#already feel like shit so go to have a shower. then out of fuckin nowhere start guilt/shame/self hatred spiralling because thinking about

[lovelylovelyartist]

Actual footage of me after an 18 hour work day complete with guilt spirals and shame.

[rafesthroatbaby]

HERE IS YOUR *LONG* JAX BLURB HOE😚❤️‍🔥

You just arrived to the clubhouse, making your way towards Jax’s room. You were there for one thing and one thing only.

You step into his room, eyes roaming the small space. He was nowhere to be found and that’s when you hear the water running in the bathroom. Perfect, it was exactly what you needed.

You open the door to the bathroom and make your way inside. Your eyes land on Jax, he looked so damn good with water dripping down his face and abs and his hair slicked back. Your eyes land down to his cock, you were already throbbing and so fucking needy.

With no hesitation, you take off your clothes dropping them on the floor until you were completely naked. Jax, not even startled looks up at you and smirks.

“Hey darlin’ you come here to join me? Well hurry and bring that pretty ass over here.” Jax chuckled.

“Need your cock right now Jax. Been so fucking horny for you.” You beg, looking up into his eyes.

“Oh is that right? My little cumslut needs her pussy filled?”Jax whispers in your ear as his hands slap then grab your ass.

“Yes. Fuck Jax. Please. Right now.” You whine.

“Now be careful what you wish for.” Jax boasted. His hands slide up from your ass to your throat gripping it tightly. He shoves you against the tile in the shower. Your head and back slamming into the wall. You loved when he threw you around like a rag doll, it got you soaked.

Jax shoves his tongue into your mouth, making you tremble. Your hands find there way to Jax’s chiseled torso, running your fingers over his abs and down to his v-line. You were just about to touch his cock when he pulls away from you.

“Tsk tsk” is all he says when he grabs your hair into a makeshift ponytail and aggressively pushes you down to your knees, you were sure to have bruises on your knees by the end of the night.

“Suck it darlin’, you know what to do, choke on this dick like the whore you are.” Jax grunts, pumping his cock a couple times before lining up to your pink plump lips.

You open your mouth and he thrusts his length in your mouth. You suck and swirl your tongue as if your life depended on it. He was ramming into your mouth making you gag, spit dripping from the sides of your mouth.

The way he held onto your makeshift ponytail and shoving you all the way down his cock ‘til you couldn’t take it anymore had you squirming trying to pull yourself away. It was too much, his cock was thick in girth and long in length. It never failed to make you choke.

“Stop fucking moving and just take it.” Jax spits. He lets go of your hair, giving your cheek a nice firm slap. He gives you a few more deep thrusts and you swear you could feel the tip of his cock hit the back of your damn throat. God, you loved when he abused your throat, you were dripping and you could feel it.

He releases his cock from your mouth, a string of drool falling from his cock and onto your chin. He pulls you up by your arms and turns you around slamming your body into the wall and bending you over just enough for him to plunge his dick into your sopping cunt. The side of your face and your tits squished against the tile.

“Oh my god, fuck Jax. Please cum in my pussy! I fucking need it!” You scream.

He’s ramming his cock into you, sliding in and out at a rough pace, slapping your ass as he groans out a string of curses. Moans and skin slapping skin the only sounds to fill the room.

“Needy little slut aren’t ya? Shit you’re such a good girl, my cumslut taking this cock so damn well.” Jax praises. He brings an arm towards your neck and wraps it around your throat pulling you closer to him, ass still bent over and taking his length. He’s sucking on your neck, leaving a dark purple spot. You loved that shit, marking what’s his.

“Jax, I—I don’t know how much m-more I can t-take! M’gonna cum!” You scream, legs shaking as your orgasm flows through you.

“Fuck darlin’! I’m gonna fuckin’ cum. Pussy is too damn good and so fuckin’ tight!” Jax growls loudly. His thrusts get sloppy and brutal, his arm grips your throat tighter, you thought you’d almost pass out on the shower floor.

“Fuck y-yes cum for m-me daddy!!!!” You choke out. At this point you couldn’t feel your legs, you were completely fucked out and close to limp.

“Here it comes, get ready my little cumslut. I’m about to fill you up! Ooh Fuck!!!” Jax moans, thick ropes of cum spurting deep in your pussy.

“Oh you feel so good Jax, oh yes daddy! Fill me to the fucking brim! Oh God!”

“You like that? Like when my cum spills out of that pretty little thing? Ready for round two darlin’?” Jax smirks, pulling his cock out of you and watching as his seed drips out and down your legs. You were out of breath and lifting yourself up by the wall.

“Jesus Jax, let me catch my damn breath first.” You shoot him a wink, knowing you two were about to take it to the bedroom for another round.

“Oh is that right? My little cumslut needs her pussy filled?”Jax whispers in your ear as his hands slap then grab your ass.

& that’s only one line of.. ALL ? YES, I WANTED TO COPY & PASTE EVERYTHING 😮‍💨 HOLY DADDYYYY 😭 may I present y’all my personal jax writer @drewstarkeyslut 🥲 her job is to write me a blurb every week… yea forcing her & shit 🤤 jk it’s all love lol. I don’t know where to start cause I didn’t recover yet but can we talk about how insane you nailed him ? the damn porn was playing in my head while i read this 😩 „ YESS THAT‘S FUCKING DADDY RIGHT HERE“ , me after every sentence 👅 the obsession with his fine ass is real.. & when I said „I want him to slash me against the tiles“ 🥲 you did that too. I’m so glad that you’ll continue to bless me, cause ohhh shit the way I need him ? You already know. thank you so much for another fantasy , I appreciate everything you do for me 😭 my bitch4life is the best 💕 ilysm

ps: FUCKING LOOK AT HIM 💦 BIG DICKKKKKK 👅

[1kook]

crunchyroll & rail

the 10th installment of my netflix & chill series !

SUMMARY Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. WARNINGS smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… MISC fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality, RATING m (18+) WC 8.7k

NOTE (!) the smut in this chapter is relatively short ! I was more concerned with writing this monumental step in their relationship, so sorry to all the lads who come here specifically for the p0rn but today we focus on the l0ve <333 anyway nc 10!!!!! Can u fuckin believe….

Jungkook mentions it at the dinner table one night. You’re not eating— well, you are not eating; Jungkook has been stocking up on his protein intake like a madman —but finishing up some work you had brought home. Your back aches, your eyes burn. The mere sound of his soft voice has all those feel-good endorphins shooting through your nervous system like a shot of adrenaline. “We should take a trip,” he says, fork clattering against his plate to signify the end of his feast. 

Your fingers tap across your keyboard, eyes flickering between an Excel sheet and the report you’re typing out. It takes you a moment to respond, a delayed, “huh,” that even Jungkook doesn’t find convincing.  

In the background, you’re listening to what has to be one of the worst voiceovers of the original Sailor Moon series in a language you don’t even understand. But you know the series like the back of your hand, know what exactly is happening even if you don’t understand what they’re saying, because you’ve watched it only about a million times. It’s mostly just there for background purposes anyway, some white noise to try and replicate the noisy soundtrack of your office. 

To make matters worse—complicated?—, you had been too lazy to get onto your usual pirating sites and had settled for the five minute, five part, 240p clips of Sailor Moon on YouTube (you know the ones), and Jungkook has to wait until Episode 74: Part ⅖ ends before you grace him with a proper response. “Where do you wanna go, baby?” you ask, giving your eyes a break from the data as you move to scour YouTube for Episode 74: Part 3/5. 

He’s stretching back now, arms wound up above his head. His hair— god, his hair —is an ashy color now, a faded version of its golden ancestor from a few months ago. Soon, he’s planning on going back to brown, claims he’s getting too old to be dying his hair, whatever that means. For now, you watch his inked fingers run through his scalp; he looks delectable. Maybe you’re hungrier than you initially thought. Or at least thirstier. “A cabin,” he suggests, and he offers this little half shrug that would otherwise seem normal had you not been well-versed in the art of Jungkook Body Language. His front teeth nibble at his lip, eyes laser focused on his empty plate. Even now, he still gets nervous asking you out. That thought alone makes your ego soar as high as an airplane. “Just something small.”

Usually, “something small” with Jungkook ends up being something big and, in most cases, something expensive. Which you’re totally not opposed to— you’re at the point in your relationship where you don’t even bother trying to dissuade Jungkook from showering you with gifts. It’s one of his many, many, many, many forms of loving you and, well, he knows you like the back of his hand. He rarely misses. 

Lo and behold, it is a grander affair than a simple cabin. “Well, it’s more like a resort,” he confesses, reaching across the table for your hand. Immediately, his thumb finds itself rubbing over the simple band of your promise ring. “Just wanna do something nice for you. I know you’ve been tired lately,” he adds on, voice a quiet murmur that nearly gets lost under the intensity of the pout that appears whenever he becomes even the slightest bit bashful. 

You smile, the fondness in your heart skyrocketing to impossible heights when he lifts your hand to press those pretty petal lips against your knuckles. “Well, just let me know when,” you tell Jungkook. “So I can request time off from work.” 

Episode 74: Part 3/5 starts playing after an ad, and you’d pause it for the sake of preserving this moment with Jungkook, but it’s hidden under so many tabs on your laptop that you lose it the second you leave the tab. Jungkook’s head tilts to the side, sending his ashy locks cascading beautifully. “You know that show is on Crunchyroll,” Jungkook says, seemingly moving past his bout of shyness now. “And you have the password.” 

“Do I,” you murmur, but he’s lost you once more, your true talent of typing with one hand showing itself as you return to your Excel sheet, the other still firmly squeezed in his grasp. Jungkook releases soon enough anyway, cleans up the table quickly, and disappears off into the kitchen. He sings when he washes the dishes, likes to pretend he’s a terrible singer even though you’ve told him countless times he could easily take X Factor by storm. (And you know exactly what it takes to wow those judges— you spent the entire last month psychotically watching multiple X Factor seasons from multiple different countries, nearly considered joining the damn audition yourself.) The horribly dubbed Sailor Moon is yelling now, shrieking really, and Jungkook calls from the kitchen, “don’t forget to take your contacts out, sweetheart.” 

It’s domestic and it's nerve-wracking. 

You want Jungkook, that much is a fact. Aristotle and Socrates and that other guy could debate the philosophical intricacies of the world, turn this dimension in on itself until it was a scrambled mess of emotion and thought, but the one thing they could never change, could never even question, is your love for your boyfriend. You want Jungkook badly, but more importantly, you want Jungkook forever. 

And you’re sure Jungkook probably, maybe, hopefully feels that way too. But the way you feel is… slightly concerning to say the least. For starters, you’re convinced your love for Jungkook was meant to be, and that’s saying a lot coming from you. You’re not one for cheesy, soulmate tales— that was more Jungkook’s thing —but the more you think about it, the more you become convinced that you and Jungkook were destined to meet. Like the planets aligned one year, the stars conferred, a tectonic plate somewhere in California shifted; whatever it may have been, something happened somewhere that led to the birth of this beautiful romance of yours. 

Lately, being with Jungkook has this inexplicably fiery feeling blossoming in your chest, these waves of emotion that sometimes have you fantasizing about the weirdest of scenarios with him. Like yelling at him for not taking the garbage out on time, or bumping into each other as you make dinner in the kitchen, or buying a new rug together. 

(Most drastically, the other day, you had a dream where you were pregnant and Jungkook was there and there was a house and a dog and an annoyingly friendly neighbor and this god-awful tile in the bathroom.) 

Long story short, you’ve been fantasizing about a forever with Jungkook. The concerning part is the timing; was this too early? You’re nearly halfway through your second year with Jungkook now, and you know most people date for many, many years before the mere thought of union even occurs to them. In another life, maybe you were the same, would have held off until the very last moment. But with Jungkook things just feel right (at least for you), like there wasn’t going to be anyone else after him. And you sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be. 

You slump back into your seat, eyes fluttering shut. Too many thoughts swirl around your mind, and the screech of the Sailor Moon voiceover on screen certainly doesn’t help. How you managed to spiral that far down your thoughts in the span of one 240p, five minute clip of a larger episode amazes even you. To add onto your worries, the clip abruptly ends and Episode 74: Part ⅘ is nowhere in sight, a fact that draws a frustrated moan out of the already sensitive you. 

Luckily, Jungkook eventually returns, standing closely behind you. His presence is enormous, the room suddenly overflowing with a shit ton of those feel-good endorphins all over again, except this time they reach an all-time high when he leans over and quietly shuts your laptop. “Come sleep,” he says softly, and it’s a pleasant mixture of his genuinely caring voice and that horndog purr of his that lures you into bed. And it’s that same voice that croons softly into your ear, fingers nestled between your folds until you’re orgasming yourself into a deep slumber. 

Much to no one’s surprise, the cabin turns out to be quite the luxurious lodging; two floors of dark oak everywhere you turn, a stunning stone fireplace in the bedroom, and a truly breathtaking view of the resort’s snowy hill (read: front row seats to watch all the snowboarders and skiers wipe out in the snow). Jungkook had splurged quite the pretty penny on it, so you make a point to clap it up for him when he first opens the door to your temporary home for the weekend. 

The main bedroom is beyond words. It’s got an attached balcony (that you doubt you’ll be using in this chilly weather), and a wooden canopy bed that makes you feel like a royal (that you will certainly be using). It’s separated into two areas, the bed space and a tiny entertainment area on the other side of the room. Perhaps the best thing about the room— and the cabin itself —is the huge, smart TV mounted above said stone fireplace and the fact it allows the phone mirroring option in lieu of not having any streaming sites. And as is with every and anything to do with televisions, Jungkook is the most excited of the two of you. “Baby, look,” he beams, pointing excitedly at whatever he’s got mirrored onto the television this time. Knowing him, it’s probably another documentary. 

You had the forethought to finish your work before the trip, spent two days in the office going absolutely ham on this month’s final reports until your department head promptly sent you home to finish the rest there. You had given yourself a fright upon entering the bathroom that night, the state of your under eyes so severe, you feared it was sufficient cause for a national emergency. Similarly, Jungkook had done the same with his work, cooped himself up in his study until he was free from the shackles of capitalism for the weekend. All this to say you’ve missed him these past few days. 

But even though you’re sorely malnourished in the affection department and craving a good kiss or two, you wouldn’t dare interrupt one of Jungkook’s little nerdy, tech-induced fanboy moments. They’re cute, in their own geeky way, providing some insight to a mellower side of your boyfriend who looks on with childlike wonder; Jungkook’s eyes always get so big when he talks about nerdy stuff. You get to work hanging up the silk shirt he packed for tomorrow night’s fancy dinner at the resort, listening to some British narrator’s detailed description of the functionally extinct Northern white rhinos living under 24-hour surveillance in Kenya.  

(Jungkook’s really into nature documentaries again, had spent a few nights sniffling as he watched that one Koko the gorilla film.) 

The original plan was to head to the nearest store and whip up something small to eat at the cabin. But Jungkook is a little tired from the long drive, slumps down into the couch in front of the now lit fireplace like a limbless blob as he tunes into his documentary. His nose is a little red from the outside chill. It’s so cute. He’s so cute. You love him so much, you fear you’ll accidentally squeeze his cheeks to death. It’s a thought that occurs more times than you’d like. 

According to the pamphlet on the nightstand, the resort has its own room-service to order from. Normally you would do that, but not this time; you had gotten into a bit of a squabble with the man at the front desk after he had tried to withhold Jungkook’s reservation for arriving two minutes past your check-in time, called each other all sorts of names before he backed down and gave you your room key. So you’re still a little salty, to say the least. Instead, you settle in for some pizza in front of the huge TV, calling up the nearest place to order some of Jungkook’s and your favorites. 

You plop down beside him, instinctively cuddling closer when he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “So,” you start, flipping through the rest of the resort’s introductory pamphlet. There’s a loud roar on screen. In all honesty, you didn’t even know what Northern white rhinos sounded like until then, and you probably never would have if not for the man beside you. “What are you in the mood for tonight, sweet boy?” 

You’re not sure if it’s the fatigue or the overall relaxed vibes he’d been exuding since the moment you entered the cabin, but Jungkook is weirdly cooperative today. “Whatever you want,” he responds, head on your shoulder. He even places the remote in your hands, gives your enclosed fist a gentle tap as if he’s just handed you the secret to eternal youth. In other words, it’s a rare sight to behold. “This is your trip, pretty girl.” 

You appreciate the sentiment, but feel the need to clear the air, tucking your feet up onto the couch as you snuggle closer. “Our trip,” you clarify, and snatch the remote anyway before he changes his mind. 

Jungkook releases a quiet huff of laughter, head rolling back against the couch cushions to display his thick, juicy neck that definitely doesn’t awaken any vampiric tendencies in you. “We can even watch some anime if you want,” he murmurs, casually throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way that would have made any teenage girl in the early 2000s squeal with excitement. It’s one of those barely there touches, but the way he holds you makes you feel so safe and warm and loved. So loved and in love. “The ones on Crunchyroll, though.”

For the sake of preserving these good vibes (and your ears [and Jungkook’s sanity]), you navigate to the Crunchyroll app on your phone, quickly finding your latest obsession and mirroring it onto the big television before Jungkook can react. “Sailor Moon?” he asks with a tone that implies a feigned interest, mostly out of respect for you; he’s, sadly, still not the big dorky anime fan you had hoped to convert him into. 

“In the name of the moon, I’ll punish you,” you recite dutifully, snatching up the throw blanket on the end of the couch. It’s barely big enough to cover the both of you, has Jungkook’s outstretched legs and your booty subject to the chilly air. Who cares, Jungkook is a furnace anyway. 

He snorts. “Punish me,” he mumbles, as if he doesn’t believe it. His snarky comment wins him a playful pinch against his doughy cheek, not that he particularly defends himself against it anyway, eyes fluttering shut as you tug at the pale skin. 

“Don’t fuck with the moon, Jungkook,” you warn him, snuggling closely against his side as your favorite opening song begins filtering through the speakers of the television before you. It’s infinitely better than the 240p YouTube clips you had subjected yourself to the entire last week, the graphics scarily clear. 

“Right, of course,” Jungkook says, but a hint of amusement seems to curl around the sound anyway. Nevertheless, he lets it go, cuddles into your side as you pour your full focus into watching yet another group of ragtag teenagers with supernatural abilities kick some ass. 

You can tell Jungkook isn’t really into it, and you’re torn between just snuggling him into a well deserved nap or taping his eyelids open so he can become a fan of this show with you. 

The loving, caring, adoring side of you says Jungkook deserves the entire world and more (the more in question preferably being a fluffy blanket and a nap). He worked hard this week, just like you, and on top of that he was the one who planned this entire weekend getaway for the two of you to enjoy. You want him to rest up.

The obnoxiously in love girlfriend-slash-best friend in you says Jungkook is sorely missing out on one of the greatest shows on planet Earth and that naps are for the weak. 

Your jumbled thoughts are interrupted by a loud sound on the television, a yelp from Ms. Sailor Moon herself that has you jolting up in surprise. Jungkook welcomes you deeper into his embrace, chuckles at your little fright. “Scared?” he teases in that low voice that makes you feel like you’re going crazy, really. So crazy and irrational, and the only thing that stops you from bombarding him with an unexpected outpouring of love is that hard and sharp thing that pokes your side when you get too close to him. It’s not Jungkook, sadly, but something in the front pocket of his hoodie instead. 

And for some reason, part of your brain is stuck all of a sudden, rewinding the last two and a half years like a broken cassette tape that had the tape reel hastily stuffed back inside by a toddler. It’s choppy to say the least, and it certainly doesn’t help when Jungkook calls your name softly, tenderly. “__,” he murmurs. It’s a little weird; it’s not often he says your name, mostly referring to you with one of the many pet names from that part of his vocabulary that focuses exclusively on terms of endearment. Your heart skips a beat. 

Now, if anyone were to ask, it’s approximately around this time that you begin to spiral. The pink curve of his bottom lip is just too close, the mole on his nose too prominent. Paired with the obnoxious tittering of Usagi on screen, you can feel your thoughts begin to overlap, bumping into each other within the realm of your brain until all that comes out are the messiest of messy thoughts. 

They go like this: 

Most episodes of any anime run for approximately thirty minutes. Take out the commercial breaks, the opening and ending credits, and it becomes something closer to twenty. Twenty minutes per episode, filled with plot and gags and tears and whatever else necessary to make you feel something, anything really. 

“What’s in your pocket?” you ask tentatively. 

In contrast, it takes approximately two seconds for Jungkook’s lips to quirk up— first the right side, always the right side —and his eyes to crinkle. Two seconds for him to smile, a sweet expression that reminds you of Netflix and college and quiet laughter and tattoos and silly YouTube videos and cookies and cell phones and job applications and blond hair; two seconds to make you feel everything all at once. 

“There’s nothing,” he says, but his cheeks are pink, and it’s not from the cold anymore. His smile is so big it makes your own cheeks ache just looking at it. You can’t even hear the television anymore. Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. “It was supposed to be for tomorrow,” he admits, unwrapping his arm from around you. 

It’s a little funny, somehow, because his hands are covered in ink, in tiny doodles and intricate pieces of swirls and words that ooze this aura of strength and toughness. But they tremble when he opens it, as unsteady as a wispy dandelion on a windy day, fumbling with the box. And when you look closely, he’s been biting at the skin along his thumb again, that nervous habit you’ve been trying forever to help him overcome. 

Someone is saying something on screen, something important to the plot. The volume is loud, but not as loud as your heart. Not as loud as Jungkook’s quiet murmur when he speaks again. “Will you marry me?” he asks softly, looks at you with flushed cheeks and big eyes and his heart on his sleeve. 

The answer has always been the same, hasn’t changed since the first time he planted the seed in your mind. Still, it catches in your throat, nearly loses out to a surprised and emotional sob that you barely manage to bite down. You had just been speaking, had just been ready to deliver a whole spiel on the importance of him watching Sailor Moon with you. But when you try now, it’s raspy and dry, as if you haven’t used your voice in years. “I— yes,” you exhale, surprised by the lonely tear that trails down your cheek. You go to wipe it away, but Jungkook beats you with a gentle hand cupping your cheek. 

His smile is wobbly, patches of red blossoming across his face that eventually consume his entire appearance as he leans his forehead against yours. Only then do you realize he’s crying, and you laugh out of reflex. “You’re crying,” you say, and Jungkook snorts. 

“You cried first,” he sniffles, smiling. “You made me cry.” 

He looks like a wreck, but, like, a hot wreck. An engaged, hot wreck who’s eyes flicker back to the TV to remind you to pause your anime, always so considerate. You do, hastily smashing buttons on the remote before remembering it’s controlled by your phone, hands flying back and forth as your nerves actively work to retire themselves after Jungkook’s proposal. “Easy there,” he soothes, eventually catching your hand in his, drawing it up for a kiss against your knuckles. 

The ring fits perfectly, snuggly. Vaguely, a memory drifts through your thoughts of Jungkook and Doyeon on a rampant mission to reorganize your jewelry box a few months ago, but it disappears as quickly as it came. You’re taken by the ring, a simple band with a pretty diamond on top. It’s a good mixture of you and him; flashy yet mild. 

“You love me,” you marvel, a revelation you’ve had the honor of experiencing time and time again with Jungkook. Still, it never fails to render you speechless. He hums. 

“I do,” he says, taking your hand in his. “It’s the easiest thing for me. Like breathing, or existing. I think I was made to love you.” And normally, you’d be the first one to correct him. Jungkook was made for so much more, a fact he’s proven time and time again with his abilities and the sheer size of his heart. He was your golden boy, could do anything he set his mind to. Always amazing you, always making you fall in love all over again. 

But now, with the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air, you find yourself incapable of negating the fact, instead sniffling at the meaning. 

Pleased with your silence, Jungkook places another chaste kiss against your ring. “I love you, __,” he confesses, voice nearly a whisper. Your entire body feels as if it is doused in gasoline, lit aflame over and over again. Your heart threatens your rib cage, pounds away with the strength of a world renowned boxer. Jungkook’s hands curl around your wrists carefully. “I used to think we were like the moon and the sun,” he admits, “that you were my sun and I was your moon. In love but always separated by those thin veils of the sunrise and the sunset.” He pauses, nuzzling sweetly against your palm once more before gently guiding them down between the two of you. “But that really sucks— saying goodbye to you every night? I hate that, __. I hate watching you leave, I hate watching you run off in the mornings or halfway through the day, having to drive back and forth from your place to mine. I hate having to be away from you when all I wanna do is hold you. I— I want to be by your side,” he rambles, eyes nervously meeting yours. They’re still glassy, dark lashes framing his chocolate irises wonderfully. “Forever.” 

Your heartbeat stutters, the simple word looping itself in your mind like that night in his dining room all over again, all the fantasies of having a forever with Jungkook bubbling to the surface. Jungkook pushes on. “You are my sun,” he says softly, mostly to himself. “But… I don’t wanna be the moon anymore. Being the moon means, eventually, I’ll have to say goodbye. In the night or in the morning, it always comes to an end. And I don't want there to be an end with you,” he insists, clutching your hand tightly. “I wanna be another star, the closest one to you. The one who gets to be with you forever. I wanna be by you and shine with you and—“

“Explode into a gazillion little fragments of cosmic dust with me,” you offer, and Jungkook nods along eagerly, too amped up on his speech to bother scolding you for your playful comment. 

“Yes, I want to— to—“ The words catch in his throat. So much emotion from the man you once thought was the dictionary definition of calm and collected. “To—“ 

“Marry me,” you fill in, and Jungkook practically blows a fuse from how emotionally fired up he’s become, exclaiming a resolute, “yes!” that leaves you stupidly grinning back at him. 

His outburst leaves him with flushed cheeks. “I do,” he reiterates in a softer tone, averting his gaze from you as if embarrassed by his cheesy outpouring of emotion. Usually, it’s the other way around; you make all the corny declarations of love and Jungkook laughs along suavely. It feels nice to have the tables turned. 

There’s so much to say, but the words all fade away when Jungkook shyly looks at you again. You settle on tackling him back onto the couch cushions, taking his surprised little yelp in stride as you suffocate him in your embrace. “Save those words for the big day, superstar,” you giggle, peppering his red face with tiny kisses that make him scrunch up cutely. “I can’t wait to blow up into one huge supernova with you.” 

Beneath you, Jungkook groans. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, voice muffled against your shoulder. Begrudgingly, his arms come up to envelope you, pulling you closer until the blanket scrunches up uncomfortably between you two. “That must’ve sounded so lame.” 

Leaning back so you’re not completely squishing him, you carefully push his silvery hair away from his forehead. “Don’t be,” you assure him, placing one chaste peck against his pouty lips. “I thought it was cute. I didn’t know you were into astrology.” 

A sigh. “Astronomy,” he corrects, “astrology has to do with zodiac signs and placements.” 

You run your thumbs over his cheeks, collecting any of the drying tears that paint his face. “Oh, like how you’re a Virgo and I’m a“— 

The TV remote you had lost somewhere along the way is suddenly rematerialized beneath your knee, sends the speakers blaring to life with a deafening screech that has both you and Jungkook leaping up like two frightened cats. “You always do this,” he laughs, that loud boyish sound that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud. He watches you with a gentle smile as you hurriedly shut off the television, the remote haphazardly tossed somewhere behind you afterwards. You return to his embrace, wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into his warmth. His heart thumps a steady rhythm beneath your ear. 

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever,” you warn him, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like he’ll suddenly disintegrate before your eyes.

Above you, Jungkook hums, placing a kiss against the crown of your head. “I look forward to it,” he responds, pulling you impossibly closer, until you can feel the wrinkles in his shirt imprinting themselves against your cheek. He’s back to being that suave bastard again, and you find yourself wishing you had milked those big crocodile tears out of him for just a little bit longer. 

Fingers gently press against the muscles in your nape, push themselves in deeply until you can feel all the tension seeping out, turning you into a limbless blob over Jungkook. “Jeez,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “And you wanted to wait until tomorrow.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I just thought you’d rather get engaged at a fancy restaurant with a pretty dress,” he defends, and you can hear the grin on his face. “For the photos.”

“Fair point,” you concede, eventually pushing yourself up so you’re not entirely squishing your boyfriend beneath you. Jungkook is already looking at you when you lift your head, has got this funny double-chin from this angle that makes his normally sharp jawline disappear. You find yourself tapping a finger against his chin, on the chocolate chip mole that hides itself beneath his plump bottom lip. “If anything, just propose to me again tomorrow at the restaurant.”

It wins you an eye-roll. “I’m not gonna propose to you again tomorrow,” he laughs, doesn’t even push you away when you become annoying and start tapping your fingers against all his beauty marks like you’re playing Whack-a-Mole. 

“Booo,” you frown, but let it go soon enough, foregoing your little game to press your lips against his. “Then I better make this a night to remember,” you murmur, tilting your head to the side.

Your hands dip into his luscious locks, fingernails tracing thin lines along his scalp that are certain to send tingles down his spine. As predicted, Jungkook releases a quiet groan soon after, a sound that’s muffled against your own lips. He’s pliant tonight, but not in a way that would elude fatigue. Pliant in a way that suggests he wants you to take the reins tonight, exhaling softly against you as he parts his lips. 

“Let me take care of you,” you hum, the hand that had been mindlessly hovering along his cheek drifting down to caress the side of his neck. Jungkook nods, his irises swimming in lust. You smile at his silent compliance, give his throat a light squeeze that makes his breathing hitch in surprise. 

He’s always at his prettiest when he’s beneath you like this, limbs moving in slow motion as you guide him along. You can already feel the beginnings of his arousal stirring beneath the front of his sweats, his cock slowly making its presence known against your thigh. You press your lips against his once more, making sure to make it rougher than the first kiss. Your tongue is met with little resistance, slips past his lips and dips into the hot cave of his mouth where Jungkook releases another trembling breath. 

Two hands come up behind you, trail themselves over your back and down to your ass, where he gives the two globes a tight squeeze. It draws a whimper out of you, one that Jungkook greedily swallows up. His tongue rubs up along yours, the wet muscle daringly pushing back against yours. His rebelliousness is only quelled with another press of your fingertips around his throat.

“Slow down,” you tell him. The first roll of your hips against him is slow, cruel in that you cut the motion short just as Jungkook begins to push back. A bratty huff escapes him, swollen pink lips pushing out into that endearing pout you love so much. It makes you grin, releasing the grip around his throat to carefully brush a stray strand of hair away from his eyes. 

It’s a gesture that works to soften Jungkook as well, the petulant look on his face melting away as you trail your pointer finger along his cheekbone. It’s replaced with a more tender one, dark lashes blinking up at you slowly. “Open,” you command upon reaching his mouth, finger pressing down against his pink lower lip. Jungkook obeys, opening his mouth until you can see his pink tongue and the dark abyss that leads down his throat. Your finger pushes itself in, and Jungkook certainly doesn’t try to resist. His lips suction around the digit fairly quickly, tight enough to keep you there but loose enough for you to slowly draw your finger in and out, each short plunge pressing down against his tongue. 

It’s a rather short affair, one that comes to an end when he accidentally bucks up against you, pressing his hardened member against your core. You retract your finger.  “Can you,” he tries, but his cheeks are stained red and he refuses to meet your gaze. “Just…” 

You intercept him with a chaste peck, maneuvering your legs until your knees are firmly pressed into the couch cushions beneath him, his thin waist trapped in between. When you sit up, you feel drunk on power and the way Jungkook looks up at you certainly doesn’t help. “Can I sit on your face?” 

He chokes. “I— sure, please,” he blurts out. His gaze follows you as you slip off of him, quickly discarding your pants and top on the floor. One pat against his thigh has him hurrying to shimmy out of his clothes, his sweatpants caught around his ankles. 

“You’re excited,” you laugh, stripping him of his bottoms when the frustration takes him over. 

Jungkook scoffs. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, tugging his shirt off with one smooth motion. The ink around his bicep is as dark as ever, contrasts wonderfully against his warm face. “My fiancée is gonna sit on my face.”

The title makes you preen, quickly finding your place on his lap once more. With your clothing out of the way, Jungkook really does become a furnace. Every inch of his body is hot to the touch, soft too. “Fiancée,” you giggle, hands on his chest. They slide down, fingers playfully nudging his brown nipples. Jungkook flinches at the touch. “Gonna sit on my fiancé’s face,” you parrot back, delicately pinching one nipple between your fingers. A moan spills from his lips, his cock pushing against your thigh once more.

It’s the reminder you need, pushing back dutifully against him as you continue to toy with his chest. He’d look pretty with piercings, you find yourself thinking, watching on in fascination at the way his pert nipples stand at attention. Beneath you, Jungkook begins to grow desperate, his hands finding their place on your waist to encourage you to grind down against him once more. 

Jungkook swears up and down that he’s not particularly sensitive about having his nipples touched. But when you’ve got him like this, sinfully laid out before you, you can easily confirm that his claims are nothing but lies. He loves having his nipples touched, squirms beneath you impatiently with each playful tug and twist you bestow upon them. 

You duck down, pressing a kiss against his pectoral, just beside his nipple, and Jungkook’s entire body shivers. A few careful drags of your tongue against his warm skin only serve to string him along further, the prettiest whimper pulling itself from his lips when you finally envelope one of them in your mouth. “Wait,” he gasps, clawing at your clothing as if he both wants to push you off and push you closer. You grin, brandishing one mean nip at the sensitive nub. 

Eventually, your incessant need to play with Jungkook’s chest is fulfilled. “Lay back,” you instruct, watching as he shuffles down flat on the cushions, silver hair tumbling away from his eyes. He’s so red, eyes hazy. Your panties are discarded, joining the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor. 

Once upon a time, the idea of sitting on Jungkook’s face had terrified you, filled you with nightmares of crushing his windpipe or breaking his nose. For the most part, they’re pretty unrealistic fears, ones that can be easily shut down after one careful Google search on safe sexual practices. These days, it’s all too easy; in the mornings, especially, it’s become natural for him to guide you on top carefully, holding your hand as you whimper and sob over his face. 

In the current moment, you find yourself stroking a hand down the side of his face, completely enamored with the huge puppy eyes he levels your way. Jungkook likes having your pussy in his face just as much as you do, loves making you feel good in any way he knows how. But there’s a separate matter at hand, one that stands at attention beneath his black boxers and successfully wins your attention. 

Truthfully, there is no dilemma to ponder over; you want both to ride Jungkook’s face and suck him off. The solution?

“We’ve never done this before,” Jungkook mumbles in amazement, his voice slightly muffled from his position beneath you and slightly behind you. Still, his arms dutifully wrap around your thighs, guiding you closer to his mouth where his hot breath fans against your glistening folds. You rock back willingly, hands preoccupied with pushing his boxers down and away from his engorged cock. 

“Really?” you ask, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the cock before you and the tongue that gently laps at your folds. Jungkook makes a sound, something between a hum and whimper, his mouth slowly getting to work against your folds. “M- Maybe,” you stutter, all thought processes coming to a halt as you carefully take him in your hand. 

His cock is hard and long, his tip an angry shade that weeps with precum. From this angle, you get to watch Jungkook’s huge thighs twitch at the sensation, the tattoo that marks up one of them doing little to hide the fact. Your hand squeezes him, watches in awe as another fat droplet oozes out of his tip. A moan tears itself from his throat, and it’s so goddamn sexy it nearly drives you insane. 

It’s one particularly long lap of his tongue over your clit that sends you into action, back arching at the tingles that shoot down your spine. Wasting no more time, you guide Jungkook’s cock into your mouth, let your own tongue shower his mushroom tip in kitten licks that have him bucking upwards. He releases your clit with a lewd pop, hot breath fanning across your lips. “Fuck,” he gasps, voice harsh. 

Admittedly, it’s more difficult than you thought it would be. 

You’re not one to be easily overwhelmed (says you), but with Jungkook’s twitching cock in your mouth and his teasing tongue dipping into your entrance, it becomes hard to juggle your attention between the two. Even Jungkook, who is quite frankly the master of cunnilingus, seems torn between the two, his breathing shallow and quick against your folds. 

With each slow descent around his cock, he shudders, thigh muscles tightening in anticipation. It causes a lull in the pace of his tongue, the generous kisses and licks against your folds subject to a somewhat uneven pace that, surprisingly, leaves you more on edge than you’d ever expected it to; right when you think he’s about to suck your clit into his mouth, you’re met with a harsh exhale instead, one that makes your lips flutter. 

You’re both disappointed in yourselves for never having tried this mind-blowing position before, and equal parts understanding as to why you haven’t tried this position before— it’s a lot. His cock is halfway down your throat when it twitches, sends a gush of precum into your mouth that has your eyes rolling backwards, a whine slipping out around him. Jungkook appreciates the vibrations, letting it fuel him as he plunges his tongue into your hole. It’s a two way street, you realize, one that is constantly experiencing traffic. 

“Baby,” you gasp, pulling off of his cock with a slick sound, hypnotized by the trail of saliva that connects your lips to his tip. Jungkook’s tongue prods along your slit, makes your eyesight go blurry when the tip of his nose brushes along you as well. The idea of his cute nose buried deep someplace it shouldn’t be has you grinding down on him. “We can— we should stop,” you stutter, your trembling hand reaching forward to grasp the base of his cock. 

He’s slick with your saliva and his precum, and your hand makes a squelching sound upon contact. It must feel good, because Jungkook moans against your folds, his thighs unconsciously falling farther apart as you slowly jerk him off. You think you might’ve heard your name slip from his lips, but your mind is fuzzy, lost in your lust as Jungkook licks a sinful line from your hole to your clit, curling his tongue at the end. “J- Jungkook,” you cry, flinching away because it’s become too much, your toes curling as the beginnings of an orgasm threaten you. 

Before that can happen, he relents, leaning back with a heavy exhale, his hands loosening their grip against your ass and plopping back down against the cushions. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock twitching in your hold. A lonely droplet of precum trails down the side, your knuckles coated in the glossy substance. Beneath you, Jungkook rubs one soothing palm against your hip. 

You slink off before he can get any funny ideas, maneuver yourself around until you’re kneeling between his parted thighs, his fat cock standing at attention between the two of you. From here, he looks ravenous, and you begin to question who exactly is taking care of who. Jungkook looks like he’s a second away from pinning you down and swallowing you whole, a thought that makes your toes curl. 

It’s with a cautiously horny hand that you reach for his cock again, holding him with both hands. Jungkook growls, head lolling backwards until all you can see is his neck and his chin, thick veins protruding along his skin. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment longer. “C’mere,” he purrs, hauling you up until you’re clumsily leaning over him, palms framing his face. A lone finger runs down your spine, its faint touch making you arch forward. “Sorry,” he says, securing an arm around your waist. “I know you wanted to take care of me, but…”

You roll your eyes, submitting yourself to his clutches as he masterfully rolls the two of you over. The couch is soft beneath your back, and Jungkook looks pretty from above too. “You just can’t sit still, can you?” you murmur playfully. 

Jungkook’s forearms find their place beneath your thighs, the fold of the back of your knee perfectly slotted against his warm skin as he shuffles closer. “Maybe another time,” he laughs along sheepishly, his hard cock gliding over your slit, teasing your clit. You gulp, eyes scanning over his lean build as if it’s the first time. “Sorry,” he repeats, but he’s got this stupidly dopey grin on his face as he glances down at your pussy; he’s insane, he’s got to be, what man makes heart eyes at a pussy?

Your man, apparently. Grasping the base of his cock, Jungkook takes care to drag it along your folds collecting your wetness along his length, a deep shudder wracking his body through it all. “I knew you would do this to me,” he mutters, so low you nearly miss it under the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Huh,” you mumble, and you’d like to defend yourself and say you weren’t as cock-crazy as Jungkook was coochie-crazy, but that would be a lie. You’re staring at his cock as if it holds the secrets to the universe right now.

Jungkook juts his head to the side, a motion similar to the one he does when he’s trying to crack his neck. His tongue prods along his cheek, eyes laser-focused on the point where your two bodies meet. “From the moment you walked into my house,” he grunts mindlessly, finally lining himself up with your entrance. He chances a glance up, meets your gaze with a patient look, “all good?”

“All good,” you hurriedly reply, fingers finding their place against his broad shoulders. With the way he had prepared you earlier, mouthed along your clit and your folds until you were pleasantly aroused, the glide now is too easy. Tight, but easy, has the two of you releasing twin moans that echo off the wooden walls of the cabin. 

Jungkook’s forehead is covered in a thin veil of sweat, one that glistens when the evening sunset pours in through the balcony doors, highlighting him in a golden light that makes you dizzy. The angry tip of his cock sinks into your walls, Jungkook’s ashy strands sticking to his forehead and his cheeks. For some reason, you find yourself reminiscing on the aforementioned moment Jungkook had spoken of. Of the soft sweater he’d worn that day and the dinner he had made, the blond tips on his chestnut hair and the way he’d clung onto every word you’d said. 

It makes you tear up, and, after laughing at Jungkook early for crying, you quickly turn your face away. 

Jungkook isn’t dumb. “What now,” he chuckles, though his breathing is labored, every inch of his cock that penetrates you further bringing with it another rush of adrenaline. At the hilt, you’re embarrassed to say there’s multiple tears streaming down your face, so you can’t even play it off as you usually do. “Crybaby,” Jungkook teases, but his voice is so soft and tender you don’t know what to do with yourself. 

“Just move,” you bite out, shamefully covering your face with your hands. Jungkook leans over you, the movement pushing his dick deeper inside of you, your walls clenching around him. A kiss is placed over your knuckles, just shy of your engagement ring. Your chest lurches with a silent sob. “Jungkook,” you whimper, sinking further into the cushion, “please, just—“

“I got it,” he assures you, placing one final peck against your handmade (literally) shield. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he makes sure to whisper, “love you,” before unsheathing himself. 

You shudder, your heart feeling so full, you fear it’ll burst. You both love and hate when he treats you like this, like an ice sculpture in the scorching heat that has him doing everything he can to keep you solid. His touch is soft, the roll of his hips too slow for your liking. You feel so small and vulnerable— too pampered. “Harder,” you beg, your voice an airy whine that has Jungkook chuckling above you. 

He lives to please you, hiking your leg over his shoulder with a renewed vigor. His hands find themselves on your waist, forcefully pinning you down against the couch cushions as he sets upon fulfilling your latest request. The next series of thrusts are jerky, have you jostling in his grip as Jungkook pounds into you with an all new mindset. “Lemme see you,” he huffs, thumbs painfully digging into your skin. You tremble in his arms, heart swayed by the quiet plea in his voice. “Let me see your face, pretty girl.”

Reluctantly, you do, brandishing your tear-stricken face his way. Jungkook smiles, that stupidly handsome smile, his hips snapping into you roughly. “Fuck,” he moans, the expression never leaving his face, even when run your nails over his chest harshly. “You’re so pretty.”

You ignore him for the sake of your already weakened mental state, focusing instead on the brutal force of his hips, the way his cock stretches your walls out. Each push has you seeing stars, thighs quivering from the sensations that shoot up your spine and down your toes. “Oh,” you mewl, hands gripping his biceps as you lose yourself to him. Your eyes roll back, vision a mess of colors and nothingness all at once. 

“Is this hard enough?” Jungkook husks out, and he sounds so close. His proximity is confirmed when his mouth slots against yours, his harsh breath mingling with your own as he continues to frantically buck into your inviting heat, each new round of thrusts leaving you weaker and weaker than before. “God,” Jungkook cries, the sound nearly lost beneath your own moans and whimpers. “Gonna k- keep you forever,” he spits, tongue slipping into your mouth.

He’s messier than usual, moves with unrefined movements unlike his normal self. You don’t care, you love him all the same. His sloppy kisses turn into desperate ones, matching the pace of his hips. “Kook,” you sob, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling him close until his thrusts are reduced to a shallower depth. 

“I’ve got you,” he croons, lips against your jawline. His cock presses in and you swear you feel it alongside every inch of your walls, a warmth blossoming in your stomach. He’s layering messy kisses down your face now, lips sucking dark marks any chance he gets. 

True to his word, Jungkook indeed has you. His cock pistons in and out at an astonishing pace, each surge into your folds making you dizzy over and over again. It’s a feeling you fear you’ll never grow tired of, in fact, it’s a feeling you fear you’ll begin to crave even more in the future. The good thing is, that future will extend into forever. 

You yank him towards you, swallow his low laughter with your lips. Jungkook doesn’t complain, lowering himself until he’s practically squishing you beneath his beefy body, cock ramming in and out despite all that. His tongue glides along yours, makes it his mission to muffle each of your cries. 

It doesn’t take long for you to be fulfilled. Given the fact you had sucked him off like a lollipop whilst having him eat you out, you’re not entirely surprised. That and the emotions of tonight have you melting into him sooner than you’d like, his name falling from your lips as your thighs clamp down around his waist. Jungkook takes it in stride, slows the maddening pace of his hips to cradle you in his arms. You’re like jelly, practically flop back into the cushion when he slips an arm beneath you. “You’re so good for me,” Jungkook praises, lavishing your throat in tiny pecks as his orgasm circles around. “My pretty girl.”

“Love you,” you sigh, and your body feels numb, his intrusion but a small touch now that he’s tired you out once more, your walls tender and raw. Jungkook presses a smile against your throat and, moments later, releases inside of you. 

Even minutes after the deed, the feeling refuses to return to your legs. He didn’t go that hard— well, you’re not entirely sure. The memories always become blurry toward the end of your escapades. Everything rushes back in waves, and for some reason, your first thought is, “where’s Sailor Moon?”

Your post-rump conversations have never been the most coherent, usually filled with pretty weird thoughts and ideas. Still, more grand things have happened tonight for you to be worried about a magical anime girl. Jungkook draws himself out of your core with a huff of laughter. “On the TV,” he answers, unfazed by the oddity of your question. 

That’s how you know he’s a keeper.

It takes a while, but eventually Jungkook responds. “Avocado toast,” he says, though his answer is dripping with uncertainty. He’s naked as the day he was born, snuggled up beside you in bed. He’s propped up on one arm, looking down at you over the ample swell of his manly bosom. It takes everything in you to keep your hands off his chest. 

“Correct,” you respond, “and what movie did we watch?”

Without missing a beat, “Transformers, the first one.”

You nod, glancing at the ceiling as you rack your brain for any other trivia questions to ask your fiancé. “The title of the playlist you made?”

A flush paints his cheeks. “Date Night playlist,” he answers through a pout, reprimanding you for bringing up such a memory with a flick to your forehead. You wince. “I was young and silly,” he defends.

You beam, cuddling into his side until he’s forced to lay back down. “Yeah, yeah,” you tease. “We’re only gonna get older from here,” you lament. You’d say it’s difficult to picture him with a gray head of hair, but his current silvery locks don’t leave much room for your imagination.

Jungkook pulls you close. A beat of silence passes, and then, “so who are we telling first?”

Definitely Namjoon.

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[a-pretty-nerd]

Could we please have some more of aggressive nurturer bf Shigaraki? :3

Abso-fuckin'-lutley dude!

Shigaraki is an aggressive nurturer

I will die on this hill, swear to God!

First of all, if you ever try to point this out or mention it to him he will 100% deny it. He will brush it off and/or try and gaslight you into thinking it never happened. It never works of course and half the time it's a lazy attempt anyways.

He wakes up before you. Usually with breakfast plans already made. He's not a cook, and he refuses to learn. But he will go out and get you something. Bring you coffee to wake you up. All with a cold unmoving expression.

Tomura likes to feed you. I don't mean that in a kinky, he likes to fatten you up way, but in a sweet caring way. It makes him feel like he's doing a good job as a partner when he feeds you. So he'll buy you any food your heart desires. Even if you try to argue with him about it, he'll buy you something just because be knows you like it.

He's messy by nature, so half the time your living space together is also messy. Empty bottles everywhere, clothes on the floor, tissue, it can get real gross real fast. But when he sees you cleaning up his mess, he gets annoyed.

He sees you cleaning all day and he feels annoyed he left you to do all the work. So he'll just start cleaning out of nowhere.

"Oh, don't worry about the dishes I'll do them in a sec." You tell him. He ignores you as he begins rolling up his sleeves and going to it. "Hey! I said I was gonna get it!" "I got it!" He barks in defiance.

If you're a villian along side him in battle, he's always watching after you. You're perfection in action together, but Shigaraki gets nervous at times. He watches you like a hawk, and if you're placed with another partner or team, he's asking about your safety the second he gets the chance to.

He can be a little mean sometimes with it. Like scolding you for doing something you shouldn't. He might come across as angry, but really it's because he was sacred.

He's constantly warning you. "Y/N, be careful." "Y/N, don't touch that." "If you get hurt-" "Y/N you can't do that." "What did I say about touching that, Y/N?!"

He trusts you with almost everything... except for taking care of yourself. He'll ask if you've eaten on a daily basis, just to make sure.

"You stink. Shower." He'll say as he throws a bath towel over you. Again, he's not trying to be mean but he is blunt and he's not about to tip toe around things like this.

"What do you want to eat?" "I don't know, you choose." "If you let me choose I'm picking something your not gonna like. So what do you want to eat?" "I don't care, I promise, you pick. Whatever sounds good to you." "Fine, this place then." He turns to look at your face, to watch your expression struggle until you let out an exhausted sigh. "Anything but that place-" "WHAT DID I JUST SAY!"

He'll give you shit over little things. He likes to tease you. Give him shit back, he likes the back and forth fun of it.

[erodasfishtacos]

Just an idea for a concept but no pressure: cheating harry and y/n just finished having sex and they are cuddling (u know being all cute and I love) and Anna turns up at Harry’s door seeing if they can hang out coz they never do and he wasn’t answering his phone and she tried to just walk into his place like he did when she turned up and they were watching that movie (I’m not sure of the name of the concept) and he had to force her to stay outside and it’s really angst between them coz she gets really suspicious but eventually leaves and he just goes and cuddled in bed with y/n and they laugh about it

Disruptions

warnings: cheating, smut, brief mention of domestic violence, panic attacks, this could just be overall triggering if you have experienced trauma or family struggles.

if you enjoyed this blurb - PLEASE reblog, rec, like, and come chat with me about the fic!

—

“Puppy, yeah,” Harry murmurs encouragingly, she was almost there and she looked like an angel in the low light, “Y’look so pretty, give it t’me.”

YN whines in the back of her throat, her hips were slowly rolling forward as she sat atop of him - trying milk that friction of her clit.

“Sweet thing, c’mon,” Harry goads, gripping her waist with strong hands to speed up her languid rolls as he wants her to finish before him.

“Close, H,” YN sweetly chirps, letting him lead her motions until she’s halting and throwing her head back in bliss, lips parting and eye squeezed shut.

“There y’go, good fuckin’ girl,” He praises her before giving two more pumps before he’s releasing right after her.

As he is in the midsts of his orgasm, he hears a quiet ‘I love you’ from above him as she rubs at his chest as he rides it out.

Harry could have heard that whisper from across the fucking ocean, it has him sitting up and pulling her into a hard kiss before babbling against her sore lips.

“Puppy, I love you. You’re so perfect for me. Y’don’t even have t’wonder why you’re the only one I give it to,” He tells her confidently, panting against her mouth.

She doesn’t say anything but her smile is enough for him, he carefully pulls out and flips her on her back before grabbing a towel and wiping her down with adoration deep in his bones.

When she had just curled in to his side, pressing her bare chest against his warm skin, he kisses the top of her head, “You’re my favorite person, y’know that?”

“Harry,” She says, barely above a whisper with her face nuzzled in tight - shying away from what she really feels.

“Please baby,” He replies softly, she knows what he asking for and she will never say no to him when it comes to this.

“I know. I love you s-so much.”

“Whoa, pup. Don’t cry,” Harry chuckles sweetly, “I know, I know you do. Believe me I do.”

She nods, sniffling, she sometimes get emotional after they had intimate slow sex as opposed to the high intensity, lust-driven kind.

It’s quiet as Harry scratches up and down her back, soothing her like he always has and always will, no matter what.

He always finds inner peace when her breathing slows and her facial features relax - all worries and anxiety disappearing.

She had just let out a light snore when he hears a banging on his front door, loud and insistent, and it has YN sitting straight up in bed.

“Wha-Harry, I-who?” YN stammers, her chest starting to heave as she begins to panic from the sudden noise.

-

“Harry, you have to leave,” YN whimpers, the knocking deafening on the front door, “My mum locked him out and he’s going to break it down.”

“I’m not leaving you here alone!” He hisses back, standing up and locking her bedroom door, “Let’s go sneak out the window to my house.”

—-

Harry’s automatically furious with whoever it is, the love of his life triggered as he just knows she’s reliving one of her awful memories.

“Sweetheart, please breathe. S’okay, you know I’d never let anything hurt you. Never have, never will,” Harry coos, he’s standing up to walk to his closet, reaching up for the weighted blanket he keeps for her. “I’m gonna go see who it is.”

“Y-you can’t! You’ll get hurt! Don’t, please,” she begs, eyes wide in fear for him and his safety as she pants.

Harry wraps her like a burrito in the blanket before looking her firmly in her eye, “Remember what your therapist said for when you’re panicking. Do that, please baby.”

She searches his eyes before hesitantly letting hers close, focusing on her breathing and imaging a happy place away from here - a meadow with Harry is what she likes to think about.

Harry slips on his briefs and athletic shorts with annoyance - well absolute rage really. He’s stomping down his stairs with loud steps.

He whips open the front door to see Anna standing there with a pursed look, “Oh, look! So you are alive! What a miracle.”

Harry automatically glares at her, “It’s past bloody midnight, what are you doing here?”

She scoffs in disbelief, “You ditched me tonight! You were suppose to come to the bar with my friends and I! And then you just never answered your phone.”

Yeah, well he had forgotten because YN wanted to watch a new movie and he could never say no to YN.

“I fuckin’ forgot, shit,” Harry huffs, not moving aside to let her in as she steps forward.

“Well, I came over so we could hang out,” Her voice mellowing out a little bit, features softening as she reaches out to stroke his bicep.

All he could think about was his afraid little love upstair using her coping skills to deal with the panic Anna had set off.

“Why would I want to hang out at fuckin’ two-thirty in the mornin’?” Harry replies blandly, like she’s an idiot.

“We could cuddle? Watch a movie?” Anna suggests with a shrug, attempting to giving him a coy look, “Fuck?”

They’d never even done anything apart from a few pecks.

“S’late, I’m too tired for this bullshit.”

“How is that bullshit? It’s so fucking annoying Harry! I know if you’re little bitch of a friend wanted to do that you would!”

She was completely right.

When he hears the vulgar name being thrown at YN, he grits his teeth and says, “Watch your fuckin’ tone, I’ll text y’tomorrow, okay?”

“Fine,” Anna surrenders angrily, turning on her heel and storming back to her car.

Harry slams his door shut so she gets the hint but then automatically feels regretful as he knows it didn’t make YN feel any better.

When he goes up to the bedroom, she’s not in the bed, and Harry hears the shower going so he’s stepping into his bathroom.

It’s a glass door and he can see the beautiful form of her from behind it. There’s not steam in the room because he knows the water is cold.

Not ice cold but barely warm.

When the imagery and breathing didn’t help, usually a cold shower was next, and Harry carefully slides open the door.

“Hi baby,” He murmurs, keeping his eyes on hers and nowhere else - not wandering or curious like they’d be if she was okay.

“Hi,” She answers shakily, her eyes were a bit swollen and puffy but she was giving him a smile that didn’t reach her eyes.

“Do y’need anythin’?”

He wasn’t going to ask to come in because it wasn’t about him.

YN nods, “Will you come hold me? I-it’s cold so if you don’t want to-“

He’s already stripping, he’s hold her in the waters of Antarctica if she asked - he was so bloody gone for her, past the point of self-preservation.

Harry’s wrapping her up in his arms, trying to hide his grimace at the cold stream - colder than her usual but she rarely gets woken up like that.

Therapy had been doing wonders for her.

It may seem like it’s still an intense reaction but it had improved so much from where she had started before the help.

—

Harry had a key to her apartment and he had texted her multiple times that’s he was coming over but she must have forgotten.

She was cleaning her kitchen when he opened the door.

Luckily, he managed to duck as a plate comes hurling at him. This wasn’t the first time it’s happened - not close.

As it hits the wall and shatters, he looks up to find her guiltily meeting his gaze before mumbling out an apology.

He steps over it, meeting her in the kitchen, and kissing her nose, “S’okay, y’didnt get me. I just wished you weren’t so scared, pup.”

—

“It was Anna,” YN states against his damp skin.

“Yeah, I ditched her and she was pissed,” Harry shrugs, unbothered and coldly uncaring about the situation.

“Mmm,” She acknowledges lowly, her hands snaking around his waist.

“Please.”

It was simple, YN knew what he was asking.

Please let me break up with her.

It hurt YN just as much when she couldn’t do anything but shake her head ‘no’ and swallow harshly.

—

Whew doggy. Thoughts?

[0lympia]

“so this is where it begins” katsuki bakugo

part two to this

 summary: katsuki bakugo is more patient than he seems, and izuku midoriya isn’t as determined as he thought he was. 

warnings: some angst mostly fluff, some fem!reader bits (i tried my best), the ending that could have been different but it isn’t and that’s okay, life is weird, and so are feelings

Katsuki Bakugo is a patient man, and even though he’s brash and foul-mouthed, he doesn’t mind waiting if it’s you that he’s waiting on. He’s waited for you since the day he’d first met you, really met you. He’d been waiting since the second day of high school, when you’d kicked everybody’s asses in the battle trials. And he wondered if he could really wait that long when you came oh-so close to beating him during the Sports Festival in your first year. He learned he’d have to. Deku had beaten him to the punch, and Katsuki Bakugo decided that if anybody or anything was worth waiting for, it was you.

And after almost four years, he doesn’t have to wait anymore.

You look stunning, and he wonders why you look so nervous even after living with him for six months in the little apartment the two of you had rented. He’d asked himself so many times why he tortured himself and waited for you, but he doesn’t wonder why anymore.

“Do I look alright?” You ask, like it’s even a question, and Katsuki has to take a moment to stare at you. To take you in.

“Baby, you’re brilliant,” Katsuki says, and it comes out like a whisper. He’d waited so long for this, for you, and now he has you. He has you right in front of him, and he can’t help himself from pulling you into a kiss so fervent and passionate that you knew nobody had ever kissed you quite like he did.

And you forget that there’d ever been a time where you didn’t have him right there behind you. Always ready to catch you if you fell. You forget that there’s ever been anybody else.

                                                          x x x

Izuku Midoriya waits for you to call him, coming home from long days at a job that he regrets taking. He comes home, and he greets you because he forgets that you aren’t with him anymore, and he waits for the gentle praise and embrace you’d always offered him. 

He tells himself that he did the right thing, that leaving you behind was the only way to become the hero he’d dreamed of being ever since he was a little kid. And he’s almost there, he’s so close to his dream and it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel as good as he thought it would.

So, he calls you. 

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” He mutters, listening to the dial tone before his phone starts to ring.

“The number you dialed is not available. Please leave a message after the tone.”

And he does, a few quiet breaths as he figures out what he wants to say and how to say it, and then, “I miss you, Y/N.”

Izuku hangs up then, realizing he doesn’t have anything else to say to you that could fix any of the mess that he made. His apartment feels so empty, and any indication that he’d ever had a life with somebody else is nonexistent. There’s a framed photo of him and his mother at the airport on his last day in Japan that sits on the entertainment console. He hates looking at it though, because you should have been there, you should be here.

Izuku Midoriya waits six months for you to tell him to come home, for the world to tell him to go home. Nobody tells him to go home. Izuku Midoriya ends his four year contract early.

So, the determined Izuku Midoriya wasn’t so determined, and Izuku Midoriya came home three and a half years early without telling a soul. And when he finally comes home, you’re everywhere. And so is Katsuki. It’d only been six months, and you and Katsuki had climbed higher than Izuku ever could have hoped to climb in America.

But if there’s one thing that Izuku has ever been determined about other than being a hero, it was you.

                                                      x x x

Katsuki is easily the most brilliant man you know, and he understands you better than anybody you’ve ever worked with, and he makes sure that everybody knows it. He’s smug about it, and he brags about you every chance he gets, and he loves you so much that nobody even tries to say a single nasty word to or about you.

And it’s all great until he comes home with little explosions popping in his palms and face you haven’t seen him make since your second year at UA.

“What’s up with you, Sweaty?” The gentle tease in your voice meant to cool him off, and it does, but not enough.

“Stupid fucking Deku,” Katsuki grumbles to you before he’s pulling you into him and flopping onto the couch with his face buried into the crook of your neck.

“Midoriya?” 

You’d almost entirely forgotten about the green-haired man. You’d spent three months getting over him, and Katsuki had been there to help you in any way you could have needed. Your ex had completely slipped your mind.

Katsuki nods, a soft grumble of affirmation rumbling through his chest and into yours.

“Damn nerd was asking to see you,” Katsuki mumbles, voice muffled by the soft cotton of your shirt and the way he keep digging his face into your chest, “Was askin’ me if you deserved better and stupid shit.”

You sigh and run your fingers through his hair, “I don’t want to see him. At all. And you’re more than I could ever ask for, ‘Tsuki.”

Katsuki hums something into your collarbone, and he has to lift up his head so he can whisper into your ear, “Are you gonna talk to him?”

“Maybe.”

Three days later, Deku catches you coming into the agency, and you let him stop you in the middle of the lobby.

“Y/N,” Deku looks panicked, like this is it for him, but you’d reached the end a long time ago, “Can we talk?”

You open your mouth, to say something, anything, to tell him to fuck off, that he’s an asshole.

“About what?” Katsuki asks, he’s changed into his civilian clothes and his hairs a little wet from using the locker room showers, and he slings a beefy arm around your waist and tugs you in close. You quietly relish in the natural security he carries, wrapping your arms around one of his as you stare Izuku down.

“Y/N, you deserve better,” Izuku tells you, completely ignoring the blonde, “I saw a little café down the street, we can drop in there, get a bite to eat?”

“They deserves somebody who won’t just fuckin’ ditch her out of nowhere,” Katsuki snarls at him, and you move so he’s in front of you, not wanting to risk getting burnt by his hands that have been popping more and more steadily or getting shocked by the green electricity that Izuku’s emitting in response. “She deserves somebody who actually gives a damn. They’re too good for you and me. It took you six months without them to realize that they’re not disposable, Deku! I knew from day one that they were brilliant. A damn sun and a half.”

Izuku makes the first move, and it’s messy and it devolves into a fight without Quirks. Just punching and kicking and screaming in mangled Japanese. And the longer you watch the harder it is to keep the anger you’d felt toward Izuku for so long down in the bottoms of your feet. 

It takes security thirty minutes to break the two of them apart, and when they do you’re already at Katsuki’s side.

“Is this the end?” Katsuki asks you, and you shake your head.

“No, this is where it begins,” And he smiles, cradling the back of your head with one hand as he wraps an arm around your waist so he can pull you into a kiss.

“Izuku,” You look at him from over your shoulder, and he looks as hurt as you’d felt all those months ago, “This is the end. We’ve been over for too long for you to come back to me now.”

                                                     x x x

Katsuki Bakugo doesn’t mind that it took him four years to have you, even if the two of you did hit more than a few speed bumps at the beginning of your relationship.

Because he has you now, and you look oh so beautiful in white. He doesn’t wonder why he waited so long for you now.

“Do I look alright?” You ask, and he thinks that it’s a stupid question, because you’re little apartment in the city became a two-story house in a nice neighborhood and six months quickly turned into five and a half years. And despite everything, Midoriya stands next to Kirishima in Katsuki’s line of groomsmen.

“Baby,” Katsuki whispers, and he tries not to let his voice crack because nobody needs to know that he’s crying right now, “You’re brilliant.”

And finally, finally, he has you. And nobody needs to tell him twice to kiss you, and he doesn’t even care if the pictures come out good or not. You don’t either, because when you get home that night you give him his wedding gift.

“I bought you diamonds,” You joke, handing a slim rectangle, and he laughs with you, the two of you tipsy on champagne and the feeling Katsuki Bakugo hadn’t been able to define when he’d first met you.

His gift is a little plastic stick with two pink lines on it.

“You’re not joking, are you?”

You shake your head, and you can’t help the wide smile that spilts your face in two as Katsuki drops to his knees and buries his face into your belly.

so, this is where it begins.

[calpalirwin]

Adventurous Spirit

Summary: Ashton becomes more and more of a (lovestruck) hippie.

Word Count: 1.6k

And away, and away we go!

__

Ashton’s adventurous spirit was what had drawn you to him in the first place. Sometimes you weren’t sure what he loved more: being a drummer or being able to travel the world as a result. All you knew was Ashton seemed most at home when he was on the road, making the most of every moment, and you were an absolute sucker for someone who loved life with that much fierceness.

With tour dates lined up, and studio time charted out, life at home buzzed with the excitement of what was to come. Then, the world shut down.

The first week, you watched anxiously as Ashton paced about the house, phone glued to his ear as plans B through Z were discussed and refined, tension slowly building up in his neck and shoulders. But with an album release so close, the feeling of restlessness didn’t get a chance to settle in, and for that you were grateful.

About a month and a half into lockdown, you found him sitting on the couch, staring blankly into space. “Hey,” you said softly, sitting down next to him, and pulling him out of his trance. “You good?” you asked, your fingers dragging slowly up and down his arm.

“Hmm?” he questioned, giving a small shake of his head. “Oh… Yeah, I’m good, I guess.”

“You guess?”

Ashton shrugged. “It’s hard to put into words. Like, I’m thankful for the time to slow down. Because I know I sometimes worry you with how much I work. And my body could probably use the rest. But not knowing how long this lasts is… It fuckin’ sucks. Because there were a lot of things I always said I’d do if I just had the time. And now I do. But how much time? How long am I stuck here?”

“Well” you started with a slight teasing tone, “I’m pretty sure you have time to make a garden, and get some chickens if you’re really dedicated to that.”

He giggled lightly, then sighed. “I just hate not knowing. I don’t want to lose myself.”

“Oh, I don’t think you need to worry about that. Just take it one day at a time, and go from there.”

“I suppose that’s true. And hey, I got you, right?”

“Of course,” you smiled at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Good. Cuz I need you more than I can put into words.”

“I love you too, Ash.”

~~~

You both stared at the box of Superbloom merch, you in awe, and Ashton somewhat dejectedly. “Oh, c’mon!” you urged, nudging into his shoulder. “You could be a little excited. You worked hard for this.”

“I am…” he defended. “But I want to do more.”

“More with the release? Or more solo stuff?”

“More with the release. I want to celebrate. I want a chance to play it live. I want everything the guys and I wanted with Calm, and this shit,” he thrust an angry finger in the direction of the window, “won’t go away!”

“So let’s celebrate.”

“How?!”

“We get tested, and we get out here for a bit. Camp in the desert under the stars for a few nights. I dunno. We’ll figure it out.”

“That… is not half bad. But that only solves one of my problems. I miss performing, babe.”

“Virtual concerts are a thing, you know.”

His eyes lit up in a way you hadn’t really seen for months, before he was kissing you passionately. “You! You’re a fuckin’ genius!”

You laughed against his mouth. “Thanks, I try.”

His forehead knocked against yours, his eyes holding yours steadily. “You are everything to me.”

~~~

If there was a downside to suggesting a weekend getaway for the Ashton’s album release, it was that it revived his desire to travel, and the desire was now stronger than you ever remembered it being.

“You’re becoming a hippie,” you joked as you guys woke up in the back of a pick up truck in the middle of nowhere.

“Becoming?” he laughed. “Thought I always was.”

“Well, it’s becoming more prominent now,” you laughed with him, running your hands through his hair. “I don’t think you’ve let your hair get this long since 2016.”

“Ah yes, the first hippie Ash stage. I’ve learned a lot since then.”

“So this is Hippie Ash 2.0?”

“The new and improved hippie.”

You both broke out in a fit of giggles, before you sighed in content, curling yourself into his side. “So where to next?”

“Anywhere we fuckin’ want to. Well… within reason. The guys and I are discussing the next album.”

“Shit, already?”

He shrugged. “Might as well. Gotta be prepared for when the world opens up again. Wanna hit the ground running. Make up for lost time.”

“Well, fuck. Let’s go somewhere with the guys then. A working vacation.”

“Working vacations are my favorite types of vacation. But after the holidays. I’m getting used to lazy vacations where it’s just me and you, and I’m not ready to give that up just yet.”

“Oh, some place with snow would be cool. Maybe a cabin so we don’t freeze to death.”

He took the hint, pulling you into him with the blanket. “Sounds perfect.”

~~~

You awoke to an empty bed, sunlight, light laughter, and weed smoke filtering in from the open window.

“Morning, Luke,” you greeted as you found the blonde in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his hands wrapped around a coffee mug.

“Mornin’,” he nodded, side stepping out of the way of the coffee machine. “Still practically a full pot if you want a cup.”

“Nah, I’m good for now. Ash?”

“Outside getting high with Cal.”

“Fuckin’ hippie…” you chuckled, headed for the front door of the cabin, Luke’s own laughter following you out.

Calum had a camera in his hand, pointed at Ashton who sat on a couch in his robe, a random disarray of items scattered nearby on the ledge of a firepit. “Oh, hey, Y/N!” Calum said, noticing you first, as Ashton looked over his shoulder at you.

“Hey guys,” you smiled, taking a seat next to Ashton on the couch and leaning into him. “Starting the morning off on the right foot?” you asked with a pointed glance at the ashtray with the cigarettes and blunts.

“Oh, yeah,” Ashton drawled, shifting to wrap his arm around your shoulders.

“Ever think you lean into the hippie stereotype a lil too much?”

“Nah. Haven’t gone completely off the grid.”

“Yet,” Calum snickered. “There’s still time. Luke kinda did, and I’ve never seen him happier.”

“I dunno. I’m already pretty fuckin’ happy.”

“That’s true,” Calum nodded, then clapped a hand against his leg. “I’mma head back in. Maybe shower. Maybe get another cup. You guys good?”

“Yeah, we’re good, mate.”

“You know,” you spoke up as Calum headed back inside, “when this first started last year, I was really worried about you.”

“Worried about me? Why?”

“You said it yourself back then. You’ve always pushed yourself harder than you probably should. I mean, face it, Ash, you’re restless. I was worried about all the things you were worried about. That you’d get stuck, or lose yourself. But then, I dunno. I guess I stopped because I realized how silly it was to worry about you. I mean, you’re you. You’re always gonna make the most of whatever you’ve got. Even if what you got was a year that wasn’t anything like you originally expected it to be.”

“This year was harder than I anticipated. And I did get stuck, and I did get lost. Like those moments did happen. Because you’re right. I’m restless. I’m at my most relaxed when I’m constantly on the move, either doing something or working towards something. So, yeah. This past year fuckin’ sucked. But it was also everything I needed at the same time.”

“Sometimes you gotta lose yourself to find yourself?”

“Something like that, yeah. So, while this past year has taught me a lot, it’s also solidified a lot of things I already knew to be true. Like how I couldn’t have done any of this without you. More than that, I don’t want to do any of this without you. And I wasted too much time trying to reconcile how both you and the band can be the adventures I want to spend my whole life chasing before realizing that I don’t have to.”

“Ash…” you cut in softly. “I’d never make you choose between me and the band. Or me and anything, for that matter. I’m always going to support whatever makes you happiest.”

“No, I know. That’s what I’m trying to say. My life with you in it is what makes me happiest, because you are what makes me happiest. In a year where I didn’t know which way my life was going from one day to the next, the one thing I knew for certain was that I’d have you. It made the dark moments bearable, and the light moments much brighter. That’s not something I want to give up. You’re what I want, now and always. So,” he got up from the couch, reaching into the pocket of his robe as he sank to his knees in front of you. “Marry me.”

You gasped as he snapped open the little box and cool metal slid across your left ring finger, your mind in a whirlwind of both his sentiment, and the fact that he said “Marry me,” more as a direct statement. “Mrs. Hippie does have a nice ring to it.”

“So, that’s a ‘yes’?”

“It’s a million ‘yes’s, Ash. You’re the love of my life.”

“And you’re mine.”

__

Tag List

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[gumdecay]

.

[abundanceofnots]

Ficlet idea: Now that Mickey’s using kevs gym he’s been giving guys tips from his prison workouts. Ian is NOT happy about the level of attention he gets when he stops by one day

(You can read this fic here, or on AO3.)

So, the KevFit membership was still a thing. Cool.

And, okay, listen. It wasn’t that Ian minded Mickey going to the gym. Of course, he didn’t. It was just the way this whole thing came to be that Ian wouldn’t call ideal.

Mickey liked to say Ian body-shamed him into working out, and frankly, Ian could see why he would.

They gave each other shit all the time. Laughed about hairy toes, prodded at each other’s saggy parts. And when they were both in the right headspace, it was just that—provoking banter. But Mickey, being the sensitive creature that he was, sometimes took it too close to heart.

And yeah, maybe Ian nagged him a few too many times about staying healthy after the lockdown started when Mickey’s only method of balancing out his liquid beer diet was riding Ian’s dick. But by then, it felt like they’d been occupying the same 1x1 bedroom for years, so it wasn’t exactly Ian’s fault.

If Mickey decided to go about it this way, great. Seriously. It only meant that Ian didn’t need to worry about getting his knuckles bruised anytime soon. And while he secretly mourned the loss of Mickey’s soft belly, he wasn’t going to complain. Not when Mickey looked the way he did now.

The thought was on Ian’s mind again that morning while he brushed his teeth over the bathroom sink, using the time on his hands to watch his husband in the mirror as he showered.

The curtain was only partially closed, just enough so that Mickey wasn’t splashing water around the tub while still leaving space for Ian to see him.

And boy, did he see him.

His broad shoulders. His arms stretching as he ran his hands through his wet hair. The dimples on his back. The marks Ian left on his ass when they fucked earlier.

When Mickey turned off the shower and stepped out of the tub, Ian found himself drawn to the little water droplets sliding over the Ian Galager tattoo and down his pecs, his abs, the V shape of his hips, and into his pubes.

Ian only realized he entirely forgot to move the toothbrush in his mouth when one corner of Mickey’s mouth curled into a teasing smirk.

“The fuck are you looking at?” Mickey asked, sounding smug as hell as he reached for his towel.

“Definitely not your ugly mug.”

Coming out all muffled, Ian’s words lost some of their intended edges. He angled himself back to the sink and spat.

“You have the tits of a 12-year-old girl,” he added quickly like there was a five-second rule for when you could still save your diss. He looked up just in time to see Mickey scrunch his face in mild outrage.

“Fuck off, these are C cups at least.”

“Like you're such an expert on those.”

Ian let out a low yelp as Mickey unexpectedly smacked his back, right around where his Monica tattoo was.

“Well, they're not your mom's tits, that's for sure,” Mickey noted through a sneer.

He then went back to drying himself, and Ian allowed himself to openly gawk at his slightly misty reflection again.

Several mechanical strokes of his toothbrush later, the thought came back, clouding his mind with an ugly feeling.

The intuitive thing would be to push it back and pretend like everything was okay, but they were married now and told each other shit, right? He had to say something.

“Going to the gym again today?” Ian asked eventually, trying to come off as noncommittal as he could with his mouth full and his eyes trained on the drain.

Obviously, he didn’t mind getting horny over his buff husband. No, the actual reason Ian was so bothered about all this was that other people now had free reigns to get horny over him as well.

You see, since Mickey started paying Kev’s gym his regular visits, he’d managed to attract a flock of followers. Fucking fans.

That, at least, was what Ian called them. Mickey, of course, didn’t see it like that. For him, they were paying customers.

“It’s easy money, man. And the crowd’s gettin’ bigger and bigger every week.” Mickey looked pleased as he wrapped the towel around his hips. “Anyway, it’s not like I have to do much. Most of the time, I just do my thing, and the bunch of ‘em stare at my ass.”

Ian bent forward and spat.

“So basically, they pay to jerk off your ego,” he pointed out, slumping his shoulders to show how totally unimpressed he was by that notion.

“’Xactly. And maybe something else, too.”

Mickey’s cackle followed him out into the hallway as he left Ian alone in the bathroom.

---

It was clearly a joke. A nasty joke that was supposed to leave a sting, but there was absolutely no need for Ian to worry. And he kept telling himself that all day—right until the moment he entered the badly-lit backroom of the Alibi and found himself in the company of a pack of Northsiders in designer label gym clothes.

Before he could spot Mickey anywhere among them, some blond guy in what seemed like an uncomfortably too tight a tank top came to his side.

„Looks like we have a newcomer in our midst.” The guy clicked his tongue, giving Ian an blatant once-over. “You here for the Mickeffect?”

„The what?“

„The Mickeffect. That’s what we call this class. Unofficially, of course, because the class is sorta kinda unofficial, too.” At that, he sniggered, which Ian immediately found annoying. “3pm, every Tuesday and Thursday. You from the Facebook group?”

Ian resisted the urge to scoff. “Uh, no.”

“Just lucky coincidence, then? Well, since you’re already here, I think you’re gonna enjoy yourself. The dude who leads this class is ex-con, so he knows all the right ways to abuse the body if you know what I mean.”

Clenching his fists inside the pockets of his sweatpants, Ian smiled politely and nodded. He wasn’t going to give this blond douchebag the satisfaction and punch him in the face. Not yet, at least.

“Hot as hell, too. And man, that ass. Simply de-licious. The whole thing actually only went off after I posted a video of him doing squats. Got 50k views in a day, a whole article on PinkNews a week later. The title was The Ex-con Hunk Who Makes Chicagoans Sweat Like Crazy – And Then Tells Them Off. Funny.”

The guy shrugged in this wannabe innocent you know how it is way. Ian was relieved to realize he really, really didn’t.

“We get new people all the time, but the return rate is terrible,” Blond Douchebag continued, amazingly. “Most of the boys come for Mickey but then leave with someone else. Maybe you’ll get lucky here, too.”

“I’m married,“ Ian retorted, hoping it would be enough to make him stop talking.

But Blond Douchebag didn’t even blink. “Yeah, so are some of the guys here. And he is, too, but I don’t think he’s the typa guy who would be deterred by that.“

Careful there, pal, Ian thought. Or you might find your pretty face landing very unprettily on a beer keg.

“Oh, hey!“

The familiar voice came out of nowhere, prematurely ending Ian’s plans to show this complete dickwad the practical meaning of the word concussion.

His head snapped to his right where Mickey was now standing, his eyes carefully roaming over Ian. There was a softness in them for a moment before his whole face morphed into a smirk.

„Came to learn something from the expert?” he teased.

Ian clenched his jaw. “Something like that.”

As Mickey moved past them, Blond Douchebag gave Ian a sly wink.

---

Ian wasn’t sure what kind of problems the snooty Northsiders could possibly be dealing with in their private lives, but this whole thing seemed to have almost therapeutical effects on them.

Mickey called them Ansel Elgort (not a compliment) or White Kanye West (also not a compliment) while he listened to their crap, and they giggled like teenage girls. He yelled at them for being pussies, and they were only a touch away from popping a boner. It made zero fucking sense.

And Mickey, well. The dickhead was so clearly giving them an upgraded version to his usual performance. Biting his bottom lip all the time. Flexing his muscles a little too hard. Grabbing everyone’s attention by letting out these exaggerated grunts.

Ian officially reached his bullshit limit when Mickey finished off a set of pull-ups and promptly took his shirt off to wipe his face. The way everything around him seemed to come to a stop for a hot minute had Ian’s eyes rolling.

It was totally ridiculous. Were these guys really so desperate?

Getting a better grip on the skipping rope he was using, Ian caught Mickey watching him, his brows arched, the dare behind them so plain and obvious.  

And yeah, okay, asshole. Two could play this game.

“You know what,” Ian started out loud so everyone could hear him. He let the rope fall to his feet and instead tugged his own shirt off. “We did things a little differently in the army.”

His grin widened when he heard one of the guys audibly gulp.

---

“Fifty!”

“One hundred!”

“Fuck off, you can’t do one hundred push-ups in one go.”

“With one hand behind my back.”

Maybe kneeling on the feet of two wheezing guys doing sit-ups wasn’t the best time to have a whispered shouting match with your husband, but honestly, Ian couldn’t give two shits. Mickey was seriously pissing him off—and like hell was he going to let him win. Even if it was just this one petty argument.

“You need stamina when you’re the top. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be able to do all the fucking work while the bottom just lies there.”

“Oh, oh, please! Tell us more about your workouts in the army. Was this before or after you tried to run away from there by stealing a damn helicopter?”

They were suddenly aware that their periphery vision got surprisingly still. Almost in tandem, they looked down at the alarmed expressions of their trainees.

“Did I fuckin’ tell you to stop, Asthma Boy?” Mickey grumbled at his guy. “Gimme three more sets of twenty!”

---

Blond Douchebag must have taken a genuine liking to him because he later offered to cover Ian as he pounded into the punching bag. And while he technically did hold onto the punching bag, his eyes were always on Mickey.

“Wonder who Ian is,” he mused as he observed Mickey’s topless form. “Think it’s the husband? Probably doesn’t even realize what a hot piece of ass he’s got at home.”

Too easy. It would be entirely too easy to pretend Ian’s hand slipped and he hit him by mistake, and he wasn’t going to stoop that low. He wasn’t.

Taking in a deep breath, Ian started punching harder.

He wasn’t.

“Everything okay here?”

Mickey had his shirt tucked under the elastic band of his pants, and from the corner of his eyes, Ian couldn’t help but notice the light sheen of sweat that covered his face and upper body. He wasn’t the only one.

“Oh, more than okay,” Blond Douchebag practically purred.

Punch. Punch. Punch.

“Whoa, Ian, hey.” Mickey sounded worried. “Take it easy, man.”

And fucking finally, that seemed to have done the job. Because Blond Douchebag wasn’t looking at Mickey anymore, he was looking back at Ian, and his bravado was long gone. Now, there was childlike fear in his stance, and Ian almost pitied him.

“Oh shit. You’re Ian,” he managed before the next punch landed right into his face, knocking him down on the floor.

Panting, Ian stood over him as he clutched his bleeding nose.

“Yes, I’m Ian,” he snarled at him. “And his ass is all mine.”

Someone gripped his arm then.

“Okay, the show’s over, Muhammad Ali. Better get out of here,” Mickey muttered as he pushed Ian across the gym, past all the Northside wimps who seemed too tired to do anything other than being in shock. “Come on. Ian, come the fuck on!”

From the Alibi, they ran. Sprinted along the streets and over honking cars, zig-zagged through commuters, and flipped off those who wolf-whistled at their half-naked bodies. They ran until they ended up in a dirty alley with no one else in sight, their sides on fire, and broke into a fit of laughter.

Ian only realized Mickey brought his shirt when he used it to slap his chest.

“Jealous fucker.”

“Shut the fuck up. Wasn’t jealous.”

But Mickey was still wearing that suggestive whatcha gonna do now smirk, and his lips were shiny from being licked over just a second ago, and so the next thing Ian knew, he was pushing him against a wall and kissing him thoroughly.

His hands went to Mickey’s ass, lifting him up just slightly as his fingers dug in, and Ian pulled back to let out a moan.

“Mm, I fuckin’ love your ass.”

Mickey groaned. “Jesus Christ, please don’t tell me all of this was because of my ass.”

Leaning down again, Ian murmured into his mouth: “Isn’t it always?”

[babbushka]

Beyond Reasonable Doubt (ch.1)

                                –      A Lawyer AU      –

You and Kylo Ren have hated one another for as long as you can remember. He, a criminal prosecutor, and you, a defense attorney should be natural-born enemies, and you are. But when Kylo comes to you seeking representation after being charged for a murder he didn’t commit, you both learn a thing or two about life, the law, and love…

[5k, no warnings for this first chapter!] 

Available on AO3

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

In a world of ever-changing circumstances, where people do things that cause ripples and shocks through the very fabric of society that shake them to their core, where the sun shines and rain falls and snow blows cold through the streets of Manhattan, where there is life and death and a mess of bullshit in between, there was but one thing that you could ever comfortably rely on in life.

Only one thing remained constant in the grand scheme of it all: your alarm.

With a grunt and sigh, your arm extends out from underneath the covers to smack at the loud blaring jingle that sounds from your phone, hand desperately trying to hit the dismiss button without looking so that you don’t have to face the day just yet. It’s too early, you reason, to pull your whole self out from under the covers.

Eventually you give that thought up though, because dammit now you’re awake and it’s Monday morning and you have an office that’s waiting for you uptown. So, ever grudgingly, you throw the plush comforter off of your body and stretch to greet the day, saying good morning to the city that never sleeps.

You don’t usually dread waking up, but well, the last time you’d been in the office was Friday afternoon, after you lost your case.

After you lost your case, to him.

Glancing at the clock on your phone, you chew your lip for a moment or two, before finally turning off the do not disturb function, immediately going into the bathroom to shower and ready yourself for the day while damn near a hundred backlogged notifications make your phone buzz nearly onto the floor.

There’s a small mirror in the shower, a little compact to make sure there’s nothing left on your face after you scrub your skin clean, and you catch your own reflection in it. You’ve looked better, that was for damn sure – but by that same token, you’ve also looked worse. Mondays were shit, but today was gearing up to be an even worse one than normal.

No, you think as you shake your head adamantly, you have no desire to let him soak up any more of your good mood than he had already. So what if you had forgone your entire weekend, canceling plans and ignoring friends to nurse the sting to your pride that was losing? So what if instead of checking your email or your phone, you sat yourself on the couch and wasted two entire days doing nothing but watching shitty shows on Netflix?

What you did on your downtime was nobodies’ business, and since you live alone in your beautiful one-bedroom in SoHo, no one was there to spill your secrets. If anyone asked – not that anyone would, if they knew what was good for them – you would tell them that you absolutely did not spend the weekend wanting to throw darts onto a photo of his face. That wouldn’t be very professional, now would it?

Shutting off the water, you wrap yourself up in a big plush towel, and pad across the floor to your closet. Briefly, ever so briefly, you glance at your phone on your way, holding your breath, wondering, hoping that there might be something from him.

If there is, it’s buried under a pile of emails and text-threads from your firm, so he’ll have to wait.

Manhattan in January was chilly, so you bundle yourself up in your chicest coat overtop your most well-fitting skirt suit and a pair of heeled boots. Even if you felt like shit, you could look like million fuckin’ bucks, and no one would be the wiser.

And what a wonder the power of confidence was! Through the streets and down to the subway, you smiled at everyone, and they all smiled back. You offered your seat on the train to an elderly man who clearly needed it more than you, and he complimented your gloves. Everyone from the NYPD officer drinking his coffee to the mom scolding her three children brightened as you wished them a good morning, and somehow, along the way to work, your Monday blues disappears into something a little brighter.

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

Your good mood only continues to grow as you exit the elevator of the huge high-rise that you call your home away from home, your office on the twenty-third floor right in the heart of the Upper West Side. Sandwiched between the Hudson and Central Park, you have to admit that getting your ass out of bed was worth it, even if just for this view.

“Morning (Y/N).” The front desk security guard greets you, and you say hello back to him with a performative show of your badge.

HKS Law, so named after the founders and current partners Amilyn Holdo, Ben Kenobi, and Luke Skywalker, is a shining pinnacle of what defense attorneys and opposing counsel at trials should be. Not only had the firm made history time and time again with incredible wins and even more incredible ultimate losses, but it prided itself on being representation for the people no one else could represent.

Most of all, it had you.

If your alarm was a constant, than this was a universal truth: you are a damn good defense attorney. As you walk through the crisp and clean polished floors, you hold your head high, knowing that this loss against him still put you at the lowest loss rate of anyone in the history of HKS, lower than even the founders themselves.

That little reminder has you grinning to yourself. You’d been working with HKS for nearly six years now, and very quickly you saw your office climbing higher and higher up the skyscraper, saw it getting bigger and bigger. And now, you were nearly positive, that your meeting at eleven o’clock would be to discuss partnership with the firm as a reward for your continued hard work.

“Hey (Y/N)!” One of the associates, Rose Tico smiles at you from where she’s chatting with her sister Paige by their desks.  

“Someone looks like they had a nice weekend.” Paige remarks, and you only wink at them, playing the game.

A game, which becomes instantly easier as your assistant, a bright-eyed intern fresh out of law school appears seemingly out of nowhere.

“(Y/N), good morning!” She is already offering you a cup of something nice and hot, her arm cradling a stack of manilla folders that have all sorts of sticky-note flags on them, that she shifts onto her hip ever so slightly to brush a few loose braids out of her face, speaking at what feels like a million miles a second, “I have your coffee ready and there’s a fresh breakfast buffet in the break room if you’d like, I can get you something – ”

“Good morning Neisha.” You accept the coffee gratefully, but interrupting her only to give her a chance to catch her breath. You check your watch, it’s only half-past seven, she’ll wear herself out if she exerts that much energy first thing. “A bagel with the usual would be perfect, thank you.”

“No problem – oh, Rick wanted you to look over those case files before your eleven-o’clock.” She breathes a sigh of relief, and gives you a smile.

Groaning, you accept the manilla folders too, balancing the coffee cup on top of them as Iman follows you into your own private office. Your assistant stands in front of your desk at the ready, looking sharp and put together, as ever.

One thing that you loved about Neisha – aside from the dozens of things that you admired and appreciated about her – was that you have never ever seen her in something other than a pantsuit. She did not wear dresses or skirts, she was almost never in heels, and she did not carry a purse. Instead, Neisha could almost always be found in a very smart trouser and blazer set, often complete with vests, and fun-colored socks in her loafers to coordinate with her ever-expanding collection of ties.

“Rick can go fuck himself.” You mutter under your breath, and she laughs.

“Should I tell him you said that?” With a playful glimmer in her eye, she crosses her arms over her broad chest.

“Yes.” You wink, before checking your watch once again and reminding her about that, “Bagel?”

“Bagel – right, on it.” Neisha snaps her fingers and leaves, closing the office door behind her.

 You like your office, even if you’ve outgrown it. Much like the rest of the firm, it has stayed up to date with the contemporary interior design of the day. However where the open floor of the firm is mostly whites and silvers and glass, your office feels warmer with shades of coffee browns and creamy neutrals. 

Remembering how you had been so excited for the promotion to your own office, you can’t help but chuckle to yourself now – it really was a small office. It consisted of a long dark brown desk situated in front of a wall-unit bookshelf/display area, and a seating arrangement of matching brown chairs situated around a free-edge wooden coffee-table. A soft rug covers the marble flooring, and cream gauzy curtains cover the windows, but that was about it.

You had been to the offices of the higher ups, you knew just what you could achieve if you made partner – even if you made junior partner.

And if all went well during this meeting at eleven, you knew you’d be moving into one of those offices soon.

For the first time all weekend, you sit down in the big leather chair behind your desk and finally check your phone. The case files remain on your desk, and you know you’ll get to them eventually, but until you’ve had some breakfast and that coffee can work its magic, no one could blame you for scrolling through the shit that you had put off since Friday.

It’s mostly work friends taking your side, which you appreciate. They knew losing a case was hard for you – you didn’t do it very often. And even though you never lost to anyone besides him, it still never got easier.

The case had been a simple one, or at least, you had thought so. Murders are so often simple, either the person did it, or they didn’t. If they did, there’s evidence, and if they didn’t, well, there’s evidence too. And when two parties come forward with their own evidence, compelling, strong fucking evidence – evidence of alibis and proof that your client couldn’t have been there, couldn’t have done it – it’s up to the jury to decide who to believe.

In this case, this jury decided to believe him, and there was nothing you could do about it. It was losses like this, losses like the knowledge than an innocent man was going to prison, that make you seriously question the legal system as a whole, frankly.

It’s then that you see it, and your hand freezes.

You have a missed message from him.

He’s saved in your contacts as the dick from VTH, and even though that could refer to any number of people, you know that it’s him. You have five missed messages from him, as a matter of fact, which sends both a rush of adrenaline through you, as well as a spike of anxiety.

The two of you…you’d never been friends, not really. In fact, the closest thing to a relationship that you might have is that of a rivalry, if not flat out enemies. You hated him, and he hated you, and he had hated you ever since the first day he set eyes on you, from the very first moment you walked into the courtroom as a last-minute addition to the defense counsel, and won the case in fifteen minutes.

Which was a shame, because you often find yourself thinking that if he weren’t such a…well, a dick, there could have been something there. Instead of a friendship, or even a civil acquaintanceship, you have over the years developed something of a hate-fucking-enemies-with-benefits arrangement. He was probably pissed that you ignored him all weekend, but that was okay – let him be pissed, you were pissed too.

You don’t open his messages, not yet. You’d need coffee in you and food in your stomach before you’re able to handle whatever mood he has to be in, now that you’ve got the energy to deal with him.

You’re so deep in thought that you nearly miss when Neisha returns with a plate for you, a big spread arranged on your desk for you to enjoy. You’re about to thank her and let her get on with whatever work she has to do, but she holds out a newsletter with a devious smile and curiosity gets the better of you.

“Have you seen?” She asks, and you raise a brow, a smile of your own creeping across your face.

The newsletter was something that circulated through the different firms in the area, keeping everyone up to date – or at least as up to date as legally possible – on the goings on in the sphere of influence that you all found yourselves in. Everything from congratulatory memos to case results, and even high profile celebrity gossip was fair game, but one of the more scandalous parts of the newsletter, was the publication of trouble that various lawyers found themselves in.

The Monday morning newsletter had quite a bit of this from over the weekend, and right there on page sixteen, is none other than his face looking as irritated as he possibly can, as he’s being given a hard time for a DUI on Friday night.

“Oh fuck.” Your eyes widen, wanting nothing more than to call him and yell at him for being a fucking idiot, “What the hell does he think he’s doing?”

“Whatever he wants, evidently.” Neisha shrugs, no doubt thinking the news would cheer you up in some sort of vengeful way that you appreciate. She reaches for a pumpernickel crisp from the spread on your desk and muses, “I bet the cops are thrilled, they hate that sonofabitch.”

“Yeah them and me both.” You mutter, already rubbing away a headache that’s starting to form across the expanse of your forehead. “He’s not going to be pleased about that photo, he looks rumpled.”

Sighing, you look down at the photo. He’s very clearly intoxicated, you’ve seen that look in his eyes more than once, the blurry out of focused glassy look that he gives you over smiles at dinner sometimes. You blink away the image of him in a nice suit on the other end of a table, reminding yourself that you’re angry with him.

“Doesn’t he have a driver? I wonder why he got behind the wheel himself.” Neisha continues, and bless her you think, for continually giving you a means to not be left alone with your thoughts.

“If there’s one thing I know about that man, it’s that when he sets him mind to something, no one is going to stop him from doing it.” You reply, not able to ignore a bit of gut-wrenching regret.

Maybe if you hadn’t been so mad at him, you could’ve gone with him to wherever he was coming back from, and maybe you could’ve --

“Should I have this framed?” Neisha asks, and you blink again.

You check your watch, it’s only a quarter ‘til eight. Have you really only been at work for fifteen minutes? That stack of folders sits on the edge of your desk, taunting you. You’re gearing up for an extra long day.

“No, that’s okay.” You shake your head, opening the bottom drawer of your desk and dropping the newsletter into it. “I will keep a hold onto it though. Just for fun.”

With a laugh, Neisha leaves and once again closes your office door.

“God dammit.” You grumble, pulling your phone out yet again.

The unread messages from him sit buried beneath thirty other messages that don’t warrant responses, and you hover your thumb over his name.

After all these years, something about getting a text from him made your heart jump. It felt stupid, you weren’t some teenager with a crush in high school, you were an adult, and this was just another adult, who you happened to have developed some sort of attachment to. Not a friendship, or a relationship even, but some kind of attachment.

Right now, you wanted to bitch at him for getting himself into trouble, for driving while he was so very clearly drunk, a whole argument prepared about how he could have seriously hurt or even killed someone, how even though he’s a rich asshole he can’t afford to be so reckless.

But first, in order to bitch at him, you have to read what he’s sent you over the weekend, and that’s where you keep tripping up. You don’t know why, but when you do finally open up his texts, you find that you’re holding your breath until you read them.

You try to ignore the way the thread starts out, try to ignore how if anyone were to squint, they might think something was going on between you two.

 Incoming: [1/8 6:03am] just picking up croissants from that place u like. jam?

[1/8 6:10am] Yeah, raspberry if they have

Incoming: [1/8 6:11am] on it, go back 2 bed.

 That had been just over a week ago, and you remember the day well, how you exchanged smiles over bites of fresh and flaky pastry, how you had dipped the croissants into hot chocolate in his bed, not giving a fuck about the crumbs that weren’t your problem because they weren’t your sheets.

How that was the last time you had seen him, before the conclusion of the case.

Now, now that you’d lost, the tone of the thread has very clearly shifted to something much colder. One thing you’re surprised to see though, is that they’re all from around Friday night, which was unusual.

 Incoming: [1/15 7:43pm] going out 2 celebrate tonight, join me

Incoming: [1/15 8:57pm] u can’t ignore me forever u know

Incoming: [1/16 12:02am] i’m glad u didn’t come, ud fucking hate it here. theyre playing music 2 loud

Incoming: [1/16 12:15am] r u seriously still mad?

Incoming: [1/16 1:09am] Fuck you.

 Rolling your eyes, you rub away more of that headache that starts to form. It was weird that he didn’t text you at all for the whole day of Saturday, or Sunday for that matter. If you didn’t spend the weekend together, he was very content to simply blow your phone up with links to random bullshit or long text conversations in broken grammar because his thumbs were too big for the buttons.

So for there to be radio silence after one o’clock in the morning was strange.

“For fucks sake.” You find yourself texting him back without even thinking about it, your fingers moving over the keyboard easily and quickly, sending off a slightly antagonizing reply after two days of nothing;

 [1/18 7:55am] Looks like you had quite the night on Friday.

 There, you think. That should get a response out of him. No doubt he would be quick to complain about how he had been pulled over and the whole nine yards. You wait for it to come through, the text. Or more accurately, the string of impassioned paragraphs that he tends to send you.

But a minute go by, and there’s nothing.

Five minutes, and nothing still.

You know you have to work, you have shit to do, you have that big meeting in a couple hours that you have to mentally prepare for, there’s no time to be worrying about him not texting you back. Still, you don’t like the silence. Sure that makes you a hypocrite, but he deserved your cold shoulder for beating you in court. At least, that’s how you justify it for yourself.

Getting up from your desk, you hover in the doorframe, where your assistant’s desk sits just outside to act as a buffer for anyone wanting to bother you.

“Hey Neisha?” You ask quietly, getting her attention, “I haven’t missed any calls, have I?”

A crease of confusion dips between her brows as she frowns, and immediately she checks the call logs on the conference phone that sits on her desk next to the big computer that takes up most of her space.

“No not that I can think of, are you expecting someone – ?”

Just as she’s asking, the phone rings. You lean over and see the number is one you don’t recognize, and you frown too.

“Better get that.” Neisha says awkwardly, so you just nod and retreat back into your own office from where you came.

It’s been seven minutes now, and there’s still nothing from him.

“Fine, fuck you too.” You mutter at the phone, locking it and putting it in the shallow drawer of your desk so you can focus on the folders in front of you finally.

 The stack is pretty normal, all the weekend material finally coming in now that it’s the start of a new week. There’s new case files to look through to decide if you’re doing to accept the client, supplementary material from old case files that you’ve asked for to review, notes and evidence belonging to associates’ cases that you said you’d give your opinion on – all mixed into one big pile.

You liked it though, liked staying busy. It was a good distraction from a loss, the ability to win, the ability to prove to yourself and to the world that you’re good at what you do. There are all sorts of awards and pieces of paper displayed on the walls of your office that show that you’re good, but still, there’s nothing like a strong win after a frustrating loss.

But you’re not even halfway through reading the first folder, when Neisha knocks on your door and opens it slowly, a look of preemptive apology on her face.

“I’m afraid you’re going to need to cancel your eleven o’clock.” She says, and you can tell by the tone of her voice that there’s no use in trying to argue with her.

You let the folder fall down onto the desk, and brace yourself for whatever bombshell she’s about to drop on you, what could possibly be so important for you to have to reschedule one of the biggest meetings of your career. They would understand, you’re sure.

You hope, anyway.

“Who is it?” Your tone is already filled with dread, but a resigned kind of dread, knowing that whatever it must be, it has to be big, and you’re the only one in this entire fucking firm who can handle big things like this – it was the reason they wanted you for partner in the first place.

But Neisha hesitates with this response, scratches the back of her neck in a way that makes you instantly curious.

“I…I was instructed not to say, just that you’ve been requested to meet with them regarding representation.” She tells you, and now your headache pounds even harder.

Clients didn’t withhold their identity from you; some used an alias of course, but you can’t say that so far in your career you’ve had a completely anonymous client. Whoever this person was, had to either be royalty, or something very very close.

And though that meant there was going to be a nightmare of a trial – because these high profile people almost never got to simple settle, not when the prosecutor wants to make a show of prosecuting them – you can’t help but think that would be a pretty good notch in your beltloop, as it were.

“Alright, where are they?” You’re already up and away from your desk, shuffling the case files into a locked cabinet.

“Rikers.” She says straight away, and you let out a groan.

“Of course they are.”

You had almost hoped that whoever this mystery client was, they had posted bail and could meet at a nice neutral location. You didn’t have anything against Rikers personally, but rather the entire prison industrial complex as a whole, and as far as New York prisons went, there were few more infamous for being unnecessarily brutal than Rikers Island.

“I can call them back and tell them you’re busy…but they sounded adamant about wanting you in particular.” Neisha nudges gently, and really there’s no need to butter you up, you’ve already made up your mind.

“I’m guessing they didn’t tell you why?” You ask, even though you know the answer.

“Correct.” She replies with a sheepish shrug.

You look at her, at your watch, at your phone screen which shows no new notifications from the last time that you checked it, and you square your shoulders.  

“Alright, reschedule the eleven o’clock, and let’s get out of here before Holdo freaks the fuck out on me for that.” You say, grabbing your coffee and a few more of the pastries to take in the car with you for the drive.

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

Most times, you have no problem taking the subway wherever you need to get, but visiting Rikers wasn’t as easy as hopping off the train and walking a couple blocks. For times like these, you and Neisha take one of the company cars, a sleek and shiny black thing with dark tinted windows. Cars really aren’t practical in the city, which is why you don’t have one of your own, but it was nice to be driven around from time to time in the peace and quiet of a car like this.

Normally, visitors are not allowed on Mondays or Tuesdays, but you’re not a normal person, and you’re not here for a normal visit, so once you pass through the security gate, the K-9 unit and the metal detector security tests with ease, you find it a pretty quiet lobby.

“Good afternoon Ms. (L/N), here on official duty?” One of the correctional officers that sits up by the front visitation desk beams at you.

“No, I just missed you Jake.” You reply, fishing out your identification for him even though he really doesn’t need it. Jake has worked there only a year or so, and every time you see him you can’t help but think he’s young, too young for this job, you think, too young to become desensitized to the humanity of incarcerated individuals. But that’s not a conversation that you’re here to have today, so instead you keep up the chitchat with, “How’s Lottie and the kids?”

“They’re good, who are you here for?” Jake asks as a matter of protocol, and you give Neisha a look, before looking back at him.

“That’s just the thing, I don’t know. I wasn’t informed for confidentiality reasons.” You try to explain, before leaning forward and mock-whispering to him, “Please tell me someone has me on the list and I didn’t drive all this way for nothing.”

Jake laughs, a sound that feels out of place in a place like this, and pulls something up on his computer. You can’t really see it, the list, and that’s okay. Whoever this mysterious person is, you’ll find out within just a few minutes.

“You know the drill, they’re waiting for you in the back.” Jake waves you off, and you’re glad to go.

“Wait out here.” You tell Neisha, who clearly looks uncomfortable even being in the lobby, and with good reason. She doesn’t argue you on that, instead takes a seat on a bench near Jake’s table, and the two of them get to chatting while your boots click on the floors as you walk away.

There’s a couple different visitation areas in the jail, and the deeper into the building you go, the more that you’re glad that visitation isn’t allowed on Mondays. You don’t want the chance of running into someone that you had failed. Granted there had only been a handful of those instances, but the thought of any one of them being here is not outside the realm of possibility.

Through the sea of empty tables and chairs that are reserved for long term inmates who happen to have visitation privileges for good behavior, you find yourself moving deeper and deeper, until you’re at the door of another room, a closed off one more typical to that seen in movies and television shows.

Opening the door, you hang in the hallway to confirm that there’s no one else there, as there shouldn’t be. There’s eight stations, four on each side of the small room, with a phone and a pane of bulletproof glass. Right away, you have a feeling this is going to be a murder trial, if they’re not even letting you meet with the client out in the open, if they’re monitoring the phone conversation that you’re about to have.

You see a shuffle of movement out of the corner of your eye, and assume that that’s who you’re here to meet, so with your chin held high, you step into the room, and make your way to the visitation booth where a man in a bright orange jumpsuit is waiting on the other side of the glass.

Stopping as quickly as you’ve started, you stand frozen in the middle of the room, blinking away and desperately shoving aside a wave of feelings that have crashed over you at the familiar face behind the glass.

The dark hair, the deep eyes, that proud nose, those full lips, you take it all in with some strange sense of disbelief – surely this must be a dream? It has to be, even as you sit on the little stool and yank the phone off the wall, shoving it against your ear, not even knowing where to start as you try to wrap your mind around the fact that the man, this mystery client…

“Hey sweetheart.” He says, and you could smack him upside the head if only there weren’t this glass between you and Kylo Ren.

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

Tagging some pals, please let me know if you’d like to be added to or taken off the taglist! @safarigirlsp​ @steeevienicks​ @mochabucky​ @sacklerscumrag​ @artsymaddie​ @bitchydecisions​ @direnightshade​ @reyloaddict55​ @kylorenswhxre​ @sunflowersinthesnow​ @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief​ @drake-bells-waxed-penis @littleevilme13 @rennaissance-mama @materialisthicc​ 

[lavenderbexlatte]

a screw loose

stray kids 1.4k words gender-neutral reader insert Reader & Yang Jeongin FLUFF/SFW

🖤 warnings: banter, locked doors 🖤

connect with me! / masterlist

You’re woken up, extremely unceremoniously on a Sunday morning, by screaming.

It’s not exactly screaming, you realize, as you startle upright and fling back the covers. More like yelling, a dull-toned yell that echoes around your quiet weekend-morning apartment and makes you absolutely scrabble to figure out what’s going on. That isn’t your roommate’s voice. But no one else should be in your apartment, not at this hour.

Making sure you’re dressed decently enough to meet this situation head-on, you venture out into the hallway. There’s no one that you can see, your roommate’s bedroom door wide open and their room dark.

And then the yell comes again.

“HELLO?”

That’s absolutely not your roommate. You blink hard, as you realize that the voice is coming from the bathroom. That door is firmly closed, but you can see the light peeking through the doorjamb. Someone’s in there.

“Hello?” you reply.

“Oh my God, hi,” the voice replies, “I’m stuck.”

“Cool,” you say, stupidly, “Who…who are you?”

There’s a pause that goes on so long, you begin to wonder if you’re hallucinating, or maybe still dreaming.

But the answer comes sheepishly, “I’m Jeongin. Minho’s cousin?”

As soon as he says it, you feel incredibly stupid. Minho had mentioned a little cousin coming to check out the local university, who might stay over a couple nights. You’d agreed without thinking about it, and then promptly forgotten the entire conversation.

And now that little cousin is stuck in your bathroom, bright and early Sunday morning, with Minho nowhere to be found.

“Can you get me out?” he asks timidly.

“Oh, shit,” you say, realizing the situation you’re in as you say it, “No, it – this happens, the lock sticks and we have to call the landlord to get it open again with one of the building masters-”

You hear a loud thunk, as if the kid has smacked his head against the wooden door.

“I’ve been in here for forty minutes,” he says miserably.

“I’m a heavy sleeper, sorry about that,” you say, feeling genuinely bad for the kid. “When did Minho leave?”

“Like an hour ago. He’s getting groceries.”

“For an hour? Bullshit,” you laugh wryly. “Dunno where he actually is, but I would bet cash that he’s not grocery shopping. The nearest store is literally five minutes down the road.”

“That bastard.”

You laugh again, louder this time. “I’m gonna get my phone and call the landlord, hold on.”

“Not like I have any choice,” Jeongin mumbles.

“Still.”

You hurry to snatch your phone from your bedside table, and return to lean on the wall beside the bathroom door as you ring your landlord, hoping that despite the early hour, he’ll answer. Between the two of you, Minho is better with tools, and even he can’t make heads nor tails of an IKEA piece. You’d rather not deal with this on your own.

It rings three, four, five times, and then goes to voicemail.

“Looks like we’re not getting any help,” you say grimly.

“Can’t you just take the doorknob off?” Jeongin asks.

You just barely hold back a self-deprecating scoff. “I really appreciate that you think I could do that.”

“Not to be rude, but like, it’s really simple.”

“Then tell me what to do,” you say.

“Get a screwdriver,” Jeongin replies, right away.

Luckily, you do own one. It’s buried at the bottom of a kitchen drawer, under boxes of thumbtacks and spare bits from furniture packs, but you find it and dutifully return to Jeongin in his bathroom prison.

“Can’t you do this from the inside?” you ask.

“I mean, I could, if I had the tools,” he answers.

You lean down and attempt to shove the screwdriver under the door. It just clunks uselessly against the wood; the handle is too thick to fit through the narrow gap.

“Just unscrew the little screws holding the doorknob on, it’s not that hard,” Jeongin repeats, and you can tell from his clipped tone that he’s getting impatient.

“Watch it,” you hiss, collecting your screwdriver and sizing up the rusty-looking knob, “You’re what, eleven years old? Don’t be rude.”

“I’m nineteen. I’m looking at colleges.”

“If you’re nineteen, why aren’t you in college already?” you ask.

“None of your damn business.”

You ease the first tiny screw out of the casing, loosening the knob up just a fraction, and move to the second one.

“Are you a super senior?” you ask, just to be annoying.

“A what?”

You shake your head, though he can’t see you. Kids these days…

“A super senior,” you repeat, “An older-than-normal high school senior.”

Jeongin sighs, long-suffering and loud. “I can see how you and Minho get along.”

“Why? Because we’re both incredibly charming?”

“You’re both incredibly annoying,” Jeongin amends.

“I dunno, you’re the one who got locked in my bathroom and woke me up at the asscrack of dawn on a weekend,” you counter.

The second screw comes loose, falling easily into your hand. Only one left.

“It’s almost ten,” he says.

“That’s nearly dawn.”

It occurs to you then that you don’t know what Jeongin looks like. You’ve never met the kid. You didn’t have the chance, before he went and got captured by your faulty door. For some reason, you’re just picturing a younger Minho, even though they’re just cousins and probably don’t look that much alike.

“Nobody told me that the door sticks,” he defends.

“I keep telling Minho that we need to get it fixed for real,” you say, “He just thinks it’s funny when I get locked in.”

“How often do you get locked in?” Jeongin asks, voice weary.

“Maybe like every two weeks?”

“And you just…live like this?” he asks.

You collect the last screw, the doorknob now rattling easily in its slot. “Do you want my help or not?”

“Since you’re the only option, yes, I want your help.”

“I gotta tell you, putting that much faith in me, this early in the day, is a mistake,” you say.

“Have you even done anything?” Jeongin complains.

Before you can answer, the doorknob is turning in your hand, and the latch slips uselessly right out of its notch in the strikeplate. You let go as the door swings inward, letting out a faint cloud of lingering steam.

And there’s Jeongin. Taller than you expected, skinny but toned, and absolutely topless, damp shaggy hair dripping a bit onto his collarbones.

“You did it,” he says, mild surprise in his overlarge Disney-princess eyes.

“I did,” you agree.

You shouldn’t be looking so blatantly at your roommate’s younger cousin’s chest, but goddamnit, you’re just a person and his body doesn’t match his cute face at all. He’s definitely still young and growing into his features, but in a couple years, he’s gonna be a knockout. You can tell. It’s kind of hard to look away, honestly.

“His eyes are up there!” comes Minho’s petulant voice, loud in your small apartment.

Of course, this is when he decides to come back. Of course. He’s standing in the hallway holding a reusable shopping bag and a takeout carrier from Starbucks, which means he actually was getting food and you just have no faith in him.

“You didn’t tell me the lock sticks,” Jeongin replies accusingly.

“It only does sometimes,” Minho says, retreating toward the kitchen with his haul.

“If you’d told me, I wouldn’t have used the lock!”

Jeongin follows Minho into the kitchen, and not wanting to be left out, you go along, too. He’s unpacking the food, leisurely and exaggerated. There are, you notice, three takeout cups, not two.

“I got you a Starbucks and this is how you repay me? Creeping on my baby cousin in the shower?” Minho says.

It takes a second for you to realize he’s talking to you, and then you bristle. “Excuse me? He got locked in and I helped!”

Minho ignores you in favor of turning to Jeongin. “And kid, go put some fuckin’ clothes on.”

“We kind of took your door apart,” Jeongin tells him, “Sorry, I guess.”

“Our door!” you protest.

“Clothes,” Minho repeats.

You’re absolutely not still looking at the span of Jeongin’s back as he turns to go back to Minho’s room, no way. Not appreciating the dip of his waist or his long legs. Minho brushes past while you’re totally not checking him out at all, giving you a hard elbow in the side as he does.

“Don’t mind (Y/N)’s cradle-robbing tendencies,” Minho says, slinging what would be a reassuring arm around his cousin’s shoulders, if said arm was not attached to Minho. “It’s harmless. Mostly.”

[a-bang-for-your-bucky]

Playin' With Fire: Into The Flames

Summary: Santiago has some shit he needs to figure out. THE MISSION. Dani has some shit she needs to figure out. Will is an angel. Catfish just wants to get home to his baby. Benny's just along for the ride.

WARNINGS: SMUT(18+), EXPLICIT LANGUAGE, Movie typical violence, people get shot, Tom is an asshole, like straight up, mention of pregnancy, because again Tom is an ASSHOLE.

Word Count: 7,453

At the bar, Santiago was outside waiting for Frankie and Dani. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much, They needed to talk, especially if they were going to work this mission together. But a part of him didn’t want them to. He remembered how close they were. He knew he was being selfish. He had her to himself for three years.

He heard Frankie’s chevy long before it pulled into the parking lot. He parked it right next to Will’s. It took everything he had not to run to her. She and Frankie walked up to the entrance, his arm slung over her shoulder. Santi’s heart all but crumbled. Why did this bother him?

“Hey, Santi.” Dani smiled, removing herself from Frankie’s hold. Frankie opened the door for her but didn’t follow.

“I gotta talk to Pope real quick. Go on ahead. Ben’s probably thinking you left the country again.” Frankie told her. She gave him the stink eye, sticking out her tongue. Dani went on inside though because Frankie was right.

Once she was in the building and the door was shut, Frankie turned to his friend. “You’re an idiot.” He blurted out. Santi tossed him a confused look.

“Wh-what?” Santi was surprised at Frankie’s blunt words. Frankie kicked a rock in front of him, frustrated that his friend is being so dumb.

“You fuckin’ idiot. You had her, man.” Exasperated with Santiago, Frankie threw a finger in his face, accusingly. “You fuckin’ had her.”

Santiago scoffed, shaking his head side to side, “You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about, hermano.” Santi shoved his hands into the pocket of his jeans, turning away from the man in front of him.

Frankie’s fingers tightened into a fist. He wasn’t gonna hit him, at least not yet. “I know she’s heartbroken. I spent the last twenty minutes talking about it.” He scoffed. Santiago was not a stupid man, quite the opposite, so it blew Frankie’s mind that he was acting like this.

“Yeah? Did she tell you that it was her idea? That she didn’t want a relationship because of you?!” Venom dripped off of Santiago’s words. He wasn’t trying to hurt his friend, but Frankie had no idea what the fuck had transpired in the last 36 months.

“She did, actually.” Frankie informed his friend. “Pope, man. What is wrong with you?” Frankie removed his ‘standard oil’ cap, running his fingers through his hair. Santiago huffed a breath.

“If you would have just stayed away from Vanessa, you two would be together; She’d be Ellie’s mom. You’re the reason she ran to Colombia with me in the first place!” Santiago’s voice echoed through the empty parking lot. Without a second thought, Frankie's fist collided with Santiago's jaw.

“Oh. I didn’t realize it was my fault you can’t keep your fucking dick in your pants!” Frankie shot back at him, struggling to hold back the anger bubbling inside him. “I know I fucked things up with her, but I got Elena out of it. She’s worth more to me than anything. Don't ever think for a second that anyone matters more, including Dani.” Frankie relaxed his fists, thinking about his daughter. “What do you have, cabrón?”

Santiago let Frankie’s words sink in. He was right. What did he have? Santiago took a seat on the sidewalk of the bar, running a hand down his face, hissing when he rubbed the tender spot on his lip. “Fuck, Fish.” Santiago sighed, looking up at his friend, eyes pleading for help. “I don’t know how to fix it.”

Frankie joined Santiago on the ground. “You tell her, hermano.”

“Tell her what? ‘Sorry for sleeping around on you, even though I’m pretty sure I’m madly in love with you. I just wanted to give you what I thought you wanted.’ I mean she’d go for that right?” Santiago rambled.

“Pope, you’ve lived with her, slept with her, and have cared for her for three years. Get your fucking shit together and talk to her." With that, Frankie walked inside to join the rest of the group. He left Santiago sitting there, mind churning over the words they had shared.

"FISH!" Benny yelled as he saw Frankie filter through the small crowd to their table. "Where's Pope?" He asked, and Frankie turned around to see Pope was nowhere in sight. Dani instantly noticed Frankie's red knuckles from where he had hit Santiago.

Dani looked up at Frankie with concerned eyes, "Where is he, Frankie?" She whispered. Frankie pointed toward the door. She shot up from the table, weaving through the crowd and out the door. She found Santiago standing by Will's truck.

"Santi?" She called out to him, causing him to lift his head. She could barely see the blooming bruise on his lip, but she knew it was there. She reached him in just a few short steps, wrapping her arms around him. He returned the gesture, holding her tightly. "Are you okay?" She whispered into his hold.

He didn't answer right away, he just pulled her closer. He nuzzled into her hair, breathing in the lavender scent. "I'm okay, beautiful. Don't you worry. Frankie was just knocking some sense into me." He mumbled against her. He was okay, as long as she was in his arms. The two of them stood there for a while, not wanting to let each other go. No other words were spoken, they only held onto the comfort that they had become accustomed to. Dani didn’t even realize she was crying until she pulled away from him, and wet stains were left in her wake.

“I’m sorry.” She apologized, wiping her eyes. “Come on,” She grabbed his hand, “They’re probably missing us.” She told him as she pulled him back toward the bar. He let her lead him, enjoying her hand in his. He had to tell her. He halted in his steps, jerking her back into his arms.

“Wha-” She started, but was cut off by his lips on hers. Sighing, she melted into his hold. Their lips moving in sync. There was no rush, but Santiago kissed her with urgency, wanting her to feel the emotion flowing through him. When they parted, she sucked in a breath, her lungs burning for oxygen. She went to speak, but before she could he placed another soft peck to her lips.

“You don’t have to say anything. Just know that we need to talk before we leave. Promise me, we will talk.” Santiago still held her hand, looking into her eyes as he spoke, “Promise me.” He said again. She nodded, telling him that she promised. With her confirmation, they walk back into the bar with the rest of their friends.

Back at the Miller house, they all stumbled through the door, laughing like children. Dani thought it was nice for them to feel so care free before the mission. She left the guys behind, wanting to shower before bed. Santiago watched as she walked away. He wanted nothing more than to follow her down the hall, strip her down, and make love to her like he should. Instead, he plopped himself down on the couch with a groan.

Will sat himself beside him. “So, Fish clocked you, huh?” He asked. No one had brought up the fact that Santi had a busted lip and Fish had a busted knuckle. Santiago nodded. “Can’t say you didn’t deserve it.” Will shrugged, crossing his arms.

“Thanks, man.” Santiago scoffed, “I know I fucked up, okay. All I want is to make it right. But I can’t.” Santi wiped his face. “She deserves so much better than me.” Will shook his head.

“Let her make that choice. You opened that door when you asked her to go to Colombia with you.” Will advised him, “I’m sure Frankie told you this already, but talk to her.” Will slapped him on the knee before heading off to bed. Santiago followed suit, walking down the hall to Dani’s room.

He was wringing his hands as he stood outside of her door. It had already been decided that they would stay with Ben and Will until they left. He knew he was welcome inside, he just couldn’t find the courage to open the damn door. With Frankie and Will’s words prominent on his mind, he raised his hand, landing three small knocks to the wood.

She opened the door, clad in a towel, blonde hair still dripping from the shower. “Santi? Why did you knock?” She asked, moving back into the room to let him in. He walked inside, closing the door behind him.

“Oh, um. I didn’t know. I mean, I thought maybe you’d want privacy, since we weren’t in Colombia.” He fumbled through the sentence. Santiago wasn’t a nervous person. He could shut down, manipulate, whatever he needed to do to complete his mission. When it came to expressing his feelings though, he was a wreck. Dani noticed his change in demeanor.

She sat on the bed, the same bed where they first slept together. “I told you, while we’re here, this is your room, too.” She wanted him to feel comfortable. He just nodded in response, still standing by the closed door. “Okay, what is going on with you, Garcia?” She asked, the words coming out a little harsher than she wanted.

“Can we talk now?” His voice was low, his head even lower as he looked at the floor. She stood up, which caught his attention. His eyes roamed over her bare legs, up to where the towel rested right below the apex of her thighs. He felt his cock stir in the confines of his jeans. No, not now, he thought to himself.

“Yeah, let me just get dressed.” She disappeared into the en suite bathroom. Santiago took the moment to adjust himself in his pants. He needed to tell her with words how he felt, not his dick. She emerged from the bathroom in his Metallica shirt, the same shirt she wore the last time they had sex. She was not making this easy for him. “What’s up, Santi?” She hopped onto the bed, crossing her legs under her, exposing her deep maroon panties to him.

He groaned and turned away from her. “Querida, please. I’m trying here.” His voice was strained. He was fighting the urge to take her right there. He heard shuffling, and she told him to turn around. She had covered herself with the blanket. He mumbled a thank you before sitting on the bed beside her. It was all so familiar. This was where everything had started between them. Santiago couldn’t help but think it was fitting for this to be where it ended.

Dani watched as Santiago seemed to search for words to say. “Dani,” He started. He almost never called her by her name. This wasn’t good. She swallowed harshly, trying to ease the constricted feeling in her throat. “You are, fuck, you are phenominal.” Santiago said, taking her hand in his. “You deserve everything that is good in this world. And I’m sorry I kept you from that.” Tears pricked his eyes. Dani’s breath caught in her chest.

“Santi, I don’t. I don’t understand.” Her voice broke. She didn’t know where he was going with this.

Santiago squeezed her hand. “I was selfish with you. I was so fucking selfish. And I hurt you in return. There aren’t enough apologies that will fix that.” Santiago didn’t cry, but a single tear rolled down his face. “I have to let you go.” He sounded conflicted, and he was. He wanted to keep being selfish, but letting her go, getting her away from him, was the right thing to do.

Dani shook her head, “No. You don’t get to make that decision for me.” She cried, “How do you know what I deserve?” The sadness in her voice tugged at his heart. She moved to sit up on her knees, still holding his hand. “Santi, these last three years with you have been amazing. You are amazing. Why would you ever think anything less?”

Santiago met her eyes. They shimmered in the low light of the bedside lamp. “I’m not capable of being who you want me to be.” He swallowed hard.

“How do you know what I want, Pope?! You haven’t asked me!” She raised her voice, the alcohol in her system affected her volume control. Santiago was sure the whole house heard her. She pulled him closer, grabbing his other hand. “I don’t know why, but I love you, you dope, I would walk through hell and back for you.” She confessed.

Her blue eyes met his brown ones. “You shouldn’t love a man like me, princess.” Santiago protested, releasing her hands to caress her face. Her skin was soft, but wet from the tears. She shook her head side to side, moving her face closer to his.

“Too late,” She whispered before pressing her lips to his. He pulled her closer if it were possible. His lips parted, tongue prying hers open. She instantly gave him access. His hands found their way down her back, to her ass. He gripped the tight muscle, pulling her into his lap. He moved them up the bed with skill as they fought for dominance. The kiss got more aggressive. He was the one who broke the kiss, only to find his way to that spot on her collarbone.

“Santi,” She moaned. He continued his way up her neck, nibbling on her ear, before returning his lips for a quick kiss. His hands hooked her panties, dragging them down her legs, as he moved off the bed. He unbutton his jeans, removing them and his underwear in one go. Once his pants were out of the way, he took his place back between her thighs. She could feel him hard against her thigh. They both knew there would be no foreplay, that this was something else. He couldn’t say the three words that were floating in the air, he didn’t know if he was capable.

Her hands were buried in his salt and pepper curls, leaving love bites on his neck. “Fuck, hermosa. I need you.” He groaned, rocking himself through her wet folds.

“Then take me, Santi.” That was all he needed to sheath himself to the hilt in one swift thrust.

The ride into the jungle of South America was bumpy to say the least. Dani had made herself comfortable in the back with Frankie, almost falling asleep a few times. Santi backed the SUV into the jungle thick, expertly hiding it from the view of the road. Santi gave Dani the bag of comms. “Pass those out.” He instructed her as he gave out weapons. Dani didn’t like the feel of a gun in her hand, she was a healer, not a killer. They separated as they stalked through the jungle up to Lorea’s house.

Dani wasn’t sure why she let herself get caught up in this as she laid between Santi and Tom on the forest ground. The boys were clogging up the comms with witty banter and stupid jokes. She was barely paying attention until she heard Frankie’s voice.

“Pope. Pope, I have kids over here. Does he have kids living with him? Cause that’s gonna make things a whole lot more complicated and is not what I signed up for.” The worry was thick in his voice. Dani only assumed it was because he was now a father himself. Thankfully, she had planned for this.

“The family’s not the problem, Frankie. They’re the answer.” She replied instantly, and Tom gave her a weird look.

Frankie asked why and Pope had a simple answer. Church. “Lorea is very devout. Every Sunday morning, He sends three guards to the 6am service. When they get back, he sends the rest of the team, along with the family.”

“That leaves him and three guards in that house with the money. That’s our window.” Dani finished for him.

“Well aren’t you guys fucking cute, finishing each other’s sentences and shit.” Tom snickered into the comm. Dani wanted to punch him.

Will stalked through some brush, making his way to his check point, “Why would he do that?”

“He’s worried about someone taking his kids, and he never leaves his money. Also, I don’t think he believes anyone would have the balls to rob him.” Santiago answered him, chuckling a little at the end.

“That’s probably because it’s a stupid idea.” Dani could hear Will roll his eyes.

Benny broke the silence, “Pope, I got your girlfriend coming up right now. Holy shit, she is beautiful.” Dani clenched her jaw. She told Santiago that she loved him, and he never said the words back. The night of Benny’s fight, she was sure they made love. It was a completely different feeling. They still weren’t officially a couple, she didn’t know if they ever would be.

“I fucking knew it.” Tom groaned, looking over Dani to Pope.

“Fuck off.” Santi growled, not missing the look he received from Dani. Santi knew that he messed things up with Dani. He loved her and instead of telling her, he had sex with her. It was different that time, though. It was more passionate, more meaningful. He knew what he was getting himself into when he started sleeping with Yovanna, but that didn’t stop him from doing it. He just hoped that one day, Dani would forgive him.

“God damn.” Will whispered, “I got an execution about to go down over here.”

“Are you at the tennis court? That’s his spot of choice.” Dani responded, knowing that’s where Lorea liked to do business. The gunshots made Dani jump and Tom sighed.

“We can’t babysit you. If you can’t handle some gunshots, maybe you shouldn’t be out here.” He growls at her. She moves to get up, but Santi grabs her arm. She looked over at him, waiting for him to say something, but he didn't.

“Shit, we got ground sensors here.” Benny’s muttered voice crackled through the comm, breaking up the tension, looking down at his feet.

“Did you hit one?” Santi asked, quickly.

“I’m not sure.” Benny replied frozen in his place. “That stock boy job at wal-mart is starting to look pretty good right now boys.” He huffs out as two guards on motorcycles approach his location, but swiftly turn around. It was a close call; Too fucking close.

“Let’s get the fuck outta here.” Will huffed, once it was confirmed that the informant made it out.

The bar was quiet, minus Benny telling some dumb story about how he almost pissed himself. Santiago tossed back his shot and Dani sat quietly, enjoying their company, nursing her tequila on ice. Will asked what the plan was and how Santiago was going to present to the agency.

Santi told the guys the real plan. He wanted to pull the job with just them. He didn’t want to involve the local government. He knew that with his team, they could get it done and take the money for themselves. The guys were pissed.

“Who paid our fees?” Will asked him, and Frankie pointed to Will indicating that he had the same question. They all had the same question.

“It’s complicated.” Santiago told them.

Tom scoffed, “How fucking complicated can it be? It’s a hundred thou-” Frankie stopped him as a group of men walked in. Dani told the guys she was getting the bill. Frankie sarcastically thanked her as she walked away.

“Well fellas,” Benny started, “This turned out to be some full on cowboy shit.” He finished before down the rest of his beer.

The guys moved back to the car. Santi was mid speech when Dani rejoined them. “You may not believe it, but I have spent the last three years of my life trying to make a difference. But it’s a fucking mess.”

“Santi’s right.” Dani spoke and the five guys turned to her. “Lorea has people everywhere. You have no idea what it’s been like for us.”

“Come on, guys.” Santi started, and pointed at Tom. “This man is a goddamn hero and can’t even afford to put his kids through college.” He turned to Fish, “You are the most talented pilot I know and you’re grounded on some bullshit coke rap.” He finally looked at Will. “How many times can your brother get the shit knocked out of-” Benny cut him off.

“I didn’t get the shit beat out of me. I won that fight.”

“Sorry, Benny.” Santi apologized.

“How many more pep talks can you possibly give, man? I’m done. Both knees are shot. That neck surgery I got last year made everything worse.” Dani had never heard Santi sound so hopeless.

“What about her?” Tom asked, pointing to Dani.

“What about me, Tom? You got a fucking problem with me being involved?” She questioned him, wanting to know what his deal was.

“I just don’t see why your involvement is necessary.” He spat at her, crossing his arms.

“This was my fucking plan. I helped with every part of this recce.” Dani growled at him, hands clenching by her side. Santi noticed and stepped between the two.

“Come on, man. I’ve trained her. She helped prep all of this. She’s in or no one is in.” Santi defended her. Tom shut up real quick. “I guess the question is, do we finally get to use our skills to our own benefit and actually change something?”

On the drive back from the bar, Tom had come up with a fool proof plan, “Sunday Soft Hit” he called it. Dani sat in the back with Benny and let the guys talk it out. Tom made it very clear that this was their area of expertise, she was just along for the ride. She watched as rain drops rolled down the window. She really hated the rain.

The next day, Pope had left to meet up with his informant. Dani tried not to let them see how much it bothered her that he went alone. That he didn’t want her to go. She tried to let Benny distract her with his silly jokes, but still in the back of her mind, all she could think about was Santiago.

They met him at a shipping container yard. He had a key to one, pulling open the doors. Santi was prepared for this moment. Every fucking gun, bullet, toothpick was sourced in-country, he was ready to pin this on a local rival gang. Santiago’s informant had come through with the recording of inside the house and promised to get an extra van into the compound.

They had everything they needed; The bird, the extra van, and Lorea confirmed inside the house with the money. Tom was conflicted about the whole situation, and that made Dani uncomfortable. She kept her thoughts to herself, not wanting to start another fight with the captain. Tom gave a speech about how they could get out now if they wanted. Dani honestly thought it was touching, but none of them were turning back; The six of them were really going to do this.

“It’s a good thing these guys are so devout.” Benny started, looking up at the sky as the rain poured down, “Our dad used to say ‘when it’s raining, it means God didn’t need us in church today’.” Dani smiled at the comment. She really missed Mister Miller.

They watched intently as the guards piled the family in the vehicle to leave. None of them caught sight of Lorea. The family had left for church, and the informant showed up with the extra van. “Damn, Pope. This lady is a keeper. Punctual, smart, and brave as shit.” Benny spoke into the comms. Dani rolled her eyes, jealousy did not become her, but she didn’t care.

She entered the house behind Santiago. Two of the three guards were subdued easily by the former Delta members, but Frankie shot the third in the knee when he walked up on him and Will. “Eyes out for Lorea. He sure as fuck heard us now.” Santiago groaned, helping Frankie bound and gag the guard. Dani quickly went to work setting off the charges in the security room.

The five men searched the house, but Lorea was nowhere to be found. They were almost frantic looking around the property. “Everyone to the office right now.” Tom growled into their ear pieces.

“What’s going on?” Dani harshly whispered into the comm but didn’t get an answer. Before she could ask again, Santi grabbed her, pulling her upstairs with him. Santiago walked into the office to see his former teammates. They were pissed.

“What the fuck?” Benny was the first to speak, tossing an empty money bag to the floor. Dani looked around the room. Something wasn’t right.

“Lorea?” Tom asked, and Santi shook his head.

“He’s gone with the money.” Will scoffed, dropping into a chair.

“Your girl gave us up, Pope.” Frankie sighed, leaning back against the desk. “We gotta get the fuck outta here.” Dani hated hearing the regret in his voice. What the fuck did she do?

Santi ripped off his hat, “No, no, no, no.” He repeated as he removed his pack. How did this happen? He looked around, distraught written on his face, before taking a deep breath. “What’s that smell like to you?”

Frankie looked up at his friend, “Like a serious fuck up.” Will chuckled at Frankie’s sarcasm.

“No,” Santi shook his head, pointing to the painting equipment by the desk. “Paint.” He scrambled to the nearest wall, running his hand down it, before drawing back and punching hard. Dani watched curiously, wondering if Santi had finally lost his mind. He punched again, breaking through the drywall.

He ripped the debris out of his way, reaching a hand into the wall, pulling out a wad of cash. “La casa es la caja fuerte.” She mumbled, “The house is the fucking safe.” She laughed, picking up on what Santiago had just figured out.

The six of them started tearing down the wall and stacks of money fell out. They quickly packed it into bags and carried them down stairs. Santiago was still concerned about finding Lorea as they pulled out more and more stacks, packing them away. The more money they dug out though, the less confident Dani felt in the situation. Tom was getting carried away, determined that they had time for “A couple more loads”. Benny assured her that Tom never missed a hard out, and here he was, making up some bullshit about a fifteen minute cushion.

“Fuck this. Time’s up, we gotta go.” Will growled, glaring at Tom. Dani finished packing her bag, handing it off to Benny.

“I want one more sweep for Lorea, alright! Then we burn it all down.” Santi all but demanded. “Tequila, stay with someone.” She nodded, and walked into the bedroom with Will and Santiago, gun raised. She opened the wardrobe door and there was nothing but clothes inside.

Suddenly, the whole thing moved, and Lorea shot at her. She returned a single shot, straight to where his femoral artery would be and the man fell to the ground. Santi walked up and fired one, two, three, more shots at him to ensure he was dead. He stood over the dead body, reloading his pistol.

“Fuck, I’m hit.” Dani and Will groaned together, Will dropping to his knees. Will was bleeding from his left side and Dani had a through and through on her left shoulder. Santi whipped around to see Will and Dani both kneeling on the floor. Blood was soaking her shirt, as he charged over to her.

“You’re hit?” Will asked, eyeing her shoulder, and she nodded. “Fuck, Teq. You shoulda stayed home.” He groaned the last word as she put more pressure on the wound. “Get me the clot kit. I’ll be fine” He grumbled.

Santi dug through the bag on Dani’s back, handing her a kit, getting one out for her as well.

“What are we shooting at in here?” Frankie yells as he walks into the room. He immediately notices that Dani is bleeding. “Fuck, Dani.” Even though he wanted to, he didn’t move toward her, because Santi was already there, applying her clot kit.

“I told you this was a stupid idea.” Will spoke through clenched teeth, looking at both Dani and Santi.

“Yeah, you did Will. Here ya go.” Dani agreed, wrapping his abdomen with a bandage. She hissed as Santiago did the same to her shoulder. Things had shifted between them. Will had never seen Santiago so attentive during a mission.

“Sunday school’s over fellas. We gotta go. Oh, holy Shit.” Benny says as he sees the scene before him. His brother was bleeding from his abdomen, Dani from her shoulder. He told them that the first shift of guards were back and that they needed to go. The rest of it was a blur. Dani barely remembered getting down stairs, let alone into the van with Frankie. She looked back to the house and it was ablaze. It was over, they just needed to get home safely.

The drive up to the meeting point for the helo was a short one. At least, it seemed short. Dani had gone into shock. “Fish, I don’t feel so good. I don’t think the bleeding has stopped.” She whimpered with her head against the window, the hand holding pressure on her wound was bloody.

“Just hold on tight, hermosa.” She heard Frankie say before everything went dark.

She woke up with someone jostling her. It was Santiago, who was carrying her bridal style out of the van. “Hey, querida. You with me?” He asked, laying her on the ground, her head propped up on a bag.

“I’m here, Santi. I should have some bandages and extra kits in my bag. I brought them in case one of you idiots needed it. Turns out, I’m the idiot.” She laughed as he dug through her bag, holding up the tool once he found it.

“This is going to hurt, hermosa. You want to take a swig first?” He asked, showing her a bottle of tequila she packed just in case. She nodded, taking a generous swig, hissing at the burn of the liquor going down. “Alright, Teq. Ready?” She groaned as he redressed the wound. It would need stitches to ensure it heals decently, but they would have to wait.

“Thank you.” She whispered when he was done. “Let me go take care of Will.” She took the bottle of liquor over to Will. “This is going to hurt like a bitch. You might want to.” She offered him the bottle. He took a quick gulp, before gesturing to her. She shook her head no. She was able to stitch Will up while the other guys loaded the helo. She looked over and saw Fish yelling at Tom as she started working on the stitches.

“If we want to get to the ocean, we gotta fly over the fucking Andes, man!” Frankie yelled about the weight issue. Dani and Will leaned onto each other as they walked toward the helo. Tom groaned about leaving two hundred million dollars on the runway. “Fine! She’ll make it. Let’s go!” Frankie ordered.

Dani was seated in the back of the helo between Benny and Will. Benny was helping her stitch up her shoulder. Dani couldn’t help it but her eyes trailed over to Santi who was staring at Yovanna, the informant. Jealousy and bile rose in her throat. “I’m good, Ben. Thank you.” She looked up and saw Tom staring at her, his eyes dropping to her hand that was splayed over her abdomen, then back to her, with a knowing look on his face.

They dropped Yovanna and her brother across the Peruvian border. Tom escorted them off the helo. Santi joined him with a bag of money and an envelope with documents. Once Santiago was sure they were good to go, they were back in the air. “She’s lying.” Tom said and Santi disagreed. “There’s consequences to this shit. You know what we should have done?” He deadpanned.

Dani couldn’t believe him. He wanted to kill her? After everything she did to help? “That’s one you wouldn’t come back from.” Will attested. Tom just ripped the headset off before moving into the cockpit with Frankie. Santi didn’t spare Dani a second glance as he laid back against a duffle and shut his eyes. She sighed, leaning into Benny, closing her own.

Frankie was constantly watching the gauges on the dashboard. It seemed as if they were going to make it, even with the weight issue. Everything was going smooth until it wasn’t. “We’re red-lining, man.” Santi’s voice was on the headset as he peered over his friend’s shoulder. Frankie was adamant that they needed to lose some weight. Dani heard Tom complain about leaving fifty million dollars in the middle of the jungle. He is going to get us fucking killed, she thought. Frankie shot back, standing his ground, asking if he wanted to make it to the ocean. Tom conceded; Will opened the door so Santi and Benny could throw out some bags.

It seemed to work for a moment. Frankie tried raising the helo up over the lowest peak he could find. There was rapid beeping and the aircraft started jerking. One of the gearboxes blew and the helo started to drop. There was a reason Santi wanted Catfish. He really was the best. He immediately regained control of the craft, maneuvering it so that it didn’t go into a spin.

“I’m losing altitude. We should land. We should land now.” Frankie grunted, trying to come up with a landing plan.

“Crash land here and we all will die.” Tom snapped at him. Frankie gripped the cyclic tighter.

“I’m trying to get her back to flat. There was a farm, not too far back.” Frankie growled back at him, trying to make sure he gets the craft to ground as safely as possible.

“Prepare for a hard landing!” Tom called the warning over his shoulder toward the back of the helo. Dani had one hand gripped to the wall, the other was attached to Benny’s leg.

“I can’t land with this thing with that net under us. We lose the money, maybe we don't die.” Frankie tried to reason with him, but Tom didn’t want to budge.

“LOSE THE MONEY OR WE WILL ALL DIE!” Fish’s voice boomed through the headsets as he tried to keep the helo steady. “Pull the external load release on the wall!” Dani looked over her right shoulder to the lever. She looked back at Santi, like she wanted permission.

“Pull the lever, Tequila!” Santi yelled, giving her the okay. She pulled it down with a struggle.

Will opened the hatch. Dani took a spot next to him, looking at the net. “It didn’t work!” Dani was terrified.

“There should be a manual override on the cargo hook.” Frankie explained. Benny crawled out the hatch and kicked the handle. The net of money fell to the earth below them. The helo jerked before Benny could climb back in, knocking him further out. Luckily, Will was able to grab him, preventing him from dropping straight to the ground. It became obvious to the man dangling from the floor of the chopper that he would die if it crashed with him barely hanging on.

“I gotta jump!” Benny yelled, releasing the grip on his brother’s arm and tumbled to the ground, just in time for the helo to crash hard. He ran back to the smoking wreckage. “Tequila! Fish!” Benny bellowed as he dodged shrapnel from the crash.

Dani groaned as she moved from where she landed on top of Santi. “You okay, cariño?” He asked her, and she remembered that Benny fell out of the fucking helo. “Benny?!” She yelled into Santi’s face, scrambling to get up.

She stumbled up to the front, where Fish and Redfly were crawling through the busted windshield. “Benny?!” She called again. He kneeled down into view, reaching for her.

“I’m good, Tequila. I’m good. Come on, I gotcha.” He said as he helped her through the broken plexiglass. She crawled out, trying to make sure no one had any lethal injuries.

“Oh, Fish.” She whispered, looking at the nasty gash on his face. She pulled some gauze out of her vest pocket and tried to clean it, but he pulled away.

“I’m okay, Tequila. Tom, they’re getting into the fucking net.” Frankie yelled over her, pointing to the villagers.

Climbing out of the overturned helo, Santiago looked over at Dani who was next to Frankie. Pushing down the bubbling jealousy, Pope asked, “What’s the plan here?”

“Benny cover us from under that treeline there, to the right. Frankie, you and Tequila take the left, while Pope and I go look as peaceful as we can.” Tom paused, “That’s cocaine they’re growing, so they probably already have weapons trained on us.” Pope was apprehensive about Dani leaving his side, but he knew she’d be safe with Fish.

“Comms are dead, so we use hand signals.” Pope informed the group before he stepped between Dani and Frankie. He caressed her face before placing a kiss to her lips. He didn't know what had possessed him to do it. They were in the middle of a cocaine field, and they just survived a helicopter crash.

“Be safe.” She whispered where only he could hear. Tom called him away and Frankie grabbed her arm, pulling her in the opposite direction.

Frankie and Dani moved into position on the left hill. She raised her rifle, peering through the scope. “Hey, put the gun down.” Fish told her, “You don’t need to do this.”

She scoffed at his words. “If it comes down to you guys or these people, I will choose you guys, no questions asked.” She trained her eyes back to the field. This wasn’t the same girl Frankie met almost five years ago. She was different, harder. Like the time she spent here changed her. Pope had changed her.

They watched as Tom and Santiago tried to reason with the Farmers. Dani could see through her scope that Santi tried to keep his hands up, away from his weapon; Whereas, Tom’s flitted above the hand gun the whole time.”Frankie.” Dani whispered, “What is that?” She asked him, seeing that one of the farmers looked like they were going to draw a weapon. All she could think about was Santi.

He hated being so far away, even through the scope, Frankie couldn’t get a good look at what was going on down in the valley. “Pope, is that a weapon?” Frankie spoke into the dead comm. Dani moved his hand off the button and shook her head. “Fuck!” Fish yelled, as shots were fired by Tom. He let off one shot before they moved down to the rest of the group.

Dani all but ran down the hillside. “Santi!” She called out for him, seeing him just beyond the bodies. He turned when he heard her voice. “Santi!” She collided with him. “You fucking scared me.” Dani's voice cracked a little. He didn’t speak, he just lifted his eyes to her. She could see the regret, the pain. Santi didn’t shoot, that much she knew.

Was it an avoidable blood bath? Probably not. Who knows though. What they did know, was that Tom fucked up. Santiago sat down with the village leader and was able to pay the ‘debt’ owed and acquire some mules to help carry the bags. Dani knew though, all the money in the world couldn’t replace the men, the family, that those people lost. As they moved away from the small village, Dani took one last look back. Her eyes connected with a young man for a split second before turning around and walking on.

Trudging through the woods was what they wanted to steer clear of, for Will’s sake, but here they were. The six of them led the mules down a beaten path. All of them stuck in their own heads until Will addressed Tom. He asked about the payment for the damage they had caused. Once Tom answered, Will stopped, turning to the man. “Which one of you shot first?”

Tom looked at his former teammate. “I don’t know.” The lie slid off his tongue easily. Dani watched from behind Santiago. Will rolled his eyes, not buying Tom’s shit.

“We need to watch ourselves here.” Will told him, before turning around, leading his mule on. Santiago nodded his head, agreeing out loud with Will’s statement.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Tom growled at Santi.

“Nothing. We just have to watch ourselves, that’s all.” Santiago responded, not wanting to stoke anymore fires. They had to get through the fucking forrest. And it t was fucking raining, again. They found a rock formation to hold up under to try and wait it out.

“How far have we gone?” Benny asked Santiago as he looked at their map.

“About twelve clicks. And it’s another day and a half to the boat.” Santi responded, putting the map away.

“How are you holding up, princess?” Tom asked, condescendingly. Dani had been quiet since the farm incident. The other guys shot Tom a look and he just shrugged.

“I’m fine, jackass.” She mumbled, turning away from him, wrapping her raincoat tighter around her.

“You shouldn’t have come out here.” Tom scoffed, shaking his head.

“I’m starting to see why Molly divorced your miserable ass.” She gritted through her chattering teeth.

“The fuck did you just say? You want to get personal?” Tom shot back, “Does Pope know you’re knocked up?” Dani stopped breathing, eyes going wide. She could feel Santi’s eyes burning into the back of her skull. “Oh, yeah. I figured that out in the helo. That’s why she looked like a sad puppy while your informant girl was around. Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s not yours. Could be Frankie’s.” He crossed his arms, and sat back against the rock. Clearly, he was proud of himself.

“You don’t know what the fuck you are talking about Tom. So, shut the fuck up, before I make you.” She stood up and whipped around to face him, ready to throw punches.

Frankie was the one that pulled her back. Tom laughed at this. “God, how is it that you leave the man when he needed you most, running off with his best friend nonetheless, and he is still wrapped around your goddamn finger.”

Dani shrugged out of Frankie’s hold and stormed away into the rain. Shit, she wasn’t pregnant. She had confirmed before they left for the recce. She never would have come out here if she thought she were. She didn’t know how long she stood in the rain before someone touched her shoulder. It was Frankie.

“Teq.” He started, but she cut him off. “Frankie, I’m not. I wouldn’t have-- I wouldn’t be here if I even thought for a second I could be. ” she sobbed. How could Tom just drop a bomb like that.

“está bien, cariño, está bien.” He whispered as he pulled her in for a hug, as her tears mixed with the rain drops on his shirt. “I think you need to talk to Santi.” He mumbled into her hair and she nodded. He walked her over to where Santiago was sitting alone. He looked up when he saw the two coming toward him. Frankie nudged Dani and she moved to sit next to him.

“Were you going to tell me?” He whispered, looking at the ground.

“If there was something to tell, yes. The test I took before we left was negative, I promise.” She tried to explain herself. Santi looked up at her.

“Why would you even come out here?” He mumbled, his eyes falling to her shoulder injury. “Fuck, you got shot, and you were in a helo crash.” Santiago caressed her face, moving his other hand down to her shoulder. “Lo siento, hermosa. I’m going to get you home safe.” He promised her, placing a soft kiss to her lips.

Frankie watched as Santi pulled Dani in for a hug, trying to push down the jealousy stirring in his gut. He had his daughter he needed to get back to, that’s what he needed to focus on. Dani lifted her head from Santi’s shoulder, her eyes meeting Frankie’s. What was she going to do?

Translations:

Hermano: Brother

cabrón: Bastard

Hermosa: Beautiful

está bien: It's okay

cariño: Sweetheart

Lo Siento: I'm sorry

Tags: @mylifeisactuallyamess @danniburgh @speakerforthedead0 @221bshrlocked

[lost-in-the-80s]

Bloodletting part II - Prologue

Words: 1,820k

Summary: Guns n Roses are already known for being dangerous, but how dangerous would they be if they were vampires? Would it be a wiseful decision to fall for one of them?

A/N: Next week the x reader part will start! I’m making a playlist inspired by this (sorry, I just couldn’t hold myself sjdhs). I’ll be posting one part every Tuesday. Also, from now and on, tag list will be at the end of the fic :)

Some initial information: this series will take place in 2020, but without the pandemic. If you already read part 1 (which was posted last year) please ignore any pairs that the boys have had (Slash’s case), here they are all single.

Moodboards | Part I | Part III

Los Angeles, 2016.

“What the fuck died in here?” Izzy asked as he entered Axl’s victorian house in Los Angeles.

It was night outside and all the curtains were closed, putting the entire house in complete darkness. If Izzy wasn’t a vampire, he surely wouldn’t be able to see anything.

The smell of blood and something decomposing had caught his nostrils as soon as he opened the door, making him cover his nose with his hand.

“I did.” Axl’s hoarse voice came from upstairs, he wasn’t yelling, he knew his friend could hear even his breath from the floor below.

Izzy rolled his eyes, starting to climb the stairs. “Yeah, but it was almost a thousand years ago.”

Reaching the second floor, Axl was sitting on the floor, a bottle of Scotch Whisky in his hands as his shirtless figure looked at his friend.

“Shit, when was the last time you took shower?” Izzy wrinkled his nose in disgust.

The redhead shrugged. “Am fuckin tired, Iz.”

“Don’t tell me you’re in that I Hate Myself phase again.” The brunette started walking through the corridors, going in the direction of the decomposing smell that had gotten stronger.

“I fucking do! I hate what I am.”

“It’s useless to hate yourself, we already talked about it.” He stopped in front of a door, the smell was definitely coming from behind it.

“And what am I supposed to do, Isbell?”

Izzy opened the door, covering his nose one more time when he saw the dead body of a girl inside, she didn’t look older than 25 and was dead for at least a couple of hours now. A human would never be able to smell her though.

“Axl, if I know you well, and I like to think I do, this happens every time you’re alone.”

“I’m always alone, Isbell.”

“I told you to go to New York with me last year.” He closed the door, moving closer to the redhead.

“I’m not going to fucking New York.”

“And what are you going to do then? Kill yourself? You know that it’s impossible.”

“Believe me, I know.”

Izzy frowned, squatting down in front of him, a circular bruise on his chest indicated that he had shot himself there, not so long ago.

He shook his head. “When did you do it?”

“Last night.”

“How did it feel?”

“I passed out. Woke up a few minutes later and it fucking hurt, I had to take the fucking bullet out of it. Wasn’t nice.”

“At least it’s almost healed.”

“I’m fucking tired of not feeling anything. Not even this fucking whisky can make me drunk anymore.” He threw the bottle on the other side of the corridor, its glass hitting the wall and breaking in many pieces.

Izzy rubbed his forehead. “That’s it! Pack your stuff, you’re going to New York with me.”

“I’m not fucking daeing that.” He got up, entering his office and getting a cigarette in his wooden box.

“You’re becoming reckless. There’s a body in your house and at some point, someone will miss the girl. It’s not 1720 anymore, they have cameras everywhere now, it’s a matter of days until they find you.”

Axl looked at him, but didn’t say anything.

Izzy removed his blazer, placing it on a chair in front of the desk and removing his tie. “I’m gonna take care of the body, be ready when I’m back.”

---

The flight to New York was quiet, Axl was too proud to thank his friend for helping him and Izzy was in his own world, enjoying the silence in the first class while drinking some gin.

Arriving in the city around midday, they were quite a sight. Izzy in a suit with a long and expensive grey coat over it, matched with his black sunglasses and grey-black hat, while Axl wore a pair of black ripped jeans and a leather jacket, also wearing black sunglasses.

It was winter in New York, as they walked towards the uber who would drive them to Izzy’s new house in the city. A three-floor gothic construction from the XIX century, which he had sent some pictures to Axl via letters, since Axl refused to have a cell phone.

“What the fuck are you doing in New York after all?”

“Business, Axl.”

He knew that Izzy had business in many places, he always knew what to do with his money, no wonders why he was the richest vampire he knew. But the fact that Izzy changed Amsterdam for New York was still something he couldn’t justify.

“And why moving here?”

“There are some cool people around.”

“Since when dae ya care about who’s around?”

“I do feel lonely sometimes too, Axl.”

And then silence was spread in the car again.

After almost an hour, they stopped in front of a huge house, its walls were in exposed brick and the garden in front had some trees that had lost their leaves with the cold weather.

Exiting the car, Izzy stopped on the sidewalk, getting a cigarette from his pack and offering one to Axl, which he silently thanked. He lighted both cigarettes before speaking up:

“There will be some people inside, I want you to be cordial to them.”

Axl scoffed. “And since when ah umnae cordial?” He passed through Izzy, stopping in front of the front door while waiting for the brunette.

Izzy rolled his eyes, but opened the door. The house was in the same way as when he left, the smell of old books and wooden, mixed with a little alcoholic scent, along with a small hint of blood coming from the freezers in the basement.

“Hello, Izzy.” A blonde guy, smaller than them, approached the two of them, he was coming from the kitchen and there was a huge smile on his face. “You must be Axl.”

Axl looked him up and down, scanning his figure. He wore blue jeans and a red bomber jacket.

He can’t be older than 20, Axl thought to himself.

“Ya, I am.” He passed through the blonde, looking at every piece of the house. “Where’s my room, Izzy?”

“Hello, Steven.” Izzy chose to ignore the redhead, moving towards the fireplace room.

“How was your trip?”

“It was good, Steven. Thanks for asking.”

“Is he English like you and Slash? He sounds different.”

Axl averted his eyes to the blonde, with a mortal glare. “Ah umnae fucking English. I’m Scottish!”

“Oh, sorry! Well, but you are all British, so it’s almost the same thing right?” He smiled, trying to start a conversation.

“Izzy, what is this bampot talking about?” Axl started to move towards Steven, but Izzy stopped him.

“Control yourself.” He gave Axl a stern look before taking a long breath.

“You must be Axl. Nice jacket.” Another blonde showed up, he had a pack of chips in his hands and he entered the room. He was taller than the rest of them and looked like he was 21 or 22. He wore black jeans and a denim jacket on top of a grey sweater.

“Yeah.”

“I’m Duff.” He pointed to himself before throwing himself on the couch.

“The guy in the library is Slash, he’s English too.” Izzy pointed towards the library, to which Axl only nodded in understanding. “Come, I’ll show you your room.”

Picking up his suitcase, Axl followed him up the stairs, lots of old pictures of Izzy and his friends were on display on the wall, and Axl almost smiled when he saw a picture of the two of them together.

Izzy stopped at the end of the corridor, opening a door on his right side. Inside the room, the walls were in a cream color and the furniture, the floor was in the darkest shade of wood Izzy could’ve found. There was a huge bed with white sheets and a white big bathroom, with a big mirror inside. The room’s windows gave Axl a view of the front yard and the street.

“Good enough for you?” Izzy asked.

“Ya.” He placed his suitcase on the floor and sat at the edge of the bed, watching as Izzy sat on the white armchair in front of the windows.

“Why did you go after me, Iz?”

Izzy took a deep breath, inhaling the last of his smoke. “I had a dream.” He exhaled the smoke. “You were in a lake and you were drowning, and you didn’t seem to make a move to get out of there.” He paused for a second. “I thought something was wrong with you.”

Axl nodded, staying in silence for a while before speaking up again. “And who are these people?”

“I met Slash on the plane to here, we were sitting next to each other, and we obviously knew what we were. He turned out to be a nice guy, but he had nowhere to stay here, I told him he could stay with me for a while.”

“And what about the other two?”

“Duff’s the owner of a bar, not too far from here, he’s cool, introduced me to some nice music. He used to live in the apartment on top of it, but it needed some reforms, and he’s staying here ever since the reform started.”

“And when will the reform be over?”

“They finished it about 3 months ago.”

“Why is he still here then?”

“Because we’re friends, just like Steven, who’s a friend of Duff’s, he was here all the time, and then I simply decided to tell him to stay permanently.”

“Since when do you care about friends?”

“I know that you’re in a terrible mood, and that the idea of living with other people is strange for you after so many years living alone. But the thing is: we all want the same thing Axl.”

“And what’s that?”

“A family.”

Axl stared into his eyes.

“It’s the only thing we can’t have, and even though we are very different, we are a family, or a clan, or whatever. We miss having people who care for us around, and we miss the feeling of belonging to something. You’ll understand it, not today, but you will some time, and then you’ll be thankful for having these people around you.”

Izzy got up, leaving the room and closing the door behind him, leaving Axl to think about his words.

---

Turns out that Izzy was right. In the first weeks, Axl would stay on his own, only joining during their daily meal and not saying a word. But after a while, he started to loosen up. He and Duff got really along, and he made Axl see the good part of Steven's and Slash’s personality.

And now, after four years living together and being this so-called clan, they learned how to coexist with each other and ended up becoming close friends, or even brothers, Steven dared to say. And in their own weird way, they became a family.

Tag list: @roger-taylors-car @ladieswttda @teasid @metalheartofgold @slashscowboyboots @ginny-rose-sixx @rumoured-whispers @bigdaddylars @dynamitebabe @tuffduff @mitchgrassified @gamsbeans @hooloovooblue @normatural @axlsbabygirl @mudkicker @dazeduchess @izzysjujuhounds @pinkpatiencecreepers @smokeandmirrorz

Add yourself to my tag list :)

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

CALI COAST.

Filip “Chibs” Telford x Reader

Anon asked: Hiya, love your writing!! I’d like to request a chibs Imagine about a him falling for a female mechanic at TM. Thank you 😊

Word Count: 3.6k

Thanks to my lovely beta reader @chibsytelford 💘

Author comments: I hope you all enjoy. Gif credits to the author.

Tag list: @starrynite7114 ​ @chibsytelford ​ @dazzledamazon ​ @mara-mpou ​ @sammskellington ​ @gemini0410 ​ @1-800-imagines ​ @briana-mishell24 ​ @sassymox @whyisgmora @aquamento @sadeyesgf @viviansafizada ✨ (if you wanna be tagged, send me a message!)

Driving the car crane, carrying a blue sedan that you were trying to seize for three days, but the owner was such a dickhead till he finally pissed you off and you had to point him with a gun. Tig told you to do it, even if you've never fired one. His face was worth the risk of being reprimanded by Hale. Danny claps at you, when getting off of the crane, you point your new acquisition with both hands and a huge smile on the corner of your lips.

“Tada!” You say with a melodic voice, jumping one time.

“Good job, rookie”. He says urging you to high-five, giving you the ‘seized’ sticker. 

Very proud of your work, you take it to stick it on the front glass, crossing your arms after it to admire your piece of art.

“Ok, let's pull down this big guy”. Danny palms your back, ready to drop the tow and park the car with the rest.

“Ya’, man, who's that lass?” Chibs steps slow down, some meters away from you, hitting Tig's chest with his palm, actually hurting him.

“What the fuck?!” He yells rubbing himself over the kutt.

“She's (Y/N), the new Teller-Morrow mechanic”. Happy comes from nowhere, scaring both men, with no gesture in his face. “She's like a Pop Tart. Sweet and crunchy”.

“Did you already fuck her?” Tig sighs staring at him.

“No”.

“Then, how 'you know she's crunchy?”

“She broke Juice's nose yesterday”.

The men break in laughter, now understanding why his face looks like shit.

“Wha' happened?” Chibs tries to talk, starting to cough because of the loud laughs.

“She just got scared, 'cause he was behind her in silence”. Happy turns at them, narrowing on of his shoulder, making a move with his head to follow him.

The SOA president has been out of Charming for two weeks, taking care of the gun's business at southern Cali. For you, he was just traveling. The guys talked about him a lot in his absence of the club and you were pretty excited to meet him. At least, he's also your boss. So, when Tig shouts your new nickname making you turn, you go immediately with the same smile on your face.

“What's'ap, boss?” You say placing your hands behind your back, covered by the green jumpsuit of the workshop.

“The president”. He says pushing the man into you, with a singsong voice, making the scottish clicks his tongue.

“Just Chibs”. He adds, offering you a hand in somewhat formal greeting.

“Finally!” You say excited narrowing it, actually feeling a little nervous. “I'm (Y/N), but they call me ‘rookie’”.

“Rooke'”?

“Yeah, like a prospect for the club”. You explain then, getting back your hand with the own other.

“And she likes whisky”. Happy puts a forearm on one of the president's shoulder, taking off the toothbrush of his lips. 

“Really? Ya' wan' one? So ya' can tell me where did ya' come from”. The man offers then, turning an arm to the club entrance, and you obviously can't say ‘no’ even if it's ten am and you just finished the first coffee of the day. You nod in silence. 

Tig and Happy continue their way to the workshop, whilst you're walking by the scottish side with the nerves running through your whole anatomy. Everybody knows the Sons of Anarchy, everybody knows what they do even if they didn't see it. You know you don't have to be afraid, nor scared, but you can't help feeling it anyway. In a gentle gesture, the president holds the door for you, smiling slightly coming in. The club is empty, not even music is being played and it's kinda strange. Maybe they prepared before this meeting, so no one could bother you. 

Even if you have been working for the last two weeks, if Filip decides to fire you 'cause you're not what he was looking for Teller-Morrow, he can do it without needing the support of anyone. You like your job and they pay you quite well, having a very flexible schedule, and treating you like another one of the family. So losing it, it's not an option.

You can see the man turning around towards the bar, grabbing two glasses to serve a whisky from an old bottle. You can recognize it. An special edition of Blue Label of Johnnie Walker. You have never tasted before, but you heard about it. Honey and vanilla are the first nuances you can taste having a sip. Chibs is staring at you with a raised eyebrow, waiting for an opinion. Snapping 

“It's sweet, but bitter because of the citrics”.

“Dammet', lass!” He yells excited, hitting the bar, provoking you a chill. “Its true ya' like wheske'”.

“Yea', I... do”. You nod with pursed lips, seeing him walk towards the sofa.

Sitting there, you doubt for a second carrying a chair next to him and leaving your drink on the table, looking around for a second expecting what he wants to know.

“So tel'me. Where 'ya from, where ya' worken'... All thes' thengs'”. Chibs finally says, placing his whisky above the table, leaning towards you with his forearm supported on his lap.

“I'm from Los Angeles, my father had a workshop too, so it's family business”. You explain yourself, not sure what more you can say about your life. “When he died thr—”.

“'Am sorre'bout that”. The president holds your right hand for a while, narrowing it.

“Yea', life's things, I guess”. His touch is firm, looking at both hands sideway, before continue. “Well, ah... It was three years ago. He left me the workshop, but I was alone and I couldn't do it without help, so I had to sell it. I was working with my uncle, till I decided to move on. And... a friend told me about yours and I said... Why not? So, here I am”.

“Hm...” Chibs nods thoughtful resting his back on the sofa, moving his gaze from one side to another in nowhere.

“Listen, ah... I know it took me three days to seize that sedan, and I have no excuses, but I really like this job. I mean, work here”. You look desperate licking your lips and gesticulating more than necessary, not trying to give pity, but asking for another chance.

“Relax, rooke', I'm not gonna keck'yar ass”. His loud laughter, shaking his chin, infects you chuckling. Not sure if because you want, or because you're doing it to please him. “The bike in the backyard, is yars'?”

“It was my father's. He used to run Cali with it, till he couldn't do it anymore. But it's not working. I have to fix it”.

“You wan'me to help ye'?”

The question takes you by surprise, twisting your neck as a dog would do when he's confused. Until now, you have been doing it by yourself, even though you can take her to a workshop and not worry about it. But someone offering himself to help you it's something new. Not actually ‘someone’, but the Sons of Anarchy president. And your boss.

“Yes, yes... I mean, sure. If you have time”.

“Aye! 'Course, lass. Wha' ya' have is a fuckin' gem! Wha'bout tonigh'?”

You don't say anything, but it sounds like a date. And it doesn't surprised you by the way he had to greeting you, when you two met minutes ago. His fingers were a little shaky and you can swear that even his hand was somewhat sweaty. Finally, you nod before he could start to think that you're kinda dumb, having a sip of your whiskey.

“Ya ken'? I had one simila' when I was younga'”. He comments, seeming like the man wants to continue your talk, but doesn't knows how to do it. “I toured Scotlan' whet'et'”.

“I've never been there, but I saw it in photographs. It's an amazing country”. 

“Aye! Et'e—

Some yells outside call your attention, and you recognize the voice by heart, 'cause you have been hearing it for the last three days. Rolling your eyes and getting up, down by the scottish's gaze following you, you walk towards the workshop with a serious gesture on your face and your arms crossed above your chest. The sedan' owner is there, with Hale by his side. You're fucked. 

“She was! She was!” The blonde man is pointing at you accusatory, seeing how the sheriff rubs his eyes. “That bitch pointed me with a gun!”

“Did you?” Hale asks you with a hand resting in the butt of his own gun, hanging from his belt, and the other hanging by a side of his body.

“No, sir. I did—”.

“You, fucking liar!” The man practically jumps to you, being blocked by the SOA president, hitting him straight to his face.

Everything goes so fast that you can't even react. But the scottish is putting you behind his body, after punch the sedan' owner, with a hand thrown back slightly touching your abdomen. Hale is handcuffing him, growling and cursing at you lying on the ground by the sheriff.

“If you say anything else, I'm gonna accuse you of obstruction, do you hear me?” The cop says putting him down, starting to walk next to the car so his co-worker can sit him inside the car. “Do you want to file a complaint?”

This time is coming back towards you, with a sigh on his lips rolling his eyes. You shake your head, hiding out from Chib's back, frowning at the blonde man.

“Don' worry, sir, it's ok”. You say then.

“Tel'im fi' me that he won't get his car back”.

And without saying anything else, he turns at you placing an arm on your shoulders to urge you start to walking back to the workshop.

┅┅ ┅ ┅ ┅┅

When your turn is already finish, you drive back home the enough time to have a shower and changing your clothes for something more comfy taking into account the plan you are going to have. You're also trying to not think that it's a date, even if it was like it sounded. And you can't help but feeling nervous parking by a side of the yard, frowning missed when you notice the fact that there's only a bike. So, your suspicions get confirmed. Actually it's not something that bothers you, after all you've heard about him. Loyalty, strength, sincerity, self-confidence, kind and polite. And an accent pretty funny. So, why not? 

“Wha' ya' thenken'?” Chibs comes from nowhere, scaring you and making you scream. 

The man starts to laugh loud, while your face becomes rude with pursed lips and a hand on your chest trying to calm your heart beat.

“Jesus Christ...”

“Dammet, rooke', it's true ya're ease' to scare!” You sigh rolling your eyes because of his words. “Com'ere, I've alrede' brought yar' bike”.

“DaMmEt, RoOkE”. You joke on him with a high-pitched tone, whilst he's laughing louder.

“Ya' amaze me, lassie. Dinnae' know you talk scottesh'”.

“What the...?” You find yourself laughing too in a relaxed way after a long time, shaking your head with a sigh, going to the workshop illuminated by some lights.

Turning over your steps you notice that the place is practically empty, guessing that Juice took off all the cars by Chibs' petition, playing fool when you find with your gaze two cardboard boxes from your favorite burger joint. Hiding your curiosity and moving your feet next to the old Harley Davidson, you let your fingers travel over the metallic handlebar. Memories crowd your head, one on top of the other, until you collapse. You still haven't driven it, because your father kept it for almost eight years on his garage, till he left. And it doesn't need a lot of fixes, but you haven't been able to get started before. You couldn't, 'cause it's the only thing you have of him.

“When was the... fers' time ya' ride't?”

Turning to the man, finding him supporting his back against the wall with a big cup of coke in his left hand, sipping from the straw. You shrugs your shoulders, taking the other drink to imitate him with your gaze on the matt black motorbike.

“I didn', yet. Alone, I mean... But by my father's back”. You say almost in a whisper. “I was five years old. We toured Cali coast”.

“Cali coast amaze me, et's a good ferst' ride”. He says then, after some seconds in silence. “Ded'ya by night?”

“Dawn, actually”. You answer with a goofy smile on your lips and your eyes on the drink between your hands, playing with the straw. “I... remember that... my father came to my room, to wake me up saying ‘let's go, bunny, adventure time’! He was very excited”.

It's the first time in years that you're talking about him and Chibs looks pretty curious about it, but you're trying not to break your voice. Smiling sideways, you stare at the scottish man, shrugging your shoulders again, not knowing how continue.

“Why ‘bunny’?”

“I like velocity”.

“Oh, realle'? Wha' bike ded'ya have before et'?”

Your cheeks turning red and your lips pursuing second by second, containing a laugh, makes him raises both eyebrows with curiosity.

“A Vespa...?” You mutters biting the straw, while Chibs laughs again. You're starting to love his laugh, no regrets. “Ah, ah, but...! I have a Mustang, so, boom!”

Your left hand imitates the typical gesture of dropping a mic, getting up from the wall to walk towards the food with innocent air, opening one of the bags with your forefinger and having a quickly look.

“Ya'hungre?” He asks then, following your steps to grab boths bags, twisting his neck in a soft gesture to tell you without words about to have a seat.

So you do, on one of the cair placed on the front yard, next to a corner.

“So, what et' needs?”

“Brakes. I need to change them. Now it has ones that are obsolete and I was thinking to put an ABS”. Leaving your drink between your feet, you take the burger Chibs is offering you to unwrap it on your lap.

“Sounds good. Do ya' have them?”

“Yea', I bought them in LA. And I think could be good change the tires, the oil and the handlebar grips, they're a little worn”.

“Tha's'ease fo' ya'”.

“Yeah, but... I didn't want to fix it, actually?”

“Why?”

“I'm scared to have an accident or something, and destroy it. I don' have anything of my father, but his bike”. Having a bite with your gaze on him, you cover your mouth to keep talking. “So, I just... was telling... myself that I didn't have time... to fix it”.

“But we're gonna do 'et!” Chibs exclaim excitedly, opening his arms for a second and holding the burger and the beer in each hand. “I know yar' father prefers to fac'ap his bike, than keep'et in a garage with dust on 'et”.

“Yea', I think so...”.

━━━━━━ ﹅ ━━━━━━

First, knocks on your door. Then your bell ringing. Palming the mattress till you find your phone to watch the clock, you read all the notifications in the locked screen. There are almost eleven lost calls from Chibs and a lot of messages. And it in silence. You practically jump off of your bed, running as never before to the main door, opening it.

“Finally! Jesus Christ, I thought ya' were dead!” 

“What happened? It's everything ok? Sorry, I just fell asleep an—”. You're talking so fast that your tongue ends up making a mess.

Chibs enraptured looking at you from top to down with a goofy smile on his lips, very interested in the Black Sabbath' shirt you're wearing. Clearing his throat, while your gaze travels to the dark van parked in front of your house. Tig and Juice are taking off of it your motorbike. Pushing him away from you, with your left hand on his chest, you take some steps barefoot above the cesped. You're face shows surprise and confusion, believing for a while that you're dreaming or something like that. 

One of his hands wrap your left wrist, urging you to look at him. You're legs shaking for a second. 

“Ya're prette' with messy hair and tha' shirt, but I wanna ride with ya'”. He says then, trying to hide his excitement.

And you want to hide yours, but you can't. You hug him, but not with a normal one. You're rousing and thankful, surrounding his neck with yours arms leaning on your toes. You know he wasn't expecting by the “oh” he mutters kinda surprised, taking some seconds till he finally is able to wrap your back and your waist pushing you closer into him, resting his forehead on your shoulder. Then, Chibs understands why Happy said like you're like a Pop Tart. He knows it tooks you just one second to make him fall in love with you and that the fact of worrying about your favorite take away restaurant, it wasn't only 'cause you're ‘the rookie’. 

The scottish have a deep breathe from your hair, starting to wish he hadn't, because he's falling a little more. And he can't watch his mouth.

“Ya' smell really good”. He tells you with a husky tone on his voice that bristles the skin of your arms.

“Honey and vanilla”. You mutter with pursed lips, before the man making you a gesture to come in your house.

You nod in a hurry, running back to your room looking for the perfect clothes to drive. A comfy pair of jeans, a vaporous shirt, your boots and a leather jacket. Keeping your principal stuff in a bag and grabbing your helmet, you walk towards the main door sooner as you can. The van isn't there anymore but your bike and Chib's one, close to yours, are parked on the sidewalk. He's already waiting sitting on his, turning on the engine when you're wearing the black helmet before keep the bag under the seat, the scottish stares at you with a hug smile and a dearly gesture on his face.

It has been eight years since you heard your father's Harley roaring, and feeling how your body vibrates on it it's simply amazing. You can't even describe how you feel right now, looking at Chibs with that gesture mixing incredulity and surprise. Pressing the brake, but also the gas, the back wheel squeaks without caring if you wake up your neighbors. 

“Let's go, lass!” 

You release the brake, letting your motorbike rolls above the road with a hoarse growl flying off from the engine, being followed by the scottish. He didn't tell you where you're going, but after five days talking about your childhood in Cali, it's pretty clear that he wants to ride the coast with you after seeing the emotions that provokes you the memories doing it with your father. You know well he wants to be part of it, part of your routine and part of your life. And you're letting him come in 'cause, why not?

You know the road by heart, touring it with the fresh dawn's air hitting your face, till it turns with a salty smell after some hours driving in silence, enjoying the landscape views. You're closer to the ocean and you can feel it inside your lungs, closing your eyes for second. Time enough to make you fly back to your childhood. The sound of the engine, the seagull, the waves breaking. Everything is the same as you remember. But you're not a child anymore, you're ridding California with Filip Telford by your side, who can say that? Only you. And it's not because who he is, but because of who you want him to be for you.

It's sunrising. In the horizon, the sky is mixed with blue, orange and soft pink. It's your favorite part of the day, but now it's different. You're /living/ it, breathing it, enjoying it totally relaxed as never before, with Chibs' eyes on you for a ephemeral instant, fully spellbound. And that's what makes it special this time.

“Don'ya thenk' it's time fo' a coffee?” He asks loud enough for you to hear him. You nod laughing, 'cause you really need it after sleeping for just four hours.

Some mills away, you finally stop in a rest area on top of a small cliff. Taking off your helmet, you walk towards the wooden railings looking down. You're too close of the sea that almost some salty drops splash your face interspersed with the sea breeze. You couldn't get tired of a place like that. The smell of hot coffee pushes you into reality, turning to Chibs so you can hold the metallic mug.

“Maybe I put some Cardhu in'et”.

“Maybe?” You break in laugh, leaning your nose over it.

“When I say ‘maybe’, et's because I alrede' ded'et”.

“So... the other night, at the workshop, maybe it was a date?”

“Maybe”. He nods, blowing his drink, before taking a drink. “Maybe that's the second one”.

“Maybe you already won me, fixing my bike and bringing me here”. Giving him your most smooth smile, you drink too, turning to the ocean while he puts an arm on your shoulders letting you rest your cheek on his. “Maybe you put a lot of Cardhu”.

“Yea', maybe”. 

[emilycollins00]

Muku + Azami headcanons

For lovely @skateboarding-poet!

It’s my first time writing a rareship but I had so much fun! These two are just so precious, I love them to pieces. Please enjoy! 💕

This ship is basically nonchalantic innocence meets bubbly dreamland and is gorgeous.

Azami might not get why Muku likes reading shojo so much, but while he can feel he’s going to hell just from hearing all the indecent things his boyfriend has read... he won’t judge too much overall.

Muku likes them and they are important to him, so now they are important to Azami too within certains limits of course

Others are not extended the same courtesy though, a.k.a Sakyo

Both of his personalities are pretty calm and chill so whenever they go on dates it’s all about walking around Veludo to shop for make-up and books, visiting animal cafes or just staying at the dorm in each other’s rooms.

Muku adores listening to Azami’s voice. He also discovers Azami tends to hum whenever he’s in a good mood so the summer troupe member will usually peak over the manga he’s reading, his heart skipping a beat at the soft sounds.

I also feel like Azami is not really one to expect praises out of nowhere, so when Muku starts compliment him -as the ball of sunshine he is with no filter whatsoever-.

“...Need something?”

“Oh,no! I was just thinking I really love your eyes Azami-kun, they are  beautiful!”

Azami can never anticipate those and becomes an absolute mess.

On a similar note I don’t think Azami is a looks person as much as he is a personality person, but he can’t deny just how pretty Muku is?? 

Everyone in Mankai can see his eyes softening while unconciously staring at the pink-haired helping Izumi with the dishes or laughing at Misumi’s antics and it’s so blatantly clear how in love he is.

Kisses are too much for Azami’s heart at the beginning of their relationship though, maybe a peck on the cheeks in private but he’s NOT a pervert okay??

The first time Muku ever reached out to held Azami’s hand, boy swore his heart stopped.

“Wha-! A-at least wait until we are married dammit!”

“R-right, I’m sorry! I just thought that- um, your hands always look so soft b-but of course my hands are sweaty and they-”

Before he finishes, a pinkie intertwines with his. Muku has never seen the boy’s ears in such a red color “Azami-kun?”

“Just don’t look at me, okay?. God this is so...”

After the initial shock, Muku squeezes back giggling. 

Later that night, both are still glancing at their own pinkies in their respective rooms and im soft about it.

Of course the whole yakuza family knows Muku by now wouldn’t expect less and you better believe that boy will be protected for life. The Sakisaka’s also adore Azami who brings them the best skin products choosen with the utmost care.

Muku asking opinion to Azuma, Yuki and Sakoda gift ideas for Azami for being always so attentive but he’s so lost.

CDs?? Make up? ah, but make up is expensive, and what if he already has them or worst what if he hates them or-

In the end he makes wool felt dolls of them with Omi’s help. 

“A-as I thought it’s really childish, right? I’m sorry I should have just-!”

“Are they for me”

“Uh?”

“The dolls” Azami takes the one that looks like Muku and glances at the young boy.

“Oh! um- yeah!”

The dolls are now sitting next to each other in his desk and NO ONE is allowed to touch them.

Anyway, Muku going starry-eyed whenever he sees Azami’s skills in action.

Also, whenever Azami gets injured or he just genuinely feels tired from rehearsals, Muku takes his hand unconsciously and places a kiss on it and Azami becomes a blushing mess right away.

But in general Muku knows just how reserved Azami is in the romantic aspect and won’t push him out of his comfort zone until he’s comfortable.

Still, Azami will be more likely to show PDA if he senses Muku needs a comforting presence, tiny kisses in his forehead are a must.

All in all it’s a quiet and slow love, but neither of them would change it for anything.

Extra!

Azami had never been good at showing his feelings, or at least that’s what he heard from others since he was young- deadpan face was it?- he didn’t remember much.

Reality though was quite the opposite. He always seemed to feel too much, respond too quick in waves of emotions. His determination and strong fuse if pressed wrongly often gave him troubles so he opted to lay low, or at least, that was before he entered Mankai.

And then- god, then there was Muku, who had amplified those feelings beyond what he thought it was possible.

Much to Azami’s own surprise due to their evident views on love and its approach, the pink-haired boy had become someone who was eager to learn everything about him, who accepted both the good and the bad. Someone who accepted his passion and pride.

“Azami-kun, you are amazing!”

Of course he had fallen in love.

                                                             .                                                           .

It was a fuzzy feeling whenever lights were out for the day and Azami still got messages from the young summer member, even if they had said their goodbyes half an hour ago before heading to their respectives rooms. It was the Muku who started them most of the time, usually to rant on him about the last story he was reading in a failed attempt to warm Azami up towards that hell of a perverted genre, but he would lie if he said he hadn’t gotten used to them.

His phone vibrates, a light signaling a new message once again.

What do you think, won’t you consider it? It’s one of the best I’ve read!

Azami rolls his eyes, but there’s a fond smile on his face. His thumb scrolls down softly over the five continuous paragraphs -new record, he also noticed- that consisted the review of Muku’s manga before texting back.

Already told you. Just find me one where there’s no kissing, holding hands or any of that perverted stuff you and that shitty old man enjoy and then I’ll read it.

He could practically visualize the pout forming on Muku’s face as he read his response.

But that kind of shojo manga isn’t romantic at all!

He chuckles. Being in a relationship before marriage was something he had swore wouldn’t happen to him. But his feelings for Muku were real, and he wouldn’t changed them for the world.

Checking the time, he saw it was getting late- they shouldn’t cut more hours for their skin to rest. He was about to write back to notify Muku of his plans to go to sleep when he saw an audio. Turquoise eyes frowned as he tilted his head confused. Muku had never sent him audios before, mainly because they saw each other every day.

He laid back, resting his head on the pillow and clicked on it, vaguely curious.

There it was, that characteristic bubbly voice Azami had learned to distinguish, quieted down probably to not bother Kazunari. Just what-?

“Sweet dreams, Azami-kun”

He definitely jolted and quickly turned to Sakyo’s side, containing his breath until he noticed the annoying snores from his bed. All compose had left him in those three seconds the audio lasted, and Azami swears his chest did a backflip on its own. 

“What the hell...?”

Muku really wasn’t aware of the weigh of his own words.

He stares at the phone, his mind registering what had just happened. Then, as if in a trance, he’s barely aware of his actions before his finger presses the audio again- just one more time.

“Sweet dreams, Azami-kun”

One more time.

“Sweet dreams, Azami-kun”

One more time.

“Sweet dreams-”

One more time.

He could feel the sound of his smile over the phone. The way he drew out his name, so full of affection. His tone was warm and light, and how was he supposed to sleep now, Azami didn’t know.

Groaning, the autumn member covers his face with the back of his hand. Shit, he’s so embarrassed he can feel the heat growing on his cheeks and ears.

He rolls on the bed, taking a quick glance at the few photos of Mankai Omi gave him once to decorate the empty wall. A special warmth showers Azami when he makes contact with those purple eyes, always gentle. They looked back at him with a softness he had rarely encountered before and a smile that made his heart once again leap on his chest.

Oh, he was so done.

“He’s gonna kill me…he’s gonna fuckin’ kill me…”

And yet, he played it once again.

__________________________________________________________

Wishing everyone a wonderful day!  💕