn’t need that. To be reminded that anything he got here was a pleasant imitation at best.

And you think it was different with him? You think he loved you?

No, but at least there was no pretense otherwise. 

“Hey, Aniki. We have time for another bottle, right?” This one - Hiroki? - is getting an eye full of tit and an expensive earworm.

Daigo looks down at the half empty glass of half-water whisky in his hand. The color is hatefully reminiscent. He knocks it back and leaves the glass coasterless on the cheap table. “Yeah, sure. Why not.”

-

He finds solipsism near the end of the third bottle. He is younger. He is full of piss and vinegar. He wants to take the world and crumble it between his teeth. There are no hostess clubs or expensive European watches.

But there are hands that tame him from time to time. Hands that weave his hair tight between their fingers. Hands the prise open his jaw, relieve the pressure on his world-crumbling teeth, and pull sighs and moans and Yes, sirs from his throat.

And there is a mouth with a scar in the corner that he traces with his tongue. A mouth that cracks open his skull and relieves the pressure on his world-weary mind with cock-throbbing Good boys.

Of course there have been hands and mouths since. Hands and mouths that repeat the refrain, sing the same chorus and bridge. But out of key. Octaves too high.

You’re just upset he gets your engine going hotter than any hostess could.

And?

But.

But?

The last fill station was a hundred kilometers ago. And you can’t conceive of another showing up any time soon.

He is jostled by an elbow to the side, still preoccupied with hands and mouths and cars and songs. “You good, bro?”

His glass is empty and so is bottle three. His gut is left full of liquor that feels like it’s trying to rot out the bottom. “Yeah, fine.” The response is far away, half way out the door already. Looking back to ask if they’d paid the bill yet.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. No, really. I’m great.”

Can’t even muster up a smile.

For lack of liquor, Daigo chewed ice until the check came.

-

The door is only a few dozen feet away, but he is full of feelings and fire water. Cotton head, cotton mouth, cotton heart. Only a teenage eternity faking sober to see him through. Concentrate.

What, hear that?

What?

That voice.

From a private room nearby. Bass-low, strutting around like it owns the joint. Peacocking. He’d know it anywhere.

There it is. Last stop for who knows how long.

But why is he here?

Does it matter? Think about it.

Don’t think about it. He’d never live down walking out of here with a half-mast cock.

From what? A memory? Of being on your knees while he drips cigarette-flavored spit from his pretty lips into your mouth?

He centers himself with a hard breath through the nose.

Think of it as motivation.

“Hey, you coming or what?” The others are paces ahead. He’s been loitering near the short hall to the private rooms for an embarrassingly long time.

Now or never. What’s it gonna be?

Beat.

Well?

“Yeah, uh. I just gotta, uh, piss first.” He slips into the hall before any response, knowing full well the bathrooms were upstairs.

Attaboy.

His honey voice fades in and out with laughter and exclamation. It makes Daigo’s palms sweat. His pulse quicken.

What if he tells you to go fuck yourself, huh? What then?

Maybe that would be a mercy. Maybe if he couldn’t have him forever, he shouldn’t have him at all.

What if he doesn’t even remember you?

Worse. To become insignificant to the best thing he’d ever had.

What happened to not loving him?

He didn’t. Doesn’t. It wasn’t love, it was peace. Not romance, but oblivion. Emptiness.

Freedom.

Looks like you’ve got it all figured out.

Someone had left the door to their room open. There are fewer people than Daigo expects. Three, four. And him at the center of it all. The sun, cock-sure with an ugly hostess petting his chest.

Now what? You gonna go in there and beg?

No.

He’d like that. You’d like that.

No. Something else.

Please sir, can I have some more?

Something else.

Daigo rubs his hands on his jeans and screws his face into something akin to a scowl. He doesn’t fill the doorway. “Ryuji Goda, what the fuck are you doing in Kamurocho?” His voice doesn’t fill the words either. It’s false confidence.

“Haw?” His mouth - dangerous, exciting, the second best part of him - pulls into a signature sneer. “And who the fuck is asking?”

And so the worst has come to pass.

No, maybe he’s just putting on a show for the boys. Daigo can play along.

“I am.”

“And who are you?” No hesitation. Unflustered.

The same could not be said of Daigo, who searches his face for any spark of recognition. Anything. Anything to alleviate the growing, gnawing pit eroding his chest.

It takes everything he has not to say ‘They guy who’s had your cock in his mouth more times than you can count’ or ‘The guy who used to let you blow his back out daily’.

Instead he says nothing and leaves with a muttered ‘whatever’. There is nothing productive to be had in the exchange. Nothing to gain, but so much to lose.

Poor, poor Daigo. But you were prepared for this, remember?

A likely story. A convenient lie. He isn’t sure that had even been possible.

-

He is puking in the back of some no name alley off east Taihei, drink having finally caught up to him. Red eyed and snotty, he remembers the first time he’d gagged on cock, when Ryuji’d gotten impatient and shoved it half way down his throat. He hadn’t puked then but he’d wanted to, more out of revenge than anything else. And the thought of the words that’d follow the act of returning all the cum he’d swallowed to its rightful owner.

But he hadn’t. He’d let Ryuji fuck his mouth, whispering soft affirmations.

‘Good boy, take it.’

‘You can do it.’

‘That’s it.’

Later he’d said how he’d liked the way it made Daigo’s eyeliner run. How he’d liked seeing the strings of spit and cum the stretched between Daigo’s mouth and the head of his cock after he’d finished and pulled out of his throat.

You’ll never find another one like him.

Yeah.

Take a minute, mourn the loss.

Yeah.

Unless…

Unless?

Stiff-soled shoes power down the alley behind him. They pause - there was the hesitation - before a large hand sweeps up into the hair on the back of his head to grip it just tight enough. He pulls Daigo’s head back, leaving his throat open and bare.

Just like old times.

Daigo is still in puking position - half-bent, hands braced against the grimy wall - so Ryuji towers over him. By the hair, he pulls Daigo up, other arm wrapping around his chest. Keeping him close. Holding him tight enough for Daigo to know he hadn’t really forgotten.

Exactly like old times.

“Ya always did like to play hard-to-get, Daigo-chan.” Ryuji all but whispers the words into his skin, letting the bass of his voice rumble through his chest and into Daigo’s. “I’m real sorry I had to scare ya off earlier, but ya didn’t have to wander so far.” He sets his teeth against the skin of Daigo’s neck. Just a little pressure. Just enough to thrill.

So how are we feeling about this?

“Please -” is all Daigo can manage, and just barely.

Guess you’ll have to unpack this later.

“Damn. Missed me that much, huh? Sweet boy, ya missed my cock?” A hand travels up his chest to rest encircling his throat. No squeeze yet, but the promise is there. He places a little kiss behind Daigo’s ear.

Daigo cannot respond. He is all nerve endings.

“Answer me, pretty boy. I need to know yer in there.”

“Yes.” He chokes it out.

“Good boy. Ya wanna play a game with me?”

“Yes!” Daigo’s cock jumps at the memory of their games.

Ryuji laughs low and it’s like something soft weaving between Daigo’s knees. The hand in his hair and the other hand at his throat are all that’s holding him up. “Can’t say I haven’t missed yer pretty mouth too.” He plants another kiss. Then a few more.

This man is gonna leave you comatose, sending all the blood from your dome down below.

And it’ll have been worth it.

“Ya wanna hear how our game’s gonna go?

Answer him.

The best Daigo can do is nod.

“Thought so. Ya’ve always been such a good little slut for me.”

And you always will be.

More little kisses evolve into something harder. Ryuji works gently at his neck with teeth and lips and tongue before continuing. “For now, I’m gonna make ya cum. Just to hold ya over for a little while.” The hand leaves his neck to pull his shirt up and drag fingertips up and down his belly.

It won’t take much

“Then tomorrow, somebody’s gonna come pick ya up. Not sure when, not sure where. They’re gonna be a little rough about it, but don’t worry.” Ryuji moves on to his belt and button. “I’m not gonna let anyone hurt my little cocksleeve.” The belt is gone quickly but he takes his time with the rest, hand playing over the bulge of Daigo’s cock as he spins his story.

“They’re gonna tie ya up, just how we like it. And bring ya out to see me. We’re gonna have a great time together.” Finally, Daigo is free. Once Ryuji was done teasing him, the button and zipper came in quick succession.

And now Daigo’s breath is coming in pants, making cloud-bursts of heat in the night. Ryuji grips the base of his cock with the smallest amount of pressure. “Sound good, darlin’?”

If Daigo could produce a single coherent thought, he’d have wondered what all the theatrics were for. But he’s past that. Way past that. Half way to bliss. “Yes, sir.”

Old habits die hard.

He strokes up once, just to send a thrill down Daigo’s spine. Just to make his knees quake. “Good boy.” He keeps Daigo’s head pulled to the side to continue working at the deepening bruise at the crook of his neck. Keeps his hips pressed firmly into Daigo’s ass. Keeps a steady pace on his cock and a steady stream of sweet words in his ear.

Daigo is unravelling. At some point, the hand in his hair leaves to slip two fingers into his gasp-open mouth for him to suck on. His favorite gag.

Happy now?

Euphoric.

He makes small noises as the fingers push back into his throat - less sensitive now that it had once been - as Ryuji growls into his ear. “Ready to cum for me, sweet boy?”

No. Yes. Both. He wants it more than he’s wanted anything in a long time. Or does he want to ride this for as long as he can?

He decides to let Ryuji make the choice for him, answering only in doe eyes and a pleading look.

His pace slows. “Pretty boy can’t make up his mind?”

Daigo gives him a muffled moan.

He has stopped altogether. The hand in his mouth returns to his hair to tilt his head downward. The hand on his cock returns to neutral, resting with a firmer grip around the base. “What does my lover boy think? Does this cock look like it’s ready to cum?”

Daigo is swollen red and leaking onto the trash bags below his spread-eagle legs.

“D -”

“Yes, baby?” He gives Daigo’s cock a short squeeze. “Spit it out.”

“Daddy, please.”

He laughs. “Well, since ya asked so nicely.”

It doesn’t take much more than that.

From somewhere in his coat, Ryuji produces a few pocket tissues and cleans his hands, all while keeping Daigo propped against his chest. He returns to trailing kisses up and down Daigo’s neck. “Look at ya, bein’ so good for me.” He tosses the tissue over his shoulder. “But ya’ve made such a mess. I’d make ya lick it up if I weren’t worried about the germs.”

You would too, if he demanded it.

He knows.

Haven’t you ever heard of a refractory period?

But it feels good to want again. To ache for it.

Ryuji turns Daigo around once he’s tucked him away, put his clothes back in place. He keeps his arms slung around Daigo’s hips, hands on his ass. Daigo knows there is want for tenderness in him. Typically, it went unexpressed.

Tonight, though, Ryuji presses his forehead against Daigo’s. Kisses first the tip of his nose, then one corner of his mouth, then the other.

Then back to the nose, then each eyelid, until they were laughing again like the young idiots they once were. Like they used to.

He ends things with a kiss full on the mouth, more romantic than Daigo expected. He says his goodbyes and pulls away. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, hot stuff.”

He is at the end of the alley when he stops. Almost out of ear shot. “I’m sorry, by the way. For what happened. For all that.”

It knocks the air out of Daigo’s chest.

Right.

That.

Did you think you could just go back to the way things were?

[shorkbrian]

You’ll learn to love me back

Prelude - Yooo mayhaps I’ll do a thirst post soon for daddyzawa. This man is an absolute control freak but he’s also logical and so so soft. Reader may seem stupid and like they’re accepting the situation but like?? If someone kidnapped me I’d be like so scared. Bros I am so trusting a villian could be like ‘Yo there’s a dog down that dark alley, you just have to pass those two burly dudes with the chloroform.” And i’d be trotting on down looking for the puppy.

https://youtu.be/eCCtiK7KlSo This is the vibe 

Prompt - “I’m taking care of you now. That’s why you’re here”

Warnings - SFW until the very end. Mild groping and an intense build up to off scene NSFW.

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

He knows it’s wrong. You know he knows that everything he is doing and has done to you is wrong. Problem is, he doesn’t care.

It had been hard to adjust at first. You thought the underground hero could be trusted, despite his ragged appearance and few words. Even though he mainly stayed in the shadows, not preferring the spotlight and the praise his counterparts received, everyone knew his trademark black hero outfit and yellow goggles. Plus, you had seen him a couple times around at work. So when the man dropped out of nowhere, rushing you to “come with him”, you immediately complied. Who were you to disobey a hero?

Confusion grew as it seemed like he was leading you to a slightly run-down apartment complex, the outside paint fading, the elevator out-of-order. But he was a hero, there was no reason for you not to trust him. There would be no reason for him to hurt or trick you, you were an upstanding citizen and did your job diligently. You worked at UA as a nighttime janitor, trying to supplement your meagre income that you earned working during the day at a nearby grocery store. Prices were insane these days and you always felt like you were barely scraping by.

Looking back, if you could give any advice to your past self it’d be to run away screaming. It would be futile, of course; the erasure hero was quick and efficient at immobilizing fleeing villains, so capturing a simple civilian would be a piece of cake for the man. He refused to answer your questions as the two of you climbed the stairs of the apartment complex, urging that there was “no time” and the two of you needed to hurry. Who were you to argue? 

It only started to register that something was wrong after he steered you through one of the doors on the seventh floor, immediately turning and fiddling with something on the door the second you were through. “Mr. Eraserhead?” You had tried, his back still turned as you timidly continued. “What’s going on? Is something wrong?” The man had faced you then, an off-putting smile dancing along his features. Your stomach filled with butterflies; something was wrong.

You tried to stay calm, I mean, that’s what they tell you to do in scary, bad situations right? But as he began talking, your heart felt like something was squeezing it, your limbs numb with cold. You were going to stay there now, he explained, and you weren’t going to leave. It was for your protection and safety, and the pro-hero would accept no arguments on the matter. There was water in the kitchen and the bathroom was in the back, next to the bedroom.

You had smiled uneasily, thinking it was some sort of joke. Heros did that sometimes, right? For TV commercials or elaborate pranks on celebrities. There were probably cameras hidden somewhere, and a man ready to jump out with a wide smile claiming you had won something or passed a test or something. There was no way that Mr. Eraserhead was serious about this. But as the seconds ticked on, your anxiety grew.  The man in front you shouldered past with a “Make yourself comfortable”, and promptly disappeared into one of the rooms down the hall. You were left in silence, confused, scared……. Should you still wait for the cameramen to jump out?

There were no cameramen.

It hadn’t seemed bad at first, technically, temporarily staying with Eraserhead. He preferred you to call him Shouta, but he also preferred you to not try and escape the clean, minimal apartment. There was something on the door that thwarted your attempts, and the windows were useless because you were seven feet off the ground. There was no fire escape, and there was no escape for you.

He treated you well enough, considering you were a prisoner in his home. You had learned that it was his apartment the first night when he had offered you the chance to sleep in his bed, which you shakily refused. The apartment matched the man; simple, practical, and quiet. The first three or so days you had been in shock, sitting numbly on the black leather couch, staring blankly at the equally-blank wall as you waited for Erase-Shouta to come and tell you it was all a cruel joke. 

He hardly said a word to you. 

Shouta was a relatively silent man, but when he did deign to speak it was practical, to-the-point, and his voice was soft and low, as if he was talking to a scared animal ready to bolt. In some way, you guess that’s what he saw you as, trembling nervously all the time, your eyes filled with fear as you continuously tried to take up as little space as possible. For the most part he left you alone, aside from asking what foods you preferred or if you wanted water at mealtimes. There was a TV in the living room, but it stayed off.  The only form of entertainment you could find was the small bookcase near one of the windows, filled with classics.

If Shouta wasn’t sleeping, he was hovering nearby, sipping coffee while he tapped away on his phone or worked on his laptop.  Whenever you glanced at him you were unsettled to find his eyes already trained on you. You would glance away as quickly as possible and return your focus to the book in your hand, heart thudding away beneath your ribcage.

A problem had arisen the fourth night, when you were getting ready to fall asleep on the couch, since you refused to go anywhere near Shouta and his bed. You didn’t know what the mans intentions with you were, but you didn’t want to take any chances or make things easier for him. He had come to the door of his bedroom, leaning against it lazily as he crossed his arms, that studious gaze never seeming to leave you. He had suggested you take a shower and change, and that he had clothes and towels and anything else you might need. 

You shook your head.

He had tried again, his voice just as soft as he reasoned with you. The man was logical for sure, but you had a queasy feeling in your stomach as he tried to convince you to change out of the same clothes you had been in since he lured you to his apartment. Yes, personal hygiene was important, but how could you be sure Shouta would leave you alone while you were vulnerable? The only bathroom in the place didn’t have a lock.

Shouta had sighed when you remained silent, only shaking you head. He had pushed himself away from the door, treading silently until he could crouch down and meet your gaze glued to the floor in front of you.  Immediately you shifted your eyes to your hands clasped nervously together in your lap. You felt clammy and sweaty and cold and hot and it was all too much. Mostly you just felt like crying. This was such a bizarre situation and you didn’t know what was going on. The man had tilted his head to try and catch your eye again, before giving up and sighing. “You can either shower by yourself, and then change into new clothes, or I’ll have to force you. The latter will not be as pleasant as the former.”

You had quickly chosen the former.

The clothes he provided were obviously his. They smelled like him, and he smelled like the shampoo nestled on one of the alcoves in the shower. He probably used the same brand for laundry detergent. You were grateful that he had provided you a toothbrush, slotted next to his own. Admittedly, you did feel better after cleaning up, but that feeling was quickly dashed after Shouta took your old clothes after you had exited the bathroom. He didn’t say anything as he dumped them in the trash. You distantly hoped it was because they smelled bad.

After a week of sleeping on his couch, Shouta had appeared in his hero outfit. He had to go back to work as a hero, and there were going to be rules from now on. They were simple and practical, like eating at mealtimes, taking care of your hygiene, and obviously, no trying to escape. Otherwise there would be consequences. You didn’t want to find out what those were.

The two of you fell into an easy routine. He worked mainly in the early morning, from 2-8, sometimes 9. While he was home with you, you would read or work on the crossword book he had let you mark in. He would go to bed around eight in the evening, and when he he left at 1:30 you would crawl into his empty bed. It had felt so nice the first night you had dared to do so. You usually tried to wake up and vacate his bedroom before the man returned, but on the days you didn’t Shouta said nothing. He didn’t seem to mind you using his space. 

By the third week of living with him, you were bored to the point of tears. There was nothing for you to do; there was seemingly no remote for the TV,  you didn’t feel like re-reading books you already knew, and you had completed the crossword book. Shouta seemed to pick up on your distress and had shown up one day with a tiny kitten and a giant bag filled with more reading material and activity books. You tried to ignore him as you cuddled the kitten in your arms, but you still heard his fond admission that you deserved a gift for being so good. 

You tried your best to hide your shiver.

When you confronted him (timidly and with the kitten clutched to your chest like a shield) about why he was keeping you locked up in his apartment, Shouta had turned his eyes from his phone, blinking slowly as you fidgeted uneasily under his gaze. 

“If I had been anyone else, you would’ve been dead the moment I got you away from the main streets. You’re too trusting. Furthermore,” Here he set down his phone, standing up from the small table and looming over you in a show of dominance. “You’re a complete pushover and your personality is so meek and submissive that I’m frankly surprised no one has taken advantage of you yet.” 

Shouta took a step forward, and you took a step back.  

“I’m keeping you safe.”

Another step forward, and you stepped back again.

“I’m protecting you.”

Another step. Your back hit a wall.

“Do you remember when you first started working at UA? You had let that senior janitor boss you around, making you do stupid things that had nothing to do with your job. Did you really think he needed you to bend over to pick up the supplies he dropped, or that holding your waist as you cleaned the top windows was necessary?”

Shouta slammed his hand into the wall next to your head, and you felt the vibrations in the back of your skull. Your breathed hitched, and your knees felt like buckling as you tightened your grip around the kitten. You wouldn’t be surprised if you passed out. Yes, the man who you worked with at UA had made you feel immensely uncomfortable, but you needed the job. As much as it disgusted you, the paycheck was worth the discomfort. 

“You never wondered why he disappeared?  Why you suddenly got promoted?”

Shouta was still talking in that soft, low voice, but that did nothing to quell your fear. 

“I took care of you then, and I’m taking care of you now. That’s why you’re here.”

His eyes held your gaze for another second, before the flickered away, down towards your lips. The waver in his attention was so brief that it was possible you imagined it, before the kitten in your arms mewed weakly.  Shouta tore himself away from you, and began to move towards his bedroom. Your mouth felt dry and your eyes were watering. Was Shouta implying that he had killed the man? Surely not, he had only fired him, or threatened him, or…. something. You didn’t want to think about it.  You had never exactly seen the pro-heros that worked at UA, but that’s because you had worked the night shift. But that didn’t mean it was impossible for Shouta to have been there, and it would explain the signs that someone was working late, like the coffee machine brewing in the break room.

Hot tears spilled over your cheeks.

Had he been watching you?  

Why you?

You voiced your last thought out loud. Your voice was barely above a whisper but Shouta stopped dead in his tracks, and you knew he had heard your question.

Silence.

Then he stormed into his room and shut the door.

You tried your best to avoid him after that conversation, feeling even worse whenever you caught him looking at you while you played with the kitten or read a book. It creeped you out to no end to know that the man had been watching you, stalking you. You couldn’t, didn’t want to think about what any of it meant, instead choosing to busy yourself with getting lost in fictional worlds.

You tried not to jump as the front door slammed, Shouta returning from a double shift. He had grime all over his face and his hair was a tangled mess, and you could sense something was off by the way he stomped into the bathroom to shower. When he re-emerged, the man was shirtless as usual after a shower. You were uncomfortable with the amount of naked skin, but at least he had pants on this time, usually opting to wrap a towel around his waist as he sauntered back to his room to get dressed. 

Barely sparing you a glance, Shouta grabbed your arm in his tight grip, ignoring your choked gasp as you dropped your book and tumbled off the couch as he pulled you after him.

“Shouta? What-what….. Hold on-“

His grip was unrelenting as he tugged you into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you two before the kitten could follow. The plaintive mews held the same confusion you felt in your mind, but quickly turned to cold, drenching fear as the muscular man shoved you onto the bed. You twisted onto your side, scrambling to your knees as Shouta advanced menacingly, his eyes flickering with an emotion that you had seen simmering beneath the surface ever since the day he locked you in his home.

“Shouta, wait please I don’t wanna….. you’re scaring me!”  You sprang to your feet and dashed towards the door, only to feel his strong arms wrap around your waist and lock you against his body. 

“I know you’re shy, but I’ll be as gentle as possible.” He grunted, trying to contain your panicked thrashing as he set you on the bed again. He forced you onto your back, kneeling over your waist and sitting on your hips to immobilize you. He reached forward and grabbed your wrists, despite your failing attempts to push him off of you. Who were you kidding; the man was fully grown and his career was capturing and detaining bad guys. Out of nowhere he produced a length of his capture weapon, and swiftly started looping it around your hands, tying you to the headboard. Where had he gotten his capture weapon from?  Your mind was racing so fast you lost the thought as soon as it entered, immediately moving on to the next desperate thought as you tried to rationalize what was happening.

“Shouta please, please! What are you doing-I don’t wan-mmfpgh!”

Wrists now effectively trapped, the man pressed a hand gently to your mouth, smoothing the other over your hair as he softly stroked your head. 

“Shhhhh…… it’s okay, I would never hurt you.” You wanted to scream, bite his hand and spit in his face. You felt so small and afraid, knots in your stomach and tears building up behind your eyes. 

“You asked “why you?””  The hand that wasn’t on your mouth moved to gently caress your chest before moving to the zipper on his pants. The tears in you eyes spilled over. You felt like vomiting.

“I’ve been wanting you since I first saw you…. So gentle, and weak, and submissive.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Something was on your chest, trapping you, holding you down and suffocating you slowly as Shouta talked while he unfastened his pants. Instead of taking them off, his hand moved to your (his) shirt, rubbing the fabric before pulling it up over your chest to bunch around your armpits. You screamed behind his hand.

“I tried to let you settle.” He was breathing heavily now, his calloused hand rubbing at your chest as you sobbed behind his other hand. “But you’re such a timid little thing, I realized it was pointless to let you make the decisions. We’ve lived your way-“ You tried to kick him, but your legs were in such a position that all your did was wriggle underneath him. “-now it’s time to do it my way.” At your anguished muffled screech, his eyes flicked from where he was focused on squeezing your chest up to your face. 

“Shhh, shhhhh. This’ll feel good…….  I’m doing this because I love you.” He paused, watching you shake your head, face puffy and red from all the tears.

“You’ll learn to love me back.”

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Kindness & Kidnapping

A JSE Fanfic

I’ve written something that’s less than 6000 words for the first time in a year, whoo! I was planning to include more plot but after a while I realized there was too much to put into one chapter so I broke it into two. And now, this chapter is short, but it has some important and...interesting developments. Let’s just say, Anti makes his move. I don’t know what to say beyond that, so just read on ;)

You can find the other stories under the pw timeline tag!

It was a bright morning outside, but Chase didn’t know that. He was inside, sitting at a hastily-done computer setup inside his closet. It was cramped and dark and honestly kind of dusty. But he hadn’t wanted to keep this setup out in the open. Because this was the computer he’d been using to access Anti’s website, and if he kept it out in any other room of the house, he knew he’d keep glancing towards the windows and doors, waiting for something to happen.

Though...nothing had happened in the past week or so since he’d first found the website. He’d told the police about it, contacting that detective, Nix, who was in charge of the search for Jackie and JJ. Nix had been really appreciative, saying that this was a helpful clue and the police would be right on it, but he’d warned Chase to not go looking at any websites like this again. “These are dangerous,” he’d said. “And many of them use trackers to gather information or worse.”

Yet here he was. First thing in the morning. Staring at a creepy hitman website while sitting in his closet.

Part of his mind was yelling at him to stop. That even though he’d waited a few days before accessing the site again, that didn’t mean anything. This was dangerous. But...he couldn’t help it. This was the first time he felt like he was doing something, like he was actually helping the search for his friends. So, he stayed there.

His study of the website mostly consisted of scrolling through the anonymous reviews and trying to find ways to look at the source code. Chase...wasn’t that good with computers. Despite the fact that recording videos and putting them on the Internet was his job. He’d basically absorbed all his knowledge from Jack and his editor and only knew how to do things like editing because of that. Anything beyond what was required for YouTube was a mystery to him. But he was trying.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he gasped, then felt silly. It was just a text notification. Sighing at his own jumpiness, he took out his phone and looked at the message on the screen. It was from Marvin. Hey do you know any quick ways to get food? Other than ordering.

Oh? Chase responded. Are you out of bed this early? Thats a 1st. And he didn’t just mean because Marvin was having trouble getting out of bed recently. Marvin never woke up before ten, even before JJ disappeared, so this was strange.

Luna was yelling at me because i forgot to fill her bowl last night and i couldnt deal with it anymore so i got up and thought i might as well get breakfast.

Thats great bro. As for food I bought you some microwave mac n cheese and noodles.

Marvin instantly replied, I’m not eating fucking noodles for breakfast. That’s weird.

Chase laughed a bit. Sorry, Marv. I know your sense of order is a big thing for you, but sometimes you need exceptions.

This time, the reply was slow. The typing bubbles appeared and disappeared a couple times before finally: i just cant. maybe another time.

Ah. Of course, even if he was out of bed, Marvin was still struggling. Chase thought for a moment, then said, Alright, Marvin. No problem. How bout toast and butter? It takes five to ten minutes depending on how much you want it burnt. That was a frequent go-to for him. I know u have bread and butter, too.

Alright. Thanks.

No problem. Chase paused, then added, Hey I was gonna go visit Jack again later today. Do u think youd be up for coming with?

Another long pause. I dunno. Ask me again when it’s closer to time.

Got it. And with that, Chase set his phone down and returned his attention to the website.

About an hour later, he gave up. He couldn’t find any clues at all, and reading this was really starting to get to him. Carefully standing up, so as to not knock over the computer setup in the tiny closet, he turned off the monitor and CPU, then edged around to the closet door. He hesitated, feeling uneasy anxiety rolling in his stomach, then slowly opened the door.

Nobody was outside. Well, of course not. He took a deep breath, and stepped out into the hallway. It was time to get ready for the day.

But still, that anxiety followed him. And he couldn’t help but remember the notice that Anti had put at the top of the website. Something about business being closed until something was “taken care of.” That just...sounded very bad. And Chase couldn’t help but think about what might be happening to Jameson and Jackie.

—————— 

Nearly a month had passed since Anti had taken JJ. For nearly a month, Jameson had been stuck in this room with Jackie. And with no means of escape that he could see. He’d looked, of course. But even with Jackie’s help, they couldn’t find a way out of the room. The closest thing he could think of was somehow unscrewing the door hinges, and he’d actually spent about a week trying to do that, but without any tools, there was no way those hinges would budge.

The only opportunity that he could see was when Anti visited, which he did often. But even that would be difficult to pull off. Jameson and Jackie might have numbers on their side, but Jackie was pretty weak after almost a year of captivity, and JJ had never been that athletic. Still, he was starting to consider it. Maybe Anti wouldn’t be expecting it, if he could just convince Jackie that they could do it, and if they could find an opportunity...

But even if they were going to try, today would not be the day. Anti had come into the room for one of his visits, which were becoming worryingly frequent, and Jackie had decided to hide in the attached bathroom. Jameson refused to look at Anti, in the vain hope that he’d go away if he didn’t engage.

“Jamie.” Anti pulled a chair away from the table, and then indicated the one across from him. “Come s...sit down.”

Jameson shook his head. He folded his arms, and stayed where he was, standing next to the bunk bed.

Anti stared at him for a while, then sat down. It didn’t ease the tension at all. For some reason, Jameson still felt like he was looming over him. “Alright. F-fine.” He paused. Waiting. Watching him with his mismatched eyes. Today, the fake one was brown, not green. Odd, but it didn’t lessen the intensity of his gaze.

After a few silent moments, Jameson couldn’t take it anymore. He slowly walked over to the table and sat down. God damn it. Why was just the silence enough to get him to respond?

“Ah, there we are.” Anti smiled. “About time. You’re always so...so tense, Jamie, when you really shouldn’t be. I won’t h-hurt you.”

What do you want this time? Jameson signed stiffly.

“Why do you keep asking that? I don’t want...anything, I just want to...talk.” Anti leaned back in the chair. “I don’t understand th-this. You’re so...different. And I’m trying, you know. Know. You know—I know, by now, that this wasn’t the best starting point. But I’m trying to...to get everything back to the way it was. You want that, don’t you?” His voice was soft, like he was talking to an easily startled animal. Or a child.

No, I don’t. Jameson said firmly. I don’t want everything to go back to how it was, because back then, you were making me help you throw bodies in the river.

“That was a mistake, okay? Oka-ay?” Anti sighed. “I shouldn’t...should never have gotten you involved in all this. So, I’m not going to, ever again.”

Jameson laughed. You’re a bit late for that! Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you kidnapped me!

“That was another mistake, and I’m sorry that you f-f-feel I was out of line. I can see what you...what you mean. But you’d never talk to me otherwise, let alone go anywhere with me.” Anti’s fingers tapped an irregular rhythm on the table. “But I can pr-promise you, no more dead bodies. Ever. Ever again. You’ll be safe.”

He sounded genuine, and JJ had to admit that at least there was still a part of him that cared about—no! Jameson stiffened and pushed away that softening feeling. It didn’t change any of this. Anti still abducted him, and he was willing to bet that ‘safe’ to Anti wasn’t the same as ‘safe’ to him. It would be more of this, most likely. Trapped inside, unable to go anywhere, always under Anti’s watchful eye. Why was he even continuing this conversation? Jameson balled up his hands and shoved them under his arms, physically preventing him from saying anything more.

Anti’s expression shifted slightly. “You’re being so difficult, my god. We’ve been doing this for a-a-a month and gotten nowhere. If you would just li-listen, we could go—past—move past this.” The tapping rhythm increased slightly, nails on wood. “But alright—okay. Fine. Yes. I-I-I have a pro—” And then the tapping stopped. Anti’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh. That’s it.”

Jameson leaned back a bit, waiting for something. Those last words sounded like a threat. But—

Out of nowhere, Anti slumped forward onto the table. JJ gasped and stood up. In an instant, he was moving automatically, rolling Anti’s head to the side and looking for anything dangerous nearby. There was nothing. Could he breathe? Was this a good position, or should he move him? He should’ve recognized it, Anti was having difficulty with his words, he knew that was a sign—Wait, the watch. The watch he was wearing around his neck, the chain it was on had tightened a bit. JJ grabbed the chain and adjusted it so it was more loose.

A few seconds later, Anti gasped, and pushed JJ away. He stepped back.

“I...fuck.” Anti blinked, eyes glancing around the room. For a moment, he was confused. JJ could see the recognition slowly fade back into his expression. “Thwshnnbad.”

JJ watched anxiously. For a moment, he glanced over towards the door. But...he just couldn’t. Not now. Maybe he was too nice, but it just felt cruel to try and leave after that.

Anti took a few deep breaths, then looked over at JJ. “You helped.”

Jameson hesitated, then nodded.

“Hmm.” Anti didn’t say anything, but there was a look on his face that made Jameson squirm a bit. Almost smug. Almost. There was a fair share of gratitude that prevented it from being fully self-satisfied. Anti reached for his pocket, and after a few tries, pulled out his phone. “That was...not that long?”

Just a few seconds. Maybe fifteen or so, JJ said. No twitching or jerking. 

Nodding, Anti tapped on his phone for a bit. “It’s...been a while,” he said quietly. “They’re not that bad anymore, you know.”

Unsure what to say, Jameson just nodded again.

A few moments later, Anti took a deep breath, and returned his phone to his pocket. “Anyway. As...I was saying. I have a proposal.”

Immediately, all Jameson’s sympathy was gone, replaced by cold fear. What is it? he asked warily.

Anti didn’t answer for a bit. Instead, he reached inside his jacket, and pulled out a small keycard. “Do you know what this is?”

A card? Like...for a hotel?

“No, not for a hotel.” Anti smiled a bit. “Though I guess...it’s sort of like it.” His eyes darted towards the bathroom door, slightly ajar. “He’s been telling you about what happened. With him and the doctor.” It wasn’t a question. So Jameson didn’t answer. But he didn’t have to. “Did you ever meet that doctor?”

Jameson started to shake his head, then reconsidered. Once, he said. He thought I was you.

“We do look similar. Even more so than all these...these doppelgangers do to each other.” Anti tried to twirl the keycard around his fingers, but failed. It fell to the table, and he quickly picked it up again. “So, you only met him once. Hmm...I expected you to interact with him more. You’re part of this...this friend group now. I thought, surely, they’d introduce you to each other. Well, I guess they tried. I’m assuming it didn’t go well.” He paused. “But still. You’re a good person, Jamie.”

What are you saying? Jameson almost didn’t want to ask.

“You wouldn’t want anything to happen to him, right?”

Anti fell silent, but Jameson didn’t dare to answer. He couldn’t. 

“This keycard happens to give me...access to the hospital where he’s staying,” Anti continued. “I’ve already been there. I know how to get him out.”

Don’t hurt him, Jameson said, all color gone from his face. Please.

“That depends on you. Well, and our friend in there.” Anti indicated the bathroom door again. “Originally, I was going to use him, but then I thought, that didn’t stop that doctor woman from leaving. But he might try to leave himself, especially with the two of you...here. Together. So I thought I’d use something that’ll affect both of you.”

He hasn’t done anything to you. Leave him alone.

“That doesn’t mean he’ll never do anything,” Anti suddenly snapped. “The cops know I exist now. It’s only a matter of time before they start to ask him questions.” The anger drained away. Now his face was still, unreadable. “Besides, that didn’t stop me before.”

Why did you even take him in the first place? Jameson asked. Why? It wasn't for your...work. All of this could’ve been avoided.

“I was...curious. He thought I was his friend Jack, you know. When I ran into him that night. And I thought to myself, this man is clearly delusional. But I figured it would be easier to play along. After he realized what happened, he explained his whole condition to me, and I wondered. I wondered how I could use that.” Anti’s smile was sharp. “It’s not every day an opportunity like that runs into you on the street.”

Jameson backed away, horrified. Too late, Anti noticed his reaction. And for a moment, he looked hurt. Then angry. Sad. And finally, determined. “Think about what I said.” He stood up, and headed towards the door. For a moment, Jameson considered following him. But he hesitated for a second too long, and Anti was gone, the door locked behind him.

The room was silent. Jameson stood there for what felt like forever. Then he moved, walking towards the bathroom. He slowly pushed open the door, peering inside. “Hmm?” he hummed.

“Down here.” Jackie was sitting on the tile floor, up against the shower in the corner of the room. The bathroom was sparse and small, containing only the necessities of a toilet, sink, and shower, along with a bonus medicine cabinet that was empty. There was nowhere to sit except the floor.

JJ stepped inside. Did you hear all of that?

Jackie nodded silently. His hands were covering his head, fingers digging into his scalp. Tears threatened to spill out of his eyes, and judging by the tracks, a few already had. “H-he can’t—Schneep is going to—he won’t be able to—”

It’s going to be fine, JJ said, kneeling next to him. We won’t let anything happen to him.

“The—the only way to make sure of that is—but you can’t—you could get away if you—but not if he’s—”

It’s going to be fine, Jameson repeated uncertainly. I’ll make sure that it’ll work out. Maybe I can get Anti to listen to me. We can find a way. The police would notice Henrik disappearing, they’ll find us.

Jackie choked on a sob. He pulled his knees up to his chest and folded his arms on top of them. “They haven’t,” he said quietly. “They’re...not going to.” And he buried his face in his arms, shoulders shaking. 

Jameson didn’t have anything to say to that. All he could do was stay close, and hold Jackie tight as he cried.

—————— 

It was a lovely day outside. For late-November-near-December, that is. Though the sun shone bright in a cloudless sky, there was still a chill to the air that forced people to wear jackets, or even coats. But Schneep didn’t mind. He hadn’t been outside in so long that anything would feel refreshing.

Silver Hills had itself a back garden where some patients could spend time. It was fenced in, for safety, but it was still quite large. Dr. Laurens had told him the news at the end of yesterday’s session: she’d gotten approval for some supervised time outside. Schneep had been hesitant at first. Some of his old paranoia and fear resurfacing. When he’d been with Anti, he hadn’t been allowed out without permission. And even when he had permission, Anti always found a way to keep an eye on him, either via cameras and GPS or by accompanying him himself. What if—what if this was another trick? A test? And if he failed the test—

No, of course not. Everything was alright here. There were other patients out and about, going on walks along the paths and stopping to look at flowers nearby. Schneep watched them from where he was sitting on one of the garden’s benches. He twirled his medical bracelet around his wrist. They’d also finally decided that he could wear clothes—besides the standard issue white shirt and pants—again. As long as they didn’t have any hard fastenings or dangly bits like strings, but that was understandable. So now the bracelet was the only sign that he was a patient here. Which was the same as everyone else. That...helped, actually. Somehow.

“Schneep? Is everything alright?”

“Hmm?” Schneep blinked, realizing he’d been gone for a while there. Oliver was nearby, as always. In this case, sitting at another bench nearby, far enough away to give Schneep his own space but close enough in case of an emergency. “Yes, I am fine. It is just a bit chilly.”

“Well...you’re not wrong there,” Oliver muttered. The orderly uniform was short-sleeved, and evidently, they weren’t allowed to wear anything over it.  His arms were covered in raised goosebumps. “Anything else?”

“No, I was just thinking.” Schneep looked down at his lap. Laurens had given him one of her notebooks and a box of markers. He’d said that he wanted to try drawing, like they’d done in one of their sessions, and she’d been encouraging. So now he was trying to draw the gardens. It was hard. He wasn’t particularly artistic, and he was pretty sure a twelve-year-old could do better than him. But it was...nice. Focusing. Grounding.

Oliver nodded, and went silent. Schneep returned to his paper. The markers were a bit annoying, since they couldn’t be erased. But it was fine. He worked around the mistakes.

Quite a bit of time passed before he was ready to go inside. A few clouds had appeared in the clear sky. Schneep stood up, closing the notebook. Oliver looked over at him again. “Ready to go?”

“Yes, I’m going back to my room.”

“Alright, then.” Oliver stood up as well. “Let’s go.”

They made their way inside, winding through the halls and then up the stairs. It was so good to have his old room back, from before that tiny, featureless room on the first floor. Apparently those rooms weren’t supposed to be lived in for that long, a fact that the lovely Dr. Newson had neglected to mention. But that was in the past. Now he had a window! And some battery-powered lamps, and a bathroom joined to the room, and more furniture than a bed and a single table. It was amazing.

“Alright, here we are.” They stopped outside Room 309 and Oliver unlocked it with a swipe of the key card. It was only ever unlocked when nobody was inside; another difference between this one and the tiny first-floor room. “You remember to push the button if you need anything?”

“Yes, yes.” There was a call button on the wall inside. Pressing it would bring an orderly to the room, hopefully within minutes. “I remember.”

“Great. I’ll be around.”

“Thank you.” Schneep opened the door, adjusting his grip on the notebook and box of markers before heading inside. “I will be seeing you, then.”

Oliver smiled a bit. “Of course. See you.” He waved a bit, then walked off, disappearing down the hallway. Schneep waved after him, pulling the room door closed shortly before he started to turn the corner.

By now, it was solidly in the afternoon, and the sun was shining its beams directly into the window. Schneep blinked in the sudden brightness, then once his eyes adjusted, he walked over to the table and put down the notebook and markers. He opened up to the page with the garden drawing and considered it. Not bad, really. For someone who wasn’t an artist. Jackie and Marvin would’ve done much better. Maybe they could have given him advice, if they were here.

It would be some time before dinner. A little over an hour, judging by the numbers on the digital clock on the table. In the meantime, he could get some reading done. The room had a shelf, and Laurens had been providing him with some books for it. He was just barely starting a new novel, but it had already sucked him in. Yes, that was a good idea. Get through a few chapters of that.

Schneep headed over to the shelf, running his fingers over the spines of the books until he reached the one he was looking for. He was just about to pull it off the shelf when there was a movement in his peripheral vision.

He stiffened instinctually. Even though he’d been seeing strange movement in his vision for years now, he’d only been uneasy about it ever since his time with Anti. But he wasn’t supposed to acknowledge it. It was better that way. Just ignore it, just ignore it, just ignore—

There were footsteps behind him. And he couldn’t help but turn around. The first thing he saw as he turned was the door to the adjoining bathroom. It was open. Hadn’t he left it closed? Could he have not closed it all the way? Then some sort of shift in the air could’ve opened it, causing the movement he saw?

No, that theory was disproved when he saw the second thing of note in the room: a man. Who hadn’t been there before. He was wearing the orderly uniform, but Schneep didn’t recognize him.

No.

No, he did recognize him.

His eyes were a different color, and his face wasn’t scarred, but there could be no mistaking him. Anti.

Schneep froze. No. No, it wasn’t real. He was just hallucinating. He’d done the same a few days ago, thought he’d seen Anti in the rec room. That couldn’t have been real. So this couldn’t be real. So it wasn’t. If he just ignored the hallucination, it couldn’t do anything to him. Slowly, he turned back around. He reached with trembling hands to take the book off the shelf.

More footstep sounds. He saw in the corner of his vision the image of Anti again. Anti was circling around him to his left, staring, watching, staring, watching—why is everyone always watching him?!—No, no, don’t let it get to him. It wasn’t real. He pulled the book off the shelf, and knocked down its two neighbors in the process, grabbing those as they fell. It was fine. Everything was fine.

He took a few deep breaths and turned away, taking the three books to an armchair near the window of the room. The image of Anti watched him, watched him with interest, curiosity. He always did that. He’d done it in the beginning, when he’d trapped Schneep in that house with him, always curious about how far he could push his limits.

“Es ist nicht real,” Schneep said to himself. Just a reminder. It couldn’t be real. How’d he get into the room? The front door hadn’t opened, and it was impossible for him to be inside beforehand. The room had been locked. Nobody could get in without unlocking it with a keycard. “Es ist nicht real. Es ist nicht real.” It was impossible.

Footstep sounds. Schneep could see the image of Anti approaching out of the corner of his vision. He didn’t turn his head, and focused on stacking the three books on the window sill. “Es ist nicht real, ist nicht real, ist nicht real, nicht real, nicht real,” he continued to whisper under his breath. “Nicht real, nicht real, nicht real.”

The image reached out and—

It grabbed his arm. 

He felt a sharp pain.

Panic flooded his system. Schneep screamed and spun around, picking up one of the books and throwing it at the man. The book connected solidly, hitting with enough force to snap the man’s head back and cause him to let go. He yelled out in pain.

No, someone was here. It wasn’t a hallucination. Someone was here and they weren’t supposed to be. Schneep ran across the room, heading for the door.

“You—!” The man recovered quickly, and ran to the door as well. He was faster, and Schneep skidded to a halt as the strange man who looked like Anti blocked the door. 

Okay, no door then. Schneep’s eyes scanned the room, and—the call button! Of course! He lunged to the side. The man saw where he was going, and pounced.

Schneep’s hand landed on the button for a split second before the man grabbed his wrist. He started to yell for help, but the man covered his mouth. “Shush,” his voice hissed as he wrapped his other arm around Schneep’s torso.

No! Schneep immediately started struggling, kicking his legs and trying to wriggle free. For a moment, his right arm pulled away, and he hit the strange man in the face. But the man was quick, and recaptured the escaped hand before it could do any damage. “Calm down, you’re going to be asleep in a few moments anyway,” the man said. “Don’t make this hard on yourself.”

That voice—it was—but it couldn’t be. It was impossible—how would he get inside? That—no. Schneep’s thoughts swirled in broken fragments, unable or unwilling to finish and come to the natural conclusion. He shook his head and continued to struggle. The man’s grip was firm. Unbreakable. It was...a familiar feeling.

There was something on his hand. Something powdery, chalky. Like...some sort of makeup. Like...something that could be used to hide blemishes. Or scars. It was on his right hand, the one he’d used to hit the man’s face.

Where Anti’s scars would be.

No...it wasn’t possible. This couldn’t be happening! It wouldn’t be—was it all a trick? All of it? Was he always planning to come back? Or maybe it was all in his head—no. He refused to believe that one.

Strangely, the longer he struggled, the slower his movement became. Sluggish...weak. And Schneep recognized these effects immediately. A sedative? But when...oh. Oh, that sharp pain he’d felt when he had grabbed him...that was a needle, wasn’t it? It was too late, wasn’t it?

Too late...yes, his vision was starting to waver. Schneep gave up on the weak escape attempts. They weren’t doing any good, anyway. Maybe he’d managed to hit the call button, and someone would be coming. Maybe...maybe they could...stop this...help him...please...please...

He looked up into the eyes of his captor and the world faded away.

[ohtobeaspettyasleah]

What happens at parent teacher interviews? Is Ethan obviously flirty or real smooth cat

Ethan Dolan was not a clean pallet. He wore tattoos like they were going out of fashion, and soon. A nearly full leg sleeve— a pant if you will, that he managed to cover with dress pants. Half an arm sleeve he never finished. Life got tricky. Kids came along. He did however have one tattoo he loved the most— he cherished it everytime he looked in the mirror after a hot shower.

A simple heartbeat of that who he loved and lost along the way. His fiancée. The mother of his children. The love of his life. Ethan knew he would someday move on, allow another woman to love his children, the very extensions of himself the same way he did. Unconditionally. But he never really made it a priority. Ethan was content, with his little family he raised with the help of their uncle Grayson and grandma Lisa. It sometimes takes a village to raise a child, multiple that and add Dolan genes into the mix and you’ll need an entire army.

But it was always going to be an inevitable part of Ethan’s life, he’d eventually move on. It wasn’t a matter of if he would, but when. And when he saw Pipper Reid sitting at a desk his kids were pulling him towards at parent teacher night he was shocked. She stood with a smile and a giggle, woundering why he wore a plastic pirate patch and patted down her dress. Reaching her hand out the shake Ethan’s. Registering after a week who he was.

“You must be Lexi and Le—oh my goodness it’s you! From St Anne’s, my son he uh—“

“Gave me the shiner?” Ethan smirked as he removed the patch his daughter insisted he wore. She didn’t like seeing her dad hurt. “I don’t remember ever introducing myself properly, I think I was too agitated and frustrated and just—“ he sighed, placing the patch back on as they sat. “Oliver’s a good kid, really he is! He just needs guidance and something to swing at beside other students and faculty members.” Ethan chuckled. “Pipper Reid.”

“You’re kids are blessing—“ she paused, only knowing his last name. Ethan filled her in with a smile. Pipper blushed. “Lexi is a phenomenal student, bright! I see a lot of my younger more ambitious self in her, Leo? He’s gifted. A little Artist.” It was Ethan’s turn to blush, holding his kids hands on either side of hims as they beamed up at the kindergarten teacher they idolised. “Lexi however, I’m concerned her social skills are falling behind.”

“She’s not the most socially interactive kid is she, huh Lex?” Ethan nudged her softly. Watching as her smile faded. “You’re not in trouble for being you Lex.”

“Absolutely not Lexi is never be cross with you, sometimes we all need to socialise though.” Lexi huffed. Leo watched on.

“I don’t even know what that means though—“

“it means that you have to try eat your strawberry jam sandwich with some kids in the playground sometimes.”

“I like staying in with you though miss Reid.” Ethan’s heart sank. He kissed his daughters head.

“Believe me, I enjoy the company.” Pipper reassured the little girl who just didn’t know how to make friends. “But we can work on it? I’m not gonna just tell you to do something without helping you! And your dads here too so we can work together on it. Project Lexi.”

Ethan watched as Lexi nodded along, turning his attention to his son. “An artist huh?”

“Can’t keep him away from the paint or crayons or something he can draw with long enough, I let Lexi use the good pencils at recess and lunch but Leo here, he makes anything look like a million dollar deal.”

“You holding out on me bro?” He chuckled as he messed up Leo’s hair. Bumping his hip as Leo laughed.

“No—“

“Well mrs Reid here says otherwise.” She didn’t mean to correct him so quickly or seem so desperate, it just slipped out.

“It’s Miss actually, Miss Reid.”

“So I wouldn’t be crossing a line here if I asked you to get a coffee with me sometime?” It was a bold move no doubt. Ethan hadn’t asked someone to grab coffee with him in years. But there was something about Pipper he couldn’t stop thinking about. He just wanted to get to know her more. Make her a constant in his life. Hell, if things didn’t work out she couldn’t fuck his children over that much could she. Piper smiled and leaned back in her chair. Her pen flip flopping in her hand. Tapping on the bench.

“I see a wedding band Ethan—“ pointing her pen to Ethan left ring finger. “I don’t—“

“S’not, I promise. It’s merely a remember that love still exists.” Ethan looked down at his hand, the silver band that surrounded the base of his finger. “It’s just a form of self tournament, but we can definitely talk about it more over coffee? Promise theirs no spouse waiting at home for her husband to return, if their was she’d definitely be here.”

“How do I know you aren’t lying?”

“Grab coffee with me and find out?” Ethan smirked. He knew he was winning. Leo pressed into his side tiredly. “Thankyou so much for your time Mrs Reid, I’m gonna take them home.”

“It’s Miss Ethan!” Pipper chuckled as she stood with Him. “It’s Miss.”

“I think I’d remember that a lot easier if you just had a coffee with me? There’s a really nice cafe down the street from my place, my treat?” Ethan pleaded with Pipper, it was rather pathetic. However she didn’t mind the chase. Pipper had never experienced this before. “Look.” Ethan sighed as he picked up Lexi. Her eyes tired. Leo’s hand in his. “I won’t lie, besides my brother? I’m a lacking a little in the friend department, you care about my kids not because it’s your job but because you have a good heart, I’m working my ass off for your son not because I’m trying to get to you but because he needs help and everyone was so ready to give up on him. He’s like you said, a good kid.”

“I really appreciate what you’re doing for Oliver.” Pipper was quiet as she spoke. “He’s unique.”

“I’ve been spending two hours a day with that kid in a pirate patch, he would hate it if he knew you got coffee with me so please, for the love of all that’s good in this world I promise I’ll make sure they make you the best coffee in the world because I really need to knock this kid down a few pegs and I’m outta ideas.” By the end of his little rant Ethan was breathless. His eyes just watching as Pipper giggled. She thought about her options. Ethan was sweet. He seemed about the same age as her. Funny. What could one coffee do? Beside he couldn’t mess up Oliver any more then he already was right?

“Okay, okay yeah—alright I’ll grab coffee with you.”

[bonjour-rainycity]

The Long Way Around ~ Chapter 16

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/625552318938611712/the-long-way-around-chapter-15

Pairing: Jasper x Reader

Word count: 3050

Warnings: None

Y/n’s POV

I sigh, pulling on my tennis shoes. “Can we do this later? I’m not feeling it.” It’s only been six hours since our last drill, I haven’t heard from Jasper, and the burn in my throat has yet to fade from six hours ago. I just want to be left alone.

“No.” Rosalie’s voice is firm, and she reaches down a hand to pull me up. “You need to be consistent otherwise you’ll lose progress. No more moping.” Now, she gives me a shove towards my bedroom door, “I’ve let this go on for too long.”

Childishly, I take slow steps towards the door. I really just want to get back in bed and watch some Netflix or something. “It’s not like it’s your fault. I’m just not in the mood.”

“Look,” Rosalie sighs, placing her hands on her hips. “Being away from your mate is hard, I get it. Emmett and I hate being away from each other, but-”

Her words register, and I have to cut her off. It’s something that’s been bothering me since the fight, when Cora addressed Jasper. She’d asked him if he was willing to die in the place of his mate, and she’d meant me. And now, Rosalie throws the term casually into conversation. My mind floats back to that discussion Jasper and I had all those months ago, about mates, and I know that the term is anything but casual; it’s equivalent to an eternal, undying commitment.

“Yeah, about that.” Rosalie’s eyebrows raise, presumably at being interrupted, but she speaks no further. I play with my fingers, glad Jasper’s not here to feel my insecurity and nervousness. It might give him the wrong impression. “That word has been thrown around a lot recently.”

Now, a smile quirks across Rosalie’s lips. “Does that bother you?”

“No, not bother,” I’m quick to correct. “It definitely does not bother me, it just…y’know, means a lot.”

“And that worries you?” This time, her guess is correct.

Timidly, I nod. It feels dumb to be admitting all of this, but it’s the truth. “It just feels so fast to be feeling this way.”

Rosalie takes a small step towards me, and her voice is kind when she speaks. “You guys go at whatever pace feels comfortable for you. All I’ll say, is when you know, you know. And there’s no going back.” She heaves a sigh, and then smiles. “Now, get your butt in the backyard. You are not getting out of training just cause you’re in love.”

Rolling my eyes, I follow her out of the house. I’ll have to make time to mull over my thoughts later, when I’m alone.

When we reach the backyard, which is really just a clearing in between the massive house and the forest, Emmett is waiting, and so is a scent that throws me into an immediate predator-like crouch.

“Emmett, you’re supposed to wait until she’s prepared to open the bag,” Rosalie chides, looking at me warily.

Emmett shrugs, a wide, unbothered grin across his face. “I’m taking it up a notch.”

Just the fact that I can register their conversation shows me how far I’ve come. A few weeks ago, I would’ve been laser-focused on the squishy bag fifty yards from me. I use the knowledge of my progress as a lifeline and force myself out of my crouch.

The footsteps racing toward me give barely a second to react before I’m slammed onto the ground with the force of a freight train. I snarl, fighting to get the dead weight off of me. The weight snarls back, and I recognize the sound instantly as that of another vampire. He must have smelled the blood and come to fight me for it. With that knowledge, my new goal becomes escape and, if possible, escape plus satisfaction in the form of guzzling the packaged human blood. But my first priority is set. With a growl, I grip the shoulders of my assailant, using my strength and my ability to put him on the ground. The man gasps in response to my attack, and soon a groan is drawn from his lips. My hands tingle, the only physical sign that I’d used my powers. Once the man is on the ground, I hold him down with a knee on his chest. I’m about to hit him with a wave of fire to further incapacitate him, when I notice the contorted, yet familiar, face below me.

“Arthur,” I gasp, hurrying off of him.

He takes a few steadying breaths but looks at me with a glint in his eye. “Nice job.”

“Yes,” another voice agrees as Edward hurries to join our group. “That was very controlled, Y/n.”

“Controlled?” I’m sure my eyes must be bulging comically. “I about made my friend think he’d been set on fire just so I could have some packaged blood.”

The blood. I freeze as I realize I had been ignoring it. Not unaware of it, exactly, just not prioritizing it. Experimentally, I take a shallow breath through my mouth. The fire ignites, but I fight through it. I take another breath, and another, eventually working up to a deep breath through my nose. That hits me the hardest, but with gritted teeth and much effort, I push down the urge to follow the scent.

Oh wow.

My face breaks in a grin to match that of Rose, Emmett, Arthur, and Edward.

Even now, fully aware of the sweet smell, I can ignore the urge to go after it. The temptation, as well as the painful burn in my throat, are very much present, but I can control my instincts. I am controlled.

“Aha!” I exclaim in joy and jump in the air, elevating about twelve feet before crashing back into the ground, leaving a small crater.

I bask in the congratulation from my friends as well as in my newfound optimism. Maybe Jasper is right. We might actually be able to go on a trip soon, just the two of us.

I swallow at the implication.

We’ve never been alone before for an extended period of time. Even our two trips to the waterfall were relatively brief.

Now that I know it’s a real possibility, I ache for uninterrupted time with Jasper.

But then my thoughts shift and I’m returned to a state of worry as I face the harsh reality that none of us have heard from either Carlisle, Esme, or Jasper in well over six hours.

The fact that Edward hears my thoughts and can offer no reassurance makes me feel even worse.

Emmett notices the shift in my mood. “Wanna wrestle?”

Usually I refrain, but right now, that actually sounds kind of fun. At the very least, it will distract me.

Hesitantly, I nod, and Emmett grins widely. After tossing the now tightly closed bag to Rosalie (who discards it safely), Emmett draws me further away from the house.

“Esme will kill us if she comes back to crushed brick,” he explains.

Edward chortles. “What, again?”

“Hey you’re next baby bro,” Emmett teases, his grin never slipping.

We circle each other for a few minutes. Then, with barely any warning, he lunges.

We grapple. I’ve been a vampire for nearly eleven months now, and my newborn strength is all but gone. Emmett is definitely stronger than me. My advantages lie in my speed—Emmett’s size makes him slightly slower than others—and in my ability. Still, I’m very hesitant to cause my lovable friend pain, so I keep a tight reign on my powers.

Emmett manages to get his arms around my middle and tosses me about two hundred yards. I slam into a tree, taking it down with me. But before it has a chance to hit the ground, I’m standing in front of Emmett, using his shoulders to throw him off balance. Just as I’m about to kick him in the stomach, a low move, I know, Edward’s phone rings. Immediately, we all freeze, guessing who will be on the other end of the call, but in the dark as to what news they will provide.

“Carlisle?” Edward’s voice is terse, a vocal expression of the feelings raging inside my heart. Please, please let Jasper be okay.

“Edward, we are on our way home. The conversation went well.” Carlisle’s voice is calm, optimistic even, and my friends exhale sighs of relief. I can’t quite relax yet though. Not until…

Thankfully, Edward hears the frantic tone to my thoughts and takes pity.

“Is everyone alright? Where are Esme and Jasper?”

“Everyone is just fine. Esme is checking us out and Jasper’s running a quick errand before we leave for the airport.”

I let out a shaky breath, nearly falling to the ground as all the tension leaves my body. He’s okay. He’s coming home.

“Wonderful,” Edward enthuses. “When should we expect you?”

“Our flight is supposed to land around five tomorrow morning, and we should reach the house around eight.”

The three hour drive between our small town and the nearest international airport suddenly seems incredibly rude. Perhaps…

Immediately, Edward shakes his head in my direction. “You’re not ready for that.”

“But you said I was controlled!” Inwardly, I cringe. My voice sounds like that of a whiny teenager.

“Controlled for the exercises, yes, but it will be completely different when you’re surrounded by humans, even if you stay in the car,” he tacks on, knowing my next argument. “Besides, Carlisle parked his Mercedes at the airport. It makes no sense to drive there when he already has a car waiting.”

I fight back a groan. I just want to see Jasper. I miss his hugs, his scent, the feel of his hand in mine, the way he smirks when I tug on his hair, cuddling up and reading or watching movies, the sound of his laugh-

Edward’s kind chuckle breaks through my thoughts. “Just eighteen more hours.”

Pursing my lips, I check my watch. It’s just past two-thirty. I can distract myself for seventeen hours and twenty-four minutes. Right?

Edward focuses back on his conversation with Carlisle, but I tune him out. I can get all the details later, from Jasper. All that matters now is that they’re safe, they’re coming home, and that the mission was successful.

I think of ways to fill my time. Hunting would certainly be a fun occupation, but I quickly dismiss the idea. Jasper will want to go when he returns, and I would rather go with him. Heck, we might get a whole family trip out of it if Carlisle and Esme need to go, too. I could kill a few more hours wrestling with Emmett though, eventually, we were sure to get sick of throwing each other around. Randomly, a thought strikes me, and a smile spreads across my face.

“Bella, Alice, Rose” I call, hurrying back towards the house.

{***}

Seven grueling hours later, we’ve amassed our supplies. Paint cans and pillows and fabric and wood and brushes and tools and baskets and a million other tiny objects crowd my room. It seemed much larger before we crammed all this in.

While the girls had kindly set up a room for me after my transformation, it lacked, well, me. The style was very generic and resembled more of a guest room than someone’s personal space.

I decided it was time for a change.

Bella lost interest hours ago and was now off somewhere with Edward, so Rose had roped Emmett into being our fourth set of hands.

“I like the pink, but that’s just me,” Emmett contributes, sounding surprisingly emphatic.

Rosalie groans. “I asked for base colors, not accent colors.”

Emmett makes a face that quite explicitly communicates the word, ‘geesh.’

I hold back a laugh and instead focus on studying the samples of paint in front of me. One in particular stands out, and I relay my decision to the group. We begin painting, each of us taking a wall. Arthur seems to feel left out and joins us about halfway through, and Rosalie puts him to work building a window seat.

Soon, my walls boast a calming sage color, and I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. Yes. Arthur’s constructed a lovely window seat complete with little doors on the bottom to give me extra storage, and I thank him profusely. It’s truly beautiful. Alice disappears and comes back with the perfect lace curtains, and I actually squeal. I would have never thought to include lace but, seeing it in context, I can’t deny that it’s just perfect.

To add a bit of depth (in Rosalie’s words, anyway), we throw in some hints of lavender, cream, and brown. Pleased with my reaction to his window seat, Arthur and Alice craft a bookshelf, and then leave in search of the perfect chair and table. While they’re gone, Rosalie, Emmett, and I talk bedding. After a surprising amount of arguing, we decide on a cream duvet and many pillows in variations of cream, lavender, and coffee.

Alice must have been notified of our decisions (by means of text or supernatural premonition, I don’t know), and returns bearing many gifts. She and Arthur set the items gently on my bedroom floor: a dusty pink vintage chair, a carefully distressed cream circular end table, a small cream pillow (presumably for the chair), a handful of startlingly large blankets, and hanging twinkly lights for above my bed. I about burst with excitement.

Not about to be outdone, Emmett leaves and returns exactly one hour later bearing a huge flat-screen TV. He grins as he and Arthur rebuild the bookshelf into a larger bookshelf-entertainment center-combo. It’s truly awesome.

With five hours before Jasper’s arrival, my room is finished. I can’t help but beam as we slide the last of my books into place on the carefully organized shelf.

“You guys….” Emotion makes my voice tight. In my, albeit fuzzy, human memory, I can’t locate a time when my friends had gone to such lengths to help me, to make me happy. I’m truly, deeply grateful for these people I get to call my friends. More than that, my family. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

They respond with smiles and an easy chorus of phrases diminishing their instrumental roles. I just pull them in for a group hug, which is met with varying levels of appreciation, and can’t help but laugh.

They leave me alone to enjoy my new space but also so they can finish cleaning up before Esme gets home. I feel bad, them having to take trips to the dump and various stores on my behalf, but Edward is right. I’m not ready to be surrounded by actual humans. Still, I’m eager to show Jasper my progress. He’ll be proud of me.

The thought of my love—for, as much as it scares me to think of him that way, he surely is— causes me to pause. Now that my room is all nice, it seems unfair for him to have to come home to find his untouched. A flash of a weak human memory confirms my theory: I had just returned from a week long school trip and found my room clean with freshly washed sheets. Someone—my mom or my dad?—had figured I would be tired and knew I would appreciate the act. Hopefully, Jasper would too. I exit my room and turn up the staircase to the top floor. Jasper’s room is located at the eastern corner of the house, and I head in that direction. When I get to his door, I pause. I’d been in here many times before, but never without him. Would he be upset? Would he consider this an invasion of his privacy? Those fears nearly send me back down the stairs but, reviewing what I know of his character, Jasper wouldn’t be angry. He probably wouldn’t even care. So, I push the door open.

Jasper’s scent, while faint, hits me, and I close my eyes, savoring. It’s been days since I’ve been surrounded by the comforting warmth of him, and my heart aches for his return.

I want to kick myself for being so besotted. Who was I, that I would be reduced to such sadness at just a few days away from my boyfriend?

I sigh, knowing the truth.

But he’s not just my boyfriend. Jasper is my mate. Neither of us is human anymore, so human standards cannot apply to us. What I feel for him is so completely…more than any human could ever even conceive of feeling.

I swallow under the weight of my admission. Put simply, I know deep in my gut that Jasper and I will be together for eternity. And, if death ever tries to do us part, it will not succeed. Whether in after-life or whatever comes next, we will be together.

Oof.

Needing to focus on something other than these intensities, I hurry to Jasper’s bed and strip the sheets and pillowcases. His room is spotless, so there’s not much work for me there. Still, while his bedding is in the washer, I busy myself with dusting, While wiping off one of his shelves, I find a couple of my books I’d noticed were missing, and roll my eyes. Thief. In retaliation, I take his favorite chessboard and shove it under my bed. Now, we’re even.

Once the bedding is finished drying, I replace it and smooth it out, making the bed as best I can. Vampirism is supposed to make you good at everything, but I can’t quite replicate the tightly fitted corners Jasper creates with ease. Eh, good enough. Besides, it’s the thought that counts, right?

I replenish the washing machine with Carlisle and Esme’s bedding next, not wanting to leave them out. Just because I’m not ridiculously in love with them doesn’t mean they shouldn’t have freshly washed sheets too, right?

By the time I’m done with my various cleaning, it’s only two hours until Jasper’s arrival. Alice can sense my anticipation, and invites me to watch a movie with her. I accept but, instead of focusing on the classic plot, count down the minutes until I can hear the car’s wheels on the drive.

A/n Thank you for all your kind words on my last update! Each reply, like, and reblog makes me smile and I truly appreciate you taking the time out of your day to do that! Don’t forget to let me know what you thought of this chapter and if you would like to be added to the tag list :)

xx, 

Bjr

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/625820783935160320/the-long-way-around-chapter-17

Tag list: @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @one-thread-can-save-a-life @salsameter @enchantedcruelsummer @meashy-moo @sana-li @femflorals @80strashbag @tomisbaeholland @heyimval13 @triscuitcracker @deviantly-gayy @sleepywinnie847 @vexingcosmos @avalongrey @artms-blnd

[thatbloodymuggle]

the one with the kegger gone wrong

Tongue Tied (jj maybank) 5/?

masterlist

word count: 2.9k

warnings: panic attack, major mentions of death, really heavy shit BE WARNED

read it on wattpad

playlist

-

"So we didn't see anything, we don't know anything. We need to have total and complete amnesia," Pope panicked.

The Pogues were strewn about John B's porch after witnessing the discovery of Scooter Grubb's body, the owner of the boat.

Pope sat on the couch in between Kie and Rosie. Rosie, who had her arms wrapped around her knees, nodded in agreement. While their adventure was exhilarating, she absolutely was not about to get caught.

"Actually, Pope's right for once," JJ interjected.

"For once?" Rosie scoffed under her breath

"See I agree with you sometimes," he strode across the porch, "Deny, deny, deny."

"Guys, we can't keep that money," Kie scolded him.

JJ was quick to bite back, "Not all of us can afford unlimited data plans, Kiara."

"We have to pass that off to Lana Grubbs. Otherwise it's bad karma," she argued.

Rosie furrowed her brows in contemplation. On one hand, she didn't want to be found with the money. But on the other hand, how would anyone ever know? There was so much money in that safe; and the cops had taken some for themselves, anyways.

"Wait, guys, just think about it," John B pulled Rosie from her thoughts, "this is Scooter Grubbs we're talking about. Same dude that's buying individual cigarettes at the Porthole. Shit, one time I saw this dude begging for change in the Save-A-Lot parking lot because he needed gas," his friends leaned in closer as they listened, "we're talkin' about a dirtbag marina rat who's never had more than 40 bucks in his pocket and all of a sudden he's got a Grady-White?"

The teenagers sat in silence for a moment. John B was right, it really didn't make sense. Rosie, JJ, and Kie nodded along to his words, but Pope still wasn't convinced. John B sighed, before starting again.

"Think about it, Pope. How does a marina rat get a Grady-White?"

"Prostitution," Pope deadpanned.

"Square groupers, bro," John B ignored his sarcasm. "Flying under the radar, no aerial surveillance, they don't do that stuff during a hurricane!" John B threw his arms up. "What does that mean?"

JJ cut in, "They were straight smugglin'"

"Smugglin'."

Rosie and Kie sat up in their seats as the conversation got more and more interesting. They remained quiet, but listened intently.

Pope sighed, "If that is a smuggling ship with illegal contraband inside of it, it probably belongs to someone else and they could come looking for it. So taking it would be catastrophically stupid."

JJ reached forward and snatched the wad of cash Pope had been holding, "Right. Well, stupid things have good outcomes all the time," he flashed the money.

Rosie snorted, but didn't argue.

"All we need to do is figure out a way to get into the cargo hold of that wreck. Until then we just lay low, act normal," JJ finished.

For once, Rosie agreed.

"Right," Pope spoke with skepticism, "And how exactly do we do that?"

Rosie and Kie shared a look before speaking at the same time.

"Kegger?"

-

And just like that, Rosie found herself hauling a large metal keg, red Solo cups, and a tap onto the Boneyard as the sun set. The teenagers made quick work of setting it up, and soon enough they found themselves filling their plastic cups to the rim with alcohol. Rosie laughed as she sprayed beer into John B's mouth, soaking his shirt in the process.

It didn't take long for other people to show. First Pogues, then Tourons who likely heard the commotion and decided to check it out. Finally, in wandered the Kooks. Rosie hated the idea of a 'class war'. It sounded so French Revolution. But she had to admit, she absolutely despised the Kooks. Growing up in a nice, sheltered home for the first few years of her life, she didn't realize the full extent of how awful they were until she'd switched schools.

Rosie leered behind John B and JJ while they poured beer for a group of boys with styled hair and polos. She sipped her beer and stared the Kooks down. For hating us, she thought, they sure like our beer.

Buzzed and bored of standing around the keg, Kie and Rosie wandered off to find their prey for the night. Kie nudged her friend and nodded to their right where two unfamiliar, attractive boys sat. Rosie gave her a knowing grin. The two girls sauntered towards the tourists, exuding confidence.

"Hello, boys," Rosie sang as she and Kie sat down on either side of them. Rosie next to a bulky brunette, and Kie next to a lankier blond.

The boy beside Rosie turned to face her with a sly grin.

"Hello, ladies," he greeted back.

Rosie glanced down at the red cup in his hand, which was nearly empty. She let out an exaggerated gasp, "Oh no! You're almost empty. Here," she poured some of the beer from her cup into his.

"Cheers," he held up his plastic cup. She clinked hers against his with an alluring smile and looped her arm through his. The smirk on his face grew as they both took a sip of beer, arms intertwined.

"Pretty name for a pretty face?" the dark-haired boy turned to face her, forgetting about the friend he'd shown up with.

Rosie inwardly scoffed at the cheesy line, but played along, "Rosie," she subtly fluttered her eyelashes and leaned closer.

He went on to introduce himself, but his name went in one ear and out the other. They continued to make small talk, occasionally flirting in-between. The sky grew darker, and Rosie found herself becoming bored of his rather mundane personality. He might've been attractive, but it seemed all he could talk about was his blossoming football career. Rosie's eyes wandered across the beach. She spotted John B, who had clearly had too much to drink. Her gaze shifted to JJ who was already staring at her with an unreadable expression. She frowned at him and held his stare for a moment until he turned away.

"Rosie?"

Rosie whipped back around to face the tourist boy, "Hmm?"

She had clearly missed his question.

He started to speak again, but Rosie's attention was pulled back to JJ and John B as she heard shouting coming from their direction.

"Dirty Pogues!"

Rosie didn't think twice about the confused boy sitting beside her. She shot up and ran over to her friends who were fighting with Topper and his goons. Rosie arrived just as John B shoved Topper backwards, full force. She watched as Pope tried to pull him back from the fight, but to no avail. Before Rosie could make a move Topper punched John B, knocking him down into the sand. A crowd formed around the scene.

"John B, no!" Rosie dashed forward in an attempt to break up the fight, but someone held her back. She looked up to find JJ, but he was focused on the scene before him. The blond had pushed her slightly behind him to keep her from intervening.

"JJ let me go, we need to stop them!" she struggled in his grip, but he wouldn't let up.

"If you go out there you're gonna get clocked. You gotta let them fight it out," he argued, before cheering on his friend. "Come on, man! That's what I'm talkin' about!"

Rosie knew he was right. She watched in horror as John B went from having the upper hand to being slammed against the ground. Topper ran over to the knocked down boy and held his face down into the water. He was drowning him.

"JJ," she hit him his side frantically. "JJ! We have to do something, he's gonna kill-"

The blond was running towards the scene before she could finish her sentence. Her heart skipped a beat as she watched him pull out the gun from earlier and hold it against Topper's head. The crowd went silent.

"JJ, no," Rosie spoke in a level tone while striding forwards. "JJ, put the gun down," she urged him  just a few feet away. Sarah Cameron was freaking out and screaming at the blond Pogue, and Rosie couldn't blame her.

JJ released the Kook and threw him in the water.

Rosie's shoulders slumped in relief, only to tense up again as JJ began screaming at everyone on the beach.

"All right everyone listen up! Get the hell off our side of the island!" he shot the gun twice.

Anger overtook Rosie. She ran forward and tried to wrestle the gun out of JJ's grip. She could distantly hear her friends yelling at them, but she tuned them out.

"JJ give me the fucking gun," she seethed, pure rage taking over. He held the gun to his chest, pulling her closer.

Rosie stared into his crazed eyes, "Why don't you stop trying to be my savior and fuck off!" He shoved her full force, sending her tumbling in the sand. She watched him storm away, but the initial shock wore off and her anger returned.

Seeing red, she pulled herself out of the sand and sprinted towards him despite Pope and Kie's protests. She yanked his arm back and he whipped around to face her. Both their eyes wore matching fury.

"Let go of me," JJ seethed, shaking her off. He continued to storm forwards, but Rosie stopped him again.

"You're off the fucking rails, you psycho, I'm not letting you walk out of here with a gun," she bit back.

He turned around again, but this time walked straight at her, causing Rosie to stumble backwards. The anger in her eyes dissipated at his words.

"Just because you lost your mom doesn't mean you have to act like mine. You can't save everyone. Stop fucking trying."

JJ stomped away while Rosie stood unmoving. Her vision began to blur, and her ears started ringing. It felt like she was underwater and couldn't come back up. The girl stood there motionless, until she wasn't. She began walking blindly off the beach.

"Rosie!"

It sounded like white noise.

She walked forward

Left foot, heel, toe. Right foot, heel, toe.

Unchanging pace.

Left foot, heel, toe. Right foot, heel, toe.

Hard face.

Left foot, heel, toe. Right foot, heel, toe.

Mind fading.

Left foot, heel, toe. Right foot, heel, toe.

Noise grading.

Left foot, heel, toe. Right foot, heel, toe.

She focused on the rhythm of her steps; on making them steady like the beat of a drum. Blindly towards the house she could barely call home. Towards her unwanted memories.

Rosie stepped through the door. Instantly, panic slammed into her chest, stealing her breath away. The stinging in the back of her eyes was blinding. They began to water. She searched for her stupid book. Her hands shook violently, knocking picture frames from the table onto the ground. Glass shattered around her but she just wanted her goddamn book.

Twilight.

Rosie ripped open the book, but the first tear had already escaped. She watched in horror as it stained the page. She frantically tried to read the words of Stephanie Myer, but the tears were raining down now.

"No no no no no," she wailed. "Why won't it fucking work?"

Her wobbly hands wiped tears only for more to come flooding down. JJ had broken down the dam, releasing the ocean of tears that had been building for months. No, JJ hadn't.

She had.

He was right. She couldn't save him. Just like she couldn't save her mom. Just like she couldn't save her dad. Just like she couldn't even save herself.

An ear-splitting wail ripped through Rosie's throat. The tears kept coming. She curled in on herself to ease the pain. Pointless. She ripped the useless piece-of-shit book down the spine. She chucked it at the glass window which shattered.

More glass on the floor. More to clean up.

But she couldn't clean up.

She didn't know how to panel a window.

Mom did.

Vision blurred. More water down her face. Blinding. Deafening. No sight, no hearing. Only feeling.

She needed to clean up. She needed to clean it all up.

She raced into her mother's room. Untouched sheets, unwashed clothes.

She stripped the bed and threw all the clothes into a hamper.

She needed to clean up.

She dragged them one-by-one into the glass room. She picked up her mother's glasses. Snapped them in half.

Clean it all up.

More screaming, more crying. Was it coming from her? No sight, no hearing, and now no feeling.

She smashed her mom's clay pots she'd spent hours crafting. Old. Outdated. Need to buy new ones.

Clean up.

Vodka bottle smashed over clothes and sheets and flower pots and glasses and pictures. Dad's silver lighter. The flame didn't even tickle. No feeling. No noise. No sound.

No Mom and no Dad. Just Rosie. All alone.

Such a big house for a small orphan. She'd find another.

The lighter slipped from her shaking fingers.

But it never hit the ground.

Arms wrapped around her frail body. More tears, louder screams.

"No! No no no no! I'm not done yet, I need to clean, it's not clean yet, please let me clean!"

Rosie was ripped away from the mess. The warm breeze whipped around her as she was dragged outside, but she couldn't feel it. She couldn't see. And she couldn't hear the voice in her ear.

She wasn't sure how much time passed while she struggled against her restraints and drowned in her own muffled screams.

Slowly she felt. A tingle in her toes, and a stinging in her hands. She felt arms holding her tight and a strong chest against her shaking back.

She could feel.

She could hear a whisper in her ear. Shhh", like waves crashing against shore. She could hear pathetic sobs and piercing wails. Were those her own?

And then, she could see. Hands wiped her tears. She saw the green grass below and dark sky above.

Rosie turned in the person's grip, frantic. She saw JJ. His eyes swimming with something unusual, but she didn't care.

"I'm not done, JJ, please let me finish. It's not clean yet it needs to be clean!" she sobbed.

He rocked her back and forth.

"We'll clean it, don't worry. Shhh."

Rosie shook her head violently, "No! She's gone, she can't be here anymore, we need to move her now!"

His steady rocking continued. "Look at the grass." She did. "What color is it?"

"Green," she cried.

"Now look at the sky." She did. "What do you see?"

"Stars," tears ran.

"And touch my hands." She gripped them. "How do they feel?"

"Rough," the waterfall slowed.

"Now listen to my heart beat." She felt it against her back. "Count to 10."

"1...2...3...4...5...6...7...8...9...10," her breathing steadied.

Time slowed as JJ held Rosie like this: between his legs, in the grass, rocking back and forth until she completely regained her senses. He sat in her silence for a while. Eventually he stood up, her frail body never leaving his arms.

"Close your eyes," he instructed. She listened.

JJ carried her back inside the trashed house, careful not to step on broken pieces of glass. He didn't want to startle her. He laid her on her bed.

"You can open them now."

Rosie squinted her eyes open, but they were so puffy you could barely tell. She watched JJ move towards the door, "I'll be right back."

She nodded and stared up at the ceiling. In seconds, he was back with a wet cloth, bandages, and hydrogen peroxide. Rosie watched him sit on the edge of the bed and gingerly grab her hands.

Rosie noticed the red, sticky blood littered with shards of glass. JJ picked out the pieces one by one. He poured the antiseptic liquid on the cloth, and dabbed as lightly as he could. She flinched, but didn't move away. Then, he finally wrapped her hands up with the bandages. Good as new.

"JJ?" Rosie called out as he put away the supplies. His baby blue eyes bore into her tired ones. "Please don't leave."

He nodded and cautiously laid down next to her. They laid side-by-side, staring up at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," Rosie whispered.

He turned his head to the side, "For what?"

"For everything. For always making you feel dumb and incompetent, and like you can't take care of yourself. Like tonight. And I'm sorry for pretending like it's all fine when it's not--for making you pick up the pieces."

She barely spoke above a whisper, and turned her head to face JJ. She could finally tell what was clouding his blue eyes.

Guilt.

"Rosie," he whispered back, but stopped himself. "We can talk in the morning."

She nodded, still dazed. He was right. Rosie watched JJ's eyes flutter shut, hiding the guilt. She watched as his breaths slowed.

"Do you forgive me?" Rosie breathed so quietly, she was surprised JJ heard.

Guilt-ridden eyes reopened. They paused in contemplation. Then, slowly, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against her nose.

"Only if you forgive me."

Rosie smiled. A tired smile, but a genuine one.

"Of course."

His baby-blues disappeared underneath tired eyelids. Rosie mimicked his actions.

And so Rosie and JJ fell asleep. Inches away from each other, but never touching. Just relishing in the sound of their soft breaths and the heat of each other's skin. As the moon rose higher, their hearts slowed, until they beat as one.

-

taglist:

@tangledinsparkles @lovelymaybankk @my--heroine @thelonelyumbrella @floretsoleil @flick24 @books-netflix-and-pizza @dad-ee-drea @dolanfivsosxox​ @anahgiedd @love-bean​ @maleriefay @mrs-maybank @shawnssongs​ @downbytheouterbanks​ @lostwnoah

-

and there’s chapter 5! I apologize for the heavy angst, let me know what you guys think :)

[lnc2]

baby please (come home)

Summary: It’s the first Christmas after Hawkmoth’s defeat and Adrien is struggling without his lady.

A/N: This is an @mlsecretsanta​ gift for @dailyplagg who requested ladrien.  I hope you like it!

AO3

The words bah humbug never had a place in Adrien’s vocabulary.  But as he hit the snooze on yet another alarm he felt he was as close as he ever would be to sympathizing with its originator.

Ebenezer Scrooge had nothing on him.

Adrien didn’t need corporeal manifestations of the past to haunt him into the holiday spirit. He had enough ghosts hanging around as it was.  His father’s empty house, his father’s empty chair. He was used to missing his mother this time of year but burying her in the spring reopened old wounds.

Reporters stopped calling months ago but Adrien still saw the occasional photographer in the bushes across the street.  No amount of quiet menacing from the Gorilla could keep them all away but then again who could resist the tragic son of a convicted terrorist?

Not the tabloids. 

The first few weeks were the worst.

The shock, the pity, the speculation. 

The trial.

Adrien didn’t think he would ever be able to explain just exactly how it felt to testify against his father, not once, but twice.  The press was quick to point out how somber Chat Noir was in those days, unable to muster a smile even for his lady.

His lady.  

Hah.

His third and final ghost sat like a weight on his chest, an ache in his hand, a phantom limb.  She’d never understood why Hawkmoth’s reveal had rattled Chat Noir as much as it had, but she’d rarely spent a night away from him in the beginning.  His days were filled dodging reporters and hiding out with well meaning friends like Nino and Kagami and Marinette while his evenings were spent racing across rooftops with his partner who didn’t know his reasons but knew his hurt.

Until she left.

“Just for the semester,” She’d assured him, quickly taking his hand in her own as they ignored the city laid out before them in favor of each other’s eyes.  It had been that way for a while now, long enough for Adrien to hope that maybe his lady was finally his lady.  A fledgling desire that was quashed the instant she told him she was leaving.

“I have an opportunity… I can’t turn it down.”

Adrien understood.  He did. Even if his heart didn’t quite believe her when she said,

“I’m not abandoning you.”

But the last thing he wanted to do was hold her back.  Wherever it was Ladybug was going, whatever it was that was taking her away from him, well, she deserved it.  Paris was safe now. He knew she was in university like him. She couldn’t keep her life on hold forever.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t miss her.

Some nights he’d wonder where she’d gone, who she was seeing, what she was doing.  If she were happy, if she would stay.  

If she were thinking of him.  

Those last thoughts sent him into a melancholy spiral that even Plagg couldn’t pull him out of.

And as the days turned into weeks into months, he found himself sinking further into his despair.  His therapist, an Alya-Nino-Marinette intervention insistence, told him it was only natural to feel low as the holidays drew near.

“After all,” She’d said, fixing him with the best earnest, non-judgemental glare money could buy. “You’re coming up on some big anniversaries.”

The happiest time of year indeed.

Sighing, he snuggled deeper beneath his covers, ignoring his alarm as it once again filled the room.  Plagg would take care of it when he was irritated enough- right now Adrien couldn’t muster up the energy to reach across the bed.

Maybe he should just skip the party tonight.

Even as that tempting thought crossed his mind he knew it was a nonstarter.  Nino would skin him alive if he bothered sending the sorry bro i’m just not up for it text he was already mentally drafting.

“It won’t be the same without you,” His friend had said when Adrien tried to reject the initial invitation. “Don’t bail on us at Christmas. Between you and Marinette the group has been pretty small lately.”

Nino wasn’t wrong.

Audrey Bourgeois had offered Marinette another opportunity to intern with her in New York and this time she’d accepted.  It had been tough, missing not just one but two of his closest friends these last few months. But Marinette had been in constant contact through group chats, instagram, and on one particularly rough night three weeks back, a two hour long phone call to talk him down from a panic attack.

At the time she was the only one who would answer her phone but in the end Adrien found she was exactly who he’d needed to talk him down.  He’d panicked later, texting her apology after apology, but her long string of emojis and all caps insistence that that’s what she was there for went a long way to easing his guilt.  Still, he was dying to thank her in person.

But Marinette wasn’t due back in Paris until after the New Year.  Making it that much harder for Adrien to drag himself out of bed and into the shower so he wouldn’t be late.

“Do I even need to shower, Plagg?”

His kwami gave him a sniff.

“You smell great to me.”

A shower it is.

Groaning Adrien rolled himself to his feet and shuffled off to the bathroom.  If he hurried he could still meet Nino at Alya’s place before they left for the bar.

It was hard to leave once he got there though and he found himself lingering under the hot water.  If he hadn’t given the Gorilla the week off he might have asked him to drive him over but as it was his best bet was probably taking a cab. Bribing Plagg to transform was always an option but with Ladybug out of the city Chat Noir was making fewer and fewer appearances.  Transforming tonight was guaranteed to attract attention, which was the last thing he wanted these days.

Resigning himself to a cab and a stranger’s curious stares, Adrien stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. At this rate he was going to have to meet his friends at the party.  He stepped out of the bathroom to grab his phone and update Nino only to stop short.

Ladybug was sitting on the edge of his bed.  She was kicking her feet together, agitated, as she stared down at her fidgeting hands.  Her hair was longer and pulled into a ponytail but she was otherwise the same as he’d last seen her yoyoing off into the fading summer sunset.

Something like a whine escaped his throat and her head snapped up.

“Adrien!” She squeaked, jumping to her feet.  “I– you– oh .” Ladybug’s face flushed pink and her eyes roamed over him once, twice, before resting firmly on his forehead.  “Your w-window was open so I…” She gave a jerky wave. Adrien glanced towards his windows and then back to her, not entirely believing she was actually here.

“ Lady- bug?” He said, voice cracking on the second syllable.  Her eyes, blue and familiar and dear, flicked down to his.  She bit her lip, a nervous habit he didn’t know he missed, and nodded.

Something tight and painful eased in his chest.

“I thought you left Paris.”

Ladybug’s smile was too sad, eyes too knowing when she said 

“I came back early.”

“Oh.” His hand found the back of his neck and he gripped it tight to keep himself from reaching towards her. “When…?”

“My plane got in an hour ago.”

“I see.” He said, not seeing at all. How heres and why mes flooded his thoughts but before he could even begin to give them voice Ladybug shifted, averting her gaze away from his.

“I didn’t mean to catch you at a bad time.”

It took him another moment to realize he was still wrapped only in a towel.  Adrien yelped and crossed his arms over his chest only to scramble back to grip the towel again as it threatened to slip down his hips.

Oh god this isn’t happening.

“I– can I have a moment?”

Ladybug nodded, eyes focused somewhere above his head, and Adrien rushed to his closet to pull on the first set of clothes he could find.  It wasn’t until he was already running back to her that he realized he’d pulled on the red and black Christmas sweater Nino bought for him as a joke.  The sweater was a monstrosity that read Jingle Bug in bright gold letters with every black spot adorned with a matching gold bell.  Adrien loved it when he unwrapped it but wearing it for his friends and wearing it for his lady were two entirely different things.

Horror filled him as he jingled back to her. 

Ladybug’s lips twitched.

“Please don’t,” Adrien groaned, running his hands through his hair.  “It was a gift from a friend.”

She giggled, shoulders shaking with poorly suppressed laughter and even though it was at his expense, Adrien’s heart flipped at the sound.

How many months had it been since he’d heard her laugh?

“I missed that,” He said, smiling softly.

Ladybug’s eyes sparkled in the overhead lights as she met his smile with her own.  It wasn’t until the silence stretched between them that he realized there was something wrong with this picture.

“What– um,” He coughed, blushed.  Tried again. “What are you doing here?”

Ladybug’s smile fell and he rushed on.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you.  Because I am. Happy, that is. But, um… why...” me?  He swallowed. “Why here?”

It’s not like they’d never spoken before.  Adrien found himself caught up in several akuma attacks over the years, unable to transform and rescued by his lady. And even after his father… well, after , Ladybug made it a point to stop by every once and a while to check on him.  More so in the early days, when the press and police and speculation about his own possible involvement in Hawkmoth’s schemes were under scrutiny, but still.  It wasn’t completely out of the question that she would drop in on a random evening.

Just not like tonight.

Even in his wildest daydreams, he couldn’t delude himself into thinking Adrien Agreste was so important to Ladybug that she’d be his first stop on her return to Paris.  Not before checking in with friends and family. Not before checking in with Chat .

Adrien’s heart beat an unsteady tattoo as he searched his partner’s face.  Ladybug’s eyes were soft, her smile kind as she reached forward and took his hand in hers.

“I heard you needed me.”

Always.

The word, fierce and quick, stuck in his throat.  It’s what he wanted to say. It’s what Chat Noir would say.

Adrien could only tremble as she entwined their fingers together.

“I’m just sorry it took me so long to get here.”

“My–” He stopped, his hand squeezing hers tight.  Her figure blurred behind the tears in his eyes and he was horrified to find some had already escaped down his cheeks.

Ladybug reached forward to cup his cheek with her free hand, thumb brushing away his tears, her spandex cool against his heated skin.

“It’s okay, chaton,” She whispered and even as the words left her mouth Adrien found himself collapsing into her arms, clutching and pulling and holding her to him.  His shoulders shook with sobs and he buried his face into her neck, relief and joy and exhaustion overwhelming him.

Ladybug’s knees buckled beneath their combined weight and Adrien sank with her to the ground.  Arms clasped tight around her waist he planted frantic kisses across her cheek, her ears, her forehead until they were both reduced to a teary, giggling mess.

“Silly kitty,” She murmured when he’d finally calmed down enough to pull away from her.  Adrien’s ribs felt tight around his chest at her sweet smile. She tapped his nose, once, twice and shook her head.  “I told you I’d come back.”

“How though?” He stared at her, his beautiful, wonderful Ladybug.  “How did you know?”

“You told me.”

“What?”

She blushed and made to push herself away from him but Adrien held her tight.

“My lady,” He coaxed, pulling her closer and rubbing soothing circles across her back.

“You, um, you called me.” Her eyes flicked to and away from his.  Adrien buried his face in her hair. “T-three weeks ago. You were kind of upset and let some things… some Chat things... slip and I… put it together.”

Adrien’s hands didn’t stop their movement even as realization crashed over him.  Three weeks back and a panic attack he couldn’t control. A late night phone call with one of his dearest friends, abroad for an internship and absent for the last few months.  Incoherent rambling about his father, the press, his lady.

The breath fell out of him and his grip on the stiff woman in his lap tightened all the more.

“Marinette,” He breathed.  Slowly, realizing he wasn’t about to push her away, she returned the embrace.

“Marinette.” He said, again, for the joy of it.

“Adrien.” Ladybug, Marinette, said and he could hear the smile in her voice.

Not wanting to miss seeing the real thing, he pulled back and grinned in return.

“You’re home.”

“Yeah, kitty.” She murmured, shyly playing with the bells of his sweater.  “I’m home.”

[internalsealpanic]

I Will be Your Tim Drake for Tonight (3) (Jason Todd/ Reader)

Summary:  Preferring to do anything but your physics project, you decide to accepts Tim’s proposal. It’s simple. He does your project, you try to figure out whether Jason Sionis is criminal. Easy, right?

masterlist

A/n: This takes place in a world where Jason is adopted by Black Mask. Inspired by Building Interest by Zoeleo.The events and characterization in this story are very heavily based on Zoeleo's Long Term Investment series. It is fantastic and I really highly recommend all of her fics.

a/n: For clarification, Reader does have psychic powers but it only lets her sense people's emotions physically. No mind-reading. Her power is more like an overactive sense of empathy which may force her to dissociate into someone else.

There will be violence and mentions of alcoholism (used as coping mechanism for physical pain) and chronic pain.  

As for the additional warning, an animal is harmed but it is barely described. I could not bring myself to actual describe it but the aftermath is described.

I also just converted this from an OC so I apologize for any grammatical mistakes.

Without further a do:

Your stomach drops.

Fuck.

Of course, Damian just had to be the one to pick up.

"Hey baby bro, could you pass the phone to dad?"

"I'm sorry who is this?"

This little shit.

"You're such a kidder! Dami, it's me, Tim. "

“Ah yes, Drake-” You can hear Tim choke in the background. “What do you want?”

“Please Dami just pass the phone to dad, I- I really need to talk to him”

“Very well,”

“Tim?” The voice sounded like Bruce’s but the intonation was all wrong. The voice changer Tim and Babs were working on seems to have made progress.

“Hey dad, I- uh. I might have gotten kidnapped.”

Tim makes another choking noise. “Might have?”

“I was at the party. I think I had around 13 drinks. 13 ! Can you believe it? I felt like a right sailor after that, like the harbor workers, y’know? Anyway, I was taking a smoke-”

“Enough!” The large man roared, snatching the phone from you. “Send us $100 million by tomorrow or your kid’ll be shark bait!” Who says that anymore?

“Of course! Of course! I’ll have the money sometime this evening. Please don’t hurt him.”

Tim, God bless him, does not laugh. Tim’s acting needs some work but he sure does know how to act worried.

The line dies and they tie you back up to the post.

“What the hell?!”

“We have to make sure you don’t just runoff.” The large man says tightening your bonds. Truthfully, you’ve felt far worse. After all, corsets exist. However, this was still a close second.  

“Do I look like I could outrun a snail?”

“He’s got a point boss. He looks like he hasn’t even seen the sun in ages.”

This, you decide, is true for Tim. When was the last time he went out before dark? Maybe he got sunlight when he stayed over at Eddie’s place.

The large man grabs Jason by the collar and throws him to his men.

The 3 men kick and curse at him. They mock him and beat him down. They wail on him with their fists, their steel-toed shoes, and sometimes brick. Jason takes it all with a crooked grin and a sharp tongue. You watched in awe. Even on the floor, Jason looked sturdy, ferocious, and indomitable.

"They all break, sweet girl."

Jason is on a tiled floor. No, he should be on concrete. His blood is on the tile. They’re hitting him. They’re hitting him with a bat. No. They aren’t supposed to be holding a bat. They were kicking him but now they’re holding a bat. No, She’s holding a bat. There's supposed to be three of them, three men,  but their forms coalesce into her .  You can hear his ribs cracking. Next are his legs. His legs are always next. Then his arm. She'll break each bone in his arms and his hands.  He’s wheezing. His voice sounds hoarse. His voice is too hoarse. He sounds like he’s been starved and dehydrated for at least a day. They’ve only been here for an hour. That isn’t right. Oh God! Now she had a cleaver in her hands.

No!

No!

He doesn’t need to die. She can’t.

no.

No.

No!  

 The scene crescendos as the tall, dark, sinewy silhouette towering over Jason raises the butcher's knife above her head.

“Harder, daddy!”

“Son?”

The scene of the kitchen fades and the shit-eating grin on Jason melts into view which shifts from amusement to confusion then back to amusement.

You blink seeing his stupid grin far too clearly.

You let a bark of gut-busting laughter out as you strain against the rope. Your brow pinches with concern but based on the scowls you’re receiving they're more focused on the fact that you were laughing like a mad man.  

Jason looks like he’s about to laugh from the absurdity as well when the man in charge picks him up again tossing him into a chair. The other men tie him down binding his wrists and ankles.

"I've had worse." He spits out.

The phone rings again, the dial tone echoing. Jason looks like hell with his face swollen and bruises beginning to bloom on every surface but he still looked like he was 5 seconds from starting a fight.

The large man punches Jason hard in the gut knocking the air out of his lungs as the dial tone cuts off.  “Hear that, Sionis? Your little bitch is pretty soft.”

Oh God, are they serious?

“Who is this? Nevermind. You ok there, sweetheart?” Roman Sionis’ ‘concerned’ voice carries over the line.

They are.

“Nothing I can't handle, daddy.” Jason chuckles with the utmost casualness. You, on the other hand,  instantly want to disinfect your brain. Thankfully, before your mind could wander somewhere it can't return from,  the big man growls into the phone.

“Don't you recognize the voice of the man whose life you've ruined?!”

“You've gotta be more specific than that. I've ruined quite a few lives but I would like to know whose brain I need to put a bullet in.”

“IT'S ME  BRUNO HARDIN!”

“Doesn't ring any bells.” Roman deadpans almost sounding completely disinterested. “Sweetheart, you remember anyone like that?”

“Nope,” Jason replies letting the p pop. It seemed like a strange sort of triumph before it all crashes down with another swift punch to the ribs.

You stare at the strange scene torn between amusement and horror.

“Take this seriously!” Bruno roars.

"I'm taking this about as seriously as it deserves."

A part of you thought 'yeah this is ridiculous enough to warrant nonchalance' while the other part wanted to scream.  On one hand, even you found his identity anticlimactic. Doesn’t he know just how many small-time businesses Roman has ruined? He’d be lucky to get into the top 50. It’s not like he was running a pretty ethical establishment either.  On the other hand, your freaking kid is getting the shit kicked out of him. Emote damn it.

“Jason. Don’t you worry. Daddy’s going to take care of this. Your Uncle D happens to be in town. He’s on his way to pick you up. Love you, baby. See you soon.”

The line dies. Your stomach sinks further somehow. You don’t know if the nausea is due to the fact that the line died, the threat, or the number of times the word ‘daddy’ came up. Who the hell is Uncle D? How is he supposed to help? Your gaze trails to Jason who is now lowering his head to the floor seemingly tired. Maybe that last punch finally drained the fight from him.

“You're all so fucked.” Jason barks out in a fit of laughter. The men around him, jumping from the volume of his voice.  

Bruno grabs Jason by the collar and begins to shake him as if the  “Shut the fuck up you little bitch! Whoever your Uncle D is he's-”

“Deathstroke”

You feel like someone kicked you in the chest. First of all, Uncle D? Really? You guess that there are worse hills to die on. This was somehow weirder than hearing Faust and her siblings call him pops. Second of all, Fuck. You'd never gotten your asshanded to you by Deathstroke but based on how banged up the Titans looked after fighting him this wasn't gonna be pretty.  All you could hope for was that you wouldn't get caught in the crossfire. Although, the image of Deathstroke grudgingly letting a kid call him Uncle D lightens your mood a bit.  

Bruno throws Jason on the floor hard enough for his body to bounce. Like Jason earlier, Bruno is radiating murder.

Just run, you thick motherfucker.

You, being the ‘nice’ Wayne kid that you are,  try to tell him as much but sadly that was halted by shattering glass. A flurry of black, orange, and metal crash through the glass and cut through the crowd of men.  

They fire at him, panic making their faces even paler. They hit him, bullets sinking into his flesh, blood splatters but none of it fazes him. He skewers and cuts them down with ease. His swords and suit are liberally decorated with their blood when it’s all done.

He steps over Bruno’s body. From the grunt that comes out, Bruno is still alive. Dumb bastard doesn’t know how to play dead. He’ll die from blood loss anyway.

“Hey, kid-” Deathstroke greets tersely,  picking up Jason’s nearly limp body.  “We’re gonna get you home.” He slings Jason’s arm over his shoulder.

“Wait!”  

Deathstroke stops sounding slightly annoyed.

Jason turns to you, who’s still unhappily tied to a post.  “We gotta get him out.” He rasps.  

“Kid, you’re the only one I’m getting paid to rescue.”  Deathstroke helpfully informs as he carefully adjusts his hold on the struggling young man. You blow out a breath somehow more irritable than scared.  “Just cut me out. I can make my way back just fine.”

“Walk in Gotham, are you stupid?” Jason hisses. The concern bleeding through.

“Which one of us charged at their captors while they were armed?”

Jason scowls at you with a petulant twist in his lips. “Yanno what,  Leave ‘im.”

“Ok, ok, I’m sorry and yeah I’ll be fine. I know where to avoid. Just please don’t leave me with them” you plead, throwing away any pride you held as you glance at the most likely dead bodies. Deathstroke cuts you out. Your skin feels raw but you’re otherwise unharmed.

You walk out of the warehouse and Dick practically throws himself at you. “Oh thank god, they didn’t shoot you in the head.” He mumbles into your wig.  

"Why would you think they would shoot me in the head?"

Dick pulls back and frowns at you through the domino mask.  “You aren’t exactly the most pleasant-”

“ We were model hostages.” you squawk.

Jason snorts far too loudly to be helpful.

You glare at him but you weren’t about to say fuck off to him while he has one of the world’s deadliest assassins right next to him.

Deathstroke coughs.  “Well if you don’t mind we’ll be taking our leave.”

Dick holding you protectively, glares but says nothing. Maybe he does but you faint before you can hear it.

A/n: Thanks for reading!

[missorgana]

holiday getaway

pairing: jonathan byers/nancy wheeler/steve harrington

fandom: stranger things

rating: general

word count: 1587

warning: swearing, alcohol

summary: Nancy, Jonathan, Steve, and the Christmas times they share. (canon compliant, 3+1 things)

(of course my own 12 days of fanfiction event is belated as hell. anywayyyy thank you to @poirot​ for the prompt, ily and really hope you enjoy this babeeee 💖 it went in a weird direction but,, yeah !!! softies)

read on ao3

1) Nancy + Steve

Nancy knows she can’t quite escape the family Christmas spectacle. At least, her mother’s obsessed with the picture perfect thought, despite the others wanting to be about everywhere else than home.

She can tell that Mike wishes his friends were there. Their father probably doesn’t care for the holidays altogether.

And as insufferable as her younger brother comes, she feels bad for him. She’d also feel the same way, if the only friend she cared about, her true friend, wasn’t taken away from her.

But Steve’s here. And the day before Christmas Eve, Nancy rings on his doorbell, and he kisses her cheek, and they sort of pretend everything’s okay for the night.

Sometimes, she envies that her boyfriend’s parents are barely home, but she also knows not to say, because what kind of thing is that to be jealous about, really?

He’s wearing a t-shirt, because he’s stupid like that.

Steve also hugs her a lot, probably because her sweater is exceptionally soft, and he freezes easily, even though he’ll never admit it.

She likes it here.

It’s a kind of peace Nancy’s never known at home, and even though she can’t help thinking of Jonathan, and the way he looks at her changed, like it’s not quite a frown anymore, she feels good.

Her boyfriend doesn’t mention what they got up to in the other boy’s house. To be fair, he wasn’t meant to be involved anyway. But here they are.

And Nancy knows, ever since their first date, that Steve is  good . It feels like she’s known him forever, and her boyfriend always laughs at her when she looks at him, but like, it’s like she looks right through him.

Through the hands in his pockets, and the constant fixing of that stupidly perfect hair, all of it. Funny how she once thought he was the definition of being cool and collected.

Nancy likes this version of him more, she thinks.

And she swore he gave Jonathan a smile when the whole thing was over. The boy told her he apologised, so she’s got proof, even if Steve still wants to convince himself all those monsters was a vivid dream of his own imagination.

Nancy guesses that coping method gives him peace of his own. So she won’t convince him otherwise.

They all got their own ways. Even herself.

2) Jonathan + Nancy

There’s not much in this life, whether that be before his little brother’s disappearance, the madness that infested his previously though perpetually boring town, or falling in love with a girl entirely out of his league - Jonathan hadn’t prepared for anything. At all.

That’s a given in a town like Hawkins. Only thing he could plan was, eventually, to get as far away from here as possible.

This plan mostly resided in his own mind. God knows it would break his mom’s heart right now.

But let’s say Jonathan’s been given some reasons to stay. Most importantly, he’ll take care of Will, and his mother.

He’s always put them first, because his mom carries so much on her shoulders, and he’s promised himself to only leave when he knew she would be okay. He owes her that much.

And now, seeing his brother in pain, surely dealing with trauma that he won’t let anyone in on, it hurts.

But his family, that’s a given in his mind.

Nancy, she’s a reason he didn’t account for at first. And when she stays overnight, before she gets to enjoy her own Christmas nightmare, as she calls her family, he still doesn’t quite believe this is happening.

She seemed like this flawless concept of a person before he actually met her, and while she’s still perfect in his own mind, it’s the little things she does, ones he didn’t expect, that makes him feel warm.

Nancy smiles less now, and Jonathan knows Barb still got a piece of her she won’t get back.

And Steve, well, he doesn’t really know. They got issues.

It’s actually kind of strange. The other boy surprised him, that’s for sure, but given the only idea he had of him was a massive douche, it’s easy to improve.

Jonathan actually tries.

It’s when Nancy’s walking around his room, taking it in with her eyes sparkling in a particular way, like it felt less real like the neverending shit Hawkins gave them, and the question of how Steve’s doing escapes his lips.

She shrugs.

Why should he care, he supposes. He can’t let it go, shockingly enough, but Jonathan can tell when he oversteps boundaries like that.

And the girl’s head on his chest when they turn off the lights, warm breath on his throat, it’s like finding a peace he’s been searching for. For a long time.

3) Steve + Jonathan

When Steve receives word of the Byers’ returning to Hawkins for the holidays, just a week, they said, he felt some kind of obligation to do something.

Greet them, at least. But he doesn’t.

The douchebags from the team keep asking him what it’s like to have his girl stolen by a loser, which doesn’t make sense, because they broke up way before the two became official, but also, Steve’s glad he had enough brain to leave those kinds of friends behind.

Jonathan isn’t a loser. He did give him a good punch, but given their history, he felt it tied them. Or not really, cause god knows he’s given Jonathan hell.

If right should be right, the other boy should give him 10 punches. At least.

And believe it or not, he really does consider going to the Byers house. Why is that?

Because of Jonathan, which is weird.

Steve doesn’t imagine them being friends, mostly because of his own faults. He does babysit all those kids, he could say hi to Will. Would be decent of him.

But shit, he’s too much of a coward.

He apologised, but Steve doesn’t feel it’s enough. Can’t really look himself in the mirror when it comes to… everything, really.

Nope, better to head straight home from work, and Robin left an hour earlier, so it’s not like he got any excuses to go anywhere else. It’s Christmas day, for heaven's sake. Steve wasn’t surprised when his parents left a note about some business trip earlier in the week. Again.

What does surprise him is finding the boy he’s been desperately avoiding sitting on the hood of his car.

And like the idiot he is, Steve attempts to clear his throat, but it comes out like a wheeze, and Jonathan gives him a look like he’s thinking too hard about math problems, or whatever.

And even though he doesn’t understand why the boy’s here, or how he found out where he works, for that matter, not much conversation happens.

Jonathan’s brought two beers with him.

Steve considers asking about Nancy, but doesn’t.

Just two bros drinking beer and freezing their asses off, like they didn’t kill a monster together mere months ago.

Maybe that’s why he finds some sort of comfort within himself when Jonathan puts his hand on top of his. The silence is more peaceful than he ever expected.

+1) Nancy + Steve + Jonathan

Like much else in Nancy’s life, by now, at least, another Christmas comes by, and she finds herself wondering how this particular situation happened.

Well, no, she’s part of it.

She’s not sure she completely understands it, but being tucked away with Jonathan…  and Steve, it’s different in an otherworldly, comfortable way.

Nancy had always thought of herself getting married to Steve, having a couple kids, and probably following the footsteps of her own nuclear family.

She hated that thought when her mother’s unhappiness shined through the facade, but what else choice did she have in Hawkins?

Well, her boys are holding hands. Didn’t see that coming. But she likes it.

And despite their hesitation when she suggested this thing, all three of them,  together,  their tiny smiles made her know they wanted to, anyway. Maybe her, and their fear, of this closeknit society that very easily borders on toxicity, faded away.

She knows hers did.

Mike initially looked confused, but come on, he’s seen weirder things. They pinkie promise not to slip any word to their parents.

God, she feels childish. But after all this shit, and chaos, well, it’s like their sibling hood's reborn, or something.

Or maybe Mike’s just maturing. Maybe she’s maturing. Who knows.

Regardless of the where, how, why, who, Steve lets them in his all too empty house, and the mutual agreement of silence, small serenity, quickly changes to laughing til their stomachs aches, and Jonathan’s new camera almost runs out of film.

Lots of kisses. Nancy can’t get enough, really.

And in a way it hasn’t before, the family wars of Christmas morning don’t seem quite as intimidating anymore.

She hopes Mike and his friends are having fun. That El’s hurting less.

She also agrees to be the little spoon, even though Jonathan’s spot in the middle is pretty damn warm, she imagines, but they figure out a deal of changing up every once in a while.

And with the boy’s arms around her waist, and Steve’s hand grazing her own, there’s probably not much that would compare to this.

Nancy doesn’t even need the music drowning the world out at that moment, and yeah, the bed’s just a tad too small for the three of them, but they huddle close regardless. They’ll keep warm. And safe.

[lightfoot-bros]

I wrote this mini scenario where Ian and Barley had a conversation with each other while searching for the Phoenix gem. I call it:

The Wandering

Ian walks with some fatigue now since the changing of the weather from rain to shine and walking for countless miles following these ancient ravens with Barley and half of their Dad. Ian was starting to feel doubt as he calculated the position of the sun located zenith above them which indicates it is noon by now. He couldn’t help feeling distraught that there could be a possibility that they won’t make it on time to see their father. Then Ian remembers the folded note in his jean’s pocket that their father left them about the spell of visitation.

Ian reached into his pocket while holding his staff in the other and unfolded the note displaying a drawing of a man with the sun above him, and next to it the man slowly disappearing with the sunset in the horizon. The illustration reminded him of the lack of time they have in finding that Phoenix gem; Ian reinforcing his critical thoughts on their situation that things might not go as planned. He looks at Dad who is trying to catch up with his sons despite not having an actual head to see, while Barley holds the leash guiding him. Ian realizes that they have come this far to find this ancient gem, and his brother gave up his pride and joy Guinevere to make this possible. Ian then felt the flame of ambition arising as he reshaped his walking posture to get to the end of the ravens faster. He was determined that he will see their father as a whole because that is what he wanted more than anything.

Barley is in the lead pulling Dad and notices that they have been walking for a while now and him and his brother hadn’t really talk much since he gave up his beloved Guinevere. He admits he still feels sad about it but he knows he made the right choice and he will not let Guinevere die in vain. So he tries something to lighten the mood on this quest.

“So with all this walking we must be getting closer by now,” Barley said optimistically while still walking on the path.

Ian distracted with conflicting thoughts of determination and fear of failure in his head he replied bluntly, “yeah, I hope so.”

The conversation went cold between them; so Barley’s instincts took over: “Man, it feels like we’ve been walking for hourrrrrs....Much more than when mom signed us up for Boy Scouts when we were little, remember Ian? They made us do a lot of hiking.”

Ian mentally dig through his files of memories and recalls, “Huh. Oh yeah. The campsite was near Lochlake. A lot more trees compared to here tho.” He stopped for a bit trying to make sense of his memories, “I remember them teaching us how to fish. And that was when I earned my fishing badge,” Ian said proudly.

“Oh Yeaaah! I remember! I wasn’t good at fishing,” Barley admitted.

“You keep trying to catch the fish with your bare hands.”

“Yeah because that was how mighty warriors catch their meal!” Barley remarked with zeal.

“By thrashing in the water and scaring everyone’s fishes away,” Ian said jokingly.

“Hey I used the ancient way to catch fish while you guys used the modern way,” Barley said reassuring.

Ian just shrugged and said, “Whatever you say.”

“Wait!” Barley called out. “Do you remember those lunches they fed us?”

Ian trying to remember more of his faded memories of his past and then it made Ian squinting his face and sticking out his tongue in disgust remembering it, “Ugh, yes...it tasted horrible.” Which Ian is honestly surprised faculty found a way to bring a microwave in the woods.

“Really? I thought it tasted like chicken.”

“Barley, you think every kind of meat tastes like chicken.”

“Hey, that’s not true! I can tell the difference between Burger Shire’s fried chicken and Pizza Realm’s. And obviously Pizza Realm tastes better in a land slide; and—they have laser tag,” Barley smiles brightly.

Ian chuckled, “I can’t believe my 19-year brother would play laser tag with other kids.”

“Hey, laser tag is hella fun! And these kids now a days are really good at it. And you love laser tag too.”

Ian recalled his mother bringing him and Barley to Pizza Realm on weekends and they can play arcade games for hours; they were pretty young. Ian remembered being too shy to make small talk with the other kids. He doesn’t know why he always behaved like that honestly. But he does remember Barley always inviting him over to play laser tag and they be on the same teams against the other kids. They weren’t too bad working as a team, Ian admits; it was his favorite childhood memory...But that was the past...

“Yeah when I was 9, Barley. We’re too old to play those kid games and everybody would think we’re weird.”

Barley doesn’t budge, “Hey age is just a number, bro. And I enjoy playing laser tag. If something is so fun why should I care what others think. Worrying about how other people would think just bring misery.”

Ian felt unsure how to respond to that comment. In fact, he admits he does worry how other people perceived him. Always trying to get good grades, always saying please and thank to his elders, being a good stand-up citizen. Obviously there’s nothing wrong with that. But. Its just that it never occurred to him that maybe being “perfect” is the problem...Ian felt at conflict with how he wants to be more like Dad—confident, bold and daring—and trying to hold this perfect image seemed impossible. Who is Iandore Lightfoot, really? He always asked himself that every night before drifting to sleep.

Ian responded with a low-sounding agreement looking down at the ground, “yeah....” Feeling so low with this new realization and questioning his identity.

In silence Barley noticed how Ian’s mood and tone has changed. Feeling concern for his little brother he stop walking and turned around and looked at him with reassuring presence. “Hey, I was saying all of that because that’s how I live my life, man. If there are things you don’t like doing then that’s okay. I like doing these kind of things because it makes me happy about myself—even though people can say otherwise. And Ian, I was there when you told that cyclops cop how you really think about yourself. Quite frankly you are none of those things. You’re attending honors at school, you like taking photography outside in nature, you can play chess, dude! You know I won’t try to figure out how all of that works!” Barley said enthusiastically.

Ian just looks at Barley and take in everything he said. Feeling appreciated. Not saying anything.

Barley continued, “Just these few days I’ve seen how you stayed your ground in front of the Manticore; you did an impossible left turn on the freeway leaving behind the crazy biker gang; you’ve master your fears by crossing the Bottomless Pit-”

“Barely,” Ian interrupted.

“But you’re still alive!” Barley reassured. “And you hightailed Colt and the cops!” Barley lightens up with his huge smile and raised his arms to the sky. “Bro, you’re freakin’ AWESOME!”

Ian couldn’t believe what he was hearing from his brother. Dumbfounded actually. But surprised with Barley’s words of encouragement—no, perhaps honesty. Ian stood there for a while trying to embrace it all. He felt his heart wanting to give in to the warm tears his eyes want to release. But he rubs his eyes quickly with his arm and responded to what came to his mind first by smiling, “Thank you, Barley.”

Barley is happy that his brother sees that he is more than what he thinks. “Hey don’t mentioned it,” as he put his hands on his waist appearing indifferent to the comment (which he appreciates, really). Barley looks at Dad and sees his father wanting to sit down, which he can’t blame him from all the shenagins their father experienced. He turned to Ian, “Hey we got to hurry up and get that Phoenix gem. I will carry a Dad from here and you lead the way,” he said returning a smile.

Ian felt more bolder from his brother’s comments so he took the suggestion with ease. “Sure.”

Barley picked up his father on his shoulders and Ian walked ahead.

After a while, Ian asked Barley, “So I was thinking after we meet Dad, maybe we can check out Pizza Realm. I do miss their pizza,” Ian said as a suggestion.

“OH Dude, they have this new pizza called the Triple-Meat-Eaters Pizza and it is A-MA-ZING.”

“Hahah, yeah I’m down for that,” Ian responded.

As they continued walking on the grassy field they see a raven statue at the distance pointing them to the next direction.

[theasteriae-arc]

FINN LAFFERTY.

FULL NAME: Finn Eoin Lafferty 

FACE CLAIM: Ben Rosenfield 

BIRTHDAY: January 1, 1996 

GENDER & PRONOUNS: Cis male & he / him 

ORIENTATION: Homosexual  

RESIDENCE: Oxford, England 

STATUS: Secondary; Available 

BIO & VERSES UNDER THE CUT. Trigger warning for child abandonment. 

In the early hours of New Year’s Day, 1996, Antoinette Lafferty stumbled out of The Village Inn in Ballinasloe, Co. Galway, after sinking one too many pints in the run up to midnight. She stood outside for a couple of minutes, then decided to take a walk up the lane in an attempt to clear her head. When she reached the gate of the old churchyard, some way down, she paused and stood there with her elbows propped up on the wooden posts. Wind stirred the leaves that made up the hedgerows on either side of the road. The storm of the previous night had abated somewhat, but it was still snowing, small white flakes drifting down from the leaden sky. The bells in the chapel over the hill tolled the hour—2 a.m.—and she imagined the nuns shuffling from their cells, through the draughty halls for Matins. When the sound faded away, the lanes were peaceful for a moment, and then Antoinette was surprised to hear a baby crying close by.

At first, she thought she was imagining it—was it the breeze, had she had simply had too much to drink? But no, there it was again. She’d know that sound anywhere, because she had two boys of her own at home, Daniel, who was four and loved dinosaurs, and Sean, who was not yet nine months old and still got her up two or three times a night. Poor lad was teething. Their grandparents were looking after both of them tonight, God bless and help them.

When the wail came again, she did not hesitate; she fumbled with the latch with numb fingers, then she was hurrying up the path and in between the graves, trying to find the child who was in such evident distress. Suddenly, Antoinette was very, very sober.

Wrapped in a thin blanket that was no match for the elements ( the snow was falling thicker and faster again now ) was a tiny boy whose eyes and nose were scrunched up tight against a mouth that was wide open and lungs that were screaming. How long had he been out here? Antoinette struggled out of her coat and wrapped him gently in it, careful to support his head and neck with his elbow. It couldn’t have been very long; he looked minutes, not even hours, old. There was still blood matted in his downy hair. Where was his mother? If she had had him here, just now, she couldn’t have got very far. She must be in a lot of pain, and very scared.

“Hello?” She shushed the baby, tried to comfort him as she searched. “Hello?” But there was nobody there. Conscious that she needed to get the baby out of the cold, fed, and into bed, she took him back to The Village Inn down the lane.

She called police and the local doctor ( the nearest hospital was more than an hour away and neither she, nor her husband, Adrian, were in any fit state to drive ) from the telephone from behind the bar, and not long later, the latter pronounced the boy healthy, aside from a slight wheeze in his chest that they would need to keep an eye on, but the former were never able to trace his mother.

The Laffertys fostered him while they conducted their investigation, then formally adopted him six months after its conclusion. They had him christened “Finn Eoin” and he fitted right into their family; Antoinette doted on him, Adrian too, and Daniel and Sean loved playing the role of big brother to him.

Finn was a quiet but intelligent child, inquisitive, interested in the way things worked, and always asking, “but why?” He took radio sets apart and rebuilt them, spent hours building complex structures out of Lego and Meccano. In later life, in his late teens, this curiosity takes him to Trinity College, Cambridge, where he studies Maths and Physics under the tutelage of Professor James Moriarty (@diabolicaltendencies​), who, unbeknownst to Finn, is his biological father. Jim never reveals the extent of their true relationship ( although he has been aware of Finn’s existence for over ten years, and even, on one occasion, visited the Lafferty home when his son was out at school ), but nevertheless, he takes a special interest in the boy’s education. Finn takes a position as his research assistant in his third year at Trinity, and it’s thanks to Jim’s mentorship, not to mention the glowing reference that he provides as part of his application, that Finn is offered a place at Oriel College, Oxford, to study for his MSc in Mathematical and Theoretical Physics.

As of 2021, Finn is a second year PhD student in Mathematical and Theoretical Physics, again at Oriel College, Oxford. He lives in a shared house outside of college with fellow PhD candidates, Jakub, Sunita, and Eleanor, and his two rescue cats, Erwin and Minnie. When he’s not in the lab, the library, or studying at home, Finn enjoys stargazing and watching foreign language films with the aid of subtitles. He is currently learning Italian through a combination of evening classes and Duolingo.

VERSES.

EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD. | ALT. MAIN

( i. ) Kate leaves for England with Jim (@diabolicaltendencies​) as planned. Finn is raised by his biological parents. Otherwise, his life follows much the same pattern as above.

( ii. ) Kate leaves for England as planned, but with my Jim, instead of Gold’s. In this iteration of the verse, Finn and Xan are fostered by Tobias Bellamy (@omniishambles​​). This is only meant to be a temporary arrangement, while Jim and Kate got the network up and running, but one year turned into two, and two into five, and after the Fall, which takes place c. 2012, when the twins are sixteen, it was made official. Unlike Xan, who mourned the loss of their father very openly, Finn, who had been calling Toby “Dad” for years, was privately relieved.

YOU SHOULD SEE ME IN A CROWN. | FANTASY AU

Finn is born to the King and Queen of Dorchadas in the first year of the war. He is spirited away by agents of King Augustus of Sarahas when he is only a few days old and grows up a ward of the crown in the south. When he returns to Dorchadas, escorted by August (@diabolicaltendencies​), Bucky & the Witch Bros (@epiitaphs​ & @gunmetalgrey​), he is in his teens and the war is over. He eschews the castle in favour of the forest dwelling inhabited by his paternal uncle, Richard (@strangerinourmidst​). His mother’s people were nomads, druids, healers, who were driven out of Llandyr after the death of Queen Mary and persecuted by King Augustus when they crossed the border into Sarahas on their way to Jiaodao in the east. When Finn reaches adulthood, he founds a new tribe, and despite having no magical abilities of his own, save for being resistant to the magic of others, he leads his followers nobly and benevolently many years, listening to their divinations.

THE SUN WILL COME SHINING THROUGH. | HAPPY VERSE (MUSICIANS)

Finn is the son of Katherine Conway, a lawyer, and her husband, Richard (@strangerinourmidst​), a chef and author. They married young, when they were both only twenty, after Kate discovered she was pregnant with Richard’s brother’s child. N.B. In this verse, Finn and Xan are not twins; Finn is born five years later, when the marriage made out of desperation turns to true love. Kate goes into labour in the middle of a trial, but only makes her way to the hospital after she gets the defendant acquitted. Her son arrives six hours later, and is named “Finnegan”, by his father.