#and its only there because you can't stand to be alone and feeling empty

[sowhatnotcreative]

Men be like: "Not all men but also I specifically do not call out any men for any behavior up to and including sexual assault and violence against women. I don't commit it tho so not me!"

[lovifie]

Fluff | Smut | 1178 words | Back to Masterlist

Simon Riley whose favourite hair was always yours.

The first time he touched your hair, you were both deployed. You were walking before him, your hair in a braid behind your head that was almost hypnotizing. You stick your head from behind a wall, and Simon pulls your braid the moment he hears gunshots to keep you away from the fire line. A whine escapes your lips that sounds almost like a kicked dog and you quickly look back to him. "Thank you, Lt." You mutter.

And in that moment, with your hair still in his hand, he knew he was in trouble.

Your hair doesn't glow in the dark, yet it always draws his attention. Like a lifesaver floating in an ocean. He quickly learns that he can't wait to touch it again, so he observes and waits for a chance to do so.

Like when you were rewriting a report on the mess hall, Price told you it was illegible and taking into consideration Price's handwriting you took it to heart. So there you were, writing again the pages with your best handwriting.

A lock of hair in the middle of your face had Simon almost sprinting to you to move it out of your face before you could it yourself. Of course, he didn't say anything romantic, instead, he said: "You are gonna go blind like that, and you are supposed to watch my back out there."

It wasn't romantic on its own, but his hand remained caressing the hair now behind your ear and when you looked up to meet his gaze, the both of you pulled away from each other as if you had been hit. "That line is dropping, start it again." He comments. "Yes, Lt."

On another occasion, you got late to practice, overslept. Obviously by your bed hair, not even time to brush it. Price quickly told you to fix it and Simon seriously considered if the insubordination would be worth it, because he would rip both his arms off if he could wake up every day with that sight.

It was at that point that Simon realized he was doomed, because he had not been slowly pulled to you, he fell face first and being honest to himself, he was happy with it. He wouldn't admit it yet, it was easier to believe he only liked your hair.

And as time went on, it became more and more easy to find excuses to touch it.

Like when you got sick that one time, waking in the middle of the night to empty your stomach on the toilet. And it went on until the morning, when he found you sitting on the bathroom floor, too weak to walk back to your room.

Face wet with tears for not being able to stop throwing up, for being tired and for feeling useless. He quickly crouched down, paper towel in hand to clean your face. "Why are you here?" He softly asked, mask hiding his expression but his eyes gave away his emotions.

"I got sick." You mumbled, voice hoarse with the strain of the night.

"That I can tell, love." The nickname caught the both of you by surprise, but neither complained. "Let's get you to bed."

You nod, grabbing his hand to stand up, before another round of nausea hits forcing you to back down to throw up again. He quickly moved your hair out of the way grabbing it at the back of your head. "You are gonna get sick, Ghost. Leave me alone, I'm fine."

"Number one, I'm pretty sure your dinner from last night is on my hand, so I believe we are past nicknames now." He says, being interrupted before being able to say the second thing.

"Don't touch my hair with puke on your hand!" You say grabbing his wrist, making him chuckle. You barely had the energy to pull your head up and still tried to fight him.

"I would never, love. That's the other hand." He said looking as you wiped your mouth, breath getting knocked out of him when you lock your gaze on his. "What is it?" You asked, confusing him. "Your name."

"Simon."

"Simon?"

"Simon Riley."

A beat of silence simmered in the bathroom for a second.

"That's a surprisingly sweet name, Simon."

And if the world had ended at that moment, Simon would have died a happy man.

But he didn't, instead, he eased his way into your heart.

It wasn't hard, and soon enough Simon didn't need excuses to touch your hair. And touching your hair was the excuse to get you closer to him.

Like when he was dying to kiss your lips, but you wouldn't look up to him. Why wouldn't you look at him? Couldn't you tell it was killing him? So he fisted your hair, pulling back slightly; enough to make you look up but not enough to sting. And when his eyes met yours, he dived right into your lips. Moving his hands to cup your face instead of your hair, needing to feel the warmth of your skin. The kiss pulling the air from his lungs but still making him feel more alive than ever.

Or like when you finally had the time and intimacy to make love. And when he had you on his bed, knees apart and face buried on his pillow, he fisted your hair again, pulling your head back, because he needed to hear you moan his name while he filled you to the brim. Simon Riley was not a saint, but he would go through the hell his life has been again if it meant he got to experience this. Your cunt milking his dick, your smaller hand grabbing the wrist of his hand on your hip, your moans filling the room and when you looked back to him over your shoulder, his life got meaning and he kissed your lips.

Or like when you would cuddle, and he would do tiny braids on your hair he would forget to undo or tell you about and you would find out hours later when you would try to brush your hair and end up with massive knots. Walking to him ready to throw the brush at his head and you would find him hugging your pillow in his sleep, completely relaxed and content with himself.

Or like when years later, he brushed the hair sticking to your forehead by the sweat while you pushed his daughter to life. If he could take the pain away he would, but he knew you were the strongest woman in this world and could do it. He also knew you needed his comfort, so he moved his hand from your hair to grab your hand even if you crushed every bone inside.

Your hair was always his favourite, until your daughter was born. Because she had Simon's eyes, but she had your hair. And your hair was beautiful, but his little girl's hair was the proof of the love between Simon and you.

Simon Riley loved your hair, but he loved you more.

[futureman]

a matter of time

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel can't remember the last time he took things slow and let himself feel. you give him a gentle reminder.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, late boston qz era, joel's pov, smut, porn with a twist ending, fingering, unprotected piv, creampie, slow/intimate sex, finger sucking, premature ejaculation, nostalgia, internal monologue, tess doesn't exist

word count: 2.4k

It's been a long time.

Joel's all but forgotten what it feels like when it's this gentle. There's almost a tenderness to it, even though he doesn't know much of anything about you at all. Not your name or how you ended up here in this hellhole of a safe haven.

Nothing but the sweet, tacky taste of your 20-year-old Lip Smacker gloss and the tang of sweat and something sweeter lingering on your skin. But he's learning.

And he likes this new knowledge. Even if he never gets the chance to use it again, he'll devour it hungrily because it's a worthy distraction from the monotony of life in a quarantine zone. Day in and day out, he returns to this shitty apartment with its peeling floral wallpaper and rotting mahogany furniture—memories of a distant past that aren't his own and, yet, sting just as viscerally.

Tonight, the space hums with a different energy. Highlighted by the soft rays of the setting sun, the room's only purpose is to serve as a backdrop to you, and that alone changes everything. Your beauty, your responsiveness, as he lays you across his moth-eaten duvet is reminiscent of a different time, and he'll happily accept that reminder.

It's one of the few pieces of nostalgia that doesn't ache or eat away at him the longer he lets it in. No, you feel good. You're warm against his fingertips, soft and pliant under the path his lips follow from the sticky smear across your cheek, past the breath hitching audibly in your bared throat, down to your soaked, coarse curls.

You want him. More than that, you want to take your time with him, and he's surprised at how much he wants that, too. Trapped within these walls, what else does he have but endless, empty time? And there's nothing he'd love more than to spend it taking care of you, just like you asked him to.

He hovers above you, refusing to part his lips from your body as he urges you up the bed to rest against his pillows. They're flattened and scratchy from years of use and abuse, but they smell like him, and you like it. He can tell. The moment your hair fans across them, rich and lively in contrast, you bury your face into the fabric to breathe him in, and your body's reaction is instantaneous.

Your back arches with a heavy sigh of contentment and your legs fall apart naturally, welcoming him closer, but he waits. Reverently, he slowly leans back onto his heels to appreciate the sight in front of him, and he can't help but feel grateful. You're already glistening for him, preening under his undivided attention as your delicate fingers trail up to your breast to tweak a nipple.

As your eyelashes flutter and a gasp escapes your parted lips, his hand quickly drops to squeeze his twitching cock over his boxers and he keens, nearly doubling over at the pleasure that overcomes him. A coy, knowing smile quirks at the corners of your mouth, and he decides he needs to taste you again. Now.

He lurches forward, and you let out a surprised squeal as he licks into your mouth and commits to memory the faint taste of artificial root beer and mint on your tongue. The familiar fight for dominance he's so used to after years of quick fucks and one-night stands isn't there, and, instead, you set a languid, passionate pace that makes his head spin. It's a slow, deep caress—wet and warm and all-encompassing—and it's everything he hopes fucking you will feel like.

He's so hard it hurts. God, when was the last time he was this fucking hard? He's leaking messily through his boxers, desperate to be touched and enveloped and claimed.

And how could he not be? He's kissing the perfect woman. A patient goddess who's leading his hands across every inch of bare skin, showing him exactly how you like to be stroked and gripped, sighing encouragingly when he heeds your lessons just right.

You're one hell of a teacher, and he thinks he might just be your favorite student. He separates from you with a lewd smack and a string of saliva keeps you connected for a fleeting second before you lean up to lick it off his bottom lip. Your eyes lock with his and they're dark, almost completely consumed by desire, and it's further encouragement to continue on to his next assignment.

This one might just send him over the edge. You guide his hand down to cup your wet heat and you're drenched, dribbling and smearing slick patterns onto his sheets that he'll probably trace with his tongue while he jerks off to the thought of you long after you're gone.

Bathed in the dwindling embers of twilight, your silhouette—the plush slope of your breasts and soft curve of your belly and thighs—is cast around the room in artful shapes and shadows, and he wishes you were a permanent fixture. That your visage covered these walls instead of false depictions of growth and life. It's a dangerous train of thought, but he's too lost in the haze of your warmth and wetness to think about anything else.

He needs to feel you. He needs to fuck you.

He barely even realizes he's already slipped inside you as if he's been there all along, stroking your walls with the rough tips of his middle and ring fingers and honing in on that hidden, spongy spot with such precision, you'd think he'd done it a million times before. Thick, cording veins strain against his forearms as he tenses with the effort of keeping his thrusts long and purposeful, and he watches, captivated, as your cunt sucks him in greedily and fruitlessly tries to hold him inside you.

Tight—fuck. You're so tight. He's bucking into his unoccupied hand, jerking himself off over his boxers, and he doesn't remember when he started, but he can't stop. It feels too good...you feel too good, and the steady, simultaneous rhythm he sets for both of you isn't nearly enough.

Faster. Harder. Still so goddamn tight. He'll never be able to stretch you out enough to take him, and he's starting to worry he'll cum before he even gets the chance to try. His cock throbs violently against his palm, and he bites back a groan at the vision beneath him. Christ, how did you get here?

You can't possibly be real. Your thighs are quaking on either side of his waist and your pussy clenches dangerously hard around his scissoring fingers. There's a thin sheen of sweat matting the wispy hairs around your temples and pooling everywhere your body connects with the mattress, your searingly hot skin an addictive, sticky trap he willingly and faithfully succumbed to.

And those sounds.

You need his cock. Fucking hell, you need it. Greedy, patient, needy fucking woman. He can hear it in your soft pants and hitched breaths. You're quiet and subtle in your pleasure, so unlike any other woman he's ever been with, but when you whimper—fuck. Fuck.

He's going to give it to you. Right now, after taking the time to map and explore and discover, he's going to use his newfound knowledge to hollow you out, then fill you up until you're overflowing with him.

He slows to a stop and pulls his glistening fingers from your cunt, and there's that faint, perfect sound again. A stuttered, broken whimper that lilts with each knuckle that catches on your entrance. He sucks his ring finger into his mouth and adds your taste to his list of all-time favorites, right alongside your Barq's root beer-flavored lip gloss.

Then, he offers you his middle finger, and he swears he can feel your lips sealing tightly around his cock as you wrap them around it. You work your mouth up and down, bobbing your head eagerly like he's about to blow his load down your throat, and—

He's going to fucking cum.

With his finger still nestled between your lips, he wrenches his boxers down his thighs and lines himself up with your entrance, ignoring how close he's suddenly teetering on the edge. His balls are already taut between his legs and it worsens as he inches in his aching, neglected tip.

"S'time, beautiful," he grits out, still tender in his touch as he splays his hand across your waist to stroke your heated skin. "You ready for me?"

You nod quickly, humming your affirmation around him, and he gives you another shallow inch. He was right. No amount of preparation was going to ease the stretch. You're gripping him so hard, it almost hurts, and the thought of how tight you'll be when you cum—he feels delirious with it.

Yes. Yes. Squeeze him. Let him feel you wringing him fucking dry. Let him pump you so full of his release, you'll be dripping him for days, an intimate, lingering reminder of this night. You have no fucking idea how long he's been waiting for this, for you. He doesn't even know your name, but that doesn't matter. Right now, all that matters is this.

This deep-seated, unspoken connection. It's been a long time. And, right now, his time is up.

He slides home in one long, deep thrust, the tip of his cock tenderly nudging your cervix, and your body struggles to accept him. He lights up every nerve ending like a live wire, drags against every sensitive pressure point in perfect succession, and your walls begin to mold around him as if they recognize the sensation. Like your body's remembering him.

Sharp nails dig into his side and drag from his shoulder down to his ass, urging him closer. You're trembling beneath him, your breasts thrumming with sharp, rapid breaths akin to a hummingbird as he fucks you further up the bed, one slow thrust at a time. You're fluttering around him, a delicate spasm and, then, an indicative clench, and it forces a sob from his chest that he barely recognizes.

That's it, beautiful. It's right there. C’mon, give it to me.

He doesn't speak it aloud. He hasn't coaxed or rushed you with his words this entire night and he's not about to start now. He knows, for some inexplicable reason, that he doesn't have to.

But you do. It's barely a whisper—a single, hushed syllable that trembles and passes your lips like a plea. A prayer only he can answer.

"Joel."

Christ. He knows you.

Christ, he's cumming.

His vision whites out, and he's only vaguely aware of his tightening grip on your hips and the long, drawn-out groan that tapers into something devastatingly familiar. Your name.

Now, it's his turn to pray. He repeats it like a mantra, breathing it into your lungs as his lips crash onto yours. It's almost as if he's afraid he'll forget it again if he stops, but your body's response quickly convinces him otherwise.

You bear down on him harder, driven closer and closer to your peak each time he calls out to you, for you. You're molten hot around him, searing each letter into his skin with every pulsing clench of your cunt, and he does the same, thick spurts coating your walls.

He can't help himself. He stays deep—he knows he shouldn't, knows how dangerous the consequences could be, but he needs to—and your ankles digging painfully into his back to hold him in place wordlessly tell him you need it, too.

So good, you're so good. You're perfect. You're his. You're—

Gushing, squeezing, finally moaning for him. You’re cumming.

With it, your orgasm brings every memory of you flooding back at once. Late summer afternoons spent in bed while Sarah visited her grandma. Champagne-flavored kisses on New Year's Eve, soundtracked by Dick Clark and cheers from the crowd in Times Square filtering through the plasma TV in his living room.

He loved you. He loved this. He should've known the moment he kissed you, the moment he saw you, but he's been surviving for so long. He can't remember the last time he lived.

Your limbs surround him, pulling his entire weight down to rest on top of you, and you continue to swivel your hips into his pelvis, riding out your high as his name falls breathily from your lips. He works you through it, frantically blinking away the sudden blur that engulfs his vision so he doesn't miss out on another moment with you. Not ever again.

He's...he's crying. He didn't even know he was capable of that anymore. Sensitivity starts to set in, in more ways than one, but he doesn't want to leave the heat of your embrace. He thinks he might break at the sight of his cum leaking out of you and seeping into the undeserving fabric of his co-opted sheets, far away from where it belongs.

But, then, your lips meet his tanned, weathered cheek—a stark contrast to the young man he was when he was yours—and you kiss away his tears. He feels more fragile than he has in decades, and that's surprisingly okay. Because you're here to protect him, now.

Trailing from the apple of his cheek to his lips, up to the years of tension creasing his forehead, back down to kiss him tenderly, you establish a comforting repetition. He chases you every time you part, but, after a while, he's struck with a realization. What you've been trying to convey with your actions all night.

You always return to him. So, maybe this was just a matter of time. A slow smile spreads across that beautiful face he hadn't allowed himself to think about since the outbreak, and you huff out an affectionate laugh, your fingertips curiously running across his back and tracing raised lines and jagged shapes you've never felt before.

"Hi, Joel," you murmur fondly, still close enough for the tacky remains of your gloss to catch his bottom lip, and his tongue darts out to taste you.

It's real—it's too vivid not to be real. His eyes dart between yours, and he can still see everything your future together was supposed to hold. He still sees forever.

"Hey, baby," he rasps, his voice thick with tears and disuse, and something unidentifiable that sounds a lot like hope.

He hasn't felt this way in a long time. Not since you.

thanks for reading!

[ddejavvu]

ok this one may be a little off putting BUT

Spencer, going out with the bau clubbing and bau!reader is getting absolutely hammered throughout the night bc of em and jj, and eventually it leads to the responsibility of him taking the reader home but the reader is trashed and feels gross so she wants to take a shower and basically begs spencer to get in the shower with her to wash her hair.

love u have a great dayyyyyyy 🤍🦆

Spencer the germaphobe would have never thought he'd have his nails raking through unwashed hair that was not his own. He takes solace in the bubbles frothing at his fingertips, an assurance that he's cleaning your hair, not just spreading the filth from the club through its strands, but it's still several steps to the left of his comfort zone.

If it were anyone else, he would have said a very firm, but kind, no, and he may have gagged as soon as they were out of earshot. But it was you, and you looked at him with your pretty eyes, your pretty sad eyes, your pretty tired eyes, and asked him to please help you clean yourself up before bed, because you'd just washed your sheets and you didn't want to dirty them with the remnants of a night out.

He reasons that designated driver duties included walking you to your door, getting you a glass of water for the morning, and locking your apartment behind him, but he hadn't planned on helping you shower. That he had only agreed to under extreme stress (those pretty, sad, tired eyes he can't stop thinking about) and it's how he finds himself now crouched on the lid of your toilet, scrubbing suds through your hair.

"Thanks, Spence," You groan, feeling his nails rake across your scalp, "I was- I dunno how I was gonna do this without you. I'm dizzy."

It's a concerning observation to be made while cross-legged on the ground and not tired with the effort of standing up, but Spencer reasons that you'll feel better after a night's sleep. A night that he's not sure he can let you spend alone for fear of you choking on your own sick.

You've taken to resting your flushed forehead against Spencer's calf, and it's leaving a soapy stain on his poor excuse for social wear. The only two types of pants that he owns are slacks and pajama pants, and he's not sure he'll be able to properly clean this pair anymore. But he doesn't push you off - in fact, he takes note of the feeling of your touch against his leg.

"I'm cold," You shiver in place, despite the warm water flowing around you, as well as the clothes still on your body, now soaked. Thankfully you'd retained enough of your brainpower to know not to strip in front of Spencer, and he's grateful that he didn't need to enforce the matter.

"You're still dressed," He muses, taking the showerhead and rinsing his hands, then turning it on the mass of bubbles atop your head, "You'll be in pajamas soon."

"M'kay," You accept, even though Spencer can still see goosebumps on your exposed forearms from the cold, "Will you help me change?"

Perhaps you had not retained as much of your brainpower as Spencer thought you had.

"Uh," He stammers, "focused on a patch of suds near the nape of your neck, "Do you think you could- um, do it yourself?"

"I guess. Maybe. I don't know," You laugh at the absurdity of your own statements, "What, you don't wanna see me naked?"

"Y/N!" He gushes, cheeks burning hotter than the water that's pooling around your form on the floor of your shower, "No, I- I mean not while- not now! You're drunk."

"I only got drunk so I'd finally man up and make a move," You grumble against his calf, and Spencer's previously racing heart stops beating altogether, "Just- tell me I said that tomorrow, okay Spence? I'm gonna be pissed at- uh, at me if I forgot."

Spencer agrees with all the niceties that he's learned in dealing with the public, an empty promise falling from his lips when all else fails him, "Okay, I will."

"Liar," You accuse, your nose still nestled snugly against his leg, "This sucks. We're both too scared to make a move. Maybe we should both get shitfaced, and just buy a Plan B the next morning."

Spencer is well and truly speechless. He has several options as to his next response, if he can ever muster up the courage to enact them: an awkward laugh, a strained chuckle, prolonged silence. Instead of choosing any of those he swallows, the action almost hurting his now-dry throat, "Uh- Plan B can interfere with your next menstrual cycle, and there's a host of other side effects that aren't ideal for you."

"Fine." You snort, "We'll keep the baby."

[thevegetablewhichnoonedaresname]

I really like that scene in mob psycho 100 where those random guys try to bully mob, but then, before mob can even do anything, dimple makes the guy disrobe and ritsu tries to kill him and the body improvement club just kinda circles up and squishes him between their pecs until the guys beg for mercy and leave. because it's a very stupid scene. kinda the epitome of the show's goofy weird slapstick humor. and so when you're watching it the first time you assume that's the purpose of the scene--to be dumb slapstick humor. because it succeeds at that, so it would be perfectly functional if that's all it was.

but THEN it turns out that it's actually setup for two episodes later when mogami traps him in a mind dimension to try and turn him evil and he's standing in the SAME PLACE and he sees ritsu on the bridge but ritsu doesn't acknowledge him. and he gets bullied. and not only is he powerless to defend himself, he has no one who cares. the scene plays out an evil mirrored version of itself where it's straightforward. it's harsh. it's empty. mob gets beaten up, and he is alone.

and that would've been a good scene on its own, too. but to me the fact that you see the silly ridiculous version of it FIRST (the one that culminates in the body improvement club suffocating a guy with their man boobs) is really important to me. because then, later, you feel how much more it hurts for mob to be alone when you've already seen what it could be, what it is. and then on a rewatch when you see the goofy version of the scene you can't help but feel an undercurrent of dread and a sense of how dangerously close the absurd is to tipping over into something way too real and visceral. which is a feeling that runs throughout the entire show.

anyway.

[stevestark]

Eddie only gets told snippets of everyone else's Upside Down experiences after Vecna, like, the sanitized version. The story told by each person but omitting the most personally traumatizing parts. Which means he doesn't know much about Steve and Robin Versus The Russians. Not in its full, gory detail.

So he doesn't think anything of it when Steve has a day off and wants to hang out, just asks if he minds coming with him to Indianapolis. Steve says yes immediately because he just doesn't want to spend another day alone in his big empty house, even if it means several hours in Eddie's deathtrap of a vehicle.

But then they get there and Eddie is parking outside a tattoo parlor and saying he got a last minute booking with his favorite artist and that he's so excited to cover some of the scars he has from the bats and Steve can barely hear him over the fuzziness that seems to be filling his entire brain.

He lets Eddie guide him into the shop, watches Eddie and the tattooist make small talk, follows Eddie to the table, sits on the stool next to him, and tries to look anywhere but at the tattoo gun.

Eddie doesn't notice at first, too jazzed about the idea he and the artist have come up with, blabbering about how he can finally take his shirt off at the lake again. It's not until the line work is done that he realizes Steve's breathing has gone shallow.

He asks the artist if they can take a smoke break before filling the tattoo in with color, and he gently takes Steve's hand and pulls him out back to ask what's wrong. Steve's too deep into a panic attack to answer, so Eddie just puts Steve on the side opposite his new work and pulls him in close, squeezing him as tight as he can and just gently shushing him, running his hand through Steve's hair.

After a few minutes, Steve's breathing easier, and Eddie asks him again if he's okay.

"I'm fine, I just... I hate needles. Ever since the Russians drugged me and Robin. Can't be around them."

Eddie frowns, realizing this must be one of the parts of the story he knows they were keeping from him. "Why did Russians drug you?"

Steve sighs, pulls out of Eddie's grasp, and sits on the ground against the back wall of the tattoo shop. "Dustin picked up a Russian transmission, summer of '85. We translated it, found their secret base under the mall, and realized they were opening the Gate back up. But then we were seen, and to buy time, Robin and I let ourselves get caught so Erica and Dustin could escape and get help."

Eddie sits next to Steve, their knees bumping. "Erica Sinclair? God, that kid really is the most badass of all of us."

"Yeah," Steve laughs. "Anyway, the Russians beat the shit out of me, asking who do you work for and shit like that. Didn't believe me when I said Scoops Ahoy. So they brought in this Doctor and he drugged me and Robin to get us to talk. Just straight up jammed a big ass needle full of mystery drugs into my neck. Ever since then, needles freak me the fuck out. They had to strap me down in the hospital just to get an IV in me when Robin insisted I get the bat bites checked out."

Eddie runs a hand through his hair and shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Steve. I never would've brought you here with me if I knew."

"I know," Steve says quietly. "'S'not your fault. I'm trying to get better at being open about things like this but it's just..."

"Hard. Yeah. I wake up screaming most nights, and I can tell Wayne feels bad because he doesn't know what to do. Because he doesn't know what's causing it."

"Yeah," Steve sighs.

They sit quietly out there for another ten minutes before the tattooist comes back out to see if Eddie wants to keep going, and he glances at Steve, sees the way he's gone pale and rigid, and shakes his head. "Sorry, man, think we're gonna have to pick this up another time."

Eddie stands, grabs Steve's hand and hauls him to his feet, and walks inside, never once letting go of Steve. He sets an appointment for a few weeks from now, on a day he knows Steve is working, and they leave the shop.

The second they're in the car, Eddie sees the color returning to Steve's face, and he drives aimlessly through the city, finally stopping at a combination bookstore/cafe.

"Come on then, big boy," he says with a teasing grin. "I do believe I promised to teach you about Hobbits."

[vmbrq]

MINORS DNI ; cnc (breeding?), afab/fem reader

just bc @/hyeyulove said they missed my ethan writing.

giggling rn because being in a relationship with deranged, ghostface ethan landry would be one hell of an experience on its own, but the day you let him fuck you without a condom is the day you can kiss your autonomy GOODBYE LMAOOO that man will NEVER leave you alone. he's already attached to you as is, so you think you can expose him to raw sex with FEELINGS and live the rest of your life in peace? that's actually really funny.

he'll be so needy—pawing at you, pressing up against you, languidly smoothing his hands over your waist and thighs, sheepishly commenting on how good you smell or look, anything to lure you into fulfilling his wishes. even if it's just you sitting on his cock and not moving while you two watch a movie or him teasing only the tip into your cunt, he just wants to feel you. he'd be addicted to how fucking warm and wet you feel without the latex barrier, groaning at how clearly he can feel every twitch and pulse of your walls, his breath hitching as you let him hold you by the hips and slowly guide you up and down along the length of his cock, on the verge of trembling when he clutches you tightly and empties his balls inside you for the second time.

and god forbid you ask him to pull out in the middle of him drilling into you. you're so overwhelmed, crying out and drunk on pleasure, babbling for him to pull out! since it's the only thing you can remember to do. but sometimes, ethan can be so mean when he's in charge. he'd loom over you, eyes wild and dark, lips pulled back into a mocking grin, and laugh. you think you have a chance at deterring him? that's cute. he'd take your moment of bewilderment as you stare up at him with wide eyes to hook his hands under your knees and fold your lower half up and into a mating press.

you don't have a snowball's chance in hell at pushing him off. he's far too heavy, too strong, and he'll reinforce your lack of control by leaning his weight on you to keep you pinned helplessly in place. all you can do is moan and whine and wince, embarrassed, at the obscene squelch of his cock bullying its way deep inside your sticky, overstimulated cunt and the slap of his heavy balls against your pelvis. but as overstimulated as you are, you don’t dislike it. he knows you don’t. if you did, your cunt wouldn’t be squeezing around his cock to keep him inside every time his hips pulled back a bit further than usual. you’re like an open book. he knows you by now.

on another note, the amount of text messages he sends you will increase in general, and if you don't reply within the time frame he deems acceptable, he'll start blowing up your phone. you'll wake up from a long nap, disoriented and not even remembering who the hell you are, and find several missed calls and texts from him as well as your man HIMSELF standing outside your bedroom window.

and those little couples pranks you see on tiktok, the one especially that's like "texting my bf he's gone, you can come over now?" yeah, you can't do that LMAOOO that man is INSANE. you remember how strong he was in that apartment scene where he was terrorizing the core four? HELL nah. you can damn near hear his car tires screech from down the STREET as he swerves around and heads back to you. in his brain, oh, so you think you can just be handing out pussy that good all willy nilly? 🤨 yeah okay. i know that the way he tried to kick in that bedroom door had y'all feeling something, bc me too.

he wouldn't try to kick it down immediately, but he'd stand out there seething, jaw locked, knocking on the door a little harder than normal, fighting to keep his voice even so he won't scare you out of letting him in. but his patience would dwindle rapidly. his behavior would be erratic, switching between pleading and persuasion and guilt-tripping and banging on the door and yelling so quickly you can barely keep up. babe you are playing with your LIFE😭 that pussy got him in a chokehold, and he'll be damned if anyone even gets the opportunity.

[moralesmilesanhour]

piece of cake

summary: meeting miles g at a bakery, and other happenings. wc: 3k+ warning: blood, grief (more at the periphery, not a major theme), and lightly implied mommy issues a/n: ngl i was hungry asf when i wrote this. why can't i ever write normal fluff fics anymore. first fic of 2024!!

Brooklyn Middle is closed for winter break. The basketball court where the snow-covered hoop no longer has a net is empty, save for the blinking Christmas lights strung across the chain-link fence.

In a few years, the pizza place across the street where students would linger after school will be demolished, replaced by a shiny new Oscorp building that reflects the sun from all angles of its glass exterior. But for now, the place is just closed early for the holidays, a few blocks away from a bakery.

The tall, bear-like frame of a father dressed in a long black overcoat can be seen entering with a wiry young boy in a red hoodie and bomber jacket tailing close behind. He has an afro as opposed to his father’s closely-cropped hair. The boy keeps trying to straighten his posture - as if his spine would suddenly lengthen and his shoulders would broaden from the act alone. He wants to make himself look important today, because he is on a top-secret mission: 

Operation: Get Mom a Cake.

“I think mom’ll like that one.”

The boy points at a slice of tres leches cake sitting behind a glass display. It’s not as flashy as the other decorative cakes drizzled with chocolate and strawberries or encased in pink frosting, but those wouldn’t melt on the tongue the way tres leches did. 

His father raised an eyebrow at the plain slice, but the boy looked at him with a certainty that he’d never seen before, through eyes nearly identical to his mother’s. The man knew then that he was getting an expert opinion.

“Alright, if you say so,” he chuckled, adjusting his glasses. “We’ll take that one, Val.”

The boy smiled proudly at the older woman as she handed him the pink box containing the cake. Mission accomplished.

Now, he looks up and frowns at the Oscorp building blocking the view of where his old school used to be as he picks at a slice of cake with a plastic fork.

The ‘Employees Only’ door behind the counter swings open, and Valeria Cruz hobbles out, removing her apron.

“It’s almost your shift, Miles, hurry up and finish that cake.”

Miles takes one more bite before rising from his seat near the entrance and pushing the paper plate and half-eaten slice into a small trash can.

“You got it, Miss V.”

“Did you take out the trash?”

He pauses, and his eyes widen.

“I’mma get that done right now, Miss V!”

The woman sighs, running a hand through gray and white-streaked curls as the teen sprints out the door and back outside.

A forest green puffer jacket rushes past you on the sidewalk. It’s the same one you had seen shuffling out of the back entrance of Val’s bakery the other morning, lugging two black garbage bags with a purple hoodie obscuring the stranger’s face. 

He probably works there, then, you think. Good. She could use the help.

The place had been packed the week before Officer Morales’ funeral, and for several weeks after. But over time, business began to slow down to a trickle. Hipster cafés and towering condos sprang up and choked out the little pizza shops and restaurants that took their owners’ last names, like when an invasive species of plant grows taller than the local varieties and smothers them, blocking out the sun.

You had been seeing Val’s face since you were in diapers. Families used to go there for birthdays, for elementary school graduations, middle school graduations - or sometimes just to grab something sweet to eat after church on Sundays. You continued the tradition–even if just to buy a tiny bag of cookies–in the hopes that the place might still be standing for your high school graduation. 

The bell above the door rings to signal your entrance. The once baby pink wallpaper has begun to fade, but the late-afternoon sun makes it feel as vibrant as it did when you were twelve. Valeria is standing in front of the display of freshly-baked pastries with her apron folded neatly over her arm.

“Oh, were you about to close up shop?” You begin to take backward steps. “I can come back later–”

“No, no, sweetie, it’s fine!” The woman waves her hand, beckoning you to stay. “I was just about to go on my lunch break. I have someone about to take over for me.”

“It’s cool, I can wait. I saw somebody taking out the trash, that him?”

She sighs wearily, “That’s him, alright. He’s a good kid, but he’s always–”

“Sorry I’m late!”

In rushes Mr. Green Jacket through a chilly gust of wind, who turns to nod in greeting towards you before weaving past Val and behind the counter, where he disappears through the ‘Employees Only’ door.

“That boy, I swear. Never on time!”

He reappears sans the jacket, wearing a white apron identical to the one Val is holding. The name tag on it reads ‘Miles’. 

Miles. Where have you heard that name before…?

The hood on his sweater is no longer pulled over his head, revealing two neat cornrows that cascade all the way down his neck. The surrounding hair has been shaved and faded at the nape of his neck and hairline. He’s the sort of brown-skinned that looks golden when the sunlight hits his face as he approaches the cash register. 

“You gonna be alright for the next half hour?” asked Val with an eyebrow raised.

Miles drummed his fingers on the counter and grinned. “Yup, I got it.”

“Don’t destroy anything while I’m gone!”

“I won’t, promise.”

She pushes the door open with a skeptical look and leaves.

With this new stranger temporarily in charge, you carefully approach the counter. He looks up at you with curious brown eyes.

“Whatchu want?”

“Um…” you blink before remembering what you were here for. “Just sugar cookies, please.”

“How many?”

“Five.”

He turns to grab a paper bag, then bends to drop the desired amount of cookies into it with the pair of tongs that sit on the inside of the display.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what school you go to? I haven’t seen you around here before, feel like I’d remember you if I had.”

Miles pops his head over the counter and tilts his head with a cheeky grin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

You avoid eye contact, shifting from one foot to the other. Suddenly it’s not so cold anymore.

“I-I don’t know. You just seem memorable.”

He laughs a raspy, breathy laugh and hands you the bag of cookies over the counter. His hand is much larger than yours with slender fingers at the end of it, but still manages to appear almost clumsy-looking. Big enough to be a man’s, but with only half the dexterity.

“I go to Visions.”

“Fancy. You like it over there?”

“It’s aight. Kinda uptight, but my dad always said it was a ‘good opportunity’, so I stayed.”

You hum in consideration. 

“Can't do everything for your parents, though. They'll have you living their dreams before you know it.”

The smile fades a bit, and Miles averts his gaze.

“Well my dad passed, so I just figured I’d just do this one thing for him.”

You cover your mouth with your palm.

“I'm so sorry, I–”

“It's fine,” he snorts without any humor. “You might be the only one that doesn't know who my daddy is. Kind of a relief.”

Miles encloses the money you just gave him in the slot beneath the cash register with a loud snap. 

“You need anything else?”

You chew on your bottom lip in embarrassment and clutch your bag of cookies.

“No. Thank you.”

He doesn’t look up from the register.

“Have a nice day.”

Your mother is leaning on the window sill, nibbling on a granola bar when you get back home. She’s silent, which means she is observing. You’ll need to tread carefully. 

“I brought cookies.”

She gives you a sidelong glance.

“Val’s cookies?”

“Yup, same as always.”

“That lady still working there all by herself?”

“She hired somebody to help out, actually - I saw a boy working the register.”

She notices the upward inflection in your voice at the mention of a boy, which interests her more than the cookies.

“What’s he look like?”

“He’s got, um,” you make a gesture over your head. “Twin braids–cornrows–and a green jacket? Kinda tall, too.”

Your mother nods, thoughtful. The description rings a bell, but she needs to confirm.

“You catch his name?”

“Miles, I think.”

“Lord,” she gasps, fully turning to face you. “That’s that Morales boy! I used to work with his momma, bless her heart. Barely saw his face after the funeral.”

The image of Miles’ face at the mention of his dad makes you cringe at your comment earlier. How could you not recognize him? He practically stole his face from the mural that was plastered above the precinct. You had only heard the boy’s name uttered once by your mother over the phone at 2:00 A.M., whispered like a secret.

“I can’t imagine how it must be for Miles. Didn’t he just get into that nice school down there? Of course they’ll have to let him go home. He should be with his mother.”

“He was such a sweet little boy. Then I saw him the other day?” 

She shook her head, “Look like a different person. He had them flashy studs in his ears, nose pierced and everything.”

She wrinkles her nose. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he had tattoos under that coat as well. Damn shame.”

“He seemed nice when I saw him,” you remark quietly in a weak attempt to defend his character, despite having known him for all of five minutes. “Sweet, like you said.”

Your mother’s face hardens, all of her attention now focused on you as she folds the wrapping of the granola bar.

“That’s why you’re not bringing no boys home ‘till you’re eighteen,” she sharply reminds you. “‘Seems nice’ - How you know if he’s really nice or not?”

Again, Miles’ face appears in your mind’s eye. He didn’t seem to want your pity - rejected it, even. And what of his apparent chronic lateness? 

Still…

“You don’t know that, either,” you say despite yourself. “I spoke to him while I was there.”

Your mother’s eyes narrow. 

“Girl, I know that look. I better not see you runnin’ around with that boy, understand me?”

She looks set on not changing her mind now, so you only nod in defeat.

“Yes, ma’am.”

In your head, you’re already making plans to hit up the bakery tomorrow - both to apologize and to see the sun kissing Miles’ face again. Maybe tomorrow he’d even have the piercings in.

But when you get there the next day under the guise of ‘a trip to the corner store’, Miles isn’t at the register. 

The sky has turned a pale shade of gray, and it has begun to drizzle. Pulling your navy blue coat tightly around you, you consider turning back around when–

Boom!

The sound of something hitting a trash can from behind the establishment catches your attention. It could be him taking out the trash at the last minute again.

Your assumption is proven only halfway correct.

Stepping over discarded boxes and tin cans, you find Miles doubled over, clutching his side. “Are you okay?” 

Startled, bloodshot eyes glance at you before focusing on the ground.

“Fucking fantastic,” he grunts painfully.

As you get closer, you can see a dark stain blooming from where his hand is. A sick feeling swirls in your stomach.

“Oh my God, do you need me to call somebody?”

“Nah, I’m…I’m straight,” Miles says through labored breaths. “I just gotta…patch myself up before I get home.”

You whip out your phone and frantically unlock it.

“I’m calling an ambulance.”

“Hell no–”

“You are bleeding!”

He tilts his head towards a duffle bag lying near his feet. 

“I got First Aid in there…that’ll do me just fine.”

When he tries to reach for the bag, his knees give out, causing him to collapse right next to it.

-

Miles shivers as you gingerly wrap white bandages around his waist, the flat expanse of skin on his stomach partially exposed to the elements. He fades in and out of consciousness, between your face and black nothingness. When he’s awake, he stares up at you in disbelief.

“I didn’t call 9-1-1, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you tell him with a grin. “This should stop the bleeding, but I can’t help you beyond that.”

“Wusyaname?” he mumbles, head lolling towards you. He’s on the brink of passing out again.

“Call me (Y/N).”

“Wasn’t gon’ call you anything else.”

“Shut up, I just saved your life.”

“Mmmm-hm,” Miles hums with a lazy smile that makes you wonder if he’s becoming delirious.

“Eeeeverybody loves sayin’ that. Everybody always…”

His eyelids get heavy before he can finish the thought, and he finally blacks out again in your lap. 

-

There’s a short line inside the bakery that weekend, and you wonder if Miles has anything to do with it. 

Word seemed to get around mysteriously fast that the former teenaged recluse had come out of hiding after that conversation (if you could even call it that) with your mother. From where you’re sitting–by the window, nibbling on a sugar cookie, observing–Miles does not seem to enjoy the attention.

Or maybe you’re just imagining the strained smile on his face as the line of customers becomes a Greek chorus of gasps and squeals.

“You got so big!”

“What did you do to your hair?”

“Oh, you look just like Jeff.”

“How’s Rio?”

“Good to see you out and about again.”

The sparkling curiosity is nearly drained from his face by the time he joins you at the end of his shift with a slice of cake. He does not have the fabled nose piercing in, but two diamond studs sparkle when the light hits them every time he moves his head.

“So?”

“So…?”

“Are you alright after I found you the other day? I saw you limping back there.”

Miles rolls his eyes.

“I’m fine. My mom’s literally a nurse. She got me straight.”

“What’d you tell her? Looked like you broke a rib.”

“Far as she’s concerned, I fell off my bike.”

“I’ve never seen you on a bike.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t have one.”

You shrug. Touche.

“What did you have to say to me that was worth stalking me after my shift?”

“Stalking?”

“You buy the same thing every time, you think I ain’t notice?” Miles smirks, like a detective who’s just gotten a confession. “Who goes to a bakery and only gets cookies?”

“Lay off me, man, these are excellent,” you take another bite for emphasis. “Anyways, I actually came to apologize.”

His brows furrow in confusion. “For what?”

“For what I said the first time I saw you. I didn’t know you were that Miles.”

The corners of Miles’ lips pull downwards into a frown. 

“That’s it?”

“Mm, well…”

You bite your lip by force of habit.

“I also wanted to talk to you again. Under better circumstances. That your favorite type of cake?”

Miles looks down at his plate when you point to it with your fork, as if he’s seeing it for the first time.

“Yeah, tres leches. What about it?”

“I dunno, I just always see you eating that and nothing else. Is there a reason?”

You expect to say something about the sweetness, or the texture, but instead he answers:

“It always tastes the same.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like…” He puts down his fork and starts to construct an analogy in his head.

“It’s like when you see an ice cream truck. You run up to it before it drives off, and what do you ask for? First thing that pops into your head?”

“Vanilla?”

“Exactly. You could try one of the other ones, but what if it tastes like ass? Now you stuck eating something you don’t like–”

“And it’s a waste of money.”

“Exactly!” Miles laughs. “You get it. My mom makes fun of me because I’ve been eating the same thing since I was five. But it’s always good! And the same amount of good.”

“Can’t argue with that.” 

You tap your nails on the table, thinking. 

“But what if you find a new flavor that you really like?”

He shrugs, “Then lucky me, I guess. But that doesn’t tend to happen.”

“It could happen, though.”

He watches the strange way you eat. Slowly, teeth-first, as if you’re afraid to make a mess. It’s weirdly dainty, which makes him chuckle beneath his breath.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Uh-uh, don’t do that. What’s so funny?”

Miles gives you that same head tilt again.

“It’s cute, the way you eat.”

Your hand freezes just as it’s about to lift another cookie to your mouth, and you stare at him blankly.

“That’s…”

He pauses too. 

“...Weird, yeah. Sorry. I dunno why I said that.”

A beat of silence passes that’s so heavy with awkwardness, that the two of you can’t help but burst into poorly-stifled laughter.

You lean forward with your chin resting in your hand. “That’s fine. I kept coming here just to spy on you, so I guess I’m weird, too.”

“Ah, so you admit it!”

“Hey, if I wasn’t bein’ a total creep, you might’ve bled out next to the garbage dump. Val can’t lose a valuable employee, right?”

“If you put it that way.”

You can see the white of some of Miles’ teeth peeking out as he smiles. One of his canines is charmingly crooked, and sharper than the others. When the smile fades, he suddenly looks uncertain.

“Can I ask you a question this time?” 

“Ask away.”

“Do you wanna make this,” he gestures between you, “like, a regular thing? Y’know, ‘meeting under better circumstances’.”

It’s your turn for a smile to spread across your face. 

“We should. Whatever you did to end up bleeding out in the rain, I guess I’d be a witness now.”

“M-hm. Can’t have you yappin’ about that to my customers,” He plays along, then winks. “I’mma need your number too, just in case.”

Just before you reach for your phone in your pocket, you hear your mother’s voice in your head, casting a shadow over the whole thing and giving you pause.

All jokes aside, Miles had never explained what had landed him in that predicament behind the bakery in the first place. He’s always late. He lies to his mother. You’re about to lie to your mother. 

But the sun is hitting his face again, and with the light bouncing off of his pupils, he looks like he couldn’t hurt a fly. The shadow remains at the corner of your eye. Just the corner.

You grin and hand him your phone.

“You got it. Just in case.”

[bbunisre]

17: ALWAYS BEEN YOU (0.8k)

Besides being affectionate and caring, Tsumiki is your best friend and there is no better way to prove it than right now. After bidding the Uber driver a quiet gratitude, you escape the car to find yourself in front of Tsumiki’s house rather than your own.

The driver the second you close the door, leaving you to attend to your business.

The door opens before you can even knock on it.

“Tsumiki..."

She holds you in her arms for so long in the doorway

"You okay, kid?"

You look back to see Gojo standing there, arms crossed and in his pajamas, looking at you with a placid concern.

"I'm alright. Thanks for letting me in." you tell the two.

"Of course. You're family." Gojo answers.

"I figured you wouldn't wanna stay alone tonight." Tsumiki adds.

"You know me so well."

She smiles before ushering you in, "Let's get you to bed. It's been too long."

As Tsumiki brings you to bed, you can't help but be grateful for her. You're so lucky to have someone who truly cares for you and a place to go to when something goes wrong—whether it be a crazy ex or an argument at your own home.

Tsumiki gives you a pair of pyjamas and you use the spare toothbrush in her bathroom before getting into her queen-sized bed like it's your own.

"I'll be back in thirty minutes. I just got some cleaning to do."

You nod, "Thanks again."

"Don't worry. We can talk about Choso when I'm back... I'll get Gojo's wine for you."

You laugh as she leaves you alone in the bedroom.

Minutes pass.

There's a particular emptiness within the house you don't like, a sense of comfort you're too used to and its presence has been made quiet.

Where is it when you need it?

The door opens quietly and in comes a slowly moving figure, rummaging through Tsumiki's desk. He notices when you sit up.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you, I was looking for..." he pauses, watching the way you stare at him so avidly, an unfamiliarity swimming in your eyes, "Are you okay? I heard what happened."

Megumi sits at the edge of Tsumiki's bed as you remain sitting up, staring at him.

The only thing illuminating the room is the light that seeps in through the ajar door from the hallway, casting a halo-like glow on Megumi's face.

You forget completely what happened with Choso the moment Megumi tampered with your thoughts.

There's a pull in your chest, "I'm alright. I'm glad i got out of there because he was going to talk to me and I just couldn't be there. He was making me uncomfortable."

"I don't understand why he couldn't take 'no' as an answer. You already told him you didn't want to talk to him."

You nod, "Exactly. He doesn't care. He just wants me so he has something to control again."

Megumi sighs.

"How's it been with you?" you ask, changing the subject.

"I've been up all night trying to finish an assignment."

Megumi's like a blank canvas compared to Choso's tainted one—it feels wrong talking to Megumi about Choso. It was like you were bringing the contamination of Choso into Megumi and that didn't feel right.

You want to start again.

"Mhm. Which subject?"

You deserve to start again.

"History."

There's no better person to start again with than Megumi.

"It wasn't an accident, was it, Megumi?" you ask.

"Sorry?" he asks.

You softly smile, "That night. At Panda's party when you confessed to me."

Silence.

Megumi stares at you blankly and for a second, you doubt yourself but there's no way he doesn't like you. He confessed drunkenly, he's there for you every second and he looks at you with those eyes.

Even with a blank stare from Megumi, it's like your whole body is on fire.

"It was an accident," he admits, looking away. suddenly, Tsumiki's girl group posters are nicer to look at, "I've had a crush on you for so long, Y/N."

It's like you've been set on fire.

"Really?"

Yyes...do you feel the same way?" he looks up at you.

"How can i say no?"

A smile.

Megumi smiles.

As much as you want to reach out and hug him, you refrain, knowing Tsumiki could be just around the corner.

"I've wanted this for so long."

You open your mouth to say something but you're immediately interrupted by the door opening.

"Megumi! Why are you bothering Y/N?!"

You laugh out loud, surprised she's suddenly there, "Yeah, why are you bothering me?"

He does his best to mask his smile and inevitably fails.

"Out!" Tsumiki scolds.

Megumi makes his way to the door, giving you one last look before disappearing. Tsumiki locks the door behind her and switches on the flash on her phone.

"Got the wine."

For the first time in a long time, you don't feel like drinking. Instead, you feel soft.

Megumi's made you soft.

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[naffeclipse]

Have you seen anything about Lethal Company? The idea of your cryptid lads watching over and protecting y/n while y/n looks for scrap in their territory makes me smile. They always make sure Y/n meets their quota to avoid any repercussions with The Company

I have seen so much about Lethal Company and this ask makes me go crazy because AUGH I've been chewing on a sort of AU with the DCA in a Bracken-esque role but, perhaps, a bit more interested in Y/N than a monster otherwise would be.

You're just a measly intern. That's all too clear with how the company sends you the utmost dangerous moons searching for loot and scrap. The hauntingly empty facilities and lifeless manors hold the keys to fulfilling your quota for the week, but you're not alone.

On the occasions when you get separated from your crew or find yourself left behind, you feel the hair on the back of your neck rise, aware of something—someone watching you. You carry a piece of scrap that most likely isn't worth the effort (but how could you return empty-handed?) The sinking feeling that, as much as you dread isolation, it would be safer than the near-silent footsteps following just behind you.

Your mouth grows dry. The pulse in your ears begins drowning the metallic echo of your picked-up pace, and then panic takes hold. You burst into a run, racing for the door, and when you frantically grab the handle, a cold, long-fingered touch seizes the cloth at the back of your neck before you throw yourself outside.

In the dusty air of the moon, you turn back to the door, now slammed shut. You drop the scrap to touch the back of your neck—the orange jumpsuit is torn into ribbons just below your helmet. Claws, you think. Claws so close to grabbing your neck and never letting go.

The next day, with only your flashlight and a walkie-talkie, one of your fellow interns abruptly cuts off mid-sentence (was that a scream or just the static crackling?) Left without even a voice for the company, your skin prickles with full-body goosebumps under the eerie weight of eyes watching you.

You turn slowly to look up the stairway you had just descended. The air in your lungs freezes. You clutch the flashlight tighter. Your helmet system blinks across your vision.

New creature data sent to terminal!

In the darkness engulfing the upper platform stands a dark figure with two piercing, white eyes. You whip up your flashlight and beam it on the terrifying being, catching strange frond-like petals of yellow surrounding a flat, disk-like face. Rooted to the floor in terror, you stare. It tilts its head, petals ruffled, in a snap of agitation. It grumbles low in warning.

You drop the walkie-walkie and run deeper into the darkness, your flashlight beam swinging over the walls with the pounding of your steps echoing horrendously through the deep belly of the facility. The primal instincts of your mind take hold, impulses firing to stay alive.

You come to a dead end. A lone light flickers along the ceiling. Cornered, your palms slamming against the bricked wall as if you could push it down, you start to tremble. You turn back, back pressed against the wall, your helmet softly clanking against the stone.

The beam of your flashlight cuts off. You drop that, too. A whimper of fear escapes you when a shadow moves at the end of the long hallway. Though darkly swathed, pale eyes pinning you in place, the figure crouches, creeping forward on hands and knees. The petals about its face have shifted, dropping to the back of the head and swinging down like a tapered tail. You can't look away. The creature tips its head to one side, the appendage trailing over its shoulder like a nightcap. It grumbles low, displeased.

You turn your head away, pressing deeper against the wall. Your every heartbeat is a swing of a sledgehammer chipping away at your ribcage. Bile rises in the back of your throat.

Then silence.

You clench your hands. Slowly, you carefully lift your eyes and gaze at the end of the hallway.

It's gone. The sunflower face and now nightcap head creature vanish like a bad dream in the morning.

You don't move for several seconds, and when you finally straighten and hug your shaking self, you carefully make your way through the darkness. The sinister awareness of being watched doesn't leave. It never does. You find an emergency exit. A chance to live yet. You feel something cold and heavy standing at your back.

You reach for the door when a large hand grabs the back of your neck. A scream jams itself in your throat. Breathless, frozen, you stand very still. It squeezes lightly as if testing the bones of your spine. Its shadow falls over you. Its other hand enters the corner of your vision, reaching for your face as if to smother you through the helmet. It begins tugging on your throat, pulling you away from the door.

"Stay... friend..." it rasps near-silently.

The flashlight in your grip is heavy. Before the creature captures your head, you throw it back at the beast. Light flares when the plastic hits, sparking with one drop of juice still left, and then you rip yourself free. A quiet grunt of pain echoed under the flash. You throw yourself outside, only turning back to slam the door and unwittingly catch a glimpse of the creature clutching its face. Petals twist and writhe around and behind its head in a clash of its early appearances. Between its long fingers, a face, half yellow and half dark with a static grin peeking out at the corners, twists in shock.

The resounding shut of the door reverberates in your head. You escaped. You gasp and clutch your chest. Somehow, your heart is still within you, fluttering like an injured bird in front of a cat. Your system sent new information to the bestiary catalog.

You keep breathing and unsteadily make your way back to the ship, carrying the searing imprint of the monster's hand on the back of your neck.

[xiexiecaptain]

The biggest thing I've learned to help manage my ADHD in regards to getting things done is to Follow Those Impulses

(I'm not saying this will work for or is even a good strategy for everyone, but in my own situation it's helped me.)

I'm like allergic to consistency in schedule and cannot enforce one on myself so all it leads to is self-loathing and failure. Trust me, I've been attempting to will-power, shame-fuel my way through it since I was a preteen (I'm currently almost 30.) It does not work for me.

Obviously medication can give me a huge leg up on stuff. But beyond a certain point my brain is simply not wired for long-term sustained consistency.

As in many of my issues, I've found that working with myself gets better results than fighting myself.

When I follow those sudden impulses of interest and motivation, I get things done.

To the outside, I look absolutely haphazard. I'll pause a show I'm watching mid-sentence, stand up, and go empty the dishwasher because my mood/brain/chemicals *ping*ed that it was suddenly do-able and not a huge overwhelming task. Or I'll be putting away laundry and that *ping* will go off and I'll spend three hours re-organizing my closet.

To a neurotypical, this looks like distracted and disorganized behavior.

To me, it's following the way my brain naturally works in order to accomplish tasks.

My ADHD manifests in that I experience very small and unsustainable windows of motivation and interest. So when I feel that window crack open, doing the Thing right then (when the situation enables me to) can mean the Thing actually happens. Even if it's not the thing I'm "supposed" to be doing.

With a neurotypical in that situation, they might be putting away clothes and think: "Oh, I should organize my closet. I have time this weekend, I'll do it then," finish putting away their clothes, and then organize the closet when they had free time that weekend.

I used to try to do things that way too. Because it was how I was taught that "responsible, real people" did it, and had "finish one thing before you start another" drilled into my head. But I'm literally not wired to work that way. And I've been working on undoing that internalized ableism of believing one way of doing things is better and I need to change to adhere to it. I don't and shouldn't be expected to to my own detriment.

For me with the closet example, the weekend would come and I would spend 5 hours screaming at myself to stop working on whatever did have my interest in order to go organize the closet. Sometimes I might ended up doing it. More often, I would not be able get myself to do it even after all that. I would just sit there, yelling at myself, hating myself despite my brain literally not having the chemicals to initiate the activity (let alone follow through) and nothing would get done. Not even the thing I wanted to focus on instead.

The only thing I did accomplish was hating myself for not being able to do "simple" things like other people (read: neurotypicals.)

This is basically how I spent the majority of my schooling; doing simple tasks felt like running in sand. And I internalized all the messages that told me it was my own fault I couldn't run as fast and in as straight a line as those running on pavement.

The past few years, I've been trying to follow impulses more. And its honestly been really helpful.

I get more done even if it isn't a "consistent" amount or I can't always count on having a specific thing done by a certain date.

But the big thing is that I spend less time hating myself for not doing what I "should" be and more time actually doing things when I have the motivation for them. More shit happens, I'm undoing some of that self-loathing.

tl;dr: My advice for fellow adult ADHD-ers is:

Try to learn what your natural rhythms are and, where possible, try leaning into them. Without judgement, try working with your natural tendencies rather than battling them at every moment. See how it feels, see what you accomplish (and not just in the capitalistic "productivity" way--spending 3 hours hyperfocusing on researching the history of wheat germ counts!) See how your brain and body feel.

Your brain is wired different, let yourself operate different.

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Yukichi Fukuzawa (self-aware)

Self-Aware! Yukichi Fukuzawa x GN! Reader

Warning: Yandere. OOC. Spoilers for "The Untold Origins of the Detective Agency". Fukuzawa doesn't like you at first. Overprotective Fukuzawa. English is my second language.

Becoming self-aware

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa Yukichi is a stoic man. Fukuzawa Yukichi is a swordsman. Fukuzawa Yukichi was an assassin. Fukuzawa Yukichi was a bodyguard. Fukuzawa Yukichi is a President of the Armed Detective Agency. And, apparently, he never has been real.

👘🗡️ It takes everything for Fukuzawa not to lose himself.

👘🗡️ Was his previous life a lie? Were the lives of his workers a lie too?

👘🗡️ What about other Yokohama citizens? Are ADA members the only ones who gained self-awareness? Are they the only ones who stayed in this cursed place?

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa wanted to scream. He wanted to do something, anything, to stop this real life nightmare.

👘🗡️ But there is no point in grieving. ADA need him to be strong.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa ordered everyone to travel in pairs. After taking a quick look at other floors and finding them empty, Fukuzawa ordered to move living quarters into the ADA building.

👘🗡️ The first day was hard. The next ones wasn't easier.

👘🗡️ Atsushi was afraid of been alone. Kunikida was a husk of his former self. Yosano was ready to destroy anyone who crossed her path. Junchirou put all his efforts in looking after Naomi. Naomi was avoiding all of them. Kirako was behaving like a robot. Katai was working day and night. Kenji tried to stay positive, but he also was lost. Kyouka was ready to become a killer again, if it helps the agency. Ranpo was working as much as he can. And, while each time he couldn't find something useful, Ranpo pretended not to be bothered by it, Fukuzawa still could see, that Ranpo became sadder and sadder. Dazai was aloof and closed off.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa saw his workers distress. He could see their pain. And he can't do anything to ease their pain.

👘🗡️ He talked to them. Offered a shoulder to cry on. But it wasn't enough.

👘🗡️ He tried to be strong for them. But, time to time, he almost broke.

👘🗡️ The news, that they weren't the only one, who is self-aware, were... good. At some extent. At least, there were other people.

👘🗡️ And then, one day, he feels an entity's gaze on him.

___________________

It was watching...

It was observing...

It was not something familiar...

Years of training have sharpened Fukuzawa's senses.

They were sharp enough to observe The Entity in return.

Fukuzawa is patient. He is observing The Entity. He is waiting for its first move.

Fukuzawa was an assassin. He still remembers, how to follow his target. But he can't follow this target.

He trusts his guts and years of training. He is sure, that he is not mistaken. Fukuzawa was sure, that this thing isn't there. The Entity is hiding in a different world.

When Atsushi asked if they have felt someone's gaze on them, Fukuzawa answered, that he has felt it.

Others have felt it too. Their conditions became worse. Most of his workers became angrier.

All because of This Entity.

Fukuzawa is trying harder to find a way to The Entity. To this strange emotionless thing.

When he will find it, he will make sure this creature will be destroyed.

He won't let this thing poison his workers lives anymore.

And then time resets.

And Fukuzawa, once again, was thirty-two-years-old bodyguard, whose last client were assassinated.

________________________

When they start feeling your presence

👘🗡️ At first, Fukuzawa was just standing there. At first glance, he looked calm. But in reality, he was enraged, he was scared, he was lost.

👘🗡️ He felt The Entity's gaze again. But in a second, the ominous presence disappeared.

👘🗡️ Instead, he felt, like something was floating above him.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa looked up. A blob of light. A small, shapeless blob of light. He can tell, that it is The Entity. Of course, it wasn't its real form. And he heard a voice. Just a whisper, that came from the blob.

"young..." "cool..." "strong..."

👘🗡️ Then blob gently lowered itself and settled on Fukuzawa's head. The Blob seems happy.

👘🗡️ And Fukuzawa felt its happiness. Fukuzawa felt, like he just drank some good tea.

👘🗡️ Okay... He didn't expect this. Fukuzawa was puzzled. This Entity has emotions? And it decides to become a light blob.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa tries to touch the blob. But his fingers passed through it. And Blob doesn't seem to notice Fukuzawa's actions.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa decided to go to the company of his late client. He needs to meet Ranpo.

👘🗡️ And like this, with a light blob on his head, Fukuzawa was on his way.

👘🗡️ When Fukuzawa arrived, he, once again, had to preform an impossible movement, just to get to the room with the caught assassin.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa heard, that Entity spoked again. This time, the voice was louder, but not really clear.

"Fukuzawa [||||||||||] awesome! [|||||||||||||] bodyguard ever!"

👘🗡️ The Blob on his head purred. It was... cute.

👘🗡️ During the next few minutes, Blob, once again, was floating above him, above young assassin, above secretary, above Ranpo.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa noticed, that, he was the only one, who can see the Blob.

👘🗡️ During their talk in a café, Blob were floating above them.

👘🗡️ After secretary's crimes were exposed, and Fukuzawa agreed to treat Ranpo, he asked, if Ranpo heard The Entity. Ranpo confirmed that yes, he has heard them.

👘🗡️ For the first time, since Fukuzawa learned about The Entity's existence, he felt calm. They... don't seem bad. Simply curious. Not malicious.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa and Ranpo finally went to the theater, where Fukuzawa's next job should be.

👘🗡️ When he met Ranpo for the first time, Fukuzawa was so irritated by the child's behavior, he thought about fifty-one ways of getting rid of him. Fukuzawa hoped, that this time, Ranpo would be less annoying. He was mistaken.

👘🗡️ Not only Ranpo was as annoying as before, The Blob was laughing. The Blob seems amused by Ranpo's behavior. Fukuzawa felt exhausted.

👘🗡️ At the end of their walk, Fukuzawa had thought about thirty ways of getting rid of the Blob. And he proclaimed it loudly, pointing at it. Ranpo looked confused, but didn't ask any questions.

👘🗡️ When Ranpo was kidnapped, and Fukuzawa was looking for him, he could feel The Entity's worry and fear.

👘🗡️ When Fukuzawa was lecturing Ranpo, The Entity was also lecturing him

👘🗡️ The Entity were never evil... Fukuzawa was grateful, that he learned it before he can seriously hurt The Blob... Little Light.

👘🗡️ The time 'resets again'. Fukuzawa 'woke up' in the ADA office. Atsushi's entrance exam just ended a moment ago.

👘🗡️ Days passed. Slowly, others became back to normal. As Fukuzawa learned from talks, The Entity was praising them. They were crying with them. They were treating them like humans.

👘🗡️ And one more thing were new there.

👘🗡️ The Light Blob, that were floating above them. And, again, others didn't notice it.

👘🗡️ Now it didn't stay with Fukuzawa for long. He wished, that Little Light will stay with him longer. He wished, he heard their voice again.

👘🗡️ Ranpo has discovered, that Little Light is normal human.

👘🗡️ The next day, Dazai started a meeting in Fukuzawa's office. Dazai confessed, that he also can see Little Light Blob. If one feels Guiding Light presence long enough, they start seeing the Little Light Blob. Dazai offered to start working on finding a way to Their Guiding Light. That's how Dazai called them.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa and the rest of ADA agree.

👘🗡️ ADA has decided to find a way to their world. So they can be near them.

👘🗡️ And then, Atsushi and Kyouka were kidnapped by Port Mafia again.

___________________________

"A comrade is in danger. We need to rescue him. Is there some weightier logic in the world which trumps that?"

Fukuzawa Yukichi felt, how Light Blob flew closer to him. He heard the voice.

"kind" "true leader" "everyone is safe with him"

"Fukuzawa, you are a great leader. All ADA members are safe with you. You will never let them be hurt. I think, they are very lucky to have such a kind and loyal man as their leader."

Little Light flew closer to Fukuzawa and pet his shoulder.

[In reality, you carefully pet the manga panel with Fukuzawa on it.]

______________________

👘🗡️ When Dazai offers to arrange a meeting between Fukuzawa and Ougai Mori, Fukuzawa agrees. They need more people. More people to find a way to Their Guiding Light.

👘🗡️ The meeting was a success. After hearing about working together with finding a way to the real world, to Their Guiding Light, Mori immediately agrees.

👘🗡️ Some time passed. The Guild joined them. And Rats. And DOA. And Hunting Dogs. And The Government.

👘🗡️ All of them were together. Joined their forces in finding a way to you.

And then, one day, during one of their meetings, the purple moon shined above Yokohama.

_____________________

When you installed BSD Mayoi Inu Kaikitan

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa will be the first, who will try to raise the chance of getting his card from the scout.

👘🗡️ Soon, you will have all your Fukuzawa cards with max level skill.

"This SR Summer Festival Fukuzawa card looks good"

"Wow, Fukuzawa's skill deals so much damage"

"I like when I see Fukuzawa's sprite in The Office"

👘🗡️ When BSD gang will gain access to the rest of your phone, Fukuzawa will find information about dangers in your world. He can't allow anyone to hurt you. You are under his protection. He is your bodyguard. He will keep you safe.

👘🗡️ Likes to look at cat videos, cat pictures and cat memes with you.

👘🗡️ Last time, he touched the Little Light, hie couldn't do it. But he will get this chance, when they will go to your world. He wants to touch your face. To feel, that you are real.

👘🗡️ Fukuzawa Yukichi was a bodyguard. And for you, he will become him again. Fukuzawa Yukichi is a President of the Armed Detective Agency. And he will use his authority to help you. And Fukuzawa Yukichi soon will be real. Others soon will be real. Real, as you are. Their Guiding Light.

________________________

You finally get a new Fukuzawa card. When you finish level it up, you saw a notification from the "Gift Box".

It was a note from Fukuzawa. With Awakening materials attached to it.

"[Y/N], I hope that you are safe. Please, be careful. The world is a dangerous place. I wish I could protect you. Fukuzawa Yukichi"

You smile and open Fukuzawa'd card again. You carefully pet sprite's shoulder.

"Thank you, Fukuzawa. I am grateful, that you want to protect me. Perhaps, one day, you could do it."

You didn't notice, that Fukuzawa's eyes shine with dangerous light.

[jacaerysgf]

Hi! Could you do a smut where Chad and reader are friends who have feelings for each other and it’s only revealed when Chad sees reader getting flirted with at the Halloween party and he gets jealous and drags her off to another room and it leads to the most rough and possessive smut? I’m not really good at explaining :/

jealousy

warnings: p in v, fingering, jealous chad, not proofread

A/n: i am so sorry this took so long, sorry if this isn't exactly what you would have wanted i hope you enjoy !!

“if you grip that can any tighter its going to explode.”

mindys warning cant be heard by chad who continues to glare daggers into this guys head.

‘who does this guy think he is?’

You two always hang out at these parties, whether your his beer pong partner, you two challenge each other while taking shots or your just sitting on the couch drinking together chatting you are always together.

Besides right now where some guy is clearly hitting on you, giving you a stupid grin while offering to get you a new drink.

Its one of the many halloween parties thats being thrown before halloween. you two decide to dress up as a cowboy and cowgirl. When you walked in with a slutty version of a cowgirl he felt his shorts tighten, he wanted to go over to you and tell you how how he thought you looked, or maybe even drag you into one of the empty rooms and have his way with you but instead there you were chatting with some random guy.

“Its probably nothing.” Ethan on his other side attempts to reason with chad which goes in one ear out the other as he doesn't acknowledge him.

Mindy laughs, “no he's definitely trying to get into her pants.”

Thats it. Chad slams his drink down on a random coffee table and marches over there.

“ten bucks he confesses to her.”

mindy is quiet for a moment.

“ten bucks he fucks her tonight.”

Chad doesn't see the issue with walking over there, you haven't even greeted him yet since you arrived you must want him to talk to you….. right?

its definitely not because he has a massive crush on you and is feeling sick to his stomach at the thought of this guy hitting on you and you enjoying it. Definitely not.

“My drink is still full so no need.” You laugh as he nods, “no problem,” What was this guys name again? you felt bad for not knowing since hes in you ap history class. He was dressed as a construction worker, how corny. You take another glance in the direction chad was.

You really just wanted to go hang out with chad but you were stuck talking to this guy who was a little too friendly for someone who ‘just wanted a quick chat’.

you could see this guy clearly taking glances at your chest almost making you roll your eyes. you had dressed like this to match with chad, hoping that would cause other guys to leave you alone which clearly hadnt worked.

You had a crush on chad, there was no hiding that especially from his very observant sister and roommate who constantly told you to just confess already but you were too much of a coward.

You cant ruin what you two have, plus it would make things awkward with mindy and ethan. You can't make them pick between you two especially since chad is the obvious choice.

When you glance over again you notice hes gone, you begin to panic, where did he go?

“are you alright?” you drop your drink in shock having forgotten there was a guy standing in front of you, “fuck!” you look down and notice a large amount of it splashed on his shoes, “shit im so sorry.”

“y/n!”

You whip your head around and see him, “chad….”

your voice trails off as he checks over you, “are you alright?”

You nod breathlessly and he looks you over oncs more not acknowledging the guy behind you.

“its alright y/n these things happen.” the guy is laughing it off and you turn back to him and smile awkwardly, “im really sorry…”

You dont notice the irritated chad behind you glaring daggers at him.

“im telling you in no problem, now it looks like you need that new drink-”

“Shes not interested.”

Chad grabs your hand and begins to drag you somewhere.

“Chad?”

He doesn't acknowledge you only gripping your hand tighter as he drags you up a set of stairs, “chad whats up with you?”

You attempt to pull away but cant even budge him due to his strength. Why do you find this hot? The angry look dawning his face, his jaw clenched, You watch as his gulps, his adams apple bobs as his eyes dart around the hallway of doors seemingly looking for an empty room.

You can't bring yourself to look at him any longer and ignoring the wetness the pools in your underwear as he finally finds a free room and drags you in there.

He slams the door closed and he finally lets go, turning away from you.

“chad?” He runs his hands along his face before turning back to you, his breath heavy with angry and he has an dark look in his eyes, “what-”

He presses you against the door and kisses you, placing both of his hands on your cheeks as your eyes widen and you gasp in shock.

He takes the opportunity to kiss you deeper and you finally close your eyes kissing him back.

This had to be a dream, no way chad was fully making out with you right now in some random persons bedroom.

his hands slide down to your chest and squeeze your breasts before moving his hands down to your shorts and sticking one of them in, rubbing two fingers on your clit.

“he makes you this wet?”

you moan and shake your head, “no you did.”

“thats right baby nobody will ever makes you as wet as i do.”

he places sloppy kisses down your neck as he moves your underwear to the side and slides two fingers into you.

you moan out as he begins to move his fingers at a rough pace, “could he make you feel like this hmm? could he make you feel this good?” his words dont reach your ears as he moves his other hand down to rub your clit.

you begin to tighten around his fingers causing him to chuckle, “you gonna cum? for me right? this is for me, not that piece of shit downstairs right? maybe i should make you scream so loud he hears you and knows youre mine huh?”

you nod mindlessly, “please please.”

he shuts you up with a kiss as you cum all over his fingers.

he pulls away and sticks the fingers in your mouth, “lick them clean.”

He groans at the feeling of your tongue swirling around his fingers as you suck them clean. he pulls them out of your mouth and grabs your hips, spinning you around and picking you up.

you huff as you hit the bed and chad climbs on top of you not letting you breath.

as he kisses you he reaches in his back pocket for a condom before pulling down his shorts and boxers.

he leaves sloppy kisses down you neck as he reaches to remove your clothes, admiring you. “youre the most beautiful woman in the world.”

you flush as he smiles, “and all of this is for me.” he squeezes your chest and leaves kisses all over you.

“mine youre mine.”

he rolls the condom on before lining himself up, “tell me youre mine.”

you moan as he pushes himself in, “im yours chad only yours.”

he moves his hips furiously as he pounds into you, “yeah mine mine just mine not that piece of shits mine.”

he rubs your clit and you cry out as he continues to mumble about how you're his.

he feels you tighten around him, “dont cum.”

you whine as you open your mouth to complain but he covers you mouth his hand, “dont you dare.”

he continues to pound into you until hes about to cum, “cum for me baby.”

you two cum at the same time, he continues to move, riding out your orgasm.

you two pant and try to catch your breath.

he avoids eye contact with you, “im sorry i lost it like that. i dont know what came over me.”

he feels you hand cup his cheek and bring his face back towards you where he greeted by your smiling face, “its okay chad, i really liked that.”

he also smiles now, “you did?”

you nod, “i've always wanted to do that with you.”

his eyes widen, “really?”

you scoff, “hello? have i not made it obvious i havs a massive crush on you?”

he sits up in shock, “no?”

you throw your head back and laugh, he watches you with delight as you face him again, “well i like you chad.”

“i like you too.”

[love-toxin]

#the merchant not being IN the shooting range like he is in re4 gives me thots abt being bent over the counter too-//SHOT #luis promising u a prize if u beat his high score (its him he's the prize)

so u just gonna spoonfeed us some ideas then leave us hungry ⁉️⁉️⁉️ smh my head get to work /j

>:)

(cws: gn!reader, semi-public sex, jealousy, mutual pining, teasing)

You know Luis isn't gonna keep quiet while you're shooting away--honestly he has to stop himself from shifting around or adjusting himself because just the sight of you with a gun in your hands turns him on. He loves the way your shoulders tense when he gives you a compliment, how you glance over your shoulder and your grip goes slack when he flashes you a wink and a grin, because you just can't help being cute. You can act tough all you want, but you're adorable and he thinks you know that. If not, well, he's here to remind you.

"How about some pointers, mi vida?"

"I know how to shoot, Luis."

You huff and puff but you don't reject his approach, you don't shove him off when his chest meets your back and certainly not when his hands clasp gently over yours. You let him lead you, guide your hands up to aim the sights down at the target, and slowly squeeze the trigger-

"You're good at this, mi amor." His murmuring voice trickles into your ear, resonating louder in the aftermath of the enormous bang of the gun firing and the target blasting into pieces. His fingertips drawing down your arm leave shivers in their place, his warmth bleeding into every inch of skin....it's no wonder you lay the gun down and turn to face him, eyes gleaming with something akin to need that your hands convey so much clearer as they drift up his chest. Luis doesn't even have to speak, you can feel his intentions in the way he reaches around to grab for fistfuls of your cheeks, and lifts you up to sit you on the counter so you can look down on him.

"Oh, don't let me stop you. I'm just admiring the view." Such a tease. He's swift in feeling behind you for the gun and raising it up, his free hand coming round to shelter your head in the crook of his neck and cover your ears as he shoots off a few quick rounds. Looking back, you're met with a smoking gun and an empty chamber, plus six new holes in the last six targets you've spent twenty minutes trying not to miss. You roll your eyes and he tucks the gun away in your case lying just off to the side, but even though he's bracing the small of your back as he does so he never lets go of you completely.

"Alright, Sera. You win."

"I win, mmh? Win what?" He purrs into your skin, nosing your cheek just until you turn your head and find your lips barely a hair's breadth from one another. You really have no idea what your voice alone does to him--nor how lost he could get in your eyes and your warm breath on his skin.

"You win....twenty minutes. You can do whatever you want with me for twenty minutes." You whisper back, quiet and soft like you're afraid people will hear you. All your secrets are safe with him, though. They might be the only ones he can keep.

"Anything?"

"I'm all yours, Luis."

Those words could very well be a siren song to him, they're almost toxic in the way they singe their way through his veins and blur any sound thoughts from his conscience. But even poison would taste sweet if he drank it from you, and when he closes that distance to kiss you, that's all he tastes on your tongue. Sweetness.

"I could do damage in ten. You're generous, amor."

His heart soars as you lean in for him again, lips chasing his like that one kiss wasn't enough for you. Usually it's him that's doing the chasing, that's begging not to be let go, praying he's going to be held for longer than a second--you fill that need like it's as easy as breathing, so maybe you're not quite as poisonous as he might've thought. Loving anyone is dangerous for him...especially when he's so quick to realize it's really love, and not just lust.

Time stands still in those heated presses of mouth to mouth, breathing fresh life into his lungs, yet every other moment seems to blur together before he can try to hold it in place. Your clothing spills over your shoulders and down your thighs, bare skin meeting his palms as he vainly tries to consume as much of you as he can. How desperate he is to lower his head and fall to his knees before you, but you pull his face closer to share another kiss instead--and how could he deny you? This prize is meant to be his, but he gets so much more out of allowing you total control over his body.

Luis wouldn't have thought you could get cuter than that, but the desperate paw of your hands at his belt and the strain for more kisses blows that assumption right away. This clearly isn't a one-way street, you've been craving him just as much as he has you. Maybe this is what you were hoping for. Maybe this is what you've been building up to all this time, and why you've made him spend so much time here just to watch your hands fiddle with the trigger of your gun. He'd like to imagine you were envisioning it was him, and based on the confident way you grab hold of him under his jeans, he was right.

"We're short on time, Luis. Let's make this quick." Your lips against his ear as you stroke him feels like a rebirth, his knees buckling and his eyes halfway to rolling back in his head. How can you make him so weak? There's part of him that wishes it wasn't so, but another part shines through in his wobbly grin, one that whispers out 'I want more of you'.

The tips of his fingers part your kiss and dip into your mouth, your tongue like velvet as you suck down on each one. He just needs them wet but you go further; you lap up every ounce of him so all that remains is you. Your scent, your taste, your touch--much like what you do to him each time you brush by, your presence like golden light he can't help himself from basking in, and himself a heathen that craves your glow over salvation.

And as he pushes each one inside, your nails bite into his bare shoulders at the ache, the stretch ripping a gasp out of your lungs that soon dulls into the sweetest whines Luis has ever heard. You're so eager in your touch yet overwhelmed every time he indulges you, so he expects as much when his hand retracts and he replaces it by guiding the tip to your center. Were you really just pretending to be annoyed by him all this time?

Maybe some of it was real, surely, he knows himself well enough to anticipate it. But all of it is called into question when you grab his hips forward, forcing him to yield to your heat when he's entering you too slow for your taste. Now it's his turn to cry out, each breath stumbling on its way out while you pant and press your lips to his throat, his hips sunk all the way down to meet flush with yours. He must be so deep you can feel him in your stomach, and your crooning voice gasping about how big he is reassures him so. Moving feels almost impossible now, and yes, now that he's gotten this far he'd adore nothing more than to just stay in place and bask in your warmth forever. But you're so needy for him it seems, and the last thing he'll do is disappoint you--and that's what draws him back and pushes his hips forwards, your squeaky moans of ecstasy dragging out that animalistic pace he's been keeping locked up for ages.

"Imagine how much trouble we'd get in if Leon found out," He pants with a chuckle, hurrying his thrusts as the urgency of time finally settles on his shoulders.

"I really don't wanna think about Leon right now," You breathe right back, keening out a whine as your body adjusts to both the intrusion and the force of Luis slamming you back against the wood-grain countertop ad nauseum. As childish a thought as it is, he feels a smirk return as he thinks "good". As great as he is, there's a few things Luis would rather not share with that criminally handsome American if he can help it--and you're one of them.

"How's that feel, mi vida?" The sloppy, thumping rhythm of his belt buckle hitting the counter and your body clinging to every drag drowns out any half-whimper of an answer you give, your breathing peppered by echoes of his name and curses that would even make himself blush. Luis brushes a bit of your hair from your cheek and cups it with a ginger firmness, the gesture melting you in his palms as you meet his eyes and think of nothing else but him. Whatever the answer is, he can't imagine a string of flowery words as good as seeing you come undone in front of him. "Feels like a victory to me."

Your groan follows his smug comment either out of indignation or lust, if it even matters. But he's already getting close and he's praying you are too, if for no better reason than his own desire to feel you grip him so hard he bruises as you meet your end. That would be quite the way to show off. And when that blinding pleasure soon overcomes both of you and culminates in a kiss, one so much deeper that means more than either of you are willing to admit, that's when a fresh feeling of pride surges inside Luis as he hears the elevator doors swish open behind him--along with a low, soft inhale of breath being sucked through one's teeth in shock.

[simp999]

Medic x Reader - The Red Means I Love You

Wc: 2.7k

Themes: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort(reader was feeling down beforehand)

A/N: I really haven't been writing huh,, sorry about that, guys!! I've been real busy with work n' other stuff- but I promise I still love seeing your ideas! I can't promise I'll get to them, but I still enjoy seeing them :3

Taglist: @electro-omen @skeleton-stomper-xoxo @moopy-milk @pillow-14 @emotionallyunwellmedic

Masterlist

Optional Playlist!!:

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Not again.

It's always that damned static that manages to hum itself back into your ears; almost romantically. The idea sounds so beautifully comforting; lovingly pulling you away from reality, holding you in a close embrace.

It sounds so much nicer in thought than in practice.

But as much as you can't help but zone in and out, every sound around you feels so loud yet hushed at the same time. The buzzing of the lights, the crickets outside, at one point you think you may have heard someone walk past your room to go to the kitchen, but it was just one sound among many.

You sat alone in your bed, staring blankly ahead. You couldn't make out what you were staring at, nor did you care. - It was all just a blurry mess.

But you needed a distraction. You knew that if you were to be left alone it would only get worse.

And suddenly, you were standing in front of Medic's lab. You didn't remember the slow journey there. Maybe you've walked the path so many times that you went on autopilot? That doesn't matter right now.

You can hear footsteps from inside, and a soft, muffled voice. You can't quite make out the words, but with his tone, you can assume that he's talking with his birds.

You reach out for the door handle, hesitating. Did you really need to go bug him? You'll get over it, you're sure.

What exactly is it that your body needed? You shuffled through a short list of things. You ate earlier, drank water, you got an... okay amount of sleep. Well, more than usual- which is a start.

You just needed to be in someone's presence, you think.

But not just anyone, you're sure that someone like Scout would be too energetic, and Soldier would be too loud.

You always end up right back here, don't you? Maybe it's because you feel comfortable around him? You couldn't be too sure.

You lightly shake your head, your vision continuing to stay just a bit more blurry than usual. With the blurred shapes that you know spell "laboratory" in front of you, you finally crack the door open a smidge. Then some more.

Medic was standing in front of his doves, holding his bloody finger up to Archimedes. You're assuming he'd just given him a piece of meat or maybe he was petting him. In the middle of the action, Medic tilts his head your way, opening his mouth for a greeting-but deciding against it when he does a quick once-over of your tired form. Though, a gentle smile does make its way on his face.

You slowly hobble over to an empty counter, ignoring the chair stacked with a lab coat and papers, hopping up on said countertop. You stare ahead at the body on Medic's operating table. You haphazardly analysed it. It sat lifeless, it seems it'd been that way for a while now. Well, at least you knew you and him were truly alone.

You leaned back, letting your arms hold you up. Medic silently went back to his spot beside the corpse, picking up a scalpel with a soft smile. He began to hum. You'd be lying if you said you didn't find it comforting. The buzzing of the lights surely didn't leave, but they felt less overbearing. It was also late, and Medic rarely had all of the lights on at this time, only keeping the one main one he needed for seeing the corpse with.

He could tell something was up, but he didn't want to pry- though it was nagging at him. Perhaps Archimedes could tell, or maybe it was pure luck- or maybe Archimedes saw you as someone to care for too. Soon enough he was carefully flying towards you, gently landing on your shoulder and rubbing his head up against your cheek. It became tough to hold back a small smile, and you relaxed your shoulders. You gently brought up a knuckle to very carefully pet him with. Along with whispering little nothings- most of which Medic couldn't make out, only sometimes hearing his own name.

He couldn't help but admire the sight before him. It's a good thing that the corpse in front of him was indeed just that- a corpse- or else dropping the scalpel in it probably wouldn't have been too good.

"..Hey,"

He snaps back to reality, his face warming up just a bit at how you caught him dazed- one could even say with a somewhat lovestruck expression. You weren't about to point that out though, were you?

"Why'd you stop humming?"

He.. he was humming? No- well, yes he does tend to do that a lot while working to busy himself, but you noticed? His eyes widened a bit. It's not exactly a conscious thing he does- and it doesn't help that now that he's put on the spot he can't quite come up with anything to hum.

So, he carefully sets down whatever tool he was holding and quietly makes his way over to the music player. You recognized the first song as "Bust Your Kneecaps". You giggled at how fitting it seemed to suit him. The song was so calming but morbid at the same time. He carefully adjusts the volume and begins to sway his hips as he once again as he works on the corpse in front of him. The music player sounds a bit staticky, but the music was still enjoyable.

And now it was your turn to admire him.

He sure was skilled at what he did. Even with music playing and him obviously focused on the sounds surrounding him, he nonchalantly makes such precise and careful incisions. The soft smile on his face, and the way his hair was a bit messier than usual- a given after a long day of battles. You caught the way he'd absentmindedly twirl the scalpel between his fingers before deciding where to place his next incision. The blood coating his gloves glistened,- hey, that's odd, he very rarely wore his gloves while working. May he knew you'd-? No, no, you doubted it.

You noticed the way he had a small pep in his step whenever he had to walk around- it seems his boots may be newly polished, too. His voice when he hummed or softly sang any lyrics was always so comforting too. So much so that you'd absentmindedly join in on the humming at times if you knew the song.

Which is what happened. You only noticed that your soft hums could be heard as well when you caught the way his smile grew and he glanced over at you with hope in his eyes. It was always reassuring to him when you'd slowly warm back up in the subtlest of ways. Of course he knew when you weren't doing too well, and he was always glad to help you out. Honoured, even. It made his heart warm knowing that he was your go-to person to feel comfortable and safe again, even if it just meant being in the same room as him.

It means you willingly trust him. Yes of course, people trust him with their wounds in life or death situations- but they have no choice. Yet you come to him for the most mundane of things.

He must admit, he might be catching feelings.

And there wasn't any major event that caused him to realise this- no. Actually, it was something quite small that you'd done many times before.

This must've been roughly a month ago now; he was sat at his desk, his pencil going back and forth over some paperwork at ungodly hours of the morning. Everyone at the base should have been asleep, but he should have known better as mercenaries. None of you were normal- but you all still needed rest.

Which is why he was surprised when he heard soft footsteps slowly approach him. He recognized them, of course- had he not, he would have been reaching for his bonesaw.

Your presence alone relaxed him. But then he remembered how late it was, and was about the question you on why you might be up at this hour- damn hypocrite.

But before he could, there was a small plate with snacks being placed beside his paperwork, and a hand giving his closest shoulder a small, absentminded massage.

Then, you stood behind him, slowly snaked your arms around his shoulders and slowly leaned against him- almost all of your weight. You rested your chin on top of his head and you hadn't said a word.

This meant two things: one, that you had finally accepted that you simply couldn't tell him to get to bed because it would never work, to which you had adapted. Second, you were up at this ungodly time, and the first thing on your mind was taking care of him.

The thought of asking you why you were up at this hour left his mind, instead opting to let you watch whatever he was working on. Well, as much as you could with your eyes half-lidded, sometimes closing on you.

Every so often, he'd grab a piece of the snack you had brought him. One time, he brought a piece to your lips, and you lazily ate it with a hum. From that point on, he'd eat a piece, then offer you one. Then, because he was so entranced in his work, he had forgotten about the snack. Until you gently brought a piece in front of his mouth, still wanting to take care of him.

"...You don't have to do this, you know."

You gently shook your head, leaning a bit more on him and giving him a gentle squeeze, which was enough of an answer.

And yes, he did notice the way you'd begin to lose your balance due to how tired you were. He himself would lean just enough to keep you upright when he could tell you were beginning to doze off.

That was the first night you managed to get him to go to sleep early- and that was without a single word spoken by you.

That was the night he learned he may have feelings for you. He felt a growing urge to care for you; in subtle and non-subtle ways. Of course- the mercs could tell that he'd slowly become more of a pocket Medic, that much was obvious. But he'd also watch out for you in ways he knew how to. He'd make sure to give you a proper dose of anaesthesia, always be gentle when he did anything involving you, clean his lab and equipment thoroughly before even thinking about using any on you. He never thought too much of it, either.

You began living in his presence more often too, and he appreciated it so very much- he'd never brought it up, but he did care. There were a few times where you'd swing by and he'd offered you a snack; or if you were cold, he'd offer you his labcoat.

Then he realised that he became happy when you were happy.

He never thought of himself as an empath- far from it, really. But suddenly when your mood was down, he'd find himself alone in his lab, doing what he always does. It felt like he was on autopilot, and he felt dull. But when your mood was better and you were more excitable- or even simply happier overall, he'd hum more often, and he wouldn't notice the smile that seemed to constantly spread across his lips, nor the pep in his step.

Which brings us to the present moment. You two humming along to the song. It slowly drowned out, and a new song came on, You recognized it as: "The Red Means I Love you."

Medic's lips curled up a bit, and you gently kicked your feet, his seemingly happy mood becoming contagious. You were still somewhat zoned out, now accidentally staring off into space, which just so happened to be his boots this time. And suddenly, they were right in front of you, along with an open hand blocking the view- hey, when did he remove his glove? It just have been just now, as it wasn't bloody.

You looked up to him and recognized the expectant gaze he sent your way. That warm smile on his face was what convinced you to take his hand, and he carefully guided you around with small steps.

He hummed as he gently placed a hand on the small of your back, and held your hand in his as if it were made of glass.

Once you two began moving a little quicker, he began to sing. He started out in a very quiet tone as to not startle you;

"'Cause my insides are red,

And yours are too.

And the red on my face

Is matching you~"

The two of you continued to sway along to the music, slowly becoming more comfortable, but keeping the volume low. The two of you were tired but content. Then, the reoccurring line in the song came up, and the two of you sang it together in hushed voices;

"The red means I love you~"

You couldn't help the small smile that slowly played on your lips, his was contagious. He offered you a wide grin when he noticed you looking up at him, but it quickly went back to a small, calm, and reassuring one once your eyes were elsewhere. One could even say lovestruck. Paired with a gaze that was admiring every part of you, simply glad to be right there, right now, with you. He'd take lives to be able to do this at any given time- there was nothing more perfect to him than this.

You looked so perfect to him in this very moment. Even the dishevelled hair, darkened eye bags, and slumped shoulders were to be admired. Any imperfections of your skin he found absolutely stunning- they made you unique. But with his background, he's pretty sure that telling you you had fascinating skin wouldn't come off the way he'd hoped- so he'd keep that to himself.

He longed to gently card his fingers through your messy hair, run his finger from your hair to behind your ear, along your jaw and finally tilt your chin up and admire your eyes with the warmest, most loving smile he's ever worn. To pull you a bit closer with the hand that was still resting against the small of your back, with barely any force to be noticeable.

And then he'd lean down, analyse your face for whatever emotions you may be feeling and go from there.

Now, he wasn't a shy man.

So that's what he did.

And that's where the two of you now stand.

After analysing your emotions, checking for any sort of discomfort- he tilted your chin up just enough for you and him to meet halfway.

It was a small kiss- short, sweet and loving. It could even be considered a small peck. There was nothing more to be added, enough was said- even if the only words spoken aloud tonight were mostly just lyrics.

You stood a little stunned, but that was only because you weren't quite ready to fully comprehend what had just happened.

Medic on the other hand was already pulling you into a gentle hug that had the both of you calmly swaying back and forth as he played with your hair. He gave you a small kiss on the crown of your head as you finally relaxed into him, and allowed your hands to rest on his back. Barely audible, he muttered;

"I love you, liebchen."

A gentle squeeze was offered that reassured him that you felt the same way, and you could feel his smile widen before opting to rest his chin on your head, and gently rest his hand on the back of your neck, caressing the base of it with his thumb as the two of you continued to sway together.

He looked forward to more nights like this. Nothing extravagant, just you and him, comfortable in eachother's loving presence.

.

.

.

Nov.10.23

[starillusion13]

I Know it's weird to ask erm.... but Can you pleaseeee do the four seasons of love one with Yunho version because I want to imagine him in that fic and am currently obsessssssed with YUNHO. I know I can read the fic inserting his name but stilll PLEASE IF YOU CAN DO IT.

FOUR SEASONS OF LOVE (Yunho ver.)

Pairing: Ateez! Yunho × f! reader

Genre: Slight angst, Fluff, Slice of life

Warning: self doubt, hints of hating and willing to end life.But our big baby is there to comfort you and show that life is worth to you when you are with right person. A lot of comfort through the images of seasons. You all are precious remember it.

W.C: 4.2k+

Network: @k-vanity @cultofdionysusnet

A/n: don't accuse me for plagiarism coz if you have read this fic before then you must have read the Chanyeol ver.This plot is basically inspired from his solo songs but I had literally Yunho on my mind for this but as I had a request for Chanyeol oneshot so I used this. Thanks to the anon for making me post it.

Many thoughts storming through your mind. Your mind swirling like a cyclone, heart clenching and hands going numb. Nobody wants you, no one even cares for your existence. Maybe they are right that your parents left you at the orphanage because you are unwanted. Why? You never hurt anyone or being a threat to anyone. The only person you have your faiths and trust on has suddenly turned their back to you. You never thought that you have to witness a day like this too after being treated like a shit all these years. Was it not enough for you already?

"Why should I live now?"

Tilting your head back and closing the eyes, you let the raindrops fall on your face directly. Hairs are already drenched and sticking to your forehead and neck, not even caring to move the strands falling on your eyes. Numb hands growing cold under the heavy rain, eyes swollen with crying but people might mistake your eyes are red due to rain. Each falling drop getting mixed with your tears rolling down. Tears of pain? Tears of loneliness? Tears of betrayal? No. Tears of hope.

"Why can't everyone be happy?"

You must be right. Not everyone deserves to be treated as someone's priority. Someone has to feel the pain to let others be happy. You lightly chuckle on your own thoughts. Like always you have to be the sacrifice. Your feet move on its own and now you are standing in the middle of the road surrounded by abandoned constructed buildings. At least there are no people here to judge your every moves.

Unknowingly, you spread your arms and head still facing the sky but with a little smile adorning your face.

"Can I fly alone?"

Its past safety hours at night and you are getting soaked in rain in an empty street and thinking about flying. Are you a child? Maybe only if you can be a child and someone would care about you and take you in their arms and whisper Its okay. I'm here for you.. You want someone to care for you, someone to give you the warmth you crave in your life. This cold rainy night is befriending your nightmares to make you alone, to make you feel...you are not good for anyone.

"Such a bad girl.”

Your eyes shot open on hearing the voice. Rather a very familiar teasing voice you must say. You don't even care to look in the direction to know who the person is but let the raindrops pierce your eyes directly, making you to squint on the effect.

"If you are trying to be blind then I have some better options for you to try."

Better option? Death. You don't see any will to live your life. What life? To be an extra character in everyone's story. Every individual on this planet has their own story but you must believe that you are just the extra one in their story to make give them more spotlight by increasing the sea of people.

"Why are you here?"

"Well, I should have asked you the same, little angel."

Little angel. If only you could have been one then you would have done everything possible to be happy. Just be happy and away from these people who blame you for everything. You are a bad luck to everyone.

Bringing your hands to yourself, eyes fixed on the broken wooden board hanging from the wall of a building to your front. Your back still facing the person but you can feel the stares burning on you.

"I'm not in a mood for your jokes."

"I'm asking you a question not joking. This is not your colony and also not mine but the complex there is mine and I come here often. So, what brings you here?"

"Can't you just leave and let me be alone for once?"

Silence. That's what you got in return. Like others, he also left. Your heart clenched on the thought and your shaking hands turned into fists by your side.

Why are you feeling like this? Its not like you were appreciating his presence, or were you? At least him teasing you whole day somewhat makes you feel that someone care to spend a little bit of their time to talk to you....... To tease you maybe. With hope, hope? You turn around slowly, gaze following how each drop hitting the ground and shattering into tiny droplets. Just like your hopes to see him behind will shatter soon into pieces of disappointment, loneliness and pain.

"Yunho?..”

He is still there, hands in the pocket of his hoodie and eyes boring onto your figure. You feel a bit of joy but for what, just to see him standing there? Like the way an angry mother scolding her child for being out so late. Your shocked eyes contacting with the daring eyes of his challenging self as if it's challenging you to look away.

“You are still here.....I thought-“

"You thought like everyone else I will also leave you alone here." His tone is monotonous, not even hinting any sort of emotions behind it, neither of caring nor even of hatred.

You nod your head obliviously.

He 'tsch' and shakes his head, footsteps approach you. You try to avoid the closeness, panicking you are looking everywhere to just run away from him. But deep down, you want to stay close to him, to hear his teasing voice and to make you annoyed until you glare at him and he will return you a playful wink. At least, he never made you feel alone or ever hurt you.

"Why?"

Why? It's obvious because am not a one to waste your precious time on. You want to scream this on his face but you feel your throat becomes heavy with a lump stuck inside. You are about to break down because you can't take this feeling that someone is waiting to hear your response. Caring for you.

"Please..go away...if you are here to tease me later for this then please go away."

"Do I hurt you?"

"Huh?"

"Do I hurt you with my teasing?"

"I d-don't know." No.

“Do I make you uncomfortable when am around you?"

No.

He paused but your lost eyes staring at him made him continue. "Do I burden you?"

No.

You want to scream but you can't utter a single world but gazing up at him with lost swollen eyes. His warm hands cupped your cheeks. Why are his hands warm and yours cold? Oh, God has a priority.

He is also drenched but not like you for almost over an hour. His few portions of the clothing are soaked but his hairs are getting wet fully, his umbrella lying upside-down at the side of the street. Why is he getting wet despite having an umbrella?

"Do you hate me?"

No? Yes? Do you? Well, you really didn't think of him like this way before. Do you really want him to go away? You never felt hurt because of him. Rather you enjoy his company. You don't know whether it's bad or not but you love his presence. His presence is the last thing that can burden you. When everyone is turning their back to you, he is the only one looking at you with mischievousness of course.

"Yunho...don't ask me this." Your fingers tightly hold his wrists but you are keeping his hands close to you, leaning to his touch more. Seeking the comfort in his warmth, you are feeling safe.

"Why?"

"I, myself don't know how to respond you."

The rain has stopped but the tears still keeping your eyes wet.

"Y/N, will you let me hold you like this forever? I can't see you broken like this anymore. You don't know how much it hurts me whenever I see you crying."

"What are you saying?"

“Everyone breaks you down but you try to stay strong. You put on a fake smile just to lie to yourself that you are fine. But I want to see the real you.”

“I-n-no...I'm fine."

"Really? Crying alone in the middle of the street under the heavy rain and I have to believe that you are fine like always."

"Why are you being like this Yunho? I hate when people show me comfort out of pity. I am used to being alone like this so just leave me and go away."

No, please don't go. You try to move away his hand but he doesn't budge and his cold eyes staring deep in your orbs as if it can read the hidden truth behind those tears. His thumbs brush over your cheeks, wiping away the tears which are rolling down. Why are you crying? He is not doing anything to you.

"This is why I never approached you to show my care. I always see you getting hate from the ones you have trusted and that's why I wanted to be someone to you whom you will have some different kind of feelings. I didn't want you to see me as others who is just pitying you but I wanted you to see me treating you like a regular person.”

"Different kind of feelings?"

He squeezes your cheeks and smiles at your silly face. Those slight dimples occurring in the end of his smile on the cheeks, your hands move upward to touch them and you can feel him lean to your touch and closing his eyes for a moment.

"Yes, puffer fish. Someone approaching you like you are a loner to their eyes and then suddenly turning their back to you when you actually started to lean on them. I never wanted that to happen between us. I wanted you to see me differently from others. So, I started to tease you and you have to agree that sometimes I have really made you laugh. Also, your glares, you think you look so angry and scary but you just look silly."

"Yaaa." You slap his arms and his dimples deepen when he smiles wider which brings a little smile on your lips.

And this is Yunho. The tease who doesn't leave a single chance to annoy you even at this moment when you are so vulnerable and confused with your feelings. But what is the meaning of different kind of feelings?

"I wanted you to see me as an annoying person who can make you angry, frustrated, getting on your nerves so you make silly faces at me when am too much overbearing and also laugh with me on my jokes. But-"

His fingers tracing your cheekbones and big doe eyes staring at your swollen eyes.

"But?" your voice is like a whisper but he can still hear you.

"But I always try to make you forget others, how they mistreat you, how they ignore you, how they hurt you. I don't want to see you cry over them. I want to see you smiling Y/N."

"Why are you doing this, Yunho?"

You are suddenly being held in a big warm hug, him holding you tightly as if you might blow away with the light breeze blowing after the heavy rain. Your body shivers due to the weather but his warm hug feels so comfortable and you wrap your arms around his big frame. Can you provide him the same warmth back?

"I can't see you like this Y/N. Please let me be a part of your life. Please."

Your body again shivers to the wind and he retreats from the hug. A part of your life? Which life? The one you don't even know what is the use of its existence where everyone knows just to hurt you and ignore you.

“Y/N?"

"Hmmm...”

"Let's go home. You will catch cold like this."

"I don't want to go home."

Why? The place where you feel secure, away from all the judging eyes but suffocating yourself with the thousand thoughts within those four walls of your apartment.

He suddenly picks you up in his arms, your shocked face getting a chuckle and wide smile from him.

"What are you doing? Put me down."

"Well, if you don't go by your own then l'm taking you like this."

"Yaaa put me down. You don't even know my place and if I start to shout right now, you will really be accused for kidnapping.”

"Hm that's right but I can say that someone was trying to end her life and I am just being her saviour. Also, I'm taking you to my place so please keep quiet and let's go before you really die of this cold."

Die? Yes, but will you be really okay after that?

"No. I will not go with you.?

"And I'm not leaving you here."

"Yunho...”

“Please Y/N.” His creased forehead and serious look urging you to agree with him.

You nod but still your thoughts are running as why you are trusting him so much. If tomorrow like others he will also leave you.Then? He will act as a stranger to you. He will avoid you as if today never happened between you two. His teasing will stop and he will hate you because he has seen you vulnerable so many times. You have cried in front of him many times but why you always show this side to him even when you had a boyfriend. Well, that shit was only there for you for a bet and just left you alone in the darkness when you were taking things too seriously according to him. How foolish of you! You thought he was the perfect one.

But this feeling being in Yunho’s arms and feeling safe and having the warm comfort, you never had this with your boyfriend and this thought is really disturbing you.

"Yunho...” He looks down at you when he enters the complex building to make his way towards the elevator. "Why?"

"What?"

"Are you really caring for me because we are.....we know each other?"

Pressing the twelfth floor by his elbow, he nods to himself.

"Because you are my four seasons of love."

"Huh?" Your confused face only got a tight smile from him. You ask him again but he didn't say anything instead waiting for the floor. You thanked mentally that other people didn't get in and see you like this even when you tried to make him put you down but his teasing was the only thing keeping you distracted. Ding! You have arrived to the floor.

He puts you down but still holding your one hand, the other one unlocking the door. With a pull, he lets you inside the apartment and locking the door behind. Your eyes taking in the new environment, each and every piece of decoration screaming richness, looking around the way, your eyes caught a photo frame of a family picture. You didn't notice when he left you there wandering on your own, returns with a towel in his hand.

"Is that your family?"

"Yes. That's our last picture which we clicked when I was in middle school.”

Oh! Suddenly you feel him put the towel on your head and starts rubbing the scalp and hair. You try to stop him and insist that you can do it yourself but he doesn't budge and continues. After having satisfied with your somewhat dried hairs, he gives you a pair of spare clothes to change into but your hesitating self is not willing to do it in someone's apartment.

"Are you really going to stand here in these clothes?It's already raining again and I don't think it will be nice for you to go at this hour. I will not let you go even if you put your rebellious acts."

"But I can wait until it stops raining.”

"You will let your clothes get dry on you? No way, I don't want someone to fall sick in my place.”

"Its okay."

"Do you want me to change your clothes or what?"

"Yaaa Yunho."

You hit his arm earning a loud laugh from him and he pat your cheeks directing you to his bedroom to use the personal bathroom and he will use the other one. After getting freshen up, when you make your way towards the living room, he is standing by the wide glass window showing the blurry city view behind the window because of raindrops hitting the glass.

"What are you doing there?"

He is in black t-shirt with matching trousers and hairs damp after shower and you in similar grey set but of his size. He turns around and scans your form which makes you a bit self-conscious. And man, he suddenly starts laughing holding his stomach which brings a frown on your face.

"Why are you laughing?"

"You look so funny in my clothes. Yo-you look like a kitten got dumped under a pile of clothes.”

You go beside him to take a peek at outside because you love to watch such views in rainy days. You shoot him a glare when he pinches your cheek between his laugh.

"It's not my fault that you are literally a giraffe.”

If there was no rain then the city might look so silent from up here, right? If I have lived somewhere like this, I would have got a better life, right?

You feel arms wrap around from your back and him resting his chin on top of your head. Your stiff body and lost eyes watching the reflection of yours on the blurry window that how much height difference you both have.

"I love you, Y/N."

Love you? Is he teasing you again? If yes or if no, in both the cases, he should not love you because, you don't want him to turn his back too when he will be bored of you. You don't want to lose him too.

"Don't. You should not love me. One day you will also get tired of me and leave me broken. So, it's better how we are now with each other. Like just...friends."

“Don't you want to hear my answers to your question?"

"Which one?"

"Why you are my four seasons of love?"

"Hm...Tell me.” Your fingers tracing some patterns on the glass against each raindrop hitting the frame.

“Tell me the sequence of seasons."

"Ummm Spring Summer Fall Winter?"

"Yup. I love you differently in every four seasons so I cant ever get tired to love you."

"What?"

"Let's start with spring. The season of love, the blooming start of every individual, every life and every relationship. We can start our first love in the spring when there will be bright sunlight with birds chirping as if a melody playing for our bond. Holding hands under the cherry blossom while knowing each other for the first time. The joy, love and beginning of our life will be in this season. Every year this season will be the start to our love from the beginning."

"Summer?"

"Summer is the season of explore, when our love will take the centre of the stage. The clear sky with blazing sun and warm breeze hitting our skin making us feel to be loved by each other. A warm love between us where we can explore into each other's depth like the way the whole world gets explored by the bright sunlight. We will travel together, explore the life and our love. The bond between us can be taken to a different stage where the only spotlight will be on our romance."

"Fall? Will our love fall here?"

"No. The beginning of fall is with rainy days when we can have our breakdowns. Don't think it as fall, see it as autumn. We can show our vulnerable selves towards each other without any hesitation. The grey clouds making the atmosphere dark and gloomy, the falling leaves from the living trees making it seem like a dead. Our relationship should show all its fault in front of our eyes. No one is perfect but our imperfectness makes each one of us unique and an individual to stand out otherwise we all would have considered same. We can cry with the rain, we can fail in our life but we will again stand on our feet the next day holding each other.”

"Winter?…….”

You can feel him nuzzling his nose into your damp hairs inhaling his shampoo, a smile ghosting over his face. Your one hand still busy on the glass while the other one takes a hold of his hand around you. A wave of comfort and warmth spreading over your body. You can sense yourself being held in safe hands, protected from this whole cruel world and him describing you why you should let him to love you. But winter, the cold environment when every relationship drifts apart because of the numbness in their bond. Will it happen to you too?

“Winter. Well, the season of festive. The most romantic season when we can make more love with each other, we will support our decisions, will spend time together. When the whole world will be under the thick cold white blanket of snow, we will find the warmth in each other. The season when we can share our most hidden secrets and light up mysteries hidden in the cold darkness of our life. We will solve our problems and make love with joy in the festivals like Christmas eve and new year. We can also have one more thing."

"One more thing?"

He turns you around, caging your body between his warm frame and cold window frame. His hands resting beside each side of your face. His big doe eyes watching your every reaction on the face with a sly smile resting on his face and his puffy cheeks again making an appearance. Your hands on the window space keeping your balance leaning backward due to his close proximity. He leans forward to whisper in your ears.

"Winter is also known as the cuffing season. Maybe, we can plan our future in some other ways."

Your big round shock eyes earn a wide smirk on his face. He laughs when you hit his arms and try to move away but he holds you in the place with a soft look and an admiration in his eyes. As if you are the most precious aspect of his life which is resting in front of his eyes.

"Let me love you, Y/N.”

"Yunho. What if I don't deserve you?"

"We don't know ourselves what we deserve or not but we can give chances until we lose hope on everything. And I don't want you to lose hope on me. Please don't leave me.”

Leave him? This is the first time, someone is asking you not to leave them and you are sure you are not going to do the same thing like others did to you. With a last glance on his face, you hug him catching him off guard but he quickly returns you the hug. His cologne hitting your nose strongly and a spell of hope surrounding you both. His heart beating against your ears bringing a melody of love and your heart matching the beats. Your fingers curling to grab his t-shirt in your tight fist. Tears rolling down your cheeks and his hands moving up and down in your back to soothe your nerves with overwhelming feelings.

“Thank you, Yunho. I love you."

"I love you more angel.”

He pulls you away to press a soft kiss on your temple, on your eyes, on the tip of your nose and then pauses. Your heart racing with every kiss from his warm lips. With your closed eyes, you nod to him.

He closes the distance between your lips. Holding the back of your head and the other resting on your cheeks, he deepens the kiss. A passionate kiss for a blooming love. This is a perfect kiss like a dance, a symphony of lips and chance for a new beginning. A moment where time stands still and all the world is hushed and still. The outside loud cold rain is blocked by the window pane for the silent warm love inside. Only lips, no tongue, no other skin as if only the lips can swallow each other to protect them in a cage.

Breaking apart from the kiss, his forehead rest against yours and he presses a soft kiss on your nose. A genuine smile filled with joy dancing on your lips and he smiles back to you. Fingers wiping the fallen tears which are drying on your cheeks.

"I love to see you smile when it is raining."

"I love to see your soft puffy cheeks when you smile."

"And my teasings?"

"Yunho....” you whine on his ask.

"You will always be my four seasons of love."

Standing close to each other, in a warm embrace of love and the cold rain making the whole city gloomy except where you both found each other's happiness and love. Each drop of your loneliness, pain and disappointment is breaking down into love, joy and hope.

Your smile is the umbrella for you under the rain and the sound of falling rain is the rhythm to your life and he is the sunshine to make you dance in the rain. Yes, you are his four seasons of love and. And he to you?

"And,You will be my sunshine in every season."

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