#all the fuzzy bits are new bone!

[pangur-and-grim]

you wish you had a bone glob as bulbous as mine

[emsvertigo]

Let The Light In

image not mine, found on pinterest

summary & genre — fluff & nsfw. it’s a hot day and you & seb are relaxing in your shared bed. (not fully smut)

warnings — sexual references, seb touches you a lot (i got a bit carried away), can’t think of anything cause this is actually tooth rotting.

character & pairing — sebastian wilder x fem!reader (la la land. 2016)

word count — 1.5k

a/n — i arise with a tooth rotting self insert. this came about because ever since i watched ‘la la land’ i can’t stop thinking about ryan. i’ve also been religiously listening to lana del rey’s new album so ofc this fic was written when i was listening to ‘let the light in’. anyway if anyone reads this i love you cause there’s actually no fics for ryan, let alone seb, and you understand what i’m going through. anyway i hope you guys enjoy!

find my old fics here! ✿

His hand ran slowly up and down your thigh, an effort to trace every single blemish on your skin. The warmth of his fingertips danced, coating your skin in a layer of sprinkled love, tickling his way along your freckles. Golden pools of light spilt into the room, painting the space in an amber aura of tranquillity; reaching to the crevices of the ceiling and plunging to the floor like a waterfall. Occasionally silence was broken by cars speeding past, or the harmony of birdsong in their melodic major key. You hummed, content with the pleasure and peace experienced at the moment.

The heat had forced you to bare your legs, curling towards you as the bedcovers drooped over your figure, your feet barely covered by the white duvet. Your head settled against the pillow, blissful in the comfort you had created. You stared at the dancing dust glimmering around his hair, coating it in a haze which painted his hair blond. The shimmering light drowned his face, illuminating his cheekbones, and causing his shadows to become softer, a soft fuzzy glow radiated from his face. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration, as he stared down at the book lingering softly in his hand.

You’d tell him religiously, like a preacher reciting a mass, all the ways in which he had made you come undone. How in the gorgeous light, he looked otherworldly, godly, like he was dripping with nectar. His bare chest was smothered in gold and small beads of sweat, a little patch of hair growing across his chest which was tanned with the Californian sun. The pink blush flushed against his cheeks absentmindedly decorated his bone structure. You could’ve stared for decades, letting your imagination run wild as his teeth caught his bottom lip, slowly biting at the soft flesh.

“Quit looking at me.” He laughed, turning a page of his book, not paying any mind to your form slowly inching closer to him. His eyes darted along the page, soaking in the information.

You hummed in response, reaching up and moving a strand of hair out of his face, tucking it back into place. He sighed, his eyelashes flickering and dropping the book into his lap, no longer interested in the contents it held. You smiled wildly, teeth grinning.

“Was the book not interesting?” You inquired, moving to place your hand under your chin and balance the other against the sheets. Seb smiled down at you, eyes sapphire in the blinding light.

“Too political.” He whispered, his eyes growing wide in a joking fashion. His hand had now removed itself from your thigh and was tiptoeing its way up to your waist. Your tummy was bare, the top you wore hugging as little of your frame as possible. The heat was incredible, and looking adequate was the least of your worries.

The silence returned as you both gazed into each other's eyes. A dog barked in the distance, the only thing shattering your peaceful moment. You licked your lips as Seb’s hands caressed your midriff, his touch tickling your warm skin. His eyelashes were heavy, and hair fell into his eyes once again, framing his face with curls. Stubble littered his face, a subtle hint that summer was here and his want to shave had disappeared.

“I love the way you look.” You exhaled, soaking in his features like an anaesthetic lulling you to sleep.

“That’s a strange way of saying you love me.” He laughed, his fingers still tracing the outline of your belly button absentmindedly. You rolled your eyes, wanting to smack his chest but deciding against it.

His head leaned down, planting a peck of a kiss onto your forehead. Lingering for a few seconds to breathe your scent in.

“I'm joking.” He mumbled into your hair, eyes fluttering closed. His hand coming further up your front, laying flat against your stomach.

His head returned to its original position, but in the newfound proximity, your breaths became one. Wavering for a moment, he let himself gaze in awe at your complexion. Drinking in every ounce of perfection, which dripped off of you.

“Now who's the one that's staring.” You breathed, his mouth swallowing your thought in a kiss. Your posture tipped towards his frame, a hand finding its way to rest gracefully at the side of his face. Stubble close to your fingertips.

His lips pressed flush against yours, causing his nose to meet your face. Tongues interweaving in dance, lips interlocking with passion. Your breath hitched in your throat as he pulled you towards him, hand now on the small of your back. His palm dragged its way up, and underneath your top.

A groan emerged from his lips as you parted from the bond. Leaving his lips pouted and flushed, eyelashes still closed against his pink cheeks. His hand still lazing on your back, drawing circles in impatience.

You swung your hips around, now sitting up on the bed facing him. He obliged without remark and sat the same way, pulling you in further with his other hand. Your hand had fallen to his chest and now rested flush against him, head raising to bathe in the golden sunlight filtering through the blinds. His eyes winked shut once again as he came forward to lock your lips with his.

“Seb.” You moaned into his mouth, gasping when his lips moved at a sensual pace, coating your mouth in his love. Your prayer was answered by a low hum, as his hands both felt their way around your torso. Your own hands wrapped themselves around his neck, desperate to pull him even closer to you. With your quickened movements, his book was left discarded on the wooden floor, pages open and ruined.

He swallowed every moan that dared to drip off your tongue in sweet praise, letting out a gasp when he let his fingers dance around the edges of your breasts. Your hands locked tightly into his hair, curling strands in between your fingers. Nails scratched down his scalp, allowing soft sounds to escape his throat like honey. Two bodies became one in a haze of cloudy lust.

His hands outlined your breast, almost frightened to touch you in case you shattered into millions of pieces. His tongue traced your teeth, as he attempted to consume every inch of you. His fingertips faltered, resting his thumbs against your chest, narrowly missing what he wanted to touch most. A slow hum erupted from your throat, threatening to break out into a moan, attempting to communicate your genuine need for him. Yet he still faltered.

You considered the fact his tongue was down your throat, yet he wouldn’t let his hands cup your breasts.

“Touch me.” You moaned in between kisses, acknowledging his hunger to feel you. Interlinking your souls together with a simple intimate touch.

Immediately his hands shifted into place, palms pressed flush against you. A strained noise choked in his throat at the action, a sound that sent an electric current running down to your core.

His hands began to work at a steady pace, moulding you like clay. His long fingers were covered by the cloth dividing him from the real world. Kneading you slowly like dough or putty, causing you to moan with every squeeze. You shifted positions so your heel sat in between your legs, desperately hoping for some friction against you.

He suddenly broke free from the kiss, panting into the air still coated in sun. His glistening face glowed in ecstasy and light, sunbeams bouncing onto his skin. His eyes worked their way down your front to meet with his hands beneath your top, the outline squeezing flesh. Your eyelids drooped at the sight of his features glimpsing your body.

Your hands released from his neck, and found their way to the hem of your shirt, tugging the fabric to pull it over your head. Once it was tossed at the side of the bed, you thanked God that you hadn't worn a bra that day. Your hands, gripped into his shoulders tightly.

Seb’s hands stopped for a second with the newfound sense of freedom, loosening their grip for a moment. You let your head lull backwards, gazing up at the ceiling and closing your eyes as his hands resumed their routine. A curse trickled from your lips in a stolen breath as your over-sensitive skin was pleasured.

“Oh, my God.” You uttered, repeating it like it was your last word on Earth. As though Sebastian was keeping you afloat along a river of satisfaction.

You couldn't see his face, but you knew he was smirking. Enjoying the way your brows furrowed with every movement of his hands. His head came up to meet your exposed neck in open-mouthed kisses, causing your breath to catch in your throat.

“You’re perfect.” He declared in between kisses, sucking sensitive spots on your skin and provoking loud groans from both of you.

As his fingers worked pinching your skin and nipples every so often, you wondered how you got so lucky. To be located in the city of dreams, and wrapped in a musician's arms, with his piano-player fingers working overtime to please you.

You couldn’t be happier.

[zedif-y]

Joel wakes up screaming.

His first thought, honestly, isn’t very coherent. A mishmash of need more time and a throat-tearing scream escaping him as he opens his eyes to–

His scream dies down. Joel looks around– at least, he thinks he’s looking around. Hard to tell when it’s all pitch black and he can’t see a thing, is he sure his eyes are working–?

Joel brings a hand to his face, “Did I go blind– What the heck!”

His voice comes out shrill, a hair away from a shriek (because no, it wasn’t a shriek, it was all manly and stuff, thank you.) as his hand kind of– it kinda–

He knows where his head is. Obviously. Be a bit weird if he didn’t. He knows where his head is, and he knows where his hand is. Both are important. So when he reached towards his head, right, gotta see if there’s a cloth over his eyes, or if he’s gone blind or whatever stupid thing must’ve happened to him after… After he…

His thoughts go fuzzy for a second, like that feeling you get when you think you’ve forgotten something but can’t remember what. Like knowing the shape of something you’ve lost, its absence so pressing that it chokes you like sand, clogging your lungs with each second it's gone but what the heck is it–?!

Where was he, again?

Oh. Right. He was freaking out.

The point is– because there was a point, right before things got all weird there– his hand went through his head.

It… He doesn’t even know how to explain it. It felt like… Not much, really. Didn’t feel like anything. But that’s the issue with it, the issue of something should be there, like skin and muscle and bone and perhaps even a brain. But instead, Joel put his hand where his face should be and he felt nothing, no matter how hard he tried, how far he reached and pushed and–

Joel wants to scream. Or laugh. Or cry. Either of the three, though preferably not that last one.

It’s so weird. He just wants…

There it is again. That feeling. The clawing, desperate something in his chest that twists and writhes–

“Hey, Joel.”

Joel screams. (First option, then.)

Jimmy just stares at him, unimpressed. His sunglasses are blocking his eyes.

For some reason, it makes Joel want to cry.

Jimmy sighs, “Are you done?” Joel gapes at him.

Are you serious, “Am I d– What the heck, Jimmy?” He snaps, “Don’t sneak up on me like that, I’m not bloody Grian–”

Since when did Jimmy get so quiet, anyway?

“Of course you’re not Grian,” Jimmy says, his voice all weird. Off. “It’d be easier if you were. He’s already moved on.”

Joel’s hackles rise, “What d’you mean it’d be easier?” He snarls, like snapping teeth. “And he hasn’t moved on, he’s just–”

“Looking for new friends?” Jimmy deadpans. Joel’s jaw clicks shut. “ ‘s what I thought.”

Oh, Joel wants to punch him in the–

Wait a second.

It comes back to him then, slamming into him like a wave. The bubbling, helpless laughter in his chest as he leaps and runs across a flimsy dirt bridge. The way he knows he’s fallen before, fallen a million different times and came out both dead and alive but he doesn’t care.

("–you can't keep doing this–")

He doesn’t (didn’t) care, because why should he, he’s got– he’s got water. He’s got water, like everyone else on this blumin’ server, he’ll live, surely, so there’s no need to be scared.

("–got to let go, eventually, right–?")

No need to worry, even as yellow feathers plummet and disappear from view and lightning strikes where Jimmy’s voice cut off–

“Joel!” Jimmy shouts, practically right in his face. “Joel, are you even listening–?”

This, Joel decides, is not Jimmy.

It's got the shape of Jimmy, sure. Right hair and face and everything. Right voice, right bloody curve of his eyebrows, which makes Joel laugh, because it isn't him.

It can't be. It can't be, because Jimmy's dead. Jimmy's gone, he ran out of time because he fell like an idiot so no, this can't be him, there's no way.

On all levels except physical, Joel can't seem to breathe.

There's no way this is Jimmy, he thinks, just the right amount of hysterical. It's just not possible.

Because if this is him, (and that's a big, gigantic if) then that means– That means wherever he went, Joel followed. Joel followed, and now they're in the Void, or Limbo, or whatever the heck it's called, and that means that Joel–

Joel failed Grian, too.

"You're not Jimmy," He says at last, with his not-there tongue and not-there face. His voice sounds distant. "He'd be like, crying. Screamin' about dying first again, going oh my gosh!" Joel tells Not-Jimmy, pitching his voice up and then laughs, laughs, and laughs.

Until he can't breathe. Until it hurts to.

Until it's not much of a laugh at all.

Light shines on Not-Jimmy's sunglasses. He's still the only thing Joel can see.

Joel reaches out, pretending to see two, shaking hands grab Jimmy by the shoulders. He pretends, thinks about it hard enough that he almost feels the texture of Jimmy's denim under his palms. He thinks, imagines, pretends, whatever, that the fabric crinkles under his touch, that the sob that makes his way past his lips is a laugh as he says, "I'm sorry."

Something wet trickles down his not-there face.

" 'm sorry, Jim," Joel rasps out, and it hurts. "You weren't supposed to– I had a surprise for you, you know?"

Jimmy's voice is quiet, "What kind of surprise?" He asks, and Joel…

Joel thinks he might be falling apart.

(Or maybe, his mind supplies, he shattered a long while ago. Like glass hitting the floor.)

He grins, or at least, he tries to. "I was gonna break your curse," He confesses, with his terrible, trembling mouth. "I was gonna sacrifice myself for you, be all heroic and everything."

Jimmy says nothing. Joel still can't see his eyes.

"I'm sorry."

He's getting tired of pretending.

"Will you come with me now?" Jimmy– Not-Jimmy says, his voice ringing like the toll of a bell. "You've said your piece, not many are afforded that luxury."

Joel blinks. Death stands before him, no sunglasses to cover empty sockets.

For a moment, Joel considers fighting. Again, and again, and again.

But he is so, very tired.

He sighs.

I don't feel very lucky, Joel wants to say. And you still aren't Jimmy. 

"Whatever," He says instead. He feels his entire being slip away like sand, like time held tightly between two fists. "Take me away, or whatever it is you do."

Joel closes his eyes, "I'll tell him when I see him."

[lostarchivesoforpheus]

`•- Their Love Languages

antonio paganini, andrew kreiss, kevin ayuso, luchino diruse, matthias czernin, naib subedar, william ellis x gn reader (all seperate)

prompt: love languages

warnings: physical touch (obvs cuz it's one of the love languages lmao)

a/n: wasn't able to get this out on time cuz i was busy but day 6 of the valentines event yippee!! also i have now spent 161 pulls for matthias and i still haven't gotten him yet. im now entering my villain arc

Starting off, Antonio loves giving you words of affirmation and physical touch. Every single day, whenever he's around you, he'll be holding your hand or hugging you affectionately as he whispers compliments and sweet words into your ears. He'll back off a bit if you dislike PDA, though. As much as he just wants to pick you up and smother you with his affection, he'll happily wait until the two of you are in private if that's what makes you comfortable. When it comes to receiving love, Antonio likes words of affirmation and quality time. He's often busy with matches or practicing a new song, so any time spent with you is time he treasures. It also makes him giddy whenever you compliment him. Whether it be you praising him after playing a song or doing well in a match, he always loves receiving your compliments.

Andrew is a bit awkward with his affection, but he loves to give you quality time whenever he can. It's not really something he can explain, but something about you just being there with him seems to wash all his worries away and make him feel truly at peace. Also, he likes to receive words of affirmation from you. Again, your presence is soothing to him, and whenever you give him kind words and reassurances, it always makes him feel calm and happy.

Kevin is extremely affectionate, and he loves giving just about everything. Oftentimes, when he's near you, he'll come up behind you and gently wrap his arms around your waist, giving you a surprise hug as well as a quick kiss on the cheek. He also likes giving you little compliments accompanied by affectionate petnames as he hugs you. Also, he'll be happy to take care of just about anything for you if he sees that you're feeling tired or unwell, and he'll give you a little gift in hopes that he can cheer you up, even if just a little bit. When it comes to receiving your affection, Kevin adores whenever you spend quality time with him or do little acts of service to help him. It never fails to make him feel warm inside when you offer to do some little mundane tasks for him before sitting down on the couch and cuddling with him.

Luchino is very busy, so he tries to apologize for it by spending quality time with you. He doesn't have very much time between matches and continuing his research on whatever new topic has caught his interest, but he always tries to make time for you at least once or twice a day. Oftentimes, he'll spend lunch with you, engaging in a pleasant conversation with you before he returns to his work. Sometimes, though, his work keeps him busy during your usual noon meeting times, so he tries to apologize by finding you sometime later in the day and spending a few moments with you. When he's receiving affection, Luchino loves whenever you give him words of affirmation and physical touch. It always warms his heart whenever you pay him a visit while he's working himself to the bone in his office. When you walk over to his chair and gently massage his shoulders while you whisper kind words in his ears, he just absolutely melts. He has a soft spot for you, and whenever you're sweet and kind to him, he always feels warm and fuzzy on the inside.

Matthias doesn't really know how to show affection, but he always tries to give you some quality time and gifts in order to show his love to you. Mostly, he just likes to be around you, as your presence tends to make him feel less worried and more peaceful. Oftentimes, the two of you aren't really doing anything specific together, he just likes to tag along with you wherever you go. Also, he'll often try to give you some small things that remind him of you. Typically, he either picks a few flowers from the manor's garden and gives them to you in a small bouquet, or he'll give you small little trinkets like a locket or something of the sort for you to keep in your pockets for good luck. When he receives affection from you, he values words of affirmation the most. Your kind reassurances always help him whenever he's feeling worried or doubtful of himself, and he feels honoured that you think of him so highly. He also likes receiving physical touch, though he prefers if you'd ask first before you touch him; It makes him more comfortable.

Naib isn't the best with affection, but he tries his best for you, and he often shows his love through acts of service and quality time. Most often, he tries to take care of miscellaneous tasks for you so that you're not too exhausted by the end of the day, and he loves to sit down and relax with you on the couch in the evenings. He's not used to receiving affection, so any kind actions from you tend to make him feel warm and jittery inside, really. Though, he especially loves whenever you give him words of affirmation or physical touch. After a long day, Naib loves nothing more than when you cuddle up to him and make him swoon with sweet compliments. He practically melts in your embrace every time, and all of his worry and stress that built up our the course of the day seems to dissipate immediately, leaving a happy and content Naib leaning comfortably into your touch.

Lastly, William is also very affectionate, and he likes to show you love through physical touch and gift giving the most. Several times throughout the day, he'll just casually walk up to you and proceed to give you the tightest spine-crushing hug ever before letting go, ruffling your hair, and walking off to go participate in another match with a goofy smile. He also gives you a bunch of random things, usually for no reason besides that he thought you'd like it. He gives you just about anything, whether it be flowers, chocolate, necklaces, or other things. He just likes to shower you in love and affection constantly. When he's on the receiving end, William is a sucker for words of affirmation and quality time. He just loves it whenever you tell him how great he did in a match or how well he did when practicing rugby, it just seems to always make him feel all giddy inside, and he can't help but grin like a lovestruck fool. He also adores the moments whenever you two are hanging around together. It doesn't matter what the two of you are doing, he just loves being able to spend time with you.

a/n: was gonna add some of the girls and also a few more guys in here too but i ran out of time rip

thanks for reading, and remember to take care of yourself!

[scorpioracha]

Jisung x reader, exhibitionism, slight reader x Minho, perv! Jisung, open ended ending

Perv! Jisungie has been running through my head rampantly. Like this baby gives me such service top exhibitionist energy that I can’t help but to imagine him wanting to take you anywhere he thinks he can get away with it. Lmk if you likeee I’ve never really written something like this before 🫶🏾

Movie night with the boys starts off innocent enough, a casual sleepy affair with everyone sated from the dinner Minho cooked and sprawled across the various couches in the living room. You weren’t even really sure what was playing and you couldn’t say you were interested. You were hoping for the fault in our stars but they all wiped the floor with you in the first round of rock paper scissors leaving you pouting and uninterested. It wasn’t anything new, you never won anyways but you were hopping someone like Chan did, instead of being forced to watch one of Hyunjin’s many many historical art piece documentaries. No one was really watching but at least Chan and Felix tried to feign interest, letting out little hums and questioning hmm’s when it felt appropriate. Minho had left halfway through to do dishes, Jeongin was scrolling through Pinterest and Changbin was fast asleep in the comfort of his room, the only one brave enough to reject the movie completely. Seungmin had been sent to the convenience store an hour ago which was suspicious because the closest one was a five minute walk.

That just left you with the yapper,the mediators,the iPad kid and your lovely boyfriend who went through the trouble of getting you all nice and cozy with blankets because these heathens didn’t believe in heat before January. If they weren’t idols they’d make excellent landlords, you rolled your eyes. Despite the annoyances—if hyunjin ever pulled this shit again you were going to turn his jiniret into a smoothie—it was a nice time. You’d never admit it to their faces but you missed them. With all the schedules and comebacks it was hard to remember a time where they didn’t look half dead or were asleep. It was even nicer getting to see Jisung. The two of you had spent the better half of the movie side eyeing each other and giggling about Chan’s lackluster responses, the single father jokes almost blew your cover from how hard you were trying not to laugh. The monotonous drone of the narrative and Hyunjin’s consistent chatter lulled you into a hazy state of dozing off. The world growing pleasantly fuzzy as you laid your head on Jisung’s shoulder. It was perfect really, the lights were off, shades were drawn and he was rubbing your head in a way that had you nudging into his touch, scooting closer until you ended up in his lap. He grabbed the blanket and fluffed it a bit so you were both wrapped up tight and your head was resting in the crook of his neck.

The touches started off innocent enough. The hand that was rubbing your head ran down your back, massaging your hips and trailing down your thighs. This didn’t sound off any alarms, Jisung had always been pretty tactile and you were still dozing a bit. That was until his hand snaked around your waist, leaving feather light touches on your tummy, gentle adjusting you so you were more so straddling than cuddling him. You hummed inquisitively but he just shushed you and went back to rubbing your back. It felt nice, having his hands on you, they were warm and you were weak so you all but melted into his arms. You weren’t sure when gentle caresses turned into poorly disguised groping but you couldn’t help but gasp when his hands trailed back towards your stomach settling on your pelvis just below the hem of your sweats.

“W-what are you doing, sungie?”you whisper in his ear. You could feel him smile before you see it, all teeth and all trouble.

“ ‘m bored” is his only response as he rubs soft circles with his thumb across your hip bones, his grip only tightening when you begin to squirm.

“Wanna be good for me?”he purrs into your ear. the feeling of his breath fanning your neck alone has you trying to hide a shudder but you find your nodding anyways.

“Say it”he goads, digging his thumbs deeper into your hips making you suppress a whine.

“Say you want me to touch you”he starts.

“I-I want you to touch me”you say in a low tone, eyes darting around the room trying to make sure now wasn’t the time people decided to become social.

“In front front of all the members”he finishes. You flush and shake your head a bit.

“I-I Jisung—“

“Say it” he says. the glint in his eyes had gotten much darker, or maybe the hue of the tv had shifted. you felt the swirl of arousal begin to stir in the pit of your stomach. you’ve played the staring game with Jisung before time and time again. and if the earlier rock paper scissors was any indication.

You weren’t too good at winning.

“want..want you to touch me..’front of all y’er members”you mumble quickly, feeling your face grow hot and your stomach sink just a little bit. His grin widens and he rewards you by fulling dipping his hand under the waist band of your sweats, letting his fingertips rest on your clothed cunt.

“Really”he whispers, going for coy but he just looked hungry. “Didn’t know my girl was so needy”

There wasn’t much more time wasted talking as there was energy going into making sure you didn’t get caught. You isolated between pretending to sleep with your head on his chest to cover your face and inevitably needing to come up for air by pretending to stir restlessly.

and Jisung wasn’t playing fair.

Your panties were all but forced to the side as he rubbed deep gentle circles on your clit. and it just made you all the more aware of sound. Hyunjin talking, Chan and Felix now deep into their own conversation, games coming from Jeongin’s phone and Minho occasionally dropping cutlery in the kitchen and cursing. You could also hear your own heartbeat and the squelching of your cunt as Jisung bullied two fingers inside you, resulting in a strangled grunt and biting his shoulder. your stomach dropped and your blood ran cold but Jisung didn’t stop. Instead he curled his fingers just right in the way that had you wanting to crumple right there. his other thumb found his way to your clit and you were panting in his ear desperately trying to find the words slow down. Your head was thrown over his shoulder and all you saw was the hardwood floor, the dining room table and the glint of the kitchen light seeping in. your thighs were burning and you couldn’t tell whether you were chasing the pleasure or running away from it. and Jisung has the nerve to look unphased. his eyes were focused on the documentary and he was even engaging in Hyunjin’s pointless debates on modernism and whatever the fuck Picasso did and you have tears in your eyes from trying so hard not to make a sound. Jisung is hard, you can feel it, you know he’s getting off to it and the minute he hears a sniffle and feels your tear on his cheek, it’s over. You’re shifted a little bit to the left, he spreads your legs a bit wider and he’s thrusting his fingers into you with abandon. His face is still perfectly neutral while you’re falling apart just out of everyone’s line of sight.

Well, almost everyone.

You hear the hardwood floor creak just barely as Minho pads back in. In a state of panic your eyes shoot up and meet his, teary and damn near crossing. He goes to speak, he tilts his head, and he stops in his tracks. you’ve never made such intense eye contact with Minho before, it’s like you can see every thought run across his eyes in real time and fuck you’re still crying. they darken significantly before they settle on a sick understanding that has you feeling nauseous and hot and clenching tight around Jisung’s fingers. Minho’s eyes never leave yours and you almost feel like this was planned in a way. You wanna ask, but before you can Jisung is pinching your clit and you’re cumming around his fingers with an aborted cry. mid way through your high you realize the hand around your mouth is smaller than usual and the one petting your hair has sharp nails that Jisung doesn’t.

It’s Minho announcing that he’s back that finally gets everyone’s attention. The boys seem to all snap out of their own worlds in tandem and welcome him back with varying degrees of enthusiasm. You’re just happy to have the attention fully off you for a bit because you’re still shaking and your eyes are red and-

“Hey y/n, you alright?”Felix asks with a worried pout. you don’t even have time to think about an acceptable answer before Minho is rubbing your head again, those same sharp nails tracing your scalp and saying.

“She’s alright, just got a little banged up from helping me in the kitchen”

[miraclewoozi]

UNDER THE COLLAR. -l.sm

your unlucky-in-love best friend goes on a date with someone who, by all accounts, should be his perfect person. so... how exactly do you end up being the one who tucks his sorry, drunk ass into bed?

pairing; lee seokmin x gn!reader.  (he calls reader pretty once but that is all<3) content; fluff / some mild angst towards the middle / pining / friends to… still friends but with some ~tension~ and a snuggle? w/c; 4.6k and a smidge. warnings; swearing, alcohol consumption (offscreen), drunkenness, some suggestiveness (MINORS DNI), reader has some hard thoughts, a bit of affectionate touching but nothing deliberately sexual? seok is needy and cuddly (and a terrible flirt). let me know if i've forgotten anything! note; this was originally gonna be part of a mini-series/multi-chap situation but!! i ended up hating the full thing and only being attached to like. two parts of it lol so here we are! there could potentially be a second part to this? if people want it? i don’t know yet! but this kinda just works as it’s own standalone thing anyway i think~ happy sunday <3

The first text comes through just after you finally set your phone down on the bedside table. Your eyes are dry and have started to sting from a long evening staring at screens, your bones feel impossibly heavy, and you think maybe you’re settling down for a semi-decent night’s sleep when you hear the buzz of a notification. A buzz you initially plan to ignore. It can’t be anything that important: who would be trying to reach you at this time of night, anyway? 

You roll away from the device and snuggle down into your pillows, pulling the sleeves of your — his — jumper down over your palms and resting them just in front of your face. This particular garment stopped smelling like Seokmin after the second time it went through your washing machine, but there’s a familiarity in the slightly rough inner lining that makes you want to wear it to sleep in every night, forever. He never liked it when his hoodies were too new, too soft, leaving balls of fluff all over his t-shirts and vests; you don’t know when you started to feel the same way, but you’ve realised recently that you do.

Your eyes flutter closed and your body relaxes, head starting to feel fuzzy in that calm, white-noise, lovely way. You haven’t felt this tired and genuinely sleepy for… months. It’s bliss. 

And then your phone buzzes again. You squeeze your eyes tighter, determined not to lose this warm, comfortable feeling, but your phone vibrates and vibrates and vibrates and with an audible groan, you sit back up, reaching over to see what, exactly, is so damn important at 02:23 in the fucking morning.

Seokmin’s contact name flashes up on the lock screen and you see that there are seven unread messages from him in the space of the last 3 minutes. Instantly, your brows draw together: he’s seldom shied away from a double text, but you’ve never known him to pull a septuple, and you can’t feel but feel a little bit of dread in your stomach as you read through them. 

> seokmin: yn

> seokmin: ynnnnnn

> seokmin: i lied

> seokmin: i didmt go homr yet

> seokmin: can you come get mr

> seokmin: mr

> seokmin: m e

You shoot back a message instantly asking where he is, turning on your bedside lamp and already swinging your legs out from under the covers. You keep hold of your phone in one hand, waiting for it to buzz again to tell you he’s given you his location. With the other, you search for and pull on some sweatpants, sliding into a pair of sneakers. His replies come simultaneously too quickly, and entirely not fast enough.

> seokmin: u knkw the bar in town with the bear statiiue oitside

> seokmin: lol

> seokmin: do you think i ciuld beat thsi bear in s fight???

> y/n: christ. okay, wait inside for me. i’ll be there in 15. 

> y/n: also, no. you couldn’t. x

Your veins feel alive with adrenaline and worry as you grab your keys and head down the stairs to your car. The drive is quiet — you don’t even waste the few seconds it would take to plug into the AUX and pick a playlist, leaving it up to the radio to keep you company on the way. It doesn’t take too long: soon enough, you’re pulling up alongside the infamous bear statue to find your best friend sitting on the curb, propped up against the marble base.

“I thought I told you to wait inside?” you chide, rolling down the passenger side window so you can announce your arrival. It’s like he’s moving in slow-motion, or maybe your words just take an extra few seconds to reach him? Either way, he doesn’t lift his head until a silence has settled between you, and he doesn’t smile until his slightly glazed-over eyes land on your face.

“Y/n!” He cheers, lifting himself off the floor and staggering upright, pushing a hand through his hair. “Hi! Yeah, I know — but look, it was too hot in there. It was so hot. And I didn’t want you to wait-…” Hiccup. “To have to wait for me.” 

He slides into the passenger seat with a contented sigh, a mess of long limbs he can’t quite control, adjusting the vent in front of him so that the cold from your air-con breezes against his flushed cheeks. As he settles, you reach over him, pulling his seatbelt across his chest. 

“I was getting to that,” he whines, pouting his pretty lips at you, and you click the belt in place with a laugh. History tells you that when he’s drunk, Seokmin doesn’t always believe in the power of the seatbelt, among other things, so you think maybe you could be forgiven for not believing him this time.

“Okay, dumbass. Sure you were.”

He reaches down into the passenger footwell for your AUX cord, bumping his head on the dashboard and letting out an exaggerated hiss as he sits back upright. Nonetheless, he plugs his phone in and presses play on his own night-driving playlist, holding the device between both of his hands as you start off towards his place.

“So…” you prompt, because he’s staring blankly out the windscreen with a tiny smile on his lips and you’re concerned that maybe, this time, he has actually managed to drink himself stupid. He rolls his head over to look at you, and fond bliss is written into every line of his face. “What happened?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, still just… staring at you as you drive. Staring, even though every detail of you is committed to his memory already. Staring, even though he knows how your eyelashes flutter when you blink. Even though he knows how the muscles in your throat bob as you swallow the saliva on your tongue. Even though he’s sat in your passenger seat enough times to remember exactly how the late-night glow of the street-lamps overhead catch and illuminate the curve of your nose, how they highlight the point of your chin. He knows all this, but he can’t help himself. Staring is… indulgent. So, so indulgent. But he is pretty drunk and he can get away with it when you’re focused on the road — at least, that’s what he tells himself.  

When he does attempt to speak, just as you slow to a stop at a set of traffic lights, the sparkle in his gaze falters. He faces forward again, shoulders rising and slumping in a meek ‘I don’t know’.

“She was… perfect, I think,” he tries to explain, and you glance across to look at him; his lips are both non-existent, pulled between his teeth and he has worry lines creasing up his forehead. With the hand not holding the wheel, you reach over, pressing your fingertips to where his eyebrows have scrunched to try and get him to relax the muscles there. It sort of works, if only because he releases an involuntary breath of a laugh.

“Not perfect,” you gasp, dramatic and teasing even though it stings a little to hear him say that out loud. “I mean, that definitely explains why you were out drinking, alone, three hours after you told me you were heading home.” He turns his head fully away from you, now, letting your hand drop dangerously towards his lap. You pull it back to yourself before it collides with his jeans, clearing your throat. The traffic signal changes to green, and you drive ahead. “I’m kidding. Come on. Talk to me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, despondent, crossing his arms over his chest. You’re not sure you’ve seen him acting like this since you were teenagers. It’s a strange twist away from your usual, very easy-going banter.

“Seok...” You try again. “I won’t stop for nuggets if you don’t tell me.” 

“Don’t stop, then.”

“Seokmin…”

“Don’t-…” It comes out quickly, the vein in the side of his neck popping until he takes a deep breath in and releases it slowly. “Y/n. I’m tired, I just-… I don’t wanna talk about it. Can you please just… take me home?”

He’s still struggling with his words, but he isn’t abrasive in the way he speaks; that’s something you learned about Seokmin very early on in your friendship. He doesn’t raise his voice at you. He doesn’t get deep and gravelly when he’s pissed off. He just… seems to let himself feel things super intensely for a few seconds at a time and then he short-circuits, goes flat. It might be convenient for him, but it gets frustrating for you. Especially when he encourages you to open up to him as much as he does. 

His head is bowed and cradled in his hands when you pull up outside his apartment block, and you unfasten his seatbelt for him which jolts him upright. You stay facing front, though, guilt coursing through your veins at the thought of maybe having pushed him too far. You just want to understand. Why was his date being good such a bad thing?

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes with his fingertips. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” 

You shake your head. “Don’t be,” you tell him, and he scoffs, but quietly.

“Y/n,” he sighs, his crown falling against the headrest; he reaches over to you, places a hand just above your knee, and you try to ignore how it feels like someone has crashed their car into you from behind. How your heart lurches forwards in your chest. How your adrenaline spikes.

“I mean it. I shouldn’t have kept pushing. I’m sorry.”

He chews this over for a moment, but he doesn’t remove his hand, and you find that maybe you don’t want him to. Not yet, at least.

“Will you help me get up the stairs?”

“Of course I will.”

With one of his arms over your shoulders, your own supporting his waist, the pair of you begin the obnoxiously long ascent up through his building to his apartment. He’s lived here for a year and a half, and you think maybe the elevator has been working… for a total of about a week, since then? God forbid he ever got injured and couldn’t climb six flights just to get himself home. The climb is bad enough as is.

Somewhere around landing number four, Seokmin pulls away from you, mumbling something about having the spins and needing to sit down. You ease him to perch on one of the windowsills, sitting down next to him with your arm still around his hips to keep him balanced on the narrow ledge.

“You should’ve taken me back to your place,” he grumbles, doubling over with his elbows against his knees and his fingers linked behind his neck, taking deep breaths.

“Get your feet flat on the floor. Look at your shoelaces. Breathe slow. It’ll help,” you coo, and he shuffles a little so that he can do exactly that (not without wobbling and almost landing on his face, and he thanks you and your “super strong arms” for keeping him from such a fate). After a few more seconds of deep breathing and grounding, he lifts his head. Crisis averted.

“Are you-… like, a witch, or something?” he asks out of nowhere, and you snort so loudly that your throat hurts. He keeps staring at you, waiting for you to answer. Apparently your laugh wasn’t response enough.

“What are you talking about, Seok?” 

He rolls his eyes at you, as if you should just know. “How did you know how to fix me? It’s like magic.”

“Because I know you, stupid. Come on. Two more flights and I’ll get you into bed.”

“S’that a promise?” he asks, grinning to himself as you haul him back to standing, and he stumbles slightly against you, hands braced on your ribs. Sweating a little, you manoeuvre yourself away from him, landing a gentle, playful hit to his side. 

It doesn’t make your heart flutter, hearing what can only be a drunk rendition of his bedroom voice. It doesn’t. It doesn’t. It doesn’t.

“Save it for your next date with Ms. Perfect, would you?”

“Agh. You’re the worst.”

“I know. Now come on.”

After a few minutes of fumbling through Seokmin’s pockets yourself for his keys (it’s as if he’s forgotten how both hands and pockets work in his now very giggly stupor), apparently brushing every single one of his ticklish spots on the way, you’re inside his apartment and on your knees, untying his shoes for him, easing them off his feet. You don’t think he can be trusted to lean down to do it on his own without breaking something.

Or himself.

“If you go get ready for bed, I’ll bring you some water?” you suggest, sitting back on your heels, smiling up at him. There’s a weight in the gaze he’s looking down at you with, in the way his tongue darts out over his lips, and how his mouth doesn’t fully close after. You tell yourself he’s definitely only looking at you like this because he’s drunk, because you’re helping him — the boy doesn’t know ass from elbow, right now — but there’s no escaping the fact that your stomach drops a little at his intensity.

“Okay,” he strains after a moment, and you stand up and away from him, kicking off your own shoes. He heads in one direction towards his bedroom, and you move in the other towards his kitchen. 

Stop it, you tell yourself, leaning over the sink and splashing cold water from the faucet onto your face. Stop thinking about him like that. He’s your best friend. Stop it.

But… shit, you can’t get those big brown eyes out of your head. The way he looked down at you, the softness of his brows, the heat radiating off him. There’s nothing you can do to stop the way your thighs press together standing in his kitchen, in clothes that— you realise now— are entirely his. The hoodie. The sweatpants you pulled on. They’re an old pair that he let you steal just after your most recent breakup, when you’d stayed on his couch for a week straight just so you didn’t have to look at how ugly and empty your own apartment was. Everything. Even down to the socks.

You thought it was hard enough hearing that he was going out for dinner to your favourite restaurant with someone who wasn’t you; nothing could have prepared you for standing in his kitchen at three in the morning, hot under the collar over five seconds of tipsy eye contact, knowing he’s getting undressed behind the door you’ve been staring at for… minutes, now. Actual minutes. 

Oh, you think, feeling your blood run cold. 

Oh. 

I want him.

More minutes pass as you stew in this information — in the knowledge that you’re fucking desperate for the man who has been there for you through everything important enough to remember, and probably everything you’ve forgotten, too. The boy who took you to all of your school dances and was the perfect date, the perfect gentleman, the perfect partner. The man who has sat next to you in the doctor’s waiting room more times than you can count, waiting for results and sitting outside appointments that he told you that you were brave enough to book. Seokmin, who has been under your nose this entire fucking time — you want him, the man who went for dinner with his dream woman, today, and he said she was perfect. Acid burns the back of your throat as you fight not to run all the way back down to your car.

Fuck. It gets astronomically worse. I love him.

“Y/n?” you hear, and his whiny, gentle voice glides across the apartment like it’s been mounted on a cloud, blown straight into your ears. It floats around in your brain in the most beautiful way, and you think there could be love-hearts in the reflections on your eyes even despite the stress you’re now under. It occurs to you that his faucet is still running, and you still have two empty glasses sitting on the counter. How long has it been? Get it together. 

“Just a second,” you call back. Your voice breaks as you say it and you can hear him fucking giggle from behind the ajar door to his bedroom. The fluttering in your stomach worsens, and by the time you’ve shut off the tap and you’re walking through to him, you’re wondering if it’s possible for people to grow butterfly gardens inside themselves without noticing. No-one has ever made you feel this nervous, before. 

Breathe, you tell yourself as he comes into view, already snuggled down against his pillows with the top of his bare chest and shoulders visible in the low light. 

Fuck. 

This is the last thing you needed.

“Hi,” he greets you, pushing to sit up with eyes softer than the glow of the setting sun. “I missed you.” 

You stand corrected. That is. 

“You’re such a loser.”

You set his glass down on his bedside and crouch next to him. “Did you brush your teeth?” you ask, and his face transforms from a stupid childish pout at being teased to a devastatingly bright grin. 

This running joke you’ve shared between yourselves since your first night on the town together illuminates him, and he nods, proudly, his hair falling down over his face. You reach up to push a few strands away from his eyes, despite yourself.

“Sure did,” he tells you, and you believe him but you raise a brow anyway. He’s so pretty. With his playful smile, tongue held between his teeth, his nose a little scrunched. Fuck, how can anyone be so pretty?

“So if I go check your toothbrush, right now…” His smile turns into a laugh, his head lifts into your lingering touch until his cheek is fully rested in the palm of your hand. Stupidly, you tell yourself that this could mean something. Maybe he wants to feel you more.  

“You could find out another way,” he says, his voice dropping half an octave as his already heavy eyelids blink slowly at you. It’s a good thing you’re already on your knees because that tone could have you sinking to the ground in a split. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth fleetingly and you think you’re one more line away from melting into the floorboards. 

“You’re so out of it,” you murmur, shaking your head at him. “Did she make you get the oysters? Are you high on aphrodisiacs right now?”

He groans again and rolls onto his back, a hand dramatically coming up to cover his eyes. 

“Stop talking about her,” he whines. “I’m with you. I don’t wanna talk— I don’t wanna think about her right now.”

“Seokmin-…”

“Y/n,” he interrupts, lolling his head to the side, looking at you through impossibly long, dark lashes from between his fingers. “Please.”

You’re not sure what the pull in his voice is in aid of but you force yourself to let it go, pushing yourself up to your feet before you can fall forwards into him.

“I’m gonna head home,” you say, the quiet between you laying thick and heavy against your skin. “Text me when you’re awake tomorrow, okay?”

He contemplates this for a second, frowning; he doesn’t say anything as you start backing towards his bedroom door. Then…

“Please don’t.”

He says it so quietly. So hushed, you think you might have misheard. So delicate, you hold your breath just in case you somehow manage to shatter the moment. 

“Don’t what?” You ask, stopping in your tracks. He breathes deep and props up on one elbow, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Don’t go.”

Glued to the spot, you stare at him. You feel your head tilt to the side without really controlling it, and an eyebrow creeps up your forehead, slowly. 

“I left some lights on in my apartment,” you say feebly, and even though it’s true, a selfish part of you hopes that he’ll still keep trying to talk you around. It won’t take a lot to convince you. It never does. 

“So?” he asks, the duvet slipping just a little further down his upper half, baring more of his chest to you. “Please. I don’t want to be-…”

You swallow, waiting. The cogs in his inebriated brain are surely rotating at a few hundred miles a minute, his eyes almost desperate. Certainly glossy. Absolutely breath-taking.

“I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Your already fragile resolve snaps under the pressure of his words and you’re moving towards his bed before you can stop yourself. 

“I don’t have anything to sleep in,” you say, offering him one last out if he wants it, but Seokmin just shrugs and peels the duvet back for you to slip in beside him.

“Don’t care,” he mumbles, and you gesture for him to look away so, at the very least, you can shimmy out of his sweatpants. He does, and you do — a few seconds later, with the garment in question folded neatly on the floor by his bed, you’re pulling the sheets over your legs and burying down against his cushions.

His breathing matches yours inhale for exhale and the more you let yourself think about this, the worse you feel even though maybe you shouldn’t. How many times have you drunkenly shared Seokmin’s bed, or how many times has he shared yours? This isn’t new. Even sober, you’ve been curling up together on the couch to watch movies and sleeping with your heads in each other's laps for years. There’s no reason for the guilt that’s burrowing its way deep into your brain, but you can’t seem to get rid of it, no matter how hard you try.

“Y/n?” he asks after a few minutes of you lying stiff as a pair of boards, a few inches of cold mattress between your wide awake selves, both of you staring up at the ceiling. You hum an acknowledgement, and he clears his throat. “Can I hug you?”

Your heart does something you’re a little bit afraid of, but you nod in the dark anyway, before you realise he can’t really see you now all the lights are off.

“Drink some water first,” you tell him lightly. “Then you can.”

There’s something undeniably nerve-wracking about the sound of him obediently swallowing a few mouthfuls from the glass you brought him earlier, even more-so in the way he sets it back down on his dresser. The bed rustles a little as he moves towards you, the sheets shifting over your bare legs, and then he’s got an arm slung over your waist, his head is on the very edge of his pillow, right next to your own… he slides a leg over one of yours, slotting it between your calves, and before you know it, you’re completely wrapped up in him.

He’s warm, and soft, and his fingertips gently soothe circles into your waist where they’ve slipped just underneath the hem of the sweatshirt you’re still wearing. You hum gently, moving your arm so that it snakes beneath his neck, curling up to wrap around his shoulders. This close, you can smell the cologne he will have put on before meeting his date. It makes you dizzy, slows down the neurons firing away in your brain. You wonder what’s going through his own head — what he’s thinking about, being curled up against your side like this. Does he recognise the slight stuttering in your breathing? How cold you are in contrast to him? Will he even remember this, in the morning? Or will you just wake up on opposite sides of the bed tomorrow, all this just a weird, foggy memory in the dark?

His head burrows slightly closer to you and all of a sudden, you can feel him breathing. Every exhale fans against your neck, right where it feels sweetest; Seokmin breathes through his nose when he’s sober, but through his lips when he’s drunk. You’ve never noticed before. It’s maddening. 

“Comfy?” you ask, your voice dry and unsure, and he wriggles a little with a nod to affirm that yes, he is. Something about that makes your cheeks go hot.

“Always sleep better with you,” he murmurs, and your face grows even warmer. You tell yourself he doesn’t mean anything by it. He’s just drunk. It doesn’t help.

“Then sleep,” you say as his hand moves just slightly further up beneath the hoodie, the tips of his fingers gently tickling your lowest rib. You have to fight back a whine. “I’m here. You can sleep.”

“Thank you, y/n,” he breathes, and you turn your head: now your eyes have adjusted to the low light, you can sort of make out his features, so very close to you. This proves to be a mistake almost instantly, but you can’t look away. His eyes are closed now; you’re glad. He looks too sweet. Too peaceful.

“What for?”

“Everything.”

“Seokmin…”

“No, I mean — everything.”

You move your hand up slightly, fingers playing with the strands of his hair at the top of his neck, and he whimpers softly at the touch. You freeze, and he nuzzles back against your hand to beg you to keep going, so you do.

“You can’t thank me for everything,” you tease him, and he chuckles breathlessly, his palm now laying flat across your rib cage, curling around your side. Holding you. Claiming you, just for now.

“Can,” he protests, and you shake your head. 

“Nuh-uh. Against the rules.”

“What rules?”

“My rules.”

“I didn’t know you had rules.”

“I’ve got hundreds,” you tease, threading your fingers through his strands and gently massaging his scalp. Another whine from him, but you don’t stop. Especially not when he hugs you closer, arm and leg both tightening around you.

“Hundreds?”

“Mhm. Maybe even thousands.”

“Well. Fuck.”

You breathe a laugh at him, and he laughs back; within a few seconds, you’ve both dissolved into giggles, and Seokmin has squirmed even closer until he’s half-covering you, actively chortling into your covered collarbone.

“You’re s’posed to be getting to sleep,” you sigh as his own laughter picks back up following a few seconds of deep breathing and quiet.

“I can’t!” He says. You can feel the pout in his own voice, even with his face hidden. When did he end up practically on top of you? When did your arm slip down to around his waist? 

“You have to. You’re gonna feel so shitty tomorrow if you don’t.”

“I know. M’probably gonna feel shitty anyway, though.”

“Come on. Close your eyes. Count back from a hundred. You can do it.”

It falls silent again, and you delusionally tell yourself that maybe it’s working. Until…

“Can you lie on your side?” He asks, and you sigh dramatically but nod anyway: as he peels himself off you, you roll over, facing the wall in the foetal position. He’s right back against you in a blink though, legs tucked up behind yours, trying to find your hand under the quilt.

“S’this okay?” He asks as he accidentally brushes your thigh in his search, fingers lacing through your own when he finally succeeds. Your now joined hands work their way into the hoodie’s front pocket, and everything starts buzzing when he rests his chin on your shoulder.

“Y-yeah,” you swallow. “S’good.”

“Good,” he mumbles. A few deep breaths later, his voice rumbles against your earlobe again. “You looked so pretty for me tonight, y/n. Dressed up in my clothes — you’re so pretty.”

“Go to sleep,” you whimper, grateful at least that at this angle that he doesn’t see how your face scrunches up, how wide your smile is, how ridiculously good he makes you feel.

Euphoria. This is euphoria; you never want it to end.

“Count for me,” he asks, dropping his head down so his brows rest against your back, now. So you do.

“A hundred… ninety nine… ninety eight… ninety seven…”

His breathing is slow and his grip on your hand is slack by the time you reach eighty three. You doze off too, not very far behind.

thank u for reading all the way to the end!! likes, reblogs, comments + feedback are all always appreciated<3

[heymrspatel]

ian’s feeling a little self conscious and mickeys just straight up loving on his husband and telling him how sexy and fine he looks!

ohohooo boy you've hit me right in the chest with this one... ok, let's see!

---

ian's having one of those days. those days that don't happen super often anymore, but they do happen. waking up feeling physically heavy, groggy, slow. the harsh lighting in the bathroom making him notice those extra soft bits on his body, where he used to be taught and lean. he looks down, where his tummy sticks out above the band of his boxers, sighs.

eyes back up, he brushes his teeth, gazes at his reflection, and acknowledges that this is a fleeting feeling - because nowadays he looks at himself and sees it. happiness and health and comfort in his settled life. he loves it. he's sturdy, strong, beefy. he's soft, holdable, grounding. he sees it, he knows, mickey reminds him.

he sees it, washes his toothbrush, wipes at his face, takes a final look. he knows, but it's just one of those days. he turns off the judgmental fluorescents and pads back into the bedroom towards his....

my god... there, face bathed in soft light and gorgeous, mickey. he's shifted in the ten or so minutes ian's been gone. sprawled out and entirely tangled in the comforter. left hand sticking out and clutching ian's pillow - like he was searching, wanting, grasping - coming up empty. he's awake now. ian moves, the floors creak, mickey's eyes zero in on him.

"do you know how fucking cold it is in this room?... why the fuck are you up this early?" and ian's quiet, suddenly realizing he came to a stop in front of their full length mirror. a glance at himself, back at mickey. maybe he doesn't have to be up yet, it's saturday. maybe he can spare lounging around a bit more. glance and back. he should get under there, mickey said he's cold. glance, back. he doesn't move, rooted in place. "...come back under here and get on me!" glance...

"babyface... c'mere"

he moves. mickey rolling away, untangling, giving him his space in bed back... immediately shifting back and attaching himself to him. "always leaving me here in the mornings... can't stick around for me? hmm?" the drama of it all making ian chuckle and press his lips to mickey's forehead. he feels mickey's hands wander around his chest and down to his belly, making him draw in a breath and stiffen. he sees mickey's eyes squint and his nose scrunch in the process. a small tut escaping his lips. here it comes.

"got myself a human heater... warm and soft. teddy bear mother fucker." and that's a new one! "you gotta stop leaving me here every morning. you're like one of them weighted blankets you're always going on about... hmmph... comfy." he nuzzles into ian's chest, wrapping tighter around him, and breathing so deeply. smiling. "smell so good... i think i get why you're always sniffin'." giving quick cute pecks along his collar bone. "so many freckles. all over. this one here is my favorite." he moves to the hollow of his neck. giving it a little lick.

and ian can't help but giggle really. because his husband is so in tune, because he always knows when something is up, because his licks are tickling him!

mickey pulls until he's securely pinned under ian. "my big guy. cover me just right" his hands begin their familiar dance. over ian's strong shoulders, down the muscles of his back, lightly scratching back up. "you threw me around so good last night. was fucking airborne at one point."

oh. these giggly kisses are some of ian's favorites!

"you gave it to me so good and hard, made me grab on to all of you, huh?" his hands are everywhere, covering ian's body with love. "so sexy. do you know how good you feel and look when you're overpowering me like that?" the complete contrast of his statement and his soft lips making ian all fuzzy and warm.

"so good. so soft. so strong. so hard." a mantra. each declaration punctuated with the sweetest kisses. his hands wandering, grabbing, pressing ian's weight down. soft little moans making an appearance.

and god if ian doesn't feel like he's floating! high, on a cloud. sustained by mickey's touches, his sounds, his scent. his words, his words, his words. breaking through and helping him see and remember what he already knows. because today is one of those days, yes, and it'll take more than this to claw his way fully out... but he's being uplifted and loved and touched in the right ways. in the ways that wiggle in and help chip at that wall and appears in times like these.

he sees his strong arms framing mickey's head, how his size and weight are making him feel. he knows he's good, he's healthy, he feels his heart pumping strong and full of love in his chest. it'll take more than this, but this helps. every part of this helping, chipping away.

he breathes, he kisses, mickey moans...

he sees, he knows, mickey reminds him...

[fairlyang]

Valentine 🕷️

valentine by laufey but it's a little love story from your pov

w/c: 1K

pairing: miguel o’hara x f!reader

tags: fluff fluff fluff

notes: this story gave me BUTTERFLIES IT WAS SO FUCKING CUTE- I wrote these after writing the beginning of my black cats and when I was going thru the shittest thing imaginable 😀

part two

I've rejected affection for years and years

Now I have it, and damn it, it's kind of weird

You'd never paid any attention to any of the men who gave you a second of their time. You'd remained single in your teens, and twenty up until you met him. Miguel O'Hara.

He changed it all, with all the romantic gestures and sweet words he'd tell you as soon as you met at your new job. He even continued it all after you gave him a smidge of a chance but not before having him chase you a bit, which he didn't mind.

He tells me I'm pretty

Don't know how to respond

You were new to this, you'd get complimented occasionally by strangers, but when he would compliment you it made you feel nervous. And it showed.

"You're so pretty." He said quietly while staring at you lovingly, sitting in your office. You felt your cheeks grow warm and you tried to focus on the paperwork you were working on. Your fingers were slightly twitching making your letters come off a little ugly.

I tell him that he's pretty too

Can I say that? Don't have a clue

You swallowed your nerves and looked up at him, "you're pretty too." You tell him then mentally slap yourself. Stupid. Do you even say stuff like that back?

He laughs and gives you a warm smile, his pearly whites coming straight to view. You felt a fuzzy feeling in your stomach and looked back down embarrassed, hearing him chuckle.

With every passing moment, I surprise myself

I'm scared of flies, I'm scared of guys

Someone, please, help

You were slowly giving in, which completely took you off by surprise. It scared you. Just the thought of letting yourself like him was scary. But he was so patient. And the romantic gestures didn't stop.

He'd leave you a cup of coffee with written notes every morning, complimenting you, telling you every detail he liked about you, how he was slowly feeling himself fall for you....

You started complimenting him back, always very nervously but he appreciated the thought and was happy you were getting comfortable with him.

'Cause I think I've fallen in love this time

I blinked and suddenly, I had a Valentine

After two months of chasing and then a handful of dates after the first month, he had asked you to be his girlfriend, specifically on Valentine's Day.

Time had gone by fast and it felt just like yesterday when you had first rejected him, and it never stopped nor discouraged him from pursuing you.

You looked at him as you walked past his office, feeling butterflies in your stomach, and felt as if your heart was full. Full of love.

What if he's the last one I kiss?

What if he's the only one I'll ever miss?

Your mind began to wonder of your future or more specifically your future with Miguel. You had never felt so happy, so attached to someone like this before.

You were wondering if he'd be your only boyfriend, your forever. The only person you'd have these feelings for.

Maybe I should run, I'm only 21

I don't even know who I want to become

You soon felt all the feels possible, there was no going back. Or was there?

You were still so young, only 21 and you were still unsure what your future held. What your future career would be, if Miguel would be with you through it all.

I've lost all control of my heartbeat now

Got caught in a romance with him somehow

Your heartbeat raced every time you were near him, heard his voice, felt his touch, or even got a text from him. You really didn't think this was going to happen.

I still feel a shock through every bone

When I hear an "I love you"

'Cause now I've got someone to lose

He was the first to say the special three words, two months after Valentine's Day. He set up a candlelight dinner in his apartment and after eating he grabbed your hands and looked up at you with his pretty sparkling eyes and said, "I love you."

It's been four months since then, now being August, and every time he'd say it your heart would just melt and you'd still be blushing like the first time. Those three words continued to send shivers down your spine and instantly bring a wide smile to your face.

You can't imagine life without him. You've grown so use to him taking you out on dates, spoiling you, giving you kisses, complimenting you, he was the perfect boyfriend.

The first one to ever like me back

You were laying on his chest when you thought of how many men you've liked in the past, but none of them have every liked you back. This case was different considering he had the patience to get you to open up and for you to like him back.

I'm seconds away from a heart attack

How the hell did I fall in love this time?

And honestly, I can't believe I get to call you mine

He was hugging you tightly making you felt like your heart was going to explode of joy. You felt so lucky and happy that you were able to open your heart up to him and that he let you love him like you let him. You hugged him back tightly, nuzzling your head against the crook of his neck, just enjoying his presence and feeling so appreciative to have him in your life.

I blinked and suddenly I had a Valentine

You woke up in his arms letting out a yawn as he stretched then planting a kiss on your forehead. He pulled away and gave you a tired smile before giving you a small peck. "Happy anniversary, my forever valentine." He whispers making you grin and kiss him softly.

"Happy one year my love." You whisper and gently kiss him, melting into his arms.

[hayakawalove]

A Way to Unwind

Summary: After a long day at work, how will you help Aki unwind?

A/N: I wanted to edit this a bit and reupload it on this blog. It was first posted on my last blog but that one got shadowbanned. @zeninsama helped me with the initial fic so shout out to them! They helped me come up with some ideas and read over it.

CW: Smut, Oral (reader gives), Smoking, Fem reader

W/C: 2,390

Credit to @benkeibear for the banner

Two cigarettes and a headache. 

That’s all Aki was left with at the end of the day. Work had been long and exhausting, much of the same as the day before, and the day before that. Each day he came home with new pains in his body, pains he didn’t know were even possible. He must’ve been getting too old for this. 

How old was he anyway? 

He couldn’t remember. 

No matter how soul crushing his work day had been, he could at least count on seeing you at the end of the night. Even if it was 2 am, you would sit and wait on the couch for him. He chided you for staying up late, but truth be told that’s all he ever really wanted. Someone to wait up on him. 

Aki breathes in deeply while reaching for the door handle. It emits a deep groaning sound as he opens it, and he curses himself for not fixing it sooner. 

“I’m home.” He calls out quietly. 

The telltale signs of your presence were strewn around the house. The lights that were flicked on, your slippers haphazardly thrown by the door, and your lingering scent of body wash in the air. He never got used to it, but he didn’t want to either. He wanted to cherish it like it was the first time, everytime. 

He makes his way down the hall and into the living room, expecting to see your head tilted back with a grin on your face. Instead he was met with empty air. 

Aki calls your name, waiting several seconds after to see if you would respond.  

A rumbling sound comes from the couch causing Aki’s brow to quirk up. He walks around and finds the source. You, fast asleep with your body spread across the couch. He could hear soft noises coming from your parted lips, noises he often teased you for (but he never really minded them). 

Aki smiles and leans down to pull a blanket over you. You looked so peaceful. His thumb swipes over your cheek bone and a smile graces your lips. He is once again reminded of what it felt like to be alive, his body blooming with happiness each time he saw you, no matter how shitty the day had been. 

Usually the two of you would have a late night dinner together once he got home, but he would rather die than wake you up. He would be able to whip up something quick for himself. 

First and foremost though, he needed a smoke. 

Aki shrugs off his jacket and places it on the coat hanger. His head was starting to ache from the tension of his ponytail. Aki works on pulling his hair down, letting the black locks fall around his face. His long fingers work expertly on the first button of his shirt to give him more space to breathe. He does this while pulling out his carton of cigarettes. He could laugh at the irony. 

He never liked to smoke around you, so the timing of this was perfect. The patio door opens much more gracefully than the front door, and for that he is grateful. There were two chairs and a table placed outside, one chair for each of you, but he’d much rather stand right now. Too jittery from the day’s work. 

He slips one of his cigarettes into his mouth and reaches down for his lighter, bringing it back up to his lips. After a couple of flicks it comes to life, catching the end of the cigarette on fire. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

His body drapes over the railing on the patio, shoulders finally dipping down in relaxation. Aki tosses the lighter onto the table, cursing himself for the clattering sound it makes. He watches as a cloud of smoke slowly starts forming around his face. 

“Aki?” A sleepy voice calls out. 

His head turns in response, glancing behind him. You were awake now, one hand rubbing wearily at your eye. You shove your fuzzy slippers on before dragging your feet to the patio. You were practically drowning in the pajamas you wore. It’s a cute sight, he thinks. The door opens and closes and you throw yourself down into your chair. 

“Hey.” He was never one for many words. 

“Missed you.” You yawn out, body still aching from sleeping on the cheap couch. 

“I missed you too.” And he meant it. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. 

You watch as he takes a hit of the cigarette, the smoke clouding his face before wistfully disappearing into the sky. Even after it disappears, you continue to watch. Aki’s palm is relaxed and open as he brings the stick closer to his lips, his hand masking the bottom half of his face. His eyes are calculated as they watch you, knowing you have something to say. 

“I ever tell you how good you look when you smoke?” 

“What?” 

Confusion rises in his chest with a mixture of flattery. Usually he would be ashamed to smoke in front of you. Where was this coming from? 

“You’re really hot when you smoke. You’re really hot when you don’t smoke too, though.” Your shoulders fall back as you tilt your head, watching him. “But smoking gives you the whole bad boy James Dean vibe.”

“Please.” He chuffs. 

A soft chuckle escapes your lips and Aki can’t help but grin. 

“I’m serious. You look good.” 

“Well thank you.” 

He could tell you were still half asleep by the way your eyes drooped. He didn’t care though, as long as he got to talk to you it didn’t matter. Maybe that made him selfish. 

You hum while your eyes drag from his face to his chest to his legs, and back up again. Eyes slowly picking apart each thing you loved about him, but there were too many. 

“Would you ever let me touch you while you smoke?” 

The question jolts Aki from his dreamy haze. His skin crackles in response, electricity coursing through his veins. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, but he already knows the answer. Part of him just wants to hear you say it. 

“Oh come on Aki.” You murmur. 

Your body slowly rises and you walk up to him, hands reaching out to grab his shirt. His heart beats incredibly fast underneath it, while he looks down at you. 

“Will you let me make you feel good?” You look up at him from underneath your lashes. 

Aki’s adam’s apple bobs, body suddenly becoming on edge once more. It didn’t feel like the same anxiety he sometimes felt at work, no, this one was much better. Excitement. 

“You don’t have to, you’re tired.” He tries to put up a wall, one he desperately wants you to breakdown. 

Your hands grip his clothes harder while you turn his body, walking him backwards until he meets the wall. 

“Let me.” You beg. 

You’re sinking to your knees before Aki can have a say. He watches in anticipation as your nimble fingers work his belt, slowly dragging it from his pants. Your eyes look up at him expectantly as if to say, what’re you waiting for? 

Oh, right. 

Aki lifts his hand back up close to his mouth and takes a deep breath in. The nicotine does little to calm his nerves as he watches you pull down his zipper. Before he knew it, your face was inches from his boxers, lips gently placing kisses against his cock. 

The fabric suddenly felt too suffocating. 

As if you were able to read his mind, which, let’s be honest, you probably were able to after the amount of time you spent together, you pull down the last layer of clothes, freeing him. 

His cock begins to harden at the sight of you on your knees for him. Just for him. How did he get so lucky? 

Your hand wraps around his cock while you lick the tip, his body immediately going rigid. 

“Fuck, baby.” He lets out. 

Your lips wrap around him, taking him in slowly. You never look away from his face, not once. You watch as he puffs his cigarette again, letting out a shaky breath. He looks too good. 

The warmth of your mouth coats him completely, nearly sending shivers over the rest of his body. You push down until you can feel him hit the back of your throat, and then you push down even more. Drool drips past your lips, sliding down your neck. The sensation causes a shiver to run up your spine.

Every one of Aki’s nerves is standing alert as he watches you. Your mouth felt so good it was making his head spin, more so than the nicotine was. 

Your tongue slides underneath his cock, rubbing against the veins that lined his sensitive skin. Aki moans, trying to control his hips. Your head begins to bob, taking him in before pulling back out. It was by a stroke of luck that he notices his cigarette is nearing the end, but he didn’t want to be done yet. 

One more left, better make it count. 

He puts out the cigarette on the ashtray on the table. Aki licks his lips while watching you, his own hand reaching behind him to fumble the pack from his back pocket. It almost slips from his hands before he can get a good hold of it. He pulls out the remaining cigarette and holds it between his fingers beside your face. 

You move your eyes from his face and look down at the cigarette. Your mouth pulls off of him, a string of saliva still connecting the two of you. You instantly know what he’s asking for. 

Without looking behind you, your arm flies back and searches for the discarded lighter. Once you find it, you bring it back around close to his outstretched hand. You monitor it closely as you try to flick the lighter to life, thumb not as experienced as Aki’s. After struggling from the need flowing in your body, it ignites to life. You hold it against the cigarette, watching as smoke rises from it. Once satisfied with your work, Aki pulls his hand back and props the cigarette between his lips, never once taking his gaze away from your face. 

“Good girl.” His voice sounds more dark than it did before. 

You could get off on the image of just him alone, you think. Smoke flows from his lips as he watches you. Your tongue slides out of your mouth and licks the underside of his cock, while you peer up at him with doe eyes. You feel your underwear dampen beneath you and your body aches to feel his touch. But you knew you would get it once you were finished. Aki never left you wanting. 

Your lips wrap around his tip once more before sliding down. The taste of precum fills your mouth, anticipation flooding your body. 

Aki watches you with lowered lids, eyes peeking from his lashes as they flutter. 

He wasn’t sure what he did to deserve someone like you, but he thanked God for it every day. 

Tears slide down your cheeks at the pressure in your throat but you don’t care. He notices though. Aki notices everything. He places his cigarette between his lips again and reaches his thumb down, wiping away a falling tear. You moan against his cock and continue sucking him. 

His core tightens at the sight of you. Your salacious eyes and puckered lips. It was almost too much for him. Almost. 

He brings his hand up to pull the cigarette away from his mouth to catch a breath of fresh air. It was a wonder Aki was still conscious at all, there was next to no oxygen left in his body between the smoke and you. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me, you know that sweetheart?” 

“Not if the cigarettes get to you first.” You pull back to quip. 

“Very funny, hah” He says before cutting himself off with a breathy moan. 

His brows are furrowed as he watches you, his soft pink lips slightly parted. 

Your eyes roll back as you take him in. Each pant of his drives you, motivating you to keep going. You feel as his cock bumps against the back of your throat each time, bringing him closer to the edge. 

Aki’s fingers flex as he takes another drag. You bring your mouth up for air and wrap your hand around his cock, continuing to jerk him off while you breathe. 

“Look so good for me baby. Always do.” He speaks, voice wavering. 

“Yeah?” You say, egging him on. 

“Yeah. Always so, fuck, perfect for me.” His eyebrows are pinched together as he stares at you. 

The two of you maintain eye contact as your hand moves faster. It glides easily from the mess of spit you made. 

“Will you give it to me Aki? Want it so bad, please.” You murmur, licking your lip. 

Aki drops his arm down and watches with his mouth agape at you. 

“S-slow down princess. Gonna make me-“ 

Your eyes plead up at him as you jerk him off. 

Before Aki can warn you, his cock begins spurting white, cumming so much it covers your face and your hand. The sound of him moaning reverberates in your core. Your mouth opens in surprise, but you don’t stop moving. You keep going until he can take no more. 

“F-fuck I’m sorry. Let me clean you up.” He rushes and smooshes his cigarette out. 

You taste his cum on your lips and it makes you burn with need. Aki is soon to return with a washcloth, patting your face down. 

“You’re so hot.” You say, voice muffled by the washcloth. 

“Thank you baby. So are you.” Aki grins, pink dust still lining his cheeks. 

“Hey?”

“Yes?” Aki pulls his hand away from you once your face is clean. 

“Want more.” Your eyes shine as you look up at him. 

“I know sweetheart. You think I was just gonna leave you hanging?” He presses his lips against yours and you taste the bitter remnants of tobacco. It had never tasted so good before.

Aki guides you back inside the house for what was to be a long and fun night. 

Tag List: @mikisspeak, @dinolvrrr, @riri-twix, @jaegersdiary, @hoeakawasupreme, @p00pdev1l

(I tagged some of you because you commented on my post asking if I should repost this so I took it as you were interested)

If you want to be added to my taglist for any future works please let me know!

[bakubunny]

i pulled out the laptop for this. ahem

so since your new obsession is shoto, it is only fair that i bless your inbox with filth about him. also since you and neon are attacking me in the group chat, i shall go head first.

i am thinking about shoto, a few tats, a few piercings, a tad bit more filled out...intimidating..yeah but he is still shoto. sweet, glossy-eyed, shoto who gets so whiny and blushy during sex. i know you're a prone-bone girlie, modified doggy too BUT i've said it once and i'll say it again: shoto likes missionary. he likes being to see all of you, to kiss at your neck, to watch your facial expressions, to thumb away your tears. also, with you on your back it is a lot easier for him to pull out from time to time just to crawl down your form and bury his face in your pussy. he's apart of the pussy drunk committee.

having you on your back drives him crazy, his adores how you spread your legs for him before he can even ask, also he gets the opportunity to pop at least one of your nipples in his mouth to suck on. and he really enjoys that, and he isn't sure why, he likes the swell of them, likes how your nipples bud in his mouth. it makes him dizzy, your mewls, and he can't help but stare up with you with so much intensity you sometime have to look away.

another reason he likes missionary, he gets to cradle you close in something that resembles a hug, likes when you both are so close your heartbeats merge, and only then when he's close does he start babbling away about how much he wants to fill you up. he can't help it, it makes since for him to cum so deep in your pussy you see stars. and yeah, he isn't really sure about kids, but it drives him crazy to imagine you carrying his young. maybe he calls you mommy a few times with those watery eyes of his. it surprises you every time that he is the one crying like he isn't fucking you silly.

"fuck..you'd look so pretty carrying my kid..wouldn't you..."

"shoto.."

"yeah, wouldn't you be so damn beautiful if i make you a mommy..shit..i might have to.."

just a thought bunny...

u already know i’m workin on smth so

my head is so fuzzy. i can’t think straight.

[goldenempyrean]

Hey! I have a request. Could you write something where Wanda has been a bit stressed with work, and R had the flu. R doesn't want to add to Wanda's stress, so R hides their sickness. R has to go and do something outside for whatever reason (even though Wanda protests) and when R comes back in, their so delirious and out of it, they tell Wanda they feel sick, even though they don't really know what's going on. Thank you for your time!

Don't You Worry About Me

〚 Notes  - Hey! Just another lil piece to fill the gap as I work on the AU :) Oh, please lmk what yall think about the new lil colours for the titles and stuff. I think it looks pretty cool! Also my amazing @lyak12 helped me out with the main idea for this too!〛

〚 Pairing- Wanda Maximoff x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Wanda's been swamped with work lately and the last thing you wanted to was to add to her stress. Even if it means hiding the truth from her. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 3140 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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Wanda had spent the last few days battling a nasty case of the flu. She had been feeling weak and achy and was fighting a fever which just wouldn't break, no matter how hard you tried. But she was finally starting to feel better and had even managed to drag herself into her online work that morning. Unfortunately, she’d quickly realised that she was behind schedule on her reports. For some dumb reason Fury had decided to shorten the deadline and now she was quickly running out of time to complete them all. 

She tried to focus on her work, but her head was still a bit fuzzy from the fever. She kept having to stop and reread things, and it was taking her twice as long as it should have. She could feel her stress levels rising as the clock ticked on and her to-do list seemed to be getting longer rather than shorter. And despite your best efforts to keep her calm, every little thing only seemed to add to the growing pile of stress pressing down on her. That was probably why you hadn't even registered the aching feeling in your bones, you were far too busy.  

But as the day went on, you couldn't ignore the sick feeling that was slowly creeping up on you. Your head was starting to throb, and your throat was beginning to feel scratchy. You tried to push through it, but every time you stood up to grab something, you found yourself feeling dizzy and disoriented.  

Around noon you'd decided to make some tea and that's when you'd first noticed it, the weakness in your arm as you went to lift the kettle. That’s when it really clicked for you that you were getting sick, and you had to stifle an annoyed groan. Of course you’d caught it from her. Just great... But it wasn't exactly like you had the time to dwell on it – if you did you’d only end up alerting Wanda to your condition, which was the last thing you wanted, especially when she was already so stressed with her work, so instead you finished up the tea and came to sit beside Wanda in the living room, attempting to clear a space on the coffee table between the piles of paperwork and files to place her mug down. 

You could see the frustration and exhaustion written all over her face as she loudly tapped on the laptop settled on her knees. It made your heart ache. You knew that she was the type of person who hated falling behind on her work, especially when deadlines were involved. 

Wanda looked up from her laptop and smiled weakly as you placed the mug of tea in front of her. "Thank you," she murmured before turning her attention back to her work. You settled down beside her, trying to ignore the growing ache in your bones. You really didn't want to worry Wanda, especially since she was already stressed enough as it was. "How's your day going?" She asked casually, her voice still a little hoarse from days of coughing. 

You shrugged. "Busy, but nothing I can't handle," You replied, trying to sound optimistic, “Can I do anything else for you though sweetheart?” you offered sweetly as you reached out to gently squeeze her thigh. 

“Is there any way you could help me with these?” She motioned to the stacks of paper littering the coffee table, “I know it wasn’t your mission but I’m so far behind and Fury’s going to have my head chopped off and hung up for public display if I don’t get this all done.” 

You nodded, Fury was known for being strict with deadlines, “Okay baby, do you want me to look over these?” You asked, picking up one of the denser files. 

“That’d be amazing.” Wanda sighed in relief as she leant over to kiss your cheek, “You’re doing me such a huge favour baby.” 

As you both started working on the reports, you could feel your own weakness and fatigue growing with every passing minute, not to mention the constant feeling like your nose was running leading you to sniffle quietly every so often. But you pushed through it, determined to help Wanda get her work done. Much to your annoyance, over the next few hours, your sniffles only increased, and you were frequently having to take breaks to go and discreetly blow your nose in another room. On a normal occasion you would’ve told Wanda the second you began to feel like something was off, but you knew that telling her would only stress her out further and there was no way you wanted to do that. So, you stayed painfully silent about the growing pressure in your sinuses and continued to diligently help Wanda with her work. 

As the day wore on, you could feel the exhaustion starting to take its toll on you. Your body felt heavy, and your mind was starting to feel foggy. You knew you should probably take a break and rest, but you didn't want to let her down so when Wanda suggested taking a break, you instantly jumped on the opportunity. 

By the time the two of you were going to bed, you felt thoroughly exhausted. Even just moving felt like a monumental task and you had to fight to stay awake as you brushed your teeth. By some miracle, you managed to finish getting ready for bed without falling asleep, it was just as you were giving yourself a final look over in the mirror when you felt the annoying itch in your sinuses. 

“Hh'ishu! Ish'chu! HeH’TSHiew!” Despite your best efforts to stay quiet, your last sneeze ended up being on the louder side prompting Wanda to call out a ‘bless you!’ from the bedroom. You waited hesitantly to see whether she’d say anything else, but it seemed her poor mind was too preoccupied with the looming work of tomorrow for her to connect the dots, so you took the opportunity to thoroughly blow your nose before padding back into your bedroom. 

“You tired my love?” Wanda asked, as you sank into the bed, welcoming the warmth of your blankets, “Thanks for helping me out so much today.” 

“A little.” You mumbled – ‘a little’ was a huge understatement, “and you don’t need to thank me darling, I just want you to be able to get all this work done.” 

“You helped a lot. I'm really thankful.” Wanda murmured quietly as she yawned widely before nuzzling against you, “Goodnight baby.” 

“Goodnight Wands.” 

〘✧✧✧〙   

When you woke up the next morning the bed was cold. Painfully cold. You rolled over into the spot where Wanda would usually be led, only to be met with an empty bed. You felt awful, you’d barely opened your eyes when you were struck with a harsh, painful headache nestled deep behind them. Groaning, you tried to sit up, though admittedly it did numerous attempts, and you began slowly massaging temples in a feeble attempt of getting some form of relief. 

Pulling your aching body out of bed seemed almost impossible but you did it anyway, trying to take a deep breath as the room span around you. There was no way you were getting properly dressed today, instead you opted to pull on one of Wanda’s fuzzy cardigans instead before heading over to the bathroom. 

You really should’ve prepared yourself better for the reflection staring back at you in the mirror. You looked awful. Thick purple bags hung beneath your red, tired eyes, only extenuated further by your sickly, white skin. You hadn’t even had the chance to criticise your fever flushed cheeks before your sinuses reared their complaints and sent you bending at the waist with two strong sneezes only to be followed by a harsh bout of thick coughing which left you trembling and breathless. 

After the coughing fit subsided, you stumbled over to the sink and splashed some water on your face. The cool liquid brought a small measure of relief to your pounding head, but it wasn't enough to stop the dizziness from overwhelming you. You leaned heavily against the counter, willing the room to stop spinning. Humouring yourself, you decided to take your own temperature and even that was a huge task, especially when you weren’t able to breathe out of your overly stuffy nose. 

However, you managed to hold your breath long enough for the small device to beep loudly, announcing its verdict. 

“Oh shit...” You mumbled to yourself, looking down at the numbers on the slightly blurry electronic screen. 39.1 - that really wasn’t good, truthfully it wasn’t just the screen that was blurry, everything around you seemed to be muffled by a thick wall of cotton and you only found yourself cursing again when you opened the bathroom cupboard to see an almost-empty bottle of Flu medicine sitting on the shelf. 

Wanda had used the last of it. 

Great. 

Speaking of. You wished Wanda was here. You needed her more than ever, you craved her comfort and longed for her to tuck you up into bed but no, you were stuck here staring at your pitiful reflection, feeling like death warmed over. Just as you were about to call out for her something stopped you.  

She still had her work to do, calling out for her now would only distract her. Muffling another round of harsh, chesty coughs into your sleeve only made tears well up in your eyes. But you didn't cry. You only sniffled and reminded yourself that you were an Avenger too. You might not have powers, but you had resilience and determination, and you weren't going to let the flu defeat you. You just had to toughen up. How far even was the shop anyway? All you needed to do was go out and by yourself some medicine. That’s all you needed to do. 

Taking a deep breath, you pulled yourself away from the bathroom counter and slowly made your way to the door. The room spun as you tried to focus on the hallway in front of you. Every step felt like a marathon, your body ached and shivered with every move. But you pushed on, driven by the desire to get better and not let this illness get the better of you. 

Ignoring Wanda’s call of ‘goodmorning’ from the kitchen, you reached the front door, opening to only be blinded by the intense light beaming down from the blue sky. It was a beautiful day, the kind of day you would usually spend outside, enjoying the warmth and taking in the sights of the city. But today, all you could think of was getting to the pharmacy and getting back to bed. 

With shaky hands, you stepped outside, continuing to ignore Wanda’s calls of confusion. The cool air hit you instantly, and you shuddered, pulling the cardigan tighter around yourself. The pharmacy was only a few blocks away, but each step felt like an eternity. You could feel your temperature rising, your head pounding, and your breathing becoming more and more laboured. 

You didn’t know how long you were walking for before you decided to turn back, everything was too much, the light, your wheezing exhausted breathing, everything. Hell, you could barely make out your own hand in front of your pale face as the world spun around you. It was a miracle you’d even made it this far without collapsing. 

And so, by the time you’d stumbled back into the safety of your home, all your energy had been thoroughly drained, and you clutched the wall for support, knowing it was the only thing keeping you upright. 

“Sweetie? Where did you go?” Wanda called out as the sound of the door closing echoed through your home, hearing no answer, the witch stood up from the table and slowly padded over to peek round the corner only to frantically rush to your side when she saw you leaning weakly against the wall for support, “Oh my god, Y/N?! Holy shit, you’re on fire, why on earth were you outside? When did you get this sick? Fuck Y/N-” 

Truthfully, you were only hearing about half of the worried words frantically spilling from her, you were too busy on attempting to keep yourself lucid which was proving to be a very difficult task when the room around you wouldn’t stop spinning, “We need’d med’cine.” Your words came out in a jumbled mess as Wanda pulled you into her arms, cradling your trembling body. 

“No, no baby you need to be in bed. Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling sick? When did you even get sick? This can’t be new.” Her anxious tone was impossible to miss as you felt yourself being lifted up into her arms as she carried you in the direction of your bedroom, “Why didn’t I notice this...” 

“Yo’ were busy wit’ work.” Your slurred word were barely decipherable and you soon felt yourself being lowered down onto the familiar softness of your bed; a thick blanket being tucked over your shaking body.   

Wanda’s face was etched with worry as she looked down at you, “No, I should have noticed. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. My work is nowhere near as important as your health is.” She pressed a cool hand to your sweat-soaked forehead, “You’re beyond burning up...” 

Your response was only a mutter of unaudiable words as Wanda quickly rushed out of the room. It felt like she was gone for hours, but in reality, it was only probably a few minutes. But when she returned, she was tightly clutching a small bottle in her hands, “I got this from the neighbours, it isn’t too strong but it’s the only thing we have on hand.” 

“Mm?” you tried sitting up, but a firm hand kept you in place. 

“No baby, lay down. I just need you to drink this, okay?” Wanda’s words soothed you as she poured out a dose of the medicine and held it to your lips, rubbing your back as you sipped it weakly.  

The medicine was bitter and made you scrunch up your face, but you were too weak to protest. Wanda continued to stroke your hair and hum a gentle tune, trying to calm you down as the medicine began to take effect. Gradually, you felt the heat in your body subside a little and your breathing became easier. 

“Poor baby, I'm so sorry that I got caught up in all that work.” She whispered quietly, reaching over to grab some tissues when you began fussing with your running nose. 

She must’ve been physic or something because only seconds later, you felt your nose burn with that pestering itch again and you only had to energy to turn your head away in the opposite direction to her before...  

““Ihsheiueww! Hih...hihhEHHHSHIEW!” 

“Awh my poor baby, bless you.” Wanda sighed, taking another handful of tissues to wipe your face before running her hand through your slightly-damp hair, “This bug’s really doing a number on you, isn’t it?” 

You could only manage a weak nod in response, feeling utterly drained and exhausted. But as Wanda continued to care for you, you couldn't help but feel grateful for her presence. Her gentle touch and soothing words were the only things keeping you grounded in reality. 

As the medicine began to take full effect, you felt your eyes start to droop and your body relax into the mattress. Wanda must have noticed because she leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead before whispering, "Get some rest, my love. I'll be right here with you." 

And with those words, you allowed yourself to drift off into a peaceful slumber, feeling safe and comforted in Wanda's loving embrace. 

The next time you opened your eyes, the room was dark, and you could see the faint outline of Wanda sitting in a chair beside you, still keeping a watchful eye. She must have fallen asleep at some point because her head was resting against the back of the chair, her breathing slow and steady. You didn't want to wake her, but your throat was parched, and you needed water. 

You mustered up all your strength to croak out her name, "Wanda?" 

She stirred slightly and opened her eyes, rubbing them to adjust to the dim light. "Hey there, how are you feeling?" she asked softly. 

"Thirsty," you managed to say, your gravelly voice barely above a whisper. 

Wanda immediately stood up and grabbed a glass of water from the bedside table. She helped you sit up and slowly raised the glass to your lips, supporting your head with her other hand. The cool water felt heavenly on your parched throat, and you gulped it down greedily. 

"Thanks," you said, your voice a bit stronger now. 

Wanda smiled, "Anything for you, my love." 

You settled back down into the bed, feeling a bit more comfortable now that you had some water in your system. Wanda pulled the covers up to your chin and tucked you in, her hand lingering on your forehead to check your temperature. 

"You're still warm," she noted. "But your fever has gone down a little, I was seriously debating taking you to hospital earlier y’know.” 

The next few days were a blur of fever dreams and fits of coughing, but Wanda remained by your side throughout it all. She made sure you were always comfortable, bringing you hot soup and a cool washcloth to soothe your burning forehead. 

Despite the pain and discomfort, there was something oddly comforting about being so vulnerable around Wanda. She never judged you or made you feel weak for being sick. Instead, she loved and cared for you even more, making you feel truly cherished. 

As the days passed, your symptoms gradually began to subside, and you started to feel more like yourself again. Wanda was always at your side, encouraging you to take it slow and rest as much as possible. 

Finally, the day came when you felt strong enough to get out of bed and move around a little. You stumbled into the living room, feeling a little unsteady on your feet, but Wanda was there to catch you. 

"Easy there," she said, smiling gently. "How are you feeling?" 

"Better," you replied, your voice still a little raspy from all the constant coughing. "Thanks to you." 

Wanda's smile widened, and she pulled you into a warm embrace. "I'm just glad you're feeling better," she whispered. "I was so worried about you." 

You hugged her back, feeling a sense of gratitude wash over you. Despite the illness, it had brought you even closer to Wanda, and you knew that you would always have her by your side, no matter what. 

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[hell-drabbles]

Hello, I'm back again with more writing! Your newest drabbles with Lucifer have been giving me brainrot again. I love how you portrayed the relationship between Lucifer and the Companion and it was so satisfying seeing Ra-On jealous. Well, now he's gonna get more of that in the future. Don't take people for granted Raon! For now I'm focused on the Companion and their relationships with Lucifer and the rest of Paradise Lost.

I tried to make the Companion as genderneutral as I can, but they do get called sister. Sibling just doesn't sound the same and I wanted to discern them a bit so I didn't make them be called brother.

Some gore coming up again and a bit angst, but this time the main-part is comfort! The Companion deserves all the affection and rest after having to deal with everyones bs and their entire being remade because of angelification. The characters are probably ooc, but I needed the fluff of Companion being taken care of like they deserve😌

They are still getting used to their head being silent now, of that holy light that had previously blinded them from what is right before them being gone. Well, not truly silent but the ringing choir of the adoring angels that had been blasting in their mind has lowered until it's a barely there murmur, as long as they don't focus on it they can't hear those beckoning words. And they can actually see what is in front of them again, not that painful light that had burned into their pupils even when they closed their eyes, though everything is still fuzzy with the light.

Their body also still feels strange, wrong. At first it was those damn wings that sprouted from their back that they had ripped out themselves and the halo floating over their head and now it's the pair of horns sprouting from their forehead and a tail growing from their backside. It hurts, having grown new bones and new limbs that weren't supposed to be there in the first place, damn it. But it's preferable being one of the demons than still being a lapdog to those damned Seraphim. While their memories are still scrambled and trying to remember anything specific is like wading through mud hurtpainagonythusiswrongmakeitstop, they do remember enough to know they'll take off those angel-fuckers heads when they get the chance. Noone gets to manipulate them like that, use them to hurt their friends.

They clench their hands, digging their clawed fingers that have been previously stroking the tuft of fur at the tip of their tail into their palms and easily piercing the soft skin with those razor-sharp claw-tips. Their tail whips around and the stumps of what remained of their wings twitch, responding to their anger and indignation. That too is new. Their emotions seem almost amplified now, much easier rising and ebbing like the sea. They almost feel like they're back in their teenage-years where their puberty made them a wreck, though they had much better control of themselves than their human friends. They remember what is was like watching Raon and Mhinyeok, it was like seeing a trainwreck happening right in front of you.

"Sister, is everything alright?" A kind voice interrupts their train of thought.

Ah. They got lost in their head again. They shake their head and blink rapidly, trying to ground themselves in the present again.

Their eyes focus on Morax as their tail settles besides their legs on top of the blanket and the wing-stumps stop moving.

"Sorry." They rasp out, their voice quiet and hoarse.

"It's alright. You are still recovering, after all. We're only sorry that our healing can't do more for you, sister." Buer cuts in, gently uncurling their fingers from their palms and observing the damage they did to themselves. Again.

Off to the side, Marbas clicks his tongue.

"Your recovery progress is much slower than expected, sister. Even Gamigin couldn't do much. Some of the wounds will probably always remain and never truly heal, like his majesties Lucifer's."

He almost sounds apologetic.

Their eyes flick to Luicfer at the reminder, who has been silently observing as the other three did the check-up on them, unwrapping the bloody bandages across their body, evaluating their wounds and re-wrapping them with new bandages that won't stay clean for long.

As if almost on cue, Gamigin comes bustling through the door, carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming soup and a glass of tea and a tonic that's supposed to help speed up recovery.

"Your meal, sister!" The dragon grins, the bells of the staff on his back ringing which each step as he puts the tray across their lap.

"Too loud, Gamigin" Morax scolds.

"Too noisy, Gamigin" Marbas grumbles right after.

"Too much noise, Gamigin" Buer also says.

They can't help but smile at the exchange and feel guilty at the same time. They are investing so much time and care and resources in them and it's been weeks and they still can barely stand, let alone walk without help. At least the burns healed, but the stumps of their wings and the large wound on their chest will most likely never stop bleeding, judging from the example they have. They will always be in pain for the eternity their unnatural life will span now that they are a devil.

"Eat." Lucifer reminds them quietly, stopping them from getting lost in their mind again.

"Right." They blink again, shaking their head. Ah, it's frustrating! Why can't their focus just stay on the thing they want it to, instead of jumping and trailing all over the place? Morax, Marbas and Buer already said it's natural, that it will get better as both their body and mind heal and settle into their new form as a fallen angel- as a demon. They do their best to believe them and ignore the feeling of wrongwrongwrong- this isn't how their body is supposed to be-

to ignore that they sometimes can barely supress the urge to scratch at their skin and break off the horns and rip out their tail- get frustrated with their slow progress.

They lift their shaking hands and grab the spoon in a weak grip, barely able to dip it into the bowl and lift it even an inch again before it slips from their fingers and drop back into the bowl, a few drops splattering out on the blanket and on their skin.

"Fuck!" They curse, frustrated by their own weakness.

The others spring into action, Buer lifting the tray from their lap while Morax pulls away the stained blanket and Gamigin quickly daps up the hot soup that spilled on them with a hankerchief he got from who-knows-where.

"It's fine, sister. You're still recovering. You fell from Heaven, burned alive and broke a lot of your bones when you crashed in Hell. It's a wonder you're still alive." Marbas speaks to calm me down while the others bustle around. Morax leaves with the dirty blanket and returns with a new one, Buer putting the tray on the nightstand besides the bed safely as Gamigin makes sure they're cleaned up before tucking the now stained hankerchief away.

"You're right. But I still feel useless, like a burden." They admit.

"Not a burden." Lucifer speaks quietly but firm.

"Yes! We want to do this for you, sister! You can rely on us." Gamigin pipes up afterwards.

They're so kind to them. They were the ones who found them, took them with them to Paradise Lost and made them apart of their little family, taking care of them and still trying their best to nurse them back to health and help them settle in their new body. They can let themselves be vunerable with them without having to fear they will use their weakness against them. They are not used to it, to their care and how they adress them like family. They were always the one taking care of others, not the one being cared for.

"Thank you." They choke out feeling suddenly emotional, a lone tear trailing down their cheek.

"Don't cry." Lucifer says, stepping forward and gently wiping the tear away from their cheek.

He sits down on the side of the bed, taking the tray and settling it across his own lap, taking the spoon and dipping it in the soup before lifting the spoon to their lips. They blink, surprised by the action before opening their lips and leaning forward, taking the spoonful and swallowing.

"It's good." They murmur before Lucifer already is lifting the next spoonful to their mouth.

They eat their entire meal like that, Lucifer feeding them spoonful by spoonful until all the soup is gone, then helping them lift the small glassbottle of the healthtonic to their lips until they drank all of it and then helpimg them drink from the glass of water to wash away the bitter taste while the other four watch. After their meal is finished, Gamigin steps forward and takes the tray, bringing it away.

They wait until Gamigin returns before they ask the questiln that has been resting on their tongue for days now.

"Do you think I've healed enough to tell the others? Can I have visitors now?" They ask.

Paradise Lost kept it secret that they found them after they fell and turned into a demon, worried that they wouldn't be able to hold on because of the state they were in. They were more concerned that they would be able to rest and heal in peace, and they all knew they wouldn't be able to do that with Raon and their entourage of other demons bothering them. Apparently it wasn't too hard as the angels have become more aggressive in their attacks since they fell, especially those damned Seraphim so the other kings and nobles were kept busy. From what the Healers described, it sounded almost like they were searching for something with increasing desperation. Well, that's not their problem to worry about currently.

Marbas sighs. "While we would prefer to keep it a secret a bit longer, your body should be able to handle it. We are a bit more worried about your mind, your memory. They will have questions that could be triggering. Will you be able to handle that, sister?" He questions.

Oh. They hadn't thought about that. They were more concerned with seeing Raon again, making sure he didn't get hurt without them there to protect him.

"Yes, I'll be fine."They supress the flicker of doubt in their chest as they answer.

"Only a short visit under supervision." Lucifer says, eyes narrowing.

"Okay." They agree. They learnt early in their stay that going against what the five of them said often was only to their own detriment.

And it's comforting to know that they have somebody on their side in this Hell, that somebody will think of them and their health first instead of Raon. They felt a bit guilty at the thought, but also reveled in it.

Now they need to prepare themselves for the onslaught that will soon be upon them.

The others decided it would be best for the meeting/visit/questioning to happen in the Greenhouse instead of the room they occupy. They still need some sun and it wouldn't do for them to feel cornered in the space that's supposed to be their safe resting place, after all. Somewhere where they can leave and retreat if it gets too much.

Lucifer had carried them there, gently setting them down on the polstered chair, Morax bringing a blanket and laying it across their lap do they don't get cold. The others helped them get clothed properly, though "properly" also isn't quite right. They're in a very loose sleeveless shirt that has a very large backwindow for the stumps of their wings. They aren't wearing any pants, but they do have underwear on at least. They're thankful that the shirt is long enough that it falls mid-thigh and with the blanket the others won't see their bandaged but otherwise bare legs.

"It wouldn't do to worsen your wounds just for that. We are still in Hell." Buer had reasoned after they had winced even when only attempting to try pulling on a pair of very loose sleeppants.

And now the six of them are waiting for Raon and the other four kings to arrive. It had been decided that only those five would be welcomed as to not overwhelm them. They were also told that reason that was given to the Kings and Raon for them to come was kept vague but enough to make sure they know it's urgent and that they need to come.

Buer had poured tea for them and Lucifer, but had stepped back and blended back into the greenery, like Marbas is also doing. Only they and Lucifer are seated, while Gamigin stands almost protectively at their back. Morax will be the one to guide their guests in.

They hear the door open, several voices speaking at once. They subconsciously reach out and grip one of Lucifer's hands in their own.

Any moment now they'll see them. They can feel their heart loudly thumping in their chest as they remind themselves to breathe.

I stopped here because I ran out of steam, but I imagine it went something like Raon and the other Kings come in,switch pov to Raon, who is are shocked and surprised to see them alive and as a demon, Raon questions them/wants them to come back with them to one of the other kingdoms since they're "fine" and push the Companion too far to the point they get triggered into reliving painful memories they supressed and have a panic-attack, hurting themselves in the progress. This is the point where Lucifer steps in and makes Raon shut up while Marbas and Buer make themselves known to get the Companion to calm down and Morax and Gamigin step inbetween to act as like a wall so that Raon and the other kings can't get closer to the panicking Companion.

This is then the point that Raon gets jealous/hurt because A) Why don't the Healers care for them like that and B) The Companion is their friend, why are they so close to somebody else besides them. Lucifer had enough and forces the others to leave, picking up Companion bridal-style while they cling to him and hide from Raon and carrying them off.

I haven't really thought further tbh.

I hope you liked it, let me know what you thought!

(Hehehe this was certainly a fun one to read. I really love that my writings are making people write to me more and more. It's fun! Dragging people into my things! I wanted to keep this thing in my inbox for as long as I could, but also, I'm pretty slow when it comes to replying to anything because I like being careful and replying in such a way that doesn't imply that I'm apathetic to anyone. Though, next time, I do recommend using Sibling next time, even if it seems awkward to you. The more you use it, the less awkward it becomes. Kinda like using the word partner rather than using girlfriend or boyfriend. Anyways, I'm glad that you had a lot of fun with this.)

(Oh and honestly, I have no clue as to what the Companion's new appearance would be since I'm not very good at visual design. All I know is that they don't have a heartbeat and they're in a pretty delicate balance of sorts so they do risk reverting back to that weird angelic state given how parasitic that state of being was to them. It's like a stubborn tick, I suppose. Anyways, here be my own writing reply.)

He grabbed your hand. That was all it took. He rushed forward, grabbed your hand and cradled it between his palms. Many, many times he reached out to you back when your wings were these parasitic things flopping uselessly on your back. And, many, many times, he missed because he couldn't grip hard enough, couldn't hold you long enough.

Always. You were always taken away from him by those angels, towards that blinding light of heaven.

But, here you are, in front of him, dressed lightly and comfortably covered with a blanket that was of a quality higher than Ra-on has ever seen. Sure this means you're healing, right?

…grabbing your hand was all it took. He felt your skin, cold and stiff. He felt your veins on the back of your hand, hard and unmoving.

You had no heartbeat.

Knuckles knocked under his chin, Ra-on biting almost through the tip of his tongue as he was sent right into the waiting arms of all his lovers. Blood flowed into his mouth. Ra-on curled into himself when fire spread over the nerves of his tongue, covering his lips like that'll protect him from the pain. He couldn't help the tears, but, more than anything, the worst pain came from his heart as he looked to you and your blank, far away stare.

"Sorry," your limbs awkwardly moved, as though your joints were unyielding to you as you clenched your hand close to you, "Sorry, I'm fine I just… just give me a moment. A minute to," you gripped head, then dug your fingers right into your ear, "get them to shut up."

A light. Small, broken little fractals of lights dusted and flowed right behind your head, as though wanting to come into existence, but can't. Your ripped out stubs fluttered and twitched, you hissed in a breath and practically heaved it out.

"You…" Ra-on finally swallowed his blood, "You lied. You're not fine at all."

This, this isn't normal. Nothing about you was right. For months on end, Ra-on had to fight to keep this hope in his heart alive, that, when you simply vanished from battle, Ra-on had to convince himself that surely you didn't die. That you weren't…discarded.

But, here you are, lucid and away from that brutal dreaming self that wanted to destroy him and everything he's accomplished. Everything that belonged to him. You're here, being cared for, being healed…being vulnerable and weak to them…

…why here? Why did Lucifer hide your presence for this long if you were like this? You shouldn't be here, away from him. When Ra-on was sick as a dog in the hospital, he wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by those closest to them. And, after everything you've suffered, wouldn't you want to have him by your side while you recover?

"It seems the influence of the seed hasn't entirely left their body," there was a sadness in Mammon's eyes, as though feeling guilty for not being able to get rid of it somehow.

Satan held a tight grip on his waist. Leviathan's face held the slightest of frowns. And Beelzebub looked away, grasping his hand.

Ra-on struggled, but eventually separated himself from them. He walked towards you, now surrounded by devils that always paid more attention to you.

Gamigin's hand were wavering around your form, as though unable to decide if he should touch you or not, but the minute Buer shifted to stand in Ra-on's way, Gamigin followed suit.

"Please," Gamigin, usually light and carefree as all dragons should be, held a weight to his presence as he gazed upon Ra-on, "don't come any closer."

"But, they're my friend," Ra-on tried to go around them, but they refuse to let him, "I have to help them, they need-"

They're good people, these devils. They've been so good to you, Ra-on knows this, but why do they refuse to be good to him? Any attempts to befriend them, to get closer to them have always been met with excuses or disinterest.

"They need silence." Soft, a voice worthy of the heavens. Lucifer stood and all was silenced.

The lights that glittered over your head have ceased, your bloodied hand caught in Lucifer's own. Blood oozed over the side of your partially torn face, your eyes twitching. You weren't bleeding as you should. It wasn't flowing out as blood should. It just, oozed.

Lucifer was gentle when he helped you to your wheelchair. He made to touch your hand, perhaps to pat it after adjusting the blanket back on you, but you retracted from Lucifer.

Vulnerable. Ra-on knew how much you hated being in that state, hated being weak in front of anyone even if they have nothing but good and gentle intentions. Whenever you got sick or hurt, you always want to take care of it yourself. Like a wounded animal.

You didn't say a word as Lucifer pushed you out of the room. And all Ra-on could do was watch.

[wisteria-prompts]

HI HI HI IF U DONT MIND CAN U DO HANTENGU CLONES HAVING A TINY LOVER WHO BODY KINDA LIKE SHINOBU AND THEY FEEL INSECURE ABOUT IT NSFW OR SFW IS FINE

Mm yes, I need some bread, cause this is my jam.

Hantengu Clones x Smol Gn!Reader

SFW:

Sekido

The definition of cuteness aggression.

Legit he just wants to hold you so tightly sometimes, but knows he’ll break your bones if he does it as hard as he wants, so he settles for a slight squeeze when you insist on one of your hugs. It’s nowhere near satisfying, but it’ll do.

He really tries not to let it show how enamored he is with you and your tiny self due to his ego, but that changes a little bit once he’s made aware of your insecurities with it.

Of course he gets irritated when you admit it’s something you’re self-conscious about- It’s preposterous that you feel he’d think any less of you for it! Stop that right now! 

He goes off on a tangent about size not indicating power or worth, and that you should “shut up” about feeling lesser because of it, because you wouldn’t be his S/O if you weren’t worthy.

It would be a very touching speech if he didn’t say it with all that vitriol…

Sekido, out of all the ways to give affection, finds it easiest to give attention to your hands, which are so, so small compared to his own. One of his own can completely envelope both of yours, and with how often he initiates hand holding now, you’d be a fool not to notice his infatuation with the difference.

It just gives him a fuzzy feeling in his chest when he looks down and sees that his hands are hiding your own within them, and that you trust him with your small self in totality. The intimacy gets to this man, but you’ll be pressed to find any hints of that.

Don’t call him out on it even if you do notice, he WILL let go immediately and storm off, angrily mumbling to himself that no, you are NOT cute! (Even though you never said anything about that…)

Out of all the clones, his enjoyment of your smolness is about 7/10.

Karaku

Certified Tiny S/O Lover.

He doesn’t so much as get cuteness aggression, but he certainly has a LOT of impulses to squish you and hold you tight when he gets to thinking about how small you are compared to him.

He actually has a preference for an S/O who’s smaller than him, but it’s not a dealbreaker by any means.

He’s got a lot of love to give, and by god will he give it. Comparing hands, hugs that hide you from the world, leaning down dramatically low just to kiss you, using your head as a shoulder rest- It’s safe to say that as much as there’s genuine and sincere enjoyment in it, he also loves teasing the hell out of you too.

He just. Does a LOT. It’s almost overwhelming at times with how much he expresses his love for your tiny figure, but he also just wants to dispel those pesky insecure thoughts about it.

Almost acts offended when you admit it’s a sore spot. He makes it his personal mission from then on to get you to love your body as much as he does, and he goes at it much more insistently than Urogi does. Which is quite the accomplishment…

His favorite thing to do is hold you, in any way he can. Hugs are fine, but having you perched on his arm or shoulder is a new level of pleasure he had yet to attain until he met you. Will insist on carrying you like that from then on, even if it’s just around the house. 

You weigh less than a cup of tea to him, so he will never tire of holding you. Do not test that resolve, you will lose.

Enjoyment of Smolness: 9/10

Urogi

Wouldn’t really point it out or act differently in regards to your size.

Don’t get him wrong, he really does love everything about you! It’s just that he doesn’t mind your body no matter what size it comes in- He’s just here to love on you with all he’s got.

Although, he HAS noted how much easier it is to wrap you up with his entire body like this…The impulsive thoughts he gets to just envelope you completely and totally with his wings often win, and there’s nothing you or him can do about it.

The joy he gets from seeing little ol you sitting in one of his nests is unreal. He makes you a personal one, just for you! (It doesn’t last long because he keeps trying to sit in it with you and 100% does not fit-)

Is genuinely confused when you admit you’re self conscious about your tininess. What do you MEAN you don’t like it? He does!! Isn’t that what matters?

Will love on you all the more after that, because while he doesn’t have a preference for body type, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like the one you got, and he wants you to enjoy it just as much as he does.

Small note- He likes how big his feathers are when you hold them in your hands. He often gives you a plucked one to keep, and gets huffy if you don’t hold it for a while.

Enjoyment of Smolness: 5/10

Aizetsu

You wouldn’t know it by looking at him, but he gets a certain amount of calmness and contentment when he takes in your size.

You’re just so…Small. He can’t help but immediately feel protective whenever you come into view, no matter how many times he’s seen you. He’s always placing a protective and guiding hand on you when possible- On the small of your back when walking somewhere, on the back of your head when embracing, or simply your own hand while basking in each other's presence.

He’s a little obsessed with the way his hand covers a lot of surface area on you.

That’s what makes up most of his enjoyment, it’s just all feelings of wanting to keep you safe and sound, and most importantly, his.

He’s so afraid of losing you, and the size difference just makes it hit home harder. The thought of little ol you being lost in a crowd, or hidden among larger things in general has his chest clenching tight, and he needs to seek you out immediately.

In contrast, the feeling of being the one hiding you is incomparable to anything else he’s ever felt. He dared to say it felt like…Joy.

Can, will, and has cried while comparing hands. He only cries harder when you wipe his tears away, they’re so small on his cheeks, oh no he’s crying more-

Enjoyment of Smolness: 7/10

NSFW:

Sekido

One word: Manhandling.

He doesn’t even have to try for it to be classified as throwing you around- You’re just so tiny and lightweight, it’s almost impossible to hold back enough, to mind his strength so that you don’t end up with bruises.

He takes great pleasure in manipulating you every which way for his own uses, and you don’t even put up a fight. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to.

Watching your lithe body be pounded into repeatedly for hours on end is a privilege that only he gets to enjoy, no one else. He will mark every single inch of your skin to let the world know you’re his, and nobody but him will get to manhandle you like this. 

His hands wrapped around your ankles, enough overlap from his fingers that it has his mind reeling. The way his cock makes a very much noticeable bump through your abdomen, and he presses down hard on it every time to relish in your pleasured cries. Your struggle to wrap your legs fully around his hips while riding or being fucked reaches deep into his primal instincts, enough to cause him to pump his cock relentlessly inside you, harder and harder.

By the end of the night, he wants you to have dozens of prints across your skin to showcase how much bigger your lover is than you. He wants to leave evidence inside you that leaks out in a stream, just because there’s no possible way it can all fit inside.

It numbs the usual anger and rage seething within him, and replaces it with pure satisfaction and possessiveness.

Karaku

He’s…A little sadistic about it.

He really enjoys seeing you struggle as you attempt to stuff his cock inside you. God forbid you start crying or tearing up, cause he’ll only tease you more as a result, maybe even mocking a little bit, but never to the point of degradation.

He’ll coo and murmur words of encouragement and love as you try again and again, before eventually taking control entirely. He’ll flip you over, and bully his way inside your warm, wet walls until tears are streaming down your face.

Thinks it’s adorable, the way you need to be prepped for hours just to take his dick. It honestly strokes his ego, which is already dangerous outside of sexual acts…

Oral is his preferred method of foreplay, and even enjoys it just by itself. He loves the way your walls flutter around his tongue, Karaku having to shove it extra hard just to get it inside your tiny hole. It can border on painful, the way he goes extra hard and rough as he feels how small your body is in his hands, but he makes sure it’s multitudes more pleasurable.

Loves to see you ride him, or rather, he loves to help you ride him. A perk of weighing nothing to him is the fact that he can move you on his cock like you’re nothing more than a fleshlight- But don’t worry, he’ll be praising you over and over for doing so well the entire time.

Half the time is spent staring where his cock disappears inside you, and subsequently where he shows up through your tummy. He’ll only press on it if you ask, though.

Urogi

Exclusively calls you “Dove” during the act.

You know how I said he makes personal nests just for you? Yeah, he also makes nests for the purpose of fucking in them. And he 100% insists on doing so at least half the time you two get intimate.

There’s something about seeing your tiny body so vulnerable in a nest made by him that rushes all the blood to his cock. He practically stops thinking entirely, becoming so needy and desperate that he’s humping your leg, your belly, any part he can reach.

In the same vein, he likes the way his cock looks so big in your hands, between your legs, anywhere really- As long as he gets to see your tiny hands caress him, he’s happy and chirping up a storm.

Though he has talons for hands, he’s incredibly gentle with them, especially during this intimate moment. He likes to pin your thin wrists above your head with just one hand, relishing in the way that he can overpower you so easily, and that you trust him enough to let it happen without a fight or single protest.

Uses his wings to blot out the sky/environment, so that your whole world is just him and him alone. He wants his precious, tiny S/O to focus on the way he makes you feel, to focus on his much larger body looming over yours.

He needs all of your attention, no matter what form it, or you, will come in.

Aizetsu

Also a little sadistic about it, but less than Karaku.

But somehow also the most soft in the bedroom. His protectiveness comes out full force during the act, his body hiding yours away from the world, rather than it from you. He wants to be as close as possible, chest on yours, legs intertwined, it’s almost suffocating really, but oh so gentle.

He coos in your ear about how soft you feel, how your tiny body fits so well against his, how he just wants to steal you away forever, just him and you for eternity. He doesn’t want anyone else looking at you the way he gets to, doesn’t want you to call anybody else yours. 

Conversely, he also wants to feel your hands on his body as well. He constantly guides your hands to caress his chest, his back, to tug at his hair and clothes- It brings tears to his eyes to know you’re as desperate for him as he is for you.

Will whine incessantly if you don’t touch him enough, he just wants to appreciate your small hands on his body, is that too much to ask for?

If he has enough rationality about him at that point, nearing his climax he’ll pull back and watch the way your hole stretches to accommodate his thick cock, taking him to the hilt. Though it’s obviously a struggle to do so, your body writhing as he tries to push in deeper and deeper, a hand pushing your legs further apart. Sometimes he’ll comment on it to you, inviting you to feel for yourself where he sinks into your body. He needs your validation, your attention, your presence-

Please look at him, and him only.

[queeenarii]

Based on someone's post saying Johnny would love the lotus position.

Gender Neutral reader.

🔞 Minors Do Not Ingage

In this : Johnny, Kun, Hendery

CW: choking(John,reader reciving) Hendery(hen reciving). Squirting (reader) Oral (Hen reciving) Slight Orgasm control(John,Kun, reader reciving,) . Mentions of Edging (Kun, reader reciving)

If missed any lmk!!

Johnny

You sit on his lap, swiviling your hips, hands gripping the head board for stability. A moan escapes from your lips as his tip kisses the deepest parts of you.

"Johnny" you whine in desperation. It feels so good. But it's not enough

"Keep going for me beautiful" he croaks out. Eyes hooded and locked on yours. His large hand wraps around your neck, pressing slightly. The slight pressre provides a gentle jolt to your system causing you to throw your head and moan loudly, rutting your hips desperately to chase your high. He plunges deeper filling you up so nicely it drives you insane, and pushes you to take more of him.

"That's it my love" he encourages, voice low and hungry. Johnny rewards your enthusiasm by attaching his mouth to your left nipple, biting softly.

"Fuck" he pants "You look gorgeous on top of me" a new spark picks up from your right nipple as his hand elctrifieas every inch of your skin making you shiver.

There's a rustling, but you pay it no mind, your realise dwelling just under your surface. Buzzing fills the air but before you can react it's attack your clit/tip.

The moan that rips from you is vicious. Booming and drawn out. Once again it's too much. Your skin buzzes in tune with the toy, you pulse at random sucking Johnny in more.

"Look at me" he commands "you know I love to see you loose control" the vibrator diggs harsher onto you boarding on painful. He resumes the assault on your chest, enveloping the left nipple sucking harshly.

"Johnny..." you wail "...Johnny I can't" nails sink into his shoulders. You carve valleys in his dewy skin marking him as yours once again. He inhales at the sting, reveling in it. Reveling in you. His eyes dart down to where you two are joined.

"Fuck. for me pretty. All for me" he groans out bucking his hips up. He turns the settings on the vibrator up once more. It rattles against you in an intoxicating manner. You squeez Johnny harder, your high steadily approaching. His hand grips tighter as he mutters a simple command.

"Cum for me baby"

That's all it takes. Your resolve breaks. You let go.

"That's right make a mess for me" . Johnny ruts up into you helping you ride out your high and chasing his. You whine higher as your orgasm drags on, drenching Johnny's abs and the sheets.

You feel fuzzy like your floating. Your finger tips are on fire as you continue to clench around him.

His hands climb to your waist. Keeping you moving. When your senses are about you, you straighten up, hazy eyes staring into his. Soft lips meet yours as your body unknowningly follow your mind. Dying to have his lips on yours. The over stimulation settles in your bones, your nails dig harder into him.

He grunts "hold on for me baby" his lips barely leave yours "I'm close"

After what feels like an eternity, a hearty groan rings through the air. His teeth sink into your lips, his dull nails provide some solace. A teether for your floating being.

Kun

You don't know what track he was working on. Only that he said he needed you. He needed his muse.

The chair squeaks and the arms press into you, itchy and irritating. Kun leans back from him computer.

But then pleasure rushes your veins. Kuns lips, raw , pink and bruised from his anxious bitting, attaches to your neck drawing out a moan.

"Beautiful" he gasps "such beautiful moans. So Perfect, so pretty. " You hum in content at the praise wiggling in his hold.

Kun sits up. The clacking of keys driving you crazy. You can barely see his face from here, but the furl in his brow ignites your curiosity. Then you hear it. Your voice booms from his system.

He sits back before you can shrink yourself into him, embarrasment washing over you. The desperation in your voice feels raw and unfamiliar. But kun. Kuns hips jolt up at the sound. The sound of home, of peace, of pure beauty. The sound of his muse. Sounds that only he can compose, the master of your body, directing your pleasure like an orchestra.

You're barely moving, but his stare goes right to your core. Your hips rock upwards.

"Please do anything babe" you please growing more desperate by the second.

"Go on beautiful, play me" with his permission you crank your hips. The rough movements sharp and uncoordinated. Kuns skin rubs against yours, the chairs handle digs into your skin more rubbing it raw. You don't know how long you've been like this. An hour? Two?

How long has kun been playing with you? Commanding beats of silence after winding you up so close to your release.

The clacking is back. Kun starts tinkering away again. Frustratation beats in your chest at the sound.

"Kunnieeee, please" you whine, desperate.

" I was just ensuring that it saved" he claims. He leans back again. Taking in your form on top of him, groaning.

"Fuck, you have no idea what you do to me" he says gripping your thighs, squeezing the plump flesh there. His corse hands trail up your thighs and scrape against you teasingly.

"So good for me, my muse" Kuns heels dig into the floor allowing him to thrust hardly into you.

His hands return to your hips, forcing you down on him.

"So good, so pretty, all mine" he almost sings, lost in the vevelty wetness of your walls.

Releif, like finding water in miles of dessert, crashes into you when his hand presses against your clit/dick. It's almost too much, the 3 other orgasms that were stolen from you come back to life. Kun moves his hand quickly , your orgasm a crescendo, begging for a release.

"Come on pretty, you can cum" the sweet words leave his mouth alongside pants and groans. All of his efforts quicken determind to fulfill your desires.

You slump against Kuns body, spent, exausted. The arms of the chair chafing your skin as your legs morph into lead weights. Dealing the ground in search of stability.

Kun scoots closer to his desk, tinkering away again.

About 10 minutes pass before another word is said, kun occasionally searching your face, rubbing your back and legs.

"Are you able to get up?" he asks. You hum, brain still fuzzy and limbs less heavy.

"Maybe" you reply smushing your face further into kuns neck. Kuns chuckle fills you with warmth, pushing you back to look at your face. A chast kiss placed to your lips

"Let's get you home, my muse".

Hendery

"Awe man" Guangheng gasped in defeat, gesturing at the screen.

"This is what... " his voice trails off as you home in on how gorgeous the man in front of you is.

His goofy anger, his frustration makes him hotter. His legs speread, sweatpants leaving little to the imagination. His loose shirt hung off his shoulder exposing the canyons of his collarbones and the delicious skin that covers them.

You set your phone down and saunter over to the couch that he inhabits. Straddling his lap you cease his seemily endless chatter, collecting his lips with yours. The room falls silent , peacefulness returned , nothing but the hum of his game in the background.

"If you wanted me to be quiet all you had to do was ask(/j) " he smirks playfully pulling you closer into him. Of course Guangheng couldn't stay silent for long.

"I want you. Quiet or not" you whisper into his ear, grinding down on him teasingly.

"Well all you had to do was ask(/j/sx)" he repeats again. His hand finds your head, pulling you together for another heated kiss. Your cold hands thaw against the hot skin under his shirt, coaxing it off of him.

You push yourself off of him, sinking down to your knees. Hendery lifts his hips to free him self for you. You nuzzle up against his dick, slotting it into your mouth, hands on Hendery thighs.

"Fuck" he pants, his tip skims the back of your throat, your body both refusing and encouraging the action. The hair at his base tickles, your nose scrunching in response. You pull off of him and sneeze.

"Your so cute" his infectious laugh fills the room once more. the crack of a slap following as you retaliate against his bare thigh. Your mouth returns to him coaxing him to full hardness.

Once your satisfied. You return to his lap, hips hovering over his cock and chest over his face. He can't help but to press his face into it with a satisfied hum, kissing and sucking at the skin. Licking along your stretch marks.

"Love your tits" his muffled voice rings. The stretch of his cock is addicting in the way it splits you open. Slowly you fit him inside moaning as he reaches deep inside you.

You start moving your hips to your own rhythm, grabbing your boob in one hand, pinching your nipple. The sting is delicious and your other hand trails down to your core stimulating you there.

Guangheng cant do anything but sit and watch as you use him. His tries to keep his hips under control. Occasionally your thrusts meet the pleasure unexpected yet welcomed.

Your hands stop thier movement frantically searching for Henderys. Your hand lace together and you guide back to your chest. Hendey takes the bait. Fondling and gripping your titts. The sporatic tweaks of your nipples amplify the electricity surging through your body. The soft tugs are soothing but the harsh pinches are electrifying.

Your hand picks up speed as do your hips. Hendery digging his blunt nails into your chest as your velvety walls squeeze him.

"Shit" you gasp out. Your free hand climbes up Henderys torso. You stop at his nipples flicking them slightly. Hendery groans in response, his fluffy hair meeting the back of the sofa.

Your lips find his neck, his hand your core replacing yours. Your free hand reaches its final destination, curling around his thick neck the best your hands could.

Guangheng goes wild. His eyes roll back, his hand picks up speed on your clit and his other had trades your nipple for his own. His hips move on their own accord. Out of tune with your movememebts but delightful none the less.

Your bodies ruffling is all you hear, until his loud moan ripples through the air.

"Cum with me princess" he begs looking back at you, his eyes commanding the attention of your own.

His face soon contours in pleasure, his moan loud and deep. His hips piston into yours, driving you to your high.

Eventually the cord snaps. Your coming on his spent dick and the last drops of his release mix with yours. Your hips circle languishing in the pain that resides after your orgasm.

"I should loose more often huh" of course Guangheng couldn't stay silent for long.

[velvetures]

*Peeks from a corner*

Merry Christmas!

Hi um...can I just say your comfort fluff fics have made me realize just how touche-starved I personally am. Made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

So, if I could be so bold as to ask for a fic with Soap or Gaz or Keegan with that same theme? Making sure they're taken care of, or make them feel safe enough to let their guard down for a bit?

Again, totally fine if you have other things to do, but it would really male my day if you did. Thank you and have a nice day!

- 💀

Fall Back

a/n: thank you for the request babes... I'm sorry Christmas is just now here in mid-fucking May :( I'm ashamed. Additionally, this is my first time writing for Keegan... and I'm still working out the specifics for my interpretation of his character and behavior. So this is a bit different from what I've written before. Hopefully you enjoy it. summary: Keegan's worn down to the bone. And you're there to help him. t/w's: none.

his eyes are almost identical to my husband's... why didn't I notice until now...

He only comes to you when things get too heavy to bear.

And not in the way a refrigerator empty of food, or a late rent payment would weigh on your mind. You’ve not seen the same things he has… and fuck, he’ll do anything to make sure you never do. The mere thought that any of the nightmares and constant PTSD triggers that make him jumpy could touch your conscious would send him into an entirely new mental warfare, impossible to win. No, he shows up when he needs it most. No matter what you might be doing, or how it could appear, he’s crawling on his belly with a broken look in his eyes. Pride bruised, strength dissolved, and voice rough with more pain than you thought he could ever survive.

You tried keeping the back door unlocked for him. Thinking he’d take it as a sign that your home is always welcome. It resulted in him forcing you to lock the doors and make him a key. That lasted a couple of months, and then he lost the key somewhere in Cuba. Something about a guy ripping his chain off his neck and subsequently the key to your door that he wore alongside his dog tags. He’d been quick to change all of your locks after that. And since then, he’s decided that crawling in through your bedroom window is the only way he’ll enter your house unless you’re formally inviting him in.

Maybe it’s the anti-social part of him that believes he can’t come and go as he pleases. Spending precious time sneaking into your little house instead of doing what he came for in the first place. Getting close to you. Sometimes he won’t wake you up. Just taking off his bloody-soaked gear and taking a quick wash in the shower before curling up to you in bed. Tucking you under him, and breathing in the soft smell of your soap and fresh sheets. Other times, you’ll stir away when you hear boots scuffing heavily against the floor. Hearing heavy breaths and his tac vest thumping to the floor. Witnessing what it’s like when a ghost finally runs out of hatred and cold-blooded determination.

“Are you hurt?” It’s almost always your first question. After so many missions, he’s almost always got something that needs looked at. And while you never thought that tying stitches or cleaning shallow stab wounds would be a common occurrence in your life, Keegan has made it so that your medical kit under your bathroom sink is always stocked and ready for emergency-room worthy injuries.

He’s not going to talk much, even if he’s in good shape. It’s not in his disposition. More like a shelter dog sent back too many times for growling or bearing his teeth. Wary of everything, yet so desperate for touch that he’s willing to show you exactly where a bullet grazed his thigh. About eight hours old and weeping blood, staining a pair of pants that you’ll spend time scrubbing out in the morning while doing laundry. But if you’re worried, he’s going to hide just how badly he’s hurting… if for nothing than your sake.

He’s already broken into your house again… and now bleeding all over the bathroom rug with pretty flowers you bought after the last time he made a mess in there. Constantly reminding himself it’s selfish to demand you care for him. To show up with a shitty fucking attitude and guilt you into licking his wounds when he can’t bear to do it himself, or admit to the medical staff on base that he needs it. You’re too kind for this kind of bullshit. Too sweet to run him off though. And it’s why he keeps crawling back. Greedy… hungry… insatiable… he’s always admonishing himself for just how little control he possesses when there’s an opportunity to leave you alone, or place himself right in the middle of your life again.

“Everyone come back alive?”

Keegan has a love hate relationship with that particular question. Debating on whether or not he likes that you worry for his teammates in such an honest way; or if he’s so jealous of your mind wandering to them, and what fucked-up things they do during missions that it’s almost unbearable to hear you ask it.

“Alive.” He breathes out steadily as you thread your stitching through his skin for an eighth time, tying another knot over his twitching and aching muscles.

You’re always asking questions about the missions. About what he had to do, if he got hurt, where they went… it’s innocent enough. You mean well. But he never can tell you much. Protective instinct and top secret red tape make much of the details not worth the risk of divulging. But he’s patient with you. Giving away small hints maybe by saying a few words in a native language, or talking about a particular landmark that might’ve been close enough that you can make a guess from there. At this point, you’ve learned at least a few words in: German, Russian, Thai, and multiple hispanic dialects. A smart woman, of course, but he’s always surprised when you connect his work to something you’ve seen on the news.

It’s like you’re always watching for him.

“Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Maybe you do look out for him in more ways than one. Not bothering with the fact that you’d already completed your nightly routine, just to strip down and get a shower running. Rubbing out strained shoulders with soft hands, and gently thumbing out the thick knots in his lower back. It’s the only pressure he’s willing to accept in this state. Merely breathing just to live for more of your touch. Keegan can’t even bother with soap, and had it not been for you, he wouldn’t have at all. Feeling you scrub down every inch of him. Much more like a maid than… well… he still didn’t know what kind of label to put on this relationship.

There were too many variables and more questions than he could answer. Sure it was… transactional at times, but he’d be remiss to ignore all of the ways you occupied his thoughts when it wasn’t appropriate to. And you always do more than you’re supposed to. Just like now. Wrapping your arms around him for behind and kissing over his shoulder blades. Humming a soft tune and letting your fingertips trace over his stomach. Any man should be able to admit that he’s weak for it… but Keegan can’t readily do that.

Fighting his own heart pounding in his chest as you sway him back and forth. Wishing he could let this feeling go. Be a stronger man. Be a better ghost and lock himself away behind the gear and guns. Fuck. You’re so good at it though. Stripping him down to nothing, even when he thought there wasn’t anything else left. Soothing aches and kissing away pains he blocked out for so long that he felt like had disappeared. You are smarter than that. You know how his mind works whether he likes it or not. How willing he is to go from hell and back so many times that he’s unsure of what kind of being he truly is. Caught between worlds of warfare and the softer one where you always welcome him back, knowing that within a few days the gore will call him back for service.

“Sleep on the couch…” He mutters, standing with a towel slung around his hips and a bleary look in satin light-blue eyes. “Don’t wanna stain your sheets.”

He’d seen them upon arrival; crisp white and hundred-dollar softness he didn’t want to touch. Between the blood and feeling of getting spoiled to them, it wasn’t worth it to him. He’d done it before without much thought, but this time something was making him attempt responsibility.

“Then I’m coming with you, Russ.”

You’re smiling that damned smile he dreams about. That one where the gap between your front teeth shows and the dimpled skin on your cheeks shadows just enough to make him forget that you’re human. Angelic. Teasing… Gracefully not leaving him room for an argument. Simply turning around and headed towards the bedroom without another word as to if he’d be choosing to lay cramped on your couch. Hell, it’s four in the morning, and your mind is sharp enough to play with him just enough that he’s stalking back into the dark room and watching you crawl into the bed with an expectant, innocent look directed at him.

Keegan can’t help it.

He’s under the sheets and unceremoniously reaching for you without hesitation. Feeling his callouses catch on your skin and wincing when he hears his rough palms scratch at you. No matter how rough it feels, you’re still sliding closer. Careful of bruises and cuts, tucking yourself against him and using one arm to guide his head against your chest. Laying just above him. Incentivizing him to hug tightly to you and tuck his head under your chin. Allowing this unfeeling soldier to hide in the temporary shelter of your heartbeat.

You rub his head, and feel short, clipped, hair tickle your fingertips. Soft from a shampoo and condition after weeks away in sand that made the bathroom floor feel gritty. You’re almost always pressing kisses to his forehead and using your other hand to rub over his brow bone and bridge of his nose. Seeing in the nighttime shadow where his face paint has settled into wrinkles that you didn’t manage to wash off in the shower. Looking at long, black eyelashes that flutter a bit when you scratch up and down the back of his neck.

“You’re so pretty…” You always talk to him like this. Unable to keep from spouting praise that wells up after long periods of not knowing if he’s alive, let alone safe.

You’re not dumb. You know he’s dangerous. Maybe even a monster in some people’s eyes. But it’s a necessary evil, and it’s something you came to terms with easily. Because you didn’t just see him for the guns and direct orders. You got to witness moments like this where he’s nothing but a man in desperate need of humanity. Hungry for connection. Soft touches… and whether he liked it or not, the praises that you whisper against his pink-tipped ears.

“You’re the pretty one, dollie.” He grumbles back, squeezing your hip in a big hand.

It makes your face heat up just ask quickly when he pulls that one out. Almost always with a nickname up his sleeve that just makes it all that much more worth it. But being anything other than your own name to him… it’s a different kind of reward. One that has you smiling like a fool as you get sleepier. Nearly petting him to sleep, and hoping to god you can stay awake longer than he does just to prove you’re willing to. Maybe willing isn’t even strong enough…

Any way you think about it, there’s a sense of duty you hold much like his to a career as a ghost. Yours stemming from love so deep for this man that it’s painful watching him crawl to you as a last resort. Despising what or whoever made him feel like wanting a warm bed, and someone to look after him when he’s weak, is wrong. God it’s enough to make you angry. Looking down at a man who could make anyone tremble, and seeing him curled up against your chest like he’s clinging to a shred of comfort. If you thought picking up a gun alongside him would change things, you’re certain you’d have done it years ago. Right when all of this started and Keegan was much more proud. Unwilling to relent as easily as he does now.

But it took that long because there wasn’t another option.

He wouldn’t have allowed it if you were any different of a person, or hadn’t possessed the patience for him to let go like this. You’re positive no one knows that this is where he runs to when things get too hard. None of his team, and with no family to speak of, you’re left as his final resort, but the only one he trusts. Unlike Keegan who avoids his medal pinnings with sheer hatred, you wear your designation proudly. You’re always shining it… polishing it… looking for the first opportunity to show just how willing you are. Just for the chance to hold him. Anything to feel his breathing even out after weeks of holding it. Anything to clean him up. Put him back together.

All while silently praying that it’ll be the last time. Wishing he’d see that you aren’t a last resort, and that he can lay here as long as he wants without losing the worth he assigned to himself after becoming a ghost. Wondering when it’ll come to an end where he can come back and hang up the guns laying on your bedroom floor, forever. Patiently anticipating the day you can not have to wait until he’s asleep to say exactly how you feel.

“I love you, Keegan…”

comments & reblogs are always appreciated 🤎

[ww2yaoi]

[Here's another taste of my so far untitled webgott fic because I feel like sharing but know finishing the fic is going to take a while longer so enjoy...]

The sun is beginning to set when David finally rises from his chair, eyes stinging from staring at a blank page for so long. He closes his notebook, grabs a towel, then starts down the winding pathway from the hotel to the lake.

Thankfully, no one’s at the dock when he gets there. The horizon is bathed in burnt orange light, slowly dimming as the sun settles between the mountain peaks in the distance. The air is a bit too cool for a swim, but David enjoys the breeze as it bites at his skin. Anything to draw him out of his thrumming head, to distract him from the lacuna in his sternum, aching with oblivion.

He strips all the way, wanting nothing between him and the water, and dives into the lake. The cold water hits him like a grenade blast, roaring past his ears and soaking him deep to the bone. When David was a child, spending summers away from school on East Coast beaches, he used to see how long he could hold his breath underwater. He would revel in frightening his mother when his head failed to emerge from the waves for minutes at a time. He liked it down there. It was quiet, and he could imagine himself coming from a different world, somewhere unknown and endless where he was better understood, inexplicable like the ocean but loved for his inexplicability all the same.

In the present, David holds his breath until his lungs sting and his head feels fuzzy. Eyes closed, he welcomes the black, embraces the stillness surrounding him. Then, he emerges, gasping, droplets beading like pearls at the ends of his hair. His eyes flutter open, and the first thing he sees is the bottom of a jump boot resting at the edge of the dock. David follows the line of the attached leg to the face peering over at him.

Joe is lounging there with an elbow propped up behind him. He nurses a cigarette, the cherry burning tangerine between his pursed lips. His paratrooper jacket is opened to reveal the clean white of his undershirt, his Magen David glinting around his neck in the dying sunlight.

“Thought you were never gonna come back up for air,” Joe says and the smoke he exhales conceals his pinched expression.

David is surprised to see him. He stands up in the water, toes nestling in the wet sand. Luckily, the waterline comes up to his waist, hiding his nakedness.

“How long have you been sitting there?” he asks.

“Long enough to wonder if you’d fucking drowned,” Joe says, scowling.

“What are you doing here?” David replies. He crosses his arms over his bare chest, feeling oddly exposed underneath the razor’s edge of Joe’s gaze. “I thought you were avoiding me.”

“I was,” Joe admits. His eyes flick downwards. “I heard about Janovec. Chuck says you were there.”

News travels fast; David frowns. “So what? You here to blame me for it?”

Joe’s eyebrows furrow. “Jesus, Web. Why the fuck would I blame you?”

David shrugs. “I don’t know, Joe. You blame me for a lot of things.”

Joe smirks, a disparate concoction of amusement and irritation that David has memorized on his face a thousand times before. He takes another drag of his cigarette and taps ash into the water. It floats on the surface like flakes of pepper in a bowl of tomato soup.

“Yeah, Web, like what?”

David meets his eyes, unwilling to back down. “Well, for one, you blame me for getting wounded in Holland. You blame me for missing Bastogne. You blame me for not killing a man just because you asked me to—”

“He was a fucking Nazi,” Joe spits, expression hardening. “He deserved to die.”

“Maybe so,” David volleys back. “But the war is over, Joe. Why bloody our hands? Where does this end for you?”

“Until they fucking pay.”

“Yeah, who? Who pays? Millions of people are complicit. Are you going to kill half the population of Germany?”

Joe goes quiet at that, fiddling with his cigarette between his thumb and index finger. His silence simmers with anger and something else, something somber and oppressive, and David realizes he much prefers his open-mouthed rage to this. The only time he’s seen Joe this short for words was after Landsberg, and the last thing David wants is a repeat of that.

It makes him think back to the German baker whose throat he held a gun to. Sometimes, when he closes his eyes, he can feel the weight of the pistol in his hand, his finger inching closer and closer to the trigger. Sometimes, in his dreams, he pulls it. He never told Joe what happened that day. Maybe Joe would say he should have done it.

“You want to go home, right?” David adds quietly. “Leave all this behind?”

Joe says nothing. By now, the sun has dipped behind the mountainscape, painting everything in a spectral blue. A gust of wind whips across the lake, casting ripples through the water, and David shudders slightly. Goosebumps pimple his arms.

“Come on,” Joe says, beckoning him with the tilt of his head. “Get out of the water, Web. You’re shivering.”

“Okay,” David says, but heat blooms on the back of his neck. “You might want to look away though.”

“Why?”

“I’m naked, Lieb.”

Joe snorts and smoke pours out his nose. “What? You ashamed of that tiny, uncut dick of yours?”

David rolls his eyes. “It’s not tiny.”

“Well, it’s hard to see with all that hair on you.”

“You’ve been looking?”

“Jesus Christ,” Joe says. “Come on. We’ve showered together. It’s nothing I haven’t seen.”

“Suit yourself.”

David wades over to the edge of the dock and pulls himself up out of the water, getting to his feet. He reaches for the towel by his discarded clothes, keeping his eyes trained on the tree line in front of him, knowing full well if he glances over at Joe and sees him looking he’ll flush from head to toe. David wraps the towel around his waist and sits down beside him on the dock, pale legs outstretched and freckled with lake water.

They look out at the horizon and David feels the distance stretching between them, like he and Joe are the twin but separate mountain peaks piercing the dusky sky miles ahead. Joe finishes his cigarette and butts it out on the dock, leaving a scorch mark on the wood. He tosses it into the water and it floats for a moment on the surface before being swept under by a wave.

“Hell,” Joe says after a while, his voice low. “What the fuck do I have to go home to?”

David snaps his head to look at him. “What are you talking about?” he says.

“Nothing.” Joe looks sullen, chin tucked towards his chest. “Forget it.”

“What about your job at the cab company?” David asks. “The Jewish girl with the big tits? What about your family?”

Joe scoffs. “Yeah? What the fuck am I gonna say to them? What am I gonna tell my ma?”

“You tell them whatever you want to tell them,” David says. “That you’re a war hero, that you saved Western civilization as we know it.”

Joe laughs, a bitter, leery thing. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

David shrugs. He doesn’t know what he thinks anymore, about the war, about the things he’s done, the things he’s seen. Sometimes he lies awake at night and wonders how his life might be different, if in some version of history the right politicians had shaken hands and all this destruction and bloodshed had been avoided. Joe would still be driving his cab around Frisco, maybe he’d have a wife and a home and children to fill it, and David would be back at Harvard, studying Tolstoy and Flaubert and writing his novel. They never would have met except in this ravaged and desolate place. They would have no reason to relate to one another, vastly different men from vastly different backgrounds, situated on disparate coasts on opposite sides of the country.

David doesn’t believe in fate, or predestination, or whatever the poets call it, but there’s an inevitability to it all, that David would find his way to Easy, to Joe. He’s not even sure if they’re friends, but since Joe lifted him up into that truck in Haguenau, he’s felt drawn into Joe’s orbit. If David’s being honest with himself, he’s never fit in well with the guys of Easy. Not really. They tolerate him, sure, but they never seek him out, not like Joe does. David has never fit in anywhere, not at HQ before his transfer, not at Harvard, not even in his own goddamn family. Without Joe, without his ardour and annoying persistence, it’d be like being lost at sea.

David is pulled out of his thoughts when he feels a knobby finger jab him in the leg. He looks down and sees that Joe is poking him in the calf where the Kraut bullet pierced his skin in Holland, just barely missing the bone. The scar there is pink and mottled, the flesh raised and twisted like the mark on Joe’s neck.

“Hey, quit it,” David says and drags his leg away from Joe’s touch.

Joe leans back on his elbows, smirking. “So that’s the million-dollar wound.”

David glares at him. “If it was a million-dollar wound I’d be home by now,” he says. “And I’m still fucking here, aren’t I?”

Something softens in Joe’s expression, and if David didn’t know any better he might mistake it for fondness.

“That you are, Web. That you are.”