#unfortunately this isn’t the end yet because there will be a third chapter

[myname-isnia]

FUCK

I DID IT

I FUCKING DID IT

IT INVOLVED HAVING TO DOWNLOAD A BLOCKER APP SO I WOULDN’T BE TEMPTED TO GET DISTRACTED BY GOING ON TUMBLR OR PINTEREST OR WHATEVER, AND STAYING UP UNTIL 6 A.M, BUT I DID IT

I FINISHED CHAPTER 2 OF AIDIB

#good fucking god I thought this day would never come #it took me five hours to write the last 2000 words #and it was like wading through molasses #but I did it #all that’s left is another read through tomorrow with fresh eyes and then I can post #unfortunately this isn’t the end yet because there will be a third chapter #cause this one is almost as long as Uprooted without even counting chapter 1 #and the main scene the fic is based around is yet to be written #so I haven’t gotten that overwhelming sense of relief yet #I probs will in the morning. at least a little #(bro it is morning it’s 6 a.m) #I’m lucky that it’s November so still dark outside so I might just manage to get some sleep #okay nia stop rambling and actually go do as you say. bed time come on #fuuuuuuuckkkk. fucking finally #writing woes

[defectivevillain]

this winding labyrinth

chapter 3: reflux

pairing: Hannibal Lecter/Reader (reader is not gendered, race-ambiguous, and no physical descriptors are used)

summary:

You wish you never met Hannibal Lecter. But you yearn for his presence. You want to forget him. But he never truly leaves your thoughts. Now, you’re left to pick up the pieces of a broken design. A battle of instinct rages on in your mind—one of bittersweet relief and cloying grief, fearless resolve and poignant regret; a clashing between affection and antipathy, pride and pain. What will win, in the end? Only time will tell.

this is chapter 3, act 2 of this broken design. if you haven't read act 1 or chapters 1-2, this won't make too much sense.

ao3 version | Spotify playlist

typical warnings apply.

You blink your eyes open to a pounding headache and ringing ears. The ceiling above you is reeling as you’re pushed along in a gurney. Voices murmur and mumble around you, and your vision swims tauntingly. Your arm burns, stings, aches. Your eyelids feel incredibly heavy. You feel a hand on your cheek, prompting you to look into worried eyes. You blink dazedly, your vision blurring and spiraling. It doesn’t take long for you to fall into unconsciousness again. 

You dream of nothing and everything. You dream of winding halls, a labyrinth that never ends. You dream of harsh corners, broken glass, shattered reflections. You dream of glinting metal, sharpened blades, and cruel smiles. You drown in soil and breathe in rot and decay. Through it all, blood sticks to your skin like a vice—a reminder of your sins. 

When you finally wake, after an immeasurable amount of time, you find there to be little fanfare. There is no one for you to wake up to, nothing for you to look at save for a nearly empty hospital room with chipped paint coloring the walls. You take a deep breath and look up at the ceiling. You can hear the EKG’s steady beeps at your bedside. Your arm still hurts, but the pain isn’t nearly as bad as it was before. Upon closer examination, you realize your arm is bandaged. Blood seeps through the white bandages, threatening to mar the white sheets around you. In the still quiet of the evident night, you are gifted a brief reprieve: an escape from interaction and accountability. You’re grateful for it, even if the silence seems to vibrate with unease. 

The nurse comes before long—he’s not the same one you had before. You don’t bother to question it. He reapplies your bandages and sighs. “You are immensely lucky,” he remarks, turning away for a moment. “Just a few inches to the side and you’d be dead.” 

Yes, lucky, you think to yourself.  

The nurse doesn’t say anything else. You have to wonder if he was told about you—told you’ve been here quite a few times within the past year, told not to bother with pleasantries. You’re left to wonder as the nurse leaves the room, promising to return in a few moments. 

Nothing about this moment feels real. Maybe that’s why the guilt of your actions hasn’t quite caught up yet. You’ve felt a hint of remorse prickling along your skin, but nothing as strong as you had expected. It sort of feels like you’re dreaming. Perhaps you’ll even wake up soon. 

Unfortunately, you soon have to come to terms with the fact that you are not dreaming. This is reality: bleak, unassuming reality. The weight of it all is pushing you further into this thin hospital mattress, forcing you to remain bound and silent without confines. Your arm is bandaged, because you stabbed yourself. You stabbed yourself… to engineer a situation where Clark Ingram’s death— murder , a voice in your head coos—would be justifiable. Your arm burns, both from the knife and from the knowledge of your crimes. 

For the first few days of your hospital stay, you don’t get visitors. You suspect the visitors who typically stop by are growing tired of showing up. After all, this is your third or fourth time in the hospital. It’s likely more of a chore than anything else. Teetering on the edge between life and death is a scary situation, but you’ve occupied that grey area for so long now that almost nothing seems to truly surprise you.

Beverly highlights the notion when she arrives one morning. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she quips, shoving her hands in her leather jacket after closing the door behind her. She leans against the wall. 

You huff. “Hi, Bev,” you say, managing to get past the raspiness of your unused voice. 

“I’m convinced you’re single handedly burning through the injury budget for our department,” Bev says with a sigh. You take a deep breath. This banter with Beverly makes you feel… normal. 

“Hey, someone’s gotta do it,” you shrug goodnaturedly. Beverly rolls her eyes, before crossing her arms over her chest. 

For a few seconds, there is only silence. An unfamiliar tension settles in the air. “Seriously though,” Beverly says. There is nothing but sincerity in the expression on her face. “There’s only so much of this my heart can take.” And that hits you like a knife to the gut. 

You never considered how your friends must feel in these types of situations. You’ve probably caused Beverly so much unnecessary worry and concern.  Selfish. “I’m sorry,” you grimace. The statement doesn’t feel like enough.  

“Just… be more careful, okay?” Bev sighs. “Never thought I’d have to be the one to say that to you.” You’re not sure you trust the weight of your own words anymore, so you don’t respond. You don’t promise anything, because you’re not sure you can. Thankfully, Beverly doesn’t seem to be expecting a response. Instead, she elects to sit in the chair at your bedside. Not for the first time, you wonder how you managed to get such a good friend. 

Beverly stays for a while, before the nurse comes by and kicks her out. She leaves, albeit with a grumble under her breath about unnecessary precautions. After Beverly, there is no one and nothing. Every time you close your eyes, you see Ingram’s face—the genuine fear that overtook his expression when he saw your finger inch closer towards the trigger. You see his victims, drowning in soil and suffocating. Every time you blink, you see blood spilling down your arms, coating your skin in murky crimson. 

You fade in and out. The days melt into one another, stretching out into an indistinguishable, tangled mess. The healing process seems painfully slow, as if your body is forcing you to slow down and come to terms with the consequences of your own actions. These injuries are starting to take a toll. Your abdomen stings—from remembrance or genuine pain, you can’t be sure. 

In the midst of a hazy and dimly lit afternoon, you get another visitor. 

“Agent,” a familiar voice says. You look up and towards the door, only to find Jack Crawford standing in the doorway. He looks the same as ever, save for the concerningly tight pull to his lips and shoulders. Indeed, he looks rather tense—almost uncharacteristically so. 

“Jack,” you remark. “I wasn’t expecting you.” Indeed, Jack has visited you every single time you’ve found yourself injured and confined to this hospital. It’s highly unusual for someone as high up as Jack—the Head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit—to consistently find the time to make hospital visits. It’s as your teacher once said: “When you go out, you go out alone. You will wake up alone…  You will be alone.” There had been a haunting expression on her face as she said that, almost as if she were recalling a past experience. The class had been eerily silent. 

Jack shoots you a disbelieving eyebrow, before his face falls back into stony callousness. The room feels a lot colder. Looks like he’s going to get right to business. “You may be wondering why you were never given another psychological evaluation,” he begins, before taking another step, “After all, Lecter did yours—and there’s no guarantee he didn’t have an ulterior motive.” 

Somehow, despite all the events that transpired recently, you avoided another psychological evaluation. Any other agent would surely have been thrown into a psychiatric evaluation and several mandated therapy sessions for surviving such an ordeal… You received a grip on your shoulder and a murmured remark from Jack about doing well. You’re still not sure how to feel about that.

“Truthfully, I didn’t think you needed another evaluation,” Jack says, his lips set in a firm line. There’s something else coming. Sure enough, he continues. “I find myself questioning my judgment now. You’ve sent yourself to the hospital three times now.”

“Sent myself?” You repeat in disbelief. A shiver rolls down your spine, sending your skin prickling. “Jack, I didn’t intend for any of this to happen.” You don't enjoy the implications of his statement. 

“That may be,” Jack acquiesces. His hands are clasped behind his back and he’s the picture of quiet, calm authority. “But you’ve had extensive training that deals with these kinds of situations, that teaches you what to prioritize in those kinds of moments.” You bite your tongue and keep silent.  

“What disturbs me…” He breaks off once more. Jack always finishes his sentences—this kind of syntax is unusual for him. “ This -” He motions with a hand, “isn’t born out of a lackluster combat ability. You’re a damn good fighter.” You want to be honored by the compliment, but all you can feel is an unsettling apprehension. Sure enough, Jack isn’t finished speaking. “I’m going to book you for another psych eval.” 

The sheets thrown over you suddenly feel far too thin, as goosebumps run along your skin. You’re brutally aware of the expression on Jack’s face—conflict and resolution fighting for prominence in the set of his jaw. “Jack-” You try to say, scrambling for something to say. It’s beginning to feel as if the walls are caving in on you. 

“You haven’t made this easy, Agent,” Jack responds in lieu of an answer. He pulls something from his jacket pocket—a slip of paper with notes scrawled on it. Your heart drops into your stomach as you realize that he had planned this from the outset. “2:00 p.m. next Monday.” It is clear that Jack’s visit had one purpose, and one purpose only. He walks away, leaving you to stare after him in stunned disbelief.

In the wake of your conversation with Jack, your recovery feels nearly meaningless. What does it matter if you heal? You’re still barred from returning to work, unless you receive a signed form from the psychologist. Although, will that really be so difficult for you? A few years ago, it might have been. But since then, you’ve changed. You’ve developed, morphed into a person who has learned to be defensive, wary, covert. Indeed, haven’t you been keeping the pretense of composure this entire time? If you kept your knowledge of the Ripper’s identity hidden from him for so long, surely getting through an hour-long psychological assessment will be easy. 

And, indeed, it is easy. 

The psychologist you’re paired with is nice. That’s all you really have to say about them. Perhaps you’ve grown accustomed to discussions laced with existentialism while seated on expensive leather, a palpable tension sinking into the air. Or perhaps you’ve grown accustomed to answering questions with whatever the person wants to hear. You’ve gotten good at maintaining an illusion of calm and collected rationality when needed.

Plus, the evaluation protocol is extremely outdated. You have to do a Rorschach inkblot test, which makes you both thankful and extremely concerned for the future of the FBI. Safe to say, you walk out of the building an hour later with a signed paper in hand. It doesn’t take you long to decide to head right to the Bureau. Your heart is still hammering away in your chest as you drive there—even when you’re a good distance away from the psychologist’s office. 

When you finally get to the Bureau and arrive in Jack’s office, you place the signed form on his desk wordlessly. For a moment, he seems too caught up in the files in his hands to notice. After a few moments, he blinks and drags the paper closer to him. Jack examines the paper with a critical eye, before turning his attention back towards you. 

“Surprised?” You ask, as he studies your expression. Jack seems to be looking for something. You try to maintain a flat affect, if only so that he doesn’t find whatever he’s searching for. 

He sighs. “Agent, you know this is just protocol,” Jack responds. “No, I’m not surprised. It would be highly unprofessional of me to have expectations of the result.” He finishes. You want to believe him.

But you know deep down that Jack expected you to fail—perhaps even wanted you to fail. “Welcome back, Agent.” You know your mind is conjuring up the tone of resignation in his voice.  

You exit his office and walk back down the halls, an unexpected guilt stirring in your chest. You shouldn’t have lied to the psychologist. On the other hand, you knew that if you were truthful, you would never be able to return to the field. And there are lives at stake. You’re not foolish enough to think that your mere presence is enough to decrease criminality at large, but you know that the Bureau needs as many agents as possible on the front lines. 

There’s a buzzing, humming sound along your skin. “If you truly cared about the lives at stake, you would stay away,” a voice reasons. It takes you a few moments to realize that it’s Clark Ingram. A social worker has joined the group of tormented souls inhabiting the shadows of  your mind. The irony is not lost on you. You shake your head, before taking a deep breath and continuing to walk down the hall, your muscle memory navigating you towards your office even when your attention is elsewhere. “How many have been killed in the wake of your complacency?”  Ingram continues relentlessly. “Your neutrality is just as dangerous as my cruelty.” 

Your head pounds as you turn the corner to get to your office. When you finally find yourself standing in the doorway, you remember that you haven’t used the space in a bit—there’s dust collecting on the edges of your bookshelf and the surface of your desk. You close the door and sit down in your chair, ignoring the chilling recognition that you’re sitting right where Franklyn died. For a moment, you can feel phantom burgundy tears slipping down your cheeks. When you blink, you’re subject to the illusory sensation of someone reaching deep into your eye sockets and tugging, ripping at your optic nerves and tearing your sight away from you. 

Your leg bounces restlessly. The clock’s hand makes its routine journey across the smooth surface of the instrument, and its movements flit before your eyes in flickering flashes. You rub your eyes roughly. Conversations from the hall reach your ears, until they distort and morph into voices that continue to haunt you. Your fingers are twitching. 

Time is a fickle thing. Your office doesn’t have windows to let in sunlight, so you’re forced to take in the noise from the hallway to determine how long you’ve spent fading away in your chair. A rattling breath overtakes you, prompting you to breathe in and breathe out in a shuddering movement. You dig the heels of your hands into your eyes, letting the spiraling colors that manifest overtake your vision. 

When you open your eyes moments later, you’re briefly assaulted with a wave of sharpness and clarity. Then, your vision adjusts and you’re left staring at your unassuming office: the remains of your neat and tidy life. Somehow, deep-down, you know things will not stay that way. 

Your hands itch and you roll up your sleeves, despite knowing you won’t see soil caked on your skin like you’re imagining. Indeed, your arms are bare—save for the bandaged wound that you’re sure will scar. Looking down at it provokes a stirring feeling in your gut as memories of that day reach the forefront of your mind. 

For a while, you had lingered precariously on the edge between morality and criminality. Have you since slipped off that edge? When did your balance first falter? Were the scales already tipped—perhaps from the moment you sleep walked onto the road, finding yourself looking into the darkness and locking eyes with a crimson gaze? When did your grip start to weaken? 

And… where does that wavering leave you now?

next chapter

thanks for readingggg!

TAGLIST: @its-ares @tobbotobbs @xrisdoesntexist @gr1mmac3 @tiredstarcerberuslamb @yourlocalratwriter @kingkoku @kahuunknown @atlas-king1 @pendragon-writes @slipknotcentury @cryinersaved @the-ultimate-librarian @starre-eyes @pendragon-writes @peterparkeeperer @gayschlatt69

#defectivevillain #hannibal x reader #hannibal lecter x reader #hannibal x male reader #hannibal x gn reader #male reader #gn reader

[sneezingfetishftw-fics]

Insufferable (4/7)

Previous chapters: 1 2 3

Next chapters: 5 6 7

Wavs: 1 3

—————————————————

Velvette tried to stave off the panic by focusing on Vox’s work responsibilities, her fingers typing at the speed of light. Unfortunately, her anxious thoughts were moving just as fast. Had she made a mistake by giving him a fever reducer? What if she’d fried his system and now he was shut down? How long would it last? How could they fix this? Would any medicine work on Vox? Could the antivirus be re-enabled, or was this the end? Should they get a new screen for Vox, would that fix it?

“Velvette, darling,” Val said, “you look like you’re about to give yourself an aneurysm. Slow down!”

“This is all your fault in the first place, you bastard! If you hadn’t been such a selfish, dimwitted, arrogant… GAH!”

“I already said I’m sorry. I can’t change the past.” He withered a little under Velvette’s icy glare. “Look, I bet we can find a new compilation of people embarrassing themselves on social media! Do you want to watch together? I can make some popcorn!” he said with a smile.

“But the TV is broken!”

“Yeah, but Vox’s laptop isn’t.”

Velvette hesitated for a moment, but then nodded. She could use a break after all this.

They watched for a little while until Velvette realized she did still have in person work (you know, the work she had before this whole mess) to attend to. She put the laptop back in the cage. “Don’t break anything while I’m gone. And try not to let Vox break anything either!” Valentino just waved.

***************

Shortly after Velvette had returned, Vox stumbled into the living room again. His screen was so dark Velvette could barely make out his facial features, which meant Val was probably seeing even less. Velvette quickly shoved the laptop and her phone back into the Faraday cage. “Morning Velvette, Val,” he said weakly but enthusiastically.

“It’s 6 o’clock,” Valentino said with a frown.

“WHAT?” he asked, his voice distorting in anger as his claws dug into the table and Velvette and Val shared a look of uneasy Déjà vu. “You mean I missed my interview by 9 hours, 9 FUCKING HOURS, and NOBODY WOKE ME UP??”

“Right, that’s it,” Velvette said, marching up to him. “We’re doing an antivirus scan.”

“What are you talking about? And what about my interview?”

Velvette sighed. “I did the interview in your place, because you’re sick. You have a virus, which is why we need to run the antivirus. And you would know this is the third time I’m telling you, if it weren’t for you’re fucking shit-arse corrupted memory banks!”

“Oh.” Vox’s fans were deafeningly loud in the silence that followed. The Vees began to wonder if Vox had lost his voice again, when finally the silence broke. “Hhhh’TTTZZZZZZCHH! Hhh’hhhh’hhh’hhZZZZZZSSH! Heht’dzzzzzsch! HhhhrrrggggZZZZZCHT! Fucking hell!”

Velvette handed him a handkerchief she’d procured during his latest nap. He stared at it awkwardly. “Velvette, I don’t have a nose. What exactly do you expect me to do with this?”

“It’s to cover… oh, never mind,” she said, taking it back. With Vox’s memory failing, now wasn’t exactly the best time to be trying to teach him new things.

“The antivirus?” Val asked, trying to get the conversation back on track.

“Right,” Velvette nodded, staring at Val in a way that clearly said “I’m not snitching on you yet but don’t count on me not to tell on you later.” She turned back to Vox. “Do you know how we would go about running the antivirus scan?” Vox tried to speak but once again sound was failing him. “Perfect. Just what we needed.”

Thankfully, Vox seemed to be capable of pulling up the interface on his screen without needing to talk, though he did have to restart the process a few times when his screen glitched out from coughing fits. Finally, the scan had begun.

It didn’t get far, though, before Vox’s screen started flickering and his breath started hitching. “No no no no no no no no!!!” Velvette protested. “Not now, please Vox! Just wait a little longer.”

“What’s the big deal?” Valentino asked. “I didn’t know you were into edging,” he said with a smirk.

“Ew, no! If you’d been paying any attention, you’d know what I’m talking about. If coughing restarts a process, I reckon sneezing will do the same. If we can’t keep him from sneezing we’ll never get this scan done.” Valentino placed a finger over the center of Vox’s screen. Velvette stared at him blankly. “What are you… he doesn’t even have a nose! Do you really expect that to work?”

Val shrugged. “I don’t see you coming up with a better idea.”

Velvette frowned, having no rebuttal to that. But against all logic, it seemed to be working. The screen flickers got more spaced out and less intense. Val’s finger was covering up most of the progress bar, but eventually the task was completed. “Okay, you can put that finger away now, Val,” Velvette said.

It was as if a dam had opened. Velvette barely had a chance to see the “virus detected” (yeah, obviously!) message before the screen flickered violently and Vox unleashed a torrent of sneezes unlike anything any of them had witnessed before. “Hhhh’tzzzzsh! Zzzzzcht! Hhhh’dzzzt! Heh’tZZZZZZZCHT! Hah’TTTZZZZZZZZZSHT! HAAAAAH’ZZZZZZZZZZST! Hhhhhhh’ZZZZSHT! ZZZZZSH! ZZZZZZZST! D’ZZZZCHHHZT!” It continued on in this manner for at least ten minutes with barely any time to breathe. Velvette noticed out of the corner of her eye that Valentino appeared to have been trying to count the sneezes, but he seemed to have given up fairly quickly. Eventually, Vox regained his breath. “Fuck my life. I never want to do that again.” Val made a mental note that he now had a powerful tool in his arsenal should he ever need to threaten Vox.

Velvette was focused on the screen which had now returned to the antivirus scan results. “Well, the good news is, it found the virus.”

“I know that face,” Vox said, still sniffling. “How screwed am I?”

“Well - it’s got an estimated time of how long the fix will take.”

“And?” he asked impatiently. Then he coughed so loud he couldn’t hear a thing. “Sorry, what was that?”

“48 hours to 2 weeks.”

Vox gave his head a light slap and a shake. “Ugh, sensors really must be busted on this thing. Because I cannot possibly have heard you right.”

“No, you got it. It’s 48 hours to 2 weeks.”

Vox’s face fell. “How the fuck am I supposed to deal with this for that long?” He started crying and Velvette once again passed him the handkerchief, although this time he seemed to know what to do with it, at least for the eyes anyway.

“Bit of a wide range, isn’t it?” Val asked.

Velvette shrugged. “Probably to account for whether or not the virus, uh… fights back.” All three of them grimaced. That was not a fun possibility to consider.

Vox sighed. “Please just put me out of my misery.” Val nodded solemnly and walked over to his gun collection. “Wait, no, not that! I’m not that desperate yet.”

Val stepped away from the guns. “Ok. But if you change your mind, I’ll be there.”

Vox groaned. “Just start the scan, Velvette. Before I facepalm so hard I break my screen.”

Velvette tapped the start button, and a pop-up appeared. “Warning, some systems may be temporarily offline while resources are devoted to the antiviral treatment.” Velvette looked to Vox for approval, who shrugged.

“Not like I have a choice. Besides, how much worse could it get?” She tapped the button and Vox, for the third time in the past eight hours, collapsed.

#my snezfic #snezbin hotel #Vox stay conscious while sick challenge: impossible #bring on the suffering

[ghostboidanny]

Flowers of truth choking on my secrets

Ao3

Tumblr part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 6 (here)

Danny lies sometimes. Of course he does, which teenager doesn't lie occasionally? But lying becomes much more important after he dies, alone, in his parents’ lab, inside a Portal leading into a whole new world. He lies to his family and to his friends, to his classmates and teachers and everyone else he comes across. He lies to himself. Not because he wants to, but because he has to. Because being Phantom is too dangerous and it’s the only way to keep himself his loved ones safe.

Unfortunately, for ghosts lying has consequences. Deadly consequences.

Chapter 6: The truth is out

He slowly wakes up, which is a surprise even to him. Danny had been certain that he would die during that last attack. Die again . Because he has already died once, months ago. He didn’t just get ghost powers, he died and he came back . Maybe that is what has happened now. Maybe he died fully this time. That would explain why he feels fine when last he could remember, he was in torturous amounts of pain. 

His chest is no longer burning and he can breathe properly for the first time in months, since that day he walked into the portal and died . The memory flashes through his mind and he almost wishes he could bury it again. It hurts to think about, makes the hand that pressed the button ache with phantom pain - though logically he knows that the hand shouldn’t feel any better or worse than the rest of him. He remembers now that his whole body was burnt to a crisp by the end. Only the ectoplasm immediately fusing with his destroyed body and merging his soul back together with it saved him. His heart races at the memory. 

Wait … his heart races . He can feel his core buzzing, but if he had died fully this time, then his heart should have stopped for good. 

Danny’s eyes fly open.

The first thing he notices is that he’s still in the same hospital room as before, except now it's night time. The second time he notices is that his parents and sister are all sleeping in different chairs around the room - Sam and Tucker are nowhere to be seen so they must have been kicked out of the hospital. The third thing he notices is the heart monitor, displaying that his heart is beating at a steady - though slightly slower than normal - rate. 

“I’m alive”, he whispers to himself, starting in astonishment at his hands. His voice is hoarse and speaking hurts, but not nearly as much as it did before. It's more like a moderate cold than thorns in his throat. And his throat doesn't close up on itself when he tries to speak about death. The improvement is so minimal and yet it feels vast to him. 

“I died and then I came back to half life and right as I was dying again, I finally admitted the truth to myself, and so I’m still half alive.”

All this time, he had been sick because he had been lying to himself . Though lying to his friends and family probably didn't help any. A laugh escapes his throat and then another. Soon he’s laughing so hard that he can’t breathe. 

He sees the other people in the room startle awake and feels guilty about it, but can’t stop laughing. “Danny?” Jazz mumbles, looking at him with sleep addled eyes, deep purple bags beneath them. Her eyes widen when she takes in his awake form in the bed. 

A second later, her arms close around his body, pulling him into a hug. He presses his face against her shoulder. It isn’t until the fabric grows wet that he realizes that he’s crying. “Shh, it’s okay. You’re okay.”

“I died”, he sobs and her arms spasm around him for a second before she hugs him even tighter. 

When Jazz next speaks, she sounds heartbroken. “Yeah, you did.” 

“I couldn't face the truth of it for so long that it almost killed me again. I really thought I would die for good this time.”

Jazz’s voice turns to steel. “You didn’t and you won’t. But I’m proud of you for facing the truth, no matter how hard it was.”

“I only did it thanks to you. If you hadn’t realized that I’ve been lying to myself and made me face the truth, I would have died. Thank you.”

Jazz leans back and cups his face in her hands. She strokes some tears away with her thumbs and looks very intently into his eyes. “There is no need to thank me, I would do anything to help you. Anything .”

There is a surprised sound coming from the corner with his parents and then in the next second, Jack runs across the room and pulls both Danny and Jazz into a hug. Within moments, Danny can feel tears soaking his hair. “You’re awake!”

His dad’s loud voice startles Maddie awake as well and a second later she is also sobbing on him. She presses a kiss against his forehead. “My baby boy! We nearly lost you for good, never do something like that again!”

“I’ll try not to”, Danny says as tears start dripping down his cheeks again. He clings to his parents and is happy to discover that he is once again strong enough to actually hug them back. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize, I can’t even imagine how hard all of this must have been for you. I’m just glad you’re alive … or half alive?” She asks, sounding very careful all of a sudden, as if she didn’t want to offend him or scare him. It only makes him cry harder and Maddie immediately pulls him closer. 

“It … it was very hard. I didn't w-want to admit to myself that I had d-died. That’s why I didn’t tell you guys about being Phantom. S-some part of me knew that it would lead to me having to confront my death and I wasn’t r-ready. It was easier to just l-lie about everything, at least until it hurt me so much I almost died again.”

“We understand”, Maddie says and kisses his forehead again. 

“But you know the truth now?” Jazz asks from where her face is pressed against his shoulder. He can feel some wetness there too but doesn't comment on it. 

“Yeah, I know that I died in the portal and that it then brought it back. I know that I don't just have ghost powers but am a half ghost. Half alive, half dead.” For every word he speaks, he feels lighter and lighter. The last of the pressure in his chest disappears and his breathing gets easier. In fact, he’s pretty sure that his throat and lungs have completely healed up. 

He pulls back from his family and stares down at his hands. He feels stronger than he’s ever done before. If he’s lied to himself ever since the accident first started then … how long did he have the parasite for? Since the very beginning? Has he been fighting while sick all this time? Just how powerful is he?

“I … I’m going to transform into Phantom now”, Danny says, half to warn his family and half to prepare himself. His family back away a few steps, but for the first time, he feels no fear about transforming when someone else might see him. His parents smile at him in encouragement and Jazz has so much pride in her eyes that he feels heat rise into his cheeks. 

Danny pulls on his core and it buzzes with energy, almost more than he can comprehend. The transformation passes over him in a flash, faster than ever before. Gravity lets go of its grip on him without any struggle on his part and he floats up from the bed, weightless. A laugh bubbles from his throat. A throat that is completely healed. The pain he’s suffered for so long while in ghost form is just gone . 

The excitement is too much and just has to do a loop to get some of the energy out. He laughs some more and is startled when another voice joins him. Danny looks over to see his family. Jazz is beaming, laughter spilling from her mouth. His mom has tears in her eyes, but she’s smiling fondly at him. 

Jack cheers, “That's my boy!” Then he runs forward and sweeps Danny into a crushing hug. Danny hugs back, melting into his dad’s arms. 

A strange sound starts up from the center of his chest, where his core lies. It's like a big cat is purring, a deep repetitive sound. For a moment he feels like he should be embarrassed by it, but then the rest of his family join the hug and he forgets all about it. He just basks in the love radiating from his family and the relief of all the pain being gone. 

The truth is out and his family still love him. The truth is out and it didn’t destroy him, as he has feared for so long. Suddenly, the future looks bright and as Danny is nestled in the arms of his family, he feels ready to face it.

#dp #danny phantom #danny fenton #jazz fenton #jack fenton #maddie fenton #indrel writes #I completely forgot to post this on tumblr as well #better late than never I guess

[bakedbakermom]

Stained

Chapter 1: Sanguine.

Read on Ao3; tagging @today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr

But first, a word from the author. I first wrote this fic when I was about 14, circa late 2000. It was very much a product of its time, both of who I was/how I wrote then, and where the respective shows were in their runs. I found it recently in an archive I will NOT share, and was stunned to find that it actually did have some good bones--and, as is to be expected, plenty of cringe, but I try to look on my past self with indulgence and sympathy in that regard; we are, all of us, unfortunately fourteen at some point. There were even a few beautiful lines in there that I lifted entirely. I don't think I've ever gone 20+ years between a first and second draft, but here we are, in 2023, and I am back on my XF/BTVS brainrot for a second pass (and third, and fourth, as editing commands me). This fic takes place in late season 7 of the X-Files, post-Hollywood AD; and season 5 of Buffy, post-Intervention. Do those seasons line up at all? Nope. But let's be real, neither show was all that great at keeping consistent timelines. Besides, time is an illusion and canon is a sandbox; if we're not going to play, what's the point? As for how a crossover like this works when there are references to one work within the other work? Short answer: Don't worry about it. Long answer: I have lost my mind and you can see my spiral into madness here (contains a few minor spoilers/background info for this fic)

Fic is COMPLETE and will be updated Sundays and Wednesdays.

Scully unlocked the door to room 217 of the Sunnydale Motor Inn and slipped inside, hoping the brief spill of buttery sunlight wouldn’t disturb the occupant. The soft snick of the door plunged her into sudden darkness, but her eyes adjusted quickly; she was getting used to the dark. Inside, little light pierced the drawn curtains, and what did filter through was stained a deep crimson, as if a haze of blood hung in the air.

She eased herself down onto the edge of the rumpled bed that filled half the room and prodded the lump of blankets she assumed was her partner. The lump moaned and shifted, and from the opposite end, Mulder’s tousled head appeared. A shock pierced through her when she saw how pale he had become, how dark the circles were under his eyes; she tried not to think about how he had been sleeping upside down, like a bat. He would only tease her for the comparison. “How are you feeling?” she asked softly, hoping she sounded calmer than she felt.

He groaned, his voice barely more than a croak. “Half dead.”

She lifted one auburn brow and tried to smile. “Oh good, only half.”

Mulder sat up stiffly, his bones creaking and popping like the hinges of a haunted house. The sheets fell away from his bare chest, now a sickly white instead of his usual golden tan. He shoved a pillow behind his back to prop himself up, as if the effort of sitting was too much for his withering body. His eyes narrowed into tiny slits and he winced. “Isn’t it a little bright in here?”

“Mulder, I can barely see you.”

“Oh. Right.”

Something shameful flickered in his eyes and she reached out to take his hand; his skin was dry and frighteningly cold, the bones beneath it not quite right. She pushed the fear down with a thick swallow. “Don’t worry about it. The sun will be down in an hour or so.”

They relied so much on touch to communicate these days. A subtle brush of fingers to say I am here. The pressure of his hand on the small of her back, We’ll be alright. A tear thumbed away from a cheek, Your pain is mine too. A kiss pressed tenderly to a forehead, We’re not done yet.

Touching him was different now. Strained. Stained. Death lived in his skin; it was a void she had to force herself across with every caress, because each time she touched him, she was reminded of what lived inside him. 

What it had tried, gleefully, to do.

Her memories of that night in the graveyard were murky at best, flashes of blood and terror glimpsed only through a dense fog like a stormy night at a drive-in, and it was a relief to her that she was spared the worst details. Her body was healing, and though she knew that repressing emotional trauma was an unhealthy coping mechanism, it was the only thing allowing her to function. The reckoning was coming for her, sure as the sun outside was edging toward the horizon; when the darkness came, it would swallow her whole, just as it was trying, now, to swallow her partner.

The darkness was inside him, a part of him, and she could not touch one without wanting to recoil from the other. She hated the relief that filled her as she released his hand to reach into the paper bag she had brought inside with her. “I got you something to eat.”

His eyes lit up as they landed on the small styrofoam container, the kind usually filled with soup or pasta salad to-go, with the name of a local butcher on the side: Sunnydale Fine Meats. Its logo was a cartoon pig holding up a link of sausage speared on a fork, the little speech bubble near his mouth proclaiming it both local and delicious. Scully found the image horribly macabre. “Beef or pork?” Mulder asked, taking it eagerly from her hands and giving it an appraising sniff.

“Lamb,” she said, and when he wrinkled his nose, “Sorry. It was all they had left.”

“Don’t worry about it, Scully. I imagine it’s a popular take-out spot in this town.” He squeezed her shoulder gently, and she fought not to pull away from the chill of his touch. “Thank you. For all of this.”

He stood slowly, accompanied by another symphony of popping joints. He tightened the drawstring on his sweatpants—when had he gotten so thin?—and carried the container to the microwave in the room’s tiny kitchenette. Her stomach lurched as she realized he was heating the contents. Ninety-eight point six.

Mulder glanced up and saw her staring, then looked quickly away. “Tip from Spike,” he muttered. “Says it’s easier to… get it down… this way. That I’ll get used to it faster if it’s warm.”

“Is it really that bad, compared to..?”

A shudder passed through his body, but not of revulsion. She shouldn’t have reminded him about that, but he answered anyway. “It’s like day-old coffee versus a chocolate shake. With whipped cream. And extra cherries.” His voice dripped with a hunger bordering on lust. “I can handle it, but I’d rather have… well.”

Compassion and pity warred with a visceral disgust and the sudden roiling in her gut pushed her to feet. She couldn’t watch this.

“I’ll let you eat,” she said, too fast, nearly lunging for the door. Stupid, she yelled at herself the moment she realized what she was doing. Don’t give him anything to chase. Not when he’s hungry.

His hand clenched painfully tight around her wrist before she even heard him move, and her heart started to hammer beneath her sternum. She knew he could hear it, watched his pupils dilate as the sound reached him, and his gaze fell on the pulse fluttering in her throat.

The dark centers of his eyes grew inhumanly huge, nearly eclipsing the warm golden green, and his tongue flicked out to lick his lower lip.

Scully stood very, very still.

Her blue eyes were cold and hard as she met his stare. Do not flinch.

“Mulder,” she said carefully, threading steel into her voice. “Let me go.”

He held on, breathing harder than he had any need to, nostrils flaring as he took in the coppery scent of her fear, fingers constricting so tightly she felt the fine bones of her wrist grinding together and the tingling static of the circulation failing in her fingertips. She would have a new bracelet of bruises tomorrow. A sound between a moan and a growl bubbled up from his throat.

Scully’s free hand began to inch toward the chain around her neck when suddenly the microwave beeped from across the room, breaking the tension like a splash of cold water. He stepped quickly away and turned his back to her, shoulders hunched and shaking.

“God, Scully, I am so sorry.”

If her hand trembled as she laid it on his back, they both ignored it. “I know, Mulder. It’s okay. I know.”

“No, you don’t,” he said gently, his voice choked and breaking. “And I’m glad you don’t.”

She forced herself to move closer, to cross the death-black void that had bloomed between them; the fear she felt was a small price to pay to erase the pain written so clearly across his face. She wrapped her arms around his abdomen and laid her cheek against the icy expanse of his back. He flinched as the tiny gold cross on her necklace made contact with his skin; she pulled away just enough to tuck it into her shirt, then squeezed him even tighter. “You’re so warm,” he murmured, placing one hand over hers where it rested against his stomach. “It’s so nice to feel warm again.”

Her throat constricted painfully as she fought away the tears threatening to spill from her eyes, and it was a long while before she trusted herself to speak. Her voice came out small, empty of anything but helpless fear. “What are we going to do?”

He sighed and rolled his gaze heavenward. There were water spots on the ceiling. “Shoot me?”

“Yeah, a lot of good that would do.”

Mulder huffed out a barbed little laugh and turned within the circle of her arms. His hands came up to cup her face, and the defeat in his eyes nearly broke her heart. A single tear slid down his ashen cheek, glinting red in the fading light. Red as blood.

“I’m scared, Scully,” he whispered. His thumbs brushed tenderly over her cheekbone for a moment before he folded around her, his face buried against her neck and his arms painfully tight around her. “I’m so scared.”

She held him as he wept, stroking his hair and whispering soothing words neither of them would remember later. It was not really her words he needed, merely her touch, the comfort of knowing she cared enough to brush up against the monster inside him if it meant that the man could feel the touch of her body, small and warm against him. His tears soaked into the collar of her t-shirt until it stuck to her skin.

No, not tears. Saliva. He licked the place where her neck met her collarbone and moaned. His hands came up to thread his fingers through her hair. He pressed himself tightly against her, and she felt him growing hard against her hip. Her gut clenched, and not just from fear.

“Mul—”

His name died on her lips as something sharp pierced her skin, a sudden warmth spilling down her shoulder. She struggled in his grip, a fly in a web, and he bit down harder.

Scully had an unfortunate amount of practice stuffing down her gibbering panic, translating the adrenaline that threatened to paralyze her into action instead; she summoned every drop of strength she could manage, twisting at the hip, and used the strength of her legs and torso to shove him back. Her hand immediately flew up to press against the wound on her neck as she stared at him, blood trickling between her fingers and her mouth open in shock and fear.

A monster stared back at her from the place where his face should have been, thickly ridged brows and serrated teeth dripping with crimson and eyes gleaming the fevered yellow of a jungle cat. It wore her blood like warpaint, like a sacrificial mask. A growl rumbled forth from what had been Mulder’s throat and its hands clenched and unclenched at its sides as it prepared to strike again. It dropped into a crouch, shoulders hunched, muscles rippling unnaturally beneath the surface of its skin. Its features twisted into something like joy.

Scully wondered if she could free the gun at her hip before it reached her; a bullet might not drop the thing, but she could slow it down.

Even vampires feel pain.

A sudden shudder passed through the creature and a high wail of grief tore from its throat. Slowly, the face softened, melted, Mulder’s familiar features coming back to the fore, dazed and afraid. He touched a finger to his chin and revulsion crossed his face as he realized he was streaked with her blood; the stain of it was shockingly dark against his skin. He turned away, shame-faced, but not before she saw him lick his lips clean.

“Get away from me,” he growled as she started to reach for him. She snatched her hand back as if burned, as if he would bite it. He collapsed onto the bed, his head buried in his hands. “I can’t—I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“I’m all right, Mulder,” she said, though her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. “You didn’t hit anything important. I’m fine.”

But her hands shook as she grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on the nightstand and pressed them to her neck; they soaked through more quickly than she had expected, red blooming across the flimsy paper like roses on snow. She dropped them and grabbed another bunch, ignoring the way his eyes followed the sodden ones to the floor. She forced herself to take a step forward, then another, and then to sit beside him on the bed. Her free hand found his shoulder, and though they both flinched at her touch, neither moved away.

“I could have hurt you, Scully. I could have—” He gulped, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “I could have killed you.”

Her hand on his shoulder tightened and she forced him to turn towards her, not with the strength of her hand—pitiful compared to the strength he now possessed—but with the tenderness of her touch. She cupped his chin and waited for his eyes to meet hers; she held his gaze, blue staring unwavering into green. “You didn’t, Mulder. And you won’t.” She took a deep breath. “You’re just hungry, that’s all.”

“Yeah,” he said, nodding shakily. “Speaking of which.” He pushed himself to his feet and crossed to the microwave, fishing out the container and pulling back the lid. His face twisted and fell as a rancid, metallic smell wafted through the room.

“No good?” she asked, nose wrinkling.

“It’s gone all lumpy.”

“Coagulation,” she explained, the medical doctor inside her rising to the surface. “Clotting factors catalyze plasma proteins into sticky threads, forming gel-like clumps that slow blood loss from a wound.”

“Charming. It looks like tapioca pudding that’s been left out for a few centuries.”

Her stomach turned at that mental image. “I don’t know much about your new… dietary requirements… but I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t eat that.”

He sighed, closing the lid and dropping the whole container into the wastebasket beside the mini fridge. “It’s okay, Scully. I can wait.”

“No,” she said matter-of-factly. “You can’t. Mulder, you’re barely standing. You won’t be able to hold yourself back much longer, and you won’t be any help with research tonight.” She laughed, though there was no joy in it. “You can’t even make it through a single stakeout shift without a sack of junk food, and that was before you took on a ravenous, demonic parasite.”

Her voice grew hollow and detached as she realized what she needed to do. “If you snap and… hurt someone… you’ll never forgive yourself.” And I’ll never forgive either of us. She drew her pocket knife from the front of her jeans and turned it over and over in her palm, hoping she’d cleaned it recently, hoping it wouldn’t hurt too much. “No, Mulder, you have to eat.”

“What are you—?! No—!”

But she had already flipped open the blade and pressed it into the creamy flesh of her forearm, below the bend of her elbow. She pushed a little harder, letting a thick bead of blood well up before slashing firmly downward, opening herself to him with a small whimper of pain. Thick rivulets of red, glimmering like jewels, trickled down her pale skin, pooling in the trembling cup of her hand.

Mulder managed to hold her gaze for a brief moment, his face a silent plea for forgiveness—for what he had become, for the hunger he was powerless to fight, for what he was about to do to her. She smiled her benediction as tears fell from her eyes. “Just don’t take it all.”

As the scent of her blood reached him, the demon’s form bubbled up to the surface—and its face was full of nothing but pleasure. It lunged forward and closed its mouth over the wound, its teeth piercing deep as it suckled ravenously, its tongue probing obscenely beneath her flesh. Its hand closed around her bruised wrist almost tenderly, like an apology, pinning her in place; small sounds of satisfaction came from its throat as it gulped her down. It moved off the bed and knelt before her, its free hand spreading her thighs and gripping her firmly as it settled between them.

Deep inside her heart, in a place she rarely thought of and never shared, she felt a tremulous thrill at the need this monster had for her. She knew all the legends, the place vampires occupied in folklore as seducers and devils. She could rattle off theories about devouring blood being a puritanical metaphor for sex: the penetration of the fang as it corrupts innocent flesh, the blood spilling from the bite the way some women bleed during their first intercourse.

Hell, she’d seen that Anne Rice movie more times than she would ever dare to admit.

But no dusty book of folktales or moody Hollywood film could have prepared her for the desire that flooded in to fill the space her blood left behind as it flowed into Mulder’s mouth. Her heart pounded, her breathing grew rapid and shallow, and maybe she could blame that on the blood loss—but not the way she throbbed between her legs as he tongued her open wound.

Pity it took this for Mulder to finally put his mouth on her.

Through the ecstasy of her pain, she felt him pull away. Her head was swimming, and she drew several deep, steadying breaths, feeling out the weakness in her body before deciding she was mostly all right. Not much worse than the annual Red Cross drive at the bureau. She debated asking Mulder for a cookie; but his refusal to meet her eyes, even as the face of the demon faded away, killed the joke before it passed her lips.

“That’s enough, Scully.” He looked around for a moment, as if puzzled to find himself kneeling between her legs, and dropped his eyes as he moved away. “Um. Thank you.”

“Are you sure? I’m a little dizzy, but you can have more if you need it.”

A small amount of color had returned to his cheeks, but the circles beneath his eyes were still dark as bruises. Even as he shook his head and stepped away from her, his eyes lingered on the still-oozing cut, on the thin trickle sliding down her arm and dripping off the tips of her fingers. It landed on the dingy carpet with a patter like raindrops.

She moved quickly into the bathroom and shut the door; she didn’t want to see him licking the floor.

The face that met her in the mirror above the sink was even paler than usual, her freckles like dark constellations spread across the expanse of her skin and circles under her eyes nearly the same purple as Mulder’s. She would have to return to her room and apply more makeup, and find something to cover the mark on her neck, which she was relieved to see was smaller than she had imagined. She shuddered as she moistened a washcloth and wiped away the crust of dried blood that had formed around the punctures, remembering the heat of his mouth, the way her body had coiled with pleasure even through the haze of pain—and the way his body had responded to the hot pulse of her blood in his mouth. Maybe it was a good thing Mulder couldn’t see his reflection anymore; she found herself unable to meet her own eyes, and she had only been the vessel. How must he have felt, drinking of her very life?

In the medicine cabinet, she found a small bottle of hydrogen peroxide and used it to clean the wounds on her neck and arm. Rummaging under the sink produced only a box of moldy bandages, too small to cover the slash she had made. It was deeper than she had first thought, blood still seeping sluggishly down her arm, and she made a mental note to be more careful next time.

And she knew, eventually, there would be a next time.

They had said the pull of human blood was strongest in newly-turned vampires, and she had witnessed firsthand how he struggled to consume animal blood. If it was a choice between feeding him herself or allowing him to grow hungry enough to snap and prey on a helpless stranger, she would choose to open her veins every time. At least she had a gun and a cross and her FBI combat training to fall back on.

She grabbed a thin towel from the pile beside the shower and ripped it into strips to clean and bind her cut.

As she worked, she found herself slipping with relief into the cool, clinical detachment of science and medicine, pondering the physical reality of what her partner had become, because the mystical side was beyond her realm of expertise. If she sent a sample of his saliva to the lab, would she discover the presence of anticoagulants, painkillers, aphrodisiacs—chemicals to make the victim more compliant and allow a vampire to feed more deeply? And, she thought with a blush, explain my reaction to his bite? Could his pale skin contain some kind of photo-reactive substance that burst into flames upon contact with sunlight? She had seen vampires bleed; what moved that blood through their bodies, when they had no detectable pulse? What sort of electrical activity would she find in his brain, how did he keep from rotting if his cells were no longer alive, and what was the mechanism of the change that came over him when the demon came out to feed?

By the time she had tended her wounds to her satisfaction, Scully had a long list of questions; even without the answers, she felt more secure in her skin than she had in days. Yes, something horrible had happened to her partner. Yes, she was adrift in a sea of paranormal mystery that she didn’t fully understand. But this was not the first time she had found herself faced with a daunting new reality; she had survived all that had come before, and she would survive this too. She was a medical doctor, a trained FBI agent, and a veteran of more than seven years worth of hauntings, monster hunts, and demons—both personal and literal.

She would face this. For Mulder and for herself. She would find answers, maybe even a cure, if not in the science she held so sacred than in the dusty tomes of mysticism and myth. She took comfort in reminding herself that they were not alone in this quest, that Mulder had somehow stumbled across a band of unlikely allies in this coastal town whose sunny days only belied nights filled with terror and death—allies who had spent years battling the stuff of nightmares and usually won. Even now they waited in town for Mulder and Scully to join them.

She stepped back into Mulder’s room to find that night had fallen completely, filling the room with an inky darkness. The lights were off—he didn’t need them to see in the dark anymore—but she found him by scent and touch just the same and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“You’d better get dressed, Mulder. It’s time to go see the Slayer.”

#my writing #my fanfiction #my fanfic #stained #txf #fox mulder #dana scully #crossover #btvs #buffy the vampire slayer #the x files #xf fanfic #xf fic #no beta we die like little green men

[fangirlwriting-stories]

One Chance To Make A First Impression

Summary: Roman and Janus have an unusual soulmate situation, in that they are soulmates with each other, and another person besides themselves.  Having multiple soulmates isn’t looked on too highly, but that doesn’t stop them from being excited to meet their third soulmate.

Unfortunately, the day they end up doing that, Roman had been having a terrible time, and, well.  You know what they say about first impressions.

Chapter 1/6:

...

Having two soulmates was not generally approved of, as Roman had learned young.  Many people had given him disgusted looks based on the two sentences on his wrist.  And they were two sentences.  They weren’t different enough that there was any doubt about that, no matter what his mother wanted to say about it.

One of the sentences he now knew belonged to Janus, and Roman still laughed at how perfectly it fit him.  Roman had stumbled into him in the hallway in ninth grade, they had nearly tripped over each other, and then Janus had caught him, before saying smoothly “Well, don’t fall for me all at once.”

Roman was still rather impressed with his own response, given the fact that he was suddenly processing meeting his soulmate: “Why complain, when you catch me so easily?”

The two sentences made a lovely pair, and they often enjoyed showing them off to people they felt safe with.

Unfortunately, it tended to stop with people they felt safe with, because not many people approved of the other sentence on their wrists.  Janus’ said “Whoops, didn’t see you there, I’m running late,” which, while not promising for the amount of time they’d have when meeting their next soulmate, wasn’t anything like Roman’s.  Roman’s concerned both of them.

“I’m sorry.”

“Maybe they just bump into you,” Remus, Roman’s twin brother, suggested.  “Like, bump, ‘whoops, didn’t see you there, I’m running late, I’m sorry,’ and then rushes by both of you and you have to grab them and figure out where to meet up after whatever they’re doing.”

“Maybe,” Roman said, looking worriedly down at his wrist.  “I just… there’s a billion other possibilities.”

“That’s the point,” Remus said.  “There’s too many possibilities for you to know why they’re saying that.  You shouldn’t stress over it.  People say I’m sorry all the time, about totally stupid stuff.  I said sorry to a chair when I knocked it over yesterday before I realized it wasn’t alive.  This is probably just totally casual, automatic pleasantry shit that comes when you annoy a stranger.  Stop stressing about it.”

Roman sighed.  “Yeah, you’re right.  Besides, I can’t spend my entire life worried about what’s going to happen when I meet my other soulmate.  For one thing, it’d probably really piss this one off,” Roman said, leaning back against Janus’ chest, who was sitting behind him on the bed.

“Yes, I’m just furious,” Janus said, resting his head on top of Roman’s.  “How dare you imply that I’m not enough for you by constantly worrying about someone you haven’t met yet.  In fact, I’ve decided that we’re breaking up, you’re clearly not committed enough to this relationship.”

“No, don’t leave me, you still have all of my sweatshirts,” Roman deadpanned.

“Naturally, they’re big on me and I look adorable in them.”

“You do,” Roman cooed, turning over and kissing Janus on his nose, then his cheeks, then his forehead.

“Hey, I’m right here,” Remus said, glaring at both of them.

Roman tried to ignore the slight something else under his gaze by sticking his tongue out and snuggling into Janus’ arms again.

Janus worried about their soulmate’s first words to Roman too, though he didn’t admit it to Remus.  The two of them had a chaos element going, and according to Janus, he wasn’t going to risk that by being emotionally vulnerable.

But when they were alone, and especially when one of them was staying over and they ended up snuggling under covers together, Janus would whisper quietly to Roman, “They’re okay, right?”

“I’m sure they’re fine,” Roman said, because when Janus got like this, what he really wanted was for Roman to comfort him while neither of them acknowledged that their worst fears might be true.  Sometimes Roman would add on further, “And if they’re not, we’ll be there for them.”

Janus would agree, and then they’d both snuggle closer to hold each other.  It would always make them feel better in the moment, but they both knew that it would never get rid of the worries there completely.  Nothing would, until they met the third of their soulmate group and finally got to be happy together.

They went through the rest of high school without any meetings, though, and eventually they started looking at colleges together.  Remus was a part of that, because though he may not be either of their soulmates in any way, he was still a part of their group, and a large part of Roman thought that college without his twin would be just awful.  He also hadn’t met his soulmate Thomas yet, so he had nothing tying him to anything else.

And thankfully, they all found a place to go together, and Roman could rest easy on that particular point.

College was… interesting.  It was full of much more open minded people than anyone in the small town Roman and Remus, and later Janus, had grown up in.  But there were still a fair share of people who gave them looks once they learned that Roman and Janus had another soulmate.  The people here didn’t say anything directly to them, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t tell.

As a result, the three of them ended up keeping more to themselves than Roman would have expected when they first got there.  They had gotten closer to someone named Remy, who Remus had met and clicked with to the despair of both Janus and Roman.  But other than him, they mostly tried to keep to themselves, which meant that when Roman did end up talking to people, it usually didn’t go well.

On this day in particular it had been going worse than usual.  He began the day with a lovely text from his mother about tattoo parlors that could cover unwanted soulmarks, because no matter how many times Roman explained to her that he wanted both of his soulmates, she didn’t seem to get the picture.

He would have loved to curl up back in bed after that, but he had an early class, so he had to get up at that point and leave Janus curled up under the covers to sleep for another two hours like the lucky asshole he was.

When he eventually made it to the lecture hall, there were people from the church nearby standing outside and holding signs about staying with your soulmate being what was best for you; as well as listing people who dated other people, people who dated no one, and people with multiple soulmates all as examples of who was going to hell.  Roman ducked his head and went into the building as quickly as possible, though thankfully none of them were directing any shouting at him specifically.

The day still didn’t improve from there, though.  The story they’d read in preparation for that class had been about soulmates, meaning throughout the class the person they were going to end up with was mentioned several times, which wouldn’t normally have bothered Roman as much as it did, but he was already on edge from the text from his mother and the people outside, so he spent most of the class with his head propped up on his fist while glaring at the wall.

At least after class he could meet up with Janus and get coffee.  Janus often waited outside the classroom with it on days that it wasn’t Roman’s turn to pay, meaning he was there today, which was good because Roman desperately needed him to be.

He pulled them both towards the back way out of the building, but before they got there, as soon as they were alone in a hallway, he turned and buried his chest in Janus’ shirt.

“Bad day?” Janus said, running his hands through Roman’s hair.

Roman mumbled something that was incomprehensible even to him.

“I have coffee,” Janus said, slipping a cup into Roman’s hand.

“You’re an angel,” Roman said, standing up in order to be able to take a sip of it.  “Have I ever told you that you’re an angel?”

“Only every time you get sappy,” Janus said, taking Roman’s hand as they both started towards the exit again.  “Which for you is a near constant.”

“Mm, well it’s true,” Roman said, pushing the door open.

Unfortunately, that was when he realized that the people from earlier must have followed a crowd and moved around to the other side of the building.

Roman groaned and buried his head in his hands.

“Oh, is this what we were trying to avoid?” Janus said, giving Roman a sympathetic pat on the back.  “Alright, come on then.”  He led them both around the group as quickly as they could manage, and they started towards Roman’s favorite haunt, over by a small pond with a gazebo that they liked to eat lunch in.

Roman still felt pretty tense as the voices behind them started to slowly fade, but Janus was helping, and he couldn’t help but wonder for a second how much easier things would be if it was just the two of them.  He loved Janus, and the two of them were perfectly happy just like this.  Would they have been happier if their third soulmate had never been theirs at all?

Roman sighed and took Janus’ hand again as they kept moving forward.  Janus turned to look at him in concern when he sighed, but Roman kept looking ahead of them both just in time to see someone ram into Janus while carrying an armful of books.

Both Janus and the other person cried out in surprise, and Janus dropped his coffee, which splattered all over the ground below them.

“Whoops, didn’t see you there, I’m running late,” the person said, dropping to grab the books that had fallen before they got covered with coffee.

Roman realized that those were the other set of words on Janus’ wrist just as the person stood back up, and without thinking, he snapped, “We would have been fine without you.”

The person blinked.

“Roman!” Janus exclaimed, turning to glare at him.  “What in the world is wrong with you?  Please don’t mind him, he—” Janus stopped when he turned back to the other person.

Roman turned back to look at them, and a pit dropped into his stomach.

The person’s eyes had welled up with tears, and he’d started shaking all over.  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, and Roman’s eyes widened as he realized that for this person, what he’d just said wouldn’t have only been a thoughtless comment that he didn’t really mean.

“Wait,” Roman said.  “Wait, please I didn’t—”

Before he could say anything else, though, the other person turned and brushed past them both, starting to walk, then run in the other direction.

“No, wait, please!” Roman cried, turning desperately towards them.  But they were already much too far away to hear them.

Roman was pretty sure he’d started shaking too at this point, and he pressed his hand over his mouth.  “I— I didn’t—”

“Roman,” Janus said, turning and taking Roman by the shoulders.  “Hey, Roman, look at me.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Roman whispered, tears starting to well in his own eyes.  “Janus, I didn’t mean that.”

“I know you didn’t.  I know that.  Roman, look at me, you need to breathe.”

“But I didn’t— and he—and I—”

“I know, Roman,” Janus said, pulling Roman towards him and wrapping him in a hug.  “I know.”

Roman’s own coffee slipped from his hand to join Janus’ on the ground, and he wrapped his arms around Janus and buried his head in his shoulder.

“It’s okay,” Janus murmured.  “It’s going to be okay.  We’ll find him again, we’ll explain, it’ll be okay.”

“That’s not— it’s not that easy,” Roman said, because those were the first words he’d said to that person, which meant that— that for his whole life he’d—

“It’s going to be okay,” Janus said again, and Roman realized what he was doing.  This was their moment to lie to themselves, before they had to acknowledge to what colossal degree Roman had just fucked everything up.  So Roman buried his head in Janus’ shoulder and cried as Janus murmured over and over again that it would be okay.

…

They found the person in the dining hall at lunchtime, which was probably why they were just meeting him now, since they almost never ate lunch here.  The second the person looked up, and as soon as he saw them he started to push his chair back, probably to run again.

“No, please,” Roman said, holding out his hand, and the person stopped, still looking terrified.  “Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said.”

The person leaned back, still looking scared, but at least he wasn’t sprinting from the room, which was something.

“I—” Roman didn’t know what to say from there.  It’s not like he could just introduce himself like this was a normal soulmate meeting.

Luckily for them, and thank heavens this was the case, Roman didn’t have to figure out this relationship all alone.

“Are you alright?” Janus said, sitting hesitantly down while pulling the chair back from the table so he wouldn’t be getting any closer to the other person.

“I— uh— I’m sorry, I didn’t—” the person said, looking between them both.

“You don’t need to apologize,” Roman said, holding up his hands when the person looked at him in fear.  “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

The person’s gaze turned a little confused.  “But… you’re… you’re them.  Aren’t you?”

Roman nodded.  “I didn’t… I didn’t mean what I said,” he said.  “I’m so sorry.  I was having a really awful day, and I snapped and said something I didn’t mean.”

The person blinked.  “Something you didn’t…” he blinked again, looking like Roman had just tilted his entire world off axis with two sentences.  He didn’t say anything else for a very long moment.

“I’m… Roman,” Roman said hesitantly.  He gestured to his left.  “This is Janus.”

The person shook his head.  “You… but you said… I thought…”

“I can imagine,” Janus said gently.  “I’m so sorry things ended up this way.  But neither of us hate you.  We’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

The person shook his head again, tears welling in his eyes.  “No,” he said.  “No, you haven’t.  You said— you—”  He took a shaky breath and pressed his hands over his eyes.

Roman looked over at Janus, lost as to what to do here.

“Okay,” Janus said, and the person looked up again.  “I imagine this is overwhelming.  So how about…”  He grabbed one of Roman’s notebooks that he still had from class, and Roman handed him a pencil too once he realized what he was doing.  Janus scribbled both of their phone numbers down, tore out the paper, and passed them back to the person.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Janus said, as the person hesitantly accepted it.  “It doesn’t… it doesn’t have to be anytime soon,” he gave a shaky smile.  “But please know we really are looking forward to hearing from you.”

With that, he took Roman’s hand, and they both headed out of the cafe, leaving the person alone.

As soon as they made it outside the building, Roman moved to the side and collapsed against the wall.

“Roman,” Janus said instantly.  “Hey.”

“We don’t even know his name,” Roman murmured.

“It’s okay,” Janus said.  “It’ll be okay.  We did everything we could right now.”

Roman buried his head in his hands.

“Stop it,” Janus said, pulling his hands down.  “Stop blaming yourself.”

Roman stared up at him.  “It’s my fault.”

“It’s not— okay, yes, but not to the extent you’re thinking,” Janus said.  “If this was any other situation, you’d have to apologize for saying a shitty thing after a bad day and then move on.”

“But it’s not any other situation,” Roman said.  “It’s this one.”

“Roman, it’s not your fault those words are on his wrist.”

“Yes it is!”

“No, it’s not.  Again, you’re at fault for saying a shitty thing after a bad day, which you apologized for as soon as you possibly could.  You cannot be held responsible for a person’s entire life.  It is not your fault those words are on his wrist.”

Roman shook his head, tears welling in his eyes again.  “We don’t know how he was affected by that.  Janus, it looks like I really hurt him.”

“So we’ll help him,” Janus said, leaning their foreheads together.  “Remember?  What we were totally prepared to do anyway?  It’ll be okay, Roman.  Maybe not immediately, but eventually we’ll be okay.”

“You don’t know that,” Roman whispered.

Janus sighed.  “You’re right, I don’t,” he admitted.  “But you’re not alone in this.  None of us are.  We’re all going to work through it together.”

“If he even wants that,” Roman said.  “If I didn’t ruin our entire chance with him before we even met.”

“You didn’t,” Janus said firmly.  “That’s not possible, Roman.”

“Really, because it looks like that’s what just happened,” Roman said, gesturing behind them.

“You don’t know that, Roman.  You’re jumping to conclusions.  It’s perfectly understandable if he needs some time to process after everything that just happened.  As a matter of fact, I suggest we do the same.”

Roman blinked.  “What?”

“Let’s go home, Roman.  It’s been a very difficult day, and we should go home and rest.”

“Oh,” Roman said weakly.  “Yeah, that… let’s do that.”  He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands and looked up at Janus again when he lowered them.  “I’m sorry.  Are you okay?”

“Worry about you right now, darling,” Janus said, leaning over and giving Roman a light kiss on the forehead.  “I’ll be okay.”

Roman pulled Janus into his arms for a second anyway, squeezing him tightly.  “Thank you,” he mumbled.  “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Janus said, squeezing Roman back just as tightly.  “We’re gonna make it through this, alright?”

Roman made a muffled noise of affirmation, and then they both started home.

…

Remus, who didn’t have any classes that day like the lucky fucker he was, was understandably surprised when both of them came back looking like a wreck.  He wasn’t less concerned when he heard what happened, but he did take one more look at them both and announce that they were ordering pizza that night for dinner and eating it and ice cream in front of all the best movies Dreamworks had to offer.

Roman, naturally, immediately started arguing for Disney instead, but he suspected Remus’ real plan was to get them focused on something else, and he’d hand it to him, it worked.

They did end up getting pizza and ice cream and eating their feelings away in front of The Little Mermaid (and then Shrek, because Remus earned it by trying to cheer them up).  Roman managed to mostly get his mind off of their soulmate throughout the course of the evening, at least until Janus suddenly reached for the remote in the middle of the movie, paused it, and passed his phone to Roman.

Roman blinked down at it for a couple seconds before he realized what was on the screen.

 [phone]: My name’s Patton

[phone]: I think I might need a little time to process

[phone]: Saturday?  Do-over?

 Roman took a shaky breath and nodded.  “Saturday,” he said weakly.  “I can do Saturday.”

“Me too,” Janus said, as Remus peered over his shoulder to look at the phone.  “You want to meet at the coffee shop by the library?”

“Yeah,” Roman said.  “Let’s do that.”

Janus nodded and started responding to Patton.

“See, look at that,” Remus said, Roman glanced over at him.  “You guys are fixing things already.  You’re gonna be okay.”

“I don’t think it’s going to be that easy,” Roman said.

“It’s a start,” Remus said.  “You’ve got this.”

“It’s definitely not all going to be easy,” Janus said with a nod.  “But for now we just have to explain what’s happened, and get to know each other just like you and I did.  It’s gonna be okay.”

“Exactly,” Remus said, smiling at Janus.  “It’s all gonna work out.”

Roman snuggled closer to Janus’ side and rested his head on his shoulder.  “I hope you’re right,” he said.

At that point none of them really wanted to think about it more for the rest of the night, so Janus turned the movie back on and all three of them ended up in a cuddle pile in the middle of the couch, doing their best to relax.

It worked alright for that night, but with their new plans to meet on Saturday, Roman found it difficult to focus on much else for the rest of the week.  When Saturday finally approached, he and Janus were both equally a wreck.  Roman spent most of the morning pacing around the house, and Janus spent it cooking an absurd amount of food in the kitchen.

“I’ll be here as soon as you get back,” Remus said, from his spot on the couch between them both.  “We can celebrate, or have a pity party, or some weird hybrid of the two depending on how it goes.”

“Thank you, Remus,” Janus said, giving him a grateful smile that lingered just a second too long, which Roman wasn’t going to comment on.

“Thanks,” Roman agreed, because he didn’t think there was much Remus could do to calm them down completely, but he appreciated how hard he was trying.

They left after lunch, since they’d all planned to meet there at 1:00, and both of them agreed they did not want to make Patton wait.

They got there with plenty of time to spare, which wasn’t great for Roman’s nerves as their decided time approached.

“You don’t think he decided not to come, right?” Roman asked.

Janus shook his head.  “No, I don’t.  He’ll be here.”

“I mean if he did decide not to come that would be totally understandable considering—”

“Roman, I think he’ll be here,” Janus said gently.

Roman took a deep breath, and nodded.  “Yeah,” he said, trying to convince himself more than agreeing.  “I think you’re probably right.”

“Roman, it’s about time you learned that I’m always right,” Janus said, giving him a teasing smirk.

Roman laughed a little.  “I love you,” he said, reaching out and grabbing Janus’ hand.

“I love you too,” Janus said, bringing it up to his mouth and kissing it.

Roman smiled at him, but before he could say anything else, the door finally opened, and the person he now knew as Patton walked in.

Janus picked up on Roman’s look and turned to look too, just in time for two other people that Roman did not recognize to follow Patton in.

They were clearly with Patton, though, because as soon as Patton saw the two of them, he said something quietly to the one in the purple hoodie, and all three of them started over.

“Um.  Hi,” Patton said as he stopped in front of the table.

Roman nodded.  “Hi,” he said quietly.

“I’m glad to see you again,” Janus said, giving Patton his most sincere smile.

The one in the purple hoodie scoffed, but Patton gave him a look before he could say anything.

“I… I am too,” he said, still sounding hesitant.  He looked nervously at the other two people, and the one who had glasses like Patton nodded at him.  Patton nodded again, more to himself, then turned back to face Roman and Janus.

“So, um, I’m Patton,” he said.  He pointed to the person with the purple hoodie, and then the one with the glasses and dress shirt.  “This is Virgil, and Logan.  They’re, uh…”

“We’re his boyfriends,” Virgil snapped, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.  “You don’t have a problem with that, do you?”

…

Chapter Two

#sanders sides #soulmate au #roceit #romoceit #royaliceit #roman x patton x janus #analogicality #patton x virgil x logan #creativitwins #platonic dukeceit #roman sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #patton sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders angst #roman sanders angst #have yet another soulmate au where I examine the implications on society #because I will never write this trope straight so help me #my fic

[honeymouthedtales]

definitely season 2 is game of thrones level intense. all the sex and heart seizing action? *sobs and screams into the void* yeah. season 2 is what the draws in new viewers. they haven't read the books but the tiktoks are crazy and that's enough for them to start a "omg should I have read the books first?" debate because of course the production of the show is gonna fuck up a little (I'm sorry, it's true).

maybe they change an important character to another actor (not markhyuck tho, but maybe mks father - wait but I think they make him hot/ter and now people are being questionable when it comes to him. "mark's gotta relax, his dad's not that bad" because he's a fucking charismatic dilf now and they make a fanbase for him🙄. but the ones who read the books will never turn soft or putty for that man😒 we had to shove food down our throats to keep from crying at the university dining hall when mark confronted his dad about never caring about him, we will never recover!

or they omit or add something that feels kinda off (I'M SORRY!😭) like too much sex. they actually have sex in Johnny's love nest! can you believe it?! like THAT NEVER HAPPENED, is what people are enraged about on twitter. and everyone's mad at the network for making mark disrespect johnny that much further but surprisingly it Segways into a johnmark duel-turned-brotherly-makeup episode. and maybe you consented. Against your will it becomes one of the highlights of the season. you might reveal you regretted it immediately and it's one of the reasons you didn't want to adapt it, because they would try to add or take away stuff, even though you were glad the resolution was done well and you're in a love-hate situation with the outcome because THAT STILL NEVER FUCKING HAPPENED.

it's like the best fucking season yet. it's what people remember and compare to the next coming seasons. it was just that legendary

I think Donghyuck's first heat interlude definitely starts out the third season. It happened in the islands and the third season is in the islands anyway

the third season doesn't have a full picture yet, so of course the daydream ends with episode 2 season 3, with dongsook rescuing mark from the water prison, only to end up having to unarm Yangyang with his hands and his sexiness. (I can't make myself daydream about the chapters after the water prison until ch58 unfortunately, they're still solidly 'on paper' for me). But maybe I'll do this again once the full tone of the arc is done playing out. this has been fun🤭

I'm going to sleep now

(I wrote this at 2am but didn't know if Tumblr would let me post the whole thing so I had to cut it in half lol)

how did you even manage to post all of this when another anon had to cut it in seven little asks fjehdsfjd

okay it’s very cute that you’re planning all of this, it makes me laugh so much

NOT THE SEX IN THE LOVE NEST OMG jhny would never forgive them ;; you’re so right about me i would be extremely bitter if a scene that i didn’t personally put there became the highlight, it feels like someone manipulating my son, is this what parents feel like when their son is dating the delinquent biker and doing stuff their parents never thought they could do? ;;;

also lol mk’s father was always hot i said it on ccs many times, it’s just, dh hates him so much, and mk is blind to anyone who isn’t dh, so there’s no one there to talk about how handsome he is lol we still hate him, he’s pretty garbage, toxic sparkly trash :)))

thank you for doing this, i’ll wait for part 3 after the arc ends <3<3<3

#fic: hm #little blossoms #ask

[thebirdofthechapel]

10 Moments Showcasing swapped!Saiki and Ritsu’s Brotherly Bond 

I am obsessed with sibling love and if you wanted to see snippets of it, here are 10 scenes of swapped!Saiki and Ritsu being the closest siblings in Room of Hyacinth. There are spoilers beyond the read-more up until Chapter 13 (out of 17) unfortunately. Lots of text, and a comic panel at the end!

1. Ritsu is used to swapped!Saiki’s telepathy

My attention wanes as I let the rest of Ritsu’s thoughts merge into the constant, noisy buzzing in my head. I have already become desensitized to the endless whisperings, and twelve years with telepathy, growing in range every year, has allowed me enough skill to pick through them. It’s at least good in helping me not hear thoughts of those close to me. It still takes a bit of focus, since I have to get into a state of - ironically enough - spacing out. Of course, my little brother is used to this by now. No pausing or questions asked. It’s almost psychic how he seems to have picked up on small cues even I’m not aware of. He taps me on the shoulder, picking up the rest of the dishes. “I can do the rest. You go take a bath.” — Kageyama Shigeo (C1: Not Using Pyrokinesis to Start the Fire)

2. And swapped!Saiki is saved by Ritsu’s inner voice

There’s a chime—a sharp, small ripple of sound slicing the dense mud. A transparent thread, bleeding in a pink glow. When I open my eyes, every second is a battle to keep them open. I can sense the back of my hand again and push all my willpower to force its form to clench as tightly as possible. I can’t feel my extremities, but I can feel the tension as I squeeze Ritsu’s hand. I want to black out, to sleep through these overwhelming sensations. But I have to stay with Ritsu. I can’t leave him out here. He must be scared. I’ve put him through something ugly and terrifying again. I’m still too unfocused to understand his thoughts, but his inner voice has been unraveled from the rest. Maybe it’s because we’re brothers or each other’s closest friend, but I can always zero in on it. Ritsu knows this, so he knows talking or yelling can’t help me. All he can do is to call me in his mind — Kageyama Shigeo (C11: Giving Cakes To A God)

3. Hurting Ritsu turns swapped!Saiki into a villain

“Ow, ow, ow!” howls Nendou, his offending hand hoisted up as he did with mine. Except there’s nothing touching him. Only the wrinkles in his sleeves show evidence of a force keeping him in the air. A beastly growl resounds in the chambers of my mind. Nii-san’s teeth are clenched, and his usual serene eyes, bold and alive like the shine of cutting knives Shut up. I don’t even want to hear you scream. I tilt my head at the strangeness of what I’m hearing. Nii-san? As I move my legs, I feel a cold wetness in my pocket. Which rock are you insects skittering out from? Tell me, so I can burn it down to ashes! — Kageyama Ritsu (C5: The Worst Thing to Say Out Loud )

4. ...and he’s a villain that isn’t afraid to kill (he’s 12)

The sky has turned fiery in the sunset with long trail of fluffy clouds drifting by. Because of my prodigal older brother’s mysterious machinations, I ended up watching my first sunset with this person, Nendou Riki, someone from my past who I never expected to meet again. He doesn’t seem to be aware yet that he had survived an attack that would have tragically killed him. It’s for the best. The problem now is resolving this mess. — Saiki Kusuo (C6: What Every Loving Parent Would)

5. swapped!Saiki adores/dotes on his younger brother (and is very obvious about it)

“Well,” I start, considering how to explain it without being technical. “Ritsu is great, so it doesn’t matter.” It’s as simple as it can get, but Miyaike is still confused. “Is Ritsu considered tall in the club?” “No. But since he started back in third grade, he had a lot of experience with taller opponents from facing off with the senpai.” “He must have a lot of experience sparring with you,” says Takahara-san. “No,” I answer. “I don’t want to hurt Ritsu.” Miyaike arcs a brow, smirking. “It’s not supposed to hurt.” “Well.” I blow a puff of air, somewhat annoyed. “Then I don’t feel like it.” — Kageyama Shigeo (C10: It’s an A+++ Photo )

6. ...but also finds him terrifying when angered 

Ritsu doesn’t look very happy to be here. On top of waking up early and standing in long lines in the shrine, he’s been spending all day and night studying as finals draw in. I keep telling him he’ll be fine without exerting so much effort, but even I, the strongest person in the planet, started to feel like something dangerous would awaken if I continued on. — Kageyama Shigeo (C4: A Cause of Unhappiness)  

7. Ritsu won’t stand for slander on his older brother - even from their own mom

“Yeah, sure… Besides,” says Ritsu, smiling as he realizes he can seize the opportunity to turn this around. “I can’t have a fan club first before Nii-san. It doesn’t make sense.” My little brother can be so silly at times. “I don’t need something so inane….” “That’s impossible,” says Mom bluntly. “We’re talking about Shige.” Ritsu gapes in disbelief. Slowly, he collects himself. “Yes, we are talking about Nii-san. An incredibly talented person.” “Yes, yes, that person,” jests Mom. “I know you look up to your brother, but Shige’s always been shy. You can’t be popular if you’re shy.” I can hear Ritsu coming up with five different arguments, but he settles for the sharpest jab. I don’t know where Ritsu gets the courage to talk to our parents like this. “What would you know? Are you going to tell us you were the most popular girl in school back in your days?” — Kageyama Shigeo (C10: It’s an A+++ Photo )

8. ... and does not hesitate to use his charm to provide him with more crepes

They even have a sign for it: 250 of their bestseller crepes a day, strictly one per person only. Ritsu addresses this next. "Of course, you can bring me along any time. I can even get you a third." Dad had been with him when he brought home two, so I'd assumed he got it with his help. Had he done it without Dad? Did he say the second extra was for his cute little sister back home? "It's a popular store for couples, so all I did was to make sure they see me talking to a girl and act like I'm buying for the two of us." I turn to stare at him. "What? I bet plenty of other people do it too." Flirting with a random girl to get an extra crepe? Somehow, I doubt that. — Kageyama Shigeo (C12: Always Blame the Rain)

9. They have secret telepathic conversations all the time

A pause. Arataka takes another glance at the mirror, and as he suspected, the brothers are wordlessly communicating with a look. They are doing their utmost not to speak to one another. He wants to reassure them they can have a conversation without including him, but calling attention to it may only discourage them. "Nii-san isn't feeling well, so - um - he may sound succinct." "Hmm. I see." Arataka is bemused at what made the younger brother speak up. "It doesn't bother me. But, more importantly, Shigeo-kun, maybe you should lay off the pudding until you get home." "Can I have one last cup?" "One last," he allows. "How many is that?" Plastic being peeled away scratches from the back. "Six," answers Ritsu-kun, picking an empty cup. "Nii-san? This isn't pudding. It's coffee jelly." "Oh, my bad," says Arataka. "You don't like coffee," goes Ritsu-kun, almost like an accusation. "Are you okay?" Shigeo-kun doesn't reply. "There's sugar…" Ritsu-kun's voice fades and the conversation ends without another word. — Reigen Arataka (C13: Almost Out of Tokyo)

10. And, of course, they have “sibling fights” (aka Ritsu’s patience is tested)

As soon as he finishes the sentence, a scuffle breaks out. Takahara-san almost falls over as Ritsu gets into a stance and slams his elbow onto my rib cage, having perfectly predicted my reaction. That blow is serious. I catch Ritsu glowering darkly my way. No words, just a look that can absolutely kill. Is it enough to convince me to stop? Of course not. Some things are worth dying for. I grab the mic with my superior, older brother arm. Ritsu, achieving zen, is not fazed by my decisiveness and makes a smooth pass behind him. "Mishima-san!" "Huh? Me? Huh? Why?" Mishima-san scrambles to her feet and, with wide, confused eyes, successfully catches the mic like a pro baseball player. Takahagara-san gasps, impressed. You fool. You just made it easier for me, and you even picked the only person in the room who would understand how important this is. Mishima-san lets out a shrill, mouse-like "eek!" as I lock my target on her. Then, before I can make another move, I fly. The room spins, and before I can brute force a counter, it turns upside down, and I'm lying on the floor on my back. — Kageyama Shigeo (C12: Always Blame the Rain)

10.1 Comic bonus 

#Saiki Kusuo no PSI Nan #saiki no psi nan #mp100 #mob psycho 100 #the disastrous life of saiki k. #saiki k #saiki kusuo #kageyama ritsu #roh #no ototo no ani #tbotc posts

[minachan95-written-works-on-ao3]

Title: If One Wasn't Enough Already… Chapter 3.

Fandom: King of Fighters

Pairing: Iori Yagami x Kyo Kusanagi

Characters: Kyo Kusanagi, Iori Yagami, Shingo Yabuki, Chizuru Kagura

Status: Completed (10 chapters) Summary: [The remake of 2 Kyos - 1 Yagami] [This story is set in between KOF96 and KOF97]

When everything seem to back to normal, Kyo has no idea about the new opponent lurking just around the corner, who might be a more intimidating and fearsome, than other foes. Who is this youngman? How did he got there? What kind of business he has with Iori? Read and find out.

AO3 Link

Meanwhile, the Kusanagi heir occupies the shower room, and Iori sits back and relaxes. After all, there isn’t much he can do about such an unexpected guest.

So, after making himself a cup of coffee, the redhead chills out on the couch for the rest of the evening.

Unfortunately, he does not know about the new incoming threat, who is on his way to disturbing poor Yagami.

Speaking of the devil, the younger brunette makes his way to the door of Iori’s apartment. It wasn’t a simple journey because of one third-rated cosplayer assaulting him. Despite that, Kyo’s desire to have his revenge against the impostor and beat answers from Iori is stronger. More so, it helped to forget about the pain.

For now, the Kusanagi’s heir clenches his palm into a fist and knocks on the door as hard as he can.

Meanwhile, the redhead nearly spills the coffee on himself after hearing the sudden banging on his door. More so, a familiar voice yells his name.

‘‘How did he get there? A few minutes ago, he went to the shower, and now he is behind the door! How?! Why? That stupid fool…’’ Iori complains as he stands up and is about to check whether or not he is going insane.

 After reaching the door, the redhead addresses whoever is banging and shouting at the doorstep ‘‘Will you stop breaking the door, you idiot!’’.

Finally, the person behind the door shuts up. However, when Iori opens the door, he feels how accidentally someone’s fist touches his chest.

Yagami’s annoyed gaze only follows to see the owner of this fist resting in between his pectoral muscles.

Once Iori’s and Kyo’s eyes meet, the brunette instantly with-draws his palm. Yet, both remain silent.

There is no mistake - it is the Kusanagi’s heir. However, the brunette suddenly avoids facing his rival while clenching his hands into the fists. More so, the redhead notices the bruises on Kyo.

‘Just what in the world happened to him?’ Yagami wonders.

Secondly, the Kusanagi also wears an entirely different outfit. Currently, he wears a pair of jeans, a black shirt, and a white jacket. These clothes look in a worse condition than the ones which Iori saw earlier.

In the end, the redhead is the one who breaks the awkward silence between them ‘‘How did you get here?’’.

Kyo backfires in an indignant tone ‘‘How? Of course, on foot, you dumbass! Don’t just stand here. Will let me in or not? I don’t have any time to waste.’’. For sure, the brunette just impatiently stares and waits to be invited.

‘First, he stormed in with no permission, and now he acts like this. What a hell is wrong with him today?’ Iori wonders while facepalming. In the end, he lets his rival inside his apartment.

As soon as Kyo is inside, he heads toward the couch. He doesn’t care what Iori thinks about him because he wants to rest his injured leg.

For sure, the way how Kusanagi strangely walks only makes him more suspicious.

Iori doesn’t like a bit the way how the brunette is limping while making sure that his left leg won’t be touching his right one. More so, it soaks one shank of his jeans in some sort of dark liquid. For now, the redhead doesn’t say a single word and follows his unexpected guest.

As the redhead joins on the couch Kyo, the brunette frowns and turns his head away from him.

However, Yagami remains silent as well and continues to observe the Kusanagi. He cannot understand for what reason acts like this? What does he try to achieve? If he wants to piss off the redhead, then he did it.

More so, Kyo’s mood swing is getting on Iori’s nerves. That’s why the redhead breaks the silence between them again.

Just as he opens his mouth, the brunette interrupts him ‘‘Listen, I know what you are thinking, but I don’t care. I’m not planning to leave. At least, not until you’ll apologize for what you have done, you fucking idiot!’’.

That’s it! It’s the last drop of Iori’s patience.

“You were asking for this!” The redhead comments as he aggressively pushes the Kusanagi down on the couch.

Without even letting Kyo react, Yagami gets on top of him. Then Iori lifts Kyo’s wrists above his head by his hand while another one roughly grasps the brunette’s throat.

As the redhead grinds his teeth, he growls ‘‘I had enough of this! Not only do you storm in here and act arrogant brat, but you have the guts to blame me for your goddamn problems… Why don’t you just lie here while I’ll finish you up?’’.

Iori could even kill him with his the wild beast’s gaze alone.

Despite being in such a position, Kyo refuses to give up. As the brunette furrows his eyebrows, he tries to shake off the redhead.

Unfortunately, he fails. More importantly, the brunette’s legs violently touch.

Therefore, it reminds Kyo about his injured left shank. For now, all he can do is roughly breathe and quietly whimper.

Such an unexpected reaction makes Yagami crack a smile and chuckle.

After Iori loosens his grasp around Kyo’s throat, he removes that hand and corners the brunette. Lastly, he addresses the Kusanagi in a nearly mocking tone ‘‘What’s the matter, Kyo! I barely did anything, and you’re already like this.’’.

Just when the redhead is about to declare his victory, the Kusanagi uses his chance to escape. As the brunette keeps eye contact with Iori, he crawls up by using his elbows and right leg.

After Kyo closes his eyes, he sends a side-kick to Yagami’s left side.

However, when he thinks that he get rid of the redhead, Iori tightly holds into Kyo. And thus, both land on the floor.

Kyo lies on top of him and catches his breath yet, he tries to get up. Unfortunately, it’s easier to say than to do.

As the brunette lifts himself for a moment, he falls again. However, Kyo’s behavior annoys Iori.

That’s it! Yagami can’t just let the brunette make fun of him any longer. He’ll finish him right here, right now!

After the redhead hustles Kyo away, he stands up and observes the brunette struggling yet shielding his left shank. Lastly, the more he stares at the brunette, the more he doesn’t understand him. For sure, that only angers him further.

Suddenly, Iori squats near Kyo and grabs his left shank while ignoring the brunette’s groaning and the painful expression on his face. Lastly, the redhead takes a better look at the limb which he holds.

After the redhead rolls up the left shank of the jeans, he silently stares at the burn on Kyo’s leg. Lastly, he speaks up with a pure rage in his voice ‘‘Who the fuck did this?! Why the hell did you let this happen?’’.

For the moment, even Kyo fears that Iori will tear his leg. Suddenly, he widens his eyes when he feels how such an outrageous man’s hands are shaking. Yet, it’s still surprising to hear the redhead growling and whimpering like a scared wolf.

Nevertheless, the brunette ignores Yagami’s emotional reaction while backfiring ‘‘Hmph! I’m glad that you finally realized to ask, you moron. However, you should know better. Because this time, you’ve gone too far, Yagami. And I won’t forgive you for this. So, your fake whining won’t trick me. Not only you are a coward, but a cowardly backstabber! Your buddy attacked me like a fucking coward from behind. Hell, not sure where you find types like this. Perhaps nasty types stick together, huh? Whatever… Not only that bastard rip-offs my style, but somehow he imitated my flames!’’.

Instead of unleashing his rage, Iori looks unaffected by the Kusanagi’s words and gives a serious gaze. After carefully lowering Kyo’s leg, he remains still for a moment.

Suddenly, Yagami holds Kyo by his shirt and harshly slaps his cheek. The brunette only dumbfounded stares at Iori, who indignantly stares at him.

After the redhead deeply exhales and facepalms, he addresses the Kusanagi in a disappointed voice ‘‘What is wrong with you? Are you sure that you didn’t fall and hit your head? Not so long time ago, you claimed you defeated someone. But now, you say that someone beat the shit out of you. Make your goddamn mind up already.’’.

As Iori stands up and puts his hands in his pants pockets, he adds ‘‘Just make sure that you’ll remove your pants before I return, got it?’’.

For sure, his rival’s request is more shocking than getting silenced by Yagami’s palm. All he can do is stare at him while rubbing his hurt cheek.

More importantly, Yagami is not a man who would lightheartedly joke about things like this. When Kyo is about to object, he notices that Iori is gone.

In the end, the brunette still doubts whether he should listen to what Yagami asked him to do. On the other hand, who knows what Iori could do to him if he won’t behave himself? Lastly, he lowers his head while waiting for the redhead.

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

Chapter 1 Link

Chapter 2 Link

Chapter 4 Link

#kof #king of fighters #kyo kusanagi #iori yagami #kyo x iori #iori x kyo #chizuru kagura #shingo yabuki #fanfiction #serial #ao3 #archive of our own #if-one-wasn't-enough-already

[pet-genius]

A complex and many-layered thing

But Harry’s anger at Snape continued to pound through his veins like venom. Let go of his anger? He could as easily detach his legs. . . .

This is the first Occlumency lesson. Harry is right, of course. Feelings don’t go away because you want them to. To let go of them when they’ve not been addressed or validated can be as hard as detaching a leg. And yet, it’s what Dumbledore asked Snape to do, and it’s what Snape had to do to survive the first war as Dumbledore’s spy. You have to ask yourself… how?

Trapped animals chew off their own legs to escape. It’s a sacrifice they make to survive.

If there’s one thing in a fic that turns me off it, it’s the idea that Occlumency shields are a thing, that Severus was so gifted at it because he’s got some power like Second Sight or being a metamorphagus. I always preferred to think of Occlumency and Legilimency as skills that can be learned, even if some have more aptitude for it than others.

Severus entered Hogwarts with the kind of life experience that primed him for developing these skills, and left it with even more. Occlumency is magical dissociation, a post-traumatic coping mechanism, and Severus has C/PTSD. More under the cut; tw: just general angst.

To survive, he would have had to develop a knack for telling how explosive and unpredictable people feel. Over his life, he faced at least two egregious examples of what Pete Walker, author of “Complex PTSD” calls “the Charming Bully”.

Especially devolved fight types can become sociopathic. Sociopathy can range along a continuum that stretches from corrupt politician to vicious criminal. A particularly nasty sociopath, who I call the charming bully, probably falls somewhere around the middle of this continuum. The charming bully behaves in a friendly manner some of the time. He can even occasionally listen and be helpful in small amounts, but he still uses his contempt to overpower and control others. This type typically relies on scapegoats for the dumping of his vitriol. These unfortunate scapegoats are typically weaker than him. […] He generally spares his favorites from this behavior, unless they get out of line. If the charming bully is charismatic enough, those close to him will often fail to register the unconscionable meanness of his scapegoating. The bully’s favorites often slip into denial, relieved that they are not the target. Especially charismatic bullies may even be admired and seen as great.

These would be James Potter and Tom Riddle, who are distantly related, I might add. Harry inherited the tendency to default to the fight response, but since he grew up the scapegoat and not the golden child, he never becomes quite as appalling, and after all, a fight response is normal when they are after you. Even so, Harry, who has both James and Voldemort inside him, triggers Severus to no end. It’s not a coincidence that the memories Harry sees when he is with him are largely horrible, and vice versa. There had to be happy or at least neutral or even boring moments, but these two detest each other, and they know they detest each other. Negative emotions and associated memories are so close to the surface they can’t be contained. This is the purpose of the Pensieve in this context - to contain the emotions. Since Severus knew what was in there when he pulled Harry out, my theory is that you don’t suddenly forget the memories you placed there, but rather you make them less fraught with emotions.

“Get up!” said Snape sharply. “Get up! You are not trying, you are making no effort, you are allowing me access to memories you fear, handing me weapons!”

Harry stood up again, his heart thumping wildly as though he had really just seen Cedric dead in the graveyard. Snape looked paler than usual, and angrier, though not nearly as angry as Harry was. “I — am — making — an — effort,” he said through clenched teeth.

“I told you to empty yourself of emotion!”

“Yeah? Well, I’m finding that hard at the moment,” Harry snarled.

“Then you will find yourself easy prey for the Dark Lord!” said Snape savagely. “Fools who wear their hearts proudly on their sleeves, who cannot control their emotions, who wallow in sad memories and allow themselves to be provoked this easily — weak people, in other words — they stand no chance against his powers! He will penetrate your mind with absurd ease, Potter!”

A lot to unpack here.

“Memories you fear,” “weapons”, “easy prey”.

Fearing your own memories, viewing your own lived experiences as weapons to be used against you, being easy prey… Severus could not be speaking louder of himself here. He is the one whose mind had been penetrated with absurd ease, he is the one who handed weapons to Voldemort, and he is the one who had to do the psychological equivalent of detaching his own leg – again and again – to survive.

I’ll argue that Severus developed a fawn response and a flight response, as fighting had never really worked out for him if it was possible at all. He had at least two more people I’d describe as bullies in his life, Tobias and Lucius.

Again from Pete Walker:

These [fawn] response patterns are so deeply set in the psyche, that as adults, many codependents automatically respond to threat like dogs, symbolically rolling over on their backs, wagging their tails, hoping for a little mercy and an occasional scrap. Webster’s second entry for fawn is: “to show friendliness by licking hands, wagging its tail, etc.: said of a dog.” I find it tragic that some codependents are as loyal as dogs to even the worst “masters”.

Remember what Sirius called him? Lucius’s lapdog. Bellatrix called him Dumbledore’s pet, Dumbledore said he dangles on Voldemort’s arm, the narrative compares Snape to a rabbit in SWM and Harry compares the Half Blood Prince to a beloved pet who had gone feral (yes, this does mean a lot to me on a personal level, yes my username is not a coincidence).

His unconscious fawn response might have been his undoing, drawn as he was to figures like Lucius and Voldemort. As an adult, I think he utilized the skills he had developed to survive in order to stitch these people up, and involuntary dissociation and fawning became Occlumency, which to me, is his signature magic. Harry needed only to banish Voldemort from his mind; Severus could not settle for this. He had to give Voldemort something, and knowing how to fawn meant knowing what to give him and how to draw himself in such a light that Voldemort would believe it. We see how he wanted to be seen by the Death Eaters: a self-serving coward who sought to hide behind Dumbledore’s apron, playing his pet. But that’s Pettigrew, not Snape. Imagine the self-immolation, the self-violation, it must have taken to convince everyone that you’re an ersatz Wormtail! Snape is a man and a prince, and the text recognizes this as Harry calls him, in the end, Dumbledore’s man, the bravest man, and as that chapter is called “The Prince’s Tale”. Voldemort thought Snape was nothing more than a “good and faithful servant,” and that his last words were “My Lord”.

But Severus had an unequaled gift for Occlumency, specifically against Voldemort, because Voldemort could not legilimens what he couldn’t feel; and he couldn’t feel love, grief, guilt, and remorse. This was Severus’s secret weapon, which would not have worked against Harry - who can feel these things, and who is also Lily’s son. I can prove it. The first time Harry gets the hang of Occlumency is after Dobby dies:

His scar burned, but he was master of the pain; he felt it, yet was apart from it. He had learned control at last, learned to shut his mind to Voldemort, the very thing Dumbledore had wanted him to learn from Snape. Just as Voldemort had not been able to possess Harry while Harry was consumed with grief for Sirius, so his thoughts could not penetrate Harry now, while he mourned Dobby. Grief, it seemed, drove Voldemort out . . . though Dumbledore, of course, would have said that it was love. . . .

Harry learned to dissociate, though fortunately in a healthier way than many of us ever get to.

Of course, Snape was a good and faithful servant… to Dumbledore, which brings us to the flight response. The chapter wherein he escapes after killing Dumbledore is called “Flight of the Prince”. He should be fighting, he had just proven that he can cast a killing curse, and yet he flees. He can literally fly, in fact: He, Lily, and Voldemort are the only ones we see pulling this off.

As a child, we see this too: He copes with his home situation by reminding himself “it won’t be long and I’ll be gone.” He is thrilled when he imagines Hogwarts, his escape; he follows Lily out of the carriage instead of confronting James and Sirius head-on (which might have saved them all a lot of pain eventually). But this doesn’t work out, we see that in terrifying detail. The next attempt at an escape is joining the Death Eaters, but this too doesn’t work out.

He can’t flee anymore.

“Severus, you cannot pretend this isn’t happening!” Karkaroff’s voice sounded anxious and hushed, as though keen not to be overheard. “It’s been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can’t deny it —”

“Then flee,” said Snape’s voice curtly. “Flee — I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts.”

Shortly thereafter:

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, “you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready . . . if you are prepared . . .”

“I am,” said Snape.

He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely.

He was ready, and he was prepared. He didn’t fly; he walked toward what might well have been his end with open eyes, armed only with the strength of his mind. Before Voldemort killed him, he looked pale, again, and terrified.

“I sought a third wand, Severus. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore.”

And now Snape looked at Voldemort, and Snape’s face was like a death mask. It was marble white and so still that when he spoke, it was a shock to see that anyone lived behind the blank eyes.

I ask myself if this was the moment he realized he had been betrayed, that by giving Dumbledore a painless death he had secured his own. Maybe he wasn’t pale because he was scared; maybe he was pale because he was shocked. He was at his absolute limit, Occluding with all his might when he could have easily saved himself. The dam is about to break. All the memories he feared, all the weapons, the entire content of his heart is about to spill through - literally.

He fawned for Voldemort, the worst of all possible masters, but in the end, he was Voldemort’s undoing. All the ways in which he was weak and powerless against Tobias, James, Lucius, et al., proved to be part of goodness and source of his power. It doesn’t surprise me in the least that Snape is so loved. I’ve never actually seen such love for any other fictional character. He represents a kind of courage that many of us need to get by, lest we simply become evil or give the fuck up (“I wish I was dead”). A kind of courage rarely celebrated. The more time I’ve spent in the fandom in general and in the Snapedom in particular, the more I am convinced of this.

#pro severus snape #snapedom #snape meta #snape love #severus snape #psychology #complex ptsd #I'm not qualified to diagnose anyone #But like #come on #sometimes JKR writes brilliance she doesn't seem to comprehend #snape #occlumency #harry potter

[writefasttalkevenfaster]

Dancing With Our Hands Tied (Part Two)

Series: Undercover Hotch fic/series™

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader 

Word Count: 4,408 | Rated: T | Warnings: swearing, discussion of domestic abuse, possibly compromising positions(?), an almost kiss

Tropes: bedsharing, fake married, mutual pining

Chapter Summary: after holding hotch's hand for a few minutes, it wouldn't be a problem to hold it for most of the morning? because now the retreat gimmicks begin as the two of you search for information while dealing with the events.

A/N: sorry for the delay on part two -- had some family things going on this month <3. look out for part three :) Thank you to @bucky-of-the-opera for always letting me bounce ideas off of her and generally being amazing.

“Where do we start?”

The retreat lodge was larger than you imagined — with sprawling grounds that weren't just limited to the main lodging area where the couples stayed — but extended beyond to woods, hiking trails, and beyond. Hell, you glanced out the window at a nearby mountain, you wouldn’t be surprised if they owned a mountain as well.

“I have no idea,” you murmur, your arm intertwined with Hotch’s, as the two of you stepped into the lobby for the patented mix-and-mingle with the other couples before breakfast. Not only mind-numbing, soul-churning mingling — but with other couples with marital issues -- exactly what every vacation needs, “this place doesn’t seem big on technology — I haven’t seen a single computer or cellphone,”

“The front desk only has paper logs,” he shakes his head, “I asked about the lack of technology in the rooms. A noted policy of no tech — including the employees. I don’t think we are even allowed our cellphones after this breakfast.”

You scan the couples beginning to shuffle down now, “If there’s no tech here, where do you think they keep their guest and employee files?”

“I don’t think breakfast is ready yet, sweetheart,” he replies, as your gaze snaps to his cheeks burning, as you realize a couple approaching your six, “but I’m sure you won’t have to wait too much longer,”

“I’m right there with you,” the husband winks at you, his stomach shaking as he laughs even before he jokes, “if I don’t eat soon, I’m going to lose one of my only reasons for coming to this place,”

And something tells you it isn’t much of a joke either.

“But not the reason for coming here, isn’t that right, dear?” his wife assumedly smiles at you, icily, “Molly Chapman. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and you are?”

You introduce yourself, forcing a straight face on as you manage to say your alias, offering your hand, “This is my husband, Thomas,” as Hotch introduces himself to Molly’s husband, Harry, who claps your boss on the shoulder.

“So,” Harry leans in, almost clandestinely, “what are you two in for?”

“Harry!” Molly chastises him, but her eyes hook onto your expressions, her lips pursed in disapproval if only to hide her smile.

“Well, if it helps, me and the missus here need some help communicating,” he crosses his arms, shaking his head, “never learned much about that growing up,” and he elbows Hotch, “but I’m sure you can relate — we’re practically in the same generation,” And you nearly snort, trying and failing to hide your smile — which Hotch notes, as you see him shoot a small glare your way.

Harry and Molly don’t notice, too busy reprimanding her husband again, before she sighs, pinching at the bridge of her nose, “It’s just as well, we are all going to find out about each other’s problems anyway,”

And you furrow your brow, “I saw group therapy on the itinerary — is it mandatory?”

“It is,” Molly nods, “Dr. Rosen, the therapist who helped design the program, insisted on it — otherwise it would just be a vacation, not a couples retreat,” and she raises an eyebrow, “didn’t you read that in the paperwork when you signed up?”

“I did most of the paperwork,” Hotch intercedes, his fingers intertwining with yours, “my love here was busy wrapping up some loose ends for work so I ended up taking the lead on it,”

“Oh well now I know what’s wrong with you two,” Harry chuckles, as Molly elbows him again, half-heartedly, as he gestures to you, coffee in hand, “you wear the pants in the relationship, got that one wrapped around your finger, now don’t you? Not surprising, with the age gap and all--” as he looks you up and down, winking at Hotch, as you gape at him, “nicely done, sir.”

Your blood begins to boil, several insults picked out and fine-tuned on your tongue as you open your mouth, “Well—”

“We’re working on it,” Hotch clears his throat, jerking his head toward the now ready breakfast buffet, “Harry, it looks like—”

“Food’s on!” and he’s scurrying away to the table, as his wife follows suit, giving both of you a nod, as you glare at his retreating back.

“Food fucking saved his life,” and your eyes slide back to Hotch, as he gestures for you to head over to the breakfast table, “and so did you,”

“Well, I figured you murdering someone on our first day here would attract some unwelcome attention,” he steers you away from the direction of the Chapmans, his hand now slipping around your waist, and you do your best to ignore the flip of your heart, focusing on the fancy finger foods the retreat put out for breakfast, until you feel Hotch’s fingers drum on the small of your back, “do you see that?”

You glance at him, following his gaze until your eyes fall on a door that says ‘Employees’ Only’ around the corner, the manager slipping through the door, locking it behind him. You glance away nonchalantly, helping yourself to some mini-breakfast sandwiches and some fruit, “Do you think they keep the employee files?”

“Maybe,” he breathes in your ear, as he reaches over your shoulder to grab some food, making you shiver at the closeness, “but how do we—”

“Welcome!” a voice booms from the foyer, sweeping arms as he steps forward cutting through the dining room, “Please everyone take a seat. Help yourself to some breakfast.”

You both make your way to a table, and Hotch pulls out your chair for you, giving a small smile, as he takes his seat beside you.

“I hope you all are beginning to get to know each other, but that is not all you will be getting to know today,” he clasps his hands, he bared his teeth with his fake white smile, “I am Richard Rosen, and I will be guiding you through your time during this six-week retreat, where you are not only going to learn about our facilities, about mindfulness, and about yourselves,” his eyes scan the crowd smiling, “you’re going to learn about each other.'

Oh, how wonderful.

You had read up about this guy last night — went to Harvard — Harvard College in Indiana, and got his certification in Psychology after four weeks of surely intense training. After that, he opened his own practice in New York City, which folded after several complaints ranging from sexual harassment to fraud. Unfortunately for his clients (and fortunately for him), there wasn’t enough evidence to get his lack-luster certification yanked. He then moved from city to city, learning from his mistakes, and never stuck to the same city for long enough for someone to catch onto his treatment packaged charade. Until eventually, he settled upon White Mountains Retreat, where he was allowed to stay in one place, but with a revolving door of patients.

He was one of your suspects — no record, but had easy access to the couples, and intimate knowledge of their relationships.

"But our time will begin together tomorrow,” he beams at all of you, “Right now, I'm going to pass it over to the man who you will be coordinating your incredibly list of daily activities during your stay here — the man responsible for all the wonderful memories you will make — Mr. Brock Hillen," Rosen steps aside, welcoming Hillen to take over, and he doesn’t wait a beat, checking his watch before disappearing down a hall.

“Where’d he go?” you murmur, and Hotch shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” Hotch murmurs, lips barely moving, “but do you see that?”

And you spot cuts on Brock’s arms before he tugs the sleeve of his shirt down to cover it, “Could be consistent with causing those injuries our victims,”

And Brock Hillen was no less suspicious than Rosen — with a criminal record to match. With two charges of domestic assault, Hillen already had a history of violence with his ex-wife, but since she divorced him, he has had no other charges. Yet, because of his record, he went job to job, until he found himself as the Activities Coordinator of White Mountain. Could it be that his rage over his wife leaving him led to the murders? Maybe something in the last few weeks that triggered it.

“Hello all!” he greets, holding his arms out, his fake blonde hair nearly blinding under the bright light of the chandelier that hangs above him, “thank you Richard, for that all too kind introduction,” he begins his spheal on the healing nature of the resort, the efforts of his team in coordinating the next six weeks for them, and you begin to lose interest around his third sentence with the word “enchant” in it.

And your eyes can’t help but slide to Hotch a moment, whose arm rests on your lower back still, the metal of his watch gently pressed against your shirt, and you swear his thumb brushes against your spine. You almost want to brush it away, his touch is so gentle, so sweet, so intentional, but it wasn’t — it wasn’t.

“For our first event,” and now you’re blinking back to Brock — to the reason you were here — to catch a killer, “I’m going to have you do one of the very things that Richard mentioned — an activity that will allow you to you learn more about yourselves and each other,” and he gestures around you, “as well as the grounds themselves,” Other employees start handing the couples a clipboard, “your task will be to get each of your stamps from around the retreat — this obviously includes our grounds and other facilities, including our spa, chapel, gardens, and so on.”

“Seems like a perfect opportunity to look around,” you murmur — as Hotch takes the clipboard, flipping through the scavenger hunt -- at least there wasn’t some cheesy shtick to this activity.

“To symbolize the journey you all will be embarking on together as couples, you must complete the task hand-in-hand,” Brock brings his two hands together, “please, there will be staff all over the facilities, if you need a hint, feel free to ask, and I will be here as well to provide any assistance,” he gestures to employees behind the couples, “now, at the sound of the gong—”

At the sound of the what—

And then a loud crash fills the air, rattling your eardrums, making you jump, “Take each other’s hand, and begin!”

Couples begin scattering about, pulling each other along — you spot Molly dragging Harry away from the breakfast table.

And Hotch rises beside you, offering you his hand, clipboard in his other hand, “Ready?”

You glance from him to his hand.

Probably not, but— your fingers intertwine with his, his calloused fingers warm, and the cool metal of his band brushing against your skin—

“Ready.”

What other choice did you have?

~~~

“How many more do we have?” So far, the first few stamps have taken you all around the other facilities — the spa, the garden, the sauna — but none inside the retreat center itself. Not a single one had given you a change to find where the files were kept in this place.

“Two more left,” he murmurs, “I assume the last one will take us back into the main building, so the other must be—”

“At the chapel,” you glance at the map of the place you were handed by an employee who took pity on you two after you had wandered around the grounds — completely lost, “at least we don’t have to bother figuring out the riddles now,”

“You mean you don’t need to bother,” you shake your head, “i’m sorry, I’m just—”

“Are you okay?” he asks, as the two of you stroll towards the chapel, everyone else out of earshot, “the first day can be—”

“No, it’s not that,” you look around the grounds, and you resist the urge to flex your fingers, but he notices you tense — and you know he would drop your hand but he can’t, so he steps away a little, “It’s not you—”

“But it’s you?” he chuckles, as you bite your lip, “I know it’s a lot,” he sighs, as you two reach the chapel, a relatively small building built on top of a hill. It’s a white marble building, its one spire splitting the sky above it asunder, practically gleaming in the sunlight. The double mahogany doors are drawn open for the couples, another just leaving as you two arrive. You watch him stare up at the chapel, “it is for me too.”

You frown, as the employees at the entrance greet you, and direct you to sit near the front together for a few minutes — to take solace in the quiet before you receive your stamp. Hotch hands them the clipboard as you both wander down the aisle together.

The aisles are lined with white pews, light streaming through beautiful stained glass windows. Your footsteps echoed against the stone floor. You step and sit into the pew beside Hotch, sitting back a moment. The chapel itself had no denomination — it was clear it was made for the sake of religious and non-religious functions — likely an intentional choice not to exclude any religion or atheists for that matter.

After all, money was money in their eyes.

You two are quiet a moment, your hands still interlaced for the sake of the employees still watching the two of you, “I think for me,” your voice low, “it’s just weird to be this close with anyone,”

“You mean physically or?” you shrug.

“It’s part of it — it has been a while since I’ve shared a bed with someone,” you purse your lips, “but like you said, it’s hard for me to let someone see me, like all of me,” and you glance at him, “and it’s hard when you’re literally the leader of a team of, you know.”

“I know,” he leans against the back of the pew, “it’s impossible to hide things from the team even when when we don’t spend every minute with them, and now that we’re spending the all of the next six weeks together--”

“There won’t be much we can do to hide,” you nod, looking down at the floor.

And that was what scared you the most.

The employees hand you back the clipboard at that moment, excusing you both back, and the two of you step out of the chapel, “I just want you to know,” you say, as the two of you reach the bottom of the hill, “you don’t have to hide anything from me,” and he raises an eyebrow, as you add, “if you don’t want to.”

“Do most people hide anything because they really want to?”

“No I meant,” you chew your lip, “This is probably hard for you, and I don’t want to act like I know what you’re going through — I don’t,” you would never deign to think you knew what it was like to lose your the love of your life, your best friend, and mother of your child in one fell swoop, “but you don’t have to pretend,” not with me, you want to add, but you don’t — you can’t.

He blinks a moment, eyebrows raising only for a millisecond, before he sighs, “It’s easier to pretend,” he presses his lips together, as another couple approaches, “and that’s what we’re here to do,” and he begins to walk forward, gently pulling you along, as your cheeks burn, your head fixed on the ground, until he adds, “but I appreciate it,” and you meet his gaze, several emotions in his eyes, before he tears it away, “thank you.”

You don’t get to respond, as the two of you step inside to find only most of the couples still hadn’t returned yet — still collecting the last of the stamps, and most of the staff floating around the grounds to corral and nudge stragglers along. And their absence left an opportunity.

So you glance around, before tugging a distracted Hotch along, wandering around a corner, “What—”

And you grab him by the shoulder, pinning him to the wall, cheeks burning all the while, not daring to meet his gaze, but its just the same because you hear the small gasp of your name that leaves his lips in a whisper, and his body tenses against your palm.

You lean up closer, before slowly craning your neck around the corner, “We’re a couple at a retreat looking to sneak away,” you murmur, lips barely moving, as you lean closer, nose brushing his neck — god he smells good — but you refuse to let your lips brush against his skin, “or that’s what it will look like to anyone.”

His tenseness melts away, and he’s pliable to your touch, as your fingers graze his neck now, your thumb resting against his cheek, as he stares down at you — so adoringly as you tug him by the shirt away from the wall, following you with such ease.

You’re next to the employees only door — your fingers reach for the knob, turning — “It’s locked,” you murmur, and his brow furrows, as you cup his cheek, guiding his gaze to the lock.

And he’s spinning you around gently so that you’re pressed to the wall, your breath catching in your throat, as he looms over you, his fingers cupping your chin. His arm around your back, pulling your lower half close to him, but he’s holding the door knob in place while he tries to pick it with his other hand.

Your cheeks burn as he looks down on you, his gaze freezing you in place, far too close — his breath warming your lips, taking the breath from your lungs and replacing your blood with lava. And you can see so clearly — the cut of his jaw, the soft lines of his face, and the curve of his lips—

And then the lock clicks open.

He’s turning the knob, as you spare one glance over your shoulder to see if anyone sees either of you, but then the door is shutting behind you. You feel the wall for a light switch, and you flick it on, while you hear the click of the door locking again.

And you blink, a glorified break room — a few tables and a basic refrigerator stuck in the corner, a worn couch stuck against a wall, and a sink stuck in the corner with a subpar dish rack — far from the accolades that were in each guest’s room — but then again, the employees weren’t paying through the nose for the rooms.

You two stay close, as your eyes scan for anything that could be a camera — even one that isn’t obvious — placed in a smoke detector or lamp shade, “No cameras,” he pulls away, and you try to swallow the lump in your throat, tucking away the embarrassment to dwell on another time (likely right before when you’re trying to sleep).

But then again, the guests weren’t the ones working 18 hour shifts on their feet.

Hotch calls for you, pointing towards a few file drawers stuck in the corner, and the two of you head over, running your finger down the label on the drawers, “These are all client records — administrative, financial — nothing on the employees.”

“They must keep the employee records somewhere else that employees don’t have access to,” and you’re rifling through the folders, for something — anything.

“I haven’t seen any other employee areas,” you shut the drawers, and then you glance around, your eyes falling on another door in the corner of the room — “unless—”

“It must be Rosen and Hillen’s offices,” you walk over, reading the placard — Administration Offices, “locked?”

“This isn’t something that can be picked easily,” Hotch shakes his head, “it has a bump guard — it prevents—”

“--lock bumping,” and Hotch looks over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow, “I’ll tell you my reason if you you tell me yours,

He snorts, “I learned it sometime between 6th grade and military school,” and it’s your turn to raise your eyebrows, “my father — he—”

“You don’t have to—” you shake your head, “unless you want to—”

“I’ll just say, it wasn’t a good childhood,” he raises to his feet.

And you can’t help but give a small smile, “But look at how well you turned out,” and he’s shaking his head, shrugging his shoulders, “Hotch,” you make him meet your gaze, “you’re a good man — don’t doubt that.”

His eyes meet yours again, warm, as he looks away to the floor for a moment, the corners of his lips twitching, “Thank you,” he breathes, and he’s stepping forward, “I—”

And then the doorknob is jiggling. Your heads snap to the door, before looking back to each other.

Shit.

Before you know it, his wrist is around yours, and he’s tugging you to the couch, as you fall backwards onto the soft cushions. He’s halfway kneeling between your legs, his body draped over you, and he’s leaning closer, murmuring an apology as he lips draw close to yours, “Hotch—”

And then the door is opening, as his lips nearly brush yours, “Hey!”

An employee stares at the both of you, as you both stumble to your feet, adjusting your clothes, “This is employees only — what are you—”

“Sorry!” you yelp, jumping to your feet, “so sorry,” and you brush past them, Hotch following at your heels.

And the two of you find your way back to the lobby, your heart still in your throat, as you tug on your clothes, “Thanks for the —” your cheeks burn, “I mean, good thinking—” you shake your head, "you know what I mean."

He snorts, his fingers finding yours again, giving them a slight squeeze, "Anytime," and your heart oh-so-helpfully skips a beat, tongue-tied, but luckily you don't have to response as Hotch glances at you, "you never did tell me how you learned about lock picking."

You shrug, “I have a checkered past,”

“That’s not much of an answer,” and you shoot him a half-smile.

“I have to keep you interested somehow don’t I?” you reply right as Brock begins to speak again.

The event wraps up with another talk from Brock — who has an employee approach him towards the end of his talk, whispering in his ear, and he nods, waving him off, “and one last thing — I know you all came to rejuvenate your marriages and partnerships through this retreat and we fully encourage you to do so but—” you swallow thickly, realizing just which employee must have whispered in his ear right then, “please refrain from doing so in restricted areas that are not for our guests.”

You cannot even bear to look at Hotch, keeping your gaze straight ahead, grabbing a drink on the tray, and sipping at it — and you wondered if you were masking your mortification well.

Probably fucking not.

~~~

Brock then adjourns them for the rest of the day — not wanting to “overwhelm them” on day one (or rather padding their time here with nothingness) — welcoming them to have their meal in the dining facilities or up in the rooms.

Most people head off to their rooms, while others linger in the lobby — chatting amongst themselves — he spots Harry rushing off to the dining facilities, his wife in tow.

The rest of the day goes off without much to-do. Hotch glances around — not a single thing of note learned about the guests or the staff. The other couples are all sociable to some extent — some more reserved than others, but none of them fit the unsub’s types so far — placing you two directly in the paths of the unsub.

By the time it’s time for bed, his body is aching for nothing but sleep — and it looked like you had the same idea. Already slipped under the covers, you’re curled up, half-asleep as your eyes flutter heavy with sleep.

Neither of you felt the need to stand guard in the room — the doors were securely locked for each of the couples, and the team was monitoring the situation at the local precinct. But you both kept your weapons close by — concealed in case someone happened to find their way in.

“Are you asleep?” Hotch whispers, and you mumble, shaking your head, turning to glance at him — your shoulders tense and brow furrowed.

“Is something going on?”

And he shakes his head, “No, sorry,” and you relax back in bed, but your lips still pursed, “I just hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable earlier,” and you tilt your head — and he almost smiles at your sleep-induced confusion.

“Earlier?” and then it floods back to you — as you blink, glancing away from him, “oh—”

He shakes his head, “I just don’t want you to think I was—”

“Hotch, I know you weren’t,” you slowly sit up, “if you hadn’t done that, I think we would have been on our way home on our first day,” you chuckle, “and I know you wouldn’t take advantage — especially when we have a job to do.”

Right, a job, he chides himself, It was a job.

“If you want to sleep—”

“I’m not having this conversation again,” you yawn, turning around and getting comfortable again, “good night, Hotch.”

And he looks at you, a small sigh parting his lips — until he finally settles in bed beside you.

His arm resting across his forehead, he glances at you again. He had spent so much of today holding your hand, his fingers nearly flexing at the memory. It had been so long since he had held someone’s hand, so long since he had worn a ring on his finger, so long since he called someone his partner.

It felt so nice.

Nice — not only because he hadn’t realized how much he had missed having someone, someone beside him, someone there — but because —

Because it was you.

And he knew that because — he didn’t want to let go of your hand.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagines #criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #hotch imagines #hotch #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch fanfiction #fic: undercover

[shurisneakers]

harmless (vii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, existential crisis, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, lil bit of angst, clint barton being a lil shit

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: hey shoutout to @ugherik for suggesting a spin on the “A PLATYPUS!??!“ [perry puts his hat on] “PERRY THE PLATYPUS!???” thing. i used it in here, it’s a really small part and probably missable but i tried!! also i like the next chapter better than this one, i just wanted to put this here so it doesn’t seem abrupt <3333

here’s

my ko-fi

if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Bucky can’t stop staring at the mirror.

He wishes it was for narcissistic purposes. He had enough reason for it to be. His age may be a hundred but he had the youthful exuberance of a very drained sixty year old.

But no, it wasn’t because of the steel cut jawline or thousand gigawatt smile.

After last week’s mini-spiral, he does what almost half the videos on TikTok warn him not to do.  

He got a haircut.

Everyone’s reaction stopped him from following it up with an ear piercing, but he can’t confidently say he didn’t at least consider it once. Maybe a neck tattoo. 

He pulls at a lock of hair. It’s not even longer than his finger.

What did he do-

“It’s just a haircut, man,” he says to no one in particular, almost like he’s trying to reassure himself.

He runs his hands through his hair. It takes lesser time than he was used to.

Steve had told him he looked good. But then again, Steve wore a fugly costume 90% of the time, what did he know?

Clint acknowledged it and didn’t outright call him ugly, which he supposed was a compliment. Wanda simply smiled at him.

“FRIDAY?” he reaches out.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?” comes the automated reply.

“How are you?” It took him some getting used to her, given that she was constantly listening to everything, and in general seemed to go against the universal idea of privacy. 

But his therapist told him he needed to form friendships. 

She didn’t mention it had to be human ones.

“As good as ever. Is there anything I can help you with?”

He wants to ask her what she thinks of his hair until he realises fashion advice from a faceless AI is a new low for him. Maybe ‘Do you think I should crawl into a pit and die?’ would be more appropriate. 

“Never mind,” he dismisses instead. “Any messages for today?”

“A reminder to buy a harder bed because you can’t keep sleeping on the floor.” Ah, that was on Sam’s recommendation three months ago, but he wasn’t going to stop any time soon. “And a text from a contact named Nuisance saying to meet them at the attached location in thirty minutes.”

“Where is the location?”

“The local sports centre.”

“Isn’t that closed today?” 

If he had to go out in public looking like this, maybe he could wear a cap and sunglasses and no one would recognise him. Unfortunately, as he was reminded several times before by anyone with an iota of common sense, it was a stupid disguise. 

Beanie it was, then. Bare minimum. 

“It is, yes.” Fewer citizens to worry about.

“Okay.” He hesitates in front of the mirror again, adjusting the hat on his head. “Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“You’re welcome, Sergeant.”

He stares at the little tuft of hair at the front that refused to stay down no matter how much he shoved it back.

“Come on, man,” he exhales in slight despair. “Whatever.”

____

The lock of the door leading to the pool is easy enough to pick. He can see how you got in without a hitch even though it was closed. 

The deck around the pool was absolutely drenched in water. No one was using it, there was no reason for water to splash out unless it was deliberately kept like this.

He catches sight of you easily, being that you’re the only two people there. You were standing at the end of the hall, head ducked as you scrolled through your phone.

The door closes behind him with a soft thud.

You don’t look up from your mobile when you start talking, “What do you think 6 year olds like?”

Because James Barnes, carbon dated to 1917 and therefore certified young person, would definitely know the answer to this question.

“I don’t know. Lego?”

“Just how much money do you think a teacher makes-”

You stopped mid-sentence, finally lifting your head to catch his eye. He stares back at you, steps faltering when you don’t move.

"Who are you?" you squinted.

What

"It's me," Bucky says, tugging off the dumb beanie and using it to gesture vaguely towards himself. Fuck, he shouldn’t have worn it, it was ridiculous anyway-

"You sound like him..." You narrow your eyes. “You don't look like him.”

Great

He rolls his eyes before putting on a mock scowl. Can't have Bucky Barnes without a sense of eternal disgruntlement.

"Oh hey, that is you." You grin. "You got a haircut."

“I did.” He suddenly feels the awkwardness increase. His fingers fidget with the beanie.

“Nice.” You nod in acknowledgement.

He wants to hit himself at the words that just spill out before he could think about it. “You hate it.”

“I never said that,” you snort. “And since when does my opinion matter?”

“It doesn’t.” But now he wants to know what you think since he didn’t trust anyone else to tell him honestly.

“Must cut down on time in the shower, huh?”

It did.

He shrugs. He shoves the beanie into his back pocket.

“Was it a crisis haircut?” How did you kno- “Are you going to get bangs next time?”

“Shut up,” he says lamely, a dull burn in his cheeks. 

“I know a place where you can get hair dye for cheap. Not technically FDA approved, but I think purple streaks are a good place to start-”

“What are we doing here?” he interrupts, sighing.

“Skinny dipping. Take off your shirt, Barnes.” 

“Funny,” he says dryly, eyeing your shoes when you straighten up.

Ice skates.

“Fine, pants then.” You don’t make any effort to move from your end so he does, walking closer to you. 

“What are those for?” He doesn’t hide the annoyance from his voice when he points at your feet.

“Oh, these?” You look down at them. “Yeah, I’m going to freeze the pool.”

That seems... mild compared to the shit show you wanted to do last time.

“For?” He halts where he is. 

“’M gonna take my friends ice skating.”

“Is that all?” He wants to make a comment about the fact that you have friends but bites it back.

“Today is just a trial run. Tomorrow I’m gonna go freeze the East River.” There it is.

“The East River is not your personal ice skating rink.”

“Not yet it isn’t.” You lift up a middle finger.

It was too early for you to flip him off, even by your standards.

He raises an eyebrow.

Your face scrunches in confusion. You follow his gaze to your finger. “Oh yeah, no, that’s a freeze ring.”

Only then he notices a ring around the finger. From where he was standing he could make out the blue stone that adorned it.

“Joy.” He rolls up the sleeves of his black bomber jacket. “Let’s get this done with, then.”

“No no, wait.” You hold up your hand and he complies, having nothing to lose anyway. You pull out your phone and press a few buttons before shoving it back into your bag and tossing it aside.

The soft sounds of a piano start playing from a boombox near the corner of the room. A child starts singing following a series of knocks.

His eyebrows furrow. “What the fuck is this?”

“The Frozen soundtrack.” You beam at him. “I thought it was fitting.”

He doesn’t know what that is and at this point, he’s too afraid to ask. He can vaguely make out the lyrics being about a snowman but he isn’t too concerned.

He takes one step forward. You immediately point your fist at the ground in front of him, forcing him to jump back when a blast hits right in front of his shoes. Suddenly he gets why the floor is covered in water.

It sounds like a series of cracks as the water starts freezing over, a layer of ice now separating him and you.  

"You ready?” The mischief was woven in your voice as the blasts continued throughout the deck, effectively turning the entire floor into ice.

Bucky takes a step tentatively forward. Not bad. He takes another. Okay.

The third one is when shit starts to hit the fan. His hands shoot out to hold onto his balance when his footing slips from beneath him.

His Nike sneakers aren’t used to snow. They’re used to well manicured lawns and pavement trips to Starbucks and marble floors of the compound. Not swimming pool decks covered in ice.

He can hear you singing in the distance and every time he looks up you’re a little further away, making sure every inch of space is frozen.

It takes him a while to get over the initial fear of breaking his skull and just move forward swiftly with short steps. A goddamn penguin is what he looked like.

“There you go, you’re getting it,” you chirp as you whiz past him. He reaches out to grab at you, only to miss by an inch. He staggers, arms flapping wildly to regain his stability.

He hears crackling beside him. He gets a second or two to watch ice crystals spread through the water before turning it completely solid. You step onto the now frozen pool, testing your weight with one leg before cautiously getting on.

A triumphant smile emerges on your face. “Awesome.”

He manages to press himself against the wall as a form of support. 

There is no point to this whole thing. He knows this. It’s been well over 6 weeks and there is genuinely no point to this.

He realises it again when he moves from side to side, body erupting into a waddle. 

Why is he doing this. He doesn’t get paid extra. He doesn’t get any kind of compensation. All he gets is more wisecracking geniuses, embarrassment and the mortifying ordeal of getting caught imitating a penguin.

The song changes to a woman singing about doing something for the first time, forcing him to pay attention to it. He hears something about ball room and balls and tunes right back out.

Bucky manages to find his way to the actual pool since that’s where you’re twirling around, opting to land on his mental arm in case things go wrong. He takes a sliding step forward, followed by another. Maybe he can do this. 

“If a 200 pound super soldier can stand on this, I suppose it’s strong enough,” you muse, watching him slip and slide as he tries to invent makeshift ice skating.

Unfortunately, his method doesn’t have any brakes, so while he’s too busy trying to move forward, there’s no way to actually stop. He finds this out very soon when he almost launches himself off the edge of the pool.

Something yanks him backwards and back onto the ice.  

“Honestly, this is utterly useless since you can’t really do anything but it’s the most fun I’ve had all week,” you admit when he goes sliding towards the middle, arms flailing.

“You had to pick fuckin’ ice of all things.” He thinks that maybe he’s getting a hang of this. He can definitely move faster than what he was doing like, 10 minutes ago. It’s not like you were going anywhere, anyway. 

“I like to keep things spicy.”

He stays where he is to glare at you. You mouth the words to the song, watching his every move whenever it interested you. 

Okay, change of plan; a temporary distraction till he figures out how to actually get the ring from you. He settles on skating towards the edge of the rink slowly, taking a step off, slipping almost immediately when his foot comes in contact with the deck. 

“Where are you going?” you yell over the music initially but immediately break into song when it ends in a crescendo.

He takes a knee, lifting his metal arm up before driving it into the ground. It shatters magnificently, leaving small shards of ice at his disposal. 

He picks up one of them, waiting for you to complete your dumb twirl. He takes aim, and-

“Ouch, what the fuck?” You stop your off key singing to rub your shoulder where the ice hit you.

He wordlessly picks up another piece to throw at you, hitting you squarely in the leg.

“Stop that!”

He may not be able to move as fast but he can definitely throw. 

“Give me the ring,” he commands, stretching his arm behind his back before releasing another piece to hit your forearm. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” There’s nowhere you can skate to avoid his stupidly good marksmanship. 

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” He shrugs, breaking another patch of ice to replenish his ammo. “Hand over the ring.”

“Over my dead body,” you shriek when a particularly big piece lands next to your feet. You knew he missed that shot on purpose.

“I feel like I’m finally acting my age,” he says casually, finding your darting about in order to avoid him more fun than he initially thought. “Can’t throw pebbles at meddling kids so this is the next best option. Thanks.” 

“If you acted your age you’d be in a casket, Barnes,” you hissed, finding that skating in zig zags helped your cause, but not by much. “I’d be- you bitch- I’d be more than happy to help you get there.”

You raise your arm, ready to send another blast to freeze the water that was starting to melt around him, hopefully, keep him where he was if it froze around him. 

He flinches. You notice immediately, hand dropping slightly when you realise what it looked like.

“I’m not gonna freeze you,” you say, softer than you intended. From what you knew, he had enough and more experience with that and you weren’t going to contribute to it. 

He swallows thickly, giving himself a little shake of his head as if to jolt him out of his train of thought. 

Another piece of ice hits you in the leg. You let out a string of curses at him.

“The more ice you make, the more I have to throw at you, Y/N.” He waits for you to regain your balance when you nearly take a stumble. 

“Shut up, you’re so immature.”

“Remind me whose plan this was again?” No point waiting for you to regain your balance when you fall over only a few seconds later. 

He gathers a few shards in his beanie, tucking it into his belt like a little makeshift rucksack just in case before venturing out on the main rink again. 

It’s more difficult for you to stand without railings to guide you, giving him enough and more time to make his way towards you, staggering and skidding. 

Both of you looked ridiculous. 

“Stay away, fiend.” 

“Ring first.” He holds his hand out in front of you. He even considered pulling you up if you just made things easier.

Next thing he knows he’s on his ass on the ice beside you. 

“I hate you,” he groans, watching as you inch away from him on your knees.

He doesn’t really have any other options so he shoves aside the humiliation and gets on his knees, using his arms to drag him along the ice.

“For the love of Christ, none of us are winning here. Just give me the ring.”

The bitch from the soundtrack sings about letting it go but he won’t. 

“Never,” you shout, sliding away from him as fast as possible. 

You make use of the fact that the top layer of ice is starting to melt, using the ring to freeze it again. His knees and fingers get stuck as the water freezes over but he has super strength. It barely takes him a second to free himself. 

“Great,” he huffs, just settling down on the ice, ignoring the sting of cold that was spreading through his limbs. Running after you wasn’t going to work; he needed a way to get the ring. 

“You won last time, I’m not letting you win again.”

“Are we seriously keeping score?” He watches as you scramble towards the edge.

“No one likes a loser, Bucky.” You use the pool stair railings to pull yourself up.

“Explain why you have friends then.” He can’t help himself this time. 

“Hardy har har.” You roll your eyes. 

He doesn’t make an effort to move. Instead, when you take a step back into the rink, he raises his arm and pummels it into the ice, just to annoy you. 

The ground damn near shakes, pushing you dangerously towards losing your balance again. 

“Are you crazy?” Your arm shoots out in front of you to keep you from falling headfirst. 

“No.” He does it again. This time there’s a crack in the ice. “I’m just very tired.”

“If the ice breaks we’re both gonna be underwater, you moron!”

“Fine by me.” He shrugs. “Freeze it again. I’ll just find different ways to ruin it for you.”

You glare at him. He raises his arm above his head again.

“Fine! Fine, stop.” You eye him as he lowers his arm. 

He reaches for his stash of ice pieces from earlier, throwing one at your shoulder again.

“Boy, I swear if you don’t stop doing that-” you duck when another one comes at you. You had no idea he could be this annoying. 

It suddenly hits him, like a lightbulb going off in his brain. He wipes his hands off on his jacket, getting on all fours before slowly managing to pick himself up again. 

He looks at you, tilting his head slightly like he was studying you.

“What?” you ask suspiciously, eyeing as he starts inching closer towards you. “What are you thinking?”

It’s like watching a newborn deer stumble its way through the world, albeit more gracefully, until he starts picking up speed. The motherfucker was going to mow you down.

The skates are useful but not so much when an extremely determined bumbling oaf is barrelling towards you, his speed beginning to match yours even without equipment. 

You don’t know why you’re running, you don’t know why he’s chasing after you but when you see the end of the pool you take a sharp left only to have him knock right into you, sending you both sprawling.

You land half on top of him, breaking your fall but it doesn’t stop the very loud groan that escapes your mouth. He’s already in the process of sitting up straight, giving you less time to analyse what just happened.

“What the fuck was that for?” you speak through gritted teeth. “Fuckin’ acting like the both of us have free healthcare.”

“You refused to give up.”

“So your plan was to tackle me like a quarterback?” You threw your hands up.  

“One part of it.” He drags himself to the edge, away from you. 

“There's more to your monkey brained plan?” He doesn’t look at you. The ice around the pool has more or less melted, letting him gain proper footing on the floor before he stands up. 

“Oh, yeah.” He turns to you. “The other’s a trick I stole from Stark.”

Bucky holds up the ring. Your jaw slightly drops, eyes searching your finger for the now missing piece of tech. 

“Suppose that’s two points for me?” 

You’re impressed. You also want to stab him. So you do the next best thing.

“When I imagined you holding a ring in front of me, the circumstances were very different,” you comment.

“Bye, Y/N.” He spins on his heel, not even giving you a second’s worth of reaction. You found it amusing.

He heads towards the door, clothes all wet. He empties out melted ice water from his beanie before stuffing it into his pocket. Just when he’s about to leave, you remember something. 

Do you mean it genuinely or just because it has an effect on him? 

“Just for the record, Barnes, about your hair-” you call out, earning his attention from over his shoulder. “I think you look really good either way.”

The world may never know. 

You swear you can see the corners of his lips quirk upwards before he turns around again. 

He slips on a block of ice, cursing and clenching on to the door to keep him upright, quickly yanking it open and leaving before he has a chance to embarrass himself further.

Smooth.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

[jessikahathaway]

Baby Talk - Part II

Pairing: Jikook X Reader (Jimin X Reader X Jungkook)

Genre: Surrogacy!AU, Polyamorous!AU, Romance. (Future Smut)

Warnings: Profanity, medical procedures, pining (Like a stupid amount but what can ya do), Joon and Jin get protective, mentions of pregnancy symptoms. (If I forgot anything please let me know!)

Words: 10.5k (I guess I'm committing to long chapters lol)

You’d hit the four week mark, and not much had happened yet.

Despite you feeling like your hormones were on a swing.

Jimin was bewildered when he came into the bathroom to find you crying on the floor. Trying to comfort you went downhill quickly because soon you were mad that he was joking around. Then you were crying again, apologizing for being so harsh.

Up and down and up and down.

But they never got mad at you. Never yelled at you and never ignored you. But you forced your emotions down deep into your heart. A place that would be locked and the key thrown away. Because you knew what was happening, and it simply couldn’t happen.

It was late and you could feel your stomach begging for something to eat. You’d gotten really hungry lately, no doubt your body trying to accommodate for the new life you were growing inside of you.

So, you hurried to the kitchen under the guise of night and made some rice and a little bit of stir fry. You put together everything, making sure not to make too much, and started cooking.

It was around three in the morning when you sat down at the table and ate your food, looking through your phone with a bored expression. Nothing interesting on social media and YouTube videos were only entertaining for so long. So, you ate your food and cleaned up before starting to head back towards your room.

Then, a large flash went off in the sky, causing you to jolt and look out into the city. Rain was pelting against the window, sounding sharp to your ears. It was a little intimidating.

Then the loud crash of thunder rang through the house.

You yelped at the noise, covering your ears in fear. You’d never particularly liked thunderstorms, but this one was coming in hot and aggressive. You pulled your hands away from your ears, just trying to focus on getting back to your room when another flash lit up the room. Your heart was hammering in your chest and you started to sweat.

Before you could think too much about it you were knocking on Jungkook and Jimin’s door. Another crash of thunder roared through the house and you swear you felt the floor shake. You whimpered in fear and fidgeted with the hem of your shirt. Did they hear you? Or was the storm too loud? Should you go in? What if they weren’t decent?

Jimin had said you could go in if something was wrong...

But did being scared of a thunderstorm count?

FLASH.

BANG.

You couldn’t take it anymore and you burst through the door with tears in your eyes. Fear causing you to shake violently.

Jimin and Jungkook both bolted up in bed at the sound of the door slamming open, and were out of bed instantly at the sight of you shaking on the floor.

“Y/N? What’s going on? Are you alright? Are you hurt?” Jungkook’s worried voice echoed in your ear.

“She’s trembling,” Jimin said, rubbing your back.

“I-I I’m sc-”

FLASH.

BANG.

You cried and flung your arms around Jungkook’s neck, burying your face in his chest, tears streaming down your face as you shook violently. Jungkook looked at Jimin in shock and a little bit of his own fear, but Jimin just took his hand and placed it on your head.

‘Comfort her,’ Jimin mouthed.

Jungkook nodded before rubbing your hip soothingly.

“What’s wrong Y/N? Is it the storm?” He asked, bringing his other hand to your shoulder.

“Y-Yes,” you whimpered, keeping your face buried in Jungkook’s neck.

“It’s alright, Jimin and I got you. You’ll be safe,” Jungkook promised.

Jimin rubbed soothing circles onto your back as the two of them tried to ease your frantic heart. Both of them knowing it can’t be good for the baby. But, also, on you. The stress of carrying a baby was already a lot, the fear of this thunderstorm wasn’t a good addition.

Soon, you had cried yourself to sleep.

Jimin took you in his arms, picking you up and Jungkook followed after him as they headed for your room.

The couple laid you down in bed, brushing your face tenderly. Jungkook watched as Jimin covered you up, bringing the sheets right up under your chin. He smiled at the soft pout on your lips, he wondered if the baby would have your cute pout.

Jimin, moved your hair away from your eyes, tucking it behind your ear gently. When he was certain you were settled he took Jungkook’s hand and headed back to their bedroom.

“God, that scared the fuck out of me,” Jungkook said, sitting down on the side of the bed.

“Me too,” Jimin agreed, rubbing his face in exhaustion.

“Didn’t know she was that scared of storms, makes me want to beat up the sky for scaring her like that,” Jungkook said, frowning.

Jimin laughed lightly, but kissed his boyfriend lovingly. “I know you would if you could, or at the very least, sue it,” he snorted.

“Ooh, yeah, that could work,” Jungkook said.

“I’d never seen her like that, so vulnerable. She always puts up such a tough exterior,” Jimin said, biting his lip.

“Yeah, maybe it shows that she’s starting to trust us. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to live with two people who are kinda strangers to her,” Jungkook said, feeling awkward.

“Well, maybe we can fix that,” Jimin reasoned.

“What do you have in mind my stunningly attractive boyfriend?” Jungkook asked, leaning forward.

“Mmm, let’s take her shopping. Spoil her a bit, you’ve got more zeros in your bank account than I can count on all of my fingers. She’s gonna need maternity clothes anyways. Imagine her all dressed in Gucci and Prada while walking around pregnant with our baby,” Jimin said, appearing to be day dreaming himself.

“That would be... nice... To spoil her, show her we care about her well being and everything,” Jungkook nodded in agreement.

“Let’s do it,” Jimin said, gripping Jungkook’s hands.

“Okay, yeah!”

Unfortunately for the couple, you appeared to be hating every second of this shopping excursion.

“Y/N! Come on,” Jungkook said, walking with Jimin’s hand interlocked with his.

“Coming, coming,” you sighed, following after them.

“Y/N? Are you alright? Do you need a break?” Jimin asked, stopping to take a look at you.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just, sleepy,” you grumbled.

The boys had effectively cut off your caffeine intake as of late, and it was showing. You were more exhausted than ever, just wanting to sleep the day away, but the two men wanting to hear nothing of it today. Normally they would’ve just let you sleep, but, today was a different story.

Jimin bit his lip and looked at Jungkook with concern.

You didn’t seem to be having fun at all.

What was the point in spoiling you if you were just gonna wind up pissed off at the end of it? But maybe you just hadn’t found something you wanted yet. Jimin didn’t want to lose faith so early on, but you really were in a grumpy mood today.

Jungkook pointed out several different kinds of stores, suggesting different ones and you merely told them that whatever they wanted was fine. Feeling defeated already, Jimin told Jungkook to pick a store and maybe you’d find something you wanted in there.

Soon, you were in some high end designer store, looking around with a bored expression on your face. Most girls loved when you spoiled them, wanting nothing more than to have free reign with a credit card and a whole shopping mall. But you looked so fragile and out of place in this big store.

Jungkook looked around and found some things he wanted, Jimin too, but you were still sitting on the bench, head in your hand and looking tired.

The couple looked at each other, wondering what in the world they could do to make you smile. All they wanted to do was spoil you, make you feel better...

“Are you two with the young lady over there,” the store attendant asked, pointing at you with genuine curiosity.

“Ah, yes, she’s with us,” Jimin confirmed.

“I take it she’s not really into the whole shopping experience,” the attendant said, and the couple nodded sadly.

“We just wanted to spoil her, take her out and get her stuff she wanted. But it looks like she’d rather die than be here right now,” Jungkook said, frowning.

“Well, what are some things that she likes?” The shop attendant asked.

“Books,” both of them said quickly.

The attendant laughed at them softly, nodding.

“My wife is a fan of books too, sometimes I wonder if she likes them more than me. But, you said you want to spoil her right? Tell her that, explain what you’re doing, sometimes that helps,” he offered.

Jimin nodded, looking over at your sleepy figure in the corner of the store.

“It’s worth a shot,” he said.

The pair thanked the shop attendant for his time and headed towards you.

You looked up and tried to give the couple a smile, but it looked awkward and forced, making them frown even more. Jungkook sat down next to you, and Jimin kneeled in front of you.

“Y/N, do you know why we forced you out of your blankety cocoon today?” Jimin asked, looking at you with curiosity.

“You said you wanted to take me shopping,” you said, gazing back at him.

“Exactly, we wanted to take you shopping. Not just shop for ourselves and drag you around. We want to spoil you, give you whatever you want. All you have to do is ask and you can have it, Y/N, money isn’t an issue here,” Jimin said.

Biting your lip you felt yourself get uncomfortable. “I-I don’t really like being spoiled, you know? I um... It makes me feel weird,” you said, rubbing your neck.

“The last thing we wanted to do was make you upset,” Jungkook said, biting his lip.

“No I’m not upset I just feel awkward,” you explained.

“Oh, there’s no need to feel awkward Y/N, it’s just us,” Jimin reassured.

“People keep staring at us, like I’m some lame friend third wheeling on a date,” you sighed, rubbing your face.

Jimin and Jungkook both swallowed hard.

They hadn’t realized people were staring. But it would make sense, Jimin and Jungkook were known in the city and suddenly a girl is walking around with them? That did seem a bit odd. They were also regulars in this mall and no doubt the staff were looking too.

God, they had messed this whole day up.

“Oh Y/N, we’re sorry,” Jungkook said, pressing his hands to his face.

“Sorry? Sorry for what?” You asked, turning to look at him with confusion.

“Not including you,” Jimin explained.

“There’s no need to include me-” you started when Jungkook cut you off quickly.

“Yes there is, you’re carrying our baby, we want you to feel comfortable and safe. Not ignored and shut out, that’s not fair to you,” he said, brushing his hair away from his face.

“Yeah, we want you to have whatever you want. As long as it isn’t unhealthy for you or the baby,” Jimin said.

“This isn’t about flexing or whatever on other people, this is about you. And what you want,” Jungkook said.

“Well,” you said, worrying your lip with your teeth.

“Yes?” Jimin said, leaning forward.

“It’s, well, I guess some new clothes wouldn’t be bad. I’ll need maternity stuff,” you told them.

“Yes! Absolutely! We can do that!” Jimin said, standing up and pulling you with him.

However, it was a little too fast for you, causing your head to spin. Jungkook was steadying you with his warm palms on your waist, Jimin keeping you upright with his hands around your wrists.

“Sorry Y/N! I-I wasn’t thinking and I got so excited, sorry,” Jimin frowned at himself.

“It’s alright,” you said, not wanting him to be upset over something that didn’t really matter.

“I need to be more gentle with you, you’re carrying our baby for Christ sakes,” Jimin huffed.

You nodded, noticing the stern look on Jimin’s face. Licking your dry lips, you looked down at your feet. You were only a month along so you couldn’t really see anything yet. But knowing there was a life inside of you made you feel a little flutter in your chest every time you thought about it.

However, you needed to get that under control.

This wasn’t your baby.

And that’s just how it was going to be.

Jimin and Jungkook had managed to drag you into a designer store for mothers apparently, because everything in here looked like it was worth a fortune. How were you supposed to pick something and wear it when you were afraid it was gonna get dirty? For fucksake you were almost certain they would be ruined by the end of this pregnancy.

“Ooh! Y/N, pink is your color,” Jimin smiled, holding up a rose colored blouse at you.

Looking down you saw small daisies printed on the shirt as well. It was cute, you had to give him that. You agreed to try it on, but only if he promised not to show you the price tag. Jimin nodded quickly.

Jungkook came around the corner, carrying a couple different articles of clothing. Mainly dresses, as they would be a comfortable and easy choice. But there were some skirts and blouses in his arms too. After finding the ones you liked the three of you were sent to the dressing rooms.

Jimin and Jungkook waited outside on the bench, demanding a fashion show from you. You rolled your eyes, but didn’t say no before you headed in and tried on a couple of outfits.

You walked out and did a little spin every time, Jungkook and Jimin giving their opinions. Which were always small claps with whistles accompanying them.

Then you walked out in a shorter green sundress that you had managed to grab on the shelf without looking at the tag, thank God. It was green with splashes of turquoise and white that made your eyes pop beautifully. There was a cutout at the top that showed a little bit of cleavage but it wasn’t an insane amount. Nothing you thought anything of anyways.

It came to your knees, and it was generous with the room in it. No doubt when you were showing it would come up to your mid thigh. Fluffing your hair you walked out and smiled at the boys. Jungkook’s eyes trailed down your body. This was the first non maxi dress you’d tried on, even the skirts had been considerably modest. So, they were getting the first glimpse at your skin.

Jimin was stunned.

You were absolutely gorgeous. A vision.

Legs looking gorgeous and long, skirt fluttering around your knees but Jimin couldn’t help imagine you when you were showing a little more. Would it ride up higher? Clearing his throat he smiles at you.

“It looks really good, Y/N, I didn’t pick this one. Did you Kook?” Jimin said, turning to his boyfriend, who seemed to still be in a stupor.

“Jungkook?” You said, looking at the doe eyed man with a little bit of worry pinching your features.

“Yes? No, it-you look amazing Y/N, did you pick this out?” He asked you.

“I did, yeah,” you answered.

“Little sneak, do you really want to stop our hearts?” Jimin teased.

Blushing you brushed your hair behind your ear and stared at your shoes. Jungkook looked at you with so much longing it made Jimin’s heart stammer. Not out of jealousy, but something else. Jimin shook the thought from his head.

Soon you were all settled back in the car, several shopping bags in the back. Jimin and Jungkook had requested a driver today, wanting to just enjoy the experience. So, the driver dutifully drove while the three of you sat in the back.

You looked out the window and watched scenery pass you by. Jimin and Jungkook looked at you, each with a similar look on their face and similar feelings in their chest. But neither of them were brave enough to admit it to themselves. Not when they almost had everything they’ve ever wanted, or what they thought they wanted...

Getting out of the car, Jimin asked the driver to have the bags delivered up to their apartment. The driver nodded before disappearing.

The three of you made your way up to the apartment, but not before Jimin and Jungkook spilled that they had a surprise for you. Looking at them with a menacing glare, Jungkook broke first as you three made it into the entryway of the apartment.

“It’s nothing crazy, just... We didn’t want you feeling like the third wheel or, you know, not a part of this. You are just as important to us as the baby you are carrying, and while you’re with us we want you happy and... so we got you this,” Jungkook said, holding out the signature blue box that made your stomach churn with how much it must’ve cost.

“Please, don’t ask how much it cost. It doesn’t matter as long as it makes you happy,” Jimin whispered.

Slowly, you opened the box and a beautiful moon pendant sparkling in diamonds and white gold stared at you. You damn near dropped the thing because of how gorgeous it was. Jungkook and Jimin froze on the spot when they saw tears starting to fall down your face.

“Do you not like it?” Jimin asked.

“Is it too much? Did we go overboard?” Jungkook worried.

“N-No, it’s beautiful,” you said, touching the pendant with a delicate finger.

“Do you want to put it on?” Jungkook asked, hoping to God that you didn’t throw this pendant back in their faces.

“Yes, please,” you said, handing Jungkook the back and brushing your hair out of the way so he had access.

Slowly, you watched as the beautiful moon swung just above your cleavage, kissing your chest lightly. It was fastened behind your neck and you turned around, looking at the two men with a bright smile on your face.

Then, they held up their wrists.

A sun and a star.

You looked and saw it was all a matching set.

“You guys, you really,” you said, smiling softly.

“Honestly, Y/N, you’re our equal in this. You aren’t just a womb we’re renting,” Jimin said. “You’re a person, with wants and feelings and we want you to feel that. More than anything, we want you happy and safe.”

“We’re so thrilled you chose us, seriously. If there’s anything you want, anything you need, name it, we’ll get it for you. Scouts honor,” Jungkook said, holding up his hand.

Feeling an overwhelming sense of emotion, more tears ran down your cheeks, making you sniffle and wipe at them with irritation. You didn’t want to cry right now, you were happy! Now, you just looked like a snotty red mess.

“Aw, don’t cry Y/N!” Jungkook said, coming forward to wipe your tears.

“God you guys are such turds, making me cry all the time,” you sniffled.

“It’s not our fault!” Jimin said.

“It is very much your fault,” you said, holding your stomach gently.

A rush of air left the two of them at you doing something so maternal. It made Jungkook’s blood burst into flames, and Jimin had to swallow a moan at the knowledge of you being pregnant with his baby. You cocked your head to the side and looked at the two silent men.

“Okay, well... Thanks for today you two... I’m glad I got to be spoiled a little bit. I’m gonna go take a shower, are we ordering out for dinner tonight?” You asked. They were still silent and you wondered what the fuck broke them when Jimin blinked rapidly a few times before clearing his throat.

“Y-You’re welcome, if you want to go again just tell us and we can,” he said, fighting to keep his calm exterior.

“Okay, I’m gonna go take a shower then,” you said again, taking off towards the stairs.

Jungkook damn near collapsed on the floor when you were finally gone.

“Jesus,” he said, panting hard.

“Do you, do you feel it too?” Jimin asked, gazing at the area where you had been standing.

“Yeah,” Jungkook croaked.

“Fuck what’s wrong with us? She’s here for us to care for her, to nurture her, not use her like some object,” Jimin said, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

Jungkook rubbed his shoulders, trying to soothe his boyfriend’s frantic thoughts. He agreed. You weren’t someone for them to use and abuse... You were the mother of their child and you deserved to be respected. But God if the thought of you didn’t send their minds spiraling.

“I know... We just gotta tough it out I guess. What else can we do?” Jungkook reasoned.

“I don’t know Kook, I don’t know,” Jimin said, gripping his boyfriend’s hand tightly.

—

The six week mark came and so did the morning sickness. To start, it was just waves of nausea, but soon it turned into full blown vomiting.

It was around seven in the morning and you had barely slept a wink. You felt jittery and restless, unable to relax. But when you sat up to head to the kitchen for something to eat, your stomach flipped. Soon, you were in the bathroom getting sick in the toilet.

Shortly you heard a knocking at the door.

“Y/N? Sweetie are you alright?” Jimin’s worried voice echoed through the door.

“Yeah,” you wheezed, trying to keep yourself from hurling again.

“Can I come in?” His light tone echoed through the room.

“Yeah,” you said, feeling another rush of nausea washing over you as he comes in. You looked and saw his worried face come into focus.

“Oh sweetheart,” Jimin said, rubbing your back as you got sick once more.

“Jimin? Y/N?” Jungkook’s voice echoed in the apartment.

“We’re in the bathroom Kook!” Jimin yelled.

Shortly Jungkook’s footsteps came into the bathroom. He was frowning, knowing you must be uncomfortable and there wasn’t much he could do for you. Watching Jimin rub your back gave him a sense of comfort however.

You were struggling with your chest being tender also. Every time you moved against the toilet you felt a jolt of pain go down your spine. Wincing when you came back up, Jimin had gotten you a little cup of water. You swished the cool liquid around before spitting it out and standing up slowly, per Jimin’s instructions.

You brushed your teeth and told the boys you were alright. They left and you did the rest of your morning routine. Jimin came back into your room and asked if you were ready for breakfast. You nodded and let Jimin lead you to the kitchen table. Jimin, taking note of your poor start to the day, asked if you wanted anything in particular for breakfast. Thinking back you really enjoyed the Nutella and banana toast he made for you a while back.

He nodded and started the toaster quickly. Jungkook had been working overtime recently and had to leave shortly after your bathroom incident. Soon, two pieces of Nutella toast with bananas were placed in front of you.

But the second the smell of banana hit your nose, you were scrunching up your face in disgust. Jimin looked at you with confusion. Then it dawned on him: food sensitivity.

Quickly removing the plate he asked if anything else sounded good, and you came up with the weird combination that was scrambled eggs with cream cheese.

Jimin looked on with a light smile on his face as you scarfed down the eggs and cream cheese without a single nose scrunch. It always made him happy to see you eating. Keeping up your health for the sake of the baby and you made him happy.

Soon, you were done and Jimin had gone into the living room to watch some TV when you noticed him sitting there. Lounging on the couch was a normal thing, but, looking at him now you-you couldn’t put your finger on it. He just looked so good, sitting there. He’d recently redid his hair so it was a beautiful blond color. His eyes wandered from the television to you, standing there in your loose t-shirt and pajama shorts.

He licked his lips for a moment, but that was all it took for you.

The flash of his tongue made you slightly weak in the knees, causing you to grip the edge of the table for support. Jimin seemed to mistake this for a more serious problem as he was up in a matter of seconds to come to your side.

“Y/N? What’s the matter?” He asked, looking at you with concern.

“I-I’m good,” you said, giving him a thumbs up. “I think I just ate too fast.”

Jimin mulled this over in his head for a moment before nodding and stepping back.

“As long as you’re okay,” he said, heading back towards the couch.

But your symptoms weren’t just limited to food sensitivity, morning sickness and random bouts of arousal, oh no... The best one was the nightmares that had taken over your sleep schedule.

Normally they were just vague things that you forgot about when you woke up. But they were becoming more vivid. More, unsettling.

You were dreaming being in pools of blood, sometimes it was yours, sometimes it belonged to the boys. Sometimes you didn’t know where it came from, but it was always there. Never to be washed away, only to drown in...

You were caught up in the throes of a particularly bad nightmare...

You’d miscarried and lost the baby, Jimin and Jungkook were heartbroken and left you bleeding out on the floor as you stared up into the ceiling, dying.

The room was tilted and everything was wobbly.

You tried to go after them, to ask for another chance. But it was too late, they were gone.

Screaming, you bolted up in your bed. Tears flowing down your cheeks at a rapid rate. Your heart was hammering in your chest so loud you swore you could feel it in your throat.

You heard the slamming of a door and soon Jimin and Jungkook barged into your room, looking around frantically until they found you on your bed, shaking and crying into your hands.

“Y/N!” They yelled, going to your sides and trying to get you to talk to them.

“Sweetie, what happened? Why did you scream?” Jimin asked, petting your hair trying to soothe you.

“I-I had a nightmare, I-I lost the baby and, then lost you two,” you whimpered, covering your face again.

Jungkook swallowed thickly, the image of you crying being burned into his memory. He hated seeing you like this. It hurt him to see you so distraught. Jimin, too, was struggling with your emotions. He just wanted you happy and healthy, free from any worry and troubles of the real world. But of course, he couldn’t protect you from everything and everyone. No matter how much he wanted to.

“Y/N, it’s okay. We’re right here, we aren’t going anywhere,” said Jungkook. You were crying violently, looking at the bed spread with blurred vision. Jimin looked at Jungkook with worry written all over his features, your smaller frame sat shaking in the bed as the two males tried to comfort you.

Jungkook hesitantly reached out to wipe the tears from your face. You looked up at the man with puffy cheeks and swollen eyes, before glancing back down at your lap.

“You aren’t going to lose us, Y/N,” Jimin reassured.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, so broken that it had both of their eyes tearing up at the sound.

“It’s alright, we’re scared too,” Jimin said, patting your hair gently. “But we’ll get through this.”

“There was so much blood,” you whimpered, biting your lip trying to keep the sobs from coming out.

“Y/N,” Jungkook said, feeling his eyes burning with unshed tears of his own.

“I was dying and you just... left me there,” you confessed.

“We could never leave you just like that Y/N, ever,” Jimin said, sounding shocked.

“We’d never forgive ourselves if something happened to you,” Jungkook whispered.

Jimin grabbed his hand, rubbing his fingers over the knuckles. He knew seeing you like this was hard on both of them, and knowing how much you truly didn’t think they cared was also hurtful. Because all they wanted was to tell you you didn’t have to leave... But it couldn’t work like that.

Jimin’s work as a high end therapist was already wobbly because of his relationship with Jungkook. As unfortunate as it is, people didn’t want his help if he was dating a fellow man.

And Jungkook had already been shamed for his love publicly, the gossip forums on the newspaper and websites having a hay day with his image. He’d worked so hard to show he wasn’t any different than a straight man when it came to his work. But, the world is a cruel place, and social norms often reared their ugly heads with Jungkook.

They couldn’t drag you into that cesspool of nasty comments and uncomfortable encounters. It was a harsh reality, but it was the one you were all living in. And there wasn’t anything they could do about it.

Jungkook wanted to scream about how it was unfair. How you sitting here with them wasn’t wrong, as long as you all cared about one another, how could it be? But they both knew how this would end.

With you walking out of their lives and your child’s life, forever.

“I’m sorry for waking you up,” you hiccuped, swallowing down the rest of your tears.

“No, don’t be sorry,” Jimin said, rubbing your shoulder.

“If something’s wrong we want you to tell us,” Jungkook said, looking at you with misty eyes.

“I-I will,” you said, wiping your face.

“Are you going to be able to go back to sleep?” Jimin asked, looking at your state with concern.

“I should be able to,” you said, trying to convince yourself of the same thing.

“We can stay with you, until you’re asleep,” Jungkook offered before even thinking. Jimin’s head snapped to the younger male, who was already shrinking.

“W-Would you?” Your soft voice spoke up.

Jimin nodded finally, crawling into the bed with you and Jungkook following suit. They each took a hand and held it tightly. Jimin drew different shapes and patterns on your palm, making you giggle when it tickled. Jungkook interlocked your fingers together, running his thumb over your soft skin like Jimin did with him when he was nervous or scared.

Sooner, rather than later, you were passed out once more, hands clutching Jimin and Jungkook’s.

The men managed to untangle themselves from you as they went back to their room, hearts heavy. When the door shut, Jungkook burst into tears.

“Oh my sweet boy, don’t cry,” Jimin said, wiping his boyfriend’s cheeks carefully.

“Jimin,” he said, forehead resting on the older man’s shoulder.

“I know, it hurts me too,” Jimin whispered.

“I just want her to know that she’s not just a convenience, she’s so much more than that,” Jungkook whimpered.

“Yeah,” Jimin said, thinking of your body curled up on the couch with a good book and a warm drink next to you. Your smile when your favorite song comes on in the car. The way you’re already so protective over the baby.

“I don’t know if it’s because she’s carrying our baby or what, but, I want to be closer to her. I want to know everything about her... God I don’t know what to do with myself Jimin,” Jungkook complained, wiping at his tears in frustration.

“We just gotta keep it in our mind that she had a life before this, and she’ll have a life after it too. S-She’s doing this because we’re paying her Jungkook. Of course that isn’t the only reason but, it is the main one,” Jimin reminded his boyfriend, and himself.

Even though the words felt hollow in the air.

“I guess,” Jungkook said.

“You’ve got work early, we need to go back to bed,” Jimin said, motioning for Jungkook to get into bed as well. The two men cuddled up to each other, each feeling like something, or someone, was missing...

--

Faster than you thought possible, the ten week mark had come.

It was time to get your first ultrasound of the pregnancy.

The boys were over the moon about the whole thing. Excitedly chatting in the car.

“I hope we can see the baby well,” Jungkook said, driving carefully through the street.

Jimin hummed in agreement. “Me too, the baby is still super small right now. About the size of a prune but, we’ll still be able to see them on the screen. And, we can hear their heartbeat!”

You smiled at their excitement. Bringing your fingers up you brushed the pendant they gave you, a nervous habit you’d picked up shortly after their gifting it to you. Jungkook looked at you in the rearview, playing with the sparkling jewelry piece. It made his chest feel tight, looking at you. Jimin placed a hand on his, making Jungkook focus on him for a moment.

Jimin shook his head and Jungkook swallowed thickly, knowing exactly what he meant.

Soon, you were all at the clinic.

Jimin helped you out of the backseat, getting your bag and whatnot so you didn’t have to fuss with it. Jungkook placed a protective hand on your lower back, guiding you into the building.

You felt your heart flutter in your chest at the action, having to cover up your blushing with a cough. Jimin urged you to sit down while he got the paperwork, something you didn’t fight him on. You were exhausted as of late.

The boys reassured you it was normal to be tired. You knew, however, that you were a little more tired than normal. Briefly you wondered if it was because it was your first time and you’d never felt something like this. However, that didn’t sit right. You knew there was something going on, but you didn’t want to worry the boys. Especially since you were getting an ultrasound today.

Sitting next to Jungkook in the waiting room, he made small talk. Asking how you were feeling and if the morning sickness had gotten any better.

“It’s gotten worse,” you complained, leaning your head back in the seat.

“Really? Maybe we can ask the doctor to prescribe something for you,” he said.

“It should be going away soon, I’ll be alright,” you reassured, patting his knee.

“Sometimes it doesn’t go away until the baby is born, I just don’t want you to suffer if we can do something about it,” Jungkook said softly.

“If it gets too bad, I’ll say something. Okay?” You said, keeping a gentle smile on your face.

“Yeah, okay,” he agreed.

Jimin came back and took Jungkook’s hand, intertwining their fingers together. Jimin had a habit of tracing the tattoos on Jungkook’s hands when he was nervous, it made you smile.

Eventually a nurse called your name and led you back to the ultrasound room. Jungkook smiled and sat down in the chair provided. Jimin helped you up onto the table and the ultrasound tech went over what they would be looking for and opened it up for questions.

When no one had any, she proceeded.

“Okay, I just need you to pull the front of your pants down a little bit,” the tech asked, prepping the machine.

You immediately turned and looked at Jungkook and Jimin, then down at your stomach. It wasn’t a big deal, it was just a little bit anyways.

Without much more thought you pulled your pants so just the top of your panties were showing. Jungkook’s eyes widened at your actions, but he tried to keep a calm exterior. Jimin kept his eyes trained on the screen, not wanting you to feel uncomfortable.

The ultrasound gel was cold, making you jump when it came in contact with your skin. But soon it was warming to your skin and you all looked at the screen with rapt attention.

“Alright so we should see the head and curvature of the body, but other than that this is just to make sure that everything is looking good in the uterus and to see if there are any abnormalities with the baby-oh! Babies it appears,” the tech said, a big smile on her face.

“What?” Jimin said.

“There’s another head there, if you look right here,” she pointed at the screen. “Looks like you’ve got a set of twins in there!”

Jungkook’s eyes teared up, looking down at your stomach with his heart in his throat.

You were stunned.

Twins?

The first try?

Wow, you really did win the lottery.

“Oh my God,” Jimin said, hiding his face in Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Way to go, got those twins first try,” you said, trying to keep your nerves under control.

“It’s all thanks to you Y/N, we couldn’t do it without you,” Jungkook reminded.

“Are you guys going to want the pictures?” The tech asked. Jimin and Jungkook of course said yes.

“Wow, look at their heads babe!” Jimin yelped as you all walked out of the clinic together. Jimin was still cooing over the pictures of the twins from the ultrasound.

“I need to put it in my wallet,” he said, bringing out the accessory shortly after.

You smiled at their excitement. You were beyond happy, you’d done it. Gave them the twins they desperately wanted. First try too. You knew that meant a few more complications, but, you didn’t want that to hold too much weight over you.

“We should call Namjoon and Jin! Tell them the news about the twins!”

You nodded quickly, wanting to tell your friends the update.

Namjoon and Jin were thrilled, obviously. Insisting that they’ll give Annie to Jin’s parents for the night so you could all get together and have a meal. Agreeing, the boys set it up for around seven thirty.

“Dress nice! I also expect to see those ultrasound pictures!” Jin said through the phone.

You snorted and shook your head, gently touching your stomach. You felt a fluttering in your chest, like you were standing on the edge of a tall building or something. It made you gasp lightly, moving your hand away from your belly to your chest. Jimin seemed to notice your movement because he was turning around in his seat.

“Everything alright there?” He asked, looking at you with his beautiful brown eyes.

“Y-yeah, I’m good. We’re-good,” you said, pointing to your tummy. Jimin’s eyes lit up at the mention of the babies.

“Okay, tell me if you need anything,” he said, turning around and facing the front once more.

You all walked back into the apartment, Jungkook still gushing about everything. You simply smiled and went to go get ready for dinner.

Jin did say to look nice, so you picked out a few things from your shopping excursion a while back. Putting on a dress that looked skin tight but it was super stretchy, so no doubt you could wear it late into the pregnancy. The zipper on the back would be an issue but, it made you feel a little sexy. You hadn’t really done a lot in regards to your appearance around the boys, you didn’t see the need.

But, it wouldn’t hurt to do your hair and dress nicely...

You had the perfect shoes to pair with the dress. You grabbed some stockings and a few other small pieces of jewelry, placing them on the bed while you assembled everything together the way you wanted it.

Eventually, you were all set.

Except for the zipper on the back.

You didn’t understand why there was a zipper on such a stretchy dress, but fashion has its ways you guess. Reaching behind you proved unsuccessful. Quickly growing frustrated, you did the following without thinking.

“Jimin? Jungkook? Can one of you come here for a second please?”

Once the words were out, you immediately wished you could eat them.

But the damage had been done.

Both men walked in your room.

Jimin’s jaw dropped open, looking at you in awe.

You were in knee high stockings, low heels and a slinky black dress that hugged your body so perfectly it made him want to drop to his knees. Jungkook fared no better. Seeing your hair styled and a little bit of makeup on your features really enhanced your natural beauty. They both were staring, making you shrink in embarrassment.

“O-Okay, you can blink any time now,” you said, chuckling to ease the tension in the room.

“You look... wow,” Jimin breathed.

“Incredible. You look incredible,” Jungkook said, eyes trailing down your legs.

“Thank you, but, um... Could one of you please come zip me up? I can’t reach the zipper,” you said, turning your back to them fully.

Jungkook stared at his boyfriend with an almost agonized look on his face. Jimin nodded and walked forward, brushing your hair out of the way. Placing a gentle hand on your hip Jimin pulled the zipper up to the top, covering each inch of your beautiful skin.

Jungkook swallowed his noise of protest, trying to remember what Jimin had said. You weren’t an object for them to use, you were their surrogate. The woman who would be birthing their twins. And then leaving...

Jimin knew if Jungkook had walked forward to zip up your dress he wouldn’t be able to keep it together. Jimin wasn’t doing that hot either to be honest. Your hips flared out. Looking so beautiful hugged in the dress, and the warmth of your skin beneath his fingertips was... alarming.

“Thank you,” you said, turning around with a smile on your face.

Jimin couldn’t help but mirror your grin.

“Absolutely, are you ready to go now?” He asked, trying to keep from getting distracted any more.

“Yeah, let’s go! I want Jin to feed me so much I burst,” you said, heading towards the door. Once you were gone, Jungkook looked at Jimin.

“This is only getting harder,” Jungkook said, biting his lip.

“Are you going to be alright?” Jimin questioned, placing his hand on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“Yeah, just... This feels wrong,” Jungkook whispered.

“What feels wrong?” Jimin asked.

“Keeping her at arm's length, I just feel awkward. Pushing her away when she’s doing something so big for us, it’s really emotionally charged and... I feel like a jerk for treating her like just another person. Like she isn’t special,” Jungkook explained, brushing his hair out of his face.

“I understand,” Jimin said, trying to smooth the frown lines from Jungkook’s face.

“Boys? Are you coming?” Your voice echoed through the house.

“Coming!” Jimin said. “We’ll talk about this later, okay? We’ll figure this out.”

—

The dinner at Jin and Namjoon’s was beyond anything you’d expected.

There was so much food and honestly, you ate a lot. Lying back in your chair, tilting your head back you sighed. Rubbing your stomach unconsciously. But the boys noticed everything. Especially how amazing you looked in that outfit.

It was just about all they could do to keep their hands off of you. Jungkook was fidgeting the whole night, being the one who sat next to you. He really tried to keep his cool, but a man could only take so much.

“So, Y/N, how does it feel to be pregnant with twins?” Namjoon asked, taking a small bite of rice.

“Honestly? It’s not been a cake walk, let me tell you. My mood swings are everywhere, my chest is killing me, food is either a hit or miss and don’t get me started on how arou-ahem,” you froze at your brazen attitude. Jimin and Jungkook’s heads snapped at your statement, looking at you with masked emotions. “Sorry, got carried away. Anyways, it’s been wild. But, I’m really glad to be doing it, you know? The boys take good care of me,” you praised, smiling at the two of them now.

Namjoon noticed it first.

The twinkle in Jungkook’s eyes at your words. How genuinely happy he seemed listening to you talk. Jimin’s body language was always engaged with you, never closing off or making it appear like he wasn’t interested.

Namjoon’s eyes widened.

This would need to be discussed...

Soon, everyone was sitting in the living room, just digesting. When you got up and said you had to use the restroom.

When the men were alone, Namjoon attacked.

“What are you guys doing?” He asked, looking at the two younger men with worry in his features.

“What do you mean?” Jimin quizzed right back.

“Listen, I’ve been friends with Y/N for a long time. I really care about her and want only the best for her. I also want you guys to be happy and healthy and have your own family, so please don’t take what I’m about to say personally but-what the fuck?” He asked.

“What do you mean what the fuck?” Jungkook asked.

“Why are you looking at her like that?” Namjoon asked, feeling his frustration rise.

“Like what?!” Jimin argued.

“Like you-Like you, are all, like... a couple?” Namjoon said, feeling the awkward tension rising in the room.

“What?” Jungkook coughed.

“We aren’t together,” Jimin said slowly.

“But do you want to be?” Namjoon asked.

Jungkook broke first.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, placing his head in his hands. Jimin was quick to comfort the younger male, rubbing his back in big, soothing circles.

“It’s a new experience for us. We just want her to be happy and healthy and safe. You know, take care of her,” Jimin explained, skirting around the question.

“Of course, but, there’s a difference between appreciation and affection,” Jin said, speaking up.

“Y-Yeah, we know that,” Jimin answered. “I’m a therapist, I know what emotions are.”

Namjoon rolled his eyes.

“If you know what emotions are then why are you denying your own?” he asked.

“I’m not!”

“Bullshit,” Namjoon challenged.

“This is fucking ridiculous,” Jimin growled.

“What’s all the angry whispering out here for?” You asked, walking back into the room. The energy snapped within an instant.

“It’s alright, just a heated debate about politics,” Namjoon joked, giving you a tender smile.

“Oookay?” You said, coming back in to sit down next to Jungkook, who was trying his best to not squirm when your thigh brushed his.

The rest of the night moved rather calmly, but not without a fierce monopoly game that almost caused a few table flips. Jungkook wound up losing and threw a mini tantrum. But it was quickly smoothed over when you promised you’d bake him some cookies the next time he had a day off.

While Namjoon and Jin were cleaning up, Jungkook and Jimin discovered your sleeping frame on the couch once more. Breaths coming in even and slow, they smiled at you. Your lips were pouting lightly, something they’d discovered was a habit when you were sleeping.

And Jungkook adored it.

He came over to your side and tried to wake you up, but when you whined and fussed he decided it would just be easier to carry you to the car. Carefully, the strong young man lifted you into his arms and towards the door. Jimin got the rest of your things all together and they thanked Jin and Namjoon for the meal and night.

But before they left, Namjoon grabbed Jimin by the shoulder. Jungkook waited, looking back in worry. Jimin waved him on, saying he’d be there in a minute. Jungkook nodded before heading out the door.

“What?” Jimin asked.

“I’m sorry about earlier, I overstepped. I didn’t mean to offend you or Jungkook. It’s just, Y/N is very inexperienced when it comes to love and emotions and having that connection. I’m worried about what’s happening to her. I don’t want her to get her hopes up and be crushed later on,” he explained.

Jimin nodded his head.

“I accept your apology. I didn’t mean to fly off the handle either, Jungkook and I have been... Discussing it. But it’s not an easy thing to come to terms with, we aren’t sure what we feel for her... We know we care about her, but is it because she’s our surrogate and we want to care for her? Or is it something deeper? We don’t know,” Jimin sighed, running his fingers through his hair.

“Y/N is so special. She gives without thinking, she is so dedicated to those she cares about... she’d give the shirt off her back to someone she didn’t even know. It’s hard not to love her, but... she doesn’t deserve to be pulled in a million different directions either. But you all deserve to be happy, I’m always here if you need to talk,” Namjoon offered.

Jimin smiled lightly. “That’s normally my line.”

“You guys are good people, I wouldn’t have recommended Y/N do this if I didn’t trust you. But, just... please don’t take advantage of her heart. And don’t lie to yourselves either.”

Jimin nodded, looking down at the floor with a resolute nod.

“Thanks, both of you,” Jimin said, giving a small wave before heading out towards the car. Jungkook already had you buckled and settled in.

“What was that about?” Jungkook asked, getting into the front seat.

“He wanted to apologize for earlier, he felt like he overstepped. And, he wanted to explain why he was so defensive over Y/N,” Jimin said.

Jungkook nodded and started the car, taking off down the road.

“Why is he so protective? Did they like, date in the past or something?” Jungkook asked. Jimin shook his head.

“N-No, Y/N hasn’t ever had a boyfriend or girlfriend,” Jimin said, resting his head in his hand.

“What? Really?” Jungkook balked. Trying to think of how someone like you hadn’t ever been snatched up before. You were a total catch! But, you did tend to keep to yourself.

“Yeah, she told me about it the day she had her IUI done,” Jimin explained.

“Oh, so-wait. She’s having a baby when she’s never, like, had sex?” Jungkook said. “Is that safe?”

“I mean I’m sure it’s safe but, she’s not... Um, she told me she’s had sex before,” Jimin said.

“Wow, how did this all come up?” Jungkook asked.

“Well, she mentioned something about wanting someone who looked at her the way we look at each other,” Jimin blushed.

“She’s so cute,” Jungkook groaned. “Well, at least she’s been with someone before. You know, had that kind of pleasure.”

Jimin coughed, rubbing his neck. Jungkook looked at him weirdly.

“What?”

“She may have off-handedly mentioned that she’s never, uh... You know, finished,” Jimin flushed. Jungkook looked floored at the information.

“You mean to tell me, that some jerk took her virginity and didn’t fucking make it special? What a fucking tool bag,” Jungkook growled.

“I don’t know the story, she didn’t divulge that kind of information. I was the one who guessed she’s never finished, and she was pretty embarrassed about it all to be honest,” Jimin said.

“That is so frustrating,” Jungkook said.

“Yeah.”

The car was quiet, save for your soft little snores coming from the back seat.

“Did you hear what she said during dinner?” Jimin asked. “When she was talking about her pregnancy symptoms.”

“Yeah...” Jungkook trailed off.

“I wish we could do something for her, I feel so bad,” Jimin whispered.

“We can be there to support her but we can’t over step either,” Jungkook said.

“I know, normally I’m the one reminding you of that,” Jimin huffed.

“I understand it’s not easy for either of us,” Jungkook said softly.

“Maybe we just need a god romp in the sheets to get it out of our system hmm?” Jimin teased, running a hand up Jungkook’s thigh. Jungkook couldn’t help the hiss that came out of his mouth at the touch. They hadn’t really been active in that way since you’d come into the house.

“Y-You know how loud I get,” Jungkook said, swallowing hard.

“Oh I’m very aware how loud I can make you scream,” Jimin winked.

“Stop, I’m already hard,” Jungkook whined.

“I bet you are baby,” Jimin said, squeezing his boyfriend’s thigh tight.

“Stop, please,” Jungkook whined.

“Mmm,” Jimin said, not sensing that Jungkook really wanted him to stop. “And what if I keep going baby? What if I snuck my hand into your pants and tugged your pathetic little cock until you came huh? Make you come all over your expensive pants and make you lick it up?”

“Jimin,” Jungkook said, cock straining against his pants.

“Yes baby? What does my baby want, huh?” Jimin asked, so sweet... Almost dangerous.

“I-I want-”

“Mmm, are we home yet?” You voice perked up from the back seat.

“Y/N?” Jimin asked, turning to look at you. Your eyes were bleary from sleep and it was obvious you must’ve just woken up. Jungkook adjusted himself in the seat, trying to hide his throbbing erection from your sight.

“Yeah?” You said, blinking slow.

“Sweetie,” Jimin cooed, brushing a few strands of your hair back from your face, even though it was an awkward angle for him.

“Jungkook are you okay?” You asked, noticing how tense the young man’s posture was.

“I-I’m good,” he said, trying to hide his arousal.

“Okay,” you said, laying your head back down.

Jungkook pulled the car into the front slot of the building, handing the keys over to the valet. The two of them brought you out of the car and Jimin decided it was his turn to carry you up to the apartment. So, the three of you all made it to the apartment in silence.

You were awake, but you weren’t feeling too terribly chatty. Sleep still at the forefront of your mind. Jungkook and Jimin hadn’t spoken since you got out of the car, and you can’t help but feel like you were in the middle of something kinda intense. The charged feeling in the room making you shift against Jimin’s chest.

He looked down at you, trying to keep himself from jostling you too much. You were exhausted. But soon, you felt bile rising in your throat...

“Jimin put me down,” you said, holding your hand to the mouth. Just as he set you down you scrambled to the bathroom and threw up the massive dinner you’d eaten. Jimin and Jungkook were rushing right after you. Jungkook brought your hair away from your face. Jimin sat down next to him to rub your back.

You got to the point where you were just dry heaving into the toilet, but it didn’t seem to end.

“Oh fuck,” you croaked, coughing hard.

“You want some water?” Jimin asked.

“No, I’m scared I’ll just throw that up too,” you whined.

“It might be better than just dry heaving,” Jimin said.

“You got a point,” you huffed, trying to keep your head from spinning.

“I’ll get you some,” he said, moving off the floor to head towards the kitchen. Jungkook shuffled forward, kind of molding his front to your back. When you pushed a little too hard against him you felt it. Wondering what it could be for a moment you pushed back against him again, when he groaned in surprise.

“U-Um, Jungkook?” You squeaked.

“S-Sorry!” He said, moving away faster than the speed of light.

“I-It’s okay, just, you know,” you flushed.

“It’s not because of you! It’s not uh, I wasn’t um,” he stuttered.

“I-I didn’t think it was?” You said, more of a question.

“It’s not that you’re not pretty or anything it’s-”

“No, I get it,” you said, smiling weakly.

“Y/N-”

“Here’s your water,” Jimin said, bringing in a glass for you to drink.

You sipped it slowly. Not paying attention. Jungkook looked like he was going to die in the corner, which made Jimin shoot him a weird look. He just shook his head as he covered his face. Jimin made a mental note to question him about it later, but his concern was on you right now.

“Have you been getting sick a lot?” Jimin asked, placing a soft hand on your shoulder.

“I mean, it’s mainly in the morning. I think I just ate too much at dinner,” you said, pouting lightly.

“Gotcha, do you feel like you’re going to get sick again? Or do you think you’re done?” He asked.

“I-I think I’m good,” you said, putting the empty glass down.

“Are you sure?” Jimin asked, making you look at him.

“Mhmm,” you confirmed, eyes getting droopy again.

“Alright sleepyhead, brush your teeth and go to bed. Need help getting up?” Jimin worried, fussing over you like any father to be would.

You stood up slowly, mindful of your dizzy head. But, when you stood at the sink you felt everything kinda snap into focus. Jimin dragged Jungkook out of the bathroom to let you do your thing, but told you to come get them if you needed anything.

Hurrying into the bedroom, Jimin narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend.

“Why did you look like you’d rather crawl into an overflowing storm drain than be in that bathroom? What happened when I was getting water?”

Jungkook looked up at Jimin could see the embarrassment on his face. Sighing, Jimin sat down, placing his hand on his boyfriend’s back.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have teased you in the car. It’s just, been a while you know? I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything,” Jimin apologized.

“Y/N felt it, my... When you moved me so you could get out of the bathroom to get her the water, she was pushed up against me. And, she pushed back against me and felt my dick against her,” Jungkook said, rubbing her face.

“Oh, that is... uh, awkward,” Jimin agreed.

“It gets worse,” Jungkook said.

“What do you mean?” Jimin asked.

“I-I told her it wasn’t because of her and then I tried to tell her it’s not that she wasn’t pretty and I just threw up a bunch of words that didn’t make sense and then you were back,” Jungkook whimpered.

Jimin sighed. Jungkook had never been a genius with words, but normally he was better than that. He knows that Jungkook is mortified, Jungkook wasn’t good at mingling or recovering from blunders of the social variety. So, Jimin just sighed and gave his boyfriend a gentle kiss.

“It’s okay Jungkook, Y/N isn’t gonna hold this against you,” Jimin soothed.

“I just feel terrible,” Jungkook said softly.

“Why? It was an accident,” Jimin reasoned.

“Because I-I didn’t want her to stop,” he swallowed. Jimin bit his lip and tried to keep his anger from spilling over.

“I don’t know how many times we have to talk about this Jungkook,” Jimin said.

“We were talking about it in the car! But we’ve never talked about what we want, what we’re doing now, it's not sustainable. I’m going crazy!” Jungkook yelled.

“Jungkook keep your voice down!” Jimin reminded.

“Jimin I’m so fucking confused, I don’t know what we’re doing. What I’m doing. I-I do know one thing for certain. I love those kids, so much, and they aren’t even here yet. I love them so much, because they’re ours... But... I can’t keep doing this. Getting closer only to rip myself away, it’s killing me Jimin. If you want me to walk away, I will but, I just can’t keep giving myself hope when there isn’t any,” Jungkook cried, tears falling down his cheeks.

“I-I didn’t know you were so broken up over this,” Jimin whispered.

“I’m so confused,” Jungkook whispered.

“I am too, I love you so much but... I feel this connection to her. I know it’s normal to be grateful, but, I know it’s more than that with her,” Jimin said, moving to give Jungkook a back hug.

“Then we need to make a decision,” Jungkook said.

“You want to pursue her as a part of our couple? Like, make her our girlfriend?” Jimin asked.

“Do you?” Jungkook asked back.

“I mean... I wouldn’t be opposed,” Jimin said softly.

“I don’t want this if you don’t,” Jungkook said, turning to look at Jimin with sparkling eyes.

“I want this... I want her, but, we need to give her some time, as well as ourselves to come to terms with this,” Jimin reasoned.

“Okay,” Jungkook agreed.

“But, when we’re both ready, we can approach her,” Jimin said.

“Would this be healthy to do? I mean, mentally,” Jungkook asked.

“Polygamous couples generally tend to have better communication than the average two person couples. And with one of us being a therapist I think we could manage. I-I want to work towards that,” Jimin confessed.

“I want this too,” Jungkook said excitedly.

“Then that’s what we’ll do...”

You laid in bed late into the night. You heard Jungkook and Jimin having a disagreement. You couldn’t make out the words but, the walls were thin... You prayed to God that it wasn’t about you, or anything related to the children.

Slowly, your hand trailed down to your stomach. You didn’t think you could see a bump yet, but maybe a little something? You weren’t sure, maybe it was just wishful thinking.

You moved slightly, and you felt something in your underwear. Adjusting lightly, you pulled them down to look, and you saw a decent amount of arousal soaking into the cotton fabric. Blushing bright red you reached down to touch your hot center, to find that you were, in fact, dripping wet.

Biting your lip you thought back on the bathroom incident. Jungkook’s firm body pressed against yours, his hardened cock pressed against your ass, the hot groan he let out. Running your fingers over your slit, you gathered your slick and pushed against your clit gently.

Shockwaves of pleasure ripped through you at the sensation.

“Oh!” You gasped, hand coming up to cover your mouth in fear of waking the boys.

You did it again, causing your body to jump slightly, making more of your arousal drip from your center. Licking your lips you thought about what Jungkook’s hands would feel like instead of yours. What his body would feel like pressed up against yours naked... Jimin’s plump lips flashed through your mind for a second, making you wonder what his blond head would look like between-

No!

No no no no no!

Ripping your hand away from your weeping core you turned over and placed your hands on your head.

How could you? Those two weren’t something to fuel your lonely fantasies! They are in love with each other, and are going to have a family... Albeit you had to help with that part but, still. Jimin and Jungkook weren’t yours... They were each other’s...

But as much as you tried to tell yourself that it would never happen...

You couldn’t help but dream of the two men’s hands running over your body...

Hot breaths touching your ears...

Taglist: @kittkat44, @giadalin, @kookachuwu

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#BTS #ficswithluv #ksmutclub #Jikook #Jikook X reader #Jungkook X Jimin X Reader #Surrogacy!AU fic #Baby talk #Jikook Baby talk #BTS smut #BTS Fanfic #BTS author #BTS fanfiction #BTS smut fanfiction #Eventual Smut #It's a slow burn okay? #Jungkook X Reader #Jimin X Reader #Fluff #Pregnancy!AU

[jasontoddiefor]

Tyki Mikk is a Clone and I can (almost) prove it

Tyki Mikk is undoubtedly a fan favorite and yet we don’t really know a lot about him. For a character that was created with the purpose of being handsome (cf. D.Gray-Man Manga Volume 5, page 150), he carries a lot of baggage and has a rather unclear past. A theory that has haunted me since I read chapter 198 and has only grown in strength with the most recent arc is that Tyki is in fact a clone of Nea. As far fetched as this seems at start, there is quite a bit of evidence supporting this theory.

1) Tyki’s visible similarity to Nea (and Mana)

One of the first things Wisely remarks on when he meets Tyki is his similarity to “a certain man” (Chapter 187).

This similarity is picked up twice more in the manga. When Allen meets Nea for the first time (cf. chapter 198), he mistakes him for Tyki at first.

And it is brought up a third time by Nea himself in chapter 225 when he says:

To which Tyki, or rather Joyd, has this wonderful reaction:

But more on that guy specifically later. Point being right here is that three different characters, or four if you want to count Road and Wisely separately, acknowledge that Tyki resembles Nea a lot, down to the man himself. How does that saying go again? Once An Accident, Twice A Coincidence, Three Times A Pattern? This is something that repeatedly gets brought up again. And this is without going into detail on how much Tyki resembles not only Nea, but said man’s identical twin as well. Just look at that dashing long hair!

And take this from chapter 158 as well

Pretty long haired boy Mana is nothing new as of chapter 218 and 219:

Another interesting point here is that Tyki is the exact same height as the Earl in human form! They’re both 188cm tall. Nea, on the other hand, is listed at being 177cm. This could just be that Nea unfortunately ended up as the shorter twin, or, we take into consideration what Mana tells Allen/Red in chapter 238:

He remembers being seventeen, which means that he and Nea probably weren’t done growing yet when the “Earl” corrupted Mana. (It also kind of makes everything about Nea more hilarious if you realize he’s just seventeen.) Tyki, however, is 26 when we first meet him and should be around 27 now. He is an actual adult and not bound to hit another growth spurt.

But to summarize the first argument: Tyki looks uncannily similar to Nea and Mana and the manga keeps pointing it out so we can assume this resemblance is important.

2) Cloning is possible in canon

Now the second point is just here to point out that we know cloning to be possible. Funnily, Tyki’s resemblance to Nea gets pointed out just before the Alma Arc, which very much deals with the concept of reincarnation – only there we have the brains of deceased Exorcists transplanted into youthful bodies.

However, it’s not as if something like DNA hasn’t been mentioned before. Specifically, it has been called “Helix of life” by no other than maybe-former-Bookman but definitely First-Nea-host Past!Allen in chapter 221:

So let’s assume that, in the aftermath of Nea’s “death”, PastA didn’t just wait around for Nea to wake again, but tried to find a vessel for him. Messing around with this helix, and whatever other dubious science and magic this world had to offer, and created a new body to host Nea. Except he failed, and the result is Tyki.

But if that is so, shouldn’t Tyki remember anything about that? Good question. Time for some more shady weird stuff about Tyki.

3) The Missing Years

In chapter 202, while the Earl is resting, Tyki talks to Road. I don’t speak Japanese, so I can’t verify which translation is more accurate, but I’ve found these two:

Now the official German one also goes with a similar translation as the second one here, implying that Tyki has been with the Earl for ten years. In any case, the fact that this decade at all gets mentioned is quite odd because it doesn’t match up with what we know of Mana travelling with Allen. Cross calls Allen a “ten-year-old brat” (chapter 208) when he looks after him. So between Mana travelling with Allen and current canon, only 6 years have passed – what are up with the other 4 that are supposedly within this decade? We don’t have a definite age for how old Allen was when he met Mana, but I’d say around 7 or older. That’s still not enough to fill out the decade they speak about here.

Now, presuming that it does in fact refer to Tyki staying with the Earl for that time, we’re either left with assuming that the Earl acted as a separate entity as we see in 218, or that Tyki’s memories are just flat out wrong.

4) Tyki Mikk’s Canon-Typical Ignorance AKA The Baby of The Family

The more often Tyki appears, the more we see how much he actually doesn’t know about the going-ons of the war, or even himself. This goes back as far as the Ark Arc in chapter 130 with the Earl pointing out that:

So this form is apparently something that all Noah of Pleasure can take on, a sort of second stage of awakening. Still, it feels significant that Tyki separates his life so much into “black” and “white”, “Noah” and “human”, going as far as suppressing a part of his Noah. It puts him in direct opposition to Skinn, who was more or less entirely consumed by his Noah memories. Though, perhaps this is also just a narrative ploy because a character with the ability to chose is, frankly speaking, fuck off overpowered and the only reason why Tyki isn’t constantly leveling battlefields is probably that he just doesn’t know how to apply himself.

Regardless, Tyki’s ignorance also becomes visible in chapter 187 again when he wonders about his Noah name:

Nobody else reacts like he does, even though the other Noah haven’t been awake as long as he has and also should have retained the same memory damage as Joyd after Nea’s murder spree. Yet Tyki feels a little like the baby of the family, still learning and growing while everyone else is already in the know, which can’t be too far from the truth if we look at chapter 225:

Wisely and Road definitely know that something went down and kept it from Tyki for so long for reasons. So besides Allen learning the truth sometime in the future, Tyki is also heading towards some kind of realization – and honestly, what better than the fact that the man who enjoys his freedom and roam so much, was artificially created?

Road could have manipulated his subconsciousness, his memories. It’s a miracle really that the Earl hadn’t had a breakdown around Tyki already given how much he looks like Nea. And if Tyki really awoke as a Noa a decade ago, then eh would have been right the age Nea was when he died. The Earl should have reacted in one way or another.

Other small details that don’t add up is a) the claim that Tyki and Sheril are actual brothers. They have different last names, which would imply that they are perhaps rather half siblings, sharing one parent, or maybe they just aren’t related at all in the first place. The other thing is that Nea recognizing Tyki’s face immediately after confronting Mana about his changed appearance just adds even more suspicion.

5) TLDR

Tyki is either a clone or something else messy went down because there’s no way that there’s a natural Nea and Mana copy running around who also just so happens to be a Noah. No way.

Thanks for coming to my  TED talk I’m never writing meta again this was a nightmare to post.

#tyki mikk #dgm #d gray man #allen walker #nea d campbell #mana d campbell #mana waker #road kamelot #dgm meta #long post

[makeste]

some follow-up thoughts on BnHA 306

mostly Deku angst, but also a little Baku angst (and some TodoBaku angst) mixed in for good measure. because there’s plenty of angst to go around.

1. “if I’d only been stronger...”

I’ll talk more about Deku later in this post as well, because there’s definitely plenty to talk about; this is the most character development he’s gotten in almost 200 chapters. but for starters, I want to discuss the possible parallels between Deku’s current character arc, and what is arguably the most iconic moment of angst/character development in the series.

remember how this kid, who up until this point had rarely seemed to give two fucks about the world around him, suddenly revealed that he blamed himself for being the downfall of All Might? remember how it came almost out of nowhere? how he’d been hiding it, and trying to suppress it? “but even if I try to forget... sometimes it all just comes rushing back.”

yeah. so anyway, I got to thinking -- if being the cause of one hero’s downfall could affect someone this badly, what about being responsible for the downfall of all heroes?

what if a boy who wanted nothing more than to keep people safe suddenly found himself at the epicenter of a disaster that killed hundreds, possibly even thousands of people?

now obviously, this is not the sole thing that’s troubling Deku right now; this kid has a whole array of traumas as of the War arc. like, you know it’s bad when Society As We Know It Coming To An End Partially Because Of You is the least of your problems. but still, I think this is worth bringing up, because the hero kids blaming themselves for things that aren’t their fault is hardly anything new. and yet, what with everything else that’s been going on -- all of the Todoroki drama, and Vestige revelations, and hospital antics, and political strife -- I feel like it’s easy to forget or overlook this little detail.

the fact is that AFO put this entire plan into motion solely in the hopes of finally obtaining OFA. every single thing that happened at Jakku -- Tomura powering up; Machia waking up and going on his rampage (after being ordered to do so by Tomura); and even Dabi/Touya choosing this moment to finally strike (because he knew this was when the reveal would do the maximum damage -- when people’s faith in heroes was already wavering) -- every last bit of it can ultimately be traced back to AFO’s desire to steal OFA. which, obviously, makes it AFO’s fault, not Deku’s. but then, Kamino wasn’t actually Katsuki’s fault either. it wasn’t his fault the villains went after him (but he blamed himself anyway), and it wasn’t his fault that people got hurt in the ensuing battle to save him (but he blamed himself anyway).

just. I think we’re underestimating just how strong of an impact all of this likely had on Deku. we haven’t really had the chance to see him process it yet. he’s been too busy, and there have been too many other things going on. but I’m telling you guys, that empty look in his eyes in the final page of the chapter? I can all but guarantee you that at least some of that emotional weight is coming from this.

sure would be nice if he had a friend who knew exactly what that was like, and could help him process the guilt and all of the other associated emotions, just like Deku once helped him. unfortunately I’m not so sure things will be that easy this time around. anyways though let’s move on to a couple of other thoughts and speculations.

2. “...and I bullied him.”

one of my least-favorite BnHA fanfic tropes is the one where the rest of class 1-A somehow finds out about Katsuki and Deku’s history -- i.e. that Katsuki bullied Deku throughout most of their childhood. mind you, it’s not the concept itself that I dislike; it’s mostly how it’s used. a lot of times it’s just an excuse to have all of the other kids turn on Katsuki and ostracize him; either because the author thinks that’s what he deserves, or else so that Deku can eventually come to his rescue and defend him and shame the rest of the class for not seeing how much he’s changed. either way, it’s usually pretty awkward to read, and more often than not the characters are pretty OOC (especially Ochako and Todoroki).

however! there’s a big difference between fanfic and canon, and just because I’m not a fan of this trope in the former doesn’t mean it couldn’t be executed well in the latter. and lately I’ve been thinking about this a lot. mainly for three reasons:

the recent (can we still call it recent?? well whatever) scene where Katsuki confessed to All Might that he used to bully Deku is now one of my favorite scenes in the entire series, and proof that this can be executed well.

both Todoroki and Deku have finally had their respective big secrets revealed to the rest of the class. so like, idk. feels like it just might be secret-revealing season now, you know?

and lastly, as a result of Deku’s secret about OFA finally being revealed, the rest of 1-A now either knows, or can extrapolate, that he used to be quirkless.

and from there, I feel like it’s not all that hard to put two and two together with how terrible Kacchan and Deku’s relationship was when they first started at UA. that’s not a terribly difficult puzzle to solve. so I feel like it might come out anyway, and if so, I’d prefer Bakugou telling them himself, and taking responsibility as part of his atonement process. because we know that he regrets it. we know their relationship has changed. we know that he has changed. and so I think I might like to see this.

alternately, if confessing to the entire class is too much, at the very least I could see him confessing to Shouto, because I’ve always felt like this was one of the big things that made Katsuki so resistant to letting Todoroki call him a friend. because I feel like there’s a part of Katsuki that saw the parallels between Endeavor’s abuse of Shouto and his own bullying of Deku, and thought, he wouldn’t be so quick to call me his friend if he actually knew the truth. and so there’s actually been this roadblock wedged between them this whole time that Shouto doesn’t even know about. because Shouto hates Endeavor. and so it’s not such a leap to assume he’d hate Katsuki too if he knew just how terrible he’d been to Deku when they were younger.

not that I think he actually would! actually I don’t think either of those things is actually true (because Shouto clearly doesn’t hate his father either, in spite of everything that’s happened). but the point isn’t what I think -- the point is what Katsuki thinks. and I really do think there’s a good chance he’s worried about Shouto hating him, and it’s one of the things that’s made him so reluctant to accept his friendship. anyway, so I’m really just rambling now, but you get my point. I don’t know if this is actually going to happen, but it’s a scene I would like to see if Horikoshi decides to indulge me.

3. “...so when you wake up, please give him my best.”

and now, as promised, back to Deku.

ngl guys, when I first saw this image, my immediate thought was that Gran must have died. because I mean, hello, leaving U.A.?? donning himself in his teacher’s old cape?? empty, exhausted look in his eyes?? what else were we supposed to think lol.

but maybe that was an overreaction. because when I think about it more, Gran’s death isn’t strictly necessary in order to push Deku over the edge. first of all, there’s already the whole “hero society is in ruins now because of you” thing I mentioned earlier. but also, there are just so many other things. like, let’s just list them here because omg. what a rough couple of days this kid had.

he was forced to battle TomurAFO and was terribly injured in the process (most of which was his own fault, but he wouldn’t have gone that far with OFA unless he felt like he had no choice)

and it wasn’t just him that was injured, either. in fact, even though he tried to act as bait to keep everyone else safe, he wasn’t able to stop three of the people closest to him from nearly being killed right before his eyes

and of course that last one was especially traumatic, because it was Kacchan, and because he had to watch Kacchan nearly die just to protect him. out of all the things that Deku witnessed in this arc, this might be the one that had the biggest impact on him

he was also basically helpless to do anything to protect Shouto and Endeavor when Dabi showed up. so again, we have this running theme of people he cares about being hurt and him not being able to save them

and he also got sucked into the OFA Interstellar Dream Vortex for a brief spell during the battle, during which he learned that AFO had possessed Tomura. more importantly, he learned that Tomura was Nana’s grandson, a fact which was only briefly touched on during that scene, but which I think wound up being the trigger to the whole avalanche that ended with Deku leaving UA. but more on that in a moment

anyway so just to wrap this all up, the battle eventually ended, Tomura got away despite all of their efforts, and then Deku wound up comatose in the hospital for two days. which brings us to the most recent chapters, during which

Deku learns that he will be the last wielder of OFA, whether he likes or not

Deku learns the identity of the last two mystery OFA users

and then at some point, he wakes up and presumably talks to Gran, and winds up with his cape

something happened during these last two scenes which helped to push Deku over the edge. I won’t delve into the matter of the Second or Third users for now, although most of you already know my suspicions regarding that, and I do think that would fit into the general pattern here (that is, the pattern of Deku feeling more and more strongly that he is putting the people around him in danger, and his fear of losing them becoming so overwhelming that it eventually pushes him to leave).

but that’s not what I want to talk about for now. what I want to talk about is Gran. specifically, what it is that Deku discussed with Gran. and this is where we come back to that reveal I mentioned earlier -- that Tomura is Nana’s grandchild.

basically, what I think happened is that Deku mentioned seeing Nana in the OFA Zany Psychedelic Spirit Void, which led to the topic of Tomura, and the fun fact Deku recently learned about him being related to Nana. this, in turn leads to Gran divulging his various regrets about everything that happened with him and Nana and Kotarou. his intent is to apologize to Deku for placing the burden of their failures on him. unfortunately, the part that Deku actually gets fixated on instead is this:

All for One hunted down and killed Nana’s son (and probably her husband as well), and stole her grandchild and psychologically tortured him into becoming a mass murderer, for no other reason than that Nana had once held OFA

in other words, AFO can and will hurt and kill anyone Deku is close to, anyone who has any kind of connection to him at all, without mercy, and regardless of whether it actually gives him any kind of tactical advantage or not. he’ll do it simply to hurt him. no other reason necessary.

I don’t know about you, but for me that would be a terrifying realization. and for Deku, I think it just might have been the tipping point.

so, let’s recap.

Deku learns that AFO is after him

AFO/Tomura very nearly kills several of Deku’s most important people, including Kacchan

and then he learns that this is just the tip of the iceberg, and realizes that all of their lives are still in danger and will continue to be as long as Deku is AFO’s target

and then add to all of this the misplaced guilt about society already being shambles, and the heroes already having more than enough to worry about. they’re barely holding things together as it is. and we already know how Deku feels about being a burden to them:

and so instead, he leaves. of course he does. in hindsight, I think this was inevitable.

the question is, did anyone else also put the pieces together in time to realize what Deku was planning before he actually left? specifically, did Katsuki, who understands Deku’s self-sacrificial nature better than anyone else, see the signs and put two and two together? like he did back at Jakku?

and if he did, would Deku have been willing to accept his help again?

somehow, I can’t help but think it might not be that easy this time.

anyway, so that was a lot of rambling, lol. sorry about that. I JUST HAVE A LOT OF FEELINGS about all of this angsty shit. tired nomad Deku needs hugs and comfort and someone to reassure him that he doesn’t have to face this alone, and that everything is going to be all right. HE IS JUST A LITTLE BOY. this is too much, and I cannot handle any of these feels, and oh my god, somebody please help him.

#bnha 306 #midoriya izuku #bakugou katsuki #todoroki shouto #gran torino #bnha meta #deku meta #bakugou meta #bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #makeste reads bnha #long post #bakudeku #todobaku

[malarki]

Harry Potter FanFiction I greatly enjoy (it’s just tomarry and sevitus)

Fair warning, I’m not good at describing stuff, and most of these are not complete (yet) but if you have similar tastes as I do then you’ll definitely like these stories.

Meddling of a Mischief Maker - by Athy

https://archiveofourown.org/works/5380535/chapters/12427268

I enjoy this fic because it shows a more human Voldemort with him still being an asshole as per usual. They do a good job of having Voldemort believably change into a not crazy murderous bastard haha. It also has Sirius interacting with Voldemort and for some reason I find those scenes hilarious in any fic I read.

“Harry's being a horcrux is a bit reworked here in this AU Story set during the summer after 5th year. A Mischief Maker intervenes in the Ministry during Voldemort and Dumbledore's duel, changing the course history. MorallyGrey!Dumbledore, Sirius, Restored Souls, HP/TR”

Draw Me After You (Let Us Run) - by ToAStranger @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22327684/chapters/53334382

This story is a delight, it’s tone is very good and they do a great job of writing in the characters ‘voices’ for their pov’s. I especially like the posh way Voldemort talks and acts. This story is also hilarious on top of just being a very good slowburn, AND it has Sirius, which as you might have guessed, I love dearly. They also don’t bash any of the characters, and instead make them well rounded but flawed individuals, which I really appreciate.

“Harry Potter,” comes the soft, sibilant hiss of a voice he has heard in his dreams, in his nightmares, in his waking hours for years.

Slowly, carefully, Harry twists over and pushes up onto his hands and knees. He stays there, short breath fogging in front of his face, and his pursuer lets him. Harry has no doubt of that; he’s being allowed this respite. This small moment to catch his bearings, heart pounding in his ears, blood singing.

“It seems I have finally caught you.”

Consuming Shadows - by Child_OTKW @childotkw

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7040089/chapters/16011331

I’ve read two of childOTKW’s fics and both of them are fantastically written and attention grabbing stories. This one was the first one I read, and it has a very interesting take on lily Potter (one which I really enjoy) and the plot can leave you on the edge of your seat at times. The characterization is great, and the process of Harry and Tom getting to know each other is done very well.

“His attention skipped passed the students and moved to the politicians’ pavilion. His gaze locked with crimson, and he nearly faltered under the sheer hunger in those eyes.

It unnerved him how fixated the man was on his dirtied, exhausted figure.

But what troubled him more was the slight smirk he could make out on the man’s lips. It was almost pleased.

On the night of the attack, Lily managed to escape with her infant son, but at the cost of her husband’s life. Distraught and distrusting of her friends, she fled to France with Harry, to raise him away from the corruption in Britain and the rising influence of the Dark Lord. She trains him to the best of her abilities, shaping him into a dangerous, intelligent and powerful wizard.

But when Britain re-establishes the Triwizard Tournament, and Harry is forced to return to his once-home, he finds himself questioning whether he really wants to kill the Dark Lord. Voldemort finds an unexpected challenge in the child, and as his intrigue and amusement grows, so too does the desire to possess the spark in those defiant green eyes.”

A story that is kind of similar but not really: The Train to Nowhere

You Belong To Me (I Belong To You) - by child_OTKW

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11270490/chapters/25203408

This is a story inspired by the manwha ‘At The End Of The Road’ by Haribo. A comic I read before reading this, which is very good I recommend it. They do not take the exact plot from the comic though, obviously changing significant details for it to work properly as a Tomarry Fic, but one main thing stays the same, which is that this is a body swap. Honestly I really enjoy childOTKW’s works, and this is no exception. The characterization is wonderful as always, and Harry is Fantastic. Plus I’ve always been a fan of time travel fics. (Fair warning this is another slow burn and Harry centric)

“What I find absolutely fascinating,” Riddle said, stalking closer, “is you.” He marched forward, backing Harry up until he was pinned to the cool wall of the common room. “Do you know why?”

“No. And I’ll be honest here, Riddle, I don’t particularly care.”

The taller boy grinned at him, small yet infinitely pleased. “That. Right there.” One hand rose and brushed some of Harry’s fringe from his face. “Nathan Ciro was a spineless little boy too afraid of his own shadow to dare even glance in my direction. But you…”

He leaned closer, “You look at me like you want to stab me.”

“After an accident, Auror Harry Potter wakes up in the body of fourteen year old Nathan Ciro, a tormented Slytherin who recently tried to end his own life. Seeking answers to his strange predicament, Harry returns to Hogwarts, and causes quite the stir through staff and students - especially when they come to realise he is not the same boy as before.

He tries to avoid suspicion, but as his quest for the truth draws more and more attention to him, Harry begins to think that he might not like what he will discover.”

Some Bonus AU tomarry

A Thousand Paths Among The Stars - by Haplessshippo @haplesshippo

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12015060/chapters/27191238

This is a star trek au and it’s honestly my favorite tomarry au fic. Granted, I am a huge sci-fi fan. There’s also a bit of a twist at the end, or at least it surprised me, due to the way we usually expect tomarry plots to go.

“Harry Potter, newly appointed Captain of the Marauder and son of the famous Captain James Potter, was falling apart at the seams. His crew didn’t respect him, he was lost in the empty expanse of space, nightmares plagued his sleep, and his Commander deserved the Captain position more than he did. Good thing multiple attempts on his life and a vicious warlord after his head was all it took to turn it all around.

Alternatively, that space fic in which Harry Potter almost dies too many times, Tom Riddle slowly becomes the most smitten fool on the ship, and the rest of the crew are all just a bunch of assholes with popcorn watching the show. And exploding ships, don't forget the exploding ships.”

The Matchmaker - by TanninTele

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16507676/chapters/38664089

I am ALSO a huge true crime fan, and this story has a criminal that kinda reminds me of one that might appear in Hannibal (but with less murder). I enjoy the characterization, though tom is pretty tame in this compared to more cannon fics, considering he’s not the criminal and instead an investigator. Harry is also different from how people usually portray him, but I still like it.

“'The Matchmaker' is a serial abductor whose modus operandi consists of pairing two same-sex individuals together in a coffin, six feet underground - buried alive. He isn't a killer. He's a kidnapper with morals, and Detective Chief Inspector Tom Riddle finds himself obsessed with solving the case.

Unfortunately for Tom, the Matchmaker is just as intent on knowing him.”

And on to the Sevitus Stories

Far Beyond A Promise Kept - by oliversnape

https://archiveofourown.org/works/547431/chapters/974693

A classic, Harry stays with snape and unintentionally proves all his assumptions wrong and makes snape care about him. Both the stories have this aspect, but this one has snape a bit nicer from the get go. Probably because it takes place during the third book, so they’ve only known each other two years. It’s quite wholesome though, and I rather enjoy the progression of their relationship.

“Snape never wanted anyone to know of his promise to Dumbledore, but has realised that he can protect Potter much better by taking a less passive role in the boy's training. Actually liking Harry Potter has never been part of his plan. mentor/guardian.”

Crime And Punishment - by melolcatsi

https://archiveofourown.org/works/24102232/chapters/58018174

Snape and Harry have way more of a rocky start in this one, and Snape having to pick Harry up from the police station Really Doesn’t Help Snape’s opinion of him. This story very realistically shows the progression of their relationship, going from enemies to family, and near the ‘end’ (it’s not finished) it becomes very wholesome with Snape trying to help Harry with his mental and physical health after years of abuse/ neglect.

“Harry is accused of burglary. The Dursleys leave him to rot. Dumbledore sends Snape to remedy the situation. Harry finds himself in the care of an irate Snape. Not slash, gen-fic w/ focus on Sevitus relationship. Angst galore. Warnings: coarse and suggestive language, mentions of abuse/neglect. Un-betaed and un-Britpicked.”

#tomarry #tom riddle #harry potter #sevitus #severus snape #fanfic #fanfic reccomendation #ao3 fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #tom riddle x harry potter