#that drawing barely took an hour and was a result of me being bored in science class

[jetsimpersonator]

I should've been doing my homework . Did another limited color palette drawing instead (with more colors this time though. Tbf. This is a bigger drawing)

[rosyjuly]

galex sugar rush au because i've been hooked on this terrible show and i want baker boys pining and whipping up gorgeous desserts.

The whole thing had been George’s idea. 

“No.” 

“Alex, come on,” George had said, trying to catch Alex’s eye, but Alex had been looking away, handsome face scrunched up in a grimace. 

“Be serious now,” Alex had scoffed. He had finished his coffee with one last gulp and sprung to his feet. George threw his paper cup in the trash and followed him inside, looking at the nape of Alex’s neck as they’d crossed out of the courtyard’s sunlight and back into the dark of the kitchen’s staff entrance. 

“I am being serious,” George had said, trying to keep his voice low, avoid drawing attention to the discussion now bordering on an argument. “Listen, it’s fifty grand – think about what we could do with that money.” 

Anyway, they’re watching the episode now with Alex’s siblings, piled too close together on the couch. 

“Don’t you start it without me,” Chloe says, pointing at Alex, when the microwave beeps. Alex’s apartment is only barely bigger than a studio; with the six of them crammed into the makeshift living room it feels practically claustrophobic, a train carriage at peak hour. The old couch doesn’t have the stamina to support three people anymore and every time Alex shifts it sags and sends George and Zoe tumbling down into the middle, the two of them pooling around Alex in a tumble of legs. George keeps his hands in his lap, just in case. 

“I’m telling you,” Alex groans, “you already know the result! Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” 

“If it was a big deal you’d have fucking made something,” Luca says without looking up from his phone. 

“There’s popcorn,” Alex tells him, nodding at Chloe who’s returning with two bowls from the kitchen. 

“Albono, you’re the laziest person I know,” George says. He drags a playful hand through Alex’s hair; the bleached strands are soft between his fingers. 

“I deal with enough food during my day job if you haven’t noticed, thank you very much,” Alex says, rolling his eyes. He doesn’t pull his head away though. He picks up the remote and presses play, which finally shuts everyone up, even if just while Hunter March explains the rules of the chocolate-themed episode. 

“Aww, I didn’t remember you guys had matching little outfits,” Zoe clicks her tongue. 

“George’s idea,” Alex says, reaching around blindly for the popcorn. He’s right. It was: but it’s just blue aprons, nice cotton ones in a deep navy color, big, practical pockets on both sides. George actually wanted headbands, too, but Alex took one look at the bandanas, and said it’s either them or him. It was an easy choice, after that. 

George crosses his arms over his chest as the other teams are introduced. Most of them look smooth, in sync; he’s been trying to avoid stressing about how he and Alex will come across. 

“We’re friends and coworkers,” he sees himself say on screen, over-articulating the words like he does when he’s stressed. Alex next to him looks almost bored, eyebrow half-cocked at the camera. 

“I got him drunk enough to admit that he hired me because he thought I was cute,” Alex says, flashing a bright smirk. 

“For the record, I don't have hiring privileges,” George-on-the-screen says after a guffaw. George remembered feeling caught out: it’s not like Toto hadn’t asked him what he thought of Alex after his trial shift, and Alex was definitely his type: tall and handsome with an attitude. And he hadn’t even bleached his hair back then. 

“Oh, you guys were laying it on pretty thick,” Zoe says, stuffing a handful of popcorn into her mouth. 

George hums, crosses his arm on his chest. He and Alex look like as much of a well-oiled team on screen as they feel in the kitchen, leaning close together over the countertop, notebook spread out in front of them. 

“I think we should do something a bit more out of the box,” George-on-the-screen says, sketching up the bottom of the cupcake. “Peanut butter, raspberry, chili – that’s done and dusted.” 

“Why don’t we do a pistachio one?” Alex says. He draws the frosting, dots the top part of the swirl. “Pair it with some nice dark chocolate in the dough, some crushed nuts on top, hm?” 

In the next interlude, Alex says, his apron clean, his hair artfully swept to one side, “He makes it tasty, I make it look good.” 

George snorts, nudges their knees together. “As if it wasn’t you coming up with that concept and like, half of the others.” 

Alex doesn’t answer, but he presses his leg along George’s. 

George still can’t believe Jacques Torres was in the same room, that he tasted their cupcake and liked it – liked it enough to name them the winners of the first round, blown away by the richness of the frosting, the satisfying, salty crunch of toasted pistachios. 

For the confection, the two other teams already picked ruby chocolate, so they settled on gold instead to set themselves apart. George isn’t sure how much footage will be shown of them – probably more, now that one team’s already been eliminated. But he isn’t prepared for the exact moment when Alex-on–the-screen says, “Why don’t we do ice cream?”, watches with avid mortification how George-on-the-screen immediately nods, face tense, mouth pressed in a thin line. 

“I can do it with liquid nitrogen,” George-on-the-screen offers, already checking the shelves for the equipment. 

“Those glasses are so funny,” Chloe says, phone pointed at the screen. She’s posting a story about it – George can’t wait to see the mocking caption. Better to focus on how silly he looks while he’s taking out the ice cream of the container, goggles and big, rubbery gloves on, instead of the immediacy he seeks to fulfill Alex’s every request. He’s never even used liquid nitrogen before; only knew the technique in theory. And it showed. The ice cream came out a touch too soft. Not even Alex’s carrot cake crumble could save it; the judges were more impressed by the flambéd bananas with the ruby chocolate soufflé. 

But they went through. The girls exhale in relief, and so does George, even though he knows the outcome, has lived it for months now. 

In the final round, they have to create a chocolate wonderland; whatever that means. George remembers the paralyzing fear he felt in the moment, blanking – but Alex was already sketching, his face lit up with excitement, hands moving in sweeping, relaxed motions. 

“And we can do the ferris wheel with salt sticks,” Alex-on-the-screen is saying. 

So they made a realistic Winter Wonderland cake; the fair in a cold, London December, covered in mud instead of snow. A large sheet cake with silky chocolate ganache, on top the barren trees, overpriced amusement rides. 

It must look impressive enough, because even Luca puts his phone away, watches the screen with barely concealed attention. Alex-on-the-screen is making the ganache, pouring heated up heavy cream over the chocolate. When he calls George over for a second opinion, he’s offering the spoon, his other hand cupped under it for any spillage. George-on-the-screen is taken aback, blinking owlishly for a few seconds before snapping out of it and tasting. It was exquisite, of course. 

When they’re done with the assembly and the piping, Alex-on-the-screen asks, “Do you need me to boss you around?” because George keeps hovering at the edge of the shot, fetching salt sticks and shying away from trying to build the freaking carousel. 

“Mate, the editors really liked you,” George snorts, trying to hide his embarrassment. “I had good moments, too! Where are they!”

“Natural charm, what can I say,” Alex says, but he nudges a friendly shoulder against George’s. 

It doesn’t even come as a surprise that they win. Their opponents’ cake was, well, cute, but lacked the kind of single-minded focus Alex and him brought to the table. 

On the screen, he and Alex hug long enough that something starts fizzing in his stomach, hot and uncomfortable. He excuses himself as the music starts up and Hunter March starts thanking them for watching another episode, stares at himself in the bathroom mirror. It can’t be that obvious all the time, he thinks, because otherwise Alex would have noticed it already, would have said something. Anything. 

When he comes out, Alex and Zoe are talking in the kitchen, voices low and hushed. He raps his knuckles lightly against the door. Zoe looks up, face sharp as she says, “I better go, I’m already an hour late to my friends.” Before she leaves, she fixes Alex with one last look that almost makes George flinch. It would be better to flee. Easier, at least. But Alex has always been kind; even if they hadn’t won the prize, if they hadn’t convinced Susie to invest in their confectionery, Alex wouldn’t just blank him. 

The front door closes. The flat is quiet again: it’s just the two of them and the dishes in the sink. George itches to grab a sponge and occupy his hands; shoves them in his pocket instead. 

“Felt weird to see ourselves like that.” 

“Yeah,” Alex says, giving him a small smile. He doesn’t seem mad, truly. “Kinda insane to think about it, still, you know? Winning. Um, the money, of course. Our own place.” He looks down and shakes his head, smiling to himself. 

“We make a good team,” George allows himself to say. 

“We sure do.”

For a few seconds, they watch each other, the silence stretching like a taut bow. Then Alex clears his throat – George tries to steel himself for the blow, school his face into something neutral enough for the rejection. 

“Um. Zoe said,” and he clears his throat again, “she said that I should man up – her words, not mine – that I’ve wasted enough time already.”

“With, uh, with me?” George asks with a valiant attempt to ignore the lump in his throat. 

“Yes– no! Not with the shop, of course, just–” Alex scrubs a hand over his face. “Fuck, I’m getting this all wrong, just, let me–” and then he’s stepping in, cupping George’s nape with a hand as he slots their mouths together. George makes a noise that he’d deny on his deathbed – Alex seems into it anyways, he thinks – and presses closer, kisses him back. 

[thegreatclowncat]

The results of a Fast

for the last 20ish days I picked something to fast, and so i took the opportunity to stop consuming entertainment: I could only create to keep busy. for the past three years, ive had so much trouble getting myself to do things i wanted to do! i could barely get myself to draw or to craft or to make anything. so i made it my only option.

No videos, unless they were tutorials on something i was currently making or instrumental music. No movies, no tumblr, no pinterest, no video games. The exception to this was that I could engage in all of these when I was hanging out at my bf's house twice per week.

I could only create to keep myself entertained, and let me say, I've never been so entertained in my life.

consumable entertainment was almost impossible to wean myself from before, but apparently dropping everything cold Worked. You know, with the extra backup that i am being watched with omniscience to keep me on track.

it was hard for the first two days. every time i was bored (every 30-60 minutes), instead of going to youtube to see what interesting thing there was, i was forced to pick which activity i would have the most fun with. So far I have started developing an app, learning how to use Godot, and composing creepy chiptune music. i made titanium jewelry. ive been dancing or at least exercising each day. I forgot about youtube and tumblr by day 3 (thank you, non-habit-forming-ness).

one thing that has helped infinitely much is that I got an app to ring a bell and tell me the time every 30 minutes, like the clock tower I used to live by. i no longer lose hours of my day because i cant tell that time is passing.

one thing i wasnt expecting: i usually have a hard time waiting for things. eg if i have to leave in 30 minutes, i find a video to watch or scroll until i leave. or if i have something in 2 hours, i wont try a task that might take too long. now, when i have class in an hour, im like "great i will compose music" or "time to experiment with this makeup powder" until the second i have to go

because im bored! im so bored all the time and theres too much time in a day, but i have many things i can do with my hands and thats the best

the hardest thing to stay away from was video games. towards the end of my fast, i broke it and played spiritfarer for a few days, but i stopped again. and now im logging back in to tumblr send my friends memes.

what's most important is now, when i do these "consumed entertainment" things, my brain asks to go back to creating. I had such a mental high and a giant dopamine return that these consuming-things leave me unsatisfied. which is good! they werent satisfying to begin with, but i was still stuck on them because i didnt know what other options i had.

I will take efforts to restrict my time with consuming entertainment. i will probably let myself look at tumblr like. once per week, maybe even less. I will play video games for 2 hours on non-school days. I dont think i will watch youtube outside of when I am sewing clothes. I tasted freedom and i dont want to lose it again. it was great, and now i am going to make a tune on JummBox

[steveskafte]

BRIGHTLY SHARPENED When I was a kid, I found art equally compelling and frustrating. The end result was always appealing, whether I was drawing, doing 3D animation, or writing a story. But the journey to get there always seemed to lose me on the way. By the time I had enough practice with a particular art form to be any good, I was already disconnected from the point of it. It took me years to realize the problem – fiction wasn't for me. Kids are naturally oriented toward imagination, chasing down whatever pops into their head. I barely understood the world at large, so inventing one was perfectly natural. But much as I loved (and still love) made-up stories, I slowly realized that I didn't want to tell them. Living them is what I needed all along. At the start of my daily journal sixteen years ago, photography was just another in a long line of attempted art-related hobbies. I'd been writing a bit as well, mostly poems, and figured on throwing the two together to see what stuck. It's tough to describe how utterly reinventing those first few years were for me. I went from feeling almost entirely lost in my thoughts, to having a brightly sharpened window to my mind and the world around me. I learned to live for the beauty that I recalled from being young, the mysterious memories that stood out so strongly, ever since I forgot about all the boring ones. It was the first time I understood that our childhoods aren't any better than the present, it's just that we get worse with age. I sometimes wonder if I'd really recommend a life of art for anyone. It's fine as a pastime, but a constant ache on the heart to be entirely committed. Many folks feel that they have options, with success in school, excess energy and ambition. Perhaps it'd be better to choose one of those options instead. As for me, I went stumbling down the only path that I could ever follow. My grades were bad, my motivation scattered, and the focus required for eight straight hours of work was absent in me. It took years to pull myself together as much as you see now. I'd describe myself as a high-functioning low-energy person. I quickly disintegrate from a lack of sleep, or if anything disturbs the pattern of what my body knows my mind needs. Making more from less is the soul of storytelling, and keeps building me from the ground up, daily. January 14, 2024 Port George, Nova Scotia Year 17, Day 5908 of my daily journal.

[thewayshedreamed]

Nessian prompt:

We’re playing truth or dare and I just got dared to sit on your lap for the next two rounds but now I’m sitting on your hard-on and I’m kinda getting turned on cuz the ✨positioning✨. We’re both tryna fix the situation without drawing attention to us but the fidgeting definitely isn’t helping 👀

Thanks for the prompt, Bby! I know you sent it as part of my follower celebration, but it worked so well for @nessianweek Day 4: Rivalry that I couldn't pass it up.

Enjoy!

Warnings for strong language and mature themes. Slightly nsfw.

--

Nesta didn't know the last time she played Truth or Dare. She thought those days had left her at some point during undergrad, but apparently not. There she was, her last semester of graduate school, somewhat invested in a round of the game. The group had been playing for almost an hour, the drinks they poured becoming more and more stout as the night went on.

Gwyn and Emerie had convinced her to join them for a night out with the others, and to be fair, it had been quite some time since she'd allowed herself a carefree night out. Her sisters and Mor were there, as well as Rhys, Azriel, Cassian, and Lucien. Amren mentioned she would "see how things went", which meant she and Varian were staying in to fulfill their own agenda. There was no doubt that was for the best since their activities would likely scar them all.

It was Mor's turn, and her mischievous smile turned on her girlfriend. "Truth or Dare, Em?"

Emerie considered it for a moment, making a show of staring at the ceiling. One of the guys made a sound similar to a ticking clock, but she paid them no mind.

"Truth."

"Okay," Mor drawled, taking a long sip of wine. "Fuck, Marry, Kill; for Rhys, Azriel, Cassian."

Emerie's eyes grew wide, snapping to Feyre and back to Mor. Nesta dared to chuckle at her friend's tight position, earning a pointed glare reserved for the worst of traitors.

"Don't hesitate on my account," Feyre giggled, resting her head on Rhys' shoulder. "I'm curious."

"That's not a fair one!" Emerie argued, gesturing with her hands. "The answer is none of the above, on all counts. For more than one reason."

The three men had the audacity to look miffed at her rejection, even though none of them had any interest in Emerie. They'd all known each other too long for any blurred lines. Mor leaned heavily against her, a look of apology in her rounded, brown eyes.

"Fair enough," she conceded, pressing a kiss to Emerie's cheek.

"That's not how it works!" Cassian challenged. It was unclear whether his ego or strict principles motivated his outburst.

Nesta fought the urge to roll her eyes, to rise to the challenge in his voice like she usually did. But Emerie was her friend, and she wasn't going to take him pushing her lying down. The words left her with more snark than usual.

"Oh, would you come off it?"

His eyes snapped in her direction, locking in on her face like a predator circling prey. "Let me guess. You have an opinion."

Nesta's blood boiled, despite the fact that she told herself Cassian wouldn't get under her skin the next time they were around each other. She was 0 for... hundreds at that point.

"She answered it truthfully, so I don't see the problem."

"It's the way the question was framed, though. It's a game within the question. There were three options. 'None of the above' wasn't one of them."

Nesta loosened the reins on her eye rolling. Cassian was good for that. "No one made that rule."

"Sweetheart, the rules are pretty clear. But if you want to make sure they stay nice and loose so you can back out later, I get that."

Emerie cleared her throat, eager to redirect his challenge before the two of them escalated. "Show us how it's done, then. Truth or Dare, Cassian?"

His attention lingered on Nesta a moment longer, a familiar glint in his eyes. Her blood heated for an entirely different reason, and she was sure to berate it for doing so.

"Dare."

"I dare you to kiss Azriel," she said, grinning around the rim of her glass. "On the mouth."

Azriel pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, resigned to his fate. He knew Cassian better than anyone, and it was only a matter of time.

Without hesitation, Cassian said, "Oh, done. Tongue?"

A chorus of laughter drowned out Azriel incredulous curse in Cassian's direction. When she finally recovered, Emerie took mercy on Azriel and excused any tongue. Cassian didn't hesitate to lean toward Azriel, cupping him roughly by the back of the neck and planting a full kiss to his mouth. There were catcalls all around; not at all needed in the encouragement department.

Azriel turned his attention to Feyre, fully succumbing to his soft spot for her and letting her off on the easiest Truth ever. It was something to do with who she would most like to draw or paint of the lot of them, excluding Rhys. No surprises on her choice of Azriel himself, but to his credit, he didn’t preen at the compliment. He humbly nodded as if anyone alive wouldn’t want to catch those angles on canvas.

“Nesta,” Feyre called, interrupting another quip she had been prepared to launch Cassian’s way. She couldn’t remember why. “Truth or Dare?”

She took a long pull of her drink and licked her bottom lip. “Dare.”

“Hmm,” Feyre considered, and Nesta had to admit to being slightly terrified of how diabolical sibling could be in a game such as the one she played. It didn’t take long for her to realize she’d been right to feel that way. “I think you two need to learn to get along. I dare you to sit on Cass' lap. Minimum of two full turns.”

Nesta’s nostrils flared. Cassian’s red hot challenge bore a hole into the side of her head, and all she could hear was his taunt from before.

Sweetheart, the rules are pretty clear. But if you want to make sure they stay nice and loose so you can back out later, I get that.

She snapped her attention to his face, suppressing the urge to throttle him for the narrow-eyed smirk he offered. Angling his large body backward, he draped a muscled arm across the back of the couch and eased his thighs open. Cassian wouldn't be the one to back down, she realized.

"Fine." Nesta threw back the rest of her drink and set it roughly on the nearby table.

Cassian's eyes were sparkling, his smile feline. He tapped his thigh with his free hand to goad her, and she wondered if he— if they— would ever tire of the constant challenges. Nesta sauntered over and dropped heavily into the center of his lap, earning a loud oof.

"Fuck, Sweetheart," he fussed, gripped her waist in his large hands to rearrange their position.

The heat of his hands, the scrape of his calluses; they came together to monopolize her focus. She was almost sure that others were amused by their display, but her world was singularly focused.

Cassian cleared his throat while he eased her into a position that better balanced her weight. The tension eased from her thighs as she settled, only for him to shift her again. Nesta let out an exaggerated sigh at his constant fidgeting. The only silver lining to the near motion sickness she'd no doubt endure as a result was the steadiness of his grip against her.

The reason for all his maneuvering revealed itself seconds later. Nesta had been initially impressed with the muscle tone in his thighs, how firm the muscles felt beneath her. They were nothing in comparison to the very obvious hardness pressing against the swell of her ass.

Animated conversation continued around them, and Nesta took the opportunity to turn and offer an accusatory glare. He hissed against the pressure of her movement, sending her eyebrows into her hairline.

"Are you really h—"

"Shh!" Cassian ordered, clamping a hand over her mouth. "Can you not announce that shit to the entire room?"

Nesta blinked incredulously and dragged her tongue against his palm. He grimaced, rubbing his palm against his jeans as if she'd poured acid onto his skin.

"It's not my fault you can't... control that," she hissed.

"Well, shit, Nesta. When's the last time you had a beautiful woman on your lap and had to keep your boner in check?" His whisper was low, frantic. There were words that latched onto her nerves and left goosebumps in their wake, even when she barely heard them.

"It's only two turns," she managed, swallowing against the dryness in her throat. "Then, it'll be a non-issue."

Cassian's hands clung to her hips once more, the delicious grip of them even firmer than before. "You can't get up now; not in front of them." He gestured with a jerk of his chin to the rest of the room. "They're savages."

A laugh bubbled out of Nesta's chest, and surprisingly, it was more due to the unlikely alliance forged by biology than her pleasure in his panic. The irony wasn't lost on her, but she didn't get to dwell on it for long before Cassian started strategizing.

"We're supposed to get along, right?" He paused, waiting for the excessive noise level to settle around them. Someone must have performed a solid dare, and Nesta was mildly concerned that it hadn't managed to be a blip on their radar. "You're gonna have to keep fighting with me."

A smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "To be clear, you want me to argue with you so that we can hide this?" She rocked back into him for emphasis, and a pained sound left him. Nesta was grateful for the small silver lining that was her private arousal, otherwise she and Cassian would be in the same boat. The way his eyelids fluttered didn't help.

"I'm asking your for a small favor. When I get my shit together, you're free to go. I'm not exactly happy about it either."

Another smile teased her lips. "Small?"

"Mother's tits. Just turned around."

Nesta complied, if for no other reason than to hide the chuckle she'd been trying to choke down throughout the conversation. They engaged with the others as nonchalantly as possible, ignoring each other completely until opportunities arose to take opposing stances on anything at all. The rules of the game. Who brought the best drinks. If someone had successfully completed their dare or answered their question. Cassian had been correct in assuming the group would advocate for their continued canoodling since they weren't yet cooperating with one another.

"Nesta," he almost growled, sometime after a dozen turns of their faux discord. "This isn't helping."

She whipped around, noting the pained expression on his face. "Wait, is this working for you?"

Cassian squeezed his temples between his thumb and middle finger, looking as if he was in as much disbelief as her. The tragic part was that the arguing hadn't curbed her own body's reactions to him, either.

"That's what it looks like."

Nesta didn't cage it then, the full and melodic laughter that shook her shoulders and made her eyes water. He continued bracing his head in his hand while she delighted in his torture.

"That's awfully kinky of you."

"Alright, enough out of you," he grumbled, situating her for the hundredth time. "You have any better ideas?"

Tears pooled in her eyes, and she flicked them away. "I guess your only choice is to wait until the game ends, or someone causes enough commotion for you to adjust and take a break for a few minutes."

Cassian huffed, clearly unimpressed with her tactics.

"You'll just have to trust me, of all people, to keep your secret in the meantime," she stated, turning her attention back to the room.

His only response was a muttered curse before she felt his forehead drop between her shoulder blades.

[saturnsummer]

sweet love

They say drunk words are your sober thoughts. Joon Hwi clearly had too many thoughts.

prompted by an anon from this question here! thanks anon!!

notes: hello! back with another fic, this time when joonhwi gets too drunk and spills more than he expects. stay till the end though, i added a little bonus as usual. editing, grammar and other mistakes will be taken responsible by me! thank you all for your love and support as always! i’ll see you for more next time!

original prompt: I love your fic 🥰 this is so far from canon but a drunk joonhwi being clingy towards sol a is one of my dream scenarios 😚 or the squad catching solhwi being clingy with each other because they were hiding their relationship

words: 3414 words

Joon Hwi was beyond excited everyday when he woke up for school. No, he wasn't excited to get the top grade, neither was he excited to get his essays and reports done. Though he loves the law, he’s sane enough to not love it that much.

Of course, he’s just excited about meeting his girlfriend, Kang Sol.

He never knew how they got together. It was a natural thing, after all. After the whole fiasco with Assemblyman Ko, their relationship suddenly felt a lot closer. They were close to begin with, with their daily studying and lunches and dinners. But something was different after the middle of their second year.

It started out as dinners every night, with or without the study group. Then Sol would be in study group sessions wearing his sweater or hoodies. When Yeseul or Yebeom teased, Sol would always argue to say that it was cold in their copy room and Joon Hwi was just being nice. Joon Hwi would just pretend that ‘sharing sweaters were normal’.

Then one day, as Joon Hwi sent Sol back home to take care of Byeol, they sat side by side in silence. Sol was desperately in need of catching up on her sleep, so the forty minute bus ride served as a quick nap for her. She turned her head to lean on Joon Hwi’s shoulder, resting her head there for her nap. To make things more comfortable, he placed his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

When they were nearing their stop, Joon Hwi instinctively shook a sleepy Sol up and held her hand as he dragged her out so she wouldn’t miss the stop. Sol doesn’t let go, and neither does Joon Hwi. Only when they reach the start of the alley do they let go of their hands. (Sol insists it’s because she doesn’t want Byeol to know. Joon Hwi thinks it’s because she’s shy.)

When Joon Hwi is at her front door with Sol, they shyly look at each other, the feelings mutual and conveyed with just their eyes. Of course, they are soulmates. They don't need the words to deliver their entire hearts or feelings.

It was always made known from the start to Joon Hwi that Sol was special to him. He has never met someone so persistent, so passionate and so damm beautiful. He had a couple of flings, being the popular smart boy in school, but none of the girls made his heart beat the same way Sol did. None of them made his world stop.

It has been a year since. And things weren’t easy when you tried to hide it. Sol, a student on a scholarship, had better luck being chosen to attend this school than the number of times the couple almost got caught.

In school, they acted normally as classmates and friends. Their study group sensed something different, but they would just deny and pretend. They put on a pretty good act, if they were to say so themselves, having Bokgi convinced that they needed to find Sol a blind date. (Joon Hwi would have spat his water at him like how Professor Yang did at Prosecutor Jin, but he held it in. Five months of hiding couldn’t be wasted now.)

They wanted to tell their friends, they really did. But they wanted to do it after their bar exams. After the weight of the bar has been lifted off will they share their good news. But while hiding a relationship is hard, making time for one was harder. (Arguably, Joon Hwi finds this harder than any exam he took.)

They absolutely found every minute they could to be together. Every hidden staircase was a spot they tried to spend a few minutes to themselves, but even that was difficult. Joon Hwi would remember how Sol would lead him to a hidden staircase far from their hideout, so as to not get walked in by either the professors or their friends. Even in the midst of Joon Hwi pressing Sol against the wall, as they devoured each other’s lips after a whole day of being unable to kiss, they would be interrupted by the sudden doors of the staircase upstairs opening, causing them to fly apart and run out.

The gossip the school carried was insane, and the last thing they wanted was gossip to reach their friends.

They could spend longer moments in the study room in the middle of the nights where they would be alone, as they worked on their cases and work. Occasionally, they shared bunggeoppangs and hotteoks, where they had long kisses tasting of sweet red bean and honey. But too many times Sol found herself shifting from her seat next to Joon Hwi to climbing on top of his lap in a make-out session, as Joon Hwi reached up to remove the highlighter holding her hair. Just as they wanted more, a sudden noise would bring them to attention and frantically, Sol would fall back onto her chair, both of their faces flushed red.

It was just four more months till the graduation ceremony came.

Till the world knows Sol was Joon Hwi’s.

-----

The bar exam went smoothly, as everyone received their results of passing. As a celebration, the boys decided to drink and have a meal apart from their usual delivery. No, it was time for the real deal of barbecues, meat and stews. They decided to even give a call to Seungjae, who graciously accepted their offer despite being so busy with his new son in his life. The study group has met his kid a couple of times, and even babysat a few hours together.

The boys met at a relatively near barbecue place in the heart of Dongdaemun, a location that the boys could easily return back to the dorms and not too far away. They were at an all-you-could-eat place, suitable for their budget so that they didn’t burn a hole in their pockets. Seungjae offered to treat his dongsaengs. After all, passing the bar was no easy feat. But they declined. His presence with them was enough of a gift from him to them.

But what was a dinner without the star, soju?

Joon Hwi prided himself on holding his liquor well. He could easily have a bottle without feeling the buzz. He could have a second without difficulty as well. Surely, he won’t be drunk, right?

Oh, but how wrong he was.

The bottles of soju and beers kept coming, never ending, as BokGi and Yebeom pushed shot after shot to him and themselves. They were surely prepared to get hammered tomorrow and show up to their 10am lecture spinning. Seungjae, having driven, only watched and smiled as he looked at his dongsaengs drink, sipping on his cola.

“Hyung, you sure you don’t have anything on with Sol-A noona? You know, we catch you with her all the time.” Bokgi asks, his face slightly flushed and words a little slurred. Yebeom nods his head, nodding his head in agreement. Joon Hwi only lets himself smile, not saying anything as he shoots back an additional shot of soju.

“Wah, hyung! So you admit it?” Yebeom says, setting down his chopsticks. Jiho stops chewing on his ssam, and looks next to him at Joon Hwi, who just shrugs, a mysterious smile on his face. Seungjae only places more meat on Joon Hwi’s plate.

With a short glance, Yebeom, Jiho and Bokgi’s eyes met. It was long enough for them to get what they were trying to say, but yet short enough for Joon Hwi to not notice the silence.

They weren’t blind to Joon Hwi’s actions. They noticed how Joon Hwi would look at Sol when she’s practicing for a mock trial, and his gentle voice when he would point out things she missed. Jiho, for one, noticed how Joon Hwi would return to the dorm later or look at his phone, smiling like an idiot. When asked, Joon Hwi would either use the excuse that he went out to the city or he was looking at cat videos, which bore Jiho.

But tonight, they were not leaving this place until he spilled his secret.

“Excuse me! Can we get three more portions of samgyeopsal, one more moksal, one dwangjang jjigae, and three more bottles of soju please?” Bokgi politely shouted to the store helper, who readily nodded.

“One more rice, please!” Yebeom added.

And so, with every portion of food, they shot back shot after shot as they feasted on their fresh juicy grilled pork and stew. They were glad that Joon Hwi was slowly slurring his words, because they themselves were barely hanging on.

“Hyung, you can be honest, you know. We won’t say anything about your private life with noona.” Yebeom says, fighting off the buzz and taking a big gulp of water. Joon Hwi, now face flushed bright red, only let out another smile as he laid back on his chair.

“Ah, Sol...” He murmured out loud.

“You know, she’s really touchy when she’s drunk? She likes to cling on to people when she’s drunk. When she’s angry, she pushes people away instead.” The words come tumbling out of his mouth before he can stop himself. No, this wasn’t Joon Hwi. This was drunk Joon Hwi. The other three immediately perked up hearing this.

“A-Ah, really? How do you know that?” Yebeom prompted, determined to draw out more information.

“Remember the time we were late to Dean Oh’s lecture? We drank that night with Yeseul and Bokgi. She couldn’t stop clinging onto my hoodie after both of them went back. And the other time when she pushed me away after her first year results were out.” Joon Hwi says, the stupid smile still on his face.

“How cute.” He quietly says, eyes closed.

There wasn't a need to know further that their hyung, Han Joon Hwi, had feelings for Kang Sol, the feisty noona.

“Hyung, then why not date her?” Bokgi says, the news keeping him at the end of his seat. Jiho merely sits, ears wide open and ready for any information.

“Date?” Joon Hwi says and lets out a light unmistakable giggle. Oh, he really was drunk now.

“We already are.”

The trio exchange knowing eyes, knowing how their objectives for the night have been accomplished. Seungjae, from the end of the table, merely shakes his head with a smile.

“Hyung, did you know?” Jiho asks. Seungjae nodded.

“They told me. After all, I am no longer a student.” This earned groans from the trio, calling it unfair.

“I miss Sol...” Joon Hwi murmurs, as his drunken state reaches for another shot of soju. Instinctively, Jiho reaches it first and shoves a glass of water in his hand instead. If anything, he was sleeping with this man in the same room. And he was not having his drunken state continue further. After all, they completed their mission for the night.

All that mattered was remembering it the next day.

-----

Sol was in the midst of folding her clothes before her phone rang, distracting her from her music that she had on with her ear pieces. Irritated, she picked up her phone, not bothering to look at the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Sol-A? It’s oppa.”

“Seungjae-oppa? Why are you calling so late? Is anything the matter?” She asks, alerted by the sudden call. It was almost midnight, and it was rare for Seungjae to call.

“Ah, no. Nothing is wrong. I’m just at the lobby of the school at the Lady Justice statue with a very drunk Joon Hwi and the rest of the boys. I can’t bring them up myself, especially since I can’t enter the dorms anymore.” Seungjae explains. In the back, Sol can hear a noisy Bokgi and Jiho telling him to shut up.

“Give me five minutes.” She says and hangs up. The urgency in Sol’s voice drew the attention of Sol B, who was ready to get to bed. Sol B only looks at Sol for a moment and Sol just gives a sympathetic smile.

“Could... Could you come with me?” Sol asks nervously. Sol B looks at Sol for a moment before she throws a hoodie on and throws another hoodie to Sol. The last thing they needed was them to be recognised. Seungjae was where he said he would be, with indeed, four grown men, sprawled on the couches. Bokgi, Yebeom and Jiho were at least conscious enough to greet both Sols, but Joon Hwi just had his eyes shut, murmuring incorrigible things.

“Sorry you had to deal with them, oppa. They really owe you a big apology.” Sol apologises for the sake of her boyfriend, and his friends. Seungjae only shakes his head.

“They should enjoy this before they step into the workforce and can’t experience it anymore.” He gives a smile. “Joon Hwi got a little carried away. He might have spilled your relationship.” Sol B was not standing far as she forced Bokgi and the rest upright, but she could clearly hear it.

“I’ll settle it. You should go home now, don’t keep Juyoung-unnie waiting. I’ll get them to their rooms.” She said before making her quick goodbye to Seungjae.

Together, both Sols pushed Bokgi and Yebeom up to their room, half guiding and half carrying the heavy boys to their door. When they were back downstairs, Sol B instinctively grabbed Jiho by his arm and pulled him up.

“Sol B, about what-” Sol was cut off by her roommate.

“I know. Don’t tell anyone yet. But, you know you suck at hiding and lying, don't you?” She says, her head turned back, before turning back to help Jiho back to his room. Sol does all she can to suppress her smile. Even though her roommate is harsh, she could feel the love. Turning around, she faces her drunk boyfriend.

“Joon. Joon Hwi.” Sol shakes gently. Joon Hwi’s lips curl up slightly, as his arms reach up to wrap them around the familiar body he missed. Sol was clingy when she was drunk, but it was the pot calling the kettle black for Joon Hwi. If possible, he was even clingier.

“You need to go up to your room.” She says as she fights away his loose grip and half supports his drunk body to his room.

“I missed you, Sol...” He murmurs, a face turning into a pout. “You know I kept telling them how good a girlfriend you are? How you always got me coffees and made extra ramyeons.”

“And you also told them we are dating?”

“Of course! I want the whole world to know I love you!” Joon Hwi says a little loudly, and she clamps his mouth shut. Oh, he was definitely more than drunk. Joon Hwi’s arms clung onto her waist as she reached his door.

“Go. You can face the mess you made in the morning.” She says. Joon Hwi clings onto her, giving her a sad pout.

“No more goodnight kisses?” He asked, a voice like a child. His eyes were big and round, his mouth downturned slightly like a pout.

Sol couldn’t deny him one, especially when he looked so adorable. Looking around, she made sure the coast was clear before she reached up to let her lips meet his soft ones. He tasted like lingering alcohol and she could taste it, but she couldn’t help but want more of his intoxicating lips on hers. But not today.

Pulling away, he let out a slight whine. But Sol gave him a quick peck.

“You’ll get more, when you get up.” And Sol pushes him into the room, leaving back to her own dorm, knowing that she’ll be faced with a big headache the next morning.

-----

When Joon Hwi is up the next morning, he’s greeted with a Jiho who rubs his eyes and holds his head in his hand. Joon Hwi isn’t sure if he’s spinning or the room is. Or if it is spinning in the first place. Jiho notices he’s up and grunts a good morning, before getting up to get ready.

The memories of last night come back to Joon Hwi in waves as the pieces start slowly fixing themselves together throughout the morning. By the time he’s at his first lecture, his memories have more or less come back.

He’s certain that Sol would be mad. He makes a mental note to send Seungjae an apology and thank you message. Then, he starts making plans to bribe the trio. He knows about Yebeom’s love for candy, so he starts with that. He just needs to think of what brand of sneakers to get for Bokgi. Heck, would bribes even work against them?

But throughout the morning, the boys do nothing to mention anything about last night. They chat about their hangover, how Seungjae is doing well with his new job and the amount of food they ate. No one mentions anything about Joon Hwi, or his words.

Joon Hwi counts himself safe. They must have forgotten, he thinks. He figures it was the best they did. It definitely would save him an earful from Sol and a large headache. During lunch, as they finished their simple meal at the cafeteria of soup, rice and bulgogi, Bokgi is about to clear his tray before he turns to Joon Hwi.

“Oh, hyung.”

“Hm?”

“We remember everything. From the start, to the end.” He says, a teasing grin on his face as he quickly scurries away, not wanting to die before he graduates. Joon Hwi rolls his eyes back and groans.

Well, shit.

-----

bonus:

“Sol B, did you know our roommates are dating?” Jiho asks, his voice slightly slurred as Sol B drags him up the stairs. She gives a nod. Sol B was no idiot to fall for her roommate’s excuses, when her face gave it all away. It was fascinating how the others haven’t noticed. 

“It would be an insult to our careers if we didn't notice the way they looked at their phones.” She sarcastically says. Jiho manages to scoff. Sol B is about to tap Jiho’s key card of their door, but his hand stops hers, as she feels his body right behind his. 

“Well, they haven’t found out about us yet.” Jiho says softly to her, his face nuzzled into her neck, lips brushing her neck as he slowly moves his lips up to her jaw. Sol brings a gentle hand to his cheek, before turning around to face Jiho.

“We’re better actors.” She whispers so soft. Jiho can't tell if it’s the alcohol or him, but all he knows is that Sol B looks so damm perfect with her doe-like eyes, soft pink lips and the way she teases him drives him insane. He wants her, and he wants her now. 

He crashes his lips on hers, wanting to so desperately taste her. It’s been a long day, and he’s never felt so in need. Sol B tastes the lingering alcohol on his lips, but she couldn’t care. She needs him the same way he wants her. Her hands reach up to grab his hair as Jiho’s hands slip under her hoodie, feeling the smooth skin of her waist against his fingers. They know that they are in the middle of the hallway, but, god, it felt so good.

“God, I missed this.” Jiho mumbled, almost growling, against her lips, earning a slight smirk from the younger girl that he could feel. He sucks on her lower lip, earning a soft gasp from the girl as she only kisses him harder. Biting lovingly on her swollen lips, he shifts his attention to her jaw, leaving butterfly kisses and earning a sigh of pleasure from her. 

But it was short lived, as she pulled away. They knew they had to stop, before their secret was revealed, too. Jiho wishes he could bring her into the dorm and continue this session with her. Sol B looks at him lovingly, biting her lip in an attempt to tease. 

“We’ll continue this tomorrow.” Sol B says, giving him another loving kiss as she leaves for her room and Jiho returns to his, buzzed from the alcohol and the adrenaline rush from his make out session. He inwardly groans, hating how his girlfriend teases him, but also smirks, knowing how to get back at her the next day.

Let’s hope he remembers this.

[peralta-guaranteed]

After that Jake-Mac-Rosa fic, you dropped this queen: 👑 Next time, a Jake-Mac-Holt piece?

Oh dang, THAT's where I left it. Thank you for that. 🤪

Grandpa Holt is always a pleasure to write, but let's try for some Dad Holt too...

"Is everything alright, Peralta?"

Jake has been sitting off to the side of the group for a while now, so Holt finds it necessary to inquire. He's not used to the eager detective being so closed off and quiet unless something is wrong, and nothing he can think of right now strikes him as 'wrong': they have been celebrating the end of a rather arduous case for Diaz and Boyle, and Peralta had been as helpful as he could be as a tertiary, which was not his preferred position at all. The first round at Shaw's had been paid by himself as Captain, obviously, and the next by Diaz, so Boyle has promised to shoulder the third, were it to happen. Ergo Peralta could not be thinking about his usual money problems, which have lessened anyway ever since Santiago took over his budgeting.

That means something else entirely must be 'wrong' in order for Jake to keep out of the conversation, only reply when he is mentioned by name, and drift off to a corner of the bar while the other congregate around the various game options of the room.

"I'm good, Captain, thanks." Jake answers with a smile and an obvious lie, so Holt doesn't even bother replying, just raises one of his eyebrows a quarter of an inch, which he knows usually gets him results with Peralta. The ensuing sigh shows that it is still working.

"It's just..." Jake shrugs and rubs the back of his neck, another tell of his discomfort. "This is my first night out alone since the baby."

"Indeed." Holt replies. "I remember your phone call to Amy to inform her you would be back late today."

"Yeah." His hand is still on his neck, the other one clutched around his half empty beer bottle. "She told me to have fun. But..uh... I still kinda feel like I shouldn't be here."

"Do you think having a child robs you of autonomity? I know I am not speaking from experience, here, but it does seem to me like you are allowed to enjoy time away from your family, especially if your spouse insists you do."

"Getting drunk at a bar while my kid might be crying at home doesn't feel like the responsible thing to do, is all."

"Ah, I see." Holt nods, and he does see - he actually sees a lot more than what Jake might be trying to imply in his statement. He remembers how he used to self-medicate with alcohol in the past, after ending his relationship with that defense attorney, or even before, while feeling heartbroken over Santiago. He also remembers anecdotes about his father's drinking, not from Peralta himself, obviously, but from the rest of the squad, whenever Jake would cancel on a promised night out after Roger Peralta's visits. As much as Holt hates idioms, one of his most despised is probably 'the apple doesn't fall far from the tree', and Jake seems to fear it as well.

"Here is my solution, then, if you are willing to listen." Jake looks up at Holt as he's standing in front of him, and his hand drops from his neck. "You make the beer you are currently drinking your last for the night, and spend some quality time with your colleagues instead, enjoying a few parlour games, and then you head home at an agreeable time and still see your child before he falls asleep."

Jake grins and takes a sip of his beer.

"Sounds like a plan, Cap." He nods, and Holt doesn't ignore the fact that Jake has been using this shortened nickname for him a lot lately, and how eerily similar it sounds to 'Dad' in his voice.

(An hour later, he receives a picture on his cellphone from Peralta: The man himself, asleep on his couch, with his infant son equally asleep on his chest. Santiago must have commandeered his phone, and Holt is glad for it.)

-*-

"Grampa!"

The sound of that little voice echoes through the hallway as loudly as the ensuing footsteps, and Holt feels something warm and solid wrap around his legs.

"Hello, McClane." He smiles down at the little boy currently clutching his knees, and he smiles back before raising his arms in an obvious demand to be lifted up. Holt obeys it immediately.

He notices Mac looks surprisingly tired for an otherwise very energetic two year old, and Amy, who's now following him to Holt's side, looks equally exhausted.

"Good afternoon, Captain. I'm so sorry, I should've messaged you that I have to bring Mac in for an hour, the babysitter cancelled and the day care couldn't keep him longer than-"

"It is quite alright, Santiago. McClane knows how to behave himself at the precinct, right?" He gives the little boy in his arms a look, and receives a strong and eager nod in reply, the curls on his head bouncing back and forth. If anyone were ever to question Peralta's parentage, that alone would classify them as an imbecile. "I can watch him for the time being, if you have paperwork you need to get in order before leaving for the day."

"God, Captain Holt, would you- that would be so- I was going to ask Rosa, because I know she's at her desk-"

Amy seems far more frazzled than usual, and Holt realises that her regular schedule must be in quite a disarray, considering she has been a single parent for about a week now. Mac must not have been making it easy for her, either, nor must the baby currently growing in her stomach, which has started to show about a month ago, at which point they finally informed the squad about it (when everyone had already figured it out just like last time).

"RoRo!" Mac yells, happily, almost leaning out of Holt's arms, but he quickly hugs him tighter.

"Your aunt Rosa is working, McClane, and we should not interrupt her. We can spend the time in my office, and you can draw if you would like."

"Roro working." He echoes like a little parrot. "Like Daddy."

"That's right." Holt has learned from the parenting homepages he's visited that you are to encourage a child trying to talk and string together a coherent topic, no matter how long it might take.

"Daddy's working away." Mac continues, and out of the corner of his eye Holt sees Amy's forehead wrinkle in worry.

"Yes, your father is in New Jersey for the week to work on a special case." It's not a dangerous case at all, rather a boring standard task that happened to involve some out-of-state suspects, but Jake had still been trying to hand off that trip to anyone who might be willing to help him out. Seeing his son with bags under his eyes and his wife with stresslines around her mouth and her hand on her belly, Holt understands why.

"He comes back." Mac says next, and it is a statement, but the look in his eyes makes it a question, and Holt is quick to answer. He's glad that he has a definite answer to that, instead of the empty promises and assurances he sometimes has to make as the head of a police department.

"Yes, your father will be back soon. In two days, in fact."

Mac holds up two grubby little fingers, and Holt nods with so much fervor it surprises himself.

"Very good, that is two. Only two days and two nights until your father is back home." The worry in Mac's eyes seems to dimish a little at that as he stares at his own fingers. "If we go to my office, we can check on the calendar exactly how long that is." He barely waits for another nod before taking the diaper bag out of Santiago's hands, who whispers a quiet, but relieved "Thank you" to him. He understands again that it means far more than to thank him for taking care of the child for an hour so.

(If he uses that hour to assure Mac several times that no matter what, his father will always find a way back to him with far more emotion in his voice than he'd usually use, well, no one needs to know. Peralta certainly seems happy about the picture he sends him of Mac with his captain's hat behind his desk.)

-*-

"Congratulations." Holt's hand on his shoulder is heavy, but not uncomfortably so, and it gives a quick squeeze before dropping.

They've done the whole customary introduction to the newborn baby, the apparently necessary picture round, and now Kevin is having an amicable chat with Amy in her hospital bed. They've waited two days for their official visit, to give the new parents a chance to get at least a few of their bearings. (Holt was there merely an hour after the birth, of course, with the rest of the squad, but that was a moment of joyful chaos and many voices.) Now the room is filled with an almost serene quiet, Amy's and Kevin's voices low and comfortable in the background as Holt watches the man he truly considers a son hold up his new granddaughter.

"Do you want to hold her again? I know you already did for the photos but-"

Holt only nods and takes the infant out of his hands with perfect ease. He's more used to a wriggling toddler now, but he still clearly remembers the days when Mac was equally quiet and frail in his arms. The little one in them now is asleep amidst all that is happening, her tiny mouth open just a fraction, and he feels her arm bump against his chest while she seems to be having a dream.

"She is as perfect as her older brother, Jake."

"Yeah." Jake smiles, and there's nothing of that boisterous, loud, cocky detective grin left in it that he used to know. It is soft and kind and full of love, and it might be one of Holt's favourite expressions. "Amy did a superb job again."

"As did you."

"I'm sure I don't gotta explain this to you, Cap, but I didn't really do much." Jake jokes, and Holt can tell he's trying to divert the attention to a simpler topic, but sometimes things must be said.

"You do a lot, Jacob." He continues, then. "Far more than a lot of fathers do. Far more than many would expect of you. And you do it all perfectly right, with heart and determination."

Jake nods, swallowing down a lump in his throat, it seems, and it might be a step too far for his already emotional state, but Holt feels like it needs to accompany his accolades.

"I am very proud of you, son."

Jake is very obviously fighting back tears as he replies.

"Thanks, dad."

The little girl in Holt's arms stirs right at this moment, and Jake seems to want to interject immediately in fear that she'll start crying, but she simply stares up at Holt with impossibly big, brown eyes for the first time. And he realises, just as he did two years ago when Mac's little hand tightened around his finger for the first time, that there is a child in this world that he would literally do anything for. There are four of them now, even if two of them have not fallen under the category of a child for several decades.

"Hello, Maya." He says to the little face that seems to be inspecting him. "I'm Captain Raymond Holt. Your grandfather."

He looks up at Kevin and Amy, who've stopped their conversation while Amy is lifting her phone in their direction, and then at Jake, who's looking at Maya as well with shining eyes. Then he looks back down at Maya, stretching her arms out of her swaddle as if she's reaching for him.

"You are a very lucky little girl."

[autumnsart22]

Coffee Addiction: Dabi x reader part 1/3

This is part 1 of my yandere Dabi series. Let me know if you like it!

WARNING: Minor NSFW 🔥

Art creds @tomomoni 🔥🔥🔥

The entirety of the League of Villains thought that Dabi was addicted to coffee. It would make sense; he frequented the local coffee shop almost every day, and would constantly ask if his fellow members needed drinks. He always seemed in a bad mood if he didn’t visit, and it resulted in Toga buying him dozens of different roasts, as well as a coffee machine for Christmas. 

But it wasn’t coffee that Dabi was addicted to. No, it was the cute cashier that worked Thursday through Sunday, 2:00pm-10:00pm--something that Dabi had confirmed ages ago. 

You had started working at the coffee shop to get a little extra money to pay for your University tuition come the fall, and the cafe was only a few blocks from your house. You actually enjoyed working with customers, and making the drinks wasn’t hard either once you got the hang of it, so all in all you didn’t mind putting time into going. 

The first time Dabi had come into the shop was after a long stakeout mission, where he had stayed up all night marking where the little heroes-in-training slept and spent their time. It was a boring and stupid task, especially for someone of his skill, but whiny ass Shigaraki had insisted. The crusty leader said that “every little thing was important” and making sure the students were taken care of was the first step. 

Which left Dabi practically delirious the next day, after mindlessly staring at the UA building for eight hours straight. His eyes were burning and bloodshot, and he could barely keep on his feet as he made his way back to the League base the next afternoon.

Getting coffee was a split second decision as he passed the shop, something that he never would have normally done. But he knew that a certain piece of dried skin would want a full report when he got back, so it was probably better to get some caffeine in his blood before that ordeal. 

Dabi considered robbing the cafe and killing everyone there, but for one thing he didn’t want to draw attention to himself, and for another he was too tired. Instead, he donned a face mask and a pair of sunglasses, pulling up his hood and stepping inside like a regular customer. 

It was busy, considering it was 3’oclock on a Thursday, and Dabi had to wait another five minutes before the line shrank enough for him to order. It was probably because the cashier engaged almost everyone in conversation, smiling brightly at them as they listed the drinks they wanted. Even the rude people seemed to soften slightly as you chatted amiably, waving your hands around and laughing. 

When Dabi got up to the counter, he had no idea what any of the drinks were, so he just grunted, “Something that will wake me up.” 

You blinked at him in curiosity, raising your eyebrows as you took in the sunglasses he continued to wear inside, but after a long moment you tapped something on the screen in front of you.

“Do you mind it being bitter?” 

Dabi shrugged. “No.”

“Alright, that will be $3.97. Can I get a name for the order?” 

He was beginning to think that getting this stupid coffee was more trouble than it was worth, but he finally muttered, “Shoto.”

Obviously, connecting himself to the Todoroki family in any way was risky, but Dabi couldn’t help but use the name. Perfect little Shoto, the heir to the spot of number one hero and daddy’s favorite. 

It took another ten minutes for the coffee to come out, since the cashier was so backed up, and Dabi practically fell asleep standing up. He got many strange looks because of his attire, but he ignored the idiotic customers sitting at the tables around him or waiting for their own orders. 

Instead, he listened to you hum as you moved around behind the counter, talking with people and making drink after drink. 

Finally, your eyes fell on Dabi. “Here’s your coffee!” You held it up. 

As Dabi approached the counter, you leaned across it and lowered your voice in a secretive way. “So...are you some sort of secret agent?”

The villain blinked. “No.”

“Oh.” You sounded vaguely disappointed. “I just thought because of the--” You tapped your face to indicate his glasses. 

“Huh.” 

You laughed slightly, leaning back. “Well, enjoy your drink.” 

“Thanks.” Dabi stepped back, and then paused. 

“I’m not a secret agent. I’m a spy...don’t tell.” 

The look of delight that crossed your face made the ridiculousness worth it. 

“Ok, I won’t tell anyone.” You made the motion of zipping your mouth closed and tossing the key. Dabi rolled his eyes behind his glasses, and left without looking back. 

----

Dabi thought nothing of the interaction for a while. In fact, any thought of the girl from the coffee shop had left his mind the moment he stepped out of the cafe. That is, until a week later when Dabi finally had time to himself for self care. 

He had been so busy with League business that pleasuring himself had been the last thing on his mind. Every night, he was too tired to do anything but pass out, and he had no time during the day. 

But a week after first meeting you, he found himself in the shower, cock in hand. He let out a low grunt as he fisted himself, moving his hand slowly up and down as he tilted his head back. The hot water from the shower washed over his hair and down his back as he moved a bit faster. 

He closed his eyes, his mind automatically conjuring an image of a big tittied porn star from one of the videos he watched regularly-- but somehow, it wasn’t satisfying. It was almost boring, not enough…

Your pretty face came into his mind unprompted, crying as you knelt in front of him with his dick in your mouth. The choking noises you would make, the helpless little whimpers--

“Shit,” Dabi groaned, coming almost immediately. It was one of the fastest he had finished in his whole life. “What the hell.”

It made no sense. Why had you made him react like that? 

Dabi’s confusion only grew. After the night in the shower, he had gone back to the coffee shop to see you again and confirm that you were just as boring and idiotic as everyone else. When you had spotted him, a wide smile had popped up on your face. 

“Mr. Spy, nice to see you again,” you whispered when he got up to the counter, and Dabi crossed his arms. 

“I’ll get anything,” he finally said, not taking his eyes off you. 

You didn’t seem bothered by his rudeness, and you rubbed your hands together instead. “Ooh, a challenging customer.”

You set about clanging dishes together and starting the blender, muttering under your breath the whole time. When you finally slammed his cup on the counter, you had a proud smile on your face. 

“I call this, ‘The Secret Sip’. You know, in honor of you being a spy!” 

Dabi raised his eyebrows, looking between the drink and the girl. “Ok.”

“Oh, come on, at least look excited to try it.”

“You can’t even see my expression.”

“You radiate deadpan energy.” 

“I...what?”

Another customer appeared at the counter, and you shoved the drink towards him. “Let me know how it is,” you ordered, before going to help the other person on line. 

Dabi waited in an alley next to the coffee shop for another four hours before you finally locked up and started heading home. He was used to being patient from countless stakeouts, but your pace was agonizingly slow as you made your way down the block with your headphones in your ears. The sky was getting dark, and he couldn’t help but wonder about the likelihood of you getting attacked; it was a good thing he was there, watching from the shadows. 

Your apartment was only a few blocks down, and Dabi watched you enter through the double doors and disappear into the elevator. He wouldn’t follow--not yet at least. 

Instead, he stood in the middle of the darkening pavement, looking up at the many windows of the building. It was only three stories, and the windows were pretty large…

Luck was on Dabi’s side that night. He felt something in his chest leap as a light turned on in one of the second story rooms, and then your silhouette moved across the glass. He watched in openmouthed delight as you lifted your shirt from your head, tossing it to the floor and padding away deeper into the room. A moment later you reappeared in only your bra and underwear, rummaging through a drawer next to the window. 

Dabi’s pants felt suddenly tight around his hardening dick, and he quickly turned and walked away. It would be better to just kill you now, but somehow that thought didn’t bring him much pleasure. He didn’t want to kill you. He wanted to fuck you so hard, you would never think of anyone except for him again.

[sanktnikolais]

Invisible String

The three major events of Zoya's life that Nikolai has had glimpses of, and he feels her emotions all the way to his side of the invisible string connecting them.

or that zoyalai psychic/emotional connection au

@grishaverseonline​ mission 12: favourite character - nikolai lantsov

A/N: guess who’s posting a new content after months of hiding? HAHAHA. This was supposed to be posted yesterday for my birthday but I wasn’t able to finish early. So have this late birthday treat from me. ;-;

Warning tho, contains some RoW spoilers, and contains the alternate version (Am’s version LMAO) of the garden scene.

Word count: 5174

They said that it would take a lot for one to get accustomed to the pain that came with losses. 

          Nikolai never realized he had lost so much until he had everything within his reach.

          He didn’t know it was already a loss when his mother had decided to be unfaithful to the King of Ravka and bore an illegitimate child with a Fjerdan merchant. He didn’t know it was already a loss when he had met a certain brown-haired boy in one of his private classes, not knowing that he would be the reason why that same boy would be drafted early for the war that would take his life later on. He didn’t know it was already a loss when he still tried to seek the approval of the older brother that never wanted him, and that would end up in him developing a cunning personality to gain acceptance from everyone around him. He didn’t know it was already a loss when he dropped the guillotine that would imply that his father was guilty of such a heinous crime, exiling both him and his queen to a faraway place, never to set foot on the country they had sworn to protect yet failed in every possible way. 

          It only came to him, when he was finally sitting on the throne and overseeing a broken country, that he hadn’t really gained anything along the way. Only nightmares that weighed on his shoulders and kept him awake at night, and the black scars that were just as dark as the blood of every life lost in the war coating his hands. 

          And pain.

          Both the ones he had known and acknowledged, and the sudden, unexplainable bursts of physical or emotional pain that came to him in the most random times throughout his life.

          Nikolai didn’t know when it started. Being a young royalty that grew up doing everything in his own cunning way had taught him to mask the pain into something less hurting. Whether it was telling horrible jokes or making something more complicated by talking too much—it was his way to beat around the bush and away from the impending truth, thinking that if he ignored it long enough, he would forget it. 

          It worked, somehow, but it only pent up the emotions in his heart that were bound to explode later on. 

          Even though that fact was clear to him, it still wasn't enough to justify his first, sudden outburst when he was twelve. 

          It was quite a normal day—he had another hour with the extra reading on chemistry and Kaelish history he had requested from his tutors, and he was stuck in the library until the late hours of the afternoon. But the truth behind it, however, was to have time to sneak in and out of the palace to visit Dominik and his family in the countryside. 

          The whole day of learning to braid Dominik's sisters' hair had ended happily, with Nikolai able to finish tying all of them, albeit resulting in tangles that would need more attention to fix later. 

          You'll get used to it, Dominik had mused with a light laugh. I didn't learn this in just one day. 

          Nikolai thought of them on his way home, seeing how their smiles seemed to reach their eyes when they laughed around each other, something he never saw or felt in the Grand Palace. An unwanted pricking stung his eyes, and he immediately reached up to wipe the tears away. It was foolish to be longing for something insignificant when he already had everything he needed. He could just ask anything from his servants and tutors, and they would appease his request without question. So why was he suddenly—

          His throat clogged up with muffled sobs, the sickening feeling of both anger and sadness constricting his heart as if there was a fist was trying to crush it. The next thing he knew, he was collapsing on the palace gardens, and the tears were endless. 

          The wind picked up around him, followed by the sound of thunder. But they fell deaf in his ears as the wails tore from his throat. 

          Then it happened. The dreadful images of a ruined church and a horrified expression from the face of an old man flashed before his eyes, along with the searing feeling of anger directed to him. 

          But then the images faded as fast as they had come, and there was the sudden hollow feeling in his chest. 

          Palace guards found him in the same spot a few hours later, curled into a fetal position as if to shield his body from harm. The King had demanded he explain what had happened, and knowing their judgment to anything Nikolai had ever done and said made him lie. He told them he had hurt himself when he tripped and fell in the gardens, and they easily believed it as it was his own foolishness. There was no way they would believe him even if he tried to tell the truth. 

          He had been sent to a Healer right after that to check for other injuries, even when he knew to himself there wasn't any. 

          Except for the sudden hollowness in his heart that could never be filled. 

***

The next one didn't happen until three years later, when Nikolai was fifteen. 

          He would never know what had given him away, but years of sneaking back and forth in the palace made him careless, and it was only a matter of time before Vasily, his ever cruel brother, knew about it.

          "You're just turning sixteen," Vasily said with a sneer. "But you're already tumbling peasant girls. You're no better than father." 

          Fear gripped at his mind almost instantly when he realized that this mistake would befall on Dominik. Nikolai knew too well how commoners who had done something wrong would be punished by being barred from the palace in disgrace, sending them back to their families with nothing else but their clothes and themselves. 

          Nikolai had begged Vasily to hold his tongue, to keep a secret for him. But if there was one thing he knew about his older brother, it was that Vasily never cared about him. 

          So why would Vasily care about some boy with no name? 

          "Do you understand what you have done?" Nikolai asked furiously the next morning when he had cornered Vasily in the lapis drawing room. 

          Vasily merely shrugged. “Your friend won’t get to study with his betters, and you won’t get to keep rambling in the fields like a commoner. I’ve done you both a favor.”

          “His family will lose their stipend. They may not be able to feed themselves without it.” His rage was boiling into something much worse, and he could feel it coursing through his veins. But he still held back. It was his weakness, he realized, that he didn’t have the heart to lash out his anger on someone close to him, no matter how cruel they had treated him. “Dominik won’t be exempt from the draft next year.”

          “Good. The crown needs soldiers,” said Vasily. Then he scoffed, giving Nikolai a once-over. “Maybe he’ll learn his place.” 

          Nikolai had expected his anger to explode, all the pent-up emotions to finally be let go. But he felt disappointed instead, as if he had lost something important. It took him a second to realize that he had lost his respect and admiration for his older brother. 

          For years, he thought that Vasily was better than their father. Whereas their father sat slouched on the throne and shoulders hunched when he stood, Vasily was the exact opposite of him. He always stood tall, chin held up high. He was the spitting image of what Nikolai had imagined a royal should be. 

          But Nikolai had never been ashamed to admit that he was so wrong. 

          "You should be ashamed," said Nikolai quietly. 

          But Vasily only jabbed a finger to Nikolai’s chest. “You do not tell me what I should or shouldn’t do, Sobachka," he snarled, his voice laced with poison, the same one that Nikolai almost drank when Vasily had mixed a droplet of it into Nikolai's cup. "I will be a king, and you will always be Nikolai Nothing.”

          Then it happened again, the strange images appearing before his eyes. Where Nikolai expected it to be the same ones he saw four years ago, they were different this time. 

          The drawing room morphed into a rough terrain full of snow, and an enormous white tiger had replaced the spot where his brother was in front of him, its teeth bared and hind legs laid back to pounce. 

          It was then he felt the sudden feeling to protect himself, his survival instincts kicking in, and he did just that. The images faded, his surroundings fading back to the drawing room. 

          With a strength that came from nights spent roughhousing with peasants and workers alike in some shady fight club in Os Alta's outskirts, Nikolai snatched his brother's finger that was on his chest and twisted hard. 

          Vasily fell to the ground with a yelp. He looked impossibly small. A satisfying feeling settled itself in Nikolai's chest. It was most likely the worst he had seen his brother, and if Nikolai had only known that his older brother was nothing more than a facade to hide such a vile and weak face underneath, he wouldn't have wasted his whole life trying to be like Vasily. 

          "A king never kneels, brother," Nikolai hissed before he left his brother's prone form on the ground. 

          He was sure that Vasily wouldn't let him forget what he had done to him. 

          But the next time his brother would try to come for him, Nikolai would be ready. 

***

The worst one happened almost five years later. 

          He was finally fulfilling his dream as a privateer in the seas, and the name Sturmhond was born right in the middle of the True Sea, never to be forgotten by all sailors and pirates as the years would go on. 

          It was supposed to be a diplomatic meeting with the Fjerdan traders that came from Djerholm. They were set to talk about the territories, with Fjerda claiming that they didn’t allow enemy ships to sail freely at the northern True Sea without permits unless they wanted their ships obliterated by Fjerda. Nikolai had wanted to laugh when he saw the ship; it was too enormous and too sturdy-looking to be of trading purposes only.  He assumed that it had to be a warship since its captain and crew were too confident to stop the Volkvolny. No one ever dared to go against the Volkvolny —the black sails that had guided them for years were already a familiar sight to all the sailors and pirates. Though it was smaller than any warships in the seas, it could still go on par with ships twice as big as it, and it had sunk numerous vessels and gotten away unscathed. 

          These Fjerdan ‘traders’ should have known better than to get in the Volkvolny’s way. 

          True enough, when Nikolai had stepped into the enemy ship to negotiate the terms, he immediately noticed the heavy artillery carelessly covered by a rag on the main deck. They had even attempted to blend it in among the cargo crates scattered on the floor, but the canons were obvious underneath the thin material covering them. He let out a breath. He suddenly wasn’t sure if going here with only his two Shu mercenary turned personal guards was ideal. At least twenty rough-looking men were surrounding them, and their captain, Captain Hjar, was only a bit shorter than Tolya, and yet he still looked impossibly tall than all of them. His hair had been cropped close to his skin, exposing the lined scar that ran from his temple to the spot behind his ear. 

          Tamar had voiced out her concerns then, telling him that something was not right, and Nikolai acknowledged it greatly. The Shu mercenary’s gut instincts already saved their lives countless times before, and he wasn’t going to ignore that. But he knew the Fjerdan crew’s taste for dominance. He wasn’t just going to let these men do as they please to the travelers that would pass their private routes.

          He could only hope that this risky meeting they were doing would turn in their favor.

          And yet as soon as they stood in front of Captain Hjar and his men, the wooden bridge that connected the two ships was cut off, causing shouts of protest from his crew back in his ship.

          “Oh, wow," said Nikolai with mocking surprise. Tolya and Tamar tensed behind him, their hands already poised on the weapons strapped to their belts. He turned back to Hjar. "We haven't even started the meeting yet." 

          Captain Hjar only smirked. "Better not waste your time, little wolf," he said, his voice scratchy as if he had been shouting his whole life. "Why try to prolong this when it would still end in the same result?" 

          "Lay down your sword, Hjar." 

          "These men would be making bread from the bone and skin of skinny Ravkan boys tonight, little wolf. And I can assume your ship has plenty of valuables, aye? I cannot promise not to hurt your men," he said, and his men laughed together with him. When he stopped, his cold eyes held a dangerous glint as he stared at the twins behind Nikolai. "And it'd be fun to have some nice, warm campfire with those two Grisha of yours." 

          Something in Nikolai's mind had quieted, shutting out anything logical from coming into his head. The thoughts halted. His rage slowly took over like a monster finally overwhelming its prey. He felt numb and empty, and he realized that the rage was focused on the Fjerdan captain. 

          Then for the third time in his life,  it  happened again. Everything else faded around him and threw him under the landscape of complete darkness. It was like he had been thrown into the Fold. After a moment, it blurred and shifted to another—a small, empty shop in some town he couldn't recognize where. Then it shifted again, and this time, it showed him a man who was on his knees, clawing at his throat as if he were struggling to breathe. 

          Nikolai held onto those images in vain, so he could make sense of them earlier on. But the rage inside him had him forgetting them in a snap, and all he could feel was anger. Anger towards everything. 

          With that, his body relaxed, and he regarded Hjar with a calm tone. These men needed to know their places. "Maybe you're right about that, Hjar," he asked, and he saw the Fjerdan captain acknowledge him with mocking curiosity. "But it wouldn't be my men who would be butchered today." 

          He saw the shift of expression from the Fjerdan captain's face, and Nikolai pounced with his own sword. 

          The fight hadn't even lasted for a minute. Hjar's men had completely underestimated the mercenary twins by just being Grisha, but they were just as deadly as any well-trained assassins. Soon enough, Nikolai’s crew had the Fjerdans tied up and shoved them down their knees, with Hjar at Nikolai’s mercy. But he felt nothing at all. 

          "You want to know something, captain?" asked Nikolai mildly as he went behind the burly man and held up his tied hands on his back. Hjar gave a pained grunt. Then Nikolai leaned down near the man's ear. "Foolish old captains aren't fit meat for Ravkan men."

          Then he took out his knife and cut the Fjerdan captain's fingers. 

          Nikolai barely heard the man's screams or even felt the blood gushing out from the wounds. He just felt numb all over. If his crew noticed the sudden change in his behavior, they didn't voice it out. Only the twins were the ones who showed a bewildered reaction as Nikolai held the decapitated fingers in his bloodied hands. 

          He threw them over his crew's guard hound dog at the side. "Eat up, Razjen," he said. "I'm pretty sure the dogs would appreciate that kind of meat given to them." 

          That same night, he and his Volkvolny crew had drunk and eaten to their guts' limits from the spoils they had divvied up from the Fjerdan trader ship. From the night until the earliest hours of dawn, they had laughed, celebrated, and sung until their throats were raw and their bellies full. 

          But when the night ended and Nikolai had retreated into the confines of the captain's quarters, he had thrown up everything he had eaten until tears stung his eyes. He had expected them to stop when he was done, but it only worsened as sobs and wails tore from his lips again, just like it had almost a decade ago, when he had collapsed in the palace gardens and cried himself out for a reason he had never known. 

          And as the hours passed and night broke into dawn, the tears had finally stopped. Nikolai fell asleep, but the hole that had made its way to his heart from the first time he felt the sudden shift in his emotions now only felt deeper than before. 

***

Nikolai blinked as he felt the heavy tug in his heart again. It was much more painful than before as if whatever at the other end of the string wanted him to hurt on purpose, and he was left to choose whether to still follow her in or not.

          The funeral had ended hours ago but he could still feel the heaviness and gloom lingering in the air. He wanted to visit Genya in her quarters for the night, just to extend whatever he could offer her for the meantime. But he decided against it when he rounded the corner leading to the Tailor’s chambers, and that’s when he saw Zoya coming out from the door. She had lingered outside for a moment, her hand clutching at the handle as if to hold herself upright. If he looked harder, he was sure it really was the reason as he saw her shoulders shaking and her head was bowed down, something his general never did. 

          A searing pain in his chest made him wince, the hurting so painful it felt like he had just been burned by a branding iron. The want—the need—to reach out for her was the only thing he had wanted to do at that moment. But he willed the thought away, remembering how the things were between them.

          They did not look to each other for comfort, and he knew the last thing Zoya would want was for him to give her his sympathies. It had been their unspoken agreement ever since Ravka was put on their shoulders. There was no time for sentiments, they would only spiral them down much worse. 

          After another minute of silence, Zoya had quietly left, her form completely blending in with the gloominess that surrounded the palace walls. Nikolai decided to follow her out then, and it led him to now, following her through the dark, narrow walkway that led into someplace he wasn’t sure of. Tangles of vines pricked at his skin as he walked further. Eventually, he reached the other end of the path, and the sight of the place astonished him.

          Flowers and shrubs of every variety were lined up in the soil beds, overwhelming the ground in different colors. The open ceiling of the area had allowed frost and snow to fall over the plants, and it coated the leaves and petals alike. It looked almost like a small world of only peace and serenity, and yet it felt like a garden of sadness, with grief dripping on every plant and bleeding through the four walls that surrounded it.

          Nikolai spotted Zoya in the middle of the dim garden, her back turned to him as she looked around. Snow was starting to fall, and it caught in the dark waves of her hair. Under the moonlight, she was glowing, a saint watching over the people. But behind the light that masked her real face, something was wrong. What once was her perfect stance and chin held high, she was now hunched, bent down, as if she were hiding from the world. 

          Then he felt it again, the sharp and painful tug in his chest. But this time, it felt different. This time, it was leading in a direction. 

          And it was leading towards her.

          Nikolai blinked, his eyes widening a fraction. Could it be—

          "I'm running out of room," she said, her voice barely a quivering whisper. 

          Had she known he was following her all along? 

          "Do you—" Nikolai shook his head, unsure of what to say. He tried again. "You tend to this place?" 

          Zoya was silent for a moment. Her shoulders had gone stiff the same way she was poised for battle. But Nikolai had merely asked a question, and he wondered if it was prying enough to cause that reaction from her. 

          "I needed somewhere to go to distract myself, and this has always been the place my feet would lead me to," she said quietly. "It was an old vegetable garden. I found it years ago, back when—" Her voice broke into a muffled cry, and yet there were no tears, like she refused to let them fall. She shook her head, her hands lifting as if to brag about the wonderful bunch of plants around her. But the gesture looked so helpless, so lost, and she let her arms fall back limply to her sides. Then in a broken whisper, she repeated, "I'm running out of room." 

          Nikolai's eyebrows drew tight in concern. He took a step towards her, and stopped almost immediately. It felt like he was treading across a dangerous line that neither of them ever had the guts to cross. Things were already too complicated, whether it’s about Ravka or about them, and he didn’t want to make things worse. But he refused to leave her on her own. Not like this. 

          Slowly, he made his way towards her, feeling the tug become stronger and stronger until he stopped at her side. He felt the cold seep through his clothes, harsh and biting like Zoya’s daily demeanor. But tonight, there was only grief and sadness, and it made everything even colder. 

          There was a long silence between them as he waited for Zoya to speak. Or if she wanted to speak. He wasn’t going to force anything from her. It was already a painful day for them to get through, and he wouldn’t add to the burden they were all carrying on their shoulders. He was grateful for the silence either way. 

          But when Zoya spoke later, her voice was quiet, lacking the usual sharpness it always had. “I plant something new for every Grisha lost,” she started. And there it was again, the heavy feeling in Nikolai’s chest that weighed down on him and made him struggle to breathe. It took all of Nikolai not to reach out for her. Then she lifted her hand and started pointing to the plants. “Heartleaf for Marie. Yew for Sergei. Red Sentinel for Fedyor. Even Ivan has a place. He was once a soldier like us too, before the Darkling corrupted him.” She touched her fingers to a frozen stalk near the edge of the soil bed. “This was for Harshaw, and they will blossom bright orange in the summer, just as bright as his ridiculous hair.”

          Nikolai felt a small smile twitch on his lips. There was an obvious jest in her tone, but her words were sad, still haunted by the past war they could never be free of. He reached for the plant, letting his fingers touch its leaves delicately. He dusted off the frost from the leaves’ surface, and it almost looked as new as ever. The Inferni had once fought beside him in the mountains and with Alina and the others in the Fold, proving his loyalty up until the very end. It was unfortunate that he didn’t get to see past the war as it had already taken his life. 

          “These Dahlias were for Nina when I thought she’d been captured and killed by the Fjerdans,” Zoya continued, her hands reaching out to the flowers next to Harshaw’s. “They bloom with the most ridiculous red flowers in the summer. They’re the size of dinner plates.” Then as steady as her hands were when she first reached out to touch them, they began to tremble badly. “This was the last one I vowed that I would plant. I kept promising myself over and over and over. But they only kept increasing. There was no end. And now David—” She stopped abruptly, her throat clogging up with a quiet sob. “I’m running out of room, Nikolai.”

          A tear escaped Nikolai’s eye, and he quickly wiped it away. He didn’t know why he did that. Earlier in the funeral, he didn't shed a single tear when he gave the eulogy, only the prickling pain that gave the first signs of tears. But they didn’t fall. Guilt had been clawing at him ever since, thinking that he hadn’t cared enough to show that he was mourning the loss of an old friend. It was only reasonable to cry; they were all grieving, after all. So why still hide, when there was no one else to see him?

          Then he realized it was what he had been used to. This was what they were taught. You don’t let yourself wallow in sadness—you get back up and continue on. No matter how heavy the weight on your shoulders was. 

          Soldiers did not cry. Princes did not weep. And kings should never get fazed by such sentiments and emotions. 

          But what if it was the only thing left to do?

          Nikolai glanced at Zoya, seeing tears staining her cheeks as well. She wiped at them hastily and tried her best to blink them away. He heard her draw in a shuddering breath. 

          “They will continue to thrive and bloom as long as they get taken care of,” said Zoya, her fingers curling around a stalk from the dahlias. “But what if they don’t? What if they stopped even as I tend to them everyday?”

          He immediately understood the deeper meaning behind her words. Every life lost under her watch; every Grisha blood staining her hands. It was the weight on her shoulders she had always carried, a weight that existed ever since she had been a soldier, up until now that she was their general. 

          If he could only take all the burden from her chest and carry it along with his own, he would have done it. But that wasn’t how it worked. They were all bound to have their own burdens—it would only be a matter of difference with the people around them that would help them get back up on their feet whenever they get too tired from carrying it all. 

          Nikolai let out a long breath, his gaze landing on the twisting gray branches that ran along the perimeter of the garden. He recognized it right away. “Thorn wood,” he murmured. He felt Zoya’s confusion even before she could voice it out, so he continued speaking. “It grows around, protecting everything within these walls, stronger than anything else in the garden, weathering every season. No matter the winter it endures, it still persists, all prickles and thorns and spines anger just to keep protecting everything here.” Then he turned to her, looking down at the bright and never-ending flames behind her eyes. He gave her a lopsided smile. “Those thorns, they remind me of you. Prickly and sharp, just like you are. But its purpose was to protect all these flowers and plants, like the way you protect our people.”

          Zoya almost looked like she was on the brink of breaking, but her questions persisted. “And what if the winter is just too long and hard? What if it can’t continue protecting them all?”

          He was afraid to reach for her, but he did it anyway. He took her gloved hand in his, and when he expected her to pull away, she didn’t. Instead she folded into him like a flower closing its petals at nightfall. “Then it would still be there, watching over all the flowers and plants, giving them the sense of protection, keeping them strong until the summer comes, even as its life withers away.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, a laugh escaping his lips. “I do hope I made sense with all that blabbering.”

          This earned a huff from his general. “Who says you ever did?” she said, but he felt her hand squeeze his back, gratitude evident even from that smallest of gestures. That was when tears fell from her eyes again, and Nikolai felt some of his own as well. 

          Trusting what his gut told him to do, he wrapped his arm around her. 

          And in the same exact moment, Nikolai didn’t feel the painful tug in his chest anymore. It was as if he had undone all the tangles and knots between, and he could finally pass through the thread without difficulties. 

          Zoya seemed to hesitate for a moment, and then with a soft breath, she let herself lean against him. Zoya the deadly. Zoya the ferocious. The weight of her against him felt like benediction, the long lost piece from the puzzle that he had been trying to figure out for years. For the first time in his short life, he felt at peace. He had been strong for his country, his soldiers, his friends. It meant something entirely different to be strong for her.

          When he thought that they did not look at each other for comfort, he had just been understanding it quite differently. No, they gave each other comfort in their own way—whether it was through sharp wits and harsh words that kept their will stronger, or even just through knowing looks and long silences. It was their way to tell each other that they were always there to keep each other marching on their feet, and pull each other from the darkness they were both continuously fighting their way out of. 

          There would still be a lot of problems to face, obstacles to get past with, lives to be lost. But they would be alright. They still had each other to get through everything, and it was enough. 

          Together.

          And that’s how it would be from then on until the very end.

***

He used to believe that the other end of the string was just like any other end, blunt and empty. Not once did he ever think that he could be wrong.

          Now, Nikolai knew one thing. It would always lead towards her.

[iron-mum]

I wish you would write a fic where Tony and kid Peter are being adorable father and son as retribution for the angst you’ve made me suffer through in the past hah! (JK I love you and your angst! 💛)

Well, well, well. What do we have here, eh? A request for adorable? I'm not sure, I'm very good at that 😌

Here's SIMTony who would stop at nothing to help his unwell son, Peter get better. Even if it meant using Extremis.

P.S. ILY3000 💕

In the final throes of the graveyard shift at the hospital floor, the elevator pinged for its frequent lone visitor. The front desk staff, whilst tense and sitting up suddenly straighter, knew not to actually engage. No ID was needed for their boss, one of them barely suppressing a gulp as his determined strides headed for the private room that had been deliberately placed near to the room equipped for every possible kind of emergency. Once inside, he carefully shut the door silently and took a seat at the bedside.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Sharp blue eyes shifted from the persistent buzzing of the most technologically advanced medical equipment anyone, anywhere could offer before looking back down to something far more invaluable and precious. Tony’s entire world. His purpose in life. The little boy on the bed lay motionless, breathing slowly and evenly, nose occasionally scrunching up at the discomfort of the oxygen mask upon him. He should have been cocooned in a hug from his father but instead his son, Peter, was littered with wires attaching him to the very best modern medicine had to offer.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Pale, soft skin with the daintiest of freckles stood out against the dark curls spread across the far too big pillow. The small fingers of his left hand had loosely closed around the calloused thumb of his father, letting him know that whilst he had been rendered weak from illness, he was still aware of his comforting presence. Tony’s index finger gently glided across the small knuckles, willing himself to see a tiny curve of the lips on his son’s face.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

This had been the Avengers fault. Peter’s current critical condition. The young boy had been on a school trip when a battle had broken out and the wannabe heroes managed to cause more destruction than lives saved. A chemical explosion had landed most of the class in hospital and many of them had ended up becoming very unwell. Unfortunately for Peter, he already suffered many ailments so even under the wing of Stark’s finest medical personnel, the struggle had taken a toll. The genius shook his head as thoughts of revenge started to sprout from the many seeds that had been planted since the catastrophic incident. He shelved the many ideas he had that would lead to the demise of the reckless group once his kid was better.

It had been hours when the sound of a nurse's footsteps acted as the catalyst that would remove Tony from the room so he could head back to his lab. As he reluctantly moved his hand away, there was no reaction. Not even a twitch from the slender child. Bending down, he tentatively stroked a small amount of the exposed skin that was available on the boy’s face before planting a light kiss on his forehead. By the time the nurse was opening the door to the room to complete the routine checks, any sign of a visitor would be long gone.

The moment Tony was back in his workshop, he strode towards his desk. Music started to reverberate from the ceiling, the sound greatly appreciated compared to the low hum and incessant beeping from the emotionless devices that were currently keeping his son alive.

Tony didn’t believe in a higher power other than himself. So in no way, shape or form was he ever going to accept that he couldn’t save Peter from the incurable illness now ravaging his frail body. Feeling powerless was simply not an option.

Rolling up the sleeve to his top, the genius opened a drawer and pulled out a device meant for extracting blood as painlessly as possible. Not that pain meant much to him these days. No pain would ever compete with a parent having to watch their child deteriorate every single second of every single day.

Satisfied with the draw, Tony placed it into a diagnostic machine of his own making. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the glass of his workshop, eyeing it like he was in the most intense staring contest of his life. Jaw clenching, his arm shot out allowing liquid metal to glide across his skin before firing a repulsor at the glass and shattering it. There was an element of irony to everyone loving his face except himself in the minimal but intrusive “what if” moments that surrounded his current situation. With a crack of his neck, his arm remained outstretched so the Endo-Sym armour could return to it’s housing tank.

“Boss, the results are back,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. informed as the music lessened in volume. “No adverse reactions detected still. The chemical composition indicates that the Extremis is unchanged in it’s integration with you on a genetic level and continues to remain stable.”

“And the sample from Peter?” Tony asked, confident that he knew what the answer would be.

“Also remaining stable.”

“Alert the staff intending to see Peter following tonight's shift that their presence will not be needed,” the genius demanded as he mentally reiterated the next steps of his plan in his head. Lips curled into devilishly handsome grin at his victory, eyes crinkling at the sides. The smile only softened when his eyes drifted to a framed picture Peter had drawn of the both of them. He’d done it.

“Certainly, boss,” the AI had responded without any acknowledgement. Tony was too busy in thought. Not only was the Extremis flowing through his own veins, leaving him feeling at perfect health. But soon, it would be doing the same for Peter too. Pain free, peak performance and at complete and optimal health.

“Have there been any sightings of the Avengers in the last hour? I feel a splash of revenge is in order for this special occasion?” The holo-screens in front of him started to flicker as social media sites were searched and hashtags refreshed repeatedly. Hulk had been trending within the hour and Hawkeye in the last eleven minutes.

"Well, how about that?" he grinned gleefully. "I really am being spoiled for choice."

Whilst the genius had been certain F.R.I.D.A.Y. had relayed the message to the morning staff, Tony still found himself exhaling sharply at the sight of someone sat by Peter’s side reading his file. The thin bag of Extremis in his hand was shifted into his back pocket as quickly as humanly possible. The good feeling from beating the shit out of one of the Avengers, plus the buzz of providing Peter with a cure that no meagre doctor had been able to, shifted into a tension as tried to work out who it was.

Their face was narrow with sharp features and glasz eyes remarkably penetrating when they met his perusing stare. His black hair had been combed back neatly, the sides of his temples a distinct light grey. The well fitted suit looked designer even for Tony’s impeccable standards.

“Your services are no longer required,” he affirmed with a dismissive flourish of the hands before the man could even introduce himself.

“I’m sorry?” the other man replied without hesitation, closing the file and rising from the chair. Tony’s chair. If he’d been expecting any pleasantries or introductions, he was thoroughly mistaken. Tony was already locked onto Peter, the gentle rise of his chest a welcoming sight as always. He refused to allow his attention to be divided, ignoring the piercing stare boring into him now. “I have an oath to this patient. He critically needs help from the best in all fields. He needs my help.”

The genius turned at that, an eyebrow raised as he looked the doctor up and down. He certainly held himself strongly for someone who had that much audacity in addressing the owner of everything within his current vicinity.

“Are you new around here… Doctor Strange?” He asked disingenuously, eyes narrowing as he scrutinised the name badge. The letters ‘VISITOR - Dr Stephen Strange’ jotted on the bottom, likely the reason he hadn’t got his AI’s memo. The receptionist who let him in would be fired whether it was her fault or not.

“Unlike everyone else in this building, no, I don’t work for you” the doctor shot back tersely. “However, you were so insistent on my consultation that, somehow, I found my diary completely cleared of all surgeries that were booked in.”

“Well, you can now stick them back in your diary. We’re done here.”

“I know this is difficult,” the doctor started, tone suddenly softer as if he were hoping a change of tact would get through. “You brought me in for my expertise, so use them.”

“I’m the most intelligent, capable person on the planet. I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

“Your arrogance surpasses all the rumours and expectations I had of you,” Strange snapped back incredulously. Apparently nothing was going to get through. “Your child is-”

“You know, it would be a real shame if you were to lose your medical licence, wouldn't it, doctor?” Tony sneered dangerously low. This ungrateful little shit was going to get it for not only wasting his time and energy, but also his son’s. An insignificant speck like the rest of the world.

“Are you threatening me?” the doctor replied doing his best to keep his tone cool and unflinching when the other man removed all personal space between them. The lack of intimidation he was feeling only pissed Tony off more.

“Let’s not test my resolve, doctor.” Despite feeling completely wrong about leaving considering Peter’s condition, Dr Stephen Strange tucked the file he’d been reading under his arm and left the room in just a few strides. Tony had spotted the hand diving for a phone as the door shut behind him and clenched his fists in disdain.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., be a darling and ensure Doctor Douchebag doesn’t make it back home,” Tony demanded followed by a nonchalant sniff.

“Yes, boss. His phone has also unexpectedly lost all signal so will not be usable anytime soon.”

Satisfied with the course of action his AI had taken, Tony locked the door to his son’s room for good measure. He eyed the current equipment before making his move. One of the drips currently providing Peter with much needed medicine was switched to make way for a sample of the Extremis that Tony had meticulously created and tested on himself. He peered at his son, swallowing thickly that this would all be worth it.

Bag secured, the first few drops started instantly, the older man watching as they flowed along the thin tubes before entering the cannula imposed on Peter’s hand. The skin began to glow orange, the lava looking trail gliding all the way up the arm’s before entering the chest. Daring a glance at the monitors, Tony noted an instant improvement in the readouts. A smile spread across his face as sheet-white, sickly skin started to immediately brighten.

Peter’s big, brown doe eyes suddenly shot open as he took a huge gulp of air, eyes landing on his father who was remarkably in focus for the first time in his life without the aid of glasses. Tony removed the oxygen mask so he could take his son’s face in fully for the first time in well over a month.

“Dad?” the young boy croaked, clearly a little disoriented from the abrupt wake up.

“Hey, buddy,” Tony whispered, voice cracking with emotion as he closed the distance between them.

Peter lunged at his father, his small arms wrapping tightly around the genius’ neck and face burying into his chest. It had been far too long since either had been able to enjoy the tender, heart-bursting feeling of overwhelming, unconditional love from one another.

“I love you, kiddo.” Tony gushed as one of his hand’s lovingly cupped the back of Peter's head holding him as close as possible. The other enveloped around his back, his thumb slowly stroking up and down. When the older man's hand started to trail through Peter's hair, the boy somehow managed to burrow even closer. Tony soothingly lifted curls between his fingers and then let them ping back as new life continued to circle through his son’s body.

“I love you too, dad,” Peter whispered, a strain evident in his voice that Tony hadn’t been expecting. When he leant back, he saw the likely cause. Now unnecessary wires were tugging at his child’s skin.

“Let’s get these off you, bud. You don’t need them anymore,” he promised softly as he carefully went to work at removing the monitoring equipment clips and stickers. Peter’s curious eyes followed every step of the way, surprisingly not wincing even when some of the tougher stickers were peeled away. Although he was too young to even begin comprehending what had happened, he knew from vague memories he’d been hurt and that he’d slept a lot. Often he had been unsure if he was dreaming or awake when he’d hear his father read him stories, express his love and let him know how brave he was being. A slight tug on his hand drew him from his recollection as he looked down.

"I’m scared," Peter timidly admitted as he eyed up the last piece of medical equipment attached to him. The cannula in his hand.

“Here’s what we're gonna do, bud. We’re going to put on our brave faces and before you know it, it’ll be all done and over with. Can you show me your bravest, fiercest face?” Tony gently challenged, as part of his upper lip curled and he playfully growled.

The child’s dinky nose scrunched up and his lips pushed out into the biggest pout he could form. He shook his head a little and hummed in a way that likely felt fierce to him but could only be described as adorable to his dad.

"Wowzer. That was super mean, you nearly scared me!” Tony gasped dramatically, as he gestured for the boy to look down and see that the only thing on the top of his hand was a small cotton wool ball and a light pressure from his dad. Using his free hand to fish into his pocket, Tony revealed a green Paw Patrol sticker with Peter’s favourite character, Rocky, on it.

It had been a distant memory since the young boy had handed it to him, having spotted the numerous nicks and cuts that littered his hard working hands after a long day in the workshop. Extremis meant Peter wouldn’t even need it, but the placebo effect would make it worth it.

“Am I all better, daddy?” Peter asked as Tony eyed him up once more. The overwhelmed father cupped his kid’s face and planted another kiss on his forehead, relief washing over him that he was now free from the concatenation of medical instrumentation.

“You most certainly are. And that means we get to skedaddle out of here.”

Before his son could anticipate his next move, his father had scooped him up into his arms and they were making their way not only out of the room, but off of the floor for good.

They’d had a chance to change into matching casual wear and feasted on a huge breakfast before snuggling up on the sofa. Peter had selected an Octonauts movie to watch as he tucked into his father’s side and enjoyed the sound of his steady heartbeat.

It would be a couple of hours when Tony’s phone pinged with a notification he knew was F.R.I.D.A.Y. when she was being discreet. His son huffed at the movement as he shuffled to get the phone out of his pocket, muttering an apology to his kid before opening the message.

[Unfortunate accident on the Hawk’s Nest, Route 97. Vehicle crossed the barrier and rolled multiple times down the cliff’s edge before landing in the Delaware River. Initial scan from one of the Iron Sight Bot #364 shows one survivor.]

Tony’s smirk widened into a full blown smile. Peter’s heart-of-gold eyes suddenly on him, looking up from his position. It was likely a silent protest at the lack of head strokes he was suddenly receiving so the genius replied swiftly.

[Call off any emergency services and get him med-evaced here.]

“You know what I think we need. Celebratory cheeseburgers for lunch,” he announced as Peter let out a squee of joy.

[belovasangel]

Kintsugi

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!GN!Reader

WC: 1641

Summary: Peter needs a push to help an old ally.

Warnings: Swearing, ANGST, hopeful ending

A/N: First off, thank you for reading this. I haven’t written in maybe a year so this might be not the best. I want to shout out Polaroid15 for inspiring me to write. Something else in this fic I should mention, Peter’s identity isn’t exposed and in the Blip he aged according to current-time (so in this he is 18-19)

“In Japanese culture, Kintsugi is the reformative art to repair broken pottery. The shattered pieces are taken and glued back together with a binding agency and gold paint. There is a metaphor between each crack and gold stroke, as the meaning is deeper than restoring a pot. It’s meant to give hope and to empower those who are deemed ‘broken.’ The point is to tell people to embrace their insecurities and you will be okay in the end.”

Peter Parker rolled his eyes and looked back at his notes. The background film of his art history course droned on, as the school stuck the Blipped students into a course to graduate faster. He began to doodle along the sides of the pages, drawing the Spider-Man suit and a few webs. He thought of Ned, sitting on his MIT campus, working on his computer engineering software, and hoped he was thinking of Peter as well. Him and Ned made a pact back in freshman year to attend MIT together and when the Blip hit, Ned kept his promise. And at this rate, Peter will be in their dorm room by March. 

He looked back up at the lecture briefly to watch the credits roll, only to notice afterwards the teacher had fallen asleep at the desk. The other students got the same idea to pack up and leave for the weekend early. Peter began stuffing his notes in his backpack and stood to walk out, only to bump into a fast body.

“Hey-” 

Peter looked up, his backpack falling to the floor in a heavy heap. He looked up angrily, fully expecting Flash to be staring back, however he saw the red-faced (Y/N) staring back with doe eyes. “Peter, I am so sorry...” 

He huffed and shoved (Y/N) back with his shoulder to grab his stuff. “You can leave, ya know? Don’t need to watch me pick up the mess you made.” He audibly heard them gulp and quicken their breathing. With a quick shuffle, they walked out of the class. Peter stood quickly and recalled the events leading to their icy encounter. He can feel sympathetic towards them, as Mr. Stark passed away tragically about a year ago. While Peter has come to terms painfully with his death, he can tell (Y/N) still is struggling. He knows they had a plan to attend Yale or Stanford after this, but those plans have derailed fully. Peter knew (Y/N) wasn’t fully ready to accept they need to grow up and move on. He wouldn’t be the one to put gasoline on an already erupting fire. Hopefully Pepper can say something

He began walking down the halls of the school, remembering the small memories along the halls. Lifting the lockers during Homecoming to get his suit, him and Ned discussing the plans to build the Death Star, and even when MJ first opened her locker next to the two (and immediately asked, “what are you two losers looking at?”). Fond, fond memories. 

Peter hopped on the subway, getting minorly excited to begin patrolling the city. May has plans tonight, he hopes it’s a date so he can spy once or twice, but overall it’s sitting on buildings and eating those amazing subs. The moment Peter stepped into the apartment, May was on him. “Hey, my beautiful boy genius, how was school?”

He laughed as she kissed and pinched his cheeks. “Hey May. It was fine, boring. How are you, need any date prep?” She turned bright red and looked back to the newspaper. “Peter, I told you it’s not a date. Happy and I are-”

“Your date is with Happy?” Peter popped his backpack to the floor with a quick thump. May gave a sheepish look, fully expecting this from him. “Peter I promise you, Happy is super kind and is going to treat me great tonight.”

He sighed, pulling at his hair minorly. “Do I need to chaperone you?” She laughed and shook her head, “we’ll be fine Pete. Anyways, to change the subject, Pepper called you earlier and asked for you to swing by the Tower when you get a chance.” Peter nodded, head still foggy with holy fuck, Happy is going to get with my Aunt.

He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and ran to his room, changing into his suit and flopping out the window. Within the first few hours, Peter stopped three guys from breaking into cars, saved a cat from a tree and rescued an old lady from oncoming traffic. As the sun was setting, and Peter got to enjoy the sunset with his sub, he decided to call Pepper.

“Hey Pep, what’s going on?”

He could hear her sigh on the other side, and he took a bite in anticipation. “I need your help Peter. And I know you won’t like it.” With a mouthful of spinach, salami and bread, he said muffled, “you can count on me.”

“I need you to help (Y/N).” Peter promptly spit his sub out of his mouth with a sharp cough and inhale. “What? What’s wrong?” Pepper sighed again. “(Y/N) isn’t okay. They’re only leaving their room for school and that’s it. I deliver them breakfast and dinner, we barely talk between the doors. Plus they come home late every night and I need to know what’s going on.”

Peter bit his inner cheek. Of course (Y/N) is being selfish towards Pepper, seems about right. Peter felt like this was a sign, to finally see what’s going on and help Pepper reconnect with her kid. Yet, Peter didn’t want to give (Y/N) any slack. They’re being rude and not grateful for what they have. “Of course, Pepper. I’ll keep you posted. Does K.A.R.E.N. have her location?”

“No, she turned off her location a while ago. Thank you Peter.” He nodded, knowing she couldn’t see. With a quick end, he threw the mask on and dove off the crane. He searched every alley in all of Queens, ever corner store, checked every rooftop and park and bridge and under every car. He found a huge ass tree and even climbed it. Peter didn’t want to let Pepper down, even if he felt more and more annoyed with (Y/N). He knew they wouldn’t leave the city, but this was getting ridiculous. Eventually, around 11:30 P.M., he found them sitting in front of a large mural of Tony. There were flowers along the painting, along with lit candles and teddy bears. Peter felt his blood boiling, knowing they could have had their location on this whole time. 

“What the fuck are you doing (Y/N)? Pepper is besides herself worried. You’re being so fucking selfish, leaving her alone every damn night. She is suffering, wondering why her own child won’t talk to her while you’re out here hiding! What are you scared of? Why can’t you grow up? He died! Get over it!”

Peter creeped up closer and closer to them, not listening to the sniffling and heaving breaths of (Y/N). As he reached them, he saw they were hunched over and panting. “What’s wrong? Get up,” Peter sneered as he pulled their shoulder back. He let out a gasp and let go, in complete shock of what he saw. Their face was littered with bruises and cuts. Their right eye was completely swollen and the under eye bags were as dark as the sky. “Are you okay?”

They scoffed and pushed away Peter’s hand, and struggled to get off the ground. Many groans and gasps were shed as they stood slouched. Peter quickly noticed the large gash on their side, and he could tell they were severely injured. “We need to get you to the tower right now, c’mon.” 

As he got closer, (Y/N) stumbled back to avoid his touch. Peter scoffed and tried to reach again, but with the same result. “Stop being stupid and let me help you.” They stopped and let out a large laugh. “Now you fucking care about me, when it will make you look good. I can just imagine Pepper telling me how great and caring you are, and how brave you were to go searching for their lost child. Fuck off with this savior complex, Peter, you can’t save everyone! Some people were meant to suffer and burn and fucking die in the end.”

Peter had never felt so confused in his life. He tried reaching out for the third time and was shut down. They began to walk towards him, fire and tears in their eyes. “Do you have any idea how much fucking pain I feel every day? When my father died, Pepper and I were so shattered, but instead of staying with family she decided to work with you, the great and friendly Spider-Man! Why help your own kin when the prodigy is doing just as bad? I am so sick of living in your shadow Peter! It’s like the universe is telling me I was a mistake! You ruined my life. You are the reason my father is dead. You are the reason I wish it was me instead!”

They fell to their knees in agony, letting out screaming sobs and pained sounds. He quickly recovered, wiping his own tears to comfort them. “I am so sorry (Y/N), I am so so sorry.” Peter put his hands under their arms and lifted them into his arms, as fast as he could go to avoid another lash out. He began to swing them back, and in a quiet voice, (Y/N) whispered into his neck. “Why wasn’t it me, Peter?”

And in that moment, Peter realized that some people need help being put back together. Maybe Kintsugi isn’t so dumb after all.

[fresh-prince-of-denmark]

Analysis of the Devil Ending: Who Died and Left Aristotle In Charge of Ethics? (Pt 5)

Hello and welcome back to me over-analyzing everything in Cyberpunk. If you haven’t read my other posts, please read those first! (V’s Mikoshi Poem, Johnny’s Mikoshi Poem, The Sun, New Dawn Fades).

This part took me a lot longer to complete. Not because it was particularly long…it was just painful. Jesus Christ. I hated every second of this ending. That shit hurted.

There were a few shards located at Arasaka’s estate that I chose to skip, as I did not find ant that were unique to the location. The three the game seemed to want to draw your attention to were actually not scattered as shards, they were spoken-word. The only shard I was able to find was a portion of The Odyssey. The other two pieces of literature are In Kyoto, which is quoted to V by the guard to takes her to the hospital room, and (what I believe to be) a reference to Plato’s The Allegory of the Cave. This section is going to be super theoretical. Like, more theoretical than the rest. So bare with me please.

Let’s start easy. This is the poem that the guard quotes at V as he leads her out of the operating room:

In Kyoto,

hearing the cuckoo,

I long for Kyoto

(By: Basho, translated by Jane Hirshfield)

Ten words. What could ten words amount to? The saddest goddamn words you’ll ever hear, dammit.  This poem is a feeling more than a concept. Ever feel homesick when you haven’t gone anywhere? Lonely when you’re around other people? That’s V. This was supposed to be a victory, supposed to be what they wanted. But now Johnny’s gone, scorned and betrayed, and no one they calls seems to even be able to give V the time of day. This was supposed to be a victory, their way of going back to the way things were, getting their life back, going home. But we can never go back, can’t ever erase our experiences, what we learn, how we grow. As Misty says, we should not fear change in of itself, but who we might change into. This just goes to show what happens when we betray ourselves by rejecting our own growth: all that’s left is bitterness and sorrow.

The next day when V wakes, you can pick up a shard containing a section from Chapter 8 of The Odyssey. Now, I’m not too familiar with the Odyssey. In fact, I hate the Odyssey. So if anyone wants to jump in here and add something more intelligent, I’m all for it. The Odyssey is the tale of Odysseus, who has been trying for ten long years to return to his wife and son after the Trojan war. Odysseus is basically listening to a bard remind him of all his Trojan War trauma, and begins to weep, at which time time people start questioning what’s up with this guy:

Say what thy birth, and what the name you bore,

Imposed by parents in the natal hour?

(For from the natal hour distinctive names,

One common right, the great and lowly claims:)

Say from what city, from what regions toss'd,

And what inhabitants those regions boast?

So shalt thou instant reach the realm assign'd.

In wondrous ships, self-moved, instinct with mind;

No helm secures their course, no pilot guides;

Like man intelligent, they plough the tides,

Conscious of every coast and every bay,

That lies beneath the sun's all-seeing ray;

Though clouds and darkness veil the encumber'd sky,

Fearless through darkness and through clouds they fly;

Though tempests rage, though rolls the swelling main,

The seas may roll, the tempests may rage in vain,

E'en the stern god that o'er the waves presides,

Safe as they pass, and safe repass the tides,

With fury burns; while careless they convey

Promiscuous every guest to every bay,

These ears have heard my royal sire disclouse

A dreadful story, big with future woes;

How Neptune raged, and how, by his command,

Firm rooted in a surge a ship would stand

A monument of wrath; how mound on mound

Should bury these proud towers beneath the ground.

But this the gods may frustrate or fulfill,

As suits the purpose of the Eternal Will.

But say through what waste regions hast thou stray'd

What customs noted, and what coasts survey'd;

Possess'd by wild barbarians fierce in arms,

Or men whose bosom tender pity warms?

Say why the fate o Troy awaked thy cares,

Why heaved thy bosom, and why flowed thy tears?

Reading this made me feel just how tired V must be. All this fighting, all this war, and for what? Much like Odysseus, V has been through hell and back (literally, depending on how you see it). And it never seems to end. V has been fighting for so long, yet there’s always something more; the tests the doctor gives her are endless, and they’re always being asked to do more, over and over again, with no results or end in sight. Odysseus is teetering on despair; nothing he does seems to do will ever be enough, just like V. The world will just take and take and take. It’s exactly what V’s poem asserts in Mikoshi; the world cannot be fixed, and resistance is futile. You can’t change how corporations rule the world, and as a protestor states on the TV in the hospital room, the rich have no boundaries or morals, and we are powerless to stop them from taking whatever they want. They can take not only our souls, but our bodies, devour them in order to prolong their own lives. Johnny would, of course, disagree. Even a slap in the face to The Man is better than submitting to a corpo-leash, even if that is the easier path. And in fact, he may be right, since it seems taking Hanako’s offer is the conformist path, and the only one that leads to Saburo coming back.

But Johnny isn’t there anymore to walk the rebel path at their side. No more guardian angel to whisper when they it most to never stop fighting.

There’s a lot more we could go into here with the Odyssey; comparing Arasaka to the story of Polyphemus and the cave, talking about themes of passion vs. commitment, yadayadayada. I hate the Odyssey so that can be someone else’s problem tbh.

The final piece is what the doctor asks V to read as one of their tests. Now, on surface-level, this is foreshadowing if V will choose to stay in their body, or be turned into an engram. It’s laughing at them, really, both pitying and mocking the fact that they believe they have a choice, since either way they’re once again at the mercy of the rich and powerful:

“And it was a sight to behold, he said, how a soul would choose its life; sometimes pitiable, sometimes laughable at times wonderful and strange. For in most cases, the souls made their choice according to the habits of a former life.”

I couldn’t find where this was from, or if it was a quote from anything. But googling it does bring up Plato’s Allegory of The Cave, which I thinks tracks pretty well. I found a quote from this chapter of Plato’s The Republic, which is strikingly similar in meaning. For the sake of my sanity, lets assume that this quote is referencing this one from Plato:

“And he will count the one happy in his condition and state of being, and he will pity the other; or, if he have a mind to laugh at the soul which comes from below into the light, there will be more reason in this than in the laugh which greets him who returns from above out of the light into the cave.”

If you’re unfamiliar with the allegory of the cave, it’s a philosophical discussion from Plato’s The Republic. It’s about how human perception is limited, and so true knowledge comes from the self via philosophical reasoning. Much like humans imprisoned in a cave with only shadows as their entire world, we cannot imagine the true world outside the cave until we leave to see it for ourselves.  Those who are freed from this limited reasoning have a duty to go back and free others, subjecting them to the full experience of awakening; both the pain and the triumph it entails. V starts out with a limited perception of things; a surface-level world, never stopping to see the bigger picture, until Johnny comes along and encourages them to question the status quo. In all other endings, V accepts this enlightenment. They challenge Arasaka, and try to follow Johnny’s legacy and Stick It To the Man. Yet if they accept Hanako’s offer in an attempt to return to “the habits of a former life,” they are rejecting this new understanding, refusing to leave the cave and live in ignorant bliss. This, I believe, is where Johnny’s true feeling of betrayal comes from: not because he’s being shredded, and not because he thinks V doesn’t know any better. V learned and changed just as much as he did, and this growth was something they were able to gift to one another. Johnny is proud of his change, proud to be someone trusted by V, proud at a second chance not to fuck things up. When V gives him control to go with Rogue to Arasaka, he’s ecstatic to prove himself worthy of that trust, to prove that he’s changed. Yet V, the person who aided in that change, is now actively ignoring and rejecting their own growth, and thus is betraying themselves. By not using their enlightenment to actively oppose the status quo and rebel, they are choosing the side of the oppressor by default.

Some of her last words if you choose not to sign the contract are to Goro, “You have no idea how good it feels to be free.” But the truth is, V is not free, and now they will never be free. By walking the path they have, they are choosing willful ignorance, stubbornly clinging to the darkness of the cave because it is easier to convince oneself that they are not a prisoner at all than it is to leave the comfort of one’s chains. Either way, they are caged, even if the bars the rich and powerful build around her are clear instead of solid. Her so-called freedom (and knowledge) is pure illusion — shadows depicted on a cave wall.

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

Hello💖 can I get a Fuegoleon scenario where his s/o was pregnant but only found out after he was in the coma, and after he wakes up and finishes with the fighting he finally goes to see them and he just starts sobbing in happiness and says how weak he was tonot be there and his s/o has to assure him?�� sorry if this is too specific ❤

Hello love! 🤗 Don’t worry, it wasn’t too specific 🥰 I hope that this is what you had in mind and that you find it suitable 💕

Notes: a hint of angst, but a happy ending

The attack on the Royal capital had been settled in terms of immediate threat and the knights were allowed to take a deep breath. Of course, they knew that the ordeal was far from over as the aftermath would follow, but as dust of the fight had started to settle Fuegoleon started asking around for you. He had not seen you anywhere and fear had started to creep up on him. He knew that you wouldn’t just sit by and not take part when it came to protecting the kingdom, which caused the worst of possibilities running through his mind like shadows of approaching winter.

As he asked his knights about your whereabouts, he was faced with uncertain expressions laced with terror. The silence that hung in the air only made his worry grow, but none knew precisely what to say. After all, so much had happened while he had been in a coma and they didn’t quite know how to break it to him. Other than Mereoleona. She knew her brother and saw that others would just keep circling around the bush, which would only deepen his worry. So, she told him straight about you and the child that you bore for him.

His mind went blank and all he could do was stare at Mereo. Memories of the few last weeks prior to his coma flashed before his eyes, your then slightly strange symptoms now making perfect sense. Guilt landed onto his shoulders, weighing him down and cuffing him in place. The memory of being so caught up with his own duties that he had failed to see your pregnancy, he had failed to realize that you were about to become parents; it all carved out his heart, but it didn’t make him hesitate. So, he asked once more: “Where is she?”

He could barely register the moment he was told where you now were, tending to your new-born, as he had already started running. He had to see you. He had to see that you both were alright. I have a child, the thought filling his consciousness as he raced, exhausting what mana he still had left and yet, he did not feel the resulting tiredness. Tears formed in his eyes out of joy, grief, guilt, love, and so many more that he couldn’t name but neither did he try. All he focused on was you and your child.

Once he finally reached our door, his sides burning from lack of oxygen and tears running down his cheeks, he raised his shaking hand to knock at your door. He waited, seconds feeling like hours as he stood there, waiting for you to answer. It was only as he was preparing to break down the door, did he feel a faint flutter of your mana. You were alive and he let out a small sigh of relief before the door started slowly opening up.

You peaked from behind the door, thinking that a criminal wouldn’t bother knocking and what you saw, took your breath way. You pushed the door aside, covering your mouth with your hand as tears started streaming from your eyes. You dove into his arms, him embracing you as tightly as he could before collapsing onto the ground. His embrace felt surreal, making you question if you really had survived the attack. You sobbed in each other’s arms for a brief second before you got an overwhelming desire to go check on your child, it occurring to you that he might not know about your child. “Fuego… we- we have a…” you sobbed as he cupped your cheeks only to smile at you as he simply replied through his tears: “I know.” You fumbled back inside, Fuego following right behind as you both made your way to your child.

You picked them up, cradling them in your arms for a moment before gazing to Fuego. “Would you like to hold them?” Your question coming out as whisper as you hoped not to scare the baby. Fuego swallowed and held his arms forward, small tremors still passing through his body as he nodded. You took a step closer to him and carefully placed your child onto his arms. “Careful with the head,” you stated by instinct, him only nodding to your statement as he took a hold, resting the baby on his left arm as he wasn’t quite certain how much mana he could still evoke to his arm and he didn’t wan to risk it.

The baby’s eyes opened and gazed into their father’s. You moved your hand closer, preparing yourself to hear them cry, but instead what you heard was the pure laughter of a child. Your hand retracted as it rose over your lips in disbelief. Usually they cried if held by anyone else but you, and yet, now they were laughing. You felt new tears staring to stream down the already dried trails as you watched them, two pairs of purple eyes meeting for the first time and yet seeming as if they had known each other always. Your vision started blurring, but even through the grey veil of overwhelming happiness you saw his jaw quivering as he started sobbing as violently as you.

His arms curled around your child as if he was trying to shield them from all the evil the world possessed before collapsing on his knees. You followed him onto the floor, feeling neither the cold or hardness of it as all you focused on was the two of them. His tears fell onto the swaddle and he closed his eyes as his body hunched over the still giggling baby, who must’ve recognized their father.

“I’m so sorry…” he sobbed, which made the smile on your lips turn into a frown as you couldn’t first quite grasp what he was talking about. You placed your hand onto his back, drawing circles with your thumb as you turned your teary eyes to him, waiting for him to continue. “I’m so sorry that I wasn’t there for you… for you both…If only I would’ve been stronger…” his words made your heart fall to the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. He blamed himself for what had been done to him, what had been done to all of you.

You hunched over his form, the bets you could, and held him close. “Darling… don’t blame yourself. You did your best to protect this kingdom all who live here, including me and our child, and you’re still here to do so in the future.” You paused as you took a deep breath, trying to make your words gather the gravity that they needed to have. “Honey, it wasn’t your fault. It’s something that was done to you, and you came to us as fast as you could. It’s all that I could ask from you.” Your words wrapped around him like a large comforting blanket that brought warmth to his soul, making his body relax under you.

“My love, look at me,” you implored as you shifted in your placed and cupped his cheek into your palm. He turned his head to you, apprehensively, but he did, and looked at you with reddened eyes. “You’re here now and that’s all that matters,” you whispered as your lips grew closer to his. You pecked him softer than neither of you could remember having done before, bringing his tears to a halt. As you pulled away and gazed at one another you saw his sorrow and guilt subside, your love being the ray of sunshine that cascaded onto his complexion from your soft smile.

He sank back into your arms as you both looked at your new born child with nothing by adoration. Only the sound of a joyful chuckle of a baby willing the room as you pressed your heads together and enjoyed the feeling of finally being a family.

[treasure-hwa]

skate park

pairing: yeosang x neutral reader

genre: fluff, angst if you squint

synopsis: while trying to remember you are worthy good things, you meet a boy who will make everything feels better.

word count: 1.220

author's note: in general, Yeosang skater boy, because everybody deserves it. To the lovely @ateezstanlove, who said she was going away while I was in the middle of this imagine, then, came back few weeks later. Girl, don't do that to me again, thanks. Anyway, hope you all like this.

Another stressful day of dealing with fake friends, mean people and bad thoughts. Your energy was low, not the lowest, because you definitely had worse days, but low enough to make you stompe out of school and go straight to the skate park a few blocks away. Did you skate? No, you never even tried, but the skate park was a place that helped you relax, the sunset and breeze at the end of the day were irresistible and seemed to wash your worries and anger away.

Most of the times you went there, it was empty, only the sounds of kids playing on the playground beside it could be heard and they did not annoy you. This time, though, a boy was there. The boy carried a red backpack on his back and was agile on top of his skateboard, not vacillating once. You sat on one of the ramp curves and tried to ignore him, focusing on you, but the sounds of the skate wheels were quite comforting actually.

The sun, that was slowly beginning to set, sun hit your face, warming it, and the breeze made your clothes shuffle while you swung your feet. You started thinking about your day, going back to the mean things you heard and trying to reassure yourself about each of them. “Your problems are nothing like mine”, they are not similar, but both are valid; “Stop being an attention seeker”, you are not, you just wanted a simple “hello, how are you?”, to be included; “You can’t even do this right, how...”, it is okay if you are not good at something, that does not mean you are a failure; “Don’t you think you bothered them enough?”, if you bother those people, you are not meant to be together. Your mind was slowly healing, your soul going back to normal and...

— Hi.

A deep voice broke your moment of peace, scaring you, who would have fallen off the ramp if it was not for the boy’s arm in front of you, preventing your pathetic fall.

— I'm sorry, I didn't want to scare you like that.

Turning to him, you took in his appearance. A light pink beanie hiding most of his brown hair, a small black earring on his ear, black sweater, earphones hanging on his neck and black jeans that hugged his thighs perfectly. The boy looked like a total skater one and was incredibly good looking, you went far thinking that he could probably be the most handsome boy you have ever met.

— It's okay. — You coughed, pretending you were not checking him out. — I'm easily scared. But hi.

The boy rubbed his nape with his free hand, giggling and thinking of a way to keep talking to you. He did not know why he walked up to your sitting place, but you looked cute enjoying your surroundings and swinging your legs like a little kid, you were not even paying attention to him, so he could not help himself, he needed to stop his skating and talk to you.

— I'm Yeosang. You? — When you told him your name, he repeated it quietly, as if making sure he would remember.

— You skate well — you complimented.

— Oh? Did you see that? Thank you.

You nodded a bit awkwardly. Understand, you were never the type to talk to pretty boys, let alone a strange one, so Yeosang coming to your side and starting conversation made you flustered.

— Do you skate? — He picked up his skateboard full of drawings.

— No, never tried. By the way, your skateboard is so colorful, it's cool.

— Yeah, I agree. My friend likes to decorate things and said once my plain white skateboard was boring, so he asked me if he could draw on it. I let him and the result was pretty amazing.

The object was black, but had all the important Adventure Time characters drawn on it.

— Is it your favorite cartoon?

— Yeah, I only asked him to draw something that matched me, so he did this. I really liked the result.

— Ahh, got it. It's beautiful. A friend of mine likes to decorate things too, so she did this on my backpack. — You showed him the straps of your backpack decorated with positive words, flowers and doodles of your favorite activities.

He gasped seeing them, then suggested introducing your friends, because they would for sure get along so well. You agreed on that, even if you both barely knew each other to be introducing friends and probably would not do that.

Yeosang was about to speak again, but a stronger breeze hit you both before he could, so you stood there, appreciating nature all around you. When it was possible to talk again, you both spoke at the same time:

— Do you wanna try skating?

— What were you listening to?

He giggled along you, heads turned to the side and a slight blush coming up to both faces. The boy told you to answer first.

— Maybe not today, okay? I really don’t want to fall.

Yeosang said there was no problem, already anxious to see you again, but masking it by talking about the songs he was previously listening to. That way, you spent several minutes talking as if you knew each other for months, not merely for an hour. The boy was quite pleasant to have around, his smile was cute and a bit contained, as was his laugh, but you felt so close and good with him already. You felt so secure that you decided to confide in him the reason you were there when he asked what you were doing on a skate ramp if you did not like to skate.

— This is… my safe place.

— Safe from what? If you don’t mind me asking, obviously.

— No, it’s okay. Here is safe from cruel people trying to bring me down, safe from thoughts that drive me insane; the nature around here calms me, it seems to understand my worries and heal my heart.

— That’s quite beautiful, you know? — You chuckled, shaking your head. — I’m being honest. I think it’s cool you come here and enjoy your surroundings while remembering yourself you’re worthy tranquility and peace. I barely know you, but I think you are worthy.

— How do you know that? I could be the meanest person in the world trying to gain your attention by creating another personality to myself.

— Are you?

— Well, no, but…

— Then that’s it. I trust you.

Chuckling again and looking down, you glanced at your watch, noticing it was too late, time to be home. The sun had set and the lamp posts around were on, however neither of you paid attention to it earlier.

— Yeosang, it was great to meet you, but I need to go now.

— Ah. Okay, no problem, but, maybe, we could… you know. — The boy scratched his nape, embarrassed to ask for your number out loud, so he stretched his phone for you and looked away. Fortunately for him, you giggled and took the phone from his hands, adding your contact and saying “send me a hi later, skater boy” before leaving him with a teeny weeny piece of your heart behind.

[the-andy-and-chase-show]

First Time (Andy Kang x Gender Neutral MC)

Warnings: NSFW

Author’s note: This is my first Andy x MC ever and I wanted it to be perfect but I guarantee it isn’t, sorry! I wrote this because I was a little disappointed that PB never gave us a chance to be physically intimate with our LI in “It Lives in the Woods”, so I took matters into my own hands. This was written with the intention of having a gender neutral MC, but I did base it off of my MC who I headcanon as non binary and whose name I use in the story once, Please go easy on me and I hope you enjoy.

It took a while before you and Andy were completely comfortable being physically intimate with one another. Of course, you’d always shown your affection to each other in numerous other ways, whether it’d be emotionally or physically. It was far from uncommon for you two to spoil each other with kisses and cuddles in public and private. There were times when you had come close, moments where he would teasingly dip his fingers beneath the waistband of your jeans and make you ache for him; times where he would trail playful nips down your navel or mark your skin dark purple kisses, but you’d never gone further than that.

You were overwhelmed with nerves when he had told you he was ready, you never wanted him to feel as if he had to push himself to satisfy you.

“You’re already more than enough,” You’d told him honestly every time he broached the topic, wringing his hands and occasionally holding back tears. It was a fear that frequently nagged at Andy, that you’d grow bored and abandon him for someone more capable. The thought slayed him.

“Andy…. you couldn’t be boring if you tried,” You had said pecking his nose, “Relationships are more than just sex.” You’d always hold him afterward, refusing to let go until you saw the pain leave his eyes.

But Andy was certain now; He wanted all of you, more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. And to have all of you, he needed to give you all of himself.

“You’re absolutely sure, Andy?” You asked for the hundredth time, rubbing circles on his back. He was nestled in between your legs, his torso flush against yours, the position you both preferred

“I’m positive,” He answered, burrowing his face in the crook of your neck. He hesitates a moment before pressing his tongue against your skin, his lips brushing your nape in a series of eager open kisses. Desire builds in your core at the feeling and your arms come tighter around him,

“Andy that feels-“ You shiver, “god it’s so lovely.” It didn’t matter how many times he pleasured you like this, even the simplest gestures were enough to fill you with an astronomical amount of affection. Andy hums against your skin, his hand snakes up your side and dips beneath the hem of your shirt.

“Can I?” He asked, meeting your eyes. You nod, melting as his fingers roam your skin. He traced a finger up your navel, pressed his palm across your ribs, before eventually grazing your nipples, causing your entire body to tense and tremble.

“Mmmm…. keep t-that up, Andy,” Andy smirks against your skin, torturously moving his hand away and making you writhe from the sensation loss.

“I’ll do you one better,” He takes the seam of your shirt in his hands and tugs the garment over your head causing you to flush under his gaze,

“Is this okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fi-INNE,” Pleasure bullets through you as Andy dips his head down and rakes his tongue across the stimulated skin on your chest, you cry out as he pauses to suck on the hardening area. Sensation buds at the spot between your thighs as Andy maneuvers his knee to press up against you. He smirks mischievously, tipsy off of the power he had over you; the feeling of you thrashing and shuddering beneath his lips made him ache with want.

“Sensitive huh?” He asked, pressing a kiss to your slick skin.

“Oh shut up, you,” You smile, still panting from the lingering pleasure. Andy couldn’t keep up the devilish facade for long; all it took was one look at your flustered grin to soften him again.

“God you’re gorgeous,” he presses his forehead to yours, relishing the feeling of your bare skin radiating warmth against him, “Okay, I think I’m ready,” Andy pushes off you, and you begin gently rubbing his hips. He sighs at the affectionate action, gazing into your eyes and running his hand down the length of your torso. You notice Andy’s blush deepen further as he reaches inside his sweater pocket and reveals a slim piece of fabric.

“Can you….. umm- not look…. at first?” He asked timidly, fidgeting with the navy blind fold.

“Of course. I’m fine with anything, this is about you Andy, you get to call the shots here.” His hands are gentle as he secures the blindfold around your head, you chuckle and lean into his touch. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you’re relieved to feel an easy smile on his lips as he continues trailing them down your neck, his hands absentmindedly carding through your hair. There’s a soft rustle of fabric, and you can suddenly feel his torso pressed against your back, bare and warm.

“Lean back,” he whispered against your skin. A shiver dances up your spine as you feel him straddle your hips and push you backward.

Guiding your hand by the wrist, he rests the palm of your hand against his sternum. You can feel the elastic fabric of his chest binder and the pulsing warmth of his heart gently compressed beneath. You feel him tugging your hand downward and obey, dragging your hand over the fabric, his skin, and finally resting on his toned stomach. A gasp rips itself from your chest as the weight on your hips increases and you realize he’d begun gently grinding against you.

“Is this okay?”

“Y-yes!” You quake as the ache in your lower abdomen intensifies, your hips subconsciously buck up into his warmth. He lets out a groan, his stomach clenching at the sudden stimulation.

“Crap, sorry, Andy,” You blush, terrified that you’ve hurt him.

“No, it’s fine,” he soothes. A beat of silence ensues, before he suddenly traces a finger over the scrap of fabric obscuring your vision.

“You can look now,” his voice sounded too timid for your liking,

“Andy, you don’t have to, you know that,”

“I know,” And he meant it, without a doubt, “I want to, you deserve all of me.” He never once doubted or questioned whether you saw him for exactly who he was before, he knew you did. But this was different, this was vulnerable and raw; there were no barriers to cower behind here. The blindfold was shed, and your eyes adjusted to the light. The first thing your gaze settled on were his eyes. Warm, rich, hazel, orbs that glittered with adoration reserved just for you. You searched them for any sign of fear or regret, but there was none. He trusted you, completely; it was enough to make you fall to pieces.

“So…. what do you think?” Andy asked nervously, breaking you out of your trance. Your eyes glide down his form, over his broad shoulders and sculpted muscles; results from endless hours of training. Your eyes eventually fall below his waist, down the line of hair on his stomach and lower.

Andy didn’t quite know what to expect from you; he watched your face for any sign of change from how you normally looked at him. Would you still love him for who he was after seeing all of him? Would you even look at him for who he was?

“Can I touch?” You ask softly, breaking the tension. At last your gaze rose to meet his again, and the infinite amount of care and devotion that you had for him still remained, undiminished. Andy bit his lip, struggling to contain his emotions as he nodded yes. A relieved sigh dripped from him as you pressed your body against his again,

“You’re so handsome, it’s not fair,” You joke, gently nipping his neck. The anxiety in his body ebbs, and he hums blissfully as you inhale his scent. Soft moans slip from him as you trail your hands over his stomach again, around his waistline, and over the outer edge of his hips, always stopping short at the spot between his thighs.

“Chase…” His breathing comes ragged, and you’re shocked to feel him arching his hips into your hands, “Y-you can touch me there.”

“Are you sure?”

“Please,” He nearly begged; he’d never craved pleasure this fiercely before. You didn’t dare protest. He trembles with delight at the feeling of your cold fingers as you begin stroking him. A low appreciative moan reverberates from his chest, and you feel it deep in your bones. His hips jerk forward when you plunge a finger into him while simultaneously increasing the pressure on the tense bundle of nerves at his center.

“Ah!”

“Sorry! Does this hurt?”

“No, no- Good!” He said frantically, bearing down against your movements. You speed up the pace of your fingers, drawing it out, teasing him, banking his pleasure but not quite letting him release. His eyes screw shut, his head falling back as he reaches up to pull at your hair. The unbearably pleasurable sensations branched from his abdomen, up his chest, flitting over his shoulders. He could feel his excitement dripping on to your fingers as you worked.

“Nnnh....Just like that, babe,” His breathing grows rapid, and you rest your head against his shoulder, enjoying the feeling of his muscles tensing and tightening as he gets closer and closer.

“Ohhhhh, god, cumming- I’m cumming…” To your surprise, he pulls off your fingers just as he’s about to fall, doubling over and panting as the tingles in his body recede enough for him to compose himself.

“Are you okay?” You rest your other hand on his, and he quickly intertwines his fingers with yours.

“Yeah, I’m good.” He says, his eyes still heavy with desire, “I didn’t wanna …. finish, yet. Not without making you feel good too.” You lift his hand up to your lips,

“I’m fine as long as you’re satisfied, like I said, this is about you, I don’t need anything else,”

“You’re wrong. This is about us,” Andy lunges forward suddenly, attacking your neck with a series of playful nips and kisses, “If this is going to be our first first time, I wanna make you feel good too. I want all of you,” Affection spreads through you like fire; words could never come close to encapsulating how much you adored him. You bend down and brush your lips across his eye lids, hands resting on his toned shoulders. His hands move to span your waist, and impossibly, he pulls you closer.

“You can have me, love,” You whisper, “whichever way you want.” Andy smirks,

“Don’t tempt me with the possibilities,” he leans up to press another peck to your lips before sliding out from under you and approaching his nightstand. He rummages through its contents and eventually retrieves an object hidden within the depths of the top drawer; a strap on. You both flush a little deeper at the sight of it.

“I’ve um- never used this before…. or anything like it,” He looks at you meekly, before undoing the fastens on the device and strapping it around his waist. He tensed a little as he inserted one side of the object inside himself, you rest a hand on his forearm as he continues to adjust the prosthetic. A shuddery sigh slipped from his lips as he tightened the straps on his hips and positioned himself over you. You shiver with anticipation as he teases you with it, pressing it against you and dragging it against your entrance.

“Please- Andy….” Subconsciously, your arms wrap around his nape, arching yourself into him and pressing your head back against the sheets as he fills you.

“Breathe for me, babe,” he whispers, pressing a peck to your nose. You let out a shaky breath, eyes traveling down to where his pelvis is nestled against yours. It was an overwhelmingly foriegn feeling, being filled and stretched in such a manner.

“Does it hurt?” Andy’s voice was tinged with endearing concern; he nestles his face against yours and the comforting sensation causes you to relax a fraction.

“I’m fine, Andy,” He reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours as you adjust, “Y-you can move now.” Andy nodded, his eyebrows knitting together as he raises his hips and plunges into you. You gasp, clinging to him when he repeats the action, slowly but firmly.

A faint pink flush dusts his cheeks and shoulders from the arousal crashing over him. His breathing grows labored as he continues to thrust into you, pushing and shifting the device inside him. Pleasure bubbles in your stomach, spreading down your thighs and up your torso. A full body shudder courses through him as you begin grinding against his thrusts,

“Nnnf-“ He breathes, his hips reflexively snapping forward to meet yours. The device delves deeper inside of you at the action and warmth explodes in your lower abdomen.

“Ahhhh! Right there!” You plead, raking your hands down his back. He obeyed, angling his hips just so. Neither of you were aware of how fast and erratic your movements had grown as you desperately chased your pleasure. Every other sensation drained from your body besides the euphoria crashing over you both at every roll of your hips.

‘So good’ Andy grits his teeth, struggling to keep his release at bay, ‘so close’. But it was so much; too many sensations barreling down on him all at once. You open your eyes, shooting him a worried look when his pace slows and eventually stops as he catches his breath,

“Fuck…” He moans, knuckles whitening on the sheets.

“Are you alright? Did you wanna stop?” You ask, reaching up to brush a hand through his raven locks. They were still soft and damp from his shower earlier. His flushed skin pleasantly radiated warmth despite being slicked with sweat. He leans into your touch, whimpering as his groin begins to pulsate.

“No- close, ” He manages, chest heaving, “I-I wanna make this last longer f-for you. For us.” You give him a relieved smile, gently running your hand against the sharp line of his jaw.

“You don’t need to hold back for my sake, Andy,” You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him flush against you. A desperate moan erupts from his throat as the device glides against his sensitive spot. His breath is hot and heavy against your neck as you speckle his shoulder with long open mouthed kisses.

“Come on, let me spoil you a little.” You tease. Andy’s lips quirk up into a euphoric smile; he presses his forehead against yours.

“I’m fine, just give me a sec,” He swallows thickly, collecting himself, before shifting his hips again and building up to his prior pace. A sigh drips from your lips as pressure builds up inside you once more. Andy’s eyes flutter close when you lean up and begin running your teeth against his porcelain skin in an effort to muffle your moans. The traces of tension in his muscles lax as his worries melt away, and he at last allows himself to sink into the sensation.

“Fuck- this feels-” He groans, “H-haaaaah…..”

Andy doubles his pace as you yank him down for a bruising kiss. It muffles your moans and whimpers as he continues taking you, fast and hard, unrestrained this time. He was desperate for his release; he needed it after getting so close twice.

“Harder,” You purred in his ear, rocking your hips into his next thrust. He gives a soft whine as his hips slam into yours, eyes screwed shut,

“God- I-I can’t-“ He quivers against you, hands frantically gripping yours in an attempt to anchor himself. You brush your lips against his ear so your breathe ghosts over his skin,

“Don’t you dare try to hold back again, I wanna feel you come.” Andy’s body spasms as he reaches his limit. He cries out against your neck as climax tears through him and warmth crackles through his limbs. His pleasure spills down his legs in a rush as your hips collide again, pushing you over the edge shortly after. Your vision whitens for a moment, muscles spasming as you scramble for purchase. Your legs go numb as ecstasy convulses through you in waves, making you light headed.

“Andy!”

“Oh god- Yes! Yes!” A strangled moan slips from him as he rocks his hips against yours again to elongate your high. You both shudder from overstimulation, your spent bodies growing sensitive and overwhelmed.

“Too much, baby,” You whimper, squeezing his shoulders. He rubs a hand soothingly against your shaking legs, pressing sticky lingering kisses to your neck even as his body throbbed with release.

“Shh, shh, I got you, I got you,” He doesn’t loosen his embrace on you until the tremors in your body still. You open your eyes and meet Andy’s gaze; his warm hazel eyes were filled with an immeasurable amount of adoration; it was almost too much to bear.

“You’re so incredible,” He said running his fingers through your hair, you give him a woozy smile.

“No, you.” You both burst into a fit of giggles. You wince a little as Andy pulls back, unfastening the strap on from his waist and legs. He makes a move towards the door,

“I should probably go wash up-“

“Oh no no no no,” You wrap your arms around his waist, pulling him onto your lap again and planting a kiss behind his ear, “Your royal highness, first rule of sex, cuddles first, clean up after.” He chuckles as you bury your face into the crook of his neck, melting into your touch.

“Even when I’m sticky and gross?” He asked with a laugh in his tone,

“You could never be gross, and I don’t mind, but if it bugs you that much I could always lick it off you,” You say coyly; he tenses at the suggestion, shivering as you press another kiss to his nape,

“Gosh, you’ll get me hot and bothered again. I’m exhausted.” He squeezes your arm and burrows deeper into your embrace, dreading the moment you had to let go.

Reflexively, you cover your eyes as Andy begins to unclasp his binder from his chest, he glances at you with surprise, and gives a little laugh,

“I just railed you in my bed and you’re still nervous seeing my chest?”

“I’m just being safe, love.” You smirk, still refusing to remove your hands; Andy practically melts with affection. He slides in next to you, resting his body weight on top of you and laying his head over your chest. Warmth between you two as you wrap your arm protectively around him; he never wanted the moment to end.

“I love you, Chase Tuong.”

“I love you too.”

[coveredinsweetpea]

you should do a smut blurb where sweet pea and the reader are studying together and he keeps trying to distract her and begs her to let him give her head. with fluff at the end please 👩🏻‍🦲👩🏻‍🦲 love ur writing 🥺❤️

I went a bit overboard and it’s 2k long and I’m too lazy to edit but i hope it’s not too bad!

-

"- so the renal filtration rate is not only affected by the volume of blood but also by the effectiveness of the heart muscle, ok?" you said, drawing yet another arrow, this time connecting the kidney to the right atrium of the heart. Your eyes were focused on the diagram in front of you, taking in how good it actually came out. "Can you tell me how the power of the heart muscle influences the urine filtration?"

It was as if you were talking by yourself, as if there was no one else in the room with you. Rolling your eyes, you turned to look at Sweet Pea, who was busy folding one of his notes into a paper airplane.

"SWEET PEA" you yelled, startling him, which resulted in him dropping the airplane and hurrying to meet your eyes with a confused expression.

"Yeah?"

"The fuck are you doing, oh my god" you scoffed, and walked over to him. Without any kind of notice, you grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the bed where your atlas and all your notebooks were neatly arranged, and motioned for him to lay down.

He did so without too much complaining, and you thought this time he'd actually listen. You explained the mechanism of the vasoactive hormones and their effect on kidneys, and then looked at him again, "Did you understand that?"

"Yea, I did" he said softly, "It's not that difficult, you know"

"Oh, I know" you laughed, "But I'm not the one who's failing this class"

"I'm failing because I didn't go, not because I'm stupid"

"All your friends are down at the docks, while you're here, learning about pee. Tell me again how you're not stupid"

"You're here with me" Sweet Pea grinned, nudging you in the side. His eyes traveled a down your body a bit, before looking at you again. "Don't you wanna-"

"Pea!" you exclaimed, "No, stop trying to distract me. It's enough that you're already distracted, if I am too, then we will never finish this. Ever"

"So..." he teased, "If I'm distracted, I should do something to get my head back into the game, right?"

"What do you wanna do...?" you asked, even though you were already pretty sure you were going to be against that anyway. It wasn't only Sweet Pea missing the party at the docks, so were you. And also the fact that he is wasting all his potential on beer and street fights. It was a shame and you were determined to get him back on track.

"Come here" he whined, throwing his arm around your neck, and pulling you into a kiss. You didn't even get to part your lips before his hands started roaming all over your body. Without effort, he rolled onto his back and pulled up on top of him, hungrily kissing your lips as if you had deprived him of them for too long. And it almost worked, almost had you caving and forgetting about studying.

"Sweet Pea" you scoffed, crawling off of him, faking annoyance, "Stop! Pay attention to this! It's the last chapter, please"

"Ok" he sighed defeated, "I will, for you"

"Thank you" you laughed.

Five minutes later, you were explaining to him the active mechanism of absorption, when you felt Sweet Pea place his hand on your ass.

You turned to look at him confused, but he just sent you a sweet smile, "I'm paying attention. Sodium and Chloride, go on"

Glad he was finally listening, you leaned in for a quick peck on the lips, and then resumed the idea. About 30 seconds later, his hand started moving, roaming around your ass, gripping tightly before he made his way between your legs.

"Why are you like this?" you whined.

"Like what?" Sweet Pea taunted, "You know I was listening to you"

"But if you keep doing that, I'm not gonna be able to concentrate"

"Perfect" he chuckled, slapping your ass.

His fingers dug into your skin, and the pain between your legs was starting to get more and more real. "Stop touching my ass"

"No" he shrugged amused, and moved his hand lower between your legs to apply pressure over your clothed opening, "Come on, you know you like it"

"Of course I like it" you rolled your eyes, "But we have to get this done, please!"

"I know you want my fingers fucking your pussy" Sweet Pea said with a devious smile, his dark eye boring into yours, almost hypnotizing you.

"Pea..."

"What about my tongue, hm?" he suggested, pressing down harder against your clit, "I know you want it real bad, baby girl"

"Let's finish studying and we'll see after" you said weakly, and it was obvious you were more trying to convince yourself rather than him.

"Let me eat you out, angel. I want your pussy" he begged, and his words set you ablaze.

He knew perfectly well what he was doing. "I just wanna taste you," Sweet Pea grinned, and seeing how you weren't declining his offer anymore, he moved to the side and grabbed the waist band of your leggings. He kept his hand in place for a second, and looked up to meet your eyes, "I bet you're so fucking wet thinking about me tongue fucking that pussy, why are you holding back? I know you're dripping"

"Of course I want it, Pea" you panted, and rubbed your thighs together, "But I also want you to pass this class"

"I make you cum, and then you make me smart" he laughed, "Deal?"

You contemplated for a second, and then rolled your eyes, not being able to resist him anymore, "Ok..."

"That's my girl!" Sweet Pea exclaimed with enthusiasm, and then grabbed your hips, pulling your legging and panties off in one swift motion.

You spread your legs for him, and a sweet, hungry smile appeared on his lips, "You're so fucking beautiful" he shook his head and then lowered himself. At first, his lips connected to the soft skin of your inner thighs, as he kissed his was up. His touch was feather light, in perfect contrast with the way his nails dug into your skin. When he reached your core and you felt his breath against your opening, goosebumps appeared all over your skin.

"You really are so wet" Sweet Pea smiled, dragging his pointed finger up your folds.

By this point, you were drunk with anticipation. He was taking his sweet time, as if you weren't riled up enough already. "Come on, Pea. Please" you moaned.

"Look who's begging me now" he smirked, and even though it seemed like he was about to carry on with his teasing, while looking into your eyes, he pushed to fingers inside of you.

The eagerness of his actions made you let out a loud moan as you arched your back, "Pea..."

"Yes?" he smiled, twisting his fingers around, proudly stretching up your walls and knowingly driving you insane.

"Feels real good" you whimpered, already starting to adjust and get used to his fingers.

"Gonna feel way better"

While continuing to fuck you with his fingers, he bent down and attacked your clit with his lips. He created the perfect amount of pressure as he sucked against your bundle of nerves. His fingers kept doing, furiously thrusting in and out of you. Instinctively, you bent your knees and brought your thighs together on either side of Sweet Pea's head. The feeling of his tongue lapping at your core was slowly starting to be too much, and you curled your fingers into his raven hair, gripping his roots to relieve some of the pressure building up inside you.

Out of nowhere, he stopped, and pulled away. As he spoke, his breath fanned against your pussy, giving you an electrifying vibe. "If I could choose how I wanna die, I definitely going for being suffocated between your legs"

"Shit sorry" you laughed, forcing yourself to relax you legs and lay them back down on the bed.

"It's fine, love" he teased, kissing your thigh, "I fucking love it"

Soon after, he was back at it, full force. Pleasure was starting to tickle you all over your body, and it was getting impossible to keep quiet. Moan after moan slipped past your lips, as you struggled to keep your breathing regulated. Just when you thought you couldn't feel any better, Sweet Pea added another finger, and the feeling became to much. You barely got a chance to get accustomed to the feeling before you started to feel your high enveloping you.

"Pea-" you panted, "I'm close"

He pulled away just for a second, "Cum on my lips, love, come on"

When his lips met your clit again, pleasure took over. His name rolled off your lips as you allowed yourself to drown in the mind blowing orgasm he forced upon you. Every muscle of your body spasmed and Sweet Pea kept going until he felt you relax and fall limply against the mattress.

"Fuck..."

"It was good, wasn't it?" he grinned, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. Slowly, he crawled over to you, and laid down by your side, "You have no idea how good you fucking taste."

"Show me" you smiled, and grabbed him by the collar to pull him in for a kiss. When his tongue pushed past your lips, your own taste enveloped your mouth, and the simple thought of it drove you crazy all over again.

After pulling away from him, you wanted to close your eyes and cuddle into his chest, but much to your surprise, he stopped you. "Come on, babe, let's finish that chapter"

His words took you aback and your eyes widened. "Are you serious?"

Sweet Pea hesitated, "I realize I may have been a little bit of an asshole"

"No, baby" you whined, cupping his cheek, "Why?"

"You just wanted to help me" he sighed, slowly blinking as regret was visible in his eyes, "And for almost two hours I didn't even listen to you talk"

"That's ok, Pea" you said sincerely, "I get that you're not in the mood to study, don't worry, please"

"It's not even your grade, but you still came here instead of going out, and all I did was completely waste your time"

"Stop" you whined, lovingly kissing his lips to prove not one single part of you was mad at him, "You'll pass this class, and this will all be over with, and I swear to god, Pea, I don't regret not going out tonight"

"How do I thank you?" he asked sweetly, "What do you want in return for being the most awesome human being ever?"

"Just pass the class, babe" you laughed.

"No, I really wanna thank you. Tell me something you want"

"Hm.." you pouted and then smiled shyly, "A kiss"

"A thousand kisses maybe" Sweet Pea shook his head, "But I'm serious, tell me"

"I don't know" you whined, not finding a way out of this. After thinking about it for a few seconds, you settled on something, "A night in. Me and you, pizza, wine and weed. That's all"

"But, Y/n" Sweet Pea rolled his eyes, "We already to that a lot, like two times a week, at least"

"Well-" you excused yourself, "I love it, that's all I want"

He seemed to have a hard time believing your words, but eventually his eyes started to sparkle, "I have an idea!"

You nodded for him to continue.

"I'll rent one of those hippie vans and we'll do everything you said, but not in this shitty house. We'll go out, like out of the city so we can see the stars and all that cheesy stuff you love"

"Pea.." you whined, "That's too much! And I'd love to say you don't have to, but I really want that"

He looked down at you in awe for a second, before kissing your lips, "I fucking love you, baby girl"

"And I love you, Pea"