#And I didn’t find the ending happy or consoling or whatever.

[herbofgraceandpeace]

—

[forhereyesonlyyy]

cupid’s work. — a jang wonyoung x reader short.

word count: 1.9k

author’s note: trying something new! a lot of the things in my drafts are super long, so i wanted to try my hand at writing a short that is actually short (and very vague) where i’m less strict with spelling and grammar and all that jazz and just try to vibe, ha. anyway, i hope you enjoy this~ if i see that you guys like this enough i might make a cute little continuation too <33

author's note 2.0: YA'LL... tumblr is becoming my worst enemy idk why the order of the paragraphs(?????) is getting jumbled up PLS BEAR WITH IT 😭😭

warnings: none.

sometimes you wondered if you were extremely lucky, or horrifyingly unfortunate.

when your managers had told you and your group that you would be filming a variety show with another girl group, you were overjoyed. you have always wanted to make friends with your colleagues, but have been too shy to do so. jayoon was more fit for that kind of thing; socializing. but you thought that you would finally try to come out of your shell in this variety show by making the first move on whoever the other girls may be, until you were told of them.

“ive.”

you didn’t miss the way chaeyoung and sieun gave you a sideways glance at the mention of the popular group. while jayoon and seeun shared a high five, and yeeun and sumin nodded excitedly, you were sinking into your seat.

“what, (y/n)? not happy with the other group?” your manager asked, noticing the distraught look on your face.

you perked up, “i am!”

“i bet you are.” jayoon teased. you kicked her leg under the table, but she only laughed.

your managers decided that it was better not to know whatever it was that bothered you, and had concluded the meeting right after they dropped the date when the groups will meet up for further discussions about the show. nobody talked for the first few minutes after the meeting ended, but when you saw chaeyoung smiling at you, you knew all of them were going to speak of a certain someone.

“so,” sieun started. you busied yourself with looking at your nails, pretending as if you didn’t know that sieun was talking to you. “i think i speak for everyone when i say that you should shoot your shot during this show.”

“absolutely not,” you replied immediately. “that’s... that will never work out! right, sumin?” it was your futile attempt to pull someone on your side.

much to your dismay, your leader only smiled sheepishly at you, “i agree with sieun. it’s getting a little sad seeing you pine for her from afar.”

“and trust me, we all want to be spared of your awkward greetings and even more awkward small talks in the music show hallways.” seeun added, shaking her head. you scoffed, crossing your arms, but you didn’t find the grit to fight back. it really wasn’t your fault that you get tongue-tied in the presence of the idol of this generation!

“hey, we’ll help you as much as we can. but seriously, have faith in yourself! everything will work out fine! you’ll see in the meeting that we’ll have with them that you two will get along well!” chaeyoung, bless her heart, holds your hand in consolation.

“unless you shit your pants, then i don’t think we’ll be able to help you with that.” jayoon said. you groaned, hiding your face in your hands while chaeyoung scolds jayoon in the background.

seriously, what were you going to do?

~

“i feel like my heart is going to break out of my ribcage and make a run for it.” you paced around the practice room restlessly. it was the day that stayc and ive will have their meeting for the variety show. when the news was announced on the internet, everybody seemed excited for it. what was better than having one girl group in a variety show? two, of course! both fans of the groups were excited for all of the members of be interacting, and your heart warmed at the encouraging comments of you fans, saying that you will finally have your moment to make friends, like you have always said you wanted to do.

“they’ll be here in a sec, girls.” one of the staff said. you heard jayoon and yeeun snickering behind you, but they both patted your back for good luck.

“i’m gonna faint.” you told sieun.

but you weren’t going to lie, it felt like it was the end of the world.

“you’re not gonna faint.”

and then almost immediately, the door swings open and the first face your eyes set on were jang wonyoung’s. she towered above everybody else and in your eyes, she always had that glow around her that made it hard for you to ignore her. and really, it was your big pathetic crush on her that just automatically made you look at her.

chaeyoung, who was genuinely worried that you would pass out, places her arm around your waist and had you bowing towards the other group with her, as well as the rest of your group.

“hi, (y/n)!” rei greeted, grabbing both of your hands and shaking them. you got acquainted with her a long time ago, after bumping into her in a bakery and finding yourselves being completely at peace in each other’s company. ever since that, you’ve been friends, but you hadn’t told her about your infatuation towards her fellow member though.

“hello.” wonyoung greeted you, bowing again. you found your words stuck in your throat, and only bowed back. you avoided looking at her because every time she was around, it was hard to keep yourself together. (which was a shame, because you would’ve seen the slightest look of disappointment on wonyoung’s face when you avoided her eyes.)

once the groups were introduced to each other, the producer of the show, who was a relatively young woman, ushered you all to sit down on the floor with her. you sat in between seeun and rei and about three seats away was wonyoung. you continued to look at everyone else but her.

“oh, (y/n). are you not feeling well today? you look a bit pale.” the producer said.

everyone turns their head towards you, making you flinch. even jayoon seemed genuinely worried. she was afraid that she might have taken her teasing too far and had actually scared you into ignoring your crush. but you frantically shook your head, laughing nervously, “i’m alright!” you told the producer.

seeun puts her hand on your forehead, “you’re not sick, are you?” she asked. 

you gently took her hand and rested your joined hands on your lap, “no, no. i’m fine, really.” you said.

(wonyoung studied you closely. she noticed the way you didn’t know what to do with your hands after seeun lets go of it, the way your eyes darted everywhere, and the way you didn’t look like you were listening at all. she got worried.)

after that, the producer then went on to the details of the show. the groups will be traveling together in popular tourist spots and will occasionally have friendly competition from time to time. the show is mostly about building friendships between idol groups and overall just wholesome content for the groups’ fans. everybody loved it, and you felt genuinely excited about it all.

“speaking of games, there’s no way we can’t not do the lie detector game.” the producer said, a mischievous grin spreading across her lips. the lie detector machine was filled with bullshit, as you have come to know, but every time your members get shocked by it, it was always fun.

plus, it was the only time that you got to do the teasing.

“although we might need to protect anyone who might be weak to being poked fun at,” the producer joked. your members nodded, and of course the producer sees the way jayoon and yeeun looked at you while they giggled. “(y/n), you’re not good with jokes?” the producer asked.

you shook your head, playfully glaring at jayoon and yeeun. “it’s just that you don’t really need a lie detector to find out if she’s being truthful or not.” sumin clarified, which really only made things worse on your end.

the producer laughed, “really? should i try it out then? (y/n)-ah, do you have a crush on someone right now?” well, that was a conveniently timed question. your members laughed, so you couldn’t help but laugh with them while your cheeks inhabited a very deep red color.

rei looks at you with wide eyes, “whoa.” she said. you covered your blushing face and leaned into rei, shaking your head. while your members started teasing you about how big of a trouble you were going to be in once you all play the game, you made eye contact with wonyoung, who had a fond smile on her face, and only blushed harder.

you looked away, but you couldn’t hide your shy grin.

(wonyoung’s heartbeat started racing. no way. her own cheeks started flushing pink. oh, good god.)

when the meeting ended, it only felt like there was the start to a great friendship. you hugged rei goodbye and gave yujin and leeseo a warm side hug (those two talked to you a lot during the meeting, always adding onto your ideas and looking at you attentively as you talked).

“goodbye for now.” wonyoung tells you as she approached the door with her members.

“goodbye—” your mouth clamps shut and your heart drops when wonyoung suddenly squeezed your hand before waving and bowing towards your members. once ive was out the door, you stared at your hand with wide eyes.

“holy shit, (y/n).” seeun, who witnessed the whole moment, said.

you nodded and breathlessly you replied, “holy shit.”

“i’m not the only one who saw that, right?” yujin asked, nudging wonyoung with her elbow. wonyoung has been smiling for a while now. “i can’t believe you’re going to get a girlfriend before i do.” the leader said, sighing.

~

ive was a mess in high up entertainment’s parking lot.

“i knew i wasn’t hallucinating when i saw it!” liz exclaimed, bouncing on her feet. they were, of course, talking about the very brief moment you looked at wonyoung when the producer mentioned crushes.

yujin smirked, “how did you know she was talking about (y/n)?”

“what? (y/n) didn’t even say she was crushing on me! also, that would be ridiculous. i’m just me, and she’s (y/n) of stayc.” wonyoung said, forcing herself to laugh.

gaeul stared at her, simply amazed to see the wonyoung looking so infatuated, “you’re in deep, huh?”

wonyoung paused, and once again, she found herself blushing.

yes. terribly so. jang wonyoung has had the biggest crush on you for... wow, she can’t even say exactly when. but she remembered it as clear as yesterday. being friends with rei, it made sense that you would do everything to support her and her group. so, it didn’t surprise wonyoung when you made a surprise visit during an ive comeback show. what did surprise her was how you had apparently worked hard getting the perfect bouquets for each and every member.

wonyoung found herself feeling completely enchanted by you when you handed her a beautiful bouquet. her heart melted at your words that day too.

“i saw these light pink tulips and thought of you. they’re candid, yes, but they’re very beautiful. i felt like they suit you the best — simple, but that factor is what made them so perfect. a-ah! i hope you don’t take that the wrong way! i-i wasn’t trying to insult you, or anything...”

wonyoung spent the next couple of minutes consoling you that time. those tulips were long gone now, but wonyoung never forgot about your words. ever since then, you have been on her mind, as well as her heart.

her holding your hand for a brief moment was only the start of her attempt to finally tell you of her feelings, which she hoped that you shared.

throughout the ride back to the dorms, wonyoung was smiling quietly in her seat, with only the thought of holding your hand a lot more in the future in her mind.

[mediumgayitalian]

prev chapter

———

“Okay,” Will says, when they’re comfortably on the road. This early in the morning, Highway 17 is practically empty; nothing but sunny skies and clear air rushing through the open roof. The emptiness may also be attributed to the fact that it is a random Tuesday. “Pick a number between one and nine.”

“Uh, five.”

“Good choice, good choice.”

He opens the centre console, digging around Nico’s – well, and his, at this point – collection of CDs to find the right one. He makes a little noise of triumph when he finds it, blowing on the back and wiping it on his shirt before sliding it into the port.

“One half-assed polish isn’t gonna fix those scratches, Solace,” he teases.

“If you weren’t such an emo fuck, Playlist Five wouldn’t be so scratched.”

Nico laughs, conceding this round. Will looks inordinately pleased, nose scrunching along with his tiny smile even as Linkin Park starts blasting through the speakers, which he hates.

“Three songs ‘til Britney,” he grouches as Nico starts hollering along to Points of Authority. Nico shakes his head, still grinning – as if he didn’t make these playlists. If he is truly so miserable, he wouldn’t have put the song on at all.

(Nico knows, in the very back of his mind, that Will actually and truly cannot stand Linkin Park. To him, it’s not music at all. He has never been able to get into it, as much as he truly likes music of every genre. If Linkin Park is on this playlist, and they’re on more than one of the playlists Will has made specifically for their shared car rides, it’s because he cares about Nico more than he hates the band. Nico shoves this knowledge deep into the dustiest corners of his mind, because that’s more than he can afford to think about.)

The next couple hours pass by comfortably. There isn’t much to remark on the side of the road except the odd fruit stand, or farm advertising eggs and honey, so onward Nico drives. He keeps an eye on the odometer, but mostly trusts Will’s calculations. If he says they won’t need gas ‘til Anthony, wherever the hell that is, Nico believes him. 

“Highway changes to the 98 through here,” Will says, nodding to the tiny sign that boasts nothing except Ft. Meade CITY LIMITS, right next to the giant banner half the size of the church it's attached to that reads, REPENT OR BURN. 

Ah, Florida. Please one day change.

“Do I need to exit?”

“Nope, the road just changes to a different number.”

He eases off the gas as they approach the tiny town, watching carefully for state troopers. And, like, children, probably. So far he’s passed twelve gun ranges and one school, but whatever. He can have priorities, even if this garbage state doesn’t.

“Hm. 98 is a better number.”

“Absolutely not,” Will tells him, aghast. “17 is a prime number!”

“Ninety-eight is more fun to say. Also, prime numbers suck.”

“You take that back –”

Nico slides up his sunglasses, shaking his head fondly. Nerdiest nerd to ever nerd. He would be embarrassed if he wasn’t so endeared.

He presses back on the accelerator as they exit the town, turning up the music as Will’s rant ends. He shucks off his shoes – Feet off my goddamn dash, Solace – and curls up into his seat, burying himself in a book. Nico glances away from the road to try and read the title, but quickly gives up since the font is bright fucking purple, for some reason, and in some horrible looping shape that he knows will give him a migraine. All graphic designers should be in prison. 

“Hey, there’s apparently a gator reserve forty-five minutes ahead.” Nico squints again at the book. Barely, he can make out “roadside” and “weird”. “‘Weird American Roadside Attractions’,” Will reads aloud, noticing Nico looking. “Such as a very nice and highly rated gator reserve –”

“No.”

“Road trip, Nico. Adventure.”

“I’m super happy to adventure away from living fucking dinosaurs, Solace.”

“Aw, come on, they’re kinda cute –”

“Two thousand pounds per square inch of jaw strength! You are the one who told me that!”

“You don’t think you could take one in a fight?”

Nico stares at his best friend incredulously. He’s got a thoughtful little frown on his face, looking at the sky as he contemplates. Nico notices, vaguely, that the shade of his irises is the exact same colour. 

“No, I do not. Obviously.” He pauses. “You think you could take a fuckin’ gator?”

“I think it’s possible.”

“See, that’s crazy, because fifteen seconds ago I genuinely believed you were an intelligent person.”

“Do not lie to me and tell me you don’t have a list of animals you know you could take in a fight,” Will says, instead of rising to the bait. He waits, meeting Nico’s glare, eyebrows raised.

“An ostrich,” Nico admits, begrudgingly. “I feel like – one good punch to the throat –”

Will smiles smugly at him. “That’s what I thought.” He turns back to his book, fiddling with the corner of a page. “Also, ostriches are more closely related to dinosaurs than alligators. So. Check and mate, motherfucker.”

They pull into Anthony at around eleven, at pretty much exactly a quarter tank – just like Will predicted. He looks inordinately pleased about it, so Nico shoots off a quick prayer to the karma gods. 

He trips on his way out of the Jeep. Nico smirks.

“I’m gonna go stretch my legs,” he says, unaware of Nico’s hand in his humbling. Nico waves him off, attention turned to the gas pump.

Annoyingly, as he pulls out his card and handles the pump, he remembers Will’s scrunched nose and pursed lips as he’d explained, when they were 16, how gas station pumps were frequently more germy than their toilets, and cleaned approximately one hundred percent less. Suddenly, his hand begins to feel grimey.

Twelve bags of chips, a gas station slushie, and a pair of clean hands later, Will is still nowhere to be found. Nico frowns, craning his neck to look around the tiny parking lot as if he somehow missed Will’s neon orange shirt the first time he looked. Still not catching sight of him, he walks hesitantly back to the Jeep, tucking his snacks away and biting his lip, contemplating. Will is both very fast and very easily distracted, but he has enough sense not to go too far in a random town five hours from home. If he sticks by the car and waits, Will’ll be back soon. 

But, on the other hand, waiting is torture.

Easy decision, really.

He locks the door, hopes that no one will show up with a pair of wire cutters and a flathead screw driver, and sets off. The first thing he notices, and he adds it to his mental list of things to loudly complain about when Will is locked in the car with him, is that it is fucking sweltering. In the hours approaching the afternoon, the day has gone to pleasantly warm to so hot the air is actually thick with it, and he doesn’t have wind ripping through the open windows to cool him down. Plus, he’s wearing jeans, and for the first, and hopefully only, time in his life, he envies his friend’s cargo shorts. 

The second thing he notices is that Anthony, Florida, is empty as shit. All the love in his heart to the people who call it home, but also, move, maybe. He’s hesitant to stray too far from the gas station, in case Will comes back and finds him gone, but there are no hills or anything. He can see quite far down the road. The only thing he sees is a possum starting a fight with a poor random guy – which, actually, is kind of fun to watch. 

Perhaps he has judged Anthony too harshly. 

“Nico!” shouts a voice, startling him. He whips around and finds Will, standing in the goddamn centre of the road, the dumbass, waving like a lunatic.

“There is no possible way I was going to miss you,” Nico informs him when he’s close enough. “You are approximately the height of the Washington monument. I could not miss you if I tried.”

“I wasn’t waving to get your attention, I was waving to shoo away the eagles that mistook you for a mouse.”

Nico kicks him in the shin. Will, well used to his violence, dodges, grinning, except in the act of hopping away from Nico’s dangerously hardy boots, he somehow wraps his foot around his own ankle and goes sprawling.

Nico smirks. “Who’s the short one now.”

Faster than he can even follow, Will’s hand darts out, wrapping around his ankle, and tugs, yanking him yelping on the asphalt next to him. 

“Foul!”

“All’s fair in love and war, Neeks.”

Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up, Nico screams at the alarm bells blaring in his brain, he doesn’t mean it like that and you know it oh shit he’s looking this way quick look normal look normal –

“I can do war if that’s what you want, Solace,” he manages, honestly quite proud of himself for managing speech with approximately fourteen percent of his brain still functioning. Damn.

“Yeah, yeah. Anyway.” He crawls to his feet, offering Nico a hand. He takes it, dutifully fighting the urge to pull Will down again, just to be an asshole. He’s cool like that, and most definitely being normal about the scrape of Will’s callused fingers against the inside of his forearm. “I found maybe the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, and I need you to come look at it immediately.”

“Sick,” Nico says, immediately intrigued. He and Will have their differences, sure, but if there’s one thing they can agree on it’s their sense of humour. 

He follows will down the road, passing the gas station again. (His car, thankfully, remains in one piece and beautifully not-robbed.) They dark across an empty intersection, walking across a yellowed lawn as they approach a run-down, patchy, one-storey bungalow with a rusted sign that reads: The Iron Works.

“Behold,” says Will gleefully, “the Abstract Iron Centaur.”

And behold, Nico does.

Gaping, he observes the structure standing proudly under the sign. Striding proudly, rather, its front legs bent to simulate movement, its human arms poised as if ready to strike. It wears a medieval knight’s helmet, and holds a rusted axe. The entire structure is a little taller than Will, and made of, presumably, iron, rusted into a light roan red.

“Abstract Iron Centaur,” Nico repeats, after several minutes of silence.

Will still looks delighted. “It was in my book. I had no idea what to expect and also I didn’t believe it was real. Isn’t it the greatest thing you’ve ever seen?”

“It’s…something.”

“We gotta take a picture, Neeks. I never want to forget this thing.”

Nico allows himself to be pulled, still somewhat bewildered. It’s not even the oddest thing he’s ever seen, it’s just – he has many questions, like, for example, why? How long has this creature existed? How long will it persist? Who created it? Why is it in Will’s dorky book? Does it house a soul?

“Okay, squish in, this camera is older than your elderly ass and doesn’t have a timer.”

The familiar jab breaks him out of his stupor. “Seven months older than you, fucker.”

“Geriatric.”

Without warning, Will crowds them under the Abstract Iron Centaur’s lifted arm, and then presses his widely grinning cheek right flush to Nico’s, raising his beat-up camera to the air.

Nico’s brain goes static.

“Say cheese!”

“Hnngh,” says Nico, as the camera blinds him.

Luckily for his continuously worsening blood pressure, Will pulls away the second he hears the click, shaking the ejected negative to help it develop, and Nico has a second to remind his lungs that they have a function, actually, get your shit together, I am not dying in fucking Anthony, Florida. 

“You look like a dork!” Will says, delighted. “Look!”

Blinking at the photo shoved one sixteenth of an inch from his eyeballs, Nico indeed looks. The Abstract Iron Centaur looks more foreboding on camera, somehow, but Nico barely notices it – instead, he finds his gaze drawn to the beam so wide it forces Will’s eyes shut, and the dazed, dopey look on his own face; eyes wide, mouth dropped, slightly, and posture undeniably leaning into Will’s magnetism. 

Humming to himself, Will slips his wallet out of (one of) the (many) pocket(s) of his shorts, tucking the photo inside it. Nico melts into a puddle of goo on the dead grass. His mortal soul escapes his body, descending rapidly. His atoms return to star dust. Et cetera.

“Oh, shit, we gotta go if we want to reach Georgia in good time.”

“Right,” says Nico, voice cracking. He clears his throat and tries again. “Let’s go.”

He absolutely does not haul ass to his car. He walks at a normal pace, for normal reasons, thoughts in a normal place. 

“Back on the 75,” Will instructs as they peel out, sliding sunglasses on his nose. “We gotta scoot around town a bit to get to the entrance, but it won’t take long.”

“D’you know this place?” Nico asks, even though he doubts it. As far as he knows, Will was outside of Sarasota one time: in the move from Austin. He supposes his mother might have had a concert up here, or something, and unusually, let him tag along, but he doubts it.

“Nah, just memorised the map.”

Nico hides a smile. “Oh, of course.”

It’s all too easy to tease Will, but there was a reason he was valedictorian. There’s a reason for his many shining scholarship offers, his endless well of ridiculous facts pulled from nowhere. He is, genuinely, the smartest person Nico has ever met.

Even if he genuinely believes he can fight an alligator and win.

“Two hours ‘til we cross state lines,” Will says brightly, shouting slightly over the wind as they merge onto the highway. “And then on to infinity!”

“Onto infinity,” Nico agrees, matching his smile. 

Already, he’s proved Nico wrong. They’re farther now than Will has been since he was seven, and there’s nothing in his expression that suggests he wants to slow down. 

Privately, and quietly, Nico lets himself start to hope. 

———

next chapter

[adnauseum11]

Operational Risk Management (John Price x Reader)

Kate calls with some bad news.

1k words

CW: swearing, military inaccuracies

This work is part of the S.N.A.F.U. series, master list also pinned to my blog.

Masterlist

Ao3

John’s phone lights up in the center console with an incoming call just as you are returning to the flat. Two hefty shopping bags of new glitter-less decorations are safely secured in the back seat. His patience ran out about half-way back from your excursion, locked in a snarl of holiday traffic. When he began to grumble about the lack of common sense on display, you reminded him that he wanted to tag along with you. The look he gave you afterwards was dark, but you didn’t let it faze you, used as you are to his intermittent grumpiness. Still, you’re happy to claim your spoils and clear off so he can take his phone call in peace, his annoyance doing nothing to dampen your spirit. 

“Hello?” 

John’s tone is curt. The familiar sound of chopper blades swells and then he can hear Kate over the staticky line, immediately picturing her cupping her hand over the bottom of the phone as she clears the rotors. 

“John? Got some news, you aren’t going to like it. Can you talk?” 

She’s moving, likely just landed. John’s brain is leaping ahead, trying to fill in the gaps. 

“Yeah. What happened? Gaz alright?”

Kate cuts straight to the chase, apparently no time to waste on pleasantries. 

“The commander Gaz is working under is a younger brother to man killed in Las Almas - belonged to Shadow Company. He’s leveraged his position with Norris to start knocking on doors to find out what happened to his brother and he’s managed to get enough intel to hold the 141 responsible.”

“Jesus Christ Laswell.”

John’s palm comes down with a slap on the steering wheel, his mood worsening. He can feel his blood pressure rising as Kate’s terse voice washes over him.

“I suspect Norris is feeding him information. We’re going to keep working on that end, see if we can confirm anything. When you turned down the contract and that photo popped up, he tried a different path. The commander did basic training with your girl’s would-be-assailant years ago, before the dishonourable discharge. We think he’s currently switching tack again. Gaz is obviously compromised, and they’re about to ship out.”

“Ah hell Kate.” 

John’s violently pushing his fingers through his hair, the implications of Gaz being in the thick of this commander’s operation making his stomach turn to lead. 

“I didn’t know John, didn’t think Norris’ men needed further vetting. Lesson learned. I’ve got a potential intercept point. Right now, we’re handling some rendezvous communications for them as we’ve got friendlies in the field, Gaz being one. They’re going to be sent to recon a chemical manufacture plant in Lithuania for a potential raid.”

Kate’s tone suggests she’s well aware of her fuck up, and John respects her enough to leave it there, satisfied with her acknowledgement.

“There’s got to be a vulnerability we can exploit to get Gaz to safety.”

John’s instinct is to plan, even without any intel yet.

“Ghost is planning an avenue of approach for the potential intercept point before whatever the commander is up to comes to fruition out there. We urgently could use an extra set of hands in the know, Captain. Timing is critical here. Gaz’s assigned taskforce won’t be expecting us. If we do this correctly, we can bury this for good with no one the wiser.”

John looks up at the flat, can almost picture you flitting around, rearranging items to account for your new prizes. His heart sinks as he makes the only decision his conscience will allow. 

“Yeah, my bag is mostly packed. I can be at the base in a few hours for pick up if you can arrange liaison.”

Kate asks the question he’s been dreading since this conversation started. He can guess at the outcome and is in no hurry to be proven right. 

“Your girl going to be ok with the last-minute change of holiday plans?”

At the mention of you, John’s brain immediately pulls the image of you naked in the shower, flushed from the orgasm he’d just given you, admitting you’re in love. The center of his chest aches at the thought of leaving you alone during the holiday you’re so obviously excited to share with him. At one point, early on, he was confident that he knew exactly what he was doing. His emotions lately tended to be out of control and headlong, almost impossible to moderate. After years of relentlessly telling himself it was better to keep his distance, to stay platonic, he’s finally getting what he’s coveted after all this time. And still, he can’t stop his greedy heart from wanting more. He fights back the uncharacteristic swell of emotion and clears his throat, refocusing on the conversation at hand.

“I’ll handle it. Not leaving anything this volatile for someone else to clean up. I want assurance it’s over.” 

“If you’re sure. You’ve been moving fast with this woman John. I’m assuming you know what you’re doing here.”

His laugh is dark, the sound of a man whose best laid plans are unravelling in front of his eyes. 

“Gaz would do the same. I’ll sort it out on my end, set up the liaison for 19:00.”

John is all business, putting any indecision firmly to rest in short order.

“We appreciate the assist; I’ll debrief you further once you’re on route. And John?”

“Yeah?” 

He’s preoccupied, already trying to work out how to explain what’s about to happen to the woman he loves.

“Good luck, hope you bought her something nice.”

Kate’s tone is a mix of gentle teasing and honest concern. John’s foul mood refuses to rise to the occasion.

“Piss off Laswell.”

John grates out before hanging up the call and sighing deeply, gripping the steering wheel tightly. He shouts a handful of curses into the empty car, grateful for a mostly vacant street to witness his outburst. He takes several deep breaths to gather himself again before stepping out of the car to rejoin you in the flat and break the news.

Next Chapter

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@deadbranch @beebeechaos @cadotoast @writeforfandoms @syoddeye @itr-00 @chloepluto1306 @batw3nch

[wooahaes]

before i know it, the me of today hopes for the you of tomorrow

pairing: non-idol!wonwoo x fem!reader

genre: fluff

word count: ~0.7k

warnings: one mention that pins down readers birthday as being a summer birthday. but mostly its just sappy, loving wonwoo.

daisy’s notes: he is boyfie shaped fr........ i will b thinking abt him forever

Wonwoo had a soft spot for the nights where you fell asleep in his lap while he was gaming.

Most of the time, it was because you hated going to bed alone unless you had to. You’d always been the more openly affectionate one in your relationship, and you’d told him outright one day (long after moving in together) that it felt weird to not fall asleep snuggled up close to him. So you’d come into the living room to where he was playing online with his friends on a game system rather than his PC, and you’d lay your head in his lap and watch... until you inevitably fell asleep every single time. He’d asked about it once, and you did have to confess that you didn’t intend to fall asleep. You just wanted to stay close with him until he was done, but the sound of his breathing was calming (even if the occasional things he said weren’t), and usually you ended up dozing off by accident.

Tonight was no different. He had his headset on, controller in hand, and your head using his lap as a pillow. Seungcheol was saying something about his plans to get in and play later this week when Wonwoo starting keeping an eye on the time. The clock ticked over to midnight, and he let out a quiet sigh as he waited for Seungcheol to finish speaking. The moment he did, he spoke up and said he was going to get off for the night.

“I‘ll see you tomorrow,” he said as he started to disconnect.

Only to hear Seungcheol’s quiet ‘tch.’ “We all know you took off today for her. You don’t have to hide it.”

Wonwoo smiled to himself. “That’s why I said I’d see you tomorrow.” Before he bid his farewell and disconnected from the game.

It was only light teasing, and it left him with a lovestruck smile on his face as he looked down at you. He reached out, fingers grazing the side of your face for a moment before he turned off the console. He’d plug in his controller in a few minutes. For now, he was going to admire you for a little longer...

Only for you to stir, finally looking up at him after glancing back at the TV. “You’re done?” Then you sat up, stifling a small yawn. “You didn’t play long...”

“That’s okay,” he said, reaching for the remote. He clicked the TV off, before turning to you. “I’m all yours for the next twenty-four hours.”

The way your brows had drawn together in slight confusion only made him smile. Being able to vex your brain and surprise you like this always made him happy, and maybe he had taken advantage of your sleepy state to be able to do it. He nodded toward the clock, and watched as you put the puzzle pieces together mentally before realization struck.

“Wonwoo--”

He had already slid a little closer to you, pulling you in for a soft kiss. “Happy birthday, my love,” he said as he leaned back, casually dropping the term of endearment just to see you smile. “Whatever you want to do today, I’ll do it.”

You didn’t have plans. Wonwoo knew you didn’t have plans, too. But the fact that he had cleared everything today in order to give you his full attention was sweet, considering he knew that you were used to people being too busy (or on vacation--the pains of a summer birthday) around your birthday. And of course it would be Wonwoo who knew that and found a way to say, without saying it, that he was there for you. That he’d always find time for you.

Maybe the sentiment would make you cry later... but for now you just leaned in to kiss him one more time before going to bed. The two of you could figure out plans when you woke up later. For now, you just wanted to cuddle with him and think vaguely about how you would spend the day with your beloved.

taglist: @twancingyunhao​ @wonuziex​ @synthetickitsune​ @cinnamoroxie​

[sainzfilm]

haii…its me again lando norris x party girl and they meet while hes djing?? ily ok bye

pairing: lando norris x reader

a/n: bye this would be such a nice meet cute or whatever or something im rambling. hope you like this my lovely!!! ily

⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅∙∘☽༓☾∘∙•⋅⋅⋅•⋅⋅⊰⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅⋅•⋅

Taking in the atmosphere that was mixed with the smell of alcohol, sweat, and blaring music and lights, you missed it. You haven’t been to a good party in a while and you sure do hope tonight’s going to end on a great note.

“What drink do you want?” Sabrina yelled over the music, “You can go ahead and a get a table for us!”

Pausing for a moment, you pursed your lips before replying, “A frozen mojito would be nice!”

As you made your way across the club, you couldn’t help but look around people having fun, celebrating birthdays or just a normal get together. There is no other way to spend a Friday night than in a club.

Lando had a set for tonight along with his friend and a top DJ, Martin Garrix. He couldn’t deny that there were a lot of pretty girls, some even recognizing him immediately.

“Hey! Excuse me!”

Confusion etched all over his face, Lando looked down on the dance floor, enamored by your beauty, “Uh, me?”

“You’re the DJ, aren’t you?” You tilted your head to the side, “Unless I’m mistaken?”

“Oh! Yeah, I am,” Lando smiled sheepishly, “Is there anything I could do for you?”

Smiling as you nodded, “Do you take song requests?”

“I don’t normally do but,” He shrugged with a small smirk on his face as he put his hands inside his pockets, “I can make an exception for a pretty girl.”

Grinning as you leaned forward against the table, “Could you play some ABBA? Maybe some ‘Dancing Queen’ or whatever floats your boat.”

“Whatever you say,” He replied as he leaned in closer to your face and quickly glanced at your lips, “Any tips for the DJ?”

“Maybe after your set,” You whispered as you tapped his nose with your finger, “Come find me? We’ll sober up after with pizza.”

“I can’t say no to that,” Lando grinned as he put back his headphones on, granting your request, “I’ll find you.”

As you took a few steps back with a smile on your face, you waved goodbye and walked back to your table to enjoy the rest of your night with your friend. Lando couldn’t help but think of the possibility that this may not be the last time that he’ll be seeing you.

bonus scene!

Leaning back against the car seat, you groaned as you took a bite of the pepperoni pizza, “This is so good!”

“Tell me about it,” Lando mumbled with food in his mouth, “My friend recommended this pizza place and I’m sure it didn’t disappoint.”

“Best pizza I’ve ever had,” You laughed as you grabbed another slice from the box on top of the console in the middle, “Thanks for the treat, Lando.”

“Don’t mention it,” He grinned as he wiped some sauce off the corner of your lips with his thumb, “Not everyday I get to share pizza with a pretty girl.”

“You’re such a flirt,” You poked your tongue out as you punched his shoulder playfully, “You better not fool around.”

“I’m not!” Lando laughed as he rubbed his shoulder and looked at you, “So…about that tip?”

Rolling your eyes jokingly, you put your pizza down on the box and wiped your fingers with tissue, “Any kind of tip?”

Lando eagerly nodded, which elicited a chuckle from you. You turned to face him, looking in his eyes and quickly glancing on his lips.

“I hope this’ll do,” You mumbled as you grabbed him by the collar of his shirt to bring him in for a quick kiss and pulling away after a few seconds, “There. Happy?”

Turning as red as his Monégasque friend’s car, Lando nodded as he fought back a smile, “Mamma mia, that was one hell of a tip.”

[lyriumcoloredskies]

Written in the Pages pt.2

Pairing: Bakugo x Villain!Reader WC: 2.7k Summary: In which Bakugo finds himself a little too attached to a certain public nuisance, much to the detriment of his own life. pt.1 here CW: slight angst, happy ending, therapy mention, coming to terms with reality AN: UwU the fact that I wrote this in a day is astounding bc ya gorl usual could never

Kirishima stood outside of Bakugo’s high rise apartment, hesitant and unsure of how this would go. He checked his phone to see that both Mina and Midoriya had texted him their ETA. He pocketed the phone and adjusted the case of beers in his other hand to stop the cardboard from digging into his fingers. He was glad to have backup for this and prayed to whatever gods were listening that Bakubro wouldn’t turn away a small “friendly get together”.

He wasn’t dumb, despite all the himbo attributes that tended to be pinned onto him by his rabid fangirls (not that he wasn’t grateful for their almost too enthusiastic support). He certainly wasn’t clueless when it came to his best friend. Kirishima knew Bakugo like the back of his hand. From the angry insecure boy he used to be, to the aloof and pragmatic man he had become. Rarely had they spent a day apart since starting the agency or since UA for that matter.

So it worried Kirishima when Bakugo began to become snippier, especially toward the sidekicks. After a tantrum of yelling and biting insults, he would silently come behind the storm Bakugo left to console the sidekicks letting them know it was nothing personal. He was willing to let Bakugo work through his feelings, these things tended to resolve rather quickly. Despite his rough exterior, Bakugo had gained a fair amount of emotional intelligence as he matured.

To his surprise, that wasn’t the case. More and more frequently Bakugo came in with exhaustion draping over his face, bags deep under his eyes, and his emotions like a bomb on the edge of explosion if the wrong wire was clipped. Most concerning of all was how Bakugo was doing on the field.

Kirishima could tell something was wrong with Bakubro, and Red Riot could tell things were amiss with Dynamight.

He had spent so much time alongside him that he knew every intimate detail of how he fought. Their moves a complex ballroom dance, a waltz for two. The man was sharp and calculated. Bakugo strove to be the best, and that meant he did things with frightening efficiency (if you ignored the massive amount of property damage that came along with his quirk).

But for the last few months his reflexes were lagging, the exhaustion of too many late nights showing, leading to avoidable injuries that seemed to linger for too long.

It wasn’t just him that noticed either. Midoriya had made an impromptu visit to the agency ask if things were okay with the blonde. Kirishima felt guilty to let him know that he had no clue, that the two of them were in the same boat, clueless to Bakugo and his inner turmoil. 

Then a few weeks ago during a get together with the Bakusquad at their favorite izakaya, Mina pulled him aside to ask if things between him and Bakugo were alright. She had suspected Bakugo’s continual reluctance to meet up might have been due to a fight between the two friends. He quickly let her know that it wasn’t the case and that he had been concerned too. It didn’t help that Bakugo was a masterclass in shutting down any discussion of his health, be it physical or mental. Each time Kirishima would pluck up the courage to ask if something was wrong, he was met with a scoff or roll of the eyes.

“I’m fine, drop it.” Bakugo would grit out between clenched teeth. His arms crossed in front of him defensively.

Kirishima knew better than to keep pressing lest he and the sidekicks wanted to deal with a testy Bakugo for the rest of the week. His efforts to try and get him to talk in another setting hadn’t worked either. Bakugo had pointedly been ignoring his texts, Kirishima had been lucky if he was even able to get a one worded reply. Bakugo hadn’t been very active in their group texts either. It seemed like if it wasn’t work, Bakugo didn’t care. Kirishima really tried to be a patient and good friend but at this point he knew it was only a matter of time before something happened. His friend was too exhausted, too hurt, too withdrawn. He knew the consequences of sloppiness of the field, he had witnessed it firsthand.

That was how heroes died.

Kirishima would be damned if this was how his friend would go out. No, Bakugo was a bright star - destined for more than the inky black loneliness he had decided to surround himself in.

Drawing in a breath, he steeled his resolve and knocked.

***

Bakugo walked through the neighborhood, the cold winter air biting his cheeks, staining them a ruddy color. He took in the sights of the street vendors beginning to set up their stalls as the barely peeking sun bathed the world in its soft orange pink light.

He let his mind wander back to the talk he, Kirishima, Deku, and Mina had a few months ago. At first he had felt offended, like an animal cornered and threatened. The hot coals of embarrassment turning into a roaring fire as he lashed out. How humiliating to be confronted by everything he knew was true. He knew his performance as a hero had been suffering, but to see it in front of him in the form of his friend’s concerned faces had been a slap in the face, even then it was no match to Mina’s words about how they were worried he was isolating himself. Those words froze his veins over and settled into permafrost in his chest.

How quickly had he forgotten everything he already had to turn to a siren song? He was so desperate for a love, a touch he never knew, that he was willing to forget everything he already had to plunge into the icy waters of an illusion that would never be.

Bakugo had never been one to do things lightly. His feet continue to carry him as he reminisces of the month it took to overhaul his entire life.

He packed up his romance novels, haphazardly stacking them all into a cardboard box, which he unceremoniously shoved deep under his bed, too far for him to reach. He cleaned his apartment, dusting the blinds and the ceiling fan, collecting the trash from his floors, and scrubbing the dirt off every surface. He even took a rag to the baseboards. Hours of effort would culminate into a sparkling apartment, the sight lifting his mood and settling his soul. He took it as a sign that perhaps - things would be okay.

As he settled into his couch he poured himself a glass of whiskey as a treat for his hard work today. A groan involuntarily left his lips as his joints popped and creaked when he fished his phone out of his pocket. He shot off a quick text to Kirishima, letting him know that he was going to take two weeks off of work, a rarity for him. A ghost of a smile played on his lips as he read through Kirishima's enthusiastic emoji ladden reply encouraging him to take the time to recover. 

Things would be okay.

Knowing he would have to inevitably face this, he texted his PR manager to pawn his social media accounts off to her. It felt like the right step in his detox from his addiction - from you. He took a large sip of the whiskey, relishing the burn as it slid down his throat before pleasantly settling into his stomach. The balmy feeling slowly floating into his veins, helping him feel a little number and a little better for what he had to do.

The hardest had yet to come; he knew he had to delete his account on the writing site. As he logged into his account, he stared at the bookmarks of writings he had collected over the months. Each title brought a smile to his face as he reminisced over the hundreds of lifetimes with you – too many to count, each perfect and special in their own ways - moments of utter intimacy that swept Bakugo off his feet.

Reading the various titles was like a loaded gun, ready to spray his messy emotions out into the world again. Katsuki hesitates, his finger floating over the delete account button. It would be easy to just not do it in order to preserve every memory, the emotions shared, the trials and tribulations you two had been through. He drains the rest of his whiskey and embraces the burn settling into each taste bud.

Bakugo presses the screen of his phone.

The warmth of the alcohol seeps into him as the same time as the tingle of loneliness enters every marrow of his being.

You were gone.

.

.

.

Steadily he began filling his life with the things he loved. For the first time in months he finds himself in his childhood home to visit his mother and father. He takes in the sight of their greying hair, wondering how life had managed to go by so quickly. It had done him some good until the old hag began nagging him about not yet finding a wife.

Bakugo tries his best to ignore the cold tendrils encircling in his heart.

He starts going to his friend's scheduled hangouts again at their favorite izakaya. He would never admit it but Sero and Denki’s jokes and laughter breathe life into his worn self. He ardently denies the furling vines of jealousy from taking root as Kyoka and Momo announce their wedding plans.

He checks in on his classmates and even finds himself back at UA for a charity event. The nostalgia grips his heart as he wanders the same old halls and sees his old teachers. Aizawa-sensei is the same as ever, sleep deprived and utterly done with life, though Bakugo can spy the fondness in his eyes as he looks over his old troublesome students. While mingling, although Mina would disagree and say he was just standing intimidatingly, he finds out that Deku and Cheeks were expecting their first child.

He tries to block out the feeling of the lead in his stomach.

His shitty love life has nothing to do with their happiness so he grunts out a congrats and ignores the dopey lovesick expression on that idiot Deku’s face.

That night at UA reignites his efforts of trying to maintain a normal life and he throws himself into his hobbies. He signs up for a rock climbing gym and then sporadically adopts a small tortie kitten he saves on a total bullshit hero job (he affectionately names her Princess Explosion Murder). He starts cooking with a renewed fervor, trying desperately to ignore that he was cooking for one. He also ignores the weird tight feeling in his chest as he glances at the chair on the other side of his dining table, always empty.

Bakugo thinks he's doing everything right until he's somehow not. He brings it up to his therapist (one that he doesn't want but Kirishima bullied him into getting). That's when his therapist recommends that he “reconnect with himself” by not keeping busy, but rather listening to his "inner feelings". The phrase makes Bakugo quirk an eyebrow and internally decide that therapists are fucking quacks. His therapist bargains with him and asks him to just try it once. "What's the harm?" she says, eyes measured and too analytical for Katsuki's taste. Sure enough, two weeks ago he abandons the plush interior of his BMW and the ever present traffic of downtown Mustafu for the scenic 30 minute walk to his agency. It infuriates him to no ends that his fucking therapist was right. No wonder he paid out the ass for weekly visits. As the days he walks progresses, so does Bakugo. He decides that while the loneliness would probably never leave him, that in the context of the world, he could slowly see himself accepting that things weren’t so bad.

Things would be okay.

.

.

.

Today his feet took him to a familiar path, a back street filled with vendors that would connect to the busy main street that passed by the small café near Mustafu University, where he would pick up a cinnamon latte before taking a left to the office.

A fresh cold breeze made him draw himself closer his jacket, his feet picking up the speed wanting to get out of the bitter cold. Lost in his own thoughts and the beauty of the watercolor sunrise, he didn’t realize he wasn’t paying attention until it was too late. He collided into something solid and it snapped his attention back to reality. The soft feminine gasp accompanying a not so feminine “fuck” made him look down. He saw papers scattered, escaping a tote bag with the Froppy logo, tilting his chin down a little further he could see the shine of spilled coffee all over his camo green Canada Goose jacket. Without even knowing it his mouth bent down into a scowl. The person who bumped into him seemed fine, just a little shaken up. He knows the polite thing to do is offer a hand and tell the stranger that it was no problem, the jacket is waterproof after all, but after 2 seconds of soul searching he decided that he didn’t give enough of a fuck to be nice. He opened his mouth to release his scathing remarks to the clumsy fuckwad who ran into him until he caught sight of something that skyrocketed his pulse. His mouth dried and he felt his heart drum in his ears.

“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry” you said as you shakily stood up, akin to a fawn.

You reached into your jacket, fishing out crumpled napkins to help sop up the mess on his expensive jacket. He stood in silence not sure if this was an amalgamation of his own sick mind, because how many times had he imagined exactly this?

“I’m so sorry I should have been more careful!” you profusely apologize, refusing to meet Bakugo’s eyes out of embarrassment.

Bakugo takes in every detail. It was everything he remembers. Your soft bouncy hair, the floral smell (lilacs he commits to memory) of your shampoo wafting to him as you stood entirely too close to him. Though you're bundled in a winter jacket, he can make out the distinct shape of your body that had him in a chokehold for months. The skin of your hands shines, its clear that you managed to also drenched in yourself in coffee. Your hands shake as the liquid on your skin settles into a chill that penetrates your bones.

Katsuki trembles, his fist clenches in his pockets, desperately trying to ground himself. He can feel the cold winter air, he can smell the spilt coffee, and he can hear the rustle of the napkin over his jacket. This is all real.

You continue your efforts to clean Bakugo’s jacket until he places his warm hands over yours. He relishes in it, despite the temperature difference, he can tell your skin is soft and smooth. Your hands are tiny in his and he drinks up the sight, his pulse racing. His actions seem to surprise you as your head darts up, catching his brilliant vermillion eyes, like the prettiest sunrise you had ever seen. Your breath catches in your throat as the two of you stare at each other, locked in a stalemate.

“I’m sorry” you whisper, Bakugo savors the way your words escape you, the heat of your words brought to life by the winter air. Your lips are as beautiful and kissable as he remembers.

His eyes search yours for an answer, any indication that, somehow this isn’t all just in his mind- that you aren’t just an off duty villain surprised to bump into an off duty hero - that some part of what he wanted was something you wanted too.

“Let-” Bakugo rasps out, his words catching in his dry throat, “Let me buy you another coffee.”.

A beat passes between the both of you.

“Yes”, you reply breathless and airy as if anything more would break the magic spell between you two.

“I’d love that.”

[psychedelic-ink]

— PICK ME | FRANKIE'S ENDING

happy belated birthday @pedrito-friskito 💜💜💜💜 this gift is from both me and @inklore we love you so so much and I hope you had the best birthday ever! thank you for always being such a wonderful friend 💗

pairing: frankie morales x f!reader

genre: fluff, mild angst, second chance romance, smut

summary: you decide to head to frankie's. there's still too many emotions lingering between you and it would be a shame not to give it another chance.

warnings: oral (female receiving), a hint of hurt/comfort

word count: 2k

click to head back to the start

You decide to go with Frankie. 

You can’t deny the chemistry you have with Santi, and your curiosity might forever gnaw at your brain, but you and Frankie have something special. You just have to see it through before jumping into something else, something new.��

Since Frankie’s car broke down prior to the wedding, the two of you take a cab instead. 

“Where to?” the cab driver asks and Frankie blanks for a moment, eyes darting to you. 

“I. . . actually haven’t thought about where we should go,” he looks sheepish, scratching the back of his head. He’s not wearing his signature ballcap, his hands feeling lost as the nerves start to get the better of him. “Would it be okay if we head to my place? I got wine?” 

“Wine sounds good,” you answer with a smile. He lets out a sigh of relief and gives the driver the address, without wait the car drives off from the venue. The first seconds are spent in complete silence, his fingers drumming against his knees while he stares out the window, the lights of the city bouncing off his handsome countenance. You find it endearing. Reaching out, you press your hand against the curve of his knee, fingers squeezing gently. He jumps before turning to you. “Relax,” you say. “It’s okay. You’re not alone in this. I. . . I’ve been thinking about you too.” 

“Really?” his genuine surprise breaks your heart. Dark eyes search yours before exhaling a loud breath and collapsing to the seat. “Good, I was worried there for a second.” 

“Worried?” you ask. “Why?” 

“Well,” he clears his throat. “‘Cause of Pope.” 

Oh, so he noticed. 

You squeeze his knee again before letting go and settling further into your own seat. “You have nothing to worry about. It’s in the past, whatever it was.” 

“You never mentioned it when we were together.” 

You’re not sure if he’s accusing you of something but you feel defensive anyway, “I didn’t think it was relevant. And nothing happened.” 

You cross your arms and look out the window, familiar silhouette of buildings passes by, bright lights flickering back at you as the shadows grow longer. You feel his hand on your cheek, his thumb drawing gentle lines over your skin as he urges you to look back. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, baby, I know nothing happened,” he smiles when you meet his gaze. “I just didn’t know how you felt is all. You could’ve told me, I would have understood.” 

“I didn’t think there was anything to tell,” you murmur. “It happened a long time ago, he backed away and I just thought I read the signals wrong. I guess with the wedding he realized he had some regrets.” 

“Well, for what it’s worth, I could never back away from you,” his voice falls into a whisper, his fingers sliding to your chin, he tugs you closer. “I’m not that strong, querida. Even tonight I couldn’t pull away from you, even if I know that us staying apart is probably for the best.” 

Frankie's words hang in the air. You’re caught off guard, stuck between wanting to console him and wanting to talk about the issues you had while together. The cab's interior seems to shrink around you, your heart shattering as he drops his gaze away from you.

Despite the loss of his gaze, his thumb continues to trace gentle patterns on your chin. His touch comforting. Keeping you grounded. 

With a deep breath, you cradle his face with both hands, forcing his gaze back— you close the distance between you, your lips softly meeting his in a kiss that is better from the movies. Time seems to stand still as your lips linger against his, conveying more than words ever could.

When you pull away, a mixture of emotions plays across Frankie's features—surprise, relief, and a lingering trace of uncertainty. His hand drops from your chin to rest on your thigh, his fingers gently squeezing.

"Wow," he breathes, a small smile tugging at his lips. "I wasn't expecting that."

You chuckle softly, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. "Thank you for always choosing me without hesitation, Frankie. I. . . I appreciate it, no matter how this ends."

“Of course, mi amor, always.” 

As the cab approaches Frankie's apartment, he leans in to press a quick, affectionate kiss to your cheek. "I hope you're not regretting this," he says softly, his eyes searching yours once more.

You shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips. "I never could regret you, Frankie."

He nods, seemingly content with your response. The cab comes to a stop in front of his building, and you both step out onto the sidewalk.

You step out of the cab and onto the sidewalk in front of Frankie's apartment building, you're suddenly aware of the cab driver who has been witness to this entire exchange. The reality of the situation makes your cheeks heat up and a nervous laughter bubbles from your lips.

"Uh, sorry about that," you mumble to the cab driver, avoiding eye contact as you scratch the back of your head.  

The cab driver chuckles knowingly. "No worries. Just another day in the city, right?"

Before you can respond, you feel Frankie's arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close protectively. His presence is reassuring, and you glance up at him with a shy smile.

"Yeah, just another day," Frankie chimes in, his voice light as he gives you a gentle squeeze. "Thanks for the ride."

The cab driver nods with a grin. "Anytime. Have a great evening, you two."

While the cab pulls away, you and Frankie share a sheepish smile.

"I guess we really made that driver's day," you say, shaking your head in amusement.

Frankie chuckles, his grip on your waist relaxing but still there. With Frankie's arm around you, you make your way into the building and head up to his apartment.

Frankie heads over to the kitchen, rummaging through his cabinets to find the promised bottle of wine. You take a moment to look around his place, feeling a sense of familiarity mixed with anticipation.

"Found it," Frankie announces, holding up a bottle of red wine triumphantly.

You join him in the kitchen, watching as he deftly uncorks the bottle and pours the wine into glasses. The atmosphere is relaxed now, a sense of ease settling between you two which you’re grateful for. You take a sip, watching him from over the rim as he does the same. 

“I’ve missed this,” you say silently. “And I’ve missed you.” 

Frankie takes another sip with a smile, holding the wine in his mouth, he comes closer and tilts your head up. His eyes search yours momentarily, and knowing the nudge that he needs, you part your lips, “Kiss me.” 

And he does. 

You part your lips for him, swallowing the wine that pours from his lips, it’s bittersweet as it goes down your throat, some of it spilling from the corners of your lips. You fumble a bit as you put the wine glass down, your hands coming up to fist his shirt as he deepens the kiss with a tilt of his head, licking further into your mouth as if trying to catch the remaining red jewels on your tongue. 

You let out an involuntary moan as Frankie deepens the kiss and his hands slide up your legs, pushing your dress up further around your waist. One hand snakes its way around your waist while the other reaches up to caress your face, thumb resting right at the corner of your lips as he softly bites your tongue. His tongue parts your mouth to explore further. 

You take in a shuddering breath, Frankie's lips still on yours as your hands coil around his neck tugging him closer to you, your breath coming in short gasps as the intensity of the kiss takes over both of you. His hands move from your face down to your neck, exploring every inch of you, making your body shudder with pleasure.

Frankie slides his hand down your neck and down your torso, leaving a trail of fire in his path. He pulls away from the kiss, pushing your dress up further as he reaches down and slides your underwear down before leaving it in a pile on the kitchen floor. He stands between your legs as he leans down and recaptures your lips with his. 

His kisses are hungry, as though he has been waiting patiently for this moment for weeks, ravenous in his eagerness to taste you. His tongue tangles with yours, exploring the depths of your mouth as though it was his first time. You feel yourself shudder over and over as he gives your lower lip a gentle suck and nibble, sending warmth down your spine. 

“God, I can’t get enough of you, querida,” he whispers into your mouth. You yelp when he roughly tugs down the neckline of your dress, exposing your breasts to him, both tingling and aching to feel his mouth. “Look at that, so hard for me,” he groans as the pads of his thumbs feel the pebbled flesh 

He works his way down, planting kisses along your neck and shoulder before paying special attention to your nipples, gently flicking them with his tongue and sucking on them making you gasp out in pleasure. His hands come up to cup your face as he slides his tongue down your stomach, licking and tasting you until he reaches your core, his mouth parting and devouring every inch of you.

Frankie's tongue slides between your folds, exploring every inch of you, and you arch your back into him, a loud moan easily slipping from your lips. His tongue delves deeper, licking along the edges of your entrance before curling around your clit. Your eyes roll back and your jaw falls open, your chest heaving at the pressure of his mouth.

He stops for a moment, teasing you further before pushing into you with his tongue, his wetness making you gasp in pleasure. “Are you feeling good, baby?” he murmurs with a humorous lilt. “Sounds like you are.” You grab his shoulders and grip them tightly as Frankie circles your clit with his tongue, gently tugging on it in a constant rhythm, his deep chuckle reverberates in your cunt, making you moan out loud.  

Frankie adds his fingers, pushing two inside you, gently spreading you open wider as he licks and sucks your clit. His touch is gentle, but insistent, and he sends wave after wave of pleasure coursing through your body. 

“F-Frankie—I’m gonna–” you can’t even finish your sentence before another moan breaks from you. He briefly looks up to you, smiling. 

“Come on then, sweetheart, don’t keep me waiting,” his breath fans your soaked core and you tremble. “I want every single drop.” 

You cry out, your hips pushing against his hand as he increases the pressure and tempo, his tongue and his fingers working in tandem to take you to the brink of orgasm. You moan his name, desperate for relief, and he doesn't disappoint as he sucks on your clit, sending you over the edge and into a blissful state of ecstasy. Your entire body clenches, flooding his mouth simultaneously as your muscles go lax. He laps at your cunt, tasting every drop. 

“That’s it, that’s my good fucking girl, making a mess for me—” he groans, giving your clit one final suck before coming back up to your eye line with a lazy smile. 

Once the waves of pleasure have finally subsided, you collapse against him, completely spent. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, and it's in this moment that you realize it’s always going to be Frankie by your side. You can’t imagine feeling this safe and comfortable with anyone else. 

Frankie's breath tickles your ear, “How about we head to bed and I can really show you how much I’ve missed you.” 

“Hmm,” you smile, pulling away from the warmth of his chest. “Not if I show you how much I’ve missed you first.” 

[burberrycanary]

I thought I’d be feeling more triumphant to have wrapped up my post-TFATWS stucky endgame fix-it series, A Man Takes His Sadness Down to the River, which is now complete. And believe me, I’m pleased and relieved to have the whole thing out in the world. But it’s also bittersweet and there’s an odd little feeling of let-down, too. 

I’m going to miss these versions of Steve and Bucky—and Sam and Sarah. These are the most psychologically complex stories I’ve written as Steve and Bucky slowly and arduously figure out how to live with themselves and with each other in the post-Snap, post-Return, post-Endgame world as it is. How do you move forward after all the mistakes and injustice and everything you’ve had to survive to reach this point?

Not an easy question.

But in the same way that I view Steve and Bucky as fundamentally hopeful characters, these stories also contain a lot of joy and hardwon moments of happiness. As Steve thinks at one point—

But that’s the world, bleak turned one way and then somehow still beautiful when turned inside-out with the bleak waiting again for the next reverse, not really gone anywhere: just out of sight.

I’ve been working on this series for years—I started the earliest drafts back at the end of 2021—and it’s been very much a labor of love. So if you’re interested in trying an Endgame fix-it that doesn’t let Steve off the hook for the choices he made but also gives him the chance to do better; and a story that lets Bucky keep the hardwon connections and growth we see in TFATWS while bringing Steve and Bucky, these two profoundly intertwined characters, back together and then asks: after everything, how could these characters live, really live, in the world again?

“If you didn’t live in New York,” Bucky asks while passing over another ice cold beer before he takes his own, “where would you go?” Steve has seen a lot of the world, in passing, coming from one fight or heading to the next. “I don’t know.” He slumps further down in the sloped deck chair and tilts his head to watch Bucky’s face in profile, silhouetted against the heat-warmed bricks and the long slice of purpling sky that hangs between buildings over the road. “Anywhere you wanna see?” Bucky wets his lower lip and takes a swallow of the sour beer. Steve shoves down the desire to draw Bucky’s hands, doing the ordinary things of living, until he can bury Bucky in a cascade of those images. “Some days, feels like there’s not much in the world I haven’t seen. Seeing it during peacetime, though, that’d be something.” Bucky slants that dark, dangerous grin at him that’s straight from the spring of ‘44. “If you can call this peace.” Reaching out, Steve offers the neck of his beer. “What’s peace, anyway?” Bucky clinks their two bottles together. “What the hell is peace?”

This series is the story of two old soldiers trying to find some peace, whatever that may be.

Read A Man Takes His Sadness Down to the River (The Consolation of Philosophy)

[heavenlyakin]

The party died down two hours ago, but there’s always stragglers.

You drop another dozen red solo cups into the trash, looking around at the endless task ahead of you. Why did you keep hosting? You weren’t sure. Your roommates didn’t mind too much. After all, you’d watched two of them run off with one of the volleyball players and lock themselves in one room.

Opening your bathroom door, you find Atsumu in the tub, a drink still in his hand.

“Get out,” you hiss, his brown eyes meeting yours with a lazy smile on his face.

“Join me! I was just about to start singing my rendition of Josh Groban’s “You Raise Me Up”. I know you know that one!” He laughs, as if he’s made a hilarious joke.

You clench your fist, closing your eyes and forcing yourself to inhale and exhale slowly. Your ex has never known good boundaries. Showing up here and meandering up to your private restroom was proof of that.

“Please leave. I want to shower and go to bed.”

“Do you not miss me?” He asks, his voice different from before.

A wave of emotion washes through you. Of course you do, how could you not? But is now the time to rehash this. You’d broken up with him for good reason and him showing up to your party wasn’t a reason to get back with him.

He’d left you, gone off to chase a dream that ended with a torn ACL before he could qualify for a college team. When he called to give you the news he’d asked if you were happy he’d be coming home. How could you be? The one thing he wanted wasn’t you, and now it wasn’t even something attainable anymore. He’d given up. On you and his dream.

“Whatever,” he throws back the rest of his drink and crumples up the cup before tossing it towards the miniature trash can you keep next to the sink.

As he passes by you, something in you makes you stop him. You grab his bicep, the muscle always surprising you when it flexes.

“Wait,” you say, looking up at him now.

His dark eyes are stormy with something… perhaps regret? He doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to make the move, if there’s going to be one. You hesitate, letting him go and shaking your head.

“Never mind.”

He slams his hand on the door. “God damn it, ——-! You can’t punish me forever!”

Tears threaten to spill out of your eyes. Isn’t that exactly what you plan on doing?

“I lost you and everything else all in one month and you’re the one thing I can get back.”

“Thing.” You laugh. “I’m just a thing to you, aren’t I?”

“——-,” he sighs. “I didn’t mean it like-“

“It doesn’t matter how you meant it. Stop coming to my fucking parties. Stop showing up in my bathroom. Stop! Just leave me alone.”

He storms out of the bathroom and through your bedroom. You hear the door slam, rolling your shoulders and letting yourself sink into the floor with your back against the cabinets beneath the sink.

You didn’t want him to leave but the idea of being his consolation prize isn’t exactly your idea of a good time.

[chin-chilla-7]

Headcanons of how Mammon, Leviathan,and Asmodeus would react if they found out reader is still hurt about what happened last time? Especially Mammon saying he will save them or just die, Leviathan got so jealous during the TSL quiz he almost killed them, and Asmodeus mocked them when they asked to make a pact with him.

Thanks so much for the request!

Mammon, Leviathan and Asmodeus react to reader still being upset at them for their past actions.

You knew being in the Devildom would come with some struggles. It was a world populated with demons and monsters who had their own ways of acting, especially around humans. It was an adjustment you had to make for sure. And you were - adjusting, that is. Though, it was one thing to adjust to the unfamiliar demons as they were pretty much a simple “don’t acknowledge them, they probably won’t acknowledge you” policy, but it was another thing when one of the demons in question was one of the seven brothers who were supposed to look out for you. You knew that they were adjusting to you living with them, too, so you could let some things go, but there was a point where you felt it unacceptable.

Mammon

Mammon honestly didn’t think much of his request when he made it. He thought it was reasonable. If he wasn’t the one who could save you, you shouldn’t be saved. It was his job, and he should be the best one for it.

You, however, felt yourself frowning anytime you remembered his words.

It was difficult, knowing that the demon appointed to look out for you would rather let you die than have someone else save you. Insecure much?

It affected how you interacted with him. You didn’t really bring it up, not until he pried.

“Did I do something, human? Normally you’re so happy to be hanging out with the Great Mammon.”

When you explain that you were upset by Mammon’s request that you die instead of being saved, he’s shocked. He thought he was being reasonable - he doesn’t argue with you, though. Just nods, but needs some time to re-evaluate why you’d be upset by that.

You start noticing afterwards little gifts that end up by your door or in your room. A stuffed toy, some jewelry, tickets to an event you’ve been wanting to see, things that fit with any hobbies you have (art supplies for artists, yarn and needles if you knit, etc.)

He also acts more like your protector after that, too. He wants to show you that he actually doesn’t want you to die, and he does so by being around more often, keeping an eye out while you’re out and about, paying attention to anyone that looks at you funny.

He never actually directly apologizes to you. If he does, it’s in his room - somewhere private where there’s little to no chance of any of the other brothers walking in to see him apologizing. He can’t admit that he had to say sorry to a human! Even if it’s you.

You appreciate some of the steps he takes to reconcile his actions, but you do find it childish the way he apologizes (or lack thereof one)

Leviathan

Leviathan is a lot more aware of his actions seriously affecting how you are around him.

When he’s alone in his room (often), he thinks about how stupid he was for letting himself get so angry and how he’s probably blown his chance with you.

He thinks you two are getting better as you move forward. You’re polite to him when you see him at the dining table. You’ll talk to him over text about the current anime he’s binging. He thinks you’ve moved past it, so he starts to, too.

The catch is when he invites you to his room to play video games. This is where you decline, explaining that you don’t feel comfortable being alone in the same room as him: part of you thinking that if he gets upset playing whatever game, he’ll react how he did during the quiz.

This spirals him back to how he was right after the incident: he holds up in his room, thinking that he really did blow it - though this is the moment where you’re gonna get a lot of sorry’s from him.

This is a moment where it’s more likely you’re gonna have to go to him to console him. Otherwise, he’s gonna be pushing you away since you’re so scared of him and it’d be better if you hung out with his brothers instead.

You work out a compromise. You’ll play video games with him but in the common space, or with Mammon or Beelzebub with you to supervise if you do end up playing in his room.

He gets a lot more nervous making any moves towards you, but in time, once you become more comfortable with him, it gets easier for him to be around you. And it’s easier for you to be around him.

Asmodeus

Asmodeus knew what he was doing when he sent you on an impossible task before agreeing to make a pact with you. Because he meant what he said: he doesn’t make a pact with just anyone.

He didn’t think this was something you’d take to heart because, you have to understand, Asmodeus is a high demand demon. He has to be selective on who he lets control him through a pact. And you being a seemingly normal human in the exchange program is not enough to get him to say yes.

You, however, felt that what you’ve been through during your time in this exchange program was more than enough to prove to Asmodeus that you aren’t just anyone.

It was something that annoyed you more than you’d care to admit, and it caused you to be disinterested and overall unimpressed by Asmodeus.

Now this was something he noticed quickly: He notices when people don’t pay attention to him, and you most definitely weren’t.

When he asks what was up, you get a little snippy back, telling him that you don’t pay attention to “just anyone” and he puts together why you’re upset at him very fast.

At this point, you’ve managed to gain a pact with Asmodeus and you’ve more than proved yourself to be deserving of his pact and any other pacts you have at the moment. He realizes the error in his ways and will admit where he was wrong.

He is the one out of the three to directly talk about the situation and apologizes in a way that satisfies both you and him.

Of course, if you want to be satisfied in any other way, Asmodeus can help with that, too~

[soonsluv]

highest walls, strongest armour

pairing: vernon x gn!reader

summary: they say opposites attract but what about similars?

contains: hurt/comfort, angst w a happy ending, mentions of insomnia, reader n vernon learn how to communicate w each other challenge

a/n: “pardon my emotions, i should probably keep it all to myself, know you’d make fun of me.” a remix to this fic

—

you just came home from probably the worst day in a while. everything that could’ve gone wrong, went wrong and you just wanted to bury yourself deep in the covers of your bed. turn off your phone and isolate yourself from the world until you had the strength to pick yourself back up. but you also felt this contrasting but equally overwhelming urge to run to vernon, your boyfriend, for comfort.

you weren’t the best at expressing yourself, let alone let yourself being vulnerable, the strong armour you had built for your fragile heart standing in the way. vernon wasn’t the most sentimental either and maybe that was what made you so attracted to each other.

all you knew for sure, is that it was making this whole relationship painfully complicated.

but that was the thing, right? this was a relationship, not a competition. it wasn’t about who would crack first and run to the other for consolation but more about trusting the other to catch you when you needed it and you definitely needed it.

and so with a thumping heart, you hopped in your car to go to his dorms.

he opens the door for you with a soft smile on his face and you can already feel your heart melting.

“hi,” he greets you before leaning in to place a chaste kiss on your lips.

after leading you to his room, he sits you down on his bed, assuming that you wanted to tell him something.

“so what’s up?”

“i um…” you start as your eyes drift to the floor, somehow feeling embarrassed for wanting his comfort. “i had a bad day at work,” you finally say, barely louder than a whisper, fearing his reaction for whatever reason.

“oh, what happened?”

“nothing was really working out the way i wanted it to today and it’s really making me feel like shit and i thought about just sleeping it off but realised that seeing you would probably make me feel better. just thought that you could maybe… hold me?”

you felt heat rush to your face at those words. was he going to think you were childish, maybe even pathetic for coming to him about a bad day?

your eyes shyly search for his to try and see if that was the case, only to find surprise written all over his face.

he chuckles nervously.

“like a hug? from me?”

damn. you hadn’t felt this stupid in a while. you wish you could’ve just come up with some bullshit response to brush this embarrassing moment but you couldn’t. there was a lump forming in your throat as heavy tears started to fill your eyes.

perfect. guess this truly was the last straw for you today. your face was burning with utter humiliation and you knew that that was your cue.

“i think i’m gonna head home,” you whisper before leaving the dorms, knowing he wouldn’t chase after you.

and he didn’t. that just wasn’t him.

he was left on his bed, staring at the door you had left wide open, knowing exactly why you left. he froze and gave you the worst reaction possible. he had never seen you like this and didn’t know how to react. it was just easier to avoid talking about more serious things since to truly comfort you, he’d have to tear down his own walls and he just didn’t have the guts for it.

but was betraying your trust in him really worth the supposed safety of those walls?

—

several days had passed since that night, your hurt slowly turning into regret and embarrassment, actively avoiding him every time you ran into him. that moment replaying over and over again in your head, wishing you had never brought up your feelings, wishing you had kept your armour up and promised yourself to never make that mistake again.

vernon, on the other hand, felt his inability to react well when you needed him weigh on him more with each passing day. it was taking a toll on him.

he could barely sleep at night, tossing and turning, trying to come up with a way to apologise. he knew that apologising meant opening up but that refusing to do so meant losing you. both scenarios scared him shitless but he knew that there was only one right answer to his dilemma and yet, he still couldn’t bring himself to face you, scared that you despised him by now. why would you stay with such a coward? his fear caused him to put it off, each night worse than the last until his body reached its breaking point.

you were bingeing a tv show in your home when you received a call from seungcheol.

“hey y/n, think you can come pick vernon up?”

“why?” the hostility in your own voice surprising you.

“he fainted during practice so we can’t let him go home on his own.”

hearing those words felt like your entire body had been dumped in ice water.

“fuck, i’m on my way.”

you quickly hang up, slip on some shoes and drive to the pledis building.

after running up the stairs, you barge in the practice room panting to find him sitting on the floor while the others are standing around him, your sudden entry making them all turn to you.

“thank you for coming through,” says seungcheol as he helps vernon up and walks up to you.

you slowly approach him and gently hold his face in your hands. he looks completely drained.

“what happened?”

“he hasn’t been sleeping well lately so paired up with an intense dance routine, it was bound to go wrong,” replies hoshi, a guilty frown on his face.

“you idiot,” you whisper loud enough that only vernon could hear it and despite the insult, relief washes over him now knowing that you don’t completely hate him, that he still had a chance to make it up to you.

you take over from seungcheol so vernon’s body is now leaning on yours.

“we’ll get going, take care everyone!” you announce and are met with multiple goodbyes before exiting the room.

the car ride back home is heavy with silence, vernon anxiously glancing at you from time to time while you focus on the road. the atmosphere is nasty and you can both feel it so vernon decides to get on with it.

“i thought you were angry with me,” he says in a hushed tone, barely having the courage to look at you.

“do you want me to be angry right now?” you retort, desperately trying to keep a strong facade.

“no, no, that’s not what i meant.”

the silence wraps the both of you again.

in the elevator going up to your apartment, vernon realises that apart from holding him up, you haven’t hugged him, nor kissed him, in fact you barely spared him a look ever since you picked him up and that realisation causes a lump to form in his throat and his heart to squeeze painfully. were you planning on leaving him after this?

he takes a deep breath in an effort to calm himself down, not wanting you to see him this way.

after entering your apartment, you go straight to the kitchen while he follows you like a lost puppy.

“go to the bedroom and change into some more comfortable clothes, i’m gonna make you some tea,” you say as you vaguely nod to said room, knowing that you owned clothes that would fit him.

“alright.” his voice sounds small, he feels small, like his very heart was made of thin glass and you were the one holding it.

when you enter the bedroom with a cup of chamomile tea, he’s sitting on the edge of the bed. his eyes are now scanning you for any sign of… anything, trying to decipher what was going through your head.

you sit down on the bed next to him and place the cup on the bedside table.

“when you’re finished with your tea, try to sleep, okay? i’ll be in the living room if you need me.”

the living room? he wouldn’t be able to count all the times you guys napped together even if he used a graphing calculator. he didn’t like this. he didn’t like this at all.

“stay,” he blurts out, louder than he has been all day.

you look him in the eye for the first time since the practice room and he feels his heart get heavier somehow.

“we can talk after you get some rest,” you reply, averting your gaze from his gentle brown eyes that were starting to eat away at your armour.

you start getting up but stop when he grabs your hand.

“that’s exactly why i haven’t been sleeping.”

you can only look at his hand in silence, his words making you freeze.

“not being able to talk to you isn’t healthy for me as you can see,” he chuckles nervously even though his voice broke mid-sentence. this was now or never. he wasn’t going to lose you, even if that meant destroying his highest walls.

“vernon, let’s just leave it…” you trail off, cowering even though you had promised yourself to not show that side of yourself anymore. much less to him. it was almost like the sound of his voice was strong enough to shatter the armour you had so meticulously built around your heart, leaving you defenceless. completely vulnerable for him to see.

“i’m sorry.”

it’s short and sincere and enough to make the tears in your eyes unbearably heavy.

“you were clearly upset that day and instead of keeping it to yourself, you came to me but i… i was scared, i guess. because if you had the guts to open up to me, that meant that i could too and that scared me into pushing you away. i just wasn’t- i wasn’t brave enough in that moment. and i know that i probably sound so childish right now.”

there’s a brief silence before you hear vernon sniffle, only being able to watch as tears escape his eyes.

“but i’m also not willing to lose you because i’m too childish to admit that i get sad too and also want you to hold me when that happens.”

he lowers his head at that last part. his tears wetting the bed sheets.

you almost wanted to laugh at how absurd the odds were that the two of you could find each other and fall for each other like this. it almost felt like fate and you weren’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing but just like how you had struggled to come to him that day, he just struggled to open up to you and for now, that was enough for you.

you give his hand a gentle squeeze as a silent request to look at you and he does.

“i forgive you. we’ll just have to learn to trust each other more from now on. and besides, who else could provide me with a supply of free beanies as big as yours?”

a smile appears on his face for the first time in a while and kisses your hand.

“i’ll buy you all the beanies in the world.”

[lunar-years]

ok happy wip wednesday everyone xxx I had a burst of inspiration today and now my unnamed rjk friends with benefits fic is at 22k words which means I'm giving you an extra-long sneak peak :)

Please enjoy this little snippety snippet:

The breakdown that had been building all day finally came once he sat down in his driver’s seat and realized, promptly, that he didn’t feel capable of putting the car into gear. Beyond that, driving home felt like a herculean effort, and once he got there he wouldn’t be able to turn on the telly, because it was still set to Sky Sports from the night before, and all the pundits were going to be talking about were him. He couldn’t log on to his socials, either, because the fans were all going to be talking about him, and not in the good way, and besides that he didn’t want to look at his mobile because his dad might’ve called, or might not’ve called, and Jamie didn’t even know which one was worse one way or the other anymore. He was out now for the next three matches. That were bad enough as it was. Add in that Roy might not even talk to him now, might go back to that terrible time when he'd refused to coach Jamie directly and make Nate or Beard do it instead, and things were a rightful misery. Jamie didn’t have any idea how to make it up to him. Roy being so adamant about not mixing work with whatever else they got up to, even his best apology blowjob wasn’t likely to suffice. He wondered, too tired to feel all that desperate about it, if this was the end of all of that, too. Roy probably wouldn’t want to fuck him again after such a display, and Jamie could hardly blame him. He shouldn’t feel such grief over it, honestly. Jamie had known from the beginning the sex was temporary. Just a bit of fun. And now he’d gone and botched even that, which was probably always something that was bound to happen, given that it was him. But just as well, there it was. It had happened now, and Jamie didn’t feel resigned to it like he was supposed to, he felt…hollow. Hurt.  That was his own fucking fault, too.  It was too much to think about. More than anything, he wanted to shut off his brain for even an hour. As that weren’t an option, he settled for the next best thing—hitting the steering wheel so hard it made his hand throb and then bursting promptly into tears about it, right there in the Richmond car park.  //

He didn’t know how long he sat there pathetically crying, but eventually there was a gentle knock on the window. Keeley. Jamie blinked twice just to confirm it was really her and not a hallucination, like them people who got stuck in the desert and then imagined springs of water just because they were so desperate for it. She smiled at him kindly through the window, looking solid enough, and then tapped it again with her finger and gestured for him to roll it down.  “What are you still doing here?” he asked as soon as he’d done so, swiping at his face and trying not to be deeply embarrassed at her finding him in such a state. Usually Keeley disappeared with Rebecca immediately after their matches, off for cocktails and gossip or whatever it was the two of them got up to. He'd never expected her to show up. Now, Keeley stared at him with big, soft eyes that made Jamie want immediately to start crying again. She didn’t answer him immediately. “Oh babe,” she whispered instead, bringing a handkerchief up to his face and swiping lightly at this cheeks. “Care if I join you?” Jamie nodded, flipping the lock. Keeley walked around the boot and rematerialized in the passenger side, immediately pulling him towards her over the centre console and stroking through his hair before he could even process it was happening, like she was his guardian fairy, or whatever.  Ridiculously, Jamie’s brain chose then to remember the time she’d called his car pavlovian. Couldn’t be in here without wanting to jump his bones. Well Keels, he thought, letting out a clipped laugh that sounded more like a choke and made Keeley's grip in his hair tighten, look how far we’ve come. There was decidedly nothing sexy about him getting snot all over her Richmond windbreaker as he sobbed into her shoulder, sometimes letting out that hysterical, barked laugh. He couldn't stop. Keeley's hair was frizzy-soft today, the ends tickling his neck where her ponytail draped over him, and the edge of the console was pressing into his side unpleasantly, but he didn’t want to move, either. He didn’t want her to go away.  “I was worried about you when you didn’t answer my six messages, love,” Keeley said softly, pressing her lips against his hairline. 

[nemo-of-house-hamartia]

WIP WEDNESDAY

Dear mutuals, how are you all doing????

After so long since my last WIP Wednesday, allow me to share with you a few words from all the chapters I have been working on while I was without WIFI!! <3 I truly hope you will like them!

(...) “I dare beg your pardon, mademoiselle,” Mathias murmured, his hands leaving the keys of the piano as if they had suddenly turned scalding hot. “It was not my intention to cause you torment,” With a quick gesture, he put on his soft gloves again, hiding away his scars, feeling the shame he always felt at the sight of them.

When Dorothea raised her face from her own hands to look at him, eyes were swollen from all the crying or her nose and cheeks splotched with white and purple stains, Mathias felt mortified for having been the cause of such heartbreak.

What caught him off guard and caused him to feel washed over with sympathy for her was the absolute emptiness inside those gray irises. That void, that absolute desolation, he had seen it and known it, times and times over, every single moment his dark eyes had the misfortune of landing in a mirror, after the great fire, when he thought there was no hope for a better day, no consolation in knowing that the dark of the night would soon end and the sun would kiss him again with his rays.

He stood there one moment longer, apprehension growing in his chest for he felt unfit in how to approach her, not knowledgeable in what to do or say to bring whatever comfort he could to that strange woman.

Had she been one of his sisters, he would have taken her in his arms and embraced her until all tears had left her; he would have jested, suggesting her that they could go for ride outside of Paris or pick up some flowers that he could braid in their hair.

But this woman was different, more akin to how his Lady Mother was in the way she carried herself. He tried to recall how his father would console his mother, but couldn’t.

He bowed his head, standing awkwardly next to the piano and considering if to take his leave so not to inconvenience her any further when she finally spoke.

She whispered something barely audible from the tightness of her throat.

“Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle, I…I am afraid I didn’t hear what you said,”

“It was my father’s favourite,” she repeated with broken voice, her eyes looking at the piano with desperate affection.

She stood up, the gown that Colette had given her almost creating a tray behind her for how much bigger it was, it almost made her look like a ghost.

“I was afraid I would forget it, afraid that whatever happened to me - whatever made me lose my mind - might also take away whatever memories I had of the people I loved the most. So, I wrote the song down,” she started to say, heavy tears started to roll down her cheeks again as she caressed the keys with gentle hand.

Mathias could understand only partially what she said, but the pain behind her words was unmistakable.

“Your father played the piano, mademoiselle?”

She nodded, as a tiny smile full of bitter regret touched her lips.

“He did. He does. Splendidly so,” she hiccuped, heart squeezing in her chest. “As a child, I could always hear him playing at night. I would sneak out of my bedroom and sit just outside his solar door, listening. My mother used to sit beside him, there, always there, always at his right, and they would sing and sing and sing to one another, laughing. Byron would find me asleep in the corridor, and tuck me away in bed, and then I would dream of songs and laughter and dances and happiness,”

She sat at the piano bench, pressing one or two keys, before lowering her head to give her tears way to fall in silence once more, staining the light fabric of the nightgown as they landed on her knees. Her chest heaved, the only sign that she was sobbing, holding within all of her pain.

Mathias’s eyes turned down in sadness in seeing all that suffering.

Gently kneeling at her side, he looked at her, offering his most comforting smile.

“I do not pretend to fully comprehend what happened, Mademoiselle, nor am I so presumptuous to say that I know what you must feel. But I promise, on my honour, we will discover what happened to you, and if there is a way to bring you back to your family, if there is a path, we will find it. You have my word. As an Assassin.” Dorothea raised her eyes, furrowing her brow for a moment. Assassin? (............)

(......) “Kill him.” Byron murmured. “But Lord Harrison-“ Byron walked up to his face. “If you think Lord Starrick would allow any piety toward our enemies, you have no wits to yourself whatsoever. Kill him, Master Barclay. I won’t ask it again.” Markus’ whole face transformed, body reacted almost against his will, and with hands trembling, he made the mistake of looking for one moment into the eyes of the Assassin sitting on the floor. The silent plea of mercy was there, all written in watery blue eyes. The gun went off with a deafening boom. Byron looked once more to the desolated rest of the two Assassins, his face not letting transpire a single emotion. If anyone were to look upon him, one would have thought him bored by the whole ordeal. But this would have been the furthest from the truth. He looked at Markus, whose face was pale and covered in sweat as if he was about to either retch or pass out. Byron narrowed his eyes as he walked just by him, his footsteps heavy as if to underline the solemnity of his pace He stood by the Master Templar without so much deigning him of a glance. When he spoke, he saw the man flinching. “I do not take insubordination kindly, Markus. Defy my order again and I will make sure that no one will ever find you ever again. You have taken an oath. You were given a second chance and I will make sure that you follow through with it. I will see you abide by it by any means necessary, or I swear on what I hold most dear in this life, I will make you regret the day you have set foot inside the Manor. Understood?” Markus turned to look toward the man that was towering over him, his voice a squawk that died in his chest before it could pass through his lips. A shaky nod was all that he could muster. Satisfied with the response, Byron walked past him, never turning to face either the Master Templar or the slaughter of the room. As he walked past the entrance door, he saw Victor reaching out to him, his dark eyes looking just past his shoulders with worries. “Mylord,” “Yes, Master Dorian?” “I received a message from Master Starrick the Youngest. You are needed in White Chapel as soon as you can,” Byron nodded, as he took the short telegram from his pupil’s hands. He skimmed through the message with careful attention: even if the words were written with great economy, the urgency of its tone couldn’t be denied. When he raised his eyes to meet Victor Dorian’s apprehensive gaze, his lips were thinned in a grimace of almost satisfaction. “Your Commands, My Lord?” “I shall answer the Young Master Starrick’s call. I will go alone. Keep Markus with you. And before you head back to London-“ Byron turned to look at the small house, hatred seeping into all his being like a poison spreading in his veins with every heartbeat.”- Burn everything and then spread salt upon the soil. I want to see this place erased from the face of the Earth,”

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[dumbsoftheart]

erysichthon’s punishment, 2

pairing: eater!peter parker x f!eater!reader

tags: dead dove, do not eat: themes of cannibalism, violence, 18+ only, eventual smut, angstttt, blonde peter parker, drug use, mentions of panic attacks, swearing, manipulation, lots of mentions of blood, so much yearning its painful

summary: “i want you to eat me, angel, bones and all” two young cannibals meet in the midwest, fall in love, find struggles along the way.

notes: oh these two losers are hopeless!

word count: 4.8k

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peter had no intention of adding a member to his solo-party when he woke up that morning. solitude suited him; it was a choice he made and told himself that it made his life easier, bearable. he’d given up on trying to establish himself within society when he was 13. his aunt and uncle were oblivious to his condition- he learned quickly when he was 5 that something was deeply wrong with him after a particularly bad fight on his school’s playground. he didn't like to ruminate on the memories. it brought back that painstaking feeling he felt when he was 15, watching his uncle ben console his aunt may in a mess of tears and distress. he figured it was best to leave, before he hurt someone. he couldn’t live with himself if he hurt them.

he left his home with little to nothing: a few clothes, his dads glasses, a token from his mother, a picture of his aunt and uncle- and taken the first train out of new york, whatever was cheapest. he can't recall what state he had ended up in, too busy fighting tears as he beat himself up for the curse of depravation that knawed at him constantly. he was tantalus, ostracised into an eternity of thirst and hunger because of the selfishness than ran deep in his psyche. he’d pick fights with men twice his size often, at that age, knowing he’d lose. it was a tumultuous mix of self-inflicted punishment, desperate need for penance for causing pain to those he loved, for abandoning without a trace; for indulging, for the first time in his life, in his most shameful desires. 

his first time, he was in georgia. it was his birthday. he’d managed to make some pocket money working for an old couple and their granddaughter tending to household chores and yardwork. it was so much different than his life back home, the quiet midwestern landscape made him long for the neverending hustle and bustle he had grown familiar to. the couple reminded him of his uncle ben and aunt may, and while he found it painful, he liked to imagine that they were his aunt and uncle, living a happy life and raising a happy, normal child. he’d never get too close to them, only watch them from afar as he completed his work, and he’d fantasise that it was him they were eating lunch and playing games with. they never seemed to question where he had come from, or how he always found time for work, never in school- and a deep part of him wanted them to care. to pick and prod for answers he didn’t want to give, so he could bask in the nagging and questioning as if it were his beloved guardians pestering him out of love. he wanted to feel like a boy again.

peter hadn’t been a boy anymore for a while, his escape forced him to mature faster than he probably should have. he’d forced himself into the idea that he was now a man, and there was no escaping in; no indulging in childlike pleasures or wonder. he was now in the real world, alone, and he found no time for it. things that made him feel callow and juvenile peeved him, and he avoided it at all costs. he didnt have a home, unlike what he told his employers. he lived near a dumpster, with a makeshift home founded with tattered old clothes he’d stolen off of clotheslines, hidden craftily from sight for when it got dark enough. sometimes, on the weekends, when drunks and addicts would find their way down the alley he’d nested in, he’d cry silently, praying to whatever god there was that they’d leave quickly, and he’d remain hidden. that evening, he walked home with an abnormally hefty bonus, an undeserving birthday gift he’d been given before leaving his work- when he was pulled aside by a scarily thin and sunken girl. she was older than him, no doubt, about 19, and she made an excited effort to pull him aside with the promise of a surprise he couldn't miss, whisking him away before he could answer. when she’d brought him down an unfamiliar alleyway, he fought the urge to throw up. 

it was dark, save for the old and dim flashlight the girl carried with her. it smelled of rotten meat and sewage. hidden under a pile of old blankets and quilts, she uncovered the body of a man, couldn't have been older than 35. pieces of his abdomen, shoulders, neck, and legs were amiss, hacked away carelessly by a dull knife. what had really disturbed peter was that the man was still alive; breathing shakily, pale and sweaty. his once clean and well fitted suit had been shredded in various areas, carelessly torn at and blood stained. he couldn't speak, no doubt from the pain he was in. some of his wounds seemed much older than the others. 

“he’s about to die. normally we’d eat as much of them as we can when they’re fresh, but i’m livin’ on what i've got left. he wasn't a good person, if it makes you feel better.”

peter was sick. he’d tried to run away, but she stopped him. what shook him the most was how eerily kind the girl was, as if she was earnestly trying to help him. you need to feed, is what she had told him as she cut away at his chest, handing him a bloodied chunk of dirty flesh and muscle. he couldn't find it in him to do it, staring at the pleading man as life drained from his eyes. he couldn’t do it, no matter how delicious he smelled, the man's sweet red ambrosia dripping down his fingertips. it was like it was taunting him, the way it slipped through his fingers and onto the hard pavement. eventually, the girl guided the piece of meat into peter's mouth, urging him to ignore his internal protests and just chew. 

now, he was about the same age as the girl- charlotte, her name was. he couldn’t forget her. he blamed her for the person he’d become: a guiltless, ravenous, murderous monster. he’d only actually killed a few people with his own hands a scattered amount of times; out of desperation and famine, yet he remained unyielding at the prospect that he was cold-blooded murderer. he hated her, almost as much as he hated himself. she was the serpent, and he was eve; leading him towards temptation. the irony wasn’t lost on him, that now he was the serpent, and the girl next to him in his stolen green ford was now his eve. he’d regretted the words as soon as he said it. i can help you. it left his mouth before he could think, too busy thinking of a way to get her to stay by his side a little longer. she was beautiful, no doubt, but she possessed a certain innocence that peter felt he needed in his life. he convinced himself that in doing this he wouldn't be robbing her of that innocence, but instead he could learn from it. he wanted to get drunk off it, its rarity was intoxicating to him. if she was his last drink of water, he’d savour it; worship it, do everything in his power to keep it as pure and fresh for as long as he can. help, he had said. how, in the already cruel and messed up world they lived in, could he justify this as help? it upset him how his notion of helping her was ultimately exposing her to the same state of self-loathing and hatred that he harboured. 

angel, he called her. she was still adamant on not giving him her real name, and he decided he didn't care. it was easier that way. easier for him to mould her into what he craved. he could pick apart everything he eventually learned about her, and paste it onto the girl he wanted her to be- what he wished he could have with her. he looked at her, her hair whipping in the wind as she rested her chin on the window, her knees tucked into her chest. he could just barely hear her humming foreign melodies under her breath, and in the rear-view mirror he watched her eyes childishly dart back and forth across the empty landscape they sped through. he yearned to connect with her. he wanted to bridge the gap between them, to engage in honest conversation without the weight of what he was about to do crushing him. he almost wanted to turn the car around and drop her off at the nearest train station, apologise for the inconvenience, and bid goodbye. the voice in his head nagged at him to let the dove free, and just hold onto the memory of it. 

she spoke first, “i don't want to hurt anybody.”  it pained him. he cursed at himself for feeling attached to her, or giving a shit about her feelings. what was it to him? he didn't know her- hell, he couldn't even get her to give him her name. he scoffed at himself, and she turned to look at him with quizzical eyes, her lips pressed together as if deciding whether or not the action was laced with malice. he kept his eyes on the road, unable to look at her. “famous last words.” 

she let out a humourless laugh, turning back to the world outside her window. he wanted to apologise. for what, he wasn't sure of yet. for changing her life forever, maybe. or maybe for acting so cold despite his previous kindness. truth was, he felt shy now. he was always quick with witty remarks and jokes, but he found he failed at reaching out to people, a consequence of his solitude. he opened his mouth to say something, and then closed it. his mental turmoil was clearly getting to him, as he considered just taking her someplace else, saving his ‘lessons’ for another night. 

“i won't force you to do anything you don't want to,” he finally spoke. she hummed in response, turning to kick up heer feet on the dashboard, elbow resting on the console and nestling her head onto her palm. they seemed to have been driving a while, and she wondered where he was taking her. she was nervous, to put it lightly. she had a vague idea of what he meant when he said he’d help her, but she didn't want to think about it much. she tried to put her mind on autopilot, instead focusing on the vast expanse of land before her. she counted cows, sheep, stray dogs, and made up songs in her head. the one thing she couldn't shake off her mind, however, was his smell. she understood now what he meant when he said he could smell her. it was a warm, musky scent. different from anything she’d ever smelt before. she silently basked in it, relishing its comfort. one of her own. someone who understood her. it was rare, and she welcomed the feeling. she kept her eyes on the road now, mimicking him. in the corner of her eye, she saw his slender fingers drum on the steering wheel anxiously, making a turn into the driveway of a small, white house. the porch was old and rotting away, stray pieces of plywood laziness hammered on to hide the mess suggested it was falling apart- but it seemed homely, if not abandoned. he turned the car off and stepped out.

“stay here,” he ordered. not rough, more like a gentle warning. she watched him saunter off towards the front door, flinching at how loudly he’d knocked. a tall, scruff man greeted him, and he didn't seem very happy to see the lanky boy at his doorstep. he began to yell, grabbing peter by the collar of his shirt and shaking him violently. she felt herself shrink into her carseat, fear enveloping her senses. she worried that by accepting peters offer she’d somehow put him in some kind of danger, and she didn’t want to find out what would happen had the man discovered she was with him. she couldn't make out exactly what they were saying, but she caught a glimpse of that same mischievous smile from earlier as peter slipped his way into the house. 

too much time passed, and she grew worried. she also noted how much quieter the house seemed, and she began to panic, the reality of what was happening finally dawning on her. she hurriedly climbed out of the truck, scrambling her way to the door. with balled fists at her sides, she called peters name. no response. then, shouting- and then a pained scream from the man from before, followed by a loud tumble and a harsh crack against the hardwood floor. she twisted the doorknob before she could think about it, and as she swung the door open she bit back a scream. 

peter was standing at the top of the stairs, fists clenched and spattered with blood. he looked as if he’d taken a few nasty hits to his face, his cheek oozing slightly with a bruised gnash that met his jawline.

“what did you do?” her eyes were wide with horror, shaking as she shut the door behind her and kneeled beside the man on the floor. there was blood, so much blood, pooling from behind his head and bubbling out of his mouth with choked gasps. she looked up at peter who was now crouched beside her, eyes dark and unreadable. he chewed on the inside of his cheek before standing up, keeping his gaze on the man on the floor.

“owed me money. bastard was too drunk or high to make it down the stairs properly.”

was that what he was going with? she felt rage bubble up inside of her, but she couldn’t find a justification for it. she knew exactly what was going to happen. she knew exactly what peter was going to train her to become. and yet, she had a shred of hope that it would be less heartless, even if she didn't exactly know how. she shook her head, standing up to meet him. they stared at each other intensely, his jaw ticking and her teeth clenched. 

“i didn’t push him.” 

“like thats believable.”

a beat, and then he turned towards the kitchen, “i didn’t”. she felt her eyes well up with tears, trying to ignore the gargling sound coming from the man on the floor behind her. she heard the tap turn on, and then water rush as peter washed his hands, hissing at the stings from the scratches and bruises that began to form on him. he turned to face her again, and crossed his arms as he pointed his chin at the dying man before them, 

“go on.”

the tears began to fall then, and his face softened. he made his way towards her, gently bringing her down to the floor onto her knees. she couldn't stop crying, and he felt guilt swell in his chest. he knew it wouldn't be easy for her, and he hated that he was ultimately the reason for her crying. 

she shook her head violently, “i cant.” the choked words were small in her throat, and he heard him sigh next to her. at that moment, he regretted everything that lead him up to this point. he watched the shaking girl reach for the man, taking his face in her hands and whisper sobs of apology. peter climbed over to the opposite side of her, and reached to close his eyes. her eyes squeezed shut, as if to shield herself from what she anticipated was his next move. she felt as if she was going to pass out. the smell of blood was calling to her, and she pushed away her desire to bend over and taste the metallic liquid that now seeped onto her baby-blue dress. she heard the gorey sound of flesh ripping, and she sobbed harder. peter was next to her, now. she could smell him, and it mixed with the smell of the blood in a way that was all too overcoming. she felt him pull her down onto his lap, cooing in her ear and soothing her. when she looked at him, his face was dripping with blood, and she fought back the way it made her want to scream and kick her way out of his loose grasp. she wanted to hurt peter for hurting this man- it didn't matter to her what he may have done to him, but she knew that her brain simply couldn't process the truth behind what was happening before her, and her only sense of respite required her to push the blame onto someone; even if the blame was partially on her. bloodied hands caressed her head, and she watched as the other presented a large, meaty chunky of muscle. she shook her head again, her breath quickening. 

“just eat, angel. dont think about it. just eat.”

he urged the piece of flesh towards her mouth and she clutched her chest as she felt her sobs wrack her body once again. the way he whispered it softly in her ear, and his small breaths down her neck- his smell mingling with the aroma that radiated off the lump off flesh in front of her- it begged her to shove down any moral compass she had and feast. she wanted more than anything in that moment to let go and indulge in what was being offered to her. she heard quiet sniffles behind her, and she inhaled deeply as she tried to regain her composure, wailing quietly in peters arms. 

peter felt like the worst person in the world. as he sat there, cradling her frail body, all he saw was himself. he had now become the serpent, urging his eve to take a bite into the forbidden fruit. he’d become the person he hated the most, now, and the thought of it broke him. he tried to keep himself quiet, for her sake, whispering into her hair what he knew to be true. 

you’ll feel better, angel, i promise. just eat. i promise it’s okay. 

he watched her open her mouth ever so slightly, and he moved the meat closer. she bit through the muscle in tears, the salt wetness sliding down peters hands and washing away small fragments of blood along with it. she had never felt more conflicted. finally, she had satiated that undying hunger within her, and it felt so good. she almost moaned with the relief of it, savouring the way the blood trickled down her neck and gushed over her cheeks. her head spun- peter whispering words of praise behind her only made the moment feel more relieving. it’s okay, he chanted, and it really did make her feel okay. in those two words, she understood everything he was struggling to tell her. it’s okay, i understand. i know how it hurts and feels so good. 

he pulled her up with him, his fingers lingering on hers for a moment too long. she looked up at him, eyes glassy and red. he cradled her face and urged her to keep going. 

and she did. 

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“you should go shower. i’ll deal with this.”

he had locked all the doors, lead her upstairs into the empty bedroom and laid out a large shirt and a pair of jean shorts he’d found in the closet. she didn't dare question who they might belong to, knowing that it would ruin her again. the room was small, disgustingly brown, and reeked of weed and cigarettes. there was no semblance of belonging or personality to it- it felt as if the person who has inhabited it only rotted away in it their whole life. 

she stood watching herself in front of the full length mirror next to the bed. she’d stripped, left only in her cotton underwear and her bra. her fingers fell to her lips, tracing the stream of blood that led down her neck, shoulders, and in between the valley of her breasts. she dragged her nail down her abdomen and stopped at her bellybutton, admiring the way the blood that stained her skin complimented her so well. by now, she’d simply come to terms with it. she had known it all along. her father knew it, she knew it, and she could no longer hide from it. she thought about peter, and how gentle he had been with her. there was a mutual understanding between the two that they both hated this part of themselves, but he made her feel better about coming to terms with it. when she watched him feed with her, she noted how careful he was. she could sense a hint of shame in the way he went about it, despite the way he wiped his mouth unabashedly on the collar of his cotton shirt. 

a small part of her found it attractive. 

she heard a small cough come from the doorway behind her, and she turned quickly. peter seemed unphased by her near-nakedness, but she couldn't see how it woke something within him. she was truly beautiful, he thought, and it took every bit of strength in him to keep his eyes off of her body and meet her gaze. he was shirtless, and covered in blood, and she felt her breath hitch slightly at the sight. 

“if you wont shower, i will. you can have the bed, i’ll take the couch,” he turned towards the bathroom quickly, and she turned her gaze back to herself as she tried to ignore the sound of the shower running and the way she could see a sliver of his body through the crack of the door in the mirror, the way his muscles flexed and relaxed. she could see the litter of scars and bruises on his stomach, and part of her ached to tend to them. she busied herself by attempting to scrub off the blood on her arms in the bathroom she found a room over, waiting for him to finish so she could feel like she could breathe again, and sort herself out. she refused to think about what she had done before, instead focusing on the quiet breeze outside and faint chirping of birds. she wanted to cry again, and she wasn't sure as to why. she’d spent an ample amount of time scrubbing the red off of her arms, now focused on the dried substance clinging to her cuticles. she picked at them desperately, sniffling as she did so. it wouldn't go away, and she felt hopeless. 

she thought about her mother, and whether or not she knew of her daughter's ailment, and if that is what had driven her insane. she remembered the way she’d scream at her over the most trivial things when she was little, the way she’d pick at her fingers until they’d bleed incessantly, and they’d rush her younger self out of the room as they cleaned the mess up. part of her longed to see her again. she needed to know if her mother was driven away by her, and not her father, or the inevitability of mental illness that ran in her family, unlike what he recounted. was she like her, perhaps? driven to madness by a hunger that can’t be settled? and if so, was that her inevitable fate? to be pulled into a world of insanity, locked away into a hospital in chains and sentenced to a life of self-reflection and loathing? she wasn't sure if she wanted to know. peter appeared behind her again, this time clean and dressed. she rushed past him and straight to the shower, aching to scrub her sins off of her flesh until she burned. 

peter ran a shaky hand through his faux-blonde locks. he wanted to speak to her, know what she was thinking, what she thought of him, but he couldn't figure out where to start. he’d never felt guilty about killing sacks of shit before, but he did now. not because he found an ounce of sympathy for the thieving crook, but because he worried the girl would see him differently now. a killer, even though he wasn't lying when he said he hadn't pushed the man down the stairs. he had a different plan entirely. he knew she didn't believe him, and it killed him inside. he had a need for her to see him as good. he knew she was good, he was convinced of it. a good natured, tender-hearted girl. a sweet girl, that he desperately wanted to find a home in. neither of them belonged in this world. he wanted to shelter her from it, keep her safe from anything that might distress her. he wanted her to want to find solace in him as much as he craved to find it in her. he waited until he heard the shower shut off and knocked at her door, waiting until she gave him permission before he entered. 

she looked impossibly small in the shirt he gave her, and the way her arms and face ached red from rubbing away at her skin with the rough washcloth made him want to hold her as he did before. he wanted to guide her into the bed, back pressed against his chest and let her fall asleep in his arms. he knew he couldn't. he didn't know what was happening to him, but he felt the inescapable desire to take care of her. he thought of his best friend harry, and how he’d ridicule him over the fact. him and harry couldn't be any more different, but he missed the boy nonetheless. he wondered if he could take her to meet him. 

she rubbed her arms self-consciously at the way he stared at her, and he cleared his throat awkwardly, “i’m, uh, gonna be downstairs, if you need anything, just let me know.” she only nodded. she hadn't said a word to him in over an hour, and even though she knew she wanted to speak to him, she didn't know about what. instead, she climbed into the bed and watched as he shut the door behind him. her legs drew up to her chest and she let her head fall onto her knees. lock the door, she thought. she had grown to trust him only a miniscule amount in their short amount of time together, but she knew she should go the extra mile just to be safe. she stood up slowly, making her way to the door. she stopped for a second, her fingers lingering on the lock. 

she didn't know that peter was on the opposite side of the door, fingers lightly pressed against the wood. his breathing was even, and his head fell in self-disappointment. a voice inside his head, a persistent whisper, urged him to break the barrier of silence between them. talk to her, it pleaded, yet he remained rooted where he stood in uncertainty, the weight of his unspoken thoughts fueling his inexplicable yearning for her. 

she picked at her fingers again, “i should talk to him,” backing away from the door ever so slightly as she pondered on the idea. she felt at a loss; simply too much had happened in too little time, and she felt exhaustion weigh down at her. she stood there for a while, feet shuffling with unease, and peter made his way downstairs. 

peter navigated the unfamiliar surroundings with a sense of disquietude. each step he took felt heavier, burdened by the weight of unresolved tensions. his thoughts circled back to the closed door upstairs, a metaphorical barrier he couldn't bring himself to cross. he wandered aimlessly in the dimly lit room, the desire to reach out, clashed with the fear of rejection, created an internal struggle that mirrored the one unfolding upstairs.

the sound of a creaking floorboard broke the silence. it was her, retreating to the bed. he paused, the echo of her steps reverberating in the quiet house. for a fleeting moment, he contemplated returning to her door, but he remained now sat on the couch, his leg bouncing with anxiety as he chewed at his fingernails. the distance between them felt immeasurable, each lost in their own labyrinth of thoughts and emotions. the longing for communication lingered, a silent plea that hung heavy in the air- and he felt suffocated. he gripped at his hair harshly, letting out a pained groan as he tried to ground himself and his emotions. he hated feeling so lost, it made him feel like a boy again. he hated that feeling. he thought about how he could open up the gap between them to talk to her, show that his intentions are that of kindness. 

he fell asleep with his body half-off the couch before he could come to a conclusion.

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@dumbsoftheart, 2023

[celestialnxva]

Opposites Attract

Bruce Wayne x Avenger!Reader

Summary: In which a powerful witch finds love with a man who quotes himself to be a ‘rich kid with lots of issues.’ What could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: It can get pretty suggestive because of the flirting, but it’s a pretty lighthearted fic.

WC: 4k+ words

A/n: I keep writing angst and the only fluff fic I wrote was the Stephen oneshot. It’s time I added another one to the list. Also, it’s Batman with Justice League.

masterlist. | main masterlist.

Bruce had finally gotten himself cornered by a lunatic with the rest of the Justice League. It was only a matter of time when his crime-fighting days would finally come to an end. For the first time in his life, he’d run out of ideas on how to escape. Between him being mortally injured and all of the other League members being compromised due to the tiny Mister Mxyzptlk bending their reality once again to cause mayhem, there was no way out anymore. He was too powerful to counter. As death approached him, he braced himself for the inevitable and gave himself the consolation that he did everything he could to protect the innocent and bring as much justice to the world as he could.

But of course, fate seemed to play with Bruce’s life like a cruel game of poker when he watched a group of heroes he despised the most come to save the day. Again. If he had the strength to do so right now, he would absolutely be rolling his eyes at the sight of the one and only Avengers. As for the reason as to how they are here: trailing behind them was none other than the Question himself.

As Superman weakly helped Bruce stand up, Bruce glared at Question with irritation. Before Bruce could even speak, the Question was one step ahead of him and countered his unspoken argument.

“‘Why did you call the Avengers, Question?’’ he mocked plainly. If he could see Question’s eyes, he would be rolling them due to Bruce’s display of distaste from Question’s decision. Question chose to ignore the glare and gestured towards the group who was already helping the League back to safety on their jet. “Perhaps you can thank me later for my consistent paranoia coming to your rescue when we get back to the base.” And with that, he disappeared into the crowd of heroes. They all made their way towards the jet, except for one person, the one he never really get along with (yet was always secretly curious to know more about): you.

“Well, if it isn’t the one and only Batsy! My my, let me just say that you look absolutely enchanting with all that blood all over your suit!” you exclaimed dramatically while floating down to the ground in front of him. He watched as you casually sent a magical blast from your fingertips towards the mischievous imp that was slowly regaining consciousness. From his experience in working with and observing the extent of your powers, he quickly came to the conclusion that you were the real reason as to why the powerful being was knocked out and defeated. To make matters worse, Superman happily cheered you on like the supportive friend he was as they both watched you open up a golden portal to shove the mischief maker back into his own dimension. You let out a happy sigh and turned towards Bruce with a wink.

He was too frustrated and too moody right now, so he really didn’t want to deal with any of your teasing antics right now. Sensing the shift in his friend’s mood, Superman decided that he did not want to be anywhere near an irritated Batman, so he silently pleaded with his eyes if you could take him to his own Bat-jet (or whatever Bruce liked to call it).

He never thought he would say this, but he wished Superman stayed with him instead. Life was so tough sometimes, honestly.

You chuckled at his irritation. You weren’t really fazed by it when you held him up with ease. “Oh dear, it seems that my damsel in distress needs his knight in shining armor to save him once again!” you gasped out loudly before laughing softly against his ear at your own joke. A shudder ran down his spine when he felt your breath brush against his sensitive neck. Of course, he would never admit that he only let you touch him because he loved to feel your firm touch against his body, but he shamefully liked it and it pissed him off. Though, he supposed that out of all the Avengers here, you were the most tolerable. It really could have been worse, so your presence will have to do.

You gently lead him to his jet, knowing that he was probably not in the mood to deal with Stark’s attitude or Superman’s bickering with Captain America. Being alone with him wouldn’t be so bad! You could say you like the brooding bat and you don’t really mind having a jet all to yourself with him. Besides, it was probably better to keep your antics away from the rest of the group. Everyone that had the displeasure of being in the same room as you and Bats had noticed your obvious affections for him, but they couldn’t seem to have the heart to tell him of how completely oblivious he was to your flirtations, due to his desire to keep emotions as far away from him as possible.

Even if he didn’t want to address his emotions, it was getting out of control. The way you held him right now drove him crazy; he can’t get enough of the feeling of your body so close to his. His mind was constantly plagued with thoughts of you: your chaotic personality, your body, the way your costume hugged your features in all the right places, your lips, your beautiful skin. God, he just wanted to—

Bruce. Stay focused. Now’s not the time to let the witch know about your minuscule fascination for them.

When you two finally settled into the jet, you rested your hand on the control panel and casted a spell that could take you two back to the Hall of Justice. From where you currently were in the world, it would be a relatively long flight back. Being stuck with Bruce for a while wasn’t too bad, right? Sure, it was a bit cramped to your liking, but with this jet on autopilot, you had time to turn around and talk to your currently injured ally behind you. When you did so, he groaned and braced himself for the onslaught of your incessant chatter.

“So,” you drawled out before smacking your lips comically. “Word from Question is that you were in quite a predicament before I saved your ass,” you commented before flashing him a lopsided smile (that he had grown to adore). “I can’t help but feel touched that the mighty Batman needed saving from a little ol’ witch like me,” you cooed, which caused him to narrow his eyes slightly. “I had the situation under control,” he lied through his teeth. Yeah, like hell would you believe that.

You raised your brow at his response and leaned forward for as much as you could to rest your head on the jet’s seat. For some reason, he couldn’t find the strength to pull away from your close proximity to his lips. He trusted that you wouldn’t do anything too bold with him, as he had figured out by now that your teasing was nothing too serious. You smirked at him and tilted your head to the side. “Somehow, I don’t really believe that… Bruce.”

The mention of his name made his eyes widen in shock and despite his terrible condition, his body became alert with paranoia. How the hell did you figure that out? He hasn’t told any of the League yet about his identity and you didn’t even visit him that often, so how did you figure it out?

When you sensed his panic, you waved your hand dismissively and shrugged. “Come on, it just made sense. If Stark was one of the billionaires that had enough money to become a self-made hero, then surely the one upper crust social outcast from Gotham City, who actually had the motivations to become a hero, would use his money to do the same exact thing,” you assessed, leaving him completely stunned. Watching you analyze him so accurately made him realize that he knew absolutely nothing about you. At first, he believed that you weren’t really a League member nor his friend, so he didn’t feel the need to make a file about you. But now, it was clear that he had more of a desire to do as much research as he could about you. He never really had someone figure out his identity so quickly with little to no evidence to support it. He supposed that it was admirable, even though he should find it dangerous.

You finally leaned back and gave him room to breathe, despite Bruce silently wishing for you to stay where you were before. Then, he looked up and saw your eyes soften with a shimmering, unrecognizable emotion, and suddenly, he became curious as to what you were thinking about.

“Despite you being a rich kid in a bat costume, I always admired how powerful you are in your own right,” you said sweetly.

Wait. You what? You admired him?! He surely thought you looked down on him because of you powers.

You chuckled knowingly at his shocked expression.

“Come on, Bruce Wayne, you’re not just a man dressed in a bat costume. The thing about you is that—unlike Stark, you seem to dedicate your entire life to making sure that not only Gotham City was safe, but you also do everything you can to change the systemic problems. Unlike him, you want to get to the root of the problem and prevent crime from happening at all. And that, to me, is the one thing that I respect the most about you.” You paused and flashed him a kind smile. It was the most genuine smile he had ever seen you do towards him. Without knowing it, his heart skipped a beat at the sight.

“You are a wonderful hero, inside and out. You are a natural leader and one hell of a better superhero than those randos with magical superpowers. I mean come on, the last time I hung out with you guys, you saved the day with just your badass combat and heavy strategic skills!” you exclaimed, your mood suddenly shifting to a more playful one. He couldn’t help but smile sheepishly at your compliments, even though he found it so strange that you suddenly wished to compliment him. He supposed that’s one of the most intriguing aspect of your personality: your unpredictability.

You saw that you were nearing the destination and your heart sank a bit in your chest. You kinda wished that you could stay a little longer all alone with him. But the man had yet to say anything. At least, until now.

He shifted in his seat and clutched his aching stomach before his eyes hesitantly met yours. “I can see what you’re doing. You’re selling yourself too short,” he grumbled. “You were there to back me up that day and defeated those demonic armies with your superpowers.” You tensed up at his words and your eyes diminished its original joy. When he saw you change in demeanor, he felt a little bit guilty for pointing that out.

You decided to speak up.

“Ya know,” you hesitated at first, before you decided to let Bruce in on a secret. “I don’t really have superpowers; at least, not in the traditional way that the Hulk or Superman have them.” Your eyes blurred into a more somber expression. With that look alone, he decided to stay quiet, knowing that this was a topic that you must’ve held close to your heart. “I’m not a superhero, I’m a witch,” you corrected him. “I can use my magick to help others, sure, but I didn’t exactly choose this crime-fighting life.”

Considering the fact that Batman had self-proclaimed that he was a brooding mess with lots of issues, he knew out of everyone that this moment was a moment of vulnerability. He assumed that some of the League members might have felt insecure in their place here, but he never really met someone that is insecure about their reputation as a hero. It surprised him that you trusted him with this secret, despite you not knowing him that well, but he chalked it up to you trusting him with a sentiment so morally grey because of his own brooding nature. You continued. “I like to think that I am a normal human, just like you. The only different thing about me is that I decided to play with magick that I just wanted to keep for myself.” Your eyes saddened at the memory before they darkened with bitterness.

“A man named Dr. Strange had recently gotten involved with the Avengers, but he was my friend first. When we met each other while studying the ancient practice of the Mystic Arts, we just clicked and decided to stick together for a very long time.” He nodded in understanding, familiar with the practice. You looked at him before you shamefully stared back down at your gloved hands. “He was the one who told me that I would feel fulfilled if I joined the Avengers, but I quickly realized how wrong he was from the moment I stepped foot in their base. It may be selfish, but I just want to live a peaceful life, Bruce. I don’t want to save people anymore.” Your eyes shined with sadness and pain. “But of course, destiny had been called me to suffer a crueler fate, and that was—“

“to feel guilty at the thought of abandoning your life as a hero, so you stayed one, despite all the pain,” he finished, reaching out to rest his hand on top of yours so he could make eye contact with you. You made a soft noise of surprise at his touch and you looked up at him with your own wide eyes. He observed how they were filled with so many conflicting emotions that seemed to swirl around in endless circles, no doubt the same feeling you felt in your heart too. Seeing you so vulnerable tempted him to be vulnerable too, for the first time in his life. If your gaze was always this deep and earnest, it made sense that Wonder Woman had admired you for your ability to let her rant for hours on end about anything she ever wanted to talk about. And now, here you were, giving him the opportunity to let his emotions go, to finally feel them fully without anyone else’s judgment. Your ability to do this may be what he liked the most about you, even if he would never confess that to you.

His thoughts cleared when his eyes shifted to the scenery in front of you. It seemed that you two had finally arrived at the Hall of Justice. However, you knew that it would take a while for the jet to park itself in the designated ‘parking lot’ for all the cars and jets, so you continued speaking.

“I… know I’m not the one that you could get along with. I’ve known that fact for a long time. But if there is a redeeming aspect of myself, it’s that I’m waiting with a heavy heart for a chance to finally put the fighting behind and use my magick for the purpose I originally had intended to fulfill with it: build my own cottage and grow my own garden in the middle of the woods,” you explained with a hopeful smile before you let out a final sigh.

While his heart burned with shame over his icy behavior towards you, there was something so endearing about hearing a powerful witch such as yourself wish for a life dedicated to taking care of nature. You reminded him of all the good qualities that Poison Ivy had. It touched Bruce’s heart, even if you sometimes irritated him with your teasing. Now more than ever, you seemed to be more relatable to him than he originally thought.

It made you much more desirable in his eyes. It was scary how many emotions he had to repress, just so he could appear calm in in your presence.

Then, your eyes met his again. He could see that you were waiting for his reaction, anything from him that could provide a source of comfort for you. But he was at a loss for words. How quickly his life changed in just one flight. From the moment you put him in his jet, he never knew that he could find a friend in you. It made his heart soar and beat wildly in his chest. But in your eyes, he seemed to not care about anything you said, so you just decided to brush the deep conversation off and focused on landing instead.

When the jet had finally stopped, you got up and got out of the jet. Reaching up, you helped him get down from his seat too. He knew didn’t need to be babysat and taken care of, but you didn’t make him feel like it was that. For the first time in his life, he found someone that had always respected his abilities as a hero. You surprised him when didn’t interrogate him about everything in his entire life because you understood why he kept his life a secret in the first place. Finally, for the first time in his life, he finally met someone who saw him as Bruce: not Bruce Wayne or Batman. Just… Bruce.

While he was stuck in his thoughts, you dusted yourself off and guided him down the empty cave and towards the elevator to get you both to the main floor. But before you could press that button, he suddenly gripped your wrist and whipped you around to face him. You knew he was a mysterious man, but when he slowly backed you up against the wall, you couldn’t help but wonder if your choice to rant to him was the right one. You closed your eyes in fear and turned away from his gaze. You braved yourself for a hit or a yell from Bruce, but nothing happened. Instead, he pinned your wrists against the wall. Your eyes snapped wide open at his action and you stared at him in surprise. Your breath hitched in your throat when he leaned in close to your face.

“Will you…” he trailed off in silent nervousness, but he forced himself to move past his fears. He searched your eyes for any signs of discomfort. Despite your position, you more so showed signs of pleasant surprise and dare he say it—excitement. Taking it as a sign to stay in his position, he continued voicing his request while he leaned closer until you could feel the breath of his whispers against your parted lips.

“Will you take off my cowl?” He whispered quietly. When you heard his request, you gasped lightly in shock. Wasn’t he always going on about people not being allowed to get to know what he looks like? Nonetheless, you hesitantly reached up and slowly pulled off the cowl to reveal the ethereal sight of none other than Bruce Wayne. For the first time, you saw as his eyes seemed to hold deeper emotions than you had ever seen him express. Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched his eyes wander all over your face. His eyes finally settled on your lips and at that moment, you realized exactly what was going on.

“W-What are you doing…?” You inhaled sharply as your hands flexed against his. You could feel a soft sigh from him that seemed to fill your entire body with chills. This was the right time to confess before it is too late. “I’m tired of this, of my distance towards you and my inability to…” he paused as you felt his hands move up to intertwine with your fingertips. “to… touch you, to hold you and to make you mine,” he almost growled out while you tried to figure out what he was trying to tell you. Was he saying that he liked you romantically or if he wanted to pursue something more physical? You hoped it was the former, since a relationship with Bruce was something you had always dreamed of having. Having him so close to you right now was causing you to burn bright with the hope of finding love with him.

Suddenly he caused you to accidentally squeak in shock when he leaned in to breathe deeply against the skin of your cheek. There was no kiss—at least not yet. But somehow, this moment was more intimate than any kiss you had ever received in your life. And from your reaction, it made him only want you more; to continue to fluster you and feel your cheeks burn up against his own. “Tell me. Tell me that you do not feel the same towards me,” he sighed hotly before his head moved slightly back to press his nose to the side of your lips. You realized now that the two of you were here in the Justice Hall garage just a moment away from kissing and clawing at each other’s skin in an attempt to seek a sense of intimacy that both of you had never experienced before.

“Tell me you don’t feel the same towards me and I’ll back off,” he murmured. He was so close to you, to the point where you could drown in his pounding heartbeat. From the way he treated you with so much passion but with a certain gentleness to it, it made you finally realize that he really wanted you to tell him that you loved him; that his shaky, nervous breaths were not due to his lust, but rather because of his desperate hope that you might like him back. How could you not say no to him when he’s being so vulnerable with you?

You let out a shaky sigh from his sudden confession and the feeling of his body pressed up against yours. After all this time, you thought that your love was unrequited, but here he was at your mercy with desperation in his eyes for more of your touch. You didn’t want to keep him waiting, so you decided to finally make a move.

Instead of releasing your hands from his restraints, you nuzzled your cheek against his to display your reciprocity for his feelings. It took everything within him not to act out sinfully while he felt your breaths against his neck.

“(Y/n),” he whispered desperately to you, his hands gripping tighter around your wrists. “Please, tell me you feel the same way.” You hummed in response and leaned back until your lips almost touched his. “I like you too. I always have,” you confessed to him so delicately that drove him absolutely wild with unruly passion to make you his. “You mean more to me than you know, Bruce,” you whispered before your lips barely pressed a kiss to his lips. He growled under his breath in frustration from your teasing, but the next words that slipped out of your mouth finally compelled him to kiss you like his life depended on it:

“I am yours entirely. My heart belongs to you.”

At this point, he was too far gone to scold himself for feeling so strongly towards you despite knowing barely anything about you. He knew now that love doesn’t have to make sense. Even if there wasn’t a day that would go by without him being vexed by your outgoing personality, he still adored it nonetheless. He was okay with it because you were his light outside of Gotham City and he only hoped that one day, he could see your endearing lopsided smile when you find out about the cottage he had built for you both to retire in for the rest of your days.

Maybe it was cliche to think that opposites really do attract, but Bruce didn’t care. What matters now was you are his and he is yours.

And he wouldn’t have it any other way.