#one has a fully shaded neck and the other has a sketchy shaded neck and then the sides are swapped one the second one

[darkclouud9]

this is team 7 right?

#i wanted to draw everyone with circle eyes to prove theyre a silly but fsr i just drew Yamato's eyes normal #also tell me why in the pictures with two people i shaded the necks so weird #like on the first one #one has a fully shaded neck and the other has a sketchy shaded neck and then the sides are swapped one the second one #whyd i do that #im so confused myself

[tainted-wine]

Caring For Your Hormonally-Charged Bird

Hawks x Reader (NSFW)

(I didn’t mean for this to turn into a monster with over 7k words, but I finally finished it. This is based off of my mutant headcanons and also takes some inspiration from user kazooli’s awesome thirst posts about Hawks. Happy Springtime, everyone!)

Edit: Now there’s a Part 2!

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

The songs of lovestruck birds rang across the streets. Freshly bloomed cherry blossoms rained petals down onto the pavement. Butterflies and bees hovered around the flourishing flowers. It was undoubtedly a beautiful day. Too bad you had to spend it in an office with an oncoming headache. A familiar voice spoke behind you.

“Wow, look at that. I don’t know what’s more gorgeous; the scenery outside or the lady staring at it.”

Hawks’s charm doesn’t affect you when he has pissed you off so many times in such a short span.

You’ve had the ‘privilege’ of working for the Hero Public Safety Commission for several years, from supporting public events to endless desk work. The pay was generous and life was overall more comfortable. All you had to do to stay on their good side was comply with every demand, ignore the condescending tones of the bigwigs, and turn a blind eye whenever you witnessed the occasional sketchy practice.

When they offered you a job as the personal handler of one of the top heroes of Japan, you almost fainted. You have always been a fan of Hawks. Fast, handsome, charismatic, he may not have the godly strength of All Might, yet he still felt just as flawless. You’ve been helping and guiding the winged young man since last summer and learned that he’s even more than what you imagined. He wasn’t just good-looking, he wasn’t just a sweet-talker…

He was also a fucking nightmare to work with.

You turned around to see said man ogling you a bit more than you were used to, his trademark crooked smile on his face, but you ignored that and went straight to business. “Your carelessness is trending again for the third time this week, Hawks.”

He drew a sharp breath in an exaggerated gasp. “Again? Oh, what could they possibly be on my ass for this time? Was I smacking on chicken wings too loudly in public? Did they catch the moment I almost flew into that crystal-clear window?”

You whipped out your phone, already prepared to show him a news page with a rather shocking photo. A man with an elegant and sleek appearance was beaten and bruised, his dazzling peacock tail fanned out behind him. The attacker was none other than Hawks, who was gripping the other man by the collar, his wings fully spread out with several sharpened feathers floating around his victim as an unnecessary precaution. It was a very aggressive display.

‘HAWKS LAYS SMACKDOWN ON PERVERTED PEACOCK’ was the headline.

“This is beyond excessive force. You could have just as easily restrained him with your quirk.” You scolded, fixing him with the steely authoritarian stare that you’ve been working on.

Hawks flinched, but you couldn’t tell if he was just playing with you or not. “Ma’am! I was simply defending the girl’s honor! She was very clearly uncomfortable and besides, wouldn’t flashing his tail like that be considered indecent exposure?” Yeah, that tone told you that he was clearly not intimidated.

“No, and even if it did, indecency and harassment wouldn’t excuse such a violent subduing. Furthermore,” you gestured at his threatening wing display in the photo. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were demonstrating similar behavior.”

He simply shrugged. “Just showing him who the bigger bird is around here.”

Your eye twitched. “For God’s sake, Hawks, you’re not an animal. Part of my job is ensuring that you maintain a friendly image that will keep the public at ease. This is not friendly. Shall I go through some of the comments for examples?” You scrolled down and cleared your throat in preparation. “Anyone else put off by how violent Hawks looks here? I didn’t know he had it in him to beat someone down like that. He’s usually all about being quick and efficient.” You scrolled down to the next one. “What’s the deal with Hawks? I was there and it was like watching a cockfight.” You clicked on a reply to that particular comment. “I know, right? I always wanted to meet Hawks in person, but after that, I was honestly too scared to-”

“Hold on, babe, I know you’re cherry-picking here,” Hawks, the little bastard, had taken out his own phone while listening to your reading. “Because those are nothing like my personal faves that I found on my Tweeter page.” You watched with silent frustration as his eyes scanned his phone until he found what he was looking for. “Ah, here we go. ‘Oh my GAWD, that look, those spread wings, he looks like such a beast!” He had raised the pitch of his voice for a mock feminine tone. “Leave it to Hawks to make all of us women feel safe. That pervert deserves to lose a few more teeth.’ Oh, and here’s the winner right here. ‘Just as I always expected, that hunk of a bird knows how to dominate. I can just imagine him towering over me, giving that same look while I take his big fat-”

“Hawks.”

He paused, but his shit-eating grin didn’t fade when he noticed your head being held in one of your hands. You hoped he didn’t notice that you were trying to hide the red that crept into your cheeks.

“…cock.”

You groaned loudly enough to most definitely be heard outside of the office. There truly were days when he would cut you some slack and be easy to deal with, but he has become downright unbearable for the past few weeks. His teasing has increased ten fold, yet he’s also been keeping his distance from you for whatever reason. It had taken you a while to notice, but he was normally more than happy to get in your face and ruin your professional act, but now, even when you’re the one trying to approach, he would casually step back to prevent the gap between you from closing.

And then it hit you.

Shit, it shouldn’t have taken you this long to connect the dots. You had even noticed how his wings appeared to be a shade brighter for the past few days, but dismissed it as a trick of the light. No, he had grown in his spring plumage.

“Uh, babe? You still there? Did the ‘C’ word break you?” Watching you stare into space was getting him a little concerned.

“You’re rutting,” was your simple reply.

Hawks’s face flashed into something more serious for a split second before giving a ‘tsk’ and looking away. “Took you long enough,” he scoffed. “Surprised the Commission hasn’t fired you for letting me go wild for so long. They must not have any replacements available right now.”

“Watch it,” you ordered. You pondered for a moment before asking, “Have you not been taking your hormonal medication? I know that you’ve been prescribed some for this time of year.”

He sighed and rubbed at the back of his neck, as if he was the one who should be feeling annoyed right now. Bitch, please. “Sometimes,” he muttered.

“Sometimes? They don’t work if you only take them sometimes, Hawks. I know you’re a busy hero, but you can put some effort into keeping track of your dosage.”

“Look,” it was the first time you’ve seen a genuine scowl on his face, the expression taking you back. “I just really hate that stuff, okay? They sap all of my energy and I put on a few extra pounds.”

You shook your head at his complaints. “Is that really worse than what you’re dealing with right now?”

“Yes. I’d rather be a horndog than a slug that doesn’t even have the will to move. It wouldn’t even be so bad if I could just sleep around every now and then, but that’s more trouble than it’s worth. I don’t wanna make your job that miserable.” He eyed you up and down for a minute, while you tried not to shy away from his piercing gaze. “Or I could find just one loyal partner that will help me scratch the itch?”

You stepped back, your heart racing at the unspoken request. “E-excuse me?” you stuttered.

Hawks raised his hands harmlessly. “Hey now, it’s just a suggestion. I’m pretty into you, you’re obviously into me, this could work out pretty well.”

An array of emotions were flowing through you, but you were more upset than anything else. “And what exactly makes you think I’ve been ‘into you’, as you’ve said?” Denial. You’re pretty sure that’s what this is. You know that you’ve been attracted to him since before you even met, but you weren’t going to let this overgrown brat have his way.

His sudden burst of laughter startled you. “You’re kidding, right? I still remember that look you had the first time we were in this room together, and it wasn’t the innocent ‘I wanna support my favorite hero’ look,” He was willingly approaching you for the first time in what felt like forever, every step sounding like thunder to your ears. “It was a ‘bend me over the desk and fuck me’ look.”

You were the one stepping back this time. You wanted to remind him not to use such foul language, to berate him for making such vulgar claims, but your voice was caught in your throat.

“We’d be doing each other a favor, right?” he continued, wings slowly expanding. “Keeping me in top shape is part of your job, isn’t it? I promise you that I’m gonna feel a lot better after this.”

You bumped into his desk, leaning back slightly as he finally closed the distance. His wings draped around each side of you, filling your peripheral vision with pure red. His face was only inches away from yours as he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“You’ve been smelling so damn good lately. Been afraid that I just might pounce you if I get too close.”

A thickly gloved hand reached out and cupped your face with such a surprising amount of tenderness, you couldn’t help but wonder how it would feel bare. You were so entranced by his lustful gaze that you couldn’t find it in you to resist as he leaned in, feeling his hot breath as his lips drew closer to yours.

The door busted open accompanied by a shout. “Hawks sir! Your help has been requested at-OH!”

A genuine growl rumbles through Hawks’s throat and damn, that makes you tremble. By the time he turns toward the stumbling sidekick, he was already back to his cool and friendly self.

“Don’t stop on my account, buddy,” he beamed the younger man with an unwavering smile. “What’s the request?”

———

The next day, you tried very hard to pretend that little office incident never happened. You were not going to let something so unprofessional ever happen again. That was a promise.

Hawks, on the other hand, was being a persistent bastard. You were determined to win this battle. If he wanted the urges to go away so badly, then he can take his damn medication like he always has, not use your lack of authority and experience as an excuse to rebel. The only reason you haven’t informed the Commission about this is because you know that your head will be on the chopping block as well as Hawks’s. You will most definitely be in some shit once they realize that you can’t keep their most prized possession in check.

And to be fair, as the week went on, you really were wondering if you were cut out for this job. With his wings getting more vibrant, his advances becoming more frequent, and his feral rivalry against other men growing more severe, Hawks has officially become too unruly for you to handle, and you’re the goddamned handler. You couldn’t lose this job! What if they terminated you completely and you couldn’t get another position from the Commission?

You paced back and forth in the empty office. Hawks was late this morning, leaving you alone with your endless worries. He may act lazy, but he was never actually late for his meet ups. Looks like you’ll have to call him and pray that nothing serious has happened.

You jumped when your phone vibrated before you even reached into your pocket. Ah, looks like Hawks reached out before you did. You held your phone up, prepared to answer, and froze.

It wasn’t Hawks. It was the deputy, the very man that was kind enough to give you this job. He hasn’t called you since your first few days here to help get you started. With your progress, you doubt he was calling to give you a raise.

Well, as much as you wanted to throw the phone out of the window and find an appropriate place to bury yourself, you didn’t make it this far by cowering from these guys. Taking a deep breath, you picked up and greeted the man on the other side with a steady voice. “Good morning, Deputy.”

He addressed you with the same bored and unimpressed tone that you hear from every member in this cursed organization. Jeez, if you keep working here long enough, are you going to eventually sound as soulless as them? “I assume you are aware of Hawks’s current condition?” he asked.

Dammit. “My apologies, sir. I know that I have been neglectful of Hawks’s health and his behavior during this time. I have been doing my best t-”

“That isn’t the issue I am talking about, but thank you for confirming that you have indeed failed in keeping Hawks’s unsavory habits under control.” You flinched. Way to rat yourself out. “Hawks had managed to find and subdue the troublesome villain Libido.”

“Ah, of course. I have been informed of that, sir.” Libido was a cunning little criminal that has been causing trouble all over the city of Fukuoka. His ‘Love Breath’ quirk gave him the ability to exhale fumes with powerful aphrodisiacal qualities. The guy even made his own gas bombs, releasing them among unsuspecting crowds in the public. He was less of a villain and more of just a chaos-loving hoodlum that was too slippery for his own good.

The deputy carried on. “One of the sidekicks has told us that Hawks was exposed to his quirk.”

Oh. Oh dear. That’s some strong stuff to be subjected to.

“We have ordered Hawks to go home immediately and wait patiently instead of heading to a hospital. We will be sending treatment his way.”

Some of the tension left your body. “That’s good to know, sir. May I ask what kind of treatment he will be taking? I know I haven’t convinced you yet, but I want to do anything I can for his well being.” You hesitantly asked. Please, oh please let me make up for everything that has been happening.

You heard a faint chuckle from the other end. “That’s very good to know, because the treatment is you.”

You’re glad he couldn’t see the confusion on your face. “I’m sorry, sir. Are you saying I’ll be the one to doctor him? I’ll need to know what medicine he needs and how much rest he’ll be expected to-”

“Do you know how people affected by aphrodisiac quirks are normally treated?” he interrupted you for the second time. He didn’t even give you a chance to answer before continuing. “Given your questions, I’m assuming that you don’t. We can indeed offer drugs to weaken the effects, but Hawks will still be in great distress and will take a long time to recover, especially since he’s neglected to take his hormone medication with the help of an incompetent handler.” Ugh, you get it already. You screwed up. “But the quickest and most efficient remedy is, without a doubt, sexual contact and allowing the quirk to run its course. That is what we expect you to provide for him.”

What.

You took a full minute to collect your thoughts and ensure that you heard everything correctly. The deputy waited patiently. How kind of him. Once you gathered yourself, you conjured the most constructive response you could think of.

“Huh?”

An overly loud sigh sounded in your ear. Hey, it’s his fault for dropping this bomb of a request on you. “We can’t have the number two hero out of action for too long. The alternative is to strap him to a bed and sedate him for an uncertain amount of time. His rut has enhanced the quirk’s effects; this may even strengthen his arousal for the rest of the season.”

Your face paled. That sounds ten times worse than the way Hawks was already acting. “So, if I were to…be with him,” you blushed at the very thought. “That would provide the best relief?”

“That is the gist of it. You told me you would do anything for Hawks’s well being. Can I hold you to that?”

Your pounding heart was almost drowning out his voice. You didn’t mean to corner yourself like this. “O-of course. I’ll see what I can, um, do.” This discussion was getting uncomfortable.

“I didn’t expect you to be so hesitant. You’re a loyal fan of his, aren’t you? You should be thrilled. Few fangirls get this opportunity.” He laughed at his own joke. You sure as hell weren’t laughing with him.

“Yeah, of course, sir,” you grumbled. “I suppose I shouldn’t leave Hawks alone for too long. I’ll be on my way soon.”

“Excellent,” he said. “You’ll need to take some precautions, of course. Here’s what you need to keep in mind…”

———

You walked out of the local pharmacy, cradling the pills tightly to your chest like some sort of security blanket. The deputy’s advice echoed in your head.

“It’s best that you take contraceptives. Hawks’s mind will be clouded with feral cravings, such as the urge to breed. He is not going to accept condoms.”

You tossed the pills onto the passenger seat in your car.

“Again, Hawks is suffering from both the magnified effects of Libido’s quirk and his annual rut. It’s possible that he will not be of sound mind. If things get out of hand, you have the right to protect yourself.” the deputy paused for a moment. “Just try not to leave any marks on him, if you can. Hawks must look presentable at all times.”

Well, you did have a stun gun that you thankfully never had to use, and hopefully it will stay that way.

The deputy’s help made you way more anxious than before. Were you about to have sex with a horny man, or tame a dangerous beast? You still didn’t know what to make of this predicament.

You take your phone and select Hawks’s number. It’s probably best not to surprise him at his door. Hopefully he wasn’t too riled up and ignores your call.

The phone rings once, then twice, then you hear…whimpers? Shit, was it getting that bad?

“Hawks? Are you there?” you asked calmly.

“Babe.” Goodness, his voice was rough. He sounds like he just ran across the country. “Oh thank God. Talk dirty to me, baby.”

“Wha—no.” This was a mistake. You really weren’t prepared for such levels of horniness. He just blurted that out like it was nothing! “Look, um, I heard your urges are becoming too much to handle. I’m heading on over there to…help you.”

For a while you just heard what sounded like breathless laughs and weeping. Hearing him in such a fragile state had you genuinely concerned. “Y’serious? We’re-ah-we’re gonna fuck?” He was panting heavily between words.

Heat was gathering in your face. “Yes, that’s the plan.”

“Oh, fuck yeah. Get over here-fuck-so I can stuff you, babe. You’re gonna be mine. Oh I can’t wait to fucking have you.” This sounded like a goddamned porno and you couldn’t handle it. There was a strange sound in the background as he rambled, something like wet smacks. You kept hearing it in sync with his grunts and…

Oh.

“Just hang in there, alright?” You said quickly, wanting to end this call right now. “I’m coming.”

“Well, I’m not. My hand’s really not doin’ it for me. Gotta be inside you, babe. Gotta cum in that tight-“

You hung up.

You banged your head against the steering wheel harder than intended, but at least the pain got your mind off of…whatever all of that was. You can’t believe you just heard your favorite hero breathlessly talking about how he wants to bang you while jerking off. You didn’t know it was possible to feel this mortified, but that wasn’t the worst part.

The worst part was the tingle between your legs.

Hawks, one of the top heroes of Japan, the heartthrob of the generation, was lusting for you. It had you both excited and on edge. You remember the deputy’s comment.

“You’re a loyal fan of his, aren’t you? You should be thrilled. Few fangirls get this opportunity.”

You probably would indeed be thrilled if the circumstances were less dire. Your fantasies normally involved something simpler and more romantic, not saving him from his own sex-hazed mind. You still weren’t sure what you were walking into, and that was admittedly a different kind of excitement.

There was no time to waste with the state Hawks was in. Calming your nerves, you started your car and began taking the route to his place.

———

Here you are, at the doorstep of Hawks’s house. His place was surprisingly humble for a top hero, it made this encounter just a little less nerve-wracking. Pressing a finger to the buzzer, you waited anxiously, rocking back and forth on your heels. You really hope he’ll be dressed decently when he answers the door.

Your heart skips once you hear a click and the doorknob twists. It feels like it takes an eternity for the door to open and reveal…nobody.

Instead, you were greeted by a small flock of feathers suspended in the air. They slowly floated a distance away from you before stopping, as if they were waiting for something. You cautiously stepped inside, some of the feathers closing the door behind you. You don’t know what type of welcome you were expecting, but it wasn’t this. The feathers guided you, drifting up a flight of stairs and into a room with its door hanging open. You can hear harsh breathing inside, reigniting your fear. “Hawks?” You hesistantly called out without getting any closer.

A cracking voice cried out your name. “Help me. It fucking hurts. I’m so hot. Make it stop.” He sounded like he was crying. The desperate pleas prompted you to mask your fears for the umpteenth time and approach the room, taking in the sight of the man that has been waiting for you.

Hawks was naked, not to your surprise, but still to your absolute horror. He sat on his bed, skin glistening with sweat and a deep blush spreading throughout his upper body, making him look more feverish than aroused. His chest heaved with the irregular breaths that left his hanging mouth. His hair was even more unruly as usual, some of his locks sticking to his damp face. Your eyes locked onto his, pupils dilated and looking right through you.

He looked awful.

You came closer, trying your best not to stare at the very swollen and throbbing member between his legs. “I’m sorry,” you said softly, stopping right in front of him. “I didn’t think it would get this bad. I-I want to help. Just tell me what to do.”

He was on his feet the moment you finished, nude body just inches away from yours, but you kept your feet planted where they were. As his large wings slowly opened and enclosed around you, you noticed how brilliantly hued his feathers have become, practically glowing a vivid scarlet. It was captivating.

Two clammy hands came up to hold your face, the same hands he was furiously pleasuring himself with just a moment ago holy shit, and his mouth was on yours before you could even react. You gasped in shock of it all, allowing his tongue to slip past your lips. It was less of a kiss and more of just him hungrily ravaging every inch of your mouth, your own tongue wrestling with his to keep him away from the back of your throat. One of his arms lowered to wrap around your waist and pull you flush against his bare form, making you yelp when you felt his erection pressing against you. Hawks’s dick was on you.

You were too overwhelmed by his restless mouth and his DICK to notice the stray feathers hovering over you. A tug and a loud rip made you jolt. Hawks held you still, the sound of expensive fabric tearing making you flinch as your skin was slowly being exposed. The feathers were shredding your clothes.

You pulled away from his suffocating mouth just enough to take a breath and attempt to speak. “Hawks! Wha—” only for him to smother you once again.

“Don’t move,” he uttered between kisses. “Don’t want to cut you.”

With a few more slashes, your cherished suit was now scattered on the carpet in tatters, revealing your body to him, but the feathers weren’t done. The floating blades carefully slid under your panties and bra. You stood completely still, Hawks kissing you with less aggression in an attempt to soothe you as the feathers sliced through the last of your clothes. You were now just as bare as him. He simply held you tightly, face rubbing against yours with the occasional lick against your heated skin. Your eyes were closed shut, unable to process his frantic tongue, his surrounding body that felt like fire, his cock that was now pressed to your stomach you were going to drop dead holy shit.

“Smell so good. Tastes so good.” he groaned, still sounding short of breath. His mouth went down to your neck, sucking at it hungrily and giving the occasional nip, forcing a faint moan out of you. He continued his descent and reached your breasts, molding them roughly and attacking your nipples with hard sucks. Despite the rough treatment, a tight heat was building up in your abdomen, your hands cradling his head as he explored you. He ventured lower, now on his knees with his face right at your womanly mound.

Your heart was pounding when he leaned in, his nose lightly touching you as he drew in a long breath and giving a pleased sighed. His nose pressed in further and poked at your glistening pussy, your thighs clenching in surprise while he happily took in your scent. Fuck, he was really just kneeling between your legs and smelling you. You were ready to protest and tell him that this was getting too embarrassing before something wet and hot slid against your folds, replacing your planned words with a yelp.

Hawks apparently approved of your taste, strong hands grasping the back of your thighs as he brought you in closer to fully devour you. Your cries were impossible to hold in while he lapped at you, mind becoming too clouded with pleasure to stay modest. He moaned loudly into you, the erotic sound vibrating against you, tongue fondling every inch of your folds before his lips closed around them, sucking greedily and almost making your knees collapse. You were getting close, grasping onto his head in a desperate attempt to stay balanced, his mouth now assaulting your sensitive bud. Your blissful whimpers joined the filthy sounds of his feasting when your orgasm washed over you like throbbing magma. Once your legs lost the last of their strength, Hawks set you down gently on the floor, still licking your sensitive lips.

“Ah, Hawks…too much…” You whined weakly.

He got the message and pulled away to immediately climb over you, giving you a clear view of his face glistening with your juices. Bright wings were fully spread out once more; it feels like you were about to be taken by an angel, the most savage angel you could ever imagine.

He came down for a sloppy kiss, spreading your own womanly nectar all over your lips. “Hope you’re nice and ready now. Ready to take everything I’ve got.” He mumbled against your mouth. You couldn’t help but smile and feel grateful that even in such a frenzied state, he was still kind enough not to jump you the moment you were within sight.

You brought a hand up to caress the side of his face, watching his eyes flutter shut as he leaned into your touch like the needy animal that he was at the moment. His body was still unnaturally hot and he was still breathing harshly. It’s time to finally give this poor man some relief.

“Go ahead, Hawks. I’m all yours.” You were indeed ready for everything he has.

Hawks said no more, gripping himself and aiming right for your opening. The moment his head was pushing past your lips, he thrust forward, filling you completely and knocking the wind out of you.

You honestly thought he came right then and there with the totally profane howl that left him. “Fuck…!” he choked, looking on the verge of tears. Despite the seemingly paralyzing pleasure, he wasted no time in moving, his pace quickening at an alarming rate. Your pussy was still sensitive from his wonderful licking, his dick currently sending painfully powerful shocks that you just weren’t ready for, and yet heat began to pool within your core for a second time. Your arms were wrapped around his sweaty form, nails biting into his skin and forcing rugged grunts out of his throat.

The wet slaps of your bodies rang throughout the room, your limbs quivering as he pumped into you faster, his heavy balls slapping against your ass, full and prepared to pour every drop of its contents into your womb. Hawks had buried his head into the crook of your neck, letting you feel every breathless moan right against your ear.

All you could do was hold on and take the increasingly rough pounding. His rhythm was sloppy from the start, but the thrusts were becoming even more irregular as a sign that he was already reaching his peak. Not surprising, given the state that he’s been in all day. One well-aimed thrust hits your sweet spot, making you moan loudly against him.

The sound eggs him on, driving his hips at a bruising pace and fuck it feels so good it hurts. Your eyes shut tightly as another orgasm breaks free, your feminine walls clamping around Hawks, squeezing his own climax out of him. You gasped at the powerful throbs of his cock as it shot out stream after stream of cum inside you. The purely animalistic growl that rumbled through him had you shaking in the best way while you watched his wings twitch and flap, hitting you with a light gust.

After an impressive amount of spurts, Hawks collapsed on top of you. He was heavy, but having his weight on you like this was pretty nice. You rubbed soothing circles around his back, listening to the rather inhuman cooing sounds he made in response.

You just had sex with Hawks, your favorite hero and the very man you were paid to look after. Oh man, how badly have you screwed up your relationship? Not that you two had much of a bond in the first place, but now things will most certainly get even more awkward.

A twitch inside you interrupted your thoughts. What the hell? Hawks’s breathing was accelerating again as he suddenly lifted his weight off of you, and that’s when you realized even though he came, he was still hard.

With newfound energy, he pushed your thighs towards your chest and rammed into you before you could even register what was happening. His new angle had you seeing stars with each thrust, hitting you even deeper than before. The sensation was dizzying, your overstimulated body beginning to throb all over. Hawks had the most obscene expression on his face, glazed eyes watching your tits bounce while his mouth hung open, drool trailing down his chin. You didn’t know such a look existed outside of adult videos, and having it aimed at you was enhancing your stinging pleasure.

Looking down granted you the view of his drenched dick pushing into you, each slam of his hips rocking you into the carpet, which honestly burned like ouch. Thankfully Hawks was reaching his tipping point once again, his hips moving at a bruising pace before one final smack. You were spoiled with another wonderful image of his head thrown back as a choked moan escaped him, another round of cum shooting into you.

He finally slid out of you as he sat back to catch his breath, wings limply dropping to his sides. Finally. You didn’t know how much more your womanhood could take. The strain of moving your legs made you wince. Did he have to pin you so roughly?

Hawks watched silently as you pushed yourself up. You felt behind your back and…dammit, you really did bruise back there. Maybe you should go find a mirror; hopefully it didn’t look too bad. You noticed that Mr. Horny Wings continued to just stare, pupils still enlarged and his dick was still hard what the fuck. He suddenly shifted onto all fours and crawled behind you. The light brush of fingers over your blemished skin made you shiver. They weren’t big enough to be that painful, but you still hissed when he applied a little too much pressure, making him pull away.

“Sorry.” His voice was still raspy as he apologized.

You shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. Could’ve been wor—AH!”

Hawks shoved you forward, manhandling you until you were properly on your hands and knees. Fuck, your entire lower body was starting to ache, and here he was, ready to go another round. The head of his still-swollen dick was already pressing at your entrance. Grasping your hips, he pushed past your puffy lips and re-entered your heat. You bit your bottom lip and took the limitless strength in his hips, his balls sometimes smacking right into your clit and bringing you closer to your next climax.

His pace slowed down briefly in order to lower himself and suck at your bruises. “Nnngh, fuck, Hawks!” The combined pain and pleasure had your insides burning. He moaned and panted into your back, kissing up to your neck and sucking there as well. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your torso, pressing your body against his in an intimate embrace as he plunged into you more deeply.

It was impossible to not moan after each stroke. His face rested on your shoulder, and you reached behind to bury a hand in his hair. Shit, this was all getting so intimate. He was holding you and was so close, you could feel the ripple of his muscles as he caressed every inch of your inner walls. Your third burst of pleasure had you quivering against him as he continued to chase his own orgasm, stars appearing in your vision with each thrust. Hawks sank his teeth into your neck before bottoming out and releasing more cum inside you.

Both of you were lost in your sensual spasms before you collapsed. Hawks didn’t lay on you completely this time, his sweat-soaked form crouched over you, close enough to still be inside of you…

And rock hard.

You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

You stayed as you were, your face down and your ass up, as you felt him humping away at you again. You could barely whimper as your tender pussy took another pounding. Christ, why wasn’t he getting tired? If the quirk was getting any closer to wearing off, it sure as hell didn’t feel like it.

It wasn’t long before he came again, grunting with each hard buck as he filled you with his apparently endless supply of cum. Was he done? Please be done. You turned your head just enough to check the state of his erection.

Nope.

Hawks had enough mercy to carry you to his much more comfortable bed before continuing. He took you again.

And again

And again.

You were positively ruined, no more strength left in your body as he repeatedly claimed you with fervor. Whenever it appeared you were getting uncomfortable in a certain position, he would simply switch things up before carrying on. Despite how utterly exhausted and raw you felt, your orgasms kept coming, every surge of pleasure clouding your mind more and more.

You had lost track of time. Was this his fifteenth go? seventeenth? Keeping count was becoming a drag. It didn’t help that Hawks was in too much of a trance to even speak, giving you nothing but moans and growls. At least he didn’t sound on the verge of tears anymore, so maybe he was making progress.

Another orgasm was approaching; could your tired body even handle it? You were laying on the edge of the bed as Hawks stood and fucked you. Even through all of the overwhelming passion, you never got tired of staring at his wings, the dazzling red never failing to mesmerize you. They fluttered rapidly as the tension in your core spilled over, your mouth opening in a silent scream and a blackness closing in on you with every blink.

Your body was finished.

———

Everything hurts.

That’s the first thing you noticed when you woke up and made the mistake of stretching. Your arms and legs ached, a sharp pain shot through your back whenever you shifted, and between your legs…well, the throb down there didn’t at all feel pleasurable anymore.

Still, you fought the pain to sit up and examine yourself. Your nether regions were surprisingly clean, almost as if someone had already taken care of it. With all of the cum Hawks pumped into you, it should frankly be an awful mess down there.

Speaking of, where was the guy?

“Hey.”

Oh, there he was leaning in the door frame. He had obviously tidied up, no longer a flushed and sweaty wreck, and was now sporting a pair of loose pants and a tee. You had never seen him looking so casual. It was probably a privilege very few had, and knowing that ignited something in your chest.

He glanced around before looking back at you. “You alright?”

Realizing you were just gawking at him and haven’t said anything yet, you coughed to ensure your voice was still clear and functioning. “I’m fine.”

He snickered. It was a sound you were used to whenever he knew he had the upper-hand in some way, but something about it felt softer this time. “I just fucked you into high heaven for a whole day.” He could’ve acknowledged it in a less shameless manner, dammit. “I just wanna know if you’re alright. You look pretty stiff.”

A jolt shot through your lower back in perfect timing with his statement, making you flinch. “Yeah, I’m—I’m pretty sore. Very sore,” you admitted.

“Ah,” He stood up straight. “I’ll go get some, uh, pain relief. Be right back.” And with that, he was out of your sight.

You waited patiently for his return, actually observing his bedroom for the first time. It was surprisingly bare, the room of someone who didn’t spend much time at home. There was a window that you didn’t notice and holy shit he was right. It was nighttime; you spent the entire day in Hawks’s bedroom. The fangirl in you was squealing in delight. You told her to shut the hell up.

The man returned with a glass of water in one hand, a pill in the other, and a set of clothes draped across his arm. “Here,” he handed the water and medicine over before sitting beside you on the bed. You gulped down the capsule, sputtering a bit as the cold water flowed down your dry throat. “I’ve got some clothes that might fit you well enough. Sorry about your suit. I’ll give you some money for a new one.”

He’s never sounded so wooden before and you couldn’t stand it. You let out your best good-hearted laugh as you took the offered clothes. “Stop that, Hawks. You sound as bland as your bosses right now,” you joked.

He laughed along with you. “Heh, sorry babe. Just worried that I came on a little too strong at the beginning there.”

You simply hummed in response. His clothes were so warm and smelled like him. Despite being surrounded by his strong scent for hours, you still welcomed it.

“So…looks like you’re feeling better.” You took in his appearance again now that he was closer. There was still a tinge of red in his face, but he seemed overall back to his usual relaxed self.

“Oh yeah, much better. The feeling’s still there, honestly,” he saw your eyes widen and instantly blurted out, “Just barely! I can ignore it and think clearly just fine now.” A boyish smile spread across his face. “Looks like I’ve got a hero. You really saved me back there.”

A ridiculous snort left you after hearing such praise. “Is that all it takes to be the great Hawks’s hero? I’m flattered.”

“Hey, I’m serious,” He looked you square in the face, and you couldn’t look away from his sincere expression. “It’s never been that bad before. Not gonna lie, I’m embarrassed you saw me like that. That was worse than all of my teenage ruts combined. Damn villain’s quirk really messed me up, felt like I was going fucking rabid. I don’t know what state I’d be in if it weren’t for you.”

Your mouth opened and closed, unsure of how to respond to his gratitude. “You’re welcome,” was all you could say. “You don’t need to feel bad about it. It’s…” You looked down at your feet. “It’s not like I didn’t like it. It was very draining, honestly lost track of time at a certain point, but it, uh, it was an experience.”

Hawks nodded in response. “Sure was. Never thought I’d rail a girl so hard and for so long that she’d pass out. I’m impressed with myself.”

“Hawks.”

He hung his head in mock shame. “My apologies, ma’am! I completely forgot that such vulgar language isn’t tolerated around you.” And there’s the infuriating grin that you were beginning to miss.

Both of you were laughing, slowly melting away the tension and stress that filled the room since morning. This…this was nice.

“So, you probably still don’t feel all that great, sooo…” Hawks rubbed at the back of his neck. “You wanna stay for dinner? Already ordered a chicken pizza with some wings.”

“Oh?” You raised your eyebrows. “Taking me to dinner after the sex?”

“Hey now, you know me. ‘The hero who’s too fast for his own good.’ Sometimes I miss a step or two.” He winked before getting up to leave. “You just lay there and rest, and go pee already. Don’t need an infection on top of everything else you’re going through. I already cleaned up the horrifying scene between your legs.”

You shuddered at the crude comment before falling backwards onto the poor mattress that had endured so much today.

Tomorrow, it will be back to professionalism. Back to pretending that you’re Hawks’s superior. Back to sucking up to the Commission. You’re going to cherish every minute of tonight, enjoying the company of Keigo Takami, not Hawks.

A shout echoed from downstairs. “The bathroom’s still empty, babe! Get your ass in there and pee!”

#bnha #hawks #smut #hawks x reader #takami keigo #i applaud you if you read the whole thing #this fic had a mind of its own

[bitterlemonwater]

Would you ever consider writing something with Stephen Strange and Peter? 🥺 The rarepair is truly lacking and I feel like you could make something perfectly smutty out of post-Endgame taking Peter under Stephen's (magical) wing, or doctor AU

Endg*me who? I don’t know her. Smutty non-powered doctor au (that’s much more of a club au than a proper doctor au) it is. I’ve only written Stephen x Peter once before so?? Hope you like it anon bby

Peter’s age is unspecified, Strange has post-Sorcerer Supreme facial hair bc I said so, hand jobs, non-graphic but explicitly mentioned violence (Peter gets mugged in the beginning), clubbing, inaccurate medical procedures?? i’m not a doctor and have never worked in a hospital lol. 5k

—-

Peter wakes up in a hospital bed. 

He remembers leaving his apartment. He remembers zipping his wallet into one jacket pocket and slipping his phone into the other, his hand wrapped around it. He remembers turning all the right corners and dodging a cyclist and sniffling in the chilly weather. 

He doesn’t remember why or how he—

Oh, no, wait. Yeah. He remembers that.

The three thugs that had caught him by the hood of his jacket and yanked him into a murky alleyway between two run down hole-in-the-walls, both of which were closed for the night by the time Peter finally had time to run his errands. Milk and printer paper from a 24/7 Target hadn’t seemed like they would be a problem, but. That’s a sketchy neighborhood in New York, he supposes. 

He’d handed over his wallet without a fight (because contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t actually have a death wish) and was giving up his phone when May started calling him. 

Apparently the buzzing and loud ringtone (what? He has unfortunately selective hearing—sometimes it just gets tuned out and he needs volume to catch his attention) and potential red alert freaked the guys out, because one swatted his phone out of his grip and before he could raise his hands in surrender, someone decked him in the face.

And now he’s in a hospital bed. 

The window shades are half opened but there’s no light coming in, and the light in the room is off, only a dim lamp illuminating everything—so it must still be nighttime. Hopefully the same night, but Peter won’t push his luck. 

His head throbs like hell and he sits up slowly. The chair beside his bed keeps his shoes and jacket in reassuring view, but other than that, he’s been blessed to keep his regular clothes on. (Definitely the same night, then. Maybe he’ll only have been out for a few hours?)

For a few minutes, Peter just sits still on the bed, breathing, rubbing his temples. He really hopes he doesn’t have a concussion. This one hospital visit is going to suck to pay off—especially if he was brought in by an ambulance—and he’d rather not add follow up appointments to the bill. 

It’s not long before a nurse stops by. He turns on the lights and it makes Peter cringe, but not as awfully as he’s heard concussions usually make bright lights. There’s still hope, then.

The nurse asks him how he’s feeling and if he’s in any pain, then takes down his information, explains that he’s only been out for three hours and that it’s currently one in the morning. Peter tells him about getting mugged and he responds by saying they’ll have an officer come down to talk to him after he is released from care. 

The nurse finishes by asking if there’s anyone Peter would like to call. Peter debates saying no, but he can already hear May yelling at him if he tries to walk himself home after this, so he gives them Ned’s number and lays back down. 

“Alright. Doctor Strange will be here look you over in a moment.” The nurse says. Doctor Strange? Doctor, Strange. Strange. Why does that sound familiar?

While the nurse gives him two pills for the pain, Peter tries to recall where he’s heard that name before, wracking his brain and only coming up with incomplete thoughts and almost-resurrected memories. He knows he’s heard that before. He just can’t figure out where.

He’s already decided to awkwardly ask the doctor if they’ve met before when the door opens again.

In steps a man half turned away from him, tall and not quite broad but definitely fit and muscled under his white coat. He’s wearing pale blue scrubs and has a stethoscope around his neck, clipboard in his hands. His hair is brown with the slightest bit of grey, that much Peter can see, with killer cheekbones.

It’s not until the guy finishes whatever quiet conversation he was having and turns towards Peter, uncapping a pen and finally facing the younger that it clicks. 

Shit.

Three weeks earlier

Usually after a rough week of classes and work, Peter is exhausted. He’s tired and he just wants to sleep for fourteen hours, then have food delivered directly to his bed so he doesn’t have to get up for a full twenty four. 

This week it is the opposite. He’s keyed up and anxious to do something. He feels a little detached from himself, and he wants to do something outrageous. He wants an adrenaline rush that will take all his extra energy with it once it fades.

MJ suggests partaking in a protest somewhere, but a quick search tells him there aren’t any nearby that night, and not that Peter doesn’t feel just as passionate about good causes and taking action, but standing with a sign and chanting with a crowd isn’t really the thrill he’s looking for to vent how wound up he is. 

Ned suggests clubbing. Peter likes that idea a lot better. 

He loses his best friend within the first twenty minutes they spend at the bar. It’s not too high end that it actually requires an entrance fee, but it’s a respectable enough place that they definitely wouldn’t have been able to afford more than two drinks.

Which is why they got plenty tipsy before they went into the club. 

Which is why after attractive strangers keep buying Peter shots and sweet bubbly things (as if he can’t handle his liquor, but whatever, he won’t say no to free alcohol) he’s hammered. 

Not black-out wasted, of course. Peter knows his limits well enough to know exactly when he’s having fun, but not too clumsy or cloudy to get in real trouble. But he’s definitely drunk. Definitely, definitely drunk.

Normally Peter isn’t the type to be comfortable in a crowded club full of sweaty bodies, everyone in short dresses and tight button ups that show off all the round and firm parts.

On that note, he hadn’t really had much for a “sexy” outfit other than a blush pink satin t-shirt that MJ said made him look “fuckable” and fitted black chinos. 

But normally Peter doesn’t feel like he’ll explode if he doesn’t find some way to work off pent up nerves. So when girls put their hands on his shoulders and roll and sway their hips, and random guys grab him by the waist and pull his ass flush to their fronts—he laughs and grinds back. 

He flits between partners for the better part of an hour, really only stopping to get free water from the bar or have various old fashioned, rocks, shot, and cocktail glasses slid his way—or to go to the bathroom.

He sees Ned a couple times, always across the room with a girl practically melting into him. Ned’s always had a better sense of rhythm than Peter, but that’s the nice thing about club music. 

You don’t really need rhythm. You just have to move and you’ll either fit the song anyways or someone else will help you along. 

He only takes a few sips of each drink he’s offered, and some he does refuse with a cheeky smile about not getting drunk, even though he’s very drunk already.

Peter’s just left a man (and a half empty glass) at the bar, one who’s already bought him two very sparkling blue drinks and who definitely watches his ass each time he walks away, when he runs into someone. Literally, bumps into them, and though they’re barely thrown off balance and Peter is mid not-sexy-at-all apology, the person steadies both hands on his waist. 

They’re nice hands. Firm but not uncomfortably possessive or rough, pliable enough to move with the way Peter shifts and sways without letting even an ounce of space get under his grip. 

“Hello there,” the man says. Peter looks up and sees a goddamn devilishly handsome face, well trimmed facial hair and piercing grey-green eyes. Probably mid 30’s. Sharply defined cheekbones and jaw. Hot. 

“Hi,” Peter giggles. Giggles like a ditzy idiot, but the man doesn’t seem to mind. 

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?” He says, and he rakes his gaze up and down Peter’s body in the most shameless way. Peter grins and bites his lip, not shying away from eye contact when the man looks up again. 

“You’re not too bad lookin’ yourself.” 

The man grins, then tugs Peter forward by the waist. Peter doesn’t hesitate to grind forward, one hand on the guy’s chest and the other rising to a tall shoulder, swaying and stepping into the man’s space. 

It earns him a pleased smirk, and the guy drags him closer, walks him back into the messy crowd so they can dance. 

He’s hot, ok, and Peter’s been getting groped and felt up for the last hour and a half, so when he feels a sizable bulge press against him and moves flush with the solid body in front of, beside, behind him—sue him, he gets hard. Really hard. 

Really, really fucking hard. 

As in, he needs to get off in the bathroom right fucking now. 

“Having fun, baby?” The guy asks. His mouth is right next to Peter’s ear, hips rubbing against Peter’s ass, and one hand reaches down to boldly cup Peter’s clothed dick. 

Peter whines and nods, pulling off the guy, fully intending to abandon ship and jerk off in a hopefully not too gross toilet stall. The man grabs his wrist as he steps away, but doesn’t drag him back or try to guide him elsewhere. He just follows Peter through the crowd, landing them both in the bathroom. 

When Peter turns around with the goal of seductively asking if the man wants to help him out or not, he’s met by plush lips rushing to his own. The guy tastes like hard alcohol, like whiskey and bourbon and nothing like the marshmallow vodka Peter and Ned used to get tipsy or the sweet bubbly things Peter’s been offered all night. 

The man walks them through the bathroom door and locks it behind them, as if there aren’t stalls they could easily slip into. For some reason the lights are actually dimmer inside the restroom and the music has no problem slipping through the crack under the door, deafening outside but loud enough to mostly cover up the wet sounds of their kissing.

Peter kisses him hard and messy, wrapping his arms around the guy’s neck and grinding forward, trying to get some friction on his aching cock. The man smirks into the kiss, nipping at Peter’s bottom lip and licking from the bottom of his chin back into his mouth, one hand venturing downwards to cup his erection again.

The man’s hands are so steady, nothing sloppy or uncoordinated about him. He doesn’t tremble or slip up at all, doesn’t hold too tight, doesn’t move to fast but he doesn’t slow down for a second to let Peter breathe. He rubs at Peter’s dick through his slacks, fingers mapping out the shape and digging his palm right where the tip is, making Peter keen into the kiss. 

It doesn’t take long for the guy to get tired with feeling him up over his pants. He unbuttons the chinos easily and tugs down the zipper, slipping his hand under Peter’s boxers too. 

His hand isn’t particularly cold or hot but god does it feel good, having smooth, solid skin to rub against. The man strokes him with purpose a few times, not teasing him or trying to draw out any more of the moans that Peter graciously supplies. Flicking his wrist over the head, cupping and squeezing his balls, tight but not too tight, easing the way with precome. 

And then he stops, just holding, and with a desperate moan Peter picks up where he left off, grinding into the man’s fist, thrusting his hips up and forward into the friction.

He gets close embarrassingly fast (or it would be embarrassing if he could care), his legs shaking and arms tense and abdominal clenched as pressure and pleasure quickly pool in the pit of his stomach.

Peter whimpers into the kiss, all tongue and want, threading his fingers in the older man’s brown (possibly black? It’s dark in here) hair while he’s squeezed tightly against hard muscle by an arm around his waist. 

“Gonna-”

“Do it. Come on, baby, wanna see your pretty face when you do,” the man cuts him off. Peter nods, just nods and bites his lip and lets his head fall back, baring his neck and face to the world (or, really, just to the man jerking him off) as he tips over the edge. 

He moans so loudly that if someone was waiting on the other side of the door they’d hear him over the music. He doesn’t care, though. It’s one of the best orgasms he’s ever had, the build up and being pushed over by such dexterous hands with that deep voice groaning and whispering praise in his ear. 

He soaks his already precome-ruined boxers with release and slumps against the man, needing a second to breathe and collect himself. The guy lets him lean for a few moments, but then turns him around, drawing Peter’s back against him and pinning the smaller man between himself and the counter. 

It’s probably a gross counter, classy bar or otherwise. Peter doesn’t care. He folds his arms on it and rests his forehead on the backs of his hands, letting the man behind him grind into his ass. 

Bare, if Peter picks that up right, the hardly audible shuffle of a belt and zipper, the much more defined feeling cock rubbing against him. He doesn’t care about that, either. If his ass gets stained by this gorgeous Greek god’s come, then he can just borrow Ned’s jacket to wrap around his waist when they leave. 

Will it be embarrassing? Yes. Will Ned let him live it down? Not likely.

Will it be worth it? Yes. 

And it’s not that he’s not present and interested, but he’s definitely a little floaty and the songs outside get caught swimming in his head, and he has a feeling it takes the man longer to come than Peter thinks it does.

Either way, when the guy does climax, he pulls away from Peter and catches it in his hands, washing it away in the sink beside the younger’s nearly collapsed body. 

“You ok there?” The man asks. Even shouting over the music, his voice sounds soft and gentle. Peter nods. 

“‘m fine. Better than fine. That felt great, erm, thanks,” he laughs, standing straight and looking at the guy again. The man smiles at him and pecks his cheeks, then his lips, then smirks. 

“Made a mess of your underwear, though,” he quips.

Peter groans and wiggles around the guy, stealing some paper towels to try and clean up inside his pants (which would have been awkward and a little confusing, as for how much modesty he should take, if the guy didn’t plaster himself to Peter’s back once more, hook his chin over Peter’s shoulder and watch so intently that Peter started to get hard again) before zipping and buttoning back up. 

“I’m Stephen, by the way. Doctor Stephen Strange.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “Doctor? Wow, that’s really impressive,” he drawls, not really believing the man. One of the first guys to buy him a drink had also claimed to be a doctor, but a few minutes later when his girlfriend showed up, she happened to mention his job at a grocery store. 

Not that Peter has anything against grocery store employees. Ned worked at Walmart before getting into his field and Peter has probably worked at every convenience store and gas station in Queens. 

(And not because he couldn’t hold one down, but because he needed five jobs at once over the summer to be able to pay for his first year of room and board.)

The guy just smiles, not confessing to being a liar but not taking offense that Peter implies he is. “What’s your name, sweetheart?” 

Peter hums. “Peter. I’m a photographer,” he winks at the man and unlocks the bathroom door. Stephen guides him by the wrist (and it would almost be annoying that he doesn’t hold Peter’s hand properly or let him walk on his own, if it wasn’t hot as fuck) back to the bar.

In place of ordering, Stephen just holds up two fingers towards the bartender. She nods at him and turns to grab two shot glasses, and Peter doesn’t have time to unpack why she knows what he wants. 

“Photography, huh?”

“Yup.”

“Sounds riveting.”

“Oh, it is. Nothing as exciting as taking pictures of other people doing exciting things.”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

“Doctor, huh?”

“Mhm.”

“Are you a real doctor?”

“I am.”

Peter swivels on his bar stool, staring the man down. It would be more interrogating and honest to his attempt to read the man if simply looking at Stephen didn’t make his lips twitch in a smile. “Where’d you go to school?” 

“Pre-med in NYU. The rest is a secret.” Stephen winks. Peter narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything else. 

“So, is that Peter with a last name?” Stephen adds as the drinks are delivered to them. Honey colored with no bubbles and perfect circles of ice in each. Peter takes a sip and lets it roll around his mouth.

“How do I know you’re not a serial killer?”

“I told you I’m a doctor.”

“Perfect cover story,” Peter raises, making an exaggeratedly suspicious face. Stephen laughs at him, probably not because he’s actually amusing but because the man is also drunk. 

“Ok, what about Peter with a phone number?”

Peter can’t stop from smiling. A phone number? Like, a ‘we could totally hook up again and get further than a hand job in a bathroom’ kind of phone number? He tries to keep up the game of not acting as enthusiastic as he is, though. “Well, since I still don’t know if you’re a serial killer, maybe you should give me your number.”

“Really? After I got you off like that?”

“Well, actually I got me off, thanks,” Peter muses cheekily, “but… yep. Precautions.”

That earns him a fond laugh. “Alright, alright. ‘Precautions’. Here,” Stephen snatches a napkin from under his drink and a pen from over the counter of the bar, confirming Peter’s theory that they man is definitely a regular. 

“So you come here often?” Peter says. He realizes the joke a second later than Stephen does and blushes at his own cheesiness while the man shakes his head and laughs. 

“I do, yes.” 

“Hmm. Doctor’s salary and you go to bars that don’t overcharge you for everything? Sounds sketchy.” Peter quips. Stephen rolls his eyes and hands over the napkin, ten numbers in way too nice handwriting bleeding through.

“A friend of mine owns the place. I like to support her now and again.” He explains. Peter nods, accepting the reasoning. 

“That doesn’t explain why you have nice handwriting, though.” He continues, examining the napkin. Stephen laughs at him. 

“I’m taking that as a compliment.” 

Peter grins back.

They talk for almost an hour, broken up by breaks to dance or get more drinks—which are just water, for Peter. He knows when he’s hit his limit, thankfully—and by the time Ned is falling over Peter’s shoulder, leaning against the counter and saying he’s ready to go home and lament about the girl he’s just fallen in love with, Peter thinks he likes Stephen Strange quite a lot. 

He says so, as he’s leaving, and waves the napkin with the man’s number for emphasis. Stephen just grins, tilts his head and raises his glass and shouts over the crowd that he expects to hear from Peter soon.

It’s only when Peter decides “soon” can totally be three in the morning of that same night that he realizes he somehow managed to lose the napkin. 

He’s upset, but not devastated. Just disappointed. Ned tells him they can both get over their narrowly claimed soulmates (i.e. the girl he danced with all night who was leaving to go back to Germany the next morning) by having a star wars marathon and ordering take-out. 

Which, yeah. Was a pretty good remedy, and after a few days, Peter completely (or, mostly completely) forgot about Stephen Strange.

Present time

Peter’s brain stops processing. God, just the sight of the other man makes him antsy to move, having to consciously stop his hips from shifting. He wants to kill the awkwardness. “Uh-”“Peter.” Stephen beats him to it. He cringes slightly.

“Um, h-hi. Hi? How, uh, how are you?” 

That gets him a slightly confused, if amused, eyebrow raise. (Killer cheekbones and those lips Peter assumed he’d never see again) “The question is actually how are you, seeing as you’re the one in the hospital bed.” 

“Oh! Right, right. I’m good. Fine.” This is too awkward. This is kind of painful, actually. 

“Mhm,” the doctor couldn’t sound less convinced, “How’s your head? I’m sure the nurse told you, they did an emergency CT scan when you were first brought in, and you don’t seem to have any injuries beyond the couple of scrapes on your face and side. Let you keep your clothes on since the worst of it might be a minor concussion. Let’s check that over though, yeah?”

Peter just nods slowly. Stephen comes to sit beside him, using another chair opposite the one housing his jacket and shoes. 

He watches as Stephen writes in a few boxes on the paper on his clipboard, but all Peter can think about is that those careful, nimble hands had given him one of the best orgasms ever. 

“Are you in any pain? Any sensitivity to light, headache, confusion, dizziness? Are you nauseous at all? Any memory loss?” 

Peter responds dutifully to the questions. He has a slight headache, and the lights bothered him when they first turned on but overall he’s feeling a lot better. An ache on his whole left side, but he assumes that’s from how he fell and landed when he got knocked out. 

Stephen writes down all of his answers, checking and marking boxes. When he’s done, he sets the clipboard down and beckons Peter closer. He listens to the younger man’s heart, checks his eyes with a light, and peels off some bandages that Peter hadn’t even noticed on his cheek, reapplying fresh gauze and tape with a new layer of antibiotic cream. 

“Well, I’d say you’re in the clear for a concussion, but you’ll definitely need to take it easy for a week or so. Lots of fluids, lots of rest, as low stress as you can manage. No rigorous physical activity. You’re a lucky kid, Peter Parker.” 

Peter cringes, then lets his head loll to the side. He’s tired and the pain medication is making him a little loopy and he’d rather think about anything else than what his bill is going to be for all of this. 

“Well shit. You know my last name now. Hope you don’t serial murder me.” He hums. He reaches for his jacket and slips it on. Stephen has the decency (especially impressive considering he probably thinks Peter ditched him) to humor him.

“Still on about that? I thought you’d be convinced of my authenticity by now. I’ve got a white lab coat and everything. I’m wearing scrubs.” The man says, whispering scandalized at the end. It makes Peter giggle. He’s a little amazed, actually.

The man he met at the bar was nice, sure, but he’d also very clearly had the goal of getting into Peter’s pants. It’s odd to see the same man, who’d later taken such a serious, confident tone at the club still being playful.

“Speaking of, I thought you said you were a surgeon? Very impressive, very renowned, etcetera. Why are you giving me a… non, surgical check up?” Peter asks. He looks longingly at his shoes, kind of wishing they would just float over to his feet without him having to put them on.

Stephen doesn’t seem off put by Peter’s phrasing. “All of our neurologists are swamped at the moment. They called in some off duty general practitioners to cover, but a personal friend of mine, Christine, was supposed to see you and couldn’t, so she asked me.” He leans back in his chair, then, studying Peter in the same shameless, confident way (albeit, not in the lustful way) he had at the bar. 

“I must say, I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you here. Or again, at all.” His tone lilts, pressing Peter to explain why he never called after they hit it off (and got off). 

“Yeah, about that,” Peter mumbles. He grabs his sneakers but doesn’t put them on yet, figuring it would be rude to get up or turn his back while he’s explaining. “I’m sorry. I was honestly going to call you but, I uhm..” 

“Lost the napkin?”

Peter winces, then nods and hangs his head in defeat. “I lost the napkin.”

Stephen laughs, sitting forward again, and it surprises Peter. On the rare occasion he’s seen someone he’s (intentionally) turned down again, they’ve usually been… a lot more aggressive and unhappy. 

His confusion must show, because Stephen looks at him, all sharp features and unapologetically confident and somehow just soft enough to be sincere. “I figured it was something like that, considering you had a pretty good incentive to contact me.” 

Peter narrows his eyes, but it’s not real heat. “‘Pretty good incentive’ he says. My, you’re just full of yourself, huh? That’s gotta be some kind of doctor syndrome or something. There was a Criminal Minds episode like that.” Stephen groans at his response. 

“Criminal minds?”

“What? It’s a good show!” 

“It’s completely unrealistic. Every episode has the exact same plot.”

Peter gasps, offended. “They do not!” Stephen looks unimpressed.

“There’s a bad guy, he’s killed people in a particularly gruesome way and now he’s kidnapped some poor girl. Time crunch. He’s a white man between his 20’s and 40’s, one of the ‘agents’ has some dramatic personal tie, there are hints at a subplot, Reed says something quirky and beats them all at cards on the plane. Sound familiar?” 

Peter gapes at him for a solid three seconds before composing himself, crossing his arms and huffing. “It’s still entertaining..” he pouts, petulant. Stephan rolls his eyes but chuckles at the display. 

“Well, I’m sure it will keep you plenty entertained while you get your rest. And hydration. But try to steer clear of the strawberry daiquiris.” He says, smirking as he reorders the papers on his clipboard. Peter relents, sighing, and turns to put on his shoes.

“‘s not like I picked ‘em out and bought them all..” he grumbles quietly.

When he slowly rises from the bed, Stephen is still there. Standing on the opposite side of the cot, staring at him. Peter feels his cheeks flush and dear god, he cannot get hard thinking about the last time they were alone in a room together. 

He’s trying to think of some way to diffuse the tension, ask about leaving or paperwork (or the bill, dear god), the police report he needs to file or about his friend picking him up—but Stephen beats him to it. 

“Would you like to have dinner?” 

Peter stares. What was that?

“Huh?”

“I said, would you like to have dinner?” Stephen repeats, patient and unflinching, nothing modest or humorous to lighten the air. 

Peter stutters, then wets his lip and bites it, then shifts from foot to foot before nodding. 

“Yes. I’d like to have dinner with you.”

Stephen smiles. “Great.” He steps around the bed just as Peter does, bringing them closer together. “Now, technically I have your whole file right here, and I could just get your phone number off of that. But that’d be wholly unprofessional of me.”

Peter snorts, having to step back and cover his mouth so he can laugh at the man’s utter brashness. “Yeah, you’re completely correct. That would be very unprofessional. And probably illegal, I think.”

“Oh, definitely illegal.” 

Peter giggles, but then Stephen is handing him the pen he’d been writing with. Peter takes it, still grinning, yet furrows his brows in confusion. “I don’t have any paper.” 

Stephen smirks. Then he holds out his hand, palm up. When it clicks what he’s requesting and Peter snaps up to look at him, there’s a very calm, controlled smile, carefully containing a wild amount of self-satisfaction on Stephen’s face. 

“So I don’t lose it.” 

Peter rolls his eyes so dramatically it hurts, but he takes Stephen’s hand, reluctantly flattered, holding it steady in one of his own and writing with the other. Though it’s more like the older man’s one palm holds both of his stable with how unwavering it is. 

When he’s finished writing his number, he hands the pen back. “Make sure you don’t wash that hand,” he quips. Stephen hums, waving an arm past to guide Peter out of the room. 

“I promise I’ll take good care of it. The nurse will deliver your paperwork to the waiting room, and there will be an officer there as well. You’re very welcome to stay until your ride arrives.” He says. Before Peter can answer, the man is swooping down, planting a gentle kiss to his temple, and then before he can react, Stephen is disappearing down the hallway. 

Peter waits in a mildly comfortable chair and picks up his packet, report and bills and prescription of rest, all in a daze. He’s still in it when he files his report with officer Rogers and when he gets in Ned’s car around two thirty in the morning, answering a million questions and finally tipping his head back against the seat, relishing the dark and the busy quiet of New York late at night.

Two days later, after he’s got a new phone and a new wallet (and a loan in May’s good credit name to pay for his hospital visit), he gets a text that threatens to buzz out of the pocket which barely manages to muffle it.

Unknown: Dinner, Thursday. 8 o’clock. I’ll pick you up. Sound good?

Peter grins and makes a new contact.

You don’t know my address though?

Stephen: I’m sure you’ll tell me.

Fair enough. I can do Thursday at 8.

Stephen: Perfect.

Then, a moment later:

Stephen: Wear that pink shirt again, and I’ll let you pick the venue. Deal?

Peter blushes even though there’s no one there to see it, biting the inside of his cheek not to smile dumbly at his phone. 

Deal.

#stephen strange x peter parker #stephen x peter #spideystrange #psa that marshmallow vodka is actually fucking disgusting #anon #lemon does prompts now I guess lol #tw: alcohol #tw: violence #tw: medical expenses #healthcare is expensive as fuck bc america sucks #tw: age gap

[mariisseething]

Analyzing Hero Costumes: Girls of Class 1-A

My obsession has spiraled out of control. Let me roast analyze these babes. I’m dumb. I’m tired. I’m gay. Let’s do this.

Warning: I’m a cynical, lazy-ass critic with no consistent taste. Don’t expect a fair analysis.

(This is just for fun, please don’t get mad at me for being an undereducated weeb! I went into writing this with only the knowledge I’ve obtained through watching the show and reading the manga. I don’t know everything about the costumes, and I don’t want to either)!

Ashido Mina (Pinky)

Babe, imma be frank here.

I love her, but—

that shit ugly.

Funcionality: Mina’s quirk (Acid) comes from her hands and feet. If I remember correctly, she has passages in her shoes that her...foot..acid.....can pass through, and her hands are fully exposed. So her costume is “practical”, and works with her quirk.

Design: As I said before, that shit ugly. The body suit has the worst pattern and color combination I’ve ever seen. (Like if Sully from Monster’s Inc. was turned into a cow and hated it). Her tiddies should be popping out any second now, which isn’t great. Her weird armpit vest with it’s stupid fluffy collar is quite reminiscent of Hawks’ jacket, which leads me to believe that their costumes were made by the same designer. (Many of the designers in the BNHA universe put calling-cards in their costumes). Her white mask is pointless, but at least it matches the fluff on her collar. Her boots, though they have a purpose, are ugly as sin. The pale yellow doesn’t match any other piece in the ensemble, and the Dabi-scar colored purple makes me sad. Hate that.

Total Score: 2/10

Her costume does almost nothing to enhance her quirk, and it’s hideous. The only reason it got two points was because of the shoe holes, and the possibility that it’s connected to my boy Hawks.

Seriously, this is some Seasame Street lookin-ass bullshit.

No hate on Mina, she’s lovely, but her taste is atrocious. (see: her bedroom).

Asui Tsuyu (Froppy)

Okay, okay bitch I see you.

I’m here for this.

Funcionality: Tsu’s quirk (Frog) requires a decent amount of flexibility from clothing. Spandex works for that I guess. Normally, I would automatically fail this costume for having goddamn toe “socks”, but for Tsuyu they’re nessecary. Having her individual toes chiseled out helps her grip onto shit when she’s kicking ass. It looks like her gloves are attached to her body suit, which is rad, but I’m not sure what the purpose of that waist belt-thing is. If anything, the chunky pieces of her costume would make it harder for her to swim. I also have no fucking clue what that head piece is. I once thought they were like binoculars or something, but she’s never put them on her face so...they wouldn’t fit....on her face..huh.....I’m so stupid bro.

Design: Lets start with a positive, the color scheme slaps. Everything goes together, and the dark green even matches her hair. The bodysuit has a cool structure, and I can definitely appreciate the slight turtleneck and boot-esq feature; however, the chunky wrist pieces, belt, neck/chest-thing, and head piece confuse me. I guess they’re there for fashion, gutter fashion. Shitty crap face fashion. Ugly butthole fashion. FILTH! I need to calm down holy shit—

Total Score: 6/10

The look honestly only lost points for the random ass statement pieces. Water terrains are Tsuyu’s specialty, and a clunky outfit would certainly slow her down underwater.

The toe shit, turtleneck, thigh-high “boots”, and color scheme are pretty dope though.

(Also, she only has three toes but frogs have four).

(My Hero Academia: Cancelled).

Hagakure Toru (Invisible Girl)

So, here’s the real question.

Is she naked?

Short answer: I dunno.

Funcionality: So she’s invisible, right? A good costume would emphasize that. I can only assume she wears the boots and gloves for comfort and so her allies can see where she is. If she wants to go full invisible, she just has to take them off. At one point, it was confirmed that she was topless during the sports festival, but we’ve had no further updates on her costume. A few people have theorized that her costume is made of her hair (assuming she has hair). We know that this is possible, as Mirio’s costume is made of his hair so he can remain clothed while his quirk is activated. The only issue would be making an outfit out of something you can’t see. If I were Toru, I would choose to fight nude because, I-uh...hmm, I-I can do what I want SHUT UP!

Design: There’s not much to critique here. The shade of blue on her gloves is cute, and the pink stripes don’t make much of an impact. The shoes are just about the most boring thing I’ve ever seen, like why are they beige??? What are they supposed to match? I just—ugh, beige??? What the fuck Horikoshi...smh.

Total Score: 5/10

Since we don’t know if the “hair-costume” thing is canon, I can’t rate it any higher. If that is true, it would be an 7/10. The outfit does its job, but I’m bored and beige sucks.

(Btw I don’t trust her...)

(Sketchy chick right here).

(Sketchy chick with some ugly-ass beige shoes).

Jirou Kyouka (Earphone Jack)

Aww.

She’s cute!

Look at her little face, d’awwwweeeeee!

Funcionality: The lovely Kyouka’s quirk (Earphone Jack), makes absolutely no sense to me. Like, I get that she can hear better and can eavesdrop really well, but how does she...make loud noises??? With the speakers??? Plugging earbuds into a speaker doesn’t make............noise, and the speakers aren’t part of her body. Whatever, back to the analysis. The speakers on her hands and calves amplify sound somehow, and her earlobes are exposed. It’s works.

Design: The speaker boots are basic, but acceptable. She’s got some comfy looking black pants, and a trendy salmon-colored top. Her jacket is iconic, and she’s wearing a choker. (+1,000,000 points for that). The white gloves don’t match shit, but they’re fingerless so I’ll let it slide. Her headphones almost match....meh. I don’t care. (+10 for the face paint).

Total Score: 8/10

Listen, I’d give her a 10 but this costume just isn’t....gimmicky, enough for me? She’s a superhero for fucksake! Now’s the time to dress your goddamn best! The look is practical, and seems to be her taste, I just disagree with her choices. Sue me. I’d either wanna fight in the wackiest most dangerous getup you’ve ever seen, or completely naked. Either way, I’m getting arrested. Jirou needs to get on my fucking level.

Uraraka Ochaco (Uravity)

I don’t know boys,

it seems like she might be...

round.

Fuck sharp angles!

Funcionality: Ochaco’s quirk (Zero Gravity) only requires her hands to work. More specifically, her fingertips. Uh, yeah those are some nude fingertips. *Ahem* moving on. Actually wait, since she often uses her quirk on herself it would be helpful for her to eliminate as much extra weight as possible, so I’m hoping that all of the accessories are hollow. They better be, or I’m gonna start throwing hands with Kohei Horikoshi.

Design: When Ochaco first got her hero costume she was surprised by how tight it was, even saying that it wasn’t supposed to be that tight. Bitch, how could it have been loose? I don’t...fuck it. I like the colors, I like the boots a lot actually, but who cares about that, I wanna talk about her fucking chastity belt. Who she keepin out? (Jesus Christ she’s a child, tone it down Mari). Do you think it’s comfortable to walk around with a chunk of plastic on your crotch?! I don’t know, seriously, is it? Maybe she’s trying to hide something...a hip dip perhaps?! Jk hip dips are stupid, that’s how bones work, don’t be ashamed. Her wrist...spheres... have handles on them, no comment, and whereas I usually LOVE chokers—that one is stupid and I hate it. Curvy little shit.

Total Score: 8/10

I like it overall, but some things are just too strange to overlook. (i.e. the chastity belt, wrist cuff handles, and the ugly choker). This costume doesn’t really scream Uraraka to me either. It’s a bit unoriginal to me.

I just don’t love it.

(Why are her fists clenched? Is she trying to fight? I could snap her like the twig she is and steal her girlfriend).

(Assuming she has one).

Yaoyorozu Momo (Creati)

Oohooohohohoho

hooohohoho

hoooooo mAN do I have some WORDS for this one!

Funcionality: Momo’s quirk (Creation) does require quite a bit of skin to be exposed, but I’m not sure why that skin HAS to be her boobs. She’s got thighs, a stomach, a back, an upper chest, and arms. Why do her Russian nesting dolls have to come out of her tiddies??? Okay, actually, she doesn’t make that many things with her tits. So....why’re they out? This costume definitely lets her quirk run wild, maybe too much.

Design: The red is pretty, and I can tolerate the sandy yellow. Her shoes are unimportant, so let’s just gloss over those. Now, WHAT is that thing? A makeshift, tan colored, plastic tube mini...skirt? I know she has a shelf on her ass that she carries books on, but doesn’t she have a cellphone? Google? Can’t she just remember the molecular make-up of a cannon? (Because she only makes cannons now for some reason). Have we ever even seen her reading those books? Can she read? A large portion of her midsection/chest is exposed up to another one of those weird chest pieces and a neck jacket. Maybe she should cut the neck coat off and glue it to her tiddies.

Total Score: 1/10

Listen, Horikoshi clearly understands what Momo’s costume needs, but he has no idea how to make that. This outfit IS inappropriate, no matter how you look at it. She’s a minor, and I don’t like the idea that she’s running around 75% naked. The only part of this that I like is the shade of red. That’s not good.

I really like Momo, she’s a good character, it’s unfortunate that we have to sexualize her so much. Can’t girls just be smart without also being eye candy for creepy 30 year old weebs?

——————

That’s it for this analysis. I plan on posting more stuff like this since I enjoy writing it so much! You should totally follow me so you don’t miss my future ramblings! 💖

Unless you hated it.

I wouldn’t blame you.

#sorry for the long post #bnha #anime #gay #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero #boku no hero academia #class 1a #girls of class 1a #Class 1-A #mina ashido #bnha ashido #tsuyu asui #bnha tsuyu #hagakure tooru #bnha hagakure #jirou kyouka #bnha jirou #uraraka ochako #bnha uraraka #momo yaoyorozu #bnha momo #tsuchako #momojirou

[aria-i-adagio]

Gravitas.  Hubris.  Gravitas.

Fandom: The Arcana

Chapter Rating: Lime

Masterpost

Now.

I wake up to Julian’s fingers tracing figure eights on my hip and thigh.  He nuzzles my neck.  “Good morning, my dear.”  I hum happily and roll over onto my back, stretching my arms above my head.  

“Morning.”  I yawn and toss an arm over my eyes.  “How late is it?”

“Mid morning.  I didn’t want to wake you.”  He head dips down, lips pressing against my collarbone.  “I did make some coffee.”  He sits up and pushes his hair out of his face, suddenly looking concerned.  “Do you drink coffee?  I could make tea, if you don’t drink coffee.”

I smile at the thought that he’s actually worried that I don’t like coffee.  “I do.”  He turns to the side as I sit up and rub the sleep out of my eyes.  He turns back with a mug in his hands.  His expression is almost shy as he passes it to me.  I take the cup from him with a grin.  It’s barely warm in my hands, and the liquid within is nearly cold.  “How long have you been watching me sleep?”

“Not sure.”  His hand slides along my thigh, and he kisses my shoulder.  Whether reassuring himself or me, or maybe both of us, that last night wasn’t a one off.  “You’re cute when you sleep.”

“Mmmm . . . sure.”  I drink some more of the coffee and lean my head against his arm.  "I was drooling, I bet."

"Still adorable.  So, um, what do you have to do today?”

"Schedule is terribly full, I'm afraid.  Got to prove a really stubborn man innocent."

"Hmm, I, uh, don't suppose you'd need to spend any time with him to do that."  He shifts around to sit behind me, and I let my head fall back on his chest as his arms wrap around me.

"I suppose that couldn't hurt.  Especially if he'd be a little more helpful."

Fingertips creep up my stomach curling around one breast as his lips find the side of my neck.  "I'm sure I can help you with something."

I find a flat surface for the coffee before we can manage to spill it; although, as lukewarm as it is, that wouldn't be a disaster so much as an unwelcome distraction.  "And what would that something be?”

"Mmmm... Whatever will please you.  Anything."

I twist around as he leans back, until I’m laying flat against him, mouth pressed to his neck.  His hands slid up the back of my thighs, pushing aside the shirt.  “I can think of a few things that would please me.”

***

The backyard of the house is tiny but tidy, enclosed by a stone wall and surrounded by fruit trees.  Julian's and my clothes from the prior day are strung on a line, drying in the sun.  Nearby there's a pump for water and a half barrel that looks conveniently placed for the purposes of laundry.  For that matter, I think another quick rinse would do me good.  And the trees seem to create enough privacy.

I drop the sheets in a pile beside the half barrel and begin pulling water into the barrel.  Julian takes behind for a moment then takes over the pump, filling the half barrel far quicker than I could have managed on my own.

I snag one of the towels from last night off the line before stripping off the oversized shirt and stepping into the cool water.  A quick tock from my hand warms it a bit, and I kneel down.  Julian is leaning against one of the posts holding up the clothesline and grinning from ear to ear.  I roll my eyes and scoop up a double handful of water, tossing it into the air and giving it a little push of magic to make sure it hits his face.  He sputters and curses while I splash my own face with water and rinse off after last night's escapades.  It's quick work.  I'm out of the barrel and wrapped in a towel before Julian has fully ceased his dramatics over the water I flung at him.

"What was that for?”

"Fun."  I pick up the pile of sheets and dump them into the tub, then step back in.  Much easier to do the scrubbing with my feet rather than my hands.  "And you were leering.  Lech."

"I was not."  He's smiling again.  I want to stop what I'm doing to kiss those lips that are curved just so.  "Just admiring."

"Sure..."  I kick the sheets around, letting the suds work through the fabric, one hand holding the towel close around me.

"And what's this?"  He gives me a curious look and starts taking down our shirts from the line, folding them loosely as he goes.  "Some kind of magician thing."

"Nope.  Just a lot easier than doing the washing by hand."

I work the sheets to the point that they should be clean, and with Julian's help dump the soapy water out and give the fabric a double rinse.  I let him hang out the sopping wet sheets while I pull back on my clothes.  Then, with a sly smile, I touch the fabric and work a spell that dried them immediately.  

He looks annoyed for a moment.  "Why didn't you just do that to start with?”

"It doesn't work as well if everything's crumpled together into one big sodden pile.  And the sun will still bleach them a bit."  I hadn't come across any spells that would handle every step of the laundry and certainly none that quite replicated the smell of sheets that had been allowed to hang in the sun and breeze for a few hours.  I trace my fingers down his bare chest.  Even with the sun high in the sky, it’s too early for him to bother with buttons.  “Any chance of some more coffee?”

“Oh, there’s always a chance for more coffee.”

Mazelinka’s kitchen doesn’t have a traditional stove.  Julian kneels by the hearth for a few minutes, humming to himself while he brings water and coffee grounds to a boil three times in a tiny bronze pot.  He pours the liquid off into two tiny cups and settles onto the bench next to me.  “One place I visited had these contraptions that forced water through the coffee at high pressure.  Amazing stuff.  Going to have to try to build one someday.”

I blow on the coffee and take a sip before setting it back down to cool.  “This is good though.”

“Brewing a good cup of coffee - necessary life skill.  At least for me.”  He stretches, back cracking as he arches it.  "Maz did leave us - well, uh, me - an errand."

"And that errand would be?”  I take another sip of the rich coffee.  I can feel my pulse thrumming behind my ears, whether from the coffee or from Julian isn’t clear.

"Dropping this off to a contact."  He takes a package wrapped in brown paper from the table and juggles it from hand to hand before tucking it away in his coat.

"Sounds fun.”

"Umm, yeah, sketchy place really.  You should probably just head back to the palace -"

"No.  Seriously.  Sounds fun."  Besides, somewhere sketchy sounds like just the place to overhear rumors about the Count's death that the Countess's agents might have missed.

"It's not the safest place."

I shrug and have another drink.  "I'm not entirely helpless."  Asra had taught me several defensive spells before he left me for the first time.  At least he had wanted to increase the chances that I was still alive when he got back.  Better than no concern at all, I suppose.

***

The sketchy side of town isn’t that sketchy.  It’s more run down than the neighborhood Asra and I live in, but nothing about the crumbling buildings feels particularly threatening.  Children play in the street, watched from windows by grandparents.  Julian stops at a stall advertising fine tobacco.  He exchanges a few words with the owner of the stall, then trades the wrapped packages from Mazelinka.  He laughs at some joke and turns back, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as he pulls me back out into the street.  “Smoke?”  He offers me a hand rolled cigarette.  “These are just tobacco, not any of the, um, backroom goods, but he claims it’s a particularly nice leaf.”

“Sure.”  I take one from him and pause to summon tiny flame above my fingertips to light it.  He raises an eyebrow, then returns a packet of matches back to a pocket in his jacket before leaning down to lit his off mine.  It is a good smoke, sweet and lightweight, and I mentally bookmark the shop in my head.

“Where to next, boss?”

“Mind stopping my shop?”  I know my shirt is clean, but Mazelinka was right that there wasn’t much to be done about the bloodstain.  A clean one would be welcome.  And I still haven’t figured out how I ended up with my tarot deck instead of Asra’s the other night.  I’d like to know if his had reappeared where mine should have been.

“Works for me.”  

While we walk, he keeps a hand in contact with me as much as possible, touching my shoulder or the small of my back.  I pause in front a stall selling trinkets and charms.  They aren’t quite like any that I’ve seen in the market near my house.  These are deceptively simple glass, but they shimmer with colors captured in perichoresis, blending and flowing into each other.  Asra would love them.  I dig in my bag for a coin and trade it to the shopkeep for one that ripples between violet and lavender.  

When I turn back Julian is staring at an announcement recently pasted to the wall of a building.  It’s a rough sketch of him, with a price listed for his capture.  My breath catches in my throat.  At least it’s for his live capture.  Not much reassurance there.  

“Huh, I wouldn’t have thought I was worth that much.”

“Nadia didn’t say anything about this.”

A passer by stops and peers at the poster.  They wink at Julian, then step past us, rip the poster from the wall and tear it into several pieces.  “Bit of an eyesore,” they comment.  “And I can think of several hundred better uses for five thousand soldi if the Countess actually wants to help the city.”

“We better get back to my shop, I think.”  I suspect that the larger part of the city population will respond in a similar way as that passer by, but the sum is twice what the shop has ever earned in a year according to the ledgers I had gone through.  Someone will be tempted.

“Yeah, uh, that’s a good idea.”

I pause to cast a quick glamour, a simple one that I can keep up for a time, just darkening his hair a few shades to a nondescript brown, and nudge Julian so that he’s walking closer to the building, even if as short as I am, I’m not much of a visual block for his height.  We walk at a quick clip, ignoring the other stalls in the market.  Julian turns off the main avenue and down a side street, clearly intending to avoid foot traffic.

It’s a mistake.  Two heavy bodies knock into us, shoving Julian into an alley.  Julian catches his balance and pulls a knife from his boot with a single fluid motion.  One of the men faces him, a short sword drawn.  The other grabs me, twisting one arm behind my back and holding me against him.

“It’d probably be best if you just come with us, Dr. Devorak.”  His breath smells of stale beer.  I can feel a sharp prick at the base of my throat, distracting me for a moment from the painful tension in the arm twisted behind my back.  Julian unclenches fists, dropping the knife his held and lowering his hands.

"Hands on the wall," the second one instructs.  Julian starts to turn, all too ready to give up.  I'm not sure that his resignation is entirely about keeping me safe either.  No matter.  I don't really need to be kept safe.  

I turn the wrist my captor is holding sharply, flattening my palm against his torso and pushing a crackling wave of energy into him, mentally thanking Asra for teaching me that spell as I do.  He convulses with a shout, and I twist out of his grasp.  There's a sting along the base of my throat from the knife, but it's nothing more than a scratch.  He collapses to his knees, arms around his chest.

Julian takes advantage of the distraction to spin around on his toes and land a solid punch the second man's face.  He singles backwards into a wall.  Julian bolts forward, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the alley and down the street.  A few blocks later, we duck into another alley.

Julian's eyes widen when he sees the blood at the base of my neck.  He strips off a glove before I can protest and touches my throat, the mark of his own flaring as he does.  A line if red, truly no more than a scratch, appears on his neck.

"Julian, you didn't need -"

He shushes me, then pulls me close against him as he leans back against the wall, whispering breathlessly into my hair.  “You’re alright.  You’re alive.”  He runs his bare hand through my hair.  The superficial cut heals over quickly, but not before adding yet another bloodstain to his shirt.  "You got hurt because you were walking with me."

“Julian . . .”

“You’re okay.”

“I’m fine.  Ilya, I’m okay.”  I pull away from him.  Just enough that I can cradle his face in my hands and look into his eyes.  “I’m alright.  Let’s go.”  I adjust his jacket to cover as much of the blood as I can.  “My shop.”

***

The wards of the door of my shop are untouched when we make it there.  I undo them quickly and push Julian inside.  His grey eyes are dazed, refusing to quite come into focus.  “Julian.  Look at me.”  His eyebrows are pinched together with anxiety when he turns his face to me.  “You’re safe.  I’m safe.”  At least for the moment.  Nadia hadn’t said anything to indicate that she was considering placing a bounty on Julian.  Had one of the courtiers swayed her?  Valerius wouldn’t have been interested in the additional uproar a bounty would cause, but someone within that court was interested in creating a show.  But right now, my concern for Julian is rather more personal.  “Come on, upstairs.  I’ll make some tea, and we can both get cleaned up.”

I coax Julian into settling into a chair and start a kettle of water for tea.  I could use magic to heat the water, but that’s another thing that can’t be done well with magic.  It doesn’t taste at all the same as tea made from water that was allowed to come to a boil naturally.  That done, I dampen a rag and sit across from Julian.  He lifts his head as I push aside his shirt and begin dabbing away the thin line of dried blood.  His fingers wrap around mine.  “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?”

His shoulders roll as he exhales.  “Getting you involved in this.”

“I hardly think you’re responsible for that.  Blame the Countess.  Or Asra for leaving me unsupervised.”

“I could - I should just turn myself in.”

“Not until we’ve figured out what actually happened.”  The Countess might honestly desire to know the full truth, but it would be all too human to accept the easy out that Julian turning himself in would provide.  And whoever had placed that bounty was clearly motivated to ensure that blame fell on Julian.  The kettle interrupts my thoughts with a whistle.  I pour the water of the tea leaves and set the pot and a mug on the table beside Julian.  “I’m going to change into clean clothes.”  I run my hand through his hair and press a quick kiss to his forehead.  “And find a shirt for you.  I think we’ve got one or two that might fit you.”

I strip out of the clothes I’m wearing and toss them into one the piles on the floor that I think is dirty laundry.  I rummage through my drawer settling on a dark pair of pants and a striped linen tunic that I think Asra wore last.  But it fits me well enough, and I like the colors.  A few plain white shirts that are too large for either of us have been shoved into the back corner of the bottom drawer for years.  I shake both out on the bed and then grab the one that appears less wrinkled before stepping back into the kitchen.       

“Hey, I found this shirt that looks like -  Julian, where are you going?"  

"I . . . You, you see."  He picks his foot up from the top of the stairs and turns to me.  His hands drop helplessly to his sides.  "This is the second time you've ended up bleeding.  In less than a day.  It's dangerous to be around -  I'm dangerous to be around."

"This is also the second time you've healed me.  In less than a day." 

"Still -"

I cut him off and hold the shirt up to his shoulders.  It's similar to the one he's wearing, a bit closer cut in the sleeves, and unlike his current one, free of knife stabs and blood stains. "I think this will fit you.  Actually -" I wink, trying to distract him.  "I think it might even be yours."  

"Heh."  He smiles for a moment then takes the shirt from me and shakes it out.  "Must have left it here in another life.  I'm surprised Asra kept it."

"Really?  I don't think he's ever let anything go."

Julian smiles wistfully.  "He wasn't awful all the time.  He's just . . ."

". . . Complicated.  Or at least he makes everything crooked and confused."

"That's one way to put it."  Julian changes shirts and sits down at the table.  "Last night you, um, you said you only remember the past three years...  Have you been with Asra for all of those?”

"He's the first person I remember."  It's hazy, but I can hear Asra's desperate voice calling my name and feel his hand pushing the hair out of my eyes.  His voice, his hands were anchors against the smoke that threatened to swallow me back.  "Something happened.  Something bad.  I've been sick - confused - since.  For a few weeks at a time.  Here and there.  Maybe it was like that, but worse."

"I don't want another bad thing to happen to you.  Not this . . ."  His voice trails off and his eyebrows furrow, as if there’s something else, but he can’t quite put it into words.  I cup his face in my hands and smooth my thumbs over his eyebrows.  He looks up at me, expression pained for a moment, then smiles.  “Want to go find some food?  There’s a tea shop around here that I always liked.”

***

Julian is uncharacteristically quiet as we walk through the streets.  Like before, he's greeted multiple times, but now his responses are muted.  Glum even.  He manages a grin when a little boy, maybe nine or ten, appears with wooden sword and declares dramatically that he's here to protect us.  Word seems to have gotten around and it appears the majority of the city doesn't intend to allow anyone to collect the bounty on Julian's head.

The boy follows us for two blocks before Julian solemnly thanks him, ruffles his hair, and tells him to go home to his mother.

"Would you be treated like that if you were a bad man?"

Julian turns down an alley.  "A bad man who kills a bad man doesn't become a good man."  He pauses by an unmarked door, rubbing his hands together nervously.  "This was a real underground place.  High ceilings, cozy booths.  Good place to talk.  And we, um, we need to talk."

"Jul-”

He takes my hand and leads me down a hallway that seems dusty even for a clandestine tea shop, but otherwise ignores me and continues to muse to me, or to himself, it isn't clear.  "Used to come here to get away from the palace.  Nice and quiet.  People didn't bother you."  Just as he's speaking of quiet, the sounds of applause carries down the corridor from further in the building.  The door he pushes open leads not to a tea room but into some sort of storage space or costume shop.  He gave back at me, eyebrows raised in surprise.  "Well, uh, things may have changed a bit over the past few years."

There's a motley collection of brightly colored outfits hanging on a rack and a pile of blunted metal weaponry signed into a barrel.  Masks cover the walls, staring with hollow eyes.  "Quite a bit of change, I think."

"Pity.  They had this one smoky tea that I've never found since."  Julian steps further into the room, running his fingers over the masks on the wall.  "Oho.  What have we here?”  He lifts a narrow, curving mask from the wall and holds it over his face for a second before hiding it behind his back.  "Sorry.  I forget, um, I know you don't care for . . ."

"It's okay."  The mask is clearly intended to suggest the ones the plague doctors wore, but it's so stylized that I don't fear any dread twisting in my stomach.  "Try it on."

He pushes his hair back and fixes the mask over his face.  It looks good on him, the gold detailing over black paint compliments his outfit.  "What do you think?  Dashing?”

"Oh, very!”  I push him back against the wall and lift myself up on my toes.  "Bit hard to kiss in one of these."  My teeth find his throat anyway.  Moaning, he wraps an arm around my back, holding me choose and lifting me just a touch higher.

"Imagine . . . Oh, yeah, that's . . .  Leave a mark if you want.  Something to remember you..."  

I pause one hard buried in his hair and the other grasping the back of his jacket.  "Julian, you don't have to -”

He clears his throat trying to recover.  "I don't, I.  Never, um, nevermind that.  Imagine trying to kiss with both people wearing one."

"Mmm . . ."  I'll play along.  Maybe if he delays long enough, he'll talk himself out of this notion that he’s too dangerous for me to be around. "You'd have to get creative."

Any creativity is interrupted by a door swinging open.  A man dressed all in black grabs Julian and shouts.  "There you are!  You're about to miss your cue!"  He catches a glimpse of me over Julian's shoulder and pauses.  "Who is - nevermind, come on, big finale time."

He hustles Julian mask and all down a darkened hallway.  There’s no threat in the man’s voice, just exasperation.  Who does he think Julian is?  The hallway opens into a cavernous space, cut across by a heavy curtain.  Beyond the curtain I can hear a crowd laughing aloud and a single wailing voice projecting over all of them.  

“Listen to them!  Partying without me!  On my birthday even!”

I keep to the shadows, creeping alongside the curtain until I can just peer out to the stage beyond.  A man in scarlet robes and a white half mask, exaggerated mascara weeping around the eyes sprawls on an elaborate daybed, a bulky golden arm tossed over the back.  “Ingrates!  What do they expect me to do all night?  Clomp around in my hooves?  Boots!  I mean, boots!  Beg the busboy for table scraps?  If I can’t disgust anyone while doing it, what’s the point?”

The man in black, a stage manager I suppose, tosses a cape around Julian’s shoulders and shoves him past the curtain.  Julian stumbles through, almost catches himself, then trips over his own feet and into the lap of the thespian portraying the count.  The gathered crowd breaks into cheers and applause.  There’s the briefest of pauses from the actor and then he raises his hands in delight.  “Doctor Devorak! Here to cure my boredom!”

Julian looks from side to side, but his face is still hidden behind the mask, and well, Artemis had described him as a drama queen.  His posture shifts as he decides to go for it, rubbing his hands together and cackling.  “Hello my poor, poor patient.  The bell tolls for you tonight! I’ve come to end your suffering.  Enjoy that gasp, it will be your last.”

“What are you going to do, Jules?”  The actor playing Lucio reaches out with his gold foil covered arm and lifts Julian’s chin.  “Smother me with your thighs?”

“For the hundredth time -”  Julian turns from the count, rolling his shoulders in place of the eyes that can’t been seen beneath his mask.  He snaps back to the other actor and grabs his shoulders. “NO!” 

They tussle on the daybed to the delight of the gathered crowd.  The theater is small, but packed for a matinee.  Mocking the Count appears to be a continued delight in this part of the city.  Feathers fly as a pillow is destroyed.  The actor reaches behind him and pulls out a foil blade.  Julian leaps backward.  "Ah!  It's a fight you want!  Then -”  He stops and looks at his empty hands.  A stagehand appears with a second foil sword.  Julian accepts it with a deep bow and turns back to the actor.  "It's a fight you'll get!"

The two of them spar, playfully bouncing around the stage.  How long will Julian keep this up?  And will anyone recognize him under the mask?  It might not matter if they did.  The crowd hardly sympathized with the character of the Count.  

The Count staggers back under Julian's blows and falls against the daybed, flinging an arm over his eyes.  Julian looms over him, fair sword pointed at his throat.  Julian's body is coiled and trembling with menace that I'm not sure is entirely feigned.  

"Any last words, Lucio?"    

"Jules, Jules, you know I like you better than the rest.  We've always been friends, right?"  The actor's voice quavers and rises in pitch to a whine.  "And I'm generous.  Especially with my friends.  What is it you want?  A ship?  Riches?”

Julian leans closer, voice pitched low.  “Some of us don’t kill for money, you damn mercenary.  Some of us kill to make up for not doing it sooner.”  With a sharp thrust, he plunges the sword, just to the side of the actor's neck.  As the actor gasps his way through drawn out death throes, Julian looks to where I'm standing just off stage.  Behind the mask his eyes are wide and wild, gone just a bit too far into the moment.  He straightens up slowly, gaze shifting to the sword in his hand.  I think he might have forgotten that it's fake.

A second actor stumbles onto the other side of the stage.  He clutches an oversized wine goblet and his mask is contorted into a sneer.  Valerius.  A portrayal that I can't imagine the Consul would care to recognize himself in.  He shambles across the stage with exaggerated drunkenness, and then stops sort.  "Devorak!  You...  Murderer!  Guards!”

The shout seems to break Julian out of his spell.  He turns to face the audience and bows with a grand flourish before running off the stage.  He laughs aloud as he peels off his mask and loops his arm through mine, pulling me down a hallway before anyone can question us.

Next chapter

Masterpost

a/n: chapter title from Devotchka, ‘Ruthless’

#the arcana #the arcana fanfic #julian devorak #julian x mc #julian x apprentice #fan apprentice #dema #my writing #whatever i've done

[wanna-one-imagine]

Wanna One Kim Jaehwan College AU

For Anon! My ask box is open again :) Enjoy! (You + Kim Jaehwan)

It was your freshman year at college, and you were attending one relatively far from your family. You were slightly anxious about starting meeting people and professors from scratch, but you were looking forward to making new friends and learning regardless

You arrived on the college campus for orientation completely clueless, but hey that’s okay

When you first moved in, you did that thing where you be friendly to pretty much anyone, to try to find some friends/people to hang out with

Anyway

You were put in a four-year dorm, meaning that freshmen up to seniors were all in the same dorm: this made you somewhat anxious but you thought you’d be fine

The day before classes started, your dorm all met up together to do introductions and awkward icebreakers

It was the first time you were meeting any upperclassmen, but from the beginning one person stood out

This person, whose name you would later find out to be Kim Jaehwan, was undoubtedly the life of the party

He was constantly joking around and screaming “OKAY OKAY” every couple of minutes, but nobody was annoyed by him – in fact, the RAs in charge of the dorm seemed to be completely used to his antics

He even had this really strange sounding scream-laugh that escaped his mouth at times, but all it did was make other people start giggling along with him: he was contagious and you personally thought it was incredibly charming

Needless to say, he was, even if it was unintentional, incredibly well-liked by people older and younger than him

And this popularity made him seem... unapproachable, like he was on a pedestal, at least to you

Where in reality, he was probably... definitely willing to talk with anyone

From that first encounter with the group, you had developed an innocent crush on the guy

He was incredibly funny and likable not to mention really attractive

Anyway you didn’t share many classes with him, since he was 2 years ahead of you in school, a junior

And that was fine, you weren’t looking really to make a relationship out of this, you just thought he was a cute guy lol

But during all the dorm activities, you got so distracted because of him

There would be game nights and group dinners and movie marathons and you (and your friends, to your dismay) frequently caught you wistfully staring at him or laughing a little too hard at his jokes

You thought you were subtle about it, but if someone hung around you at the same time Jaehwan was in the room, it really wasn’t that hard to tell where you mind and heart were lol

Despite all this (and pressure from your friends), you never approached him, because like, how?

Well before the first semester ended, you actually happened to have one interaction with him

You usually didn’t attend any of the dorm parties, because you are extremely physically irritated by loud noises and music, and so far most of the parties had been the “turn up” type, not many of the chiller hangouts, so you pretty much stayed in your room doing quiet things with your friends like games or internet browsing

But at the end of the semester, there was this one winter holidays party that “everyone” attended, as your friends and dorm-mates told you, so you decided why not, to just check it out for a bit

You didn’t think you would be there for too long, so you didn’t dress up too much: you wore red sweatpants and a green shirt to embody the “holiday spirit”

When you got to the party, you realized why people said it was much more extravagant than the other ones

This one seemed to have a much larger budget, and there were beautiful decorations everywhere, with balloons and Christmas trees and pretty holiday lights

And to your pleasant surprise, the music wasn’t super loud or anything, in fact it was just the regular old holiday music lol

Everyone was dressed up way more than you were, but you felt comfortable, much more than you thought you would when you first heard about the idea

Trying new things isn’t so bad, (Y/N), you instructed yourself, content with the experience so far (even though you hadn’t talked to anyone yet lol)

You didn’t know how to dance to Christmas songs, so you headed to kitchen to grab some good food yuss

Surprisingly, the kitchen was completely empty when you entered: the perfect time to steal all foods ! ! ! !

Unable to hold back the evil smile that was starting to cover your face, you stacked snacks on your plate, growing happier and happier as your plate filled up to the edges

You were so glad you had come to the party LOL

Satisfied with your collection, you headed over to the drinks, where there was various bowls of questionable substances

What are these even… there wasn’t a label or anything

As you scratched your neck and bended down to smell the liquids, you didn’t notice another person entering the room

Yes you guessed it

It was the one and only Kim Jaehwan, and you failed to notice his eyes boring into the top of your head, as he stood on the opposite side of the food counter

Multiple things about this first meeting:

1. Jaehwan already knew who you were. lol. and he also knew about your crush. also lol. word spreads pretty quickly through the dorm, and you were unaware of that! congrats !

2. There are two people now in this room: you and him,,, and you have your nose hovering above a bowl of punch or something

GREAT FUCKN JOB (Y/N) TRULY INNOVATIVE

Anyway yes you were smelling the punch because you didn’t want to consume any sketchy alcohol at this party (you hadn’t drank before anyway, and you didn’t want the conditions of your first time to be mystery fluid)

“Is this alcoholic…” you mumbled to yourself, before your eyes flicked up to meet Jaehwan’s, making you gasp and stand up straight in surprise, almost tripping over your own feet, making Jaehwan laugh at your reaction

Nice one, real nice, (Y/N)…

He looked too good for words, his brown hair looking messy but perfect at the same time, in his own pair of sweats and a long t-shirt, with an adorable reindeer antler headband on his head

“I’m pretty sure the red one has alcohol, and the peach one just has some sodas, punch, and ice cream.”

They were the first words he had spoken to you, and you wished you were capable of acting completely normally but you were too much of a spAZ to do that

“Oh, okay, thank you, I-I’ll get the red one then,” you sputtered out

“You want the alcoholic one? Oh, I thought you were under the impression you didn’t, with the way you were sniffing those bowls, haha”

“Oh, no I meant the non alcoholic one, gah” you corrected, mentally kicking yourself for literally saying gah like out loud

“Nah you’re good, these parties are pretty confusing at first, I totally get it. I came for the food too,” Jaehwan said with his gorgeous laugh

“Oh, you did? Come for just the food, you mean?”

“I mean, look at me,” Jaehwan said, pointing to his outfit. “This is my sleep outfit, and I have fully planned to fall into a food coma today.”

You couldn’t stop your blush from rising to your cheeks in reaction to his joke, before you asked without thinking, “you sleep with those antlers on?”

Jaehwan seemed slightly caught off guard for a split second, before he smoothly responded, gasping and clutching his chest

“(Y/N), I am so offended, the antlers aren’t a costume, its a serious physical defect, I can’t believe you don’t have the sense to not talk about that to me,” he cried out

You couldn’t keep up the joke and started giggling, before you realized… did he just say my name? How does he know my name...

But guess what? Your thoughts had unknowingly slipped out of your mind, and he heard you ask him that, out loud, you only realizing you had done that when you looked up to see Jaehwan staring at him, his cheeks turning a shade of red that matched your pants

“Ah, of course I know the name of my fellow dorm-mate, we’ve been living in the same place for the past couple months,” he saved, looking less confident than you had ever seen him

Just then, another freshman from your dorm walked in, and with some confidence you had unknowingly conjured up, you challenged Jaehwan out of nowhere

“Okay, so what’s their name?” you asked, as Jaehwan coughed randomly into the air, claiming that your game was completely unfair to him

“I bet this person isn’t even from our dorm and just snuck in here, please,” he replied with some fake arrogance

“Fine, then do the next person that enters,” you said, enjoying his misery

And the two of you just stood there in the kitchen, leaning on the countertop, staring at everyone who came in, for the next 30 minutes, stuffing food into your mouths

Turns out, Jaehwan barely knew any of the freshmen or sophomores in the dorm, leading to a lot of laughter from the both of you as he made up random names on the spot

After some time of this, when the kitchen emptied out again, you let the question that had been lingering on your subconscious slip out

“So why did you only know my name?” you laughed, before stopping instantly, realizing what you had said

And you were met with… silence

Your nervously looked up at Jaehwan, and saw him staring at his feet, which were bending over on the ground uncomfortably, a drastic change from his usual psycho demeanor

“Uh, well, I sorta heard thatyoulikeme…” he quickly said, the volume of his voice trailing off

And just like that, you could have sworn you heard your heart drop

Oh my gosh, this is so embarrassing, your cheeks pinking for a different reason than they had been the rest of this evening

“Oh,” was all you managed to get out, standing up straight, subconsciously starting to move away from him, your head turning to face a different direction

“Wait, no, (Y/N), I’m not talking to you just because of that,” Jaehwan said, placing a soft hand on your shoulder, holding you back, making you hesitantly look back at him

“I mean,” he said, starting to awkwardly laugh, “a lot of people knew about it, although I didn’t realize how much you enjoyed looking at me until one of my friends told me,”

“Ugh I get it, I’m totally obvious, I have a huge crush on you, big deal,” you replied, disheartened, moving Jaehwan’s hand on your shoulder with one of your own, but he took advantage of the contact and took your hand

“Wait, no, I’m sorry, I don’t think I’m explaining this properly, I heard you liked me and I didn’t know who you were, but I found out soon after that, and I sorta noticed you were really cute and you always laughed at my jokes and seem really nice and I want to get to know you better because I kinda like you too,” he hurriedly confessed

You were totally overwhelmed at the past minute of new information, staring blankly at Jaehwan, as he looked back at you, waiting for a response

“Uh, what?”

Jaehwan smirked at you, making your heartbeat rise; seeing you get all flustered at his words made him incredibly satisfied

“So do you want to get to know each other better?” he asked, poking your nose

You finally let a smile break free onto your face, nodding enthusiastically

“What? I can’t hear you,” Jaehwan teased

“Okey okey!” you exclaimed, making Jaehwan lose his cockiness and pull you into a hug

“OKEY OKEY!” he screamed, and you kicked him in response, your physical reaction being completely different from your rapidly beating heart but who cares hahhahahaha

You two just chatted and ate for the rest of the party, sometimes going out to stare at the people dancing, the both of you proclaiming that you weren’t “dancing people” (Jaehwan demonstrated some of his… questionable dancing moves to demonstrate his point)

Anyway when your friends heard this news, they were all relieved, claiming that they thought it would never happen (GEE THANKS)

(Jaehwan’s friends were equally happy, having been annoyed for the past couple months of him staring at you and asking them if you had laughed at his attempts to be funny)

You two still didn’t share many classes, but met a lot in the dorm, and activities were actually able to be enjoyed by you after this because not all your attention was on him!!! Wowza!

For example,,, movie nights turned from staring at each other from across the room to cuddling under a blanket AHHH

(well that might not be the best example… as his presence next to you was tbh still pretty incredible for a little bit haH)

You two raided parties solely for the food, becoming infamous for creepily staring at people while the both of you munched on snacks

As you loosened up around him and became more comfortable with your dorm group as a whole, you actually found that you had a psycho laugh as well (some people said yours sounded like a hyena mixed with a squeaky door)

Who needs a power couple when you can have a psycho couple

y’all are weirdos but somehow it’s still adorable

Masterlist

Requests are open! Thank y’all for waiting ❤️

#wanna one #wanna one scenarios #wanna one reactions #wanna one imagines #wanna one au #wanna one fanfiction #wanna one oneshot #produce 101 scenarios #kim jaehwan #produce 101 season 2 #broduce 101 #produce 101 reactions #produce 101 imagines #produce 101 au #produce 101 oneshot #produce 101 fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #kpop au #kpop oneshot #kpop reactions #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kim jaehwan scenarios #kim jaehwan reactions #kim jaehwan imagines #kim jaehwan oneshot #jaehwan #wannaone

[ask-steampunk-bangtan]

Chapter 1, pt. 2 : In Which Yoongi and Jimin Get Drunk and Name a Cat

In the late summer afternoon, Yoongi finishes a chapter on advanced welding techniques and places a bookmark on the page, then closes the book and sets it down on the steps of the stairs. He breathes in the warm summer air, and spots the little stray kitten peeking out at him from under the dead shrubs and weeds in the front garden. He makes a kissy noise at the tiny black ball of fur and taps the ground to call the cat over. The kitten is an agile little thing, and jumps to the topmost step where Yoongi is perched. It situates itself in the man’s lap, snuggling into his thighs and closing its eyes, purring as Yoongi strokes its ears into sleep. He smiles softly to himself and allows his own eyes to fall shut, surrounded by a warm breeze and the sounds of city activity filtering through the air in the distance.

“Yoongi!”

As if he has been electrocuted, Yoongi jumps a good ten feet into the air, disturbing the cat’s sleeping and launching it somewhere into the yard just before he not-so-gracefully dives head first into a dead rose bush at the sound of the familiar voice from earlier. It was a failed attempt at escape.

Yoongi learns about 10 minutes later that Jimin is very skilled at first aid.

“The disinfectant is in the cabinet over the sink,” Yoongi tells Jimin, the younger searching around a kitchen with a layout that closely resembled his own. He looks for a minute before locating the correct cupboard and pulling out a glass vile filled with a green-ish liquid clearly labeled with “DISINFECTANT”, scrawled in messy handwriting on a sketchy piece of tape stuck to the small bottle.

“This is going to sting a little,” Jimin says, seating himself back down on the stool set up beside the counter Yoongi sits on top of. Jimin holds tweezers clenched around a cotton ball he’s dipped in the disinfectant. “Just please, don’t move…”

The cotton ball connects with one of the open cuts and Yoongi quickly jumps back with a loud yelp, falling off the counter and onto the dusty wooden floor.

“Yoongi,” Jimin is shaking his head. “Stop being stupid. Get up and take it like a man.”

“Shut up!” Yoongi glares back, making no move to re-seat himself on the counter. “I’m stupid? I wasn’t the one who got caught trying to hijack a blimp—uh, what’s your name again?”

“Jimin,” Jimin helpfully supplies.

“Right! Jimin, why— wait, how do you know my name?” and Jimin blushes at that.

“Long story. Overheard it, now please—“

“Yeah! Jimin! I didn’t try to hijack a blimp! — wait, what possessed you to do it anyway?”

Jimin shrugs, the light dusting of blush turning his cheeks a slightly darker shade of pink. “Because I wanted to.”

“That’s it?!” Yoongi says, looking incredulously at the younger boy standing above him. “That’s your reasoning?! You wanted to?! You know that blimp is government property, right?! Actually, why aren’t you locked up in a prison!? You could be a terrorist or something! I’m ringing the cops.”

“I’m not, Yoongi, I’m helping you right now so please just calm yourself—“

“Why aren’t you in prison?!”

“I got myself out of questioning…”

The bickering stops and a long silence settles through the dusty house. Yoongi narrows his eyes at the younger boy, a fire of pure hatred burning behind them as he stares at the younger, looking at him up and down.

“How?”

“You don’t wanna know…”

“I do.”

“No, just trust me, he let me go. That’s all that’s important. You don’t wanna know…”

“Tell me.”

Frustrated with Yoongi’s asking, he glares at the blond and for a minute, saying and doing nothing. Their eyes meet in a sort of contest and neither of them are keen to break it. “You know… you see… these lips were a gift, so—“

“EW EW EW EW EW EW EW!” Yoongi shrieked loudly, realizing what Jimin was implying. “Fuck I did not need to know that! Ew. Ew. Ew. That was my best friend too! AND HE HAS A GIRLFRIEND!”

Jimin groaned loudly, “You asked and I said you didn’t wanna know but you insisted I tell you. You’re an arse—“

“OH MY GOD you’ve been breathing and talking in my space for the past 20 minutes! Gross! Oh my god, oh my god!”

“Relax, dick brain, I brushed my teeth before I got here!”

“You’re disgusting! I can’t believe you!” Yoongi yelled.

“Fack off!” Jimin shouted back. It was as though the teasing and fun had left his tone and a serious tension floated through the air. “Get up and sit your arse back down so I can finish doing this and leave. I wouldn’t have stayed if I knew you were just gonna be a prick.”

Jimin says this with a certain finality, and Yoongi gets up, a little shocked by the hurt in the former’s tone. “Consider this a sort of apology for earlier.”

He finishes dressing the wound in an uncomfortable silence, and Yoongi, now fully aware of the situation and feeling rather abashed tries to speak in order to ease the atmosphere by filling the room with absentminded small talk.

“Who knew a dead rose bush could do so much damage?”

Jimin only lightly huffs in response and picks up a damp rag to clean outa few more of the scratches. Yoongi winces slightly at the sting tries again. “I mean, maybe the razor wire in the bush had something to do with it.”

Still no response.

“At least I still have this arm,” he jokes half-heartedly, refencing the prosthetic Jimin has yet to ask about, and Yoongi smiles softly to himself in hopes that Jimin will laugh and forgive him, but the young man doesn’t react as he reaches for a new cotton ball to dip into the anti-septic, pressing it to another mark and Yoongi lets out a small hiss but makes no other move to protest the process of treating the injuries.

“How old are you?”

“24.”

“Cool. I’m 26.” Jimin doesn’t care how old Yoongi is.

They stay like this for a while; Jimin pulling out the occasional thorn and cleaning any blood, before applying bandages. Yoongi tries not to stare at him as he works, but he finds the younger boy rather intriguing and can’t quite peel his eyes away. He’d never admit it out loud, but Jimin is very attractive, and he was right about not belonging in prison. Jimin has large brown eyes lined with kohl to over-dramatize the size of his dark orbs, and light dustings of eye shadow — gold and sparkly — only just there and the glitter decorates his eyelids perfectly. His nails are painted black to perfection with tips gold and manicured in sharp points at the end, fingers covered in rings. His lips are full and plump and his cheeks are on the slightly chubbier side, giving Jimin a softer look to his visage, but as he turns his head a sharp masculine jawline is clearly visible. Hair brown, collarbone prominent — he’s tan, well built, and dressed in rather expensive looking clothes, with ornate earrings dangling from his ears and the choker around his neck drapes golden beads across his chest. Yoongi wonders how much all this must have cost him.

Yoongi realizes too late that Jimin is looking at him quizzically as the former checks him out, taking in each curve of his body and totally zoning out. Yoongi snaps out of his daze and there’s an tense moment of eye contact between them again before Jimin resumes to his work.

Once again, Yoongi tries to get him to speak and says, “So, do you have a job?”

“Yes.”

“What do you do?”

“Mechanical engineer. Er, apprentice.”

“Oh.”

And the awkwardness from earlier returns, neither having much left to say, or so Yoongi thinks before Jimin asks, “I need to get at your shoulder. Would you mind removing your shirt temporarily, or at least pulling your arm out of your sleeve? The holes the thorns left are too small to stick the cotton through.”

Yoongi stiffens, but obliges nonetheless, and unbuttons the dress shirt so he can pull his shoulder free. Jimin doesn’t even seem to give it a second thought as he resumes his earlier actions of tending to the arm. Yoongi, however, turns beet red as he allows Jimin to continue cleaning him up, almost finished aside from a couple cuts on his shoulder that will be quick and easy to fix. The time is passed in silence.

About fifteen minutes of uncomfortable quiet later, Jimin gently pats Yoongi’s arm to signify he’s finished and gets up from his little wooden stool to begin putting stuff away in the proper cupboards.

“Thanks.” Yoongi says shyly as he puts his shirt back on, taking his time to button it back up.

“Yeah.”

“Jimin?” The boy is quickly making his out of the kitchen into the hallway towards the door when Yoongi’s voice stops him and he turns around, looking to see the elder has followed him. “I’m sorry about what I said earlier…”

“It’s not a big deal,” Jimin is putting on his shoes, not even bothering to bend over and fasten the buckles on each individual belt strap. “Bye.”

“Wait!”

Jimin just looks at him, expression unreadable, caught between reluctance and a pinch of sadness.

“I’m seriously sorry… I really didn’t mean to… I didn’t know… I overreacted… and you went through all this trouble to patch me up so… maybe if you wanna stay for dinner, it’s just me tonight and I wouldn’t mind it honestly…”

He sounds slightly nervous, a little embarrassed, but genuinely apologetic. Jimin smiles softly.

“I suppose. It is a lot better than leftovers again.”

Yoongi just might have a soft spot for this kid.

 —

The two young men sit conversing under the light of the naked lightbulb on Yoongi’s front steps, barefoot and drinking cheap red wine Yoongi stole from his sister’s “secret wine stash”. The night is warm even after the sun is has set and a cool breeze sweeps through the air from time to time. It’s quiet, and both Yoongi and Jimin are comfortable, slightly buzzed, basking in the sound of machines in the distance and children down the street. They spill small stories of their lives, nothing to deep or dramatic, and neither can think of anything better to do at that moment.

The black kitten from earlier returns, joining the two, sitting between them as they both pet and stroke the soft black fur.

“So,” Jimin starts after taking a sip of his drink. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to the arm?” He points to Yoongi’s mechanical right arm glinting gold in the dim light.

“Oh,” Yoongi says. “Well, I was working on a car in my garage, because that’s my job, and I needed to get some tools for it off a shelf. So, I hopped up on a ladder thinking it would be tall enough — spoiler alert: it wasn’t — and I stood on my tippy toes to reach the thing I needed and I slipped and grabbed the shelf and it fell on me. Heavy tools and machine parts and everything. Broke all the bones in my forearm. And I didn’t wanna pay the medical bills, so I just… cut it off and had my sister and grandfather make a new one.”

Jimin nodded in understanding before adding, “Sister?”

“Yes. Don’t try flirting with her though. The last guy who tried to hit on her roughed her up pretty bad and she wound up giving him 9 broken fingers and a concussion.”

“You don’t even have to worry.” Jimin assures him, a brief image of a female Yoongi flashing into his brain and he visibly shivers at the thought of it. “Doesn’t sound like my type anyway.”

Yoongi wants to question it, because the way Jimin says it might be implying he means something else and he goes for it “what do you er…” before his tongue trips over itself in his mouth and “what is your type then?” dies inside. Jimin looks at him for a minute, expecting him to explain, but seems to figure after a moment that the lack of continuance means “never mind.”

“So… you live with your grandfather and sister?” Jimin starts. “What happened to your parents? Uh, If you don’t wanna say—”

“Dead.”

“Oh.”

“You?”

“I live alone,” Jimin sighs. “But my mum and brother live on the other side of town.”

“Nice. Do you visit often?”

“Once or twice a week usually.”

“What about your dad?”

There’s a moment where everything is silent and the only thing that can be heard is the crickets hanging around in the bushes around them and the distant sound of old steam powered cars driving along the city streets blocks over.

“Don’t know, don’t care.”

Yoongi doesn’t question it, instead he just waits for the air between them to relax. There is no noise aside from the light purring of the cat, the children down the street having gone in for the night. The atmosphere is slightly tense like earlier, but Jimin quickly changes that.

“She’s really sweet,” he says, sipping the last of his wine before picking up the bottle behind him and refilling his glass to the top. He looks and nods at the cat. “She’s whipped. Looks like she likes you, I mean, ya look a little alike, y’know?”

“Oh, the cat?” Yoongi asks, knocking back the remainder of wine in his own glass. “S’a boy though,” he replies before adding, “You sure you should be drinking that much?”

“I,” Jimin says, before taking another drink, “have the tolerance of a god. Or an Irish man… but I’m Korean so more like… uh? Someone raised by an Irish man? ‘Cept dad was Korean too, just moved to Ireland… oh fuck it. Yeah, I can drink lots, I’m not even slightly tipsy yet, only a little buzzed.”

“Fair enough, you probably have good judgement. You’re 24, you know yourself.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“Not in the slightest,” Yoongi holds his hands up in defense, the wine sloshing around in the glass, flowing over the sides and splashing a bit of wine on his shirt.

“Hmm, don’t believe you.” But Jimin smiles anyway, and that was a sight Yoongi might be able to get used to. “So, she’s awfully fond, what should we name her?”

“Who?”

“You’re cat!”

“Him?”

“Doesn’t matter” Jimin giggles, actually giggles, then adds, “And you thought I had had too much to drink.”

“I never said that,” Yoongi counters, rolling his eyes and Jimin giggles again.

“Well then, I propose we name him,” Jimin apparently feels the need to emphasize him to impress Yoongi and let him know he’s sober and making an effort, but Yoongi found he’s already been stunned by the younger for most of the evening.

“Hm,” Yoongi thinks to himself.

“Mr. Mini!” Jimin all but cries out loudly, falling back in another fit of giggles.

High alcohol tolerance my arse, thinks Yoongi before asking, “Why that?”

“Because I’m Ji-MIN and you’re MIN Yoongi!”

“No.”

“No, no wait! Mr. Mini Sprinkles!”

“Sprinkles?” Jimin doesn’t hear Yoongi over his now full on laughing, the boy sprawled out on his back, nearly kicking over his drink. “Sprinkles? Okay, you’ve had enough to drink.”

“I’m fine,” Jimin says, the laughter coming to a halt and the smile fading off his face. “I dunno, I was just looking at the sky and I remembered the stars and how they looked like sprinkles a little.”

“I can’t see the stars,” Yoongi says, looking over at Jimin who looks almost sad. “I can never see the stars.”

“I know, I miss them,” the younger boy whispers. “Sometimes you’d be able to see ‘em back home on the farm in Ireland, but most nights the pollution was just too bad and the sky was just plugged with smog.”

“It really sucks,” Jimin add with a sigh. “History sucks. Because of the actions of others’, we’ve got to suffer. We don’t get to see stars because of the pollution and that. Also, no airplanes, or travelling.”

“You’re really in love with air travel, huh?”

A soft smile creeps it’s way onto Jimin’s face. “Did you only just figure that out?” he says quietly.

“I kind of put it together over the course of the evening.” Yoongi’s smile now mirrors Jimin’s and all tension from earlier has completely faded, replaced with something that feels a little odd, and yet so comfortable and loose and peaceful. Neither boy can quite place what it is, slightly drunk and just staring at each other with stupid looks on their faces.

Another while later and “tolerance of a god” is clearly bullshit as Jimin is spewing non-sense and giggling about every little thing.

“But ya see,” Jimin pauses to take a swig from the now half empty wine bottle, much to Yoongi’s dismay. “Uh, what was I saying again? Hmm…”

“About your friend, Taehyung?” Yoongi supplies, still sober, or, more so than Jimin

“Yeah, huh, something about him. I don’t remember.”

Jimin pauses, wracking his brain for the ending of his story, but he can’t seem to remember. They’ve been chatting all evening, Jimin’s constant babbling keeping them both occupied, and for the brief time they sit quietly while Jimin contemplates, Yoongi closes his eyes, allowing his sleepiness take over for a few seconds.

Some shuffling and Yoongi feels a weight on his back. Opening his eyes, he sees Jimin has his head rested in the crook of his neck, arms slung over the blonde’s shoulders. Yoongi holds his breath and feels heat stain his cheeks.

“What are you doing?” he stutters out at the sudden closeness.

“I’m sorry,” Jimin says, almost sadly. “I just think you’re really pretty.  And you smell nice. Your skin is pale too. Like sugar. I like sugar, it’s sweet. You’re sweet too. I’m gonna call you Sugar from now on. Is that okay?”

“From now on?” Yoongi jokes. “You act like we’ll see each other again.”

Jimin pouts at him and Yoongi turns his head to meet Jimin’s big brown eyes. The younger looks like a puppy and Yoongi chokes on his spit a little, swallowing hard as he notices tears forming in Jimin’s bright orbs.

“We won’t see each other again?”

“I was only kidding,” Yoongi reaches back and ruffles his hair. “You aren’t that bad.”

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried at this point.”

“I’ve only known you for a few hours.”

“That’s okay. I really like you.”

“Hmm, that’s a little bold.”

“Huh, I just thought I ought to tell you now.”

“I think you’re a little drunk my friend.”

“Drunk? Friend? I’m just a friend?”

“Well, yes, I suppose. What else do you want to be?”

“Your husband.”

Well that’s a little unexpected. “Husband? Jimin, I think you’re drunk.”

“Hmm, m’not!” and Jimin throws a weak little punch at Yoongi’s shoulder, still draped over the elder. He buries his face back into his shoulder before mumbling something incoherent.

“I didn’t catch that,” Yoongi said quietly.

“I wish you would kiss me.”

Huh, okay, what the fuck.

“Jimin, you need to stop drinking.”

“I probably do. But I mean it. Though I’d probably forget in the morning so it’d be a wasted kiss. Haha,” Jimin pauses to chuckle at his unintentional joke. “Wasted. Get it, like, drunk, but also like a waste? A throw away? Haha…”

“You need to stop drinking now.”

“If I do will you kiss me?”

“You would ask that of anyone if they were here right now, you can’t think straight, you’re drunk.”

“Drunken minds speak sober thoughts, Yoongi.”

Jimin looks tired and a little annoyed and Yoongi would kiss him, just not now. Not when he won’t remember, not when he can’t think straight. In time, he thinks. Just not tonight. Or maybe never. Depends, Jimin is still a little sketchy.

“Look, we’re gonna get you to bed, okay?”

“Shouldn’t you take me to dinner first? Maybe a few dates at least?” Jimin hiccups.

“You’re unbelievable. No, I can sleep on the hammock and you can have my bed.”

“Aw, no! We can share the bed, I don’t mind! It’s like one of those romance clichés where we start off on opposite sides of the bed but somehow wind up cuddling and then—”

“No, no. See you may not mind, but I do. Sorry to spoil your plans but I’m not sleeping with you tonight in any way shape or form.”

“Tonight?” Funny how Jimin is still his flirty self even when drunk.

“You know what I mean!” Yoongi blushed wildly.

“Do I?”

“Jimin!”

“Okay, okay, fine.”

“Now — time for bed.” Yoongi states with finality, standing up.

“Yooooooooooongi,” Jimin whines. “Carry me?”

“No.”

Jimin pouts at the older and Yoongi can’t resist. He rolls his eyes all the way back in his head.

“Fine!”

“Yay!” and Jimin practically jumps into Yoongi waiting arms as he’s scooped up like a princess.

Yoongi falters under the weight a little at first, but manages to regain his balance. They readjust themselves so Jimin is holding onto Yoongi’s shoulders, with his legs wrapped around his torso. Jimin hums pleasantly into Yoongi’s neck, his breathing evens out as he slips closer and closer into unconsciousness.

And Yoongi, having sobered up considerably, lifts Jimin over the threshold and into the house, the small black cat following them in and Yoongi kicks the door closed after the new-found pet. He’ll pick up the bottles they left on the steps tomorrow.

With Jimin in his arms and the kitty following him, he climbs the stairs and walks into his dark room, noticing Jimin has fallen into a deep sleep somewhere along the way.

As Yoongi lays Jimin in bed that night, he completely aware just how fond of the young man he’s become over the past few hours.

The little black cat is curled into Jimin’s side, the two peacefully frolicking around together somewhere in dreamland. And as Yoongi is about to leave the room, he bends down and presses a light kiss to Jimin’s forehead before exiting.

Yoongi realizes two things that night.

 He might have fallen a little in love with Jimin

 and man, is he glad that the landscapers had rescheduled the rose bush removal for next weekend.

 Though, his shoulder hurts.

#bts ask blog #bts ask #bts steampunk au #bts fanfiction #yoonmin #syubmin #suji #story #storyline

[aria-i-adagio]

Gravitas. Hubris. Gravitas.

  (This chapter rated lime.)

I wake up to Julian’s fingers tracing figure eights on my hip and thigh.  He nuzzles my neck.  “Good morning, my dear.”  I hum happily and roll over onto my back, stretching my arms above my head.  

“Morning.”  I yawn and toss an arm over my eyes.  “How late is it?”

“Mid morning.  I didn’t want to wake you.”  He head dips down, lips pressing against my collarbone.  “I did make some coffee.”  He sits up and pushes his hair out of his face, suddenly looking concerned.  “Do you drink coffee?  I could make tea, if you don’t drink coffee.”

I smile at the thought that he’s actually worried that I don’t like coffee.  “I do.”  He turns to the side as I sit up and rub the sleep out of my eyes.  He turns back with a mug in his hands.  His expression is almost shy as he passes it to me.  I take the cup from him with a grin.  It’s barely warm in my hands, and the liquid within is nearly cold.  “How long have you been watching me sleep?”

“Not sure.”  His hand slides along my thigh, and he kisses my shoulder.  Whether reassuring himself or me, or maybe both of us, that last night wasn’t a one off.  “You’re cute when you sleep.”

“Mmmm … sure.”  I drink some more of the coffee and lean my head against his arm.  “I was drooling, I bet.”

“Still adorable.  So, um, what do you have to do today?”

"Schedule is terribly full, I’m afraid.  Got to prove a really stubborn man innocent.”

“Hmm, I, uh, don’t suppose you’d need to spend any time with him to do that."  He shifts around to sit behind me, and I let my head fall back on his chest as his arms wrap around me.

"I suppose that couldn’t hurt.  Especially if he’d be a little more helpful.”

Fingertips creep up my stomach curling around one breast as his lips find the side of my neck.  “I’m sure I can help you with something.”

I find a flat surface for the coffee before we can manage to spill it; although, as lukewarm as it is, that wouldn’t be a disaster so much as an unwelcome distraction.  “And what would that something be?”

"Mmmm… Whatever will please you.  Anything.”

I twist around as he leans back, until I’m laying flat against him, mouth pressed to his neck.  His hands slid up the back of my thighs, pushing aside the shirt.  “I can think of a few things that would please me.”

***

The backyard of the house is tiny but tidy, enclosed by a stone wall and surrounded by fruit trees.  Julian’s and my clothes from the prior day are strung on a line, drying in the sun.  Nearby there’s a pump for water and a half barrel that looks conveniently placed for the purposes of laundry.  For that matter, I think another quick rinse would do me good.  And the trees seem to create enough privacy.

I drop the sheets in a pile beside the half barrel and begin pulling water into the barrel.  Julian takes behind for a moment then takes over the pump, filling the half barrel far quicker than I could have managed on my own.

I snag one of the towels from last night off the line before stripping off the oversized shirt and stepping into the cool water.  A quick tock from my hand warms it a bit, and I kneel down.  Julian is leaning against one of the posts holding up the clothesline and grinning from ear to ear.  I roll my eyes and scoop up a double handful of water, tossing it into the air and giving it a little push of magic to make sure it hits his face.  He sputters and curses while I splash my own face with water and rinse off after last night’s escapades.  It’s quick work.  I’m out of the barrel and wrapped in a towel before Julian has fully ceased his dramatics over the water I flung at him.

“What was that for?”

"Fun."  I pick up the pile of sheets and dump them into the tub, then step back in.  Much easier to do the scrubbing with my feet rather than my hands.  "And you were leering.  Lech.”

“I was not."  He’s smiling again.  I want to stop what I’m doing to kiss those lips that are curved just so.  "Just admiring.”

“Sure…"  I kick the sheets around, letting the suds work through the fabric, one hand holding the towel close around me.

"And what’s this?"  He gives me a curious look and starts taking down our shirts from the line, folding them loosely as he goes.  "Some kind of magician thing.”

“Nope.  Just a lot easier than doing the washing by hand.”

I work the sheets to the point that they should be clean, and with Julian’s help dump the soapy water out and give the fabric a double rinse.  I let him hang out the sopping wet sheets while I pull back on my clothes.  Then, with a sly smile, I touch the fabric and work a spell that dried them immediately.  

He looks annoyed for a moment.  “Why didn’t you just do that to start with?”

"It doesn’t work as well if everything’s crumpled together into one big sodden pile.  And the sun will still bleach them a bit.”  I hadn’t come across any spells that would handle every step of the laundry and certainly none that quite replicated the smell of sheets that had been allowed to hang in the sun and breeze for a few hours.  I trace my fingers down his bare chest.  Even with the sun high in the sky, it’s too early for him to bother with buttons.  “Any chance of some more coffee?”

“Oh, there’s always a chance for more coffee.”

Mazelinka’s kitchen doesn’t have a traditional stove.  Julian kneels by the hearth for a few minutes, humming to himself while he brings water and coffee grounds to a boil three times in a tiny bronze pot.  He pours the liquid off into two tiny cups and settles onto the bench next to me.  “One place I visited had these contraptions that forced water through the coffee at high pressure.  Amazing stuff.  Going to have to try to build one someday.”

I blow on the coffee and take a sip before setting it back down to cool.  “This is good though.”

“Brewing a good cup of coffee - necessary life skill.  At least for me.”  He stretches, back cracking as he arches it.  “Maz did leave us - well, uh, me - an errand.”

“And that errand would be?”  I take another sip of the rich coffee.  I can feel my pulse thrumming behind my ears, whether from the coffee or from Julian isn’t clear.

"Dropping this off to a contact."  He takes a package wrapped in brown paper from the table and juggles it from hand to hand before tucking it away in his coat.

"Sounds fun.”

"Umm, yeah, sketchy place really.  You should probably just head back to the palace -”

“No.  Seriously.  Sounds fun."  Besides, somewhere sketchy sounds like just the place to overhear rumors about the Count’s death that the Countess’s agents might have missed.

"It’s not the safest place.”

I shrug and have another drink.  “I’m not entirely helpless.”  Asra had taught me several defensive spells before he left me for the first time.  At least he had wanted to increase the chances that I was still alive when he got back.  Better than no concern at all, I suppose.

***

The sketchy side of town isn’t that sketchy.  It’s more run down than the neighborhood Asra and I live in, but nothing about the crumbling buildings feels particularly threatening.  Children play in the street, watched from windows by grandparents.  Julian stops at a stall advertising fine tobacco.  He exchanges a few words with the owner of the stall, then trades the wrapped packages from Mazelinka.  He laughs at some joke and turns back, wrapping an arm around my shoulders as he pulls me back out into the street.  “Smoke?”  He offers me a hand rolled cigarette.  “These are just tobacco, not any of the, um, backroom goods, but he claims it’s a particularly nice leaf.”

“Sure.”  I take one from him and pause to summon tiny flame above my fingertips to light it.  He raises an eyebrow, then returns a packet of matches back to a pocket in his jacket before leaning down to lit his off mine.  It is a good smoke, sweet and lightweight, and I mentally bookmark the shop in my head.

“Where to next, boss?”

“Mind stopping my shop?”  I know my shirt is clean, but Mazelinka was right that there wasn��t much to be done about the bloodstain.  A clean one would be welcome.  And I still haven’t figured out how I ended up with my tarot deck instead of Asra’s the other night.  I’d like to know if his had reappeared where mine should have been.

“Works for me.”  

While we walk, he keeps a hand in contact with me as much as possible, touching my shoulder or the small of my back.  I pause in front a stall selling trinkets and charms.  They aren’t quite like any that I’ve seen in the market near my house.  These are deceptively simple glass, but they shimmer with colors captured in perichoresis, blending and flowing into each other.  Asra would love them.  I dig in my bag for a coin and trade it to the shopkeep for one that ripples between violet and lavender.  

When I turn back Julian is staring at an announcement recently pasted to the wall of a building.  It’s a rough sketch of him, with a price listed for his capture.  My breath catches in my throat.  At least it’s for his live capture.  Not much reassurance there.  

“Huh, I wouldn’t have thought I was worth that much.”

“Nadia didn’t say anything about this.”

A passer by stops and peers at the poster.  They wink at Julian, then step past us, rip the poster from the wall and tear it into several pieces.  “Bit of an eyesore,” they comment.  “And I can think of several hundred better uses for five thousand soldi if the Countess actually wants to help the city.”

“We better get back to my shop, I think.”  I suspect that the larger part of the city population will respond in a similar way as that passer by, but the sum is twice what the shop has ever earned in a year according to the ledgers I had gone through.  Someone will be tempted.

“Yeah, uh, that’s a good idea.”

I pause to cast a quick glamour, a simple one that I can keep up for a time, just darkening his hair a few shades to a nondescript brown, and nudge Julian so that he’s walking closer to the building, even if as short as I am, I’m not much of a visual block for his height.  We walk at a quick clip, ignoring the other stalls in the market.  Julian turns off the main avenue and down a side street, clearly intending to avoid foot traffic.

It’s a mistake.  Two heavy bodies knock into us, shoving Julian into an alley.  Julian catches his balance and pulls a knife from his boot with a single fluid motion.  One of the men faces him, a short sword drawn.  The other grabs me, twisting one arm behind my back and holding me against him.

“It’d probably be best if you just come with us, Dr. Devorak.”  His breath smells of stale beer.  I can feel a sharp prick at the base of my throat, distracting me for a moment from the painful tension in the arm twisted behind my back.  Julian unclenches fists, dropping the knife his held and lowering his hands.

“Hands on the wall,” the second one instructs.  Julian starts to turn, all too ready to give up.  I’m not sure that his resignation is entirely about keeping me safe either.  No matter.  I don’t really need to be kept safe.  

I turn the wrist my captor is holding sharply, flattening my palm against his torso and pushing a crackling wave of energy into him, mentally thanking Asra for teaching me that spell as I do.  He convulses with a shout, and I twist out of his grasp.  There’s a sting along the base of my throat from the knife, but it’s nothing more than a scratch.  He collapses to his knees, arms around his chest.

Julian takes advantage of the distraction to spin around on his toes and land a solid punch the second man’s face.  He singles backwards into a wall.  Julian bolts forward, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of the alley and down the street.  A few blocks later, we duck into another alley.

Julian’s eyes widen when he sees the blood at the base of my neck.  He strips off a glove before I can protest and touches my throat, the mark of his own flaring as he does.  A line if red, truly no more than a scratch, appears on his neck.

“Julian, you didn’t need -”

He shushes me, then pulls me close against him as he leans back against the wall, whispering breathlessly into my hair.  “You’re alright.  You’re alive.”  He runs his bare hand through my hair.  The superficial cut heals over quickly, but not before adding yet another bloodstain to his shirt.  “You got hurt because you were walking with me.”

“Julian …”

“You’re okay.”

“I’m fine.  Ilya, I’m okay.”  I pull away from him.  Just enough that I can cradle his face in my hands and look into his eyes.  “I’m alright.  Let’s go.”  I adjust his jacket to cover as much of the blood as I can.  “My shop.”

***

The wards of the door of my shop are untouched when we make it there.  I undo them quickly and push Julian inside.  His grey eyes are dazed, refusing to quite come into focus.  “Julian.  Look at me.”  His eyebrows are pinched together with anxiety when he turns his face to me.  “You’re safe.  I’m safe.”  At least for the moment.  Nadia hadn’t said anything to indicate that she was considering placing a bounty on Julian.  Had one of the courtiers swayed her?  Valerius wouldn’t have been interested in the additional uproar a bounty would cause, but someone within that court was interested in creating a show.  But right now, my concern for Julian is rather more personal.  “Come on, upstairs.  I’ll make some tea, and we can both get cleaned up.”

I coax Julian into settling into a chair and start a kettle of water for tea.  I could use magic to heat the water, but that’s another thing that can’t be done well with magic.  It doesn’t taste at all the same as tea made from water that was allowed to come to a boil naturally.  That done, I dampen a rag and sit across from Julian.  He lifts his head as I push aside his shirt and begin dabbing away the thin line of dried blood.  His fingers wrap around mine.  “I’m sorry.” 

“For what?”

His shoulders roll as he exhales.  “Getting you involved in this.”

“I hardly think you’re responsible for that.  Blame the Countess.  Or Asra for leaving me unsupervised.”

“I could - I should just turn myself in.”

“Not until we’ve figured out what actually happened.”  The Countess might honestly desire to know the full truth, but it would be all too human to accept the easy out that Julian turning himself in would provide.  And whoever had placed that bounty was clearly motivated to ensure that blame fell on Julian.  The kettle interrupts my thoughts with a whistle.  I pour the water of the tea leaves and set the pot and a mug on the table beside Julian.  “I’m going to change into clean clothes.”  I run my hand through his hair and press a quick kiss to his forehead.  “And find a shirt for you.  I think we’ve got one or two that might fit you.”

I strip out of the clothes I’m wearing and toss them into one the piles on the floor that I think is dirty laundry.  I rummage through my drawer settling on a dark pair of pants and a striped linen tunic that I think Asra wore last.  But it fits me well enough, and I like the colors.  A few plain white shirts that are too large for either of us have been shoved into the back corner of the bottom drawer for years.  I shake both out on the bed and then grab the one that appears less wrinkled before stepping back into the kitchen.       

“Hey, I found this shirt that looks like -  Julian, where are you going?“  

"I … You, you see."  He picks his foot up from the top of the stairs and turns to me.  His hands drop helplessly to his sides.  "This is the second time you’ve ended up bleeding.  In less than a day.  It’s dangerous to be around -  I’m dangerous to be around.”

“This is also the second time you’ve healed me.  In less than a day." 

"Still -”

I cut him off and hold the shirt up to his shoulders.  It’s similar to the one he’s wearing, a bit closer cut in the sleeves, and unlike his current one, free of knife stabs and blood stains. “I think this will fit you.  Actually -” I wink, trying to distract him.  "I think it might even be yours.“  

"Heh."  He smiles for a moment then takes the shirt from me and shakes it out.  "Must have left it here in another life.  I’m surprised Asra kept it.”

“Really?  I don’t think he’s ever let anything go.”

Julian smiles wistfully.  “He wasn’t awful all the time.  He’s just …”

“… Complicated.  Or at least he makes everything crooked and confused.”

“That’s one way to put it."  Julian changes shirts and sits down at the table.  "Last night you, um, you said you only remember the past three years…  Have you been with Asra for all of those?”

"He’s the first person I remember."  It’s hazy, but I can hear Asra’s desperate voice calling my name and feel his hand pushing the hair out of my eyes.  His voice, his hands were anchors against the smoke that threatened to swallow me back.  "Something happened.  Something bad.  I’ve been sick - confused - since.  For a few weeks at a time.  Here and there.  Maybe it was like that, but worse.”

“I don’t want another bad thing to happen to you.  Not this …”  His voice trails off and his eyebrows furrow, as if there’s something else, but he can’t quite put it into words.  I cup his face in my hands and smooth my thumbs over his eyebrows.  He looks up at me, expression pained for a moment, then smiles.  “Want to go find some food?  There’s a tea shop around here that I always liked.”

***

Julian is uncharacteristically quiet as we walk through the streets.  Like before, he’s greeted multiple times, but now his responses are muted.  Glum even.  He manages a grin when a little boy, maybe nine or ten, appears with wooden sword and declares dramatically that he’s here to protect us.  Word seems to have gotten around and it appears the majority of the city doesn’t intend to allow anyone to collect the bounty on Julian’s head.

The boy follows us for two blocks before Julian solemnly thanks him, ruffles his hair, and tells him to go home to his mother.

“Would you be treated like that if you were a bad man?”

Julian turns down an alley.  “A bad man who kills a bad man doesn’t become a good man."  He pauses by an unmarked door, rubbing his hands together nervously.  "This was a real underground place.  High ceilings, cozy booths.  Good place to talk.  And we, um, we need to talk.”

“Jul-”

He takes my hand and leads me down a hallway that seems dusty even for a clandestine tea shop, but otherwise ignores me and continues to muse to me, or to himself, it isn’t clear.  "Used to come here to get away from the palace.  Nice and quiet.  People didn’t bother you.”  Just as he’s speaking of quiet, the sounds of applause carries down the corridor from further in the building.  The door he pushes open leads not to a tea room but into some sort of storage space or costume shop.  He gave back at me, eyebrows raised in surprise.  "Well, uh, things may have changed a bit over the past few years.“

There’s a motley collection of brightly colored outfits hanging on a rack and a pile of blunted metal weaponry signed into a barrel.  Masks cover the walls, staring with hollow eyes.  "Quite a bit of change, I think.”

“Pity.  They had this one smoky tea that I’ve never found since."  Julian steps further into the room, running his fingers over the masks on the wall.  "Oho.  What have we here?”  He lifts a narrow, curving mask from the wall and holds it over his face for a second before hiding it behind his back.  "Sorry.  I forget, um, I know you don’t care for …”

“It’s okay."  The mask is clearly intended to suggest the ones the plague doctors wore, but it’s so stylized that I don’t fear any dread twisting in my stomach.  "Try it on.”

He pushes his hair back and fixes the mask over his face.  It looks good on him, the gold detailing over black paint compliments his outfit.  “What do you think?  Dashing?”

"Oh, very!”  I push him back against the wall and lift myself up on my toes.  "Bit hard to kiss in one of these.”  My teeth find his throat anyway.  Moaning, he wraps an arm around my back, holding me choose and lifting me just a touch higher.

“Imagine … Oh, yeah, that’s …  Leave a mark if you want.  Something to remember you…"  

I pause one hard buried in his hair and the other grasping the back of his jacket.  "Julian, you don’t have to -”

He clears his throat trying to recover.  "I don’t, I.  Never, um, nevermind that.  Imagine trying to kiss with both people wearing one.”

“Mmm …"  I’ll play along.  Maybe if he delays long enough, he’ll talk himself out of this notion that he’s too dangerous for me to be around. "You’d have to get creative.”

Any creativity is interrupted by a door swinging open.  A man dressed all in black grabs Julian and shouts.  "There you are!  You’re about to miss your cue!“  He catches a glimpse of me over Julian’s shoulder and pauses.  "Who is - nevermind, come on, big finale time.”

He hustles Julian mask and all down a darkened hallway.  There’s no threat in the man’s voice, just exasperation.  Who does he think Julian is?  The hallway opens into a cavernous space, cut across by a heavy curtain.  Beyond the curtain I can hear a crowd laughing aloud and a single wailing voice projecting over all of them.  

“Listen to them!  Partying without me!  On my birthday even!”

I keep to the shadows, creeping alongside the curtain until I can just peer out to the stage beyond.  A man in scarlet robes and a white half mask, exaggerated mascara weeping around the eyes sprawls on an elaborate daybed, a bulky golden arm tossed over the back.  “Ingrates!  What do they expect me to do all night?  Clomp around in my hooves?  Boots!  I mean, boots!  Beg the busboy for table scraps?  If I can’t disgust anyone while doing it, what’s the point?”

The man in black, a stage manager I suppose, tosses a cape around Julian’s shoulders and shoves him past the curtain.  Julian stumbles through, almost catches himself, then trips over his own feet and into the lap of the thespian portraying the count.  The gathered crowd breaks into cheers and applause.  There’s the briefest of pauses from the actor and then he raises his hands in delight.  “Doctor Devorak! Here to cure my boredom!”

Julian looks from side to side, but his face is still hidden behind the mask, and well, Artemis had used drama queen to describe him.  His posture shifts as he decides to go for it, rubbing his hands together and cackling.  “Hello my poor, poor patient.  The bell tolls for you tonight! I’ve come to end your suffering.  Enjoy that gasp, it will be your last.”

“What are you going to do, Jules?”  The actor playing Lucio reaches out with his gold foil covered arm and lifts Julian’s chin.  “Smother me with your thighs?”

“For the hundredth time -”  Julian turns from the count, rolling his shoulders in place of the eyes that can’t been seen beneath his mask.  He snaps back to the other actor and grabs his shoulders. “NO!” 

They tussle on the daybed to the delight of the gathered crowd.  The theater is small, but packed for a matinee.  Mocking the Count appears to be a continued delight in this part of the city.  Feathers fly as a pillow is destroyed.  The actor reaches behind him and pulls out a foil blade.  Julian leaps backward.  "Ah!  It’s a fight you want!  Then -”  He stops and looks at his empty hands.  A stagehand appears with a second foil sword.  Julian accepts it with a deep bow and turns back to the actor.  “It’s a fight you’ll get!”

The two of them spar, playfully bouncing around the stage.  How long will Julian keep this up?  And will anyone recognize him under the mask?  It might not matter if they did.  The crowd hardly sympathized with the character of the Count.  

The Count staggers back under Julian’s blows and falls against the daybed, flinging an arm over his eyes.  Julian looms over him, fair sword pointed at his throat.  Julian’s body is coiled and trembling with menace that I’m not sure is entirely feigned.  

“Any last words, Lucio?"    

"Jules, Jules, you know I like you better than the rest.  We’ve always been friends, right?”  The actor’s voice quavers and rises in pitch to a whine.  “And I’m generous.  Especially with my friends.  What is it you want?  A ship?  Riches?”

Julian leans closer, voice pitched low.  “Some of us don’t kill for money, you damn mercenary.  Some of us kill to make up for not doing it sooner.”  With a sharp thrust, he plunges the sword, just to the side of the actor’s neck.  As the actor gasps his way through drawn out death throes, Julian looks to where I’m standing just off stage.  Behind the mask his eyes are wide and wild, gone just a bit too far into the moment.  He straightens up slowly, gaze shifting to the sword in his hand.  I think he might have forgotten that it’s fake.

A second actor stumbles onto the other side of the stage.  He clutches an oversized wine goblet and his mask is contorted into a sneer.  Valerius.  A portrayal that I can’t imagine the Consul would care to recognize himself in.  He shambles across the stage with exaggerated drunkenness, and then stops sort.  "Devorak!  You…  Murderer!  Guards!”

The shout seems to break Julian out of his spell.  He turns to face the audience and bows with a grand flourish before running off the stage.  He laughs aloud as he peels off his mask and loops his arm through mine, pulling me down a hallway before anyone can question us.

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