#anyway. despite the pain i was relieved to be back in the water

[antique-symbolism]

I think as long as I can still float face up in the water and stare at the vultures circling at unfathomable heights in the sky things will be okay

[wroteclassicaly]

Warnings: Language, menstrual cycle, mentions anxiety, emotions, blood, cramps, hurt/comfort, Nancy makes an adorable appearance, and lots of fluff!

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Female Reader

He isn’t sure how much time has passed, because everything seems so chaotically still. But your trembling, sobbing presence declares otherwise. It started earlier, with a clasped hand to your stomach, pushing your favorite pizza away in disgust. That space between your eyebrows screwed up in pain, and you’d left the table without another word. You should’ve planned on bringing things with you, I mean, hell, you always write your cycles down on Eddie’s Bible quote calendar anyways.

Neither of you were prepared for it to happen today, during the late evening hours, despite its looming date getting closer on Eddie’s wall display. You beelined it for your pad stash that the Munson’s so graciously permitted you your own drawer for in their small bathroom, only to find you had one singular sanitary pad, and a whole lotta mess on your hands. It was unexpectedly heavy, and it really fucking hurt, which didn’t usually occur until the next day. You called for your boyfriend and he immediately found you, head in your hands, on his toilet, thighs streaked in bright crimson, switching from holding your temples to angrily scrubbing at your eyes. Things with your cycle were never awkward with Eddie, not after getting used to it.

He simply knelt down, chain slapping against his pants, house slippers on his feet, taking your hands in his as he asked one question. “What do you need, sweetheart?”

~*~

Eddie rocks you back and forth, rubbing down your spine as you cry. As dusk turned into nightfall, summer storms beginning, battering the trailer with their high winds, your pain increased to the point where he’d considered calling for help. Midol worked for one hour and barely took the edge off, his hand couldn’t do the trick, you felt too bad to attempt an orgasm, and you are shaking with pleading sobs. He does all that he knows to calm you down, a slow ticking beneath his vocal cords, his throat warming as he begins to softly sing to you, cross-legged, you in his lap, arms tucked beneath his pits and draped around his lower back, his own continuously stroking you, not ceasing his back and forth movements. He ignores the tears in his own eyes as you cry out and squirm.

And that’s what you do. You cry yourself into a numbing sleep. That’s when Eddie lays you down and immediately dials up Wheeler, having to answer questions about what milligrams your pain meds are and if you are out of pads and tampons. Despite the rain, she is there with several bags not even twenty minutes later. She puts the chocolate and various salty snacks away with his assistance, hands him a new bottle of Midol, also laying out a new box of tampons and a smaller package of sanitary pads, before she is explaining how your medicine has a higher dosage, and ultimately helps him figure out the hot water bottle.

How Eddie Munson, of all people (she knows better after all these years than to judge a book by its cover) takes care of her best-friend, it makes her giddy, relieved.

“Each girl varies, but this stuff should help. I know her periods get a little rough sometimes. If she needs anything, have her call me or you can call me back, okay?”

“I definitely owe you one, Nance.” As he switches off from the usage of Wheeler, she’s folding the paper sack, grinning widely.

Definitely a teddy bear.

Once she’s safely in her station wagon and leaving his drive, Eddie automatically prepares your hot water bottle, grabs fresh ice water, your new pills bottle, and a few snacks, tucking the bottle beneath his armpit. He settles everything in a neat place on his nightstand, thankful you’re still asleep, but seeing your face still scrunched in agony. He gently lays the bottle beneath your navel, pulling his blanket over your form, leaving you only to wet a washcloth and wipe away the sweat that’s built on your forehead. He does that for a little while, changes your bottle in and out, right up until he sees that frown vanish and you curl into his side. He’s working a poem he plans on turning into lyrics when you stir.

It’s still raining steadily, scattering a beat that he can sample upon the tin roof. You stretch out like a cat, yawning, eyes blinking slowly as you take the room and your boyfriend into focus. You mumble about the time, grasping at the bottle on your belly. When Eddie comes into full view, he’s got one leg propped, the other flat, his notebook balanced on his raised knee, his shirt off, rings gone, with just his pick and boxers remaining. He looks relieved at your lazy grin.

Still, though, he has to check in. “Do I need to go reheat it, baby? I’ve been doing it off and on since Nance dropped it off.”

Nancy was here? He called her Nance? And your cramps are gone. There’s so much to smile about that you become overwhelmed, especially with your ability to focus again beyond mind numbing anxiety, and anguish. Your sclera is flooded with tears and Eddie instinctively freaks out, sliding from the bed. “I’ve got new Midol here, there’s pads and tampons, some snacks, still leftover pizza, and I can fix you right up, sweet—“

You’re kissing the remaining letters of the nickname right off of his mouth. Your hands press into his curls, dragging them through your fingers, enjoying how their soft-silky texture tickles your knuckles. He wraps his arms around your back, letting a palm dig into your tailbone. You mewl appreciatively. Eddie uses a calloused thumb to swipe away your tears on the wet break away, on the verge of losing it at the relief of your relaxed state - himself.

And you, you’re looking at him as if he’s hung the moon for you. No one has to say anything, you both already know.

However, Mother Nature captivates your tongue and takes a hold of your desires. You let one hand drift and gently play with his chain, and he’s unable to deny how he’s practically purring in your grasp. “Eddie?”

“Yeah….?” He’s dazed and grinning like a goofy idiot.

“I’m hungry. Oh, and I love you!”

[its-avalon-08]

i love the angst! like what would charles and y/n do when they fight> headcannon form thanks!

charles leclerc x fem!reader - when they're angry at eachother message from anon - Hi! Can you change it to - what would charles and y/n do to take care of eachother when they fight.

Y/N picks up Charles' favorite takeout even though he's being a grumpy git about the whole fight, leaving it on the counter with a silent "don't starve yourself" note.

Charles makes sure to leave the coffee pot full despite their argument, knowing a good night's sleep after a fight is out of the question.

In the midst of their cold war, Y/N remembers Charles hates showering with cold water and adjusts the thermostat before he gets in.

Charles, despite being fuming, remembers Y/N's forgotten project deadline and discreetly reminds a colleague to forward her the missing data.

Y/N, while stewing, notices Charles hasn't packed his lucky socks and throws them in his bag with a glare that says "don't mess up without them."

Charles, after a particularly heated exchange, sets the alarm on Y/N's phone a few minutes earlier than usual, a silent "I don't want you to be late" tucked away.

Y/N, even though they haven't spoken in hours, leaves a box of Charles' favorite chocolates by his side of the bed with a small, defiant, "there."

Charles, in a fit of stubbornness, puts on a new movie Y/N had been wanting to see, silently inviting her to join him on the couch.

In the middle of a tense stand-off at the grocery store, Y/N grabs Charles' favorite cereal despite his earlier grumbling about needing a healthier option.

During a heated argument at a cafe, Charles, mid-sentence, notices Y/N forgot her usual sugar packets and flags down the waiter for her.

Charles, mid-scoff at Y/N's comment, sees a street vendor selling her favorite flower and impulsively buys a bouquet, shoving it into her hand with a mumbled "kiss me now?"

In the middle of a tense breakfast, Y/N catches Charles wincing at a sore muscle and, pride swallowing her anger, reaches across the table to discreetly offer him a pain reliever.

Charles, while pretending to be engrossed in his phone at a cafe, flags down their usual waiter with a subtle nod, knowing Y/N will - forget to order her favorite latte in their current state.

During a heated argument at a gas station, Y/N, fuming, grabs the pump and fills Charles' car with gas anyway, throwing him the keys with a grumble.

Charles, after a particularly stubborn silence, walks past Y/N "accidentally" bumping into her shoulder, dropping a new book he knows she's been eyeing.

a bonus scene of charles apologising and y/n apologising :

⋆ charles saying sorry : The air crackled with unspoken apologies in their apartment. Charles, ever the racer, paced like a caged lion, while Y/N pretended to be engrossed in a book, the furrow in her brow a dead giveaway of her lingering annoyance. Finally, Charles couldn't take it anymore. He tiptoed closer, the floorboards groaning under his weight.

Y/N held her breath, pretending not to notice. Suddenly, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her back against a solid chest that smelled faintly of engine oil and his signature cologne.

"Alright, alright," Charles mumbled against her hair, his voice a low rumble that sent a shiver down her spine. "I messed up. Big time."

Y/N bit her lip, torn between holding a grudge and melting in his embrace.

Charles, sensing her hesitation, nuzzled his face into her hair. He inhaled deeply, the familiar scent of her shampoo and vanilla body lotion a soothing balm to his racing heart. "You smell like sunshine," he murmured, his voice husky.

A soft smile tugged at Y/N's lips. "That's not exactly an apology, Leclerc," she teased, her voice barely a whisper.

Charles chuckled, a rich sound that vibrated against her back. "Fine," he sighed, tilting her head back with a gentle finger under her chin. His eyes, the color of the Monegasque sky after a summer rain, held a plea that was hard to resist. "I'm truly sorry, Y/N. Can you ever forgive this stubborn Monegasque?"

Y/N looked into his eyes, the anger slowly dissolving into a puddle of affection. "Maybe," she said, her voice playful.

Charles, unable to wait any longer, leaned in and captured her lips in a soft kiss. It started slow and sweet, a gentle apology that spoke volumes. Then, as his frustration melted away, the kiss deepened, a silent promise that they'd work through anything together.

When they finally broke apart, both breathless and smiling, Y/N snuggled back into his embrace. "Just promise you'll think twice before doing that again," she muttered, her voice muffled against his chest.

Charles chuckled, tightening his hold on her. "Scout's honor," he whispered, and for now, in the warmth of his arms, Y/N knew she believed him.

⋆ y/n saying sorry : The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy like a Monaco summer night. Y/N sat huddled on the couch, stealing glances at Charles slumped in the armchair across from her. The air hung heavy with unspoken apologies.

She couldn't hold out any longer. With a sigh, she rose and padded over to him. Charles moved slightly but Y/N surprised him. She launched herself onto his lap, burying her face in his chest.

"Charles," she mumbled, her voice muffled by his t-shirt. Her arms wrapped around him like a koala's, leaving him no room to escape.

He stiffened for a moment, unsure how to react. Then, a small smile played on his lips. "Alright, alright," he chuckled, his voice warm despite the tension. "What's this about, then?"

Y/N squeezed him tighter. "Sorry," she mumbled, the word muffled against his shirt.

Charles felt a wave of warmth wash over him. He knew that was her way of apologizing, stubborn and sweet all at once.

"Come on, Y/N," he teased, trying to peek around her head. "You gotta say it where I can hear you."

Y/N remained stubbornly silent, her grip unwavering. "Sorry," she repeated, a little louder this time.

Charles couldn't help but chuckle again. He placed a hand on her back, gently stroking it. "Alright, alright, I get it. You're sorry."

But Y/N wasn't finished. "No," she mumbled, her voice firm. "Look at me and say it's okay."

Charles sighed, a happy sound. He reached up with his other hand, tilting her chin up until their eyes met.

Her eyes, usually full of fire, were soft with regret now. "I messed up," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. "Can you forgive me?"

Charles could resist anything except Y/N like this. He leaned down, his lips brushing hers. "Yeah," he murmured against her mouth. "It's okay."

The moment he said the words, Y/N's face broke into a radiant smile. Before he could react further, she peppered his face with kisses, small, quick pecks that chased away the last remnants of their argument.

Charles laughed, pulling her even closer. "Alright, alright, I get it," he said, his voice thick with amusement. "You're forgiven."

Y/N snuggled into his embrace, a contented sigh escaping her lips. In the quiet of their home, surrounded by the warmth of his love, the fight already felt like a distant memory.

[zukosdualdao]

i'm literally insane about the last agni kai and the lightning scene(s). i swear i've rewatched it 10+ times since my last rewatch of the show (which was my first watch in years) and like. azula sees katara come into view from behind. zuko doesn't. he follows azula's gaze and sees katara and is immediately horrified. he doesn't even think or hesitate because he doesn't have time and for once he doesn't have to look back at azula to figure out what she's doing because he knows what she's doing and he won't let it happen. time dwindling into slow motion as a haunting score plays? and zuko literally yelling out "no!" because that lightning absolutely cannot hit katara. as soon as he sees it there's no chance of that ever happening. and then katara watching in horror as the lightning flashes against features in what is probably one of the most hauntingly beautiful animated moments of the show? zuko hitting the ground still convulsing with lightning and katara crying out "zuko!" and immediately trying to run to him before azula attacks again? and the next scene we cut back to with them, zuko is groaning weakly and trying to lift himself up, and we see katara literally gasp in surprise as she realizes he's still alive (i'm sobbing because i do quite literally think she thought he was dead) and immediately tries to run to him again, nevermind that she knows azula is still there, and the hand katara uses for healing is already doused in water as she reaches for him. but then azula starts attacking again. and zuko, despite literally being in so much pain that he can't stand and can barely even move at all without whimpering, still tries to reach for the spot where he can see azula attacking katara. katara is forced to hide from azula's attacks. and as azula is mocking "zuzu, you don't look so good" down to zuko, the perspective shot is such that you can SEE that katara is also looking at where he lies prone in the distance, surrounded by flame (probably wondering how much time they have before it really is too late) before looking back up at azula and realizing she needs to defeat her as quickly and handily as possible so katara can get to zuko. obviously katara would have done this anyway (the whole reason they were THERE was to halt the continued cycle of the imperialist regime of the fire nation), but the scene is specifically framed as katara trying to figure out how to stop azula so the obstacle to her getting to zuko is no longer in the way. katara's defeat of azula was epic and deserves its own post. but then after making sure azula is securely chained, she runs to zuko, looks at him with such immense sadness and horror and fear as she hears him in so much pain, tenderly turns him over so she can get a good look at the wound. and she cups his head? briefly but so gently? so that he won't hit it as she turns him over? and when she tries to heal him you can tell she is so genuinely unsure if it will even work, and so relieved that she starts crying tears of joy when she sees it has (at least enough to keep him alive and somewhat lessen his pain.) they thank each other (and you can tell it's still really hard for zuko to talk and his eyes are barely open but he thanks her anyways i'm.) and she thanks him back and!!! when he starts to try to sit up she makes a little surprised face and then immediately helps him to do so (and puts a tender hand to his chest while she does!!!) and obviously that last shot of them standing together is also one of emotional support, but katara's hand on his back is also partly because i still think (and certainly katara still thinks) trying to walk/stand on his own would be a bad idea, so it's definitely not happening.

[xveenusx]

Love

Paring(s): rafe cameron x fem!reader

Summary: in which two people come to terms with how dangerous their love is, but it's impossible to leave.

Author's note: Rafe on his knees is sending me. This is part two to Hate and is complete angst because I like to hurt my own feelings. ALSO, the GIFS depict exactly what's going to happen in this peice to help you visualize it better :)

Rating: ANGSTY, but kind of a good ending but not really bc they are horrible for each other

Warnings: v toxic relationship

Part 1: Hate

━━ ★ Masterlist

_____________________

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

My head hung against the cool tile in the shower, water pounding against my body as I fought against the urge to succumb to my pain.

You won't ever be over me

I squeezed my eyes shut.

Yet, it didn't work. I couldn't block out his words as they pistoled into my mind again and again. Slapping my hand against the tile, I groaned out loud and rubbed my eyes.

Memories of my mistake continue to stampede over every coherent thought I could form. It was embarrassing how easily I gave into him, but when he touched me, all sense went out the window.

He was the chink in my armor, because when he loved me, I mean really loved me, the sun shined brighter and the world went into focus. He could ask me anything and I would have told him in a heart beat. There was just this sense of security that finally gave me the ability to be myself. I felt like I was safe and solid ground for the first time in my life.

But as time went on, there were small slip ups that caught my attention. The hushed meetings with his father, his eagerness to be around my friends, the constant Q and A about gold.

I pushed passed the alarm bells ringing in my head because I didn’t want it to end. I caught him in lie after lie which always ended in a screaming match. I’d storm away but it always ended in us finding our way back to each other. Always.

Maybe it’s wrong to say this, but I was relieved that he needed me just as bad as I needed him. He couldn’t seem to leave me alone either.

The longer we were together, I couldn’t help but begin to question why he was really with me. The idea of there being an ulterior motive for loving me paralyzed me with fear.

Because, if that was true, I didn't think I'd survive it.

So like a junkie, in every sense of the word, I gave into the drug that was Rafe Cameron and gave him anything he wanted. I became an entirely different person that I didn't recognize.

I was so desperate to be loved by him that it almost killed me.

A familiar burning behind my eyes made me smile in irony. Tears usually accompanied anything that involved Rafe.

I slowly slid down the shower wall, bringing my knees to my chest, and set my chin on top. Closing my eyes, I attempted to focus on the pounding of the water but despite the noise, it couldn’t overpower the noise in my head.

Detoxing was nearly impossible. I'd take another dose, and then another, but when the high eventually wore of—because it always did—this is what was left:

A shell of me withered down in self loathing.

I hate you.

No, you don't.

The water eventually turned cold but I refused to move from my spot on the floor. I just couldn't face him, not yet.

It hurt to fucking look at him.

A fist pounded on the bathroom door but I chose to ignore it. I shivered slightly at the ice cold water but preferred this biting pain over what awaited me on the other side of that door.

"Open the door."

I turned my head away from the door and instead rested my cheek on the top of my knee and stared at the wall.

"I'm not fucking kidding. Open the door, why is this shit locked anyway?"

I rolled my eyes. The dramatics were unmatched.

"Go away." I croaked out, hoping for once in his god damn life that he listened. "I swear to god."

"I'm shaking in my boots, babe."

Jesus Christ.

"Rafe-"

"I can hear you crying from out here."

That shut me up. I thought I was being discreet. "I'm fine. Please go away."

He pounded on the door again. "Do you really think a locked door is gonna stop me?."

My eyes closed briefly at his words. The organ in my chest that refused to listen to reason began to beat a little harder.

"Rafe, please. I need a minute." My voice cracked at the end of my plea.

It was quiet for a few moments before I heard his feet shuffle away. I relaxed in relief at his departure and lifted my head directly under the water, hoping it will clear my mind.

"Fuck this." Was all I heard before a sharp crack echoed and the door busted open.

My gaze found his and it took all my strength to not shrink under his gaze. I'm sure I was a sight for sore eyes, curled up on the floor of the shower shivering.

Rafe let out a distressed noise before moving towards me but I scooted back, throwing my palm up. “Stop.”

He stopped in his tracks with narrowed eyes. “You have about five seconds.”

“Boundaries. We need boundaries.”

“Boundaries?” He repeated slowly, making it seem like the term was foreign to him. “What the fuck for?”

“Because I need a moment. Let me cry in peace.”

Rafe nodded his head and relief let me drop my shoulders.

“Well, I’m not leaving you alone when you cry, there, that’s my boundary.”

I open my mouth and close it. He couldn’t be serious?

He shut off the water while letting out a string of curses as he took in my shivering figure. Yanking a towel off the rack, I'm suddenly enveloped in warmth as he wrapped the towel around my body and picked me up.

His scent lured me in like an old friend. Exhaustion weighed on me heavily so I gave in yet again.

I shoved my face into his neck enjoying the warmth his body provided and the shivering slowly subsided. Rafe said nothing as he set me on the edge of the bed and softly began to dry me.

He was gentle despite the severe expression he wore.

“We should probably talk.” He uttered, running the towel along my legs.

I shook my head, the desire to sleep was overwhelming.

Rafe paused. “I can already feel you pulling back from me.”

He knew me all too well.

Arguing him was pointless. We’d both end up with our voices gone and nothing solved.

“I can’t do this with you right now. I just want this day to be over.” I spoke quietly, fiddling with my fingers.

Rafe doesn’t answer me, instead he grabs some satin set and slowly started to dress me. Lifting my arms, he pulled the thin tank over my head before kneeling down and doing the same with the bottoms.

It was moments like this that almost made me cave. Rafe Cameron, of figure eight, heir to a real estate empire, was down on his knees for a Pogue.

Pressing a gentle kiss to my inner knee, he stood up, towering over me with his hand cupping my face. His face was the picture of relaxed despite our current kidnapping, but I knew it was solely because we were together.

“This can’t happen again.” The words were out of my mouth in seconds.

He just smiled, humming softly to himself as he continued to stare.

So I tried again. “You can sleep on the floor.”

That made the smile drop fast.

“You want me to sleep on the floor?”

“Yes.”

“Like the actual floor?” Rafe asked slowly, his gaze moving down to the hard wooden floor in distaste.

“The fucking floor, Rafe.”

His eyes narrowed at my tone, “Why?”

“Because I said so.” Because, my panties will be off in seconds.

“Try again. I’ll argue with you all night until you tell me why.”

“Does this not hurt you as much as it hurts me? Looking at you fucking kills me.”

“I’m going to marry you. It might not be today, it might not be tomorrow. But I will marry you," He said the words so nonchalantly, you would think he was discussing the weather, "So no, it doesn’t hurt me to look at you, to be around you, because I know this is never going to end. I'm going to spend the rest of my life with you."

I waited, for what seemed like forever, to hear him say these words. Yet, now that he did, I simply didn't believe it. Too much has happened. His words no longer held the weight that they used to and for a brief moment I felt a twisted sense of relief because that meant I was one step closer to being free of the shackles that chained me to him.

My brows furrowed as I tried to think of something to say, but nothing came out.

I shook my head and crawled towards the front of the bed, tugging the sheets down and burrowing myself into a cocoon. "Go to sleep, Rafe."

He muttered something under his breath as he walked over to the makeshift bed on the floor. I heared some shuffling before a heavy sigh echoed in our room and I knew he finally settled.

It was for the best. My sanity needed to remain intact and this was the only way. That didn't stop me from missing the warm embrace of his body that always lulled me to sleep.

Rolling onto my side, I peaked over the side of the bed and saw his head already turned in my direction. A faint smirk tugged at the coner of his lips and his eyes sparkled with amusement.

"You still want me on the floor?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes." No.

Rafe let out a chuckle before silence enveloped us and the only thing I could hear was the sound of our steady breathing. All trace of humor left his face and we stared at each other, his eyes never leaving mine. It almost appeared like he was commiting my face to memory.

"You're safe. You can go to sleep," Rafe murmured, "I won't let anything happen to you."

A familar rush of affection slammed into my chest and I forced myself to break eye contact first. I couldn't let him see the expression that adorned my face. He was embedded deeply into my soul.

"I-" I love you.

Rafe cut me off, "I know."

Curled on my side with the sheets pulled up to my neck, I closed my eyes and whispered painfully, "I wish I didn't."

I could feel his gaze burning holes into my back, but I knew better than to turn around. Sleep, I told myself, everything will be better tomorrow.

Minutes passed and I knew he wasn't going to answer.

"I know that too." Was all I heard before I embraced the darkness with open arms.

_______________

Disoriented.

That's how I woke up. My eyes felt heavy and my head drummed against my skull. This pain comparable to only being severely hungover. Yet, I barley had anything at all. It was simply the Rafe effect, also known as extreme emotional distress.

I rubbed the sleepiness from eyes while my mind betrayed me with replays of the last 24 hours. Peering over the edge of the bed, Rafe is sprawled out awkwardly on the ground sleeping. His bare chest slowly rising up and down, his necklace gleaming from the morning light that seeped into the room.

It hurt to look at him, but when I looked away, it hurt even more. The fear of forgetting what he looked like or how he sounded when he laughed consumed me. What if everything faded?

Love and hate were more similar than one would think.

As if sensing I was was awake, Rafe shifted onto his side and opened his eyes slowly. I watched as his eyes took in our surroundings before last 24 hours finally hit him.

Instantly, his eyes find mine and his body relaxes, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

He got up from his spot on the floor and made his way over to me. Sleepiness still present in his eyes, but his face was content. The bed dips and a warm hand pushed my hair out of my eyes before tracing my nose then the outline of my lips.

"Good morning." The low raspy timber of his voice had me clenching my thighs together.

I allowed myself these few seconds to bask under the glow of his attention. Swallowing down the lump in my throat at what I'm about to do, I steel the storm of emotions that brew inside me.

Moving my face out of his grasp, I shifted my body into a sitting positon, placing a slight distance between us. "I meant what I said last night. This will not happen again."

The words burned coming out my mouth.

"Can we just skip this part?"

I shot him a blank look. "What part?"

He heaves out a sigh, his large hand rubbing against his buzzed head. "Aren't you tired?"

Did he hit his head? Confused filled me as I glanced at the unmade bed. "Tired? I just slept-"

Rafe barked out a bitter laugh. "Of running. Aren't you tired of running?"

My fingers gripped my satin top in an attempt to control my anger. He would choose this exact moment to bait me. Maybe six months ago I would have taken the bait, but I was drained.

He always chose the hard way.

"Really? You want to have this conversation now?" Keep calm. Breathe.

Rafe searched my face with a serious expression, then his lips tipped. "I don't know if you remember, but we have all the time in the world."

I rolled my eyes. Despite my very weak attemps at pushing him away, Rafe never seemed discouraged. He only appeared mildly annoyed at my desperate attempts to kick him out of my life.

"You're about 6 months late on your right to have this conversation. Now, get off of my bed." I tried to shove him off. Nothing.

Blue eyes narrowed. Good, I hope he was mad. He'll finally understand what it was like to be me the past couple months.

"If you're trying to piss me off, it's working. So stop." Was all he said, with his arms crossed over his chest.

"Stop doing what, Rafe? There is nothing left to talk about."

"Stop acting like you don't care."

Rafe's determined attitude was exhausting.

And somehow, despite everything, I still felt myself drawn to him, even after how poorly he's treated me.

"Acting like I don't care is all I have left." My stomach tightened at my honesty.

His cold blue eyes grew distant, clearly not liking my truth.

"You have me."

The conviction in his voice would make anyone believe him, but I wasn't going to fall for his pretty words again, no matter how badly I wished they were true.

"No, I don't. I never did so this entire conversation is pointless." I stated a matter-of-factly. "Do yourself a favor and walk away."

Clicking his tongue, Rafe shook his head at me. "There you go again, telling me what I can and cannot do."

I had to hurt him to just get the distance I needed. He'd leave me alone if I hurt him.

"What are you gonna do? Tell your dad on me?" The minute the words flew out of my mouth, I regretted them.

Artic eyes narrowed into slits and his entire demeanor shifted, his shoulders tense and face hard. "Don't talk about him."

"Got daddy issues, do you?" My mouth would not stop.

I could see that I was successfully hitting my target, but it only made my heart ache. It needed to be done though.

Rafe's expression shut off, a familiar cold look settling in his eyes. "Tread fucking lightly."

My heart thudded dangerously as I debated my next words. "I might not hate you today or tomorrow, but I will hate you. Because, hating you is better than loving you."

The words tasted like vinegar coming out of my mouth, but they had their desired effect.

Agony briefly flickers on his face, but he schooled his expression. His eyes seemed to bore through me, our stare off so intense, that I had to look away.

If I believed he could change, even if there was a slight chance, then I would have fought for us. But, I knew him like the back of my hand and Rafe was who he was—unapologetically. I didn't have any fight left.

"I know what you're doing." His voice trembled, dark and on the verge of breaking.

I closed my eyes in defeat. Of course he did. I couldn't even hurt him without him seeing straight through me.

"You want to make me the bad guy? Fine. I'm the bad guy, bad Rafe Cameron. But don't pretend for one second that I'm not under your skin just as bad."

"You are, you are and it's exhausting," I grimaced. "Does knowing that make you feel better?"

"Yes, it does because I'm not the only one feeling like this."

My throat clogged. "How much longer can we keep doing this?"

"As long as it takes for you to give in." Rafe stroked a strand of hair behind my ear, the clouds of his eyes gleaming with twisted adortion.

Frustration bubbled up the surface. He was relentless in his pursuit, not caring if he hurt me in the process. As long as I was his, nothing else matterd, even my pain.

"This isn't a game. I am not a game." I stated harshly, shoving his hand away. "I'm a person--a person who has feelings."

His expression reamined unreadable. "A person with feelings for me."

I was losing. Badly. Talking to Rafe was like talking to a brick wall.

"I've had to put myself together three times, Rafe. Three times!" I screamed, my voice cracking in despair. "Each time harder than the last."

"I finally glued myself together again and you're already pulling away the pieces. For how long am I yours this time? A week?" I pushed. "A month?"

"You've moved on before so do it again. Let me do the same." I cleared my throat to push back tears.

"You think I haven't tried?" He asked incrediously, throwing his hands up in the air in utter disbelief.

Rafe stalked over to me, his eyes brewing with anger as he pointed to the veins in his arms. "You're in so deep, I can't get you out of my system."

I knew the feeling all too well. I am not going to cry.

"'You're right here. Right fucking here and you won't go away." He reached for my hand and placed it directly on his heart which pounded wildy under my touch.

My resolve was breaking and my previous anger easing away like a silent wave. He didn't have any peace either.

The heavy weight on my chest had me leaning forward, resting my forehead against his pec, my hand still in his grasp, pressed tightly against his heart.

"Loving you almost ruined my life." Rafe was a cliff. One that I threw myself over again and again, expecting to fly only to be met with cold hard concrete.

"Again with the meladrama?" Spell broken once more. Another peice being peeled away from me.

A joke, this was all a joke to him.

"You're not listening to me. You never listen to me." I shouted directly into his face, pointing to myself, needing him to finally fucking see me.

Tears finally fell from my eyes as I stared at him with pathetic hoplessness.

"How is what I did any worse than what you did?" The world stopped spinning as his words hit my chest. Something inside me broke.

I shook my head in utter diesbelief at his words. I pushed to my feet, my hands collided with his chest as I shoved him with all my strength.

I headed straight towards the bedroom door, slamming my fists against the door in an attempt to get the guards attention. I was slowly suffocating in this room. He always managed to do this to me.

I should've known better. I mean really known better. Rafe was a mindfuck.

"Run away one more time and I swear to god-" Rafe advaced toward me, his hands reaching out for me.

No, he needed to keep his hands to himself.

"Don't talk to me." I spat, holding my hand up. Facing the door once again, I pound several more times with no response before accepting defeat.

Slumping against the door with my forehead resting against the cool wood, I pleaded, "I can't be in here any more. I just can't."

Once again, no answer.

"We're talking about this. You don't get to avoid this conversation anymore."

"Want to try that again-stop!" Rafe bent down and tossed my body over his shoulder. Anger burned through my veins as I struggled against his grip, but it did nothing to deeter him as he stalked us over to the bed.

Dropping my body roughly on the bed, he towered over me and met my gaze, warning clear in his eyes.

Swallowing my pride, I dug my nails into the soft flesh of my palms. "You can't compare our actions. They aren't even on the same playing field, Rafe,"

"I can and I am comparing them, because believe it or not baby, it's the same damn thing."

Rafe was standing directly in front of me, his large thighs caging my dainty figure in. My chest heaved up and down in anger.

"Is that what you tell yourself so you don't have to deal with the fact that you're a shitty person? I'm not listening to this." My gaze was frantic as I tried to figure out an escape plan.

"I've clearly been too nice. You don't have a fucking choice. "

"Rafe, stop it."

"No, you stop it. Why are you acting like you expected me to be a nice guy? I'm not and never will be. So, you're going to sit here and listen to what I have to say." He tone harsh and unnegotiable, grasping my chin in between his fingers.

I glared, meeting his harshness with mine. Fingers threaded into my hair as he forced my head back to stare at him.

"You knew exactly who I was when you met me. You saw the good, bad, and the ugly and still chose to fucking love me," He snarled, his hand slammed against his chest, "to love me."

Oh god. Was he right? He was.

"Then you leave me for being who you fell in love with?" Rafe's body was shaking as he jerked my head back towards his face when I tried to look away. "Knowing who I am and loving me anyway, just for you to walk away. Am I that easy to walk away from? "

His gaze was expectant but he already knew the answer. No, he wasn't easy to walk away from. It almost killed me each and every time.

"No." I answered, my voice so low it came out as a whisper.

"How is that any more cruel than what I did to you?" I couldn't answer becuase he was right. My heart bled at this point as I tried to scramble some coherent thought. I wanted to say something, anything to counter his statements but fell short.

A sob caught the back of my throat.

"So get the fuck off your high horse. I beat up Pope on figure 8 and guess who kept my bed warm after that?" He mused, his fingers brushing against my knees forcing them open more. "I shot and killed Sheriff Peterkin and you consoled me."

I gulped for air but it seemed like nothing was reaching my lungs. He was right. We were so inextricably linked that his darkness became my own. It was so easy for me to excuse all of his horrible actions simply because I love him.

The laugh he let out sent shivers down my spine. "Fuck, I almost drowned Sarah and you still opened your legs for me. Still loved me, didn't you?"

Horror filled every cell in body. I curled my arms into myself as pain slashed through my heart while my hands and arms shook.

"So which one of us is really fucked up?" Me. Him. Both.

Rafe pulled his lip into his mouth as he regarded me with dark eyes. Leaning over me, he brought his mouth to my ear, the ghost of his breath causing shivers to wrack down my spine. "The answer is between your legs."

I stopped breathing. Wetness seeped onto the silk bottoms leaving an obvious stain on my pants. I tried to close my legs, but Rafe let out a little tisk.

I thought I had a chance to save myself before I got stuck in the trecherous storm that was Rafe Cameron. I was doomed the moment I met him.

He smiled at me almost as though he knew I reached the same conclusion as he did.

Rafe lowered to his knees, resting directly in between mine, with his hands raised up. I stare down at him with broken eyes, my handsome monster kneeling on the ground for only me.

When he saw I made no point to move, his large calloused hand covered my shaking ones while the other softly grazed the damn spot in between my legs causing me to visibly tremble.

"Do you get it now? There is no after for us. There is and always will be an us." The words were spoken softly, but firm. Though his eyes weren't on me, and in stead were in between my lefs. His hold on my hands being the only thing anchoring me.

I did. I hated that I loved him. I hated how he'd never leave. I especially hated how I couldn't leave. I hated my body's gross reaction to him and his filthy words.

"I love you."

My head jerked up, eyes wide with surprise at his confession.

"I do. That's why I wear the necklace and the cufflinks." He answered my question. He finally answered my question.

Before I could respond, a soldier bursted into the room with narrowed eyes. He took in the scene before him before relaxing but my body was snapped with tension.

Rafe looked down at our hands before standing up slowly and letting go. "Trust me."

He was asking in the only way he knew how, by demanding. He'd broken so many promises before that the trust between us was in shards. I found myself nodding anyways.

I'd already been broken before, what was once more?

In seconds, Rafe lunged toward the solider with his hands fisting along the shoulders of the man's bulletproof vest. Slamming his body hard to the ground, Rafe climbed on top before lifting the man's body and slamming it against the floor again and again.

He dragged his fist back before slashing it with quick and brute force against the soldier's face. Blood splattered against the white tiled floors as the man groaned in pain.

Rafe didn't stop. His knuckles becoming a marred mess due to them being split open. He didn't even wince.

"Get the gun." A loud ringing noise echoed in my ears as I stared at the unconcious man on the floor who's face was unrecognizable.

"Baby, get the gun." The term of endearment pulled my out of my head. Rafe's electric eyes stared at me with urgency and darted to the side.

I moved my head in the direction of his stare and see a black gun several feet away. My brain shut off and body felt numb as I picked it up with trembling hands.

My steps were timid and hestitant as I walked back over to him. He held out his hand, the rings shining in the light. "Bring it here."

For a second, a brief second, the thought of shooting him crossed my mind. I could be free of him. I could do it.

No, I couldn't. I loved him. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

I rested the heavy pistol in his hand and watched as he dug through the man's pocket and grabbed a phone. "We're getting out of here. I have my boat parked somewhere here on the island. We get to it and we can go wherever you want. Just me and you."

Rafe stood and stepped towards me, determination in his eyes, with his hand held out for me to grab.

I took a sharp intake of breath. My blood rushed loudly in my ears as I decided what I was about to do. My friends, my life, were they worth losing for him?

His necklace sparkling against the sun and those cuflinks shining against his shirt caught my attention.

Our souls were wired together, infused. I was a monster. Just like him.

Loving Rafe was a death sentence. Little did I know—I was already dead.

I reached for his hand.

_________________

Psycho toxic rafe is the man of my dreams but also my nightmares :) They are both crazy though clearly and need help.

Let me know what you think! Next up is Conrad fucking Fisher and I assure you, your heart will be broken.

Tag list: @narcissuspetal @valeriedelevingne @harrys-humble-housewife @mrs-dasilvasantoss @yoonki-bored @maybankslover @blazebreaker @thepopcultureaddict @cartiiwannagotoplutoo @imawhoreforu @jj-pls-give-me-a-chance @summer-may

[squoosheez]

Lavender Haze

Peeta Mellark x Reader

summary: You wake up in the bed of none other than Peeta Mellark. Frantic that you’re gonna miss your train, you recall the events of the previous night.

setting: The last night of the victor’s tour. It’s the after party and you’re completely wasted, so Peeta takes you up to his room to get cleaned up.

pairing: Peeta Mellark x Fem!Reader

warnings: smut, drunk sex/dub-con, p in v, reader’s an absolute menace

notes: i didn’t put too much effort into this but i hope it’s not horrible 😭 short n sweet ig

word count: 3.1k

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socials: ao3

You feel your head pound as you down your second Advil of the day. It’s quite evident now that you should not have gone to that after party. Another reason to support your claim is the fact you don’t know where the fuck you are.

Usually, you would’ve called yourself an Uber by now, but the pounding in your head was enough to make you stay just long enough to locate the nearest pain medication. You scan the room, trying to find any sign of where you may be. It’s definitely in the Capitol. Yesterday was the last day of the Victor's Tour, and the train doesn’t leave until.. well today. You feel panic start to set it.

The train. You completely forgot how important it was to know where you end up the morning of the after parties. The train. You spring up from the barstool and sprint back into the bedroom from whence you came.

Your heart pounds as you attempt to gather all your things. The tight, black, sequin dress you wore last night paired with some black stiletto heels. You don’t remember much, but you remember they hurt. You fumble around, reaching for your bag and not really bothering to change your clothes. That will definitely stir up your fans.

You move groggily around the room after you pick up all your belongings. As you start to make your way towards the door, you see the handle turn and hear a set of keys jingle on the other side. You take a step back as the door opens to reveal none other than Peeta Mellark.

You let out a sigh of relief as you run into his arms. He shoots you a confused look, but embraces you in his arms anyway. Before he can get a chance to speak, you drag him to the ground. He lands on top of you gracefully, giggling and laughing without knowing why.

“Oh, Peeta. I was so scared I was gonna be late, and I think I slept with a stranger last night.” You groan into his shoulders. Your words cause a piercing laugh to escape Peeta’s lips. You look up at him in confusion.

“It wasn’t a stranger,” he remarks. It all comes flooding back to you. You can’t tell whether to be relieved or panic even more. Your face flushes red with embarrassment as you think about the consequences of your own actions.

You gently slam your head against his marble countertops and make a loud noise that can only be described as a wail. Your dramatics are not making Peeta feel any better about the situation. He is sitting on the couch, watching the screen attentively while you rethink your entire life decisions.

Through all the blurred vision and distorted noise you recall happened last night, you finally start to remember what exactly had happened after the party.

It was a normal after party, except much more extravagant. It was the after party after you visited the presidential mansion. The party with the president was nothing less than over the top, but it still seemed very strict. You had to put on a good show and pretend like you were enjoying yourself the whole time, despite experiencing quite the opposite.

The after party was much more laid back. More drinking, less talking. You danced until your legs couldn’t hold you up, which ultimately led to Peeta carrying you up the stairs and to his bedroom. His bedroom?

He laid you on the bed and started to run you a bath. You squirmed around trying to decipher whose bed you were in. You heard the running water and decided it’d be nice to take a bath. That’s when you felt the vomit stirring up in your stomach. And in just a second, it’s out of your stomach and ruining Peeta’s brand new sheets.

He immediately rushed into the room and lifted you up, trying to keep you from completely coating yourself in puke. He sighed hard and had you sit on the toilet while he cleaned the mess you so generously made.

Alcohol poisoning was not unfamiliar to you, with all the parties in the Capitol, this was a normal occurrence. Peeta doesn’t enjoy cleaning up after you, but you’re his best friend, so he puts up with it. Though, you’re almost as bad as Haymitch at this point.

Once he’s finished stripping the bed and putting a set of fresh new sheets on it, he returns his attention towards you. You’re mumbling something barely audible and Peeta gives you a laugh in response. Due to your puking incident, he didn't want to put you in the bath first. He grabs the shower head off of the shower and ushers you into the shower.

You whined, thinking you were gonna get a bath. Before he gets the chance to ask you, you’re struggling to discard your clothes. Your shirt is stuck on your arm, and he just giggles at your useless attempt. His hands help to lift the shirt above your head, revealing your curvy figure and shimmery skin. You murmur something about staring and he gives you a forced laugh in return. He then softly asks you if you can remove your pants, in which you have no shame in doing. It makes his face grow red and his ears grow hot.

He turns on the water, and allows you to rinse yourself off at first. This quickly goes to shit when you try to spray him in the face. He wipes the water from his face, and discards himself off his sopping wet shirt.

You’re a giggling mess as Peeta hoses you down, your body barely being able to stay up against the wall of the shower. Once Peeta decides he’s gotten all the puke off, he escorts you towards the bath. Your body sinks in and the warm water feels so good on your skin.

Peeta reaches over to grab a clean plastic cup. He scoops up some water and instructs you to close your eyes. He pours the water over your head, wetting down your hair so he can wash it. He squirts a bit of shampoo onto his hand and rubs it gently into your scalp. He does the same with the conditioner on the ends of your hair. He takes the cup again and rinses the suds out of your hair. You look up at him every now and then, giving him a beautiful smile that always gives him butterflies.

“You look beautiful tonight,” he says as he finishes rinsing the last of the soap out of your hair. You grab a bar of soap and begin to rub it over your body, but you get tired halfway through. You place the soap on the side of the bath closest to him, assuming he would take it and finish scrubbing you.

His breath hitches. He looks at you with a disappointed look on his face. “I can’t help you here. You can do it,” he encourages. Obviously, since you’re drunk, you take this statement as he doesn’t want to help you and wants to leave you here completely defenseless. Tears well up in your eyes and you choke on your tears. Small sniffles can be heard as Peeta immediately tries to comfort you.

He whispers reassuring words in your ear as you continue to cry. He decides against making you wash yourself and just helps you out of the bath. He grabs a towel and dries off your hair before wrapping it around your body. You shiver at the cold air hitting your wet skin, but you’ve stopped crying. So that’s a plus.

His hands guide you onto his bed, most of the guests have already left. The music volume has decreased greatly and only faint conversation can be heard. Peeta just hopes no one comes up here with you laying in his bed.

For some reason, you’re still wide awake. You wait to feel Peeta’s warmth climb into bed beside you to fall asleep, but he’s taking way too long for your liking. You throw your legs over the side of the bed and make your way over to the closet. Without even bothering to ask if he’s in there, you pull the door wide open to reveal Peeta’s almost naked body. He’s standing there in nothing but a pair of boxers while he tries to pick out a pajama shirt.

Your cheeks flush an embarrassing shade of red. He quickly shuts the door back and throws the first shirt he sees over his head. When he opens the door again, you’re sitting in front of the closet with tears running down your face. He immediately crouches down to be on your level. He wipes a tear from your cheek and speaks softly. “Hey, It’s okay. You wanna head to bed?”

You nod and let him pick you up and carry you onto the bed, placing you there gently. You feel your body relax as he climbs into the bed next to you. He allows you to lay your head on his shoulder as he turns the TV on. He watches as you drift off into a soft sleep.

Later in the night, Peeta awakes to find you moving around in your sleep. Tossing and turning, mumbling words that he can’t quite make out. It’s not until he hears you breathe out his name that he comprehends what’s happening. He curses under his breath.

Your body is facing him, the towel slipping off your figure as you continue to squirm around. He debates waking you up or just letting you enjoy your dream. He takes a deep breath in, feeling his own arousal building in the pit of the stomach. It feels so wrong to watch you like this, so he wakes you up.

You hear his voice whisper gently and your eyes flutter open. You let out a whimper of disappointment when you realize your dream is finished. The disappointment slowly fades away at the sight of Peeta. You smile and place a messy kiss directly on his lips. His eyes widen at the action.

He lets the kiss linger before breaking it gently. Your eyes are fixated on his lips and his biceps. You let out an involuntary whimper in the absence of his lips. All you can manage to say is name.

Peeta groans against the crook in your neck. His breath is warm against your cold skin and it sends shivers down your spine. You can still feel the lingering effects of intoxication as his hands travel up and down your body. You allow his eyes and hands to explore every inch of your body he can as you indulge in the sensation.

“Peeta,” you whisper softly. His eyes flick up to meet yours.

“Yeah?” He says quietly. You bite your lip as you feel your arousal swelling in your lower stomach, heat radiating from in between your legs.

“Touch me,” your voice shakes as you look up at him with pleading eyes. His expression is tense. He wants it so bad, but it feels wrong. He wants you to want him when you're sober. He wishes you would ask him these things when you’re not drunk.

This isn’t the first time this has happened. Almost every time you get drunk Peeta cleans you up and holds you close and you try to get in his pants. Every time, he tells you no. Usually you take it pretty well, but for some reason you seem extra emotional today. He fears what may happen if he denies your request.

It’s an inner conflict for a moment before you decide to take matters into your own hands. Your hands travel down from his chest to the band of his boxers. He bites his lip as your body moves in closer. The towel is slowly slipping off your frame and it’s much different from how you looked when he was bathing you.

There’s a hunger in your eyes. Dark and cold. Your lips connect again and you can still taste the traces of tequila in his mouth, he’s far less drunk than you are, but the taste makes you long for more. You completely discard yourself off the towel. You have zero intentions of dragging this out.

You flip around, landing on top of him. Your hips straddling his thighs like they were made for him to be in between them. He’s completely taken aback by your movements, and he doesn’t even try to stop you anymore. You grind your hips against the growing bulge in his boxers, soaking them with your dripping arousal.

Peeta mumbles curses every now and then while you continue to grind relentlessly into him. You pull him in for once last sloppy kiss before he takes matters into his own hands. He pulled you towards him, immediately suctioning one of your nipples into his mouth. Your eyes roll back at the sensation. You let out a loud gasp as his hand roams freely on your body. They make their way to your throbbing clit, giving it the long awaited attention it deserves. Your back arches and you let out another loud moan at the action.

“Fuck me, Peeta.” Your words slur together, reminding him you’re still intoxicated. He buries the shame of his desires deep down and gives you a small smirk.

His hands travel down towards your ass, giving it a hard slap (that definitely left a mark). Your chest heaves as his hands squeeze and grip at your ass, and all you can think about is taking him so deep.

“Of course, baby.” He responds, his breath shaky and far from stable. You scoot up to give him room to slip off his underwear. He pulls them down to his ankles and you can feel his erection spring up to hit your ass. You smile as you breathe out another soft moan.

You move back to your previous position, his cock hitting your stomach with every small movement. You give him a couple strokes, watching as his expression grows more needy. Your thumb traces over his slit, earning a lewd whimper from Peeta’s throat. You lean over placing yet another kiss on his neck, sucking a dark hickey on his pale skin.

You position him near your entrance, sliding his cock back and forth between your folds, teasing him ever so slightly. He lets out a hiss as you finally sink yourself down on him. Your back arches as his cock fills you to the brim, legs shaking while you try to hold yourself up.

The room is filled with ah’s and mm’s as you pick yourself up and slam yourself back down onto him. He hits your g-spot, but only softly with very little effort. His hands guide your hips in a circular motion. He grits his teeth as you let out a moan that can only be described and slutty when he slams straight into your sweet spot. Tears well up in your eyes as your hand moves to circle your swollen clit.

Peeta gives your ass another slap, causing a string of profanities to slur out of your mouth. Your whole body feels like it’s floating. The pleasure is unimaginable. His sweaty blonde hair sticks to his forehead and you watch as he fucks up into you, letting small groans escape his lips occasionally. “You’re so tight,” Peeta hisses.

Your moans echo throughout the room, flooding Peeta’s head with the sounds of your pleasure. He feels the bubbling in his stomach grow stronger when he feels your walls clench around him. He curses under his breath and continues to use his hands to force you down on him.

Tears, drool, and sweat drip down your face, creating a mixture that cannot taste good. Peeta doesn’t mind. He pulls you down and connects your lips in a sloppy, wet, unorganized kiss. You don’t know how he manages to do it. He drives you crazy with every movement and you cannot get enough of it.

He continues to pound into you, your knees lock and you let him fuck you as hard as he can. A few shrill moans leave his throat as his climax approaches rapidly. You feel the same, your moans becoming much more erratic and louder. His thrusts become sloppy and less careful. He speeds up and your back arches as you feel his cock pulsate inside you.

“Peeta- I’m gonna, fuck—” you barely manage to give him a warning before your orgasm takes over. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, and you swear you see stars. Peeta’s face is concentrated, beads of sweat pouring down his chin, needy moans escaping from behind his lips.

He can feel his own orgasm building as you grab onto his biceps for support. It’s all too much and more tears stream down your face as the overstimulation sets in. You feel his body tense up and he pulls out as fast as you’ve seen any guy pull out. He gives himself a few fast strokes before cumming all over your tits. “Jesus.”

Peeta almost collapses on top of you, stopping himself before he accidentally crushes you. He locks your lips in a gentle kiss this time, not as messy or needy as before. He gives your nose and forehead a matching kiss as well. He brushes your hair behind your ears and you shoot him a ridiculous smile. The last thing you wanna do right now is move. You close your eyes as Peeta walks over to the bathroom. You hear the sink running and can only assume he’s wetting down a rag.

You’re right, of course. He places the rag in between your breasts, wiping away any of the cum residue he left there before placing another kiss right in between them. You giggle softly and pull him down towards you.

Your cheeks flush read at the sight of a completely fucked out Peeta Mellark. You feel a little proud of yourself as he swoops in for one last kiss before pulling you closer. You fall asleep knowing you’re in the arms of the man you feel most safe with.

That’s when you’re snapped back into reality. Peeta rushing around the room frantically trying to gather all his things and Peeta calling to alert the two of you the train’s arriving in twenty minutes. Your face is hot and you’re clearly embarrassed at the acts of your drunk self, but Peeta just seems to try to ignore them.

You try to regain control of your thoughts when Peeta breaks the silence. “Everything alright?” His voice is sincere and coarse. Just like it was that night.

“Yeah, I’m all good.”

[its-time-to-write]

Thank you so much for the response to my request <3. the fic was better then I could have hoped!!!!

I have a new request (but feel free to focus on the story themes you were wanting to do!), I have been really wanting to see a Jamie fic where he takes care of sick reader. Could be period or illness (no preference) and Jamie has no idea how to help but tries his best. I think its a cute idea

Can't wait to read more of your fics!

Thank you so much for requesting!! Literally love when people ask me to write things. Also, apparently everyone loves a sickfic because my other one has the most notes of everything I’ve written. Anyway, here’s your fic!

there’s orange juice in the kitchen

You are not sure of much, but you know one thing: you’re in pain. It’s 2am, and you’ve gotten a grand total of two hours of sleep. You’ve given up on laying in your bed and have filled up your bath with hot water, bubbles, and bath salts. Lots of bath salts. Your abdomen feels like it’s shredding itself and you suppose, technically speaking, it is. You’re just relieved that tomorrow is the weekend and you don’t have to slog through a work day, white-knuckling these absolutely ripping period cramps. 

You don’t have regular periods like, ever, and your doctor’s concerned about your fertility. You remember waving it off with the statement, “That’s a problem for another day.” Thing is, that was just a cop-out. You didn’t want to think about it for a single second because then it would become real, and you make it a personal point never to complain about a period no matter how brutal it is because at least it’s something and never mind that your last one was four months ago, you’re ok. You have a good life and good people and you’re fine. 

It’s just the principle, you know? The desire of choice. 

The hormones don’t help either. 

But anyway, you’re in your tiny bath trying to soothe the pain you’re in, trying to make yourself tired enough to fall asleep once you get out. You breathe, in, out. In, out. 

You’re up till 6am when you finally doze off. 

—

You wake up in a sweaty haze. You’re in soft pants and a large t-shirt, on top of your sheets rather than in them. You reach for your phone then pull your legs in with a sharp gasp. You’re still in pain. 

It subsides so you reach again and check the time. 9:01. You groan. Three hours of dubious sleep is not enough. You have a missed text from Sam (remind me which brand of kitchenware you use?) two missed texts from Keeley (look at this absolutely adorable puppy! Attached: 1 Image), and a missed call from Jamie. 

Ah, right. Jamie. 

Your boyfriend. 

Who you were supposed to meet for breakfast exactly sixteen minutes ago. 

Shit. 

You call him back and he answers on the first ring. 

“Hey love!” he says. “You alright? Not like you to miss breakfast.”

You grimace. “I uh, I wasn’t feeling well last night and I haven’t slept very good. I forgot to text you. Didn’t fall asleep until 6.”

“A.M.?” Jamie asks and you reply to the affirmative. He lets out a long “shiiit,” followed by a, “how contagious are you?”

“For you? Not very,” you say. “For another girl, incredibly contagious, although some say that’s an old wive’s tale.”

Jamie is silent in confusion, then- “Ohh, I get it! You’re not sick-sick, you’re on your fucking period.”

You chuckle, despite remaining curled up on your side. 

“Yes,” you reply, “My fucking period. I feel nauseous and tired and I am bleeding so. Much. It’s like my body’s making up for the last four months of nothing.”

Jamie’s silent for a moment and you internally cringe, kicking yourself for over sharing. You haven’t been together that long, about a month and a half, and he doesn’t need to know that about you. He’s a famous footballer, after all, and a guy’s guy. Probably gets grossed out about periods and stuff. 

Then he says, “Can I come over? I’ll bring food,” and your worries almost completely evaporate. 

“As long as you don’t care about how disgusting I am or the fact that I hurt a lot, sure,” you say. “I’ll leave the door unlocked.”

—

Jamie’s at your flat in 40 minutes, which is fast considering how much food he walks in with. He’s brought a bag of Chinese takeout, plus two overflowing grocery bags. 

“This is for now, these are for later,” he explains. He’s in a pink sweatshirt with matching shorts and socks, and maybe it’s the damned hormones again but he looks hot. His hair is pushed back with a headband and you want him to fuck you. You don’t think you can convince him, though, what with the blood. And the fact that he’s Jamie fucking Tartt. And that he probably doesn’t do shit like that because it’s gross. 

Your brain whispers, but he’s here, isn’t he? so you just push that thought down to live with other scary ones like, I will never have kids, or I’m going to live with this pain for the rest of my life.

Jamie is oblivious to this, just pulling everything out of the bags and chattering on. He’s kicked off his trainers near the door, and he hasn’t made any comments about the fact that you’ve wrapped a blanket around your shoulders like a shroud, or that your hair is in the messiest bun in the history of the world. Not the sexy, reader-insert fan fiction type of messy bun, either. Just an I-did-not-get-anywhere-NEAR-enough-sleep-last-night messy bun. 

“-and me mum always drank orange juice, swore it helped with bloating or hydration or somethin’, I don’t really know, but I got some of that too and this tea that’s supposed to help with cramps, and also a shit-ton of chocolate because I didn’t know which kind was your favorite. I was thinking we can sit on the couch and watch a movie or play Animal Crossing or some shit while eating the takeout, then I can cook you a proper fucking meal later. Coach always says it’s important to have a balanced meal when you’re under the weather, and I think it applies to this too.” He stops when he notices you just looking at him. “You alright, babe?”

“Yeah, I just- why did you get all this?” you blurt out. 

For the first time since you’ve known him, Jamie looks unsure of himself. “I dunno. I mean, I do know. You didn’t sound great over the phone, and Keeley’s always telling me to fucking listen to other people, and me mum was always the same on her period so I used to get her the things she wanted all the time. And-” he takes a breath, “and I picked up on what you said. The fuckin’ four-months shit. That ain’t good babe. Even I know that. And, we haven’t been together that long, but I’m pretty fucking sure you know that too, and I wanted to let you know I’m sorry.”

You’re momentarily fixed on the way he says certain words. Keeleh. Sorreh. It’s sweet, for some reason, and it causes a dull ache in your chest. You realize what he’s actually said to you and that ache deepens. You’d kiss him if you weren’t sure your breath was gross. 

So instead, you settle for nodding and staring at your kitchen wall. That’s because option one is kissing and option two is crying. You can’t do either right now.

A traitor tear slips out your eye anyway, and you hope Jamie won’t see it. He does. 

“Hey, hey.” He comes around the counter and pulls you into a hug, blanket shroud, messy bun, and all. “Love. It’s alright. It’s alright. You’re not alone, and we’re going to go sit on the couch and eat as much food as we can and then pass out, alright? We’re not going to think about anything else except what’s right in fuckin’ front of us.”

“That was,” you sniff, “weirdly philosophical. And very sweet. And I’m sorry for being disgusting.”

Jamie pulls away from you, and you think this is the first time he’s realized how gross you are. 

“Don’t say that shit, babe,” he says, and you laugh before you realize he isn’t joking. 

“I’m serious,” he continues. “You might feel disgusting, but you aren’t. You smell like fucking lavender, for Christ’s sake. Your pajamas are clean, and so’s your hair. Might be fuckin’ messy right now, but me mum also taught me to braid, so it’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”

You pull him back against you and let some more tears come out. 

“Why are you being so nice,” you ask, voice muffled through his sweatshirt. 

“Oh, dunno,” he replies, hint of a smile in his voice, “Think you’re fit. I like shower sex. You pick.” He pauses. “Maybe both. Heard that it can help with cramps.”

You laugh wetly into his chest. He’s warm and comforting, and so completely not what you expected him to be. You both stand in the kitchen for another minute, his cheek resting on your head before he says, “Oi, you hungry?”

“God, yes,” you say, “I could eat a fucking horse.”

“Good.” Jamie picks up the bulging bag of takeout and a roll of paper towels. “Lead the way, babe.”

—

It’s not until much later, after you’ve eaten, watched a movie, and showered (and all that implies) that you realize you’re finally tired. Finally calm. You let yourself relax on your bed in Jamie’s arms, breathing in his clean smell. In, out. In, out. By the third breath, you’re asleep. 

[cauliflowertree]

tom riddle—a certain romance.

.ೃ࿐ྂ tom riddle x fem!reader

summary: tom provides a distraction when your period arrives.

word count: 1.1k

fanfic no. 024

tom wasn’t used to being stood up. he’d had no chance to harbour a dislike for the act because it had never happened until now—not that he could recollect anyway. but now that it had, he hated it.

it was basic manners to turn up to something you’d organised, or at least let him know sufficiently in advance if you weren’t able to attend. he felt cheated. and not that he was particularly concerned with his reputation at hogwarts (but he was), he couldn’t let this go.

currently, unbeknownst to tom riddle, you were hauled up in your dormitory, cradling your stomach, hoping that this change of position would relieve some pain. the water on your bedside had long been empty, and the food you’d taken from breakfast was hardening. on the brink of tears, you slipped a blanket over your shoulders and stared at the ground, wishing it would swallow you whole.

tom, on the other hand, was storming through the castle with a stone cold face, lips pursed and hands in his pockets. it wasn’t unusual for tom to strut through the halls like this, but something about his blank stare caused some alarm with the younger students.

“watch out!” a second year hissed, pulling his friend back by the collar as tom flew past.

he barely noticed.

there was sharp knock at your door, and at first you thought someone must’ve gotten the wrong dorm, but it persisted despite you not answering. stomping over to the door, you whipped it open before another knock could disturb the little peace you had left.

“what?!” you seethed, only recognising the person in your doorway afterwards. “oh, tom. what are you doing here?” you asked.

tom screwed his eyebrows together. surely it was obvious what he was doing at your door. he had waited for you in the library for nearly forty-five minutes—he must have looked like an utter fool. how he hated to be humiliated.

“i-”

“oh! oh, tom, i’m so sorry. i completely forgot,” you threw your hands over your mouth guiltily.

tom looked past you and into your room, noticing the strewn sheets, blankets, stale food and tipped over glass on your bedside. then he looked back at you, expression softening slightly.

“are you unwell?” he questioned you.

“in a matter of speaking, aunt flo has come to visit,” you said delicately.

tom made no answer, only continued staring as if asking you to elaborate further to relieve his confusion.

“that time of the month, tom.”

he shifted. “oh.”

you nodded, leaning against your doorframe. the pain had subsided momentarily in tom’s presence, but now that the excitement had died down, it was coming back full force.

tom said nothing, but his eyes poured into yours, and suddenly his anger had vanished and in its place was a much softer emotion he didn’t care to name. he brushed past you into your room, ignoring the questions you threw his way. retrieving your glass and plate of food, he exited your dorm and placed them on a nearby table.

he was back in an instant, pressing his hand to your lower back and silently ushering you back into your own room. he stopped in front of your bed, and you sat down. the next moment he was gone, and you weren’t aware of how long he’d been away, still trying to understand what he was doing and whether he was coming back or if that was the end of your odd exchange.

but before you knew it, he had returned with a full glass of water and a bowl of fruit. he could barely believe it himself. he didn’t care to look after people other than himself, it wasn’t in his nature, nor in his interest. and he seldom did things that weren’t in his interest.

but he found himself in the hogwarts kitchen arranging fruit in a bowl and asking specially for blackberries because he’d seen you eat them frequently.

“thank you,” you whispered, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

he looked down to you, his gaze sliding down his sharp face and onto yours. he didn’t speak much, not unless he deemed it necessary, and sometimes you appreciated this.

“you’re welcome,” he replied, sitting in the chair in the corner of your room, his ankle resting on his knee and hand gracing over his lips as his elbow rested on the arm of the chair.

it was as if he was examining you. you tried not to wince or react to the pain in your stomach for as long as you could, but eventually you couldn’t help it. tom didn’t move a muscle as he watched you.

“do you like to read?” he asked finally, cutting the tension in half.

“yes,” you answered, “my books are over there if you’d like to have a look.”

tom’s eyes flickered to where you had pointed, and he could see several titles from where he was sitting. in one swift movement he got up from the chair, slipped his hands in his pockets and stepped over to your shelf.

he selected a novel from your collection and returned to the chair.

“you can sit over here, you know.”

tom turned, looking at the space next to you on the bed. “very well.”

the mattress dipped with his weight, and you tried to control your pulse from racing just by him being so near. but his scent was intoxicating—he smelled expensive—and his thigh was almost touching yours. it was the perfect distraction from the pain, though you wouldn’t have guessed such a thing.

tom, too felt nervous, and he didn’t like to feel this way. but he suspected that this type of nervousness wouldn’t be as bothersome as the rest. he pushed the tremble in his voice down and opened the first page of ‘a room with a view’.

his deep voice was calming, diverting, too. though lucy honeychurh and george emerson’s story was also, over time his body had inched closer to yours subconsciously, and now you were touching like it was the most normal thing in the world. after a while, you’d moved back on the bed, head resting against your pillows and legs curled up into you. tom had been resistant at first to make himself comfortable, but had done as you asked and situated himself against your headboard.

bravery had taken hold of you nearly an hour into the reading session, and you dared to rest your head against tom’s shoulder. he didn’t stop reading, he didn’t move, but you could feel him stiffen ever so slightly, and then let go.

after a while, he even ventured to twist his pinky finger around yours, forcing himself to awkwardly turn the pages of the book one-handed—though neither of you were bothered about this.

it was quiet, it was intimate and private, and the moment was yours. and though it was only george and lucy who had shared an embrace, you hoped that it wouldn’t be too long before you and tom would share one of your own.

🏷 @imabee-oralizard @mad-elia @velvetcloxds @garfieldsladybird @flesh--amnesiac

[jinkookspencil]

like couples do | knj

you run out of period products at dawn, and there's only one person who's up....

description/tags: namjoon drabble / fwb to lovers / fluff / but mentions the fact that namjoon and reader had unprotected sex (don't do this) and reader is relieved to get her period afterwards / so obviously mentions of period and blood / maybe a bit angsty? / been busy and been working on a request! but it's been a while since i wrote namjoon and, gosh, i love writing for him even though whatever comes to me for him is usually the most random bursts and ideas, like this one i thought of last night / let me know what you think <3

wc: ~1.6k words

+

Your gasp pulls you from heaven to hell.

Extracted from your dream, you’re out of the covers in a flash, dazed as you try to meet your reality. The room was sweltering despite autumn settling in and the fan whizzing away in your room as it always did. The sound you’d grown so accustomed to only made it harder to think, but you didn’t have to. The wet pools at your back and around your body suddenly made themselves known, with your black pajama top sticking to your sweaty skin. With a quick change into a tank top and a sip of cold water, you were ready to escape into a dreamland, far from the hellhole that had been your bedroom...

Only to be met with a small pool of a different kind when you pull away the blanket.

Fuck.

Quickly feeling between your thighs confirmed it - you bled through your shorts.

Well, at least it’s here, you think, your heart settling after days worrying about the sudden delay in your cycle. After all, Namjoon hadn’t used any protection… 

It was hard to put away the mental image of him once you were in the bathroom, remembering that one time he had you propped up on the cabinet, but looking through it now, the panic returns. You were all out of pads and tampons.

This is why people have roommates. Or stupidly organized Virgo boyfriends, you think, cursing yourself while rummaging through every drawer, cupboard, and overnight bag without finding a single tampon for the evening. 

The minutes spent on your phone were quick to squash any more of your hopes - the delivery service app had been shut down for the night after some seemingly catastrophic bug on their end, and your female friends who lived nearby hadn't answered your texts and calls, as expected at this time of day.

Reading the time on your phone, you knew one person who would definitely be up. The person who always showed up. The man worked ridiculous hours, following his ‘late-night creativity’… unless the universe really wanted to torture you and, for the very first time, he’d be asleep as well.

You consider running to the convenience store, double layering your bottoms with black fabrics, and taking a scooter... only for a stinging cramp to shock you at your lower back.

He had to answer.

+

to: joon 🌒[3:58am] - hi are you up?

to: joon🌒 [3:58am] - text asap please it’s urgent

to: y/n🍀 [4:01am] - yes i’m up. are you okay y/n?

to: y/n🍀 [4:01am] - i’m finally done with work for the night.

to: y/n🍀 [4:01am] - are you okay? i’ll call as soon as i’m out of the building.

to: joon🌒 [4:02am] - don’t call i’m embarrassed to say this to you out loud plus i'm in pain

to: joon 🌒 [4:02am] - can you get me some pads and tampons? i got my period (aka the pain) and i’m all out so….

to: joon🌒 [4:02am] - i need em and i can’t get em

to: y/n🍀 [4:03am] - y/n of course. phew i thought this was going in literally the complete opposite way considering…

to: y/n🍀 [4:03am] - anyways, aren’t we past embarrassment? never feel that when it comes to me please.

to: y/n🍀 [4:03am] - safe space just for us, remember? 

to: joon🌒 [4:04am] - yes :) thanks joon 

to: y/n🍀 [4:04am] - :) getting on my bike now. i’ll be there in 10.

to: y/n🍀 [4:04am] - the sky’s starting to change colors. look outside, pretty :) (1 image attached)

+

The knock, though expected, jolts you enough for your new bedsheet to spring away from your grasp once again. Frustrated, a groan escapes you as you walk to your front door, tightening the robe that covered your body and stained shorts.

“Sorry I’m late,” Namjoon giggles at the door, seeing your furrowed expression. “Oh, you’re most definitely on your period, huh?”

“Get in here and shut up,” you groan once more, letting him in. All too familiar with your place, he unpacks one of the bags in his hand, carefully displaying an array of period products on the nearest table. 

“I’m surprised you didn’t send a photo and ask me to choose one,” you say, grabbing one of the boxes.

“I… I grabbed everything in the aisle without thinking. Shit, I should’ve sent a photo, right? Are these not good enough? Are they the wrong size? Will they fit your....? I can go to another convenience store,” he murmurs, head tilted down as he surveys the products before you.

“No, Namjoon, honey, the photo is just a thing boyfriends tend to do when they’re asked to get period products. You asked the same size and fit question, though,” you laugh before quickly realizing you compared his actions to that of a boyfriend. Something he most definitely was not.

“I lived in a dorm full of boys, how was I supposed to know?” he says, scratching his head.

“These are perfect, and I’m stocked for at least the next three months. Thank you, Joonie,” you say, squeezing his arm.

“Anytime, Y/N,” he replies quietly, pulling you closer to him so he can kiss your forehead. It only hits you both when your hand is rubbing at his back in his embrace, and it takes even longer to break away than it did to realize the situation. 

Something shifts in Namjoon’s gaze when he sees you emerge from the bathroom in new pyjama shorts. “Cute PJ’s. I’m not used to seeing them on you for more than five seconds.”

“Enjoy the show, then,” you quip, plopping down next to him on the couch and extending your legs over his lap. You hadn’t really meant it as a command, but can’t help but smile catching the fact that Namjoon had obeyed. His fingers draw mindless circles at your ankles as his gaze travels upwards. Minutes are spent in silence, eyeing your thighs with intent before his eyes rest on your exposed clavicle. His circles stop, gripping your ankle and noting the undeniable rise and fall of your breathing and breasts, swollen and tender against your thin cotton tank top.

“Oh,” he finally says with a cough, breaking the silence and raising his brows. “I almost forgot. I thought you might need these.”

Leaning forward, Namjoon dumps the entire contents of the second plastic bag onto your hard coffee table. Small, colorful circles bounce off of it and onto the floor, long bars land with a thud, and instantly recognizable plastic packages are cushioned by its contents.

“Oh, Joon. I do. I do fucking need this,” you let out, almost as a moan. “You already know what I want.”

Smiling, he tears open a plastic packet of your favorite chocolate-flavored bread and another for himself. The time spent biting and savoring the pillowy snack was heavenly in the comfortable silence -save for the birds that begin to chirp from somewhere outside your window.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten the sticker,” you say, handing Namjoon the tiny square envelope in your now-empty plastic packaging. He’s quick to grab it from your hands, giddy to see whatever Pokemon character was inside.

"Take mine, too," he says, handing you his square, with an illustration of a pink, deer-like creature - not at all like the Pokemon he usually mentioned.

"Oh, she’s pretty!”

"Exactly..." he says. "Deerling, that's her name. She's a new favorite of mine, actually. Her colors change based on the different seasons in the year... and when she evolves, her deer form's antlers are basically how branches are decorated in nature: budding flowers and leaves for spring, greenery for summer, you get the picture. She's the only one that truly encapsulates the beauty of our world..."

"All that for a Pokemon? I'm jealous," you tease, but he doesn't laugh, quietly opening the envelope you'd handed to him.

“Yes!” he cheers. “I don’t have this one yet - Moltres. Ah, you really are my good luck charm, huh?"

"Am I? I guess you should keep me around, then, huh?" you say, leaning back on the couch and poking his shoulder.

"That's the plan," Namjoon says, his eyes still thoughtfully fixated on the sticker he fiddled with, but only for a moment. “Uhm… I… we… should probably get some sleep, huh? I should probably…go. Uhm, should I?”

“Do you want to go?” you ask, feeling a tightening in your chest at the thought. Just like all those nights in bed, it was too comfortable to remember that this wasn't your entire reality but stolen, secret time. Always, one found themselves reminding the other to snap back to reality. It was beautifully torturous, just as you two had liked it for so long… until it began to sink in that the beauty could stand on its own…. if only one of you had the courage. 

“….No. No I don’t really want to go, Y/N. But if you want me to….” 

“I don’t want you to,” you interrupt, nudging his fingertip with yours right over your knees until your hands are intertwined. “I mean someone has to help me fit that stupid sheet onto the bed... and you're quite familiar with my sheets."

“I am,” he smiles, nodding to himself and squeezing your hand with his.

“Then we can get in… and just go to sleep… or cuddle,” you wonder, feeling Namjoon's soft hand under yours.

“Like couples do?” Namjoon asks, finally meeting your gaze for the first time that night.

“Yeah… yeah, I’m thinking like couples do,” you whisper, your breath hitching on the words that spoke your once unthinkable, far-fetched desire while looking at it right in the eyes. 

“Me too,” he smiles, bringing your hand up to kiss it and rest it at his dimples. “Like couples it is then.”

[yuzukult]

yours, but not yours 06 || csc & reader

title: yours, but not yours 06 pairing: choi seungcheol x fem!reader/oc genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, fake dating!au, bad influence!seungcheol, nice guy syndrome!namjoon, mechanic!seungcheol wc: 6.7k (1k per month i disappeared lol) warnings: profanity, mentions of sex a/n: ... hopefully y'all didn't forget me,, if this chapter is mediocre i am so sorry i'm trying my best here T_T i had to rewrite the chapter a couple times & ended up going with a different route (which may be slightly unexpected) but the series isn't over yet !! this is the calm before the storm ok

There’s nothing worse than being proven wrong.

It’s like when you’re a toddler, your mom tells you to not eat the spicy slice of pork belly, knowing very well that you wouldn’t be able to handle it but you still beg her anyways. Then when you’d finally get a bite, your face contorts into a pained one, desperately wishing that water would be more relieving to the tongue as it is to a house fire. Or like when your high school best friend told you to maybe not get involved with the guy who has quite the reputation, but your constant urge to break the rules practically drowns you, so you go for him anyway. Then, when he left you crying outside on his porch, beseeching him to come back after you clearly saw him cheating on you with that other pretty girl in your Art class with that cool hot pink dyed strip of hair, you’re yet proven wrong again, only to be running to your best friend’s house after you regained your senses.

This is probably another one of those times. And truthfully, maybe you’ve evolved, but there’s this part of you that wishes you’re wrong.

Seungcheol is definitely nothing close to what you’d ever expect to be your type. He’s not the traditional kind of guy—office job, either living alone and saving for a house or lives in a house he owns, has a car, wears business casual clothes on the weekdays, maybe even into different types of beers, occasionally plays a gaming console—instead, he’s a mechanic with a motorcycle and likes to flirt with you whenever he gets the chance. He favors the torn up and stained attire, despite having money (which… you’d only find out not too long ago) but he does love alcohol. Whiskey being on the top of his list; beer is more of an option for social events, he mentions it the one night he stayed late in the garage when you came down with two bottles in hand. “I had leftovers. They were gonna go bad if I left it any longer,” you said as you handed over the Miller Lite. He popped the cap off on the edge of the workstation, swapping it with you after, then opening his own in the same way. “Let’s not put it to waste.”

And here you are, two days after the event, groggily putting laundry into the washer with your head full of—you guessed it!—Choi Seungcheol.

The last encounter was left with you exiting his childhood bedroom with disheveled hair, wet panties, and awkwardly adjusting the fabric of your dress. No phone call to follow up, no text—nothing. Fucking radio silence.

How does someone fucking rail you into the mattress, whisper the dirtiest things in your ear, then claim you as their own and suddenly just go off the grid right after? You didn’t see him for the rest of the night, and when you went back to Rowoon, he didn't interrogate you on your relationship with Seungcheol after he shut him up. The whole thing was eating you up inside to the point that you were fucking wishing that Rowoon would ask, just to have a soundboard for this dilemma.

Was that the finale of it all? Is this the end of You & Seungcheol: The Not-So Love Story? He hasn’t even been back to the garage yet, and it’s got you pondering why he didn’t even bother to send a fucking text. A text! It’s not that hard to send a text.

But maybe this is what that whole “karma” thing people keep talking about—what goes around comes around, right?

You groan. Slamming the door shut, you pull out the dispenser drawer of thr washing machine aggressively. Just like when he pushed you against the wall that night, knee shoving your legs apart as he looked at your lips with furrowed brows. You couldn’t help but grip onto his biceps—he was so thick in that shirt, hugging every curve of his body in waves you didn’t know would leave you breathless from the sight. How is he so hot when he’s angry? He didn’t even have a right to be, you weren’t his (even though he continuously thrusted his hips into yours, heated breath against your neck with the word, “mine,” constantly falling off his tongue effortlessly), but god he was good at convincing you that you were.

You shake your head. Fuck! This is frustrating. Not sexually frustrating, (you’re lying, that’s definitely part of it), but frustrating in the fact that you don’t know where this leaves you. Are you still fighting? Do you make up? What… now? And why the fuck do you keep finding yourself asking the same goddamn fucking question with him?

Nearly overflowing the compartment for the detergent, you quickly grab a wet rag to wipe off the excess that spills as you mutter a couple curses underneath your breath. 

He’s got you in a chokehold; how is it that a guy who wasn’t even on your fucking radar suddenly the only one you can think about? Even when you’re vacuuming your living room, you don’t even recall grabbing it from the closet. All you have infiltrated your mind is Choi Seungcheol. 

Honestly, you’re a dick.

For one, you’re finally coming to your senses that disregarding Seungcheol’s feelings isn’t fair. He’s been nothing but helpful the entire time you’ve known him; last month, he replaced your windshield wipers when he noticed the rubber was tearing off. He ended up pulling out the weeds from the front of your house after the awkward attempt to water them, and not to mention, he came up to your home when he heard a screech (you’re afraid of cockroaches, and you didn’t admit it even after Seungcheol killed it with a flip flop). 

But who really is the dick here? He hasn’t called you, texted you, or anything really. Quite literally have given you the post-nut clarity you needed, only for him to ghost you.

To fucking ghost you! The guy who said he’s head over heels for you, swooning all your friends into believing he’s your boyfriend, and well—also pretending to be your boyfriend, even when he knows what the consequences for it are. 

Then again, who cares… right? He’s just some buff mechanic, a fuckboy, and a tenant.

(You almost used the “tenant” excuse to text him, but you hold yourself back and don’t. Only because when the 25th rolls around, you actually have to ask him for rent.)

As you’re making your bed, throwing the sheets up to float down and align with the mattress, your phone rings.

At first, you think it’s your mom, so you let it ring for a little. She has the tendency to never pick up the phone, and although you never have the audacity to ignore her call, you let it ring a couple times out of pure pettiness.

That is, until you realize it’s actually Seungcheol’s name on the lockscreen.

“Hey,” he greets; it’s a mixture of uncertainty and excitement, probably because he knows what he did wrong in terms of leaving you hanging but he misses hearing your voice. “Um, how are you?”

“Not great.”

“Oh? What’s wrong?”

You roll your eyes, despite him not being able to see the action right now, he could feel the burn through the phone. “Actually, don’t answer that. I know, I—”

“What happened?” You snap, pacing in your bedroom. “You fucking told me that you were anything but a fuckboy, and the moment that I let myself be vulnerable, you just leave me hanging? What the fuck was that? Am I just wasting my time with you, Seungcheol?”

It stings.

Of course, everything with you stings. In both a good and a bad way, the words you say always seem to ache, tighten, and sting his chest, all from a variety of emotions you spew out so transparently. You’re so real and raw in the way that if he fully commits to you, that’s it—he’s done. There’s no going back to the lifestyle he had before, no fucking around and dicking around.

And as scary as that is for him, hearing that it’s with you, he’s okay with it.

But he’s now in the position where he doesn’t know how to make that happen. Not after all the current events.

“I got caught up,” he says, unable to even believe himself despite it being completely true. The night of the event, you found yourself scrambling out of his bedroom after sex and his dad called about some emergency with the company—Seungcheol has been in Malaysia since. “I really wanted to call and text—really, I just… didn’t know what to say.”

You scoff in disbelief. “Anything would’ve sufficed. I don’t know where that leaves us now. I’m trying, Seungcheol, I admit I was a jerk for disregarding your feelings and never taking you seriously. But when you pull a stunt like this, it doesn’t really make me believe that you’re not just setting me up.”

He stays silent for a moment; you could almost hear the ringing in your ears from the quietude, and you wonder what’s going through his mind. 

“Seungcheol?”

“Yeah,” he says breathily. “Yeah, I—I’m still here.”

“I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Can you—Can you take off? Just the Friday. Can I get you on a plane on Thursday night, and you come meet me for the weekend? My treat.”

Choi Seungcheol never really lived an average life.

It all really started when his mom met his dad back in college; this innocent, bowl-cut boy with the thickest glasses of the century, eyesight nearing partial blindness had a crush on the prettiest girl in his economics class. His reputation was practically nonexistent other than for the fact that he looked nerdy, and hers was being… almost every positive adjective in the book. He’d gather the courage to ask her out, expecting a rejection, only for her to turn his way, those chocolate irises sparkling underneath the hallway lights while she said the word that was opposite to his predictions. Yes.

She stuck with him through all of college—even though she had a line of suitors waiting for her, she was always in love with the reputable nerdy boy. Despite what people thought of him, Seungcheol’s dad never failed to make sure she felt loved and supported through the entirety of their relationship. Even when he had these big goals to build a company from the ground up, he kept her as his priority and that never changed.

It’s a love story for the ages, one that his mom reiterated as she tucked Seungcheol into bed during his youth, but he didn’t quite resonate with it because how could someone like his dad be the one to make his mother swoon in that way? The man who sat at the end of the dining table, reading glasses at the tip of his nose even after getting lasik to rid himself of those stocky lenses, physically there but not… present.

Even now, as he’s sitting beside his father at his hotel room’s dining table, he still doesn’t feel him.

But to be fair, can anyone find comfort in a room full of stone tiles, high ceilings, and a chandelier that probably costs more than the average car times eighty?

“Tell your brother that he’s coming tomorrow,” he says, eyes never leaving the screen of his iPad. His father has since graduated from a newspaper to a tablet. “He has a presentation Friday, and he needs to rehearse everything he says. Can’t believe he fucked up the last one.”

Seungcheol sucks his cheeks. He clicks send on the message meant for his brother, feeling more and more like an assistant than someone who was next in line for the throne of the company. “Aight. Sent. Why am I here, by the way? You just so happened to drag me here? I thought there was a company emergency.”

He finally puts down his tablet. “There is. I’m dying.”

Seungcheol’s heart drops. “You’re… dying?” 

“Well, not that I’m sick—god forbid, but you never know when I’ll die.”

That pretty much explains the origin of the majority of Seungcheol’s traumatic childhood.

“Dad, I don’t think it works like that,” he retorts with the quirk of his brow. “I thought it was a literal emergency. I left—”

“What? The garage? Come on, don’t act like I don’t know. I keep tabs on all my children—like right now, your brother is at his girlfriend’s house. The one he has yet to introduce to us, and in fact, I don’t think I like her.”

Seungcheol’s face contorts in confusion. He knows his dad like the back of his hand; if he didn’t know about the garage, Seungcheol would’ve been surprised. It’s almost an expectation that he would track both Seungcheol and his brother, and truthfully, it wouldn’t be totally out of character if he was tracking Seungcheol’s mother either. 

“You’re always pressuring us to get married and run the company—isn’t him having a girlfriend just him going the right route? I’un get it. Isn’t that enough?”

Maybe that’s why Seungcheol only had flings; the girls weren’t ever disappointed in sex, and they never stuck around enough to figure out that he carried so much baggage. The wealth in his pockets might’ve been the reason for the hearts in their eyes (and his dick), but if they knew the weight of expectations from his parents that came with it, they’d run in a heartbeat. He didn’t want to bring anyone close enough that they’d meet his family, have to deal with the burdens he did, and it’s mostly why he’s been hesitant about telling you… everything. Even when he wanted to.

“I wanted him to date that girl, the one whose father owns KS Bank.”

Of course, everything loops back into business.

“Well,” Seungcheol begins, getting up from his seat. “He’s happy. Regardless if his girlfriend is a stripper or her dad owns KS Bank. If you want both of us to run the company, we should at least come home to a companion that we love and care for, shouldn’t we?”

His dad returns to his iPad, adjusting his glasses once again. “It’s not beneficial for the family business.”

Deja Vu hits—that same feeling he got when Namjoon swung at him returns, except the courier this time is his own father.

But just as he reacted with Namjoon, he remains cool. 

Seungcheol probably rehearsed it a million times in front of the mirror, all the possible things he could say to refute his father’s beliefs. If his brother wasn’t in love with the girl he’s supposed to marry, sure, her status would definitely benefit the company, but… would he even want to help out anymore? Isn’t his happiness the priority?

Nonetheless, he knows that fighting back isn’t worth it. 

Instead, he figures channeling that energy toward you would be more productive.

Although, with the last encounter the two of you had, it’s a bit doubtful he’d be able to achieve anything from being miles apart. For one, asking you to come see him when he had absolutely no plan whatsoever on what would happen when you arrive is… bold. Not to mention, you rejected his offer, saying something along the lines of, “that’s not how asking for forgiveness works,” and “things don’t get resolved on some ‘vacation high,’ Choi Seungcheol.”

And by all means, you’re 100% right.

This is an entirely new territory for him—he’s never actually had to ask or beg for forgiveness before because quite frankly, he never cared to. Burning bridges wasn’t a new concept for him, it was something he frequents. His mom never seemed disappointed, so he never felt the need to be apologetic, even if he felt the guilt, the words never emitted. Or when his father made that signature displeased ‘tsk’, Seungcheol had always been below the expectation that forgiveness wasn’t even worth chasing after. 

But you—this experience with you, is a whole other thing.

That guilt gnaws on his insides brutally; he could physically see the impact that you have on him from his disheveled hair, bags underneath his eyes, and the sullen look on his face. Do you hate him? Do you want nothing to do with him? Did he ruin all his chances with you?

He’s never really had a serious relationship before—well, rephrase, Seungcheol has only ever had one serious relationship. “The Classic Couple,” was what they were called; they were the pair that the wealthiest parents would arrange for their children. The only thing wrong with them was that they didn’t work—or well, Seungcheol couldn’t make it work.

With a click of his tongue, reality settles in. If he really wants this, truly feels like there could potentially be more with you, then he has to make it work. This isn’t like the woman before you, you’re… you. Whether or not it lasts forever or just a couple months, he likes you—shouldn’t that be enough? Especially when you’re finally opening the door and hearing him out, stepping out of your own comfort zone? 

“I’m gonna head back home then, since it seems like I’m not needed here,” Seungcheol says, grabbing his phones with a soft ‘thanks’ to the staff as they clear the plates. “I’m sure you two can handle things from here. If there really is an emergency—”

“You should’ve stayed with that girl,” Seungcheol’s dad interrupts, infamously cutting him off as usual. “The girl you dated a couple years ago. Margaret.”

“Maeri,” Seungcheol corrects. “Her name’s Maeri.”

And for the first time, his father’s lips curl into a smile. “So, you remember her.”

“Well, we dated for a while.”

“Shouldn’t have lost her,” he says, inhaling deeply. “I think I can reach out to her father and make an agreement. I’m sure she’d be happy to have you again. I ran into her at the banquet and when I brought up your name, her face lit up.”

Seungcheol stares at his father in disbelief. “Again, I feel like we should have more control over who we end up with, not you. I’m more than happy to try assisting you with whatever it is you need but I should be the one who chooses who I want to be with.”

“And? You chose her before, you can choose her again.”

Seungcheol quits this time, reminding himself again that he needs to preserve his energy for you.

There are a mixture of emotions that are flowing inside of you, eagerness and confusion, unsure of which to display. Do you showcase your excitement and elation or do you express the frustration and annoyance? Normally, it doesn’t really matter which you decide to promote; it’s only because this time, your reaction will result in what happens next.

Seungcheol sits on the hood of your car; in a leather clad jacket that hugs his arms so tightly, you’re almost tempted to spill an insult from between your lips on how he should get a size up (even though you most definitely can’t even stop staring), hair slicked back, and baggy black jeans, it’s the signature look of practically every label that Namjoon had given him. Seungcheol doesn’t say a word—instead, he watches you attentively, trying his best to determine what the expression on your face depicts. 

He can’t quite tell what you’re thinking. 

“What are you doing here?” You ask, finally shattering the silence. “Get off my car.” You don’t really mean that, you like him here, and the fact that he’s back, still himself with that smirk on his face, only comforts your heart.

“Come on, baby,” he calls out, ignoring your sharp words with his fingers barely grasping onto yours, tugging you in close. The pet name that’s disgusting from a stranger is somehow sweet when it slips off his tongue, luring you in like some hypnosis spell. “You don’t miss me?”

Of fucking course you do—if it’s one thing that you admit, it’s that you were wrong about him. He’s not what those labels people whispered through the grapevine, completely different from an unattached, apathetic guy who doesn’t want anything that lasts longer than a night. 

But you’re not gonna let him know that. At least, not that easily.

“No,” you retort through your gritted teeth, almost as if it’ll filter the insincerity of that response. “What’s there to miss?”

His hand slips into yours, interlocking your fingers before pulling you nearer. “Everything. Was it quiet down here? Were you lonely? Did it feel weird not to see my motorcycle out front? Or the garage open? What about my company? I know you hate the way I chew on gum, but I’m sure you missed hearing it in the background.”

You chew the inside of your cheek.

He’s so cute, and you feel like an idiot for being another girl that ends up on the list of falling for his irresistible charms. 

“I felt like a one-night stand, Seungcheol,” you confess, his full government name slipping off your tongue with bitterness that hits his ears. He couldn’t get a pet name out of you, but his nickname is enough and his smirk is wiped from his face within seconds. “We fucked then you suddenly pick up a phone call then I just—I never hear from you again.”

“I admit that it didn’t help my case,” he sighs, pushing himself off your car. You’ve got your arms crossed against your chest, a shield to protect yourself from him. “And I can fully explain.”

He starts off with his dad—this cold, distant man somehow ended up with a woman that’s the opposite. Underneath that hard facade, he’s a father who wants his two sons to run his business, only that neither of them inherited the drive to push the company the way that he does himself. 

“… That night that I left, I didn’t come back to the party ‘cause my dad made it seem like the company was goin’ under,” he discloses, deciding that now, he isn’t going to hide anything from you anymore. “I thought I had to go into this big board meeting with my brother and sign off to sell shares of our company ‘cause my dad fucked up or something.”

You roll your lips. There’s a bit of regret for making him feel bad, but it doesn’t discount how he made you feel either. “And then?”

“It was some stupid trap,” he groans, shaking his head. “He’s really good at doing that ‘we’re blood,’ guilt scheme. But uh, listen… I don’t expect you to forgive me or for this to fix up overnight.”

“Then what do you expect?”

“Honestly, um,” and for a moment, he pauses before chuckling. “I really contemplated asking you to be my fake girlfriend. My dad has this thing where he’s constantly trying to set me up with other women—”

The fronts of your brows shift together.

“—but,” Seungcheol adds, hoping you pause your thoughts from going in a direction where you’d stray from him. “To me, there’s just you.”

You blink blankly. “And what does that mean for us then? Where do we go from here?”

He slowly eases his arms to wrap around your waist, hesitant in his movements to confirm that you’re okay with his touch, only to then feel the anxiety lift from his shoulders when the weight of your arms replaces it. “We can… fix us. If you can push aside all the prenotions you’ve had of me, view me as someone that could be your boyfriend, then I want this if you do.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks; Seungcheol always manages to make your heart skip in its beats and cause that churning in the pit of your stomach. “Okay… but—” his smile fades the moment the second word appears, “—but we have work to do. You can’t exactly say we started off on the right foot.”

That stupid grin pulls on his lips once again as he settles back down onto the hood of your car, legs parting for you to sit yourself in his thigh, arms never leaving your frame. “I agree, pretty. I’m ready to do this when you are.”

And with a soft kiss planted on your nose, the comfort and warmth it brings makes you feel like this… is right.

Seungcheol admits that within the last month, his life has been pretty mundane in comparison to what he’s used to.

For one, he hasn’t received a call from his parents. Maybe they’re way too occupied to be concerned about him or that there wasn’t enough going on for him to tag along for, but all he knows is that it’s been radio silent on their end. Plus, the garage has been rather busy lately—he credits you for the increase in foot traffic, recalling how you rolled your eyes and snatched his phone from his hands on a Saturday night lounging on your couch, muttering “how are you supposed to get any business if you don’t advertise yourself?” Truthfully, he’s been banking on word-of-mouth from your neighbors that found out he does car maintenance, but this newfound array of customers isn’t so bad.

He likes the simplicity of this—in the mornings, he’d get to the garage early in the morning and park his motorcycle right by your steps. Pushing the overhead door with a rumble, he’d brush his hands off from the dirt residue left on the rubber at the bottom before placing his hands on his waist to take a good look at his shop—yes, his shop. He’d gotten so accustomed with calling it a literal garage that he forgets that it’s really a shop. Brew a pot of coffee, turn on the little TV he got for waiting customers (really, it’s for himself) before he got to business.

Then, around 6PM, you’d be back from work, dragging your legs up the steps into your home and he’s behind shortly after closing up. He enjoys how domestic everything with you is—cooking dinner together, eating dinner together, and then washing the dishes with one person scrubbing and the other rinsing before settling onto the couch to watch something on TV. Last night, you suggested, “King the Land,” which he normally isn’t a fan of watching K-Dramas, but with you, he finds anything entertaining.

Although the old version of himself wouldn’t ever confess this but… he likes being a boyfriend.

Maybe it’s just specifically that he likes being your boyfriend, considering in his last relationship, he didn’t favor that title as much. But now, he finds himself getting a little giddy inside when you introduce him in that way, almost like little kids get when their crush approaches them.

There’s something about the way you’ve given him a spot in your dresser for him to leave his spare clothes in case he unexpectedly stays the night, and how there’s a toothbrush residing in the cup beside yours, or even the fact that you’ve bought another set of slippers that’s just for him… it makes him feel more at home than at his own home. Seungcheol didn’t sleepover during his wave of late night escapades, but with you, he finds that the left side of the bed unspokenly assigned to him is something he didn’t know he craved for.

Seungcheol loves it. He loves all of it. And truthfully, if he didn’t catch himself before spilling it, he would’ve said he loves you, too.

Today is slightly different than usual, deciding that he would leave the estate earlier (and weirdly enough, living under the same roof as his parents didn’t tempt them from bugging him recently, but they did live on the opposite side of the home) so he could stop by the local coffee shop and grab you a cold brew.

You’re so pretty when you look surprised to see him outside your front door thay morning.

“Hey gorgeous,” he greets, that cheesy smile never leaving his face. You grimace at the term of endearment, but your expression juxtaposes how you feel inside. “I thought you’d like a change of pace and enjoy something from the cafe instead.”

“Thanks,” you mutter, grabbing the drink from his hands. “Vanilla?”

“Three pumps. Just how you like it, baby.”

You’re still so awkward when he says things like that—it used to be so easy to roll your eyes and push him away when he’d do it in such a sleazy way. But now, knowing the genuinity behind the words, he leaves you flustered. Even if he’s annoying and it’s the grossest thing he’s ever said.

“I have about six appointments today,” Seungcheol reaches over to open the lid of his black coffee, the steam rising from the paper cup. “You said you had a doctor’s appointment? So you’ll be back earlier?”

“Mm,” you hum in agreement, zipping up your backpack. “I’ll grab lunch for us?” And shortly after, he watches you drive away to work before getting back to the garage so he could greet his next client.

If this is what it’s like to be part of the working class, Seungcheol could get used to this.

He acknowledges that ever since the two of you had resolved your issues, he got a bit carried away. Investing in his makeshift shop has become a whole ordeal, only because the constant drilling, clanging, and unnecessary constructing noises from the equipment installers weren’t exactly what he thought was going to come out of it for the first two weeks—but the realization that he could grow his business from the new customers made him excited. For the first time, Seungcheol felt like he was doing something he was proud of.

So yes, driving or walking by this garage in the middle of a city suburb underneath a house with a whole jacking up station for cars looks futile, but the abnormally high ceilings of your garage should be taken advantage of.

He likes this—beneath a car, pushing aside the plastic tray from this 2018 Honda Accord after unscrewing it and unplugging the drain plug before it falls into a bucket he uses as an oil receptacle. This is nice. This is calming. There’s no hollering from board members, no backhanded compliments from his father, and no attempts on pressuring him into doing things he doesn’t want to do like date a girl whose father has a monopoly on owning property the next town over.

Seungcheol just wants to watch a gallon of old oil release from a crankcase and into a bucket.

And honestly, he thinks his thoughts have spoken too soon when he notices a Rolls Royce Boat Tail pull into your driveway.

He hasn’t met everyone in your life, but one thing he knows for sure is that even the wealthiest people you know (Namjoon and Yubin) don’t flaunt their money in front of you. The rest of your friends are middle class, average working people, and the only way someone is driving to your home with a $28 million car is if they’re part of his life.

“Choi Seungcheol,” the person calls out; the door is shut behind him with a thud, Louis Vuitton sunglasses sitting comfortably on his nose with his long brunette hair combed away from his face. He dresses in a flamboyant shirt, the first couple buttons unraveled, and in sandals that cost four times your car. “I heard you do mods over here.”

Seungcheol comes out from the garage, brows furrowing when he realizes who makes an attendance at his shop. Juxtaposing in a stained white tank and the upper half of his overalls tied around his waist, for a moment, he felt like the two of them were part of two different worlds. “Yoon Jeonghan–do you really think you want to mod your car? Do you even know what that means?”

Jeonghan takes off his shades and slides it into his shirt pocket. “Absolutely not, I heard some guy mention it in a movie once,” he grins cheekily. “So, I heard you got a new place.”

“Well, I’m renting a garage.”

Jeonghan blinks blankly. “What’s renting?”

Seungcheol chuckles, walking back to his station as Jeonghan follows in suit. “It’s when you pay someone to use their space,” he grabs a rolling chair from behind a desk and gestures to Jeonghan for him to sit down. “What’s up? What are you doing here? You didn’t come here to get a lesson on renting.”

“I’m more surprised that you don’t own this place,” Jeonghan stares at the chair skeptically before glancing over at Seungcheol who points to it again. “And… not owning any new furniture.”

“It’s an autoshop, Hannie.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t afford clean chairs.”

“Alright, alright,” Seungcheol rolls his eyes, grabbing a rag to wipe the opening for any residual oil. “You come here to lecture me about my place or are you here with an actual reason?”

His friend sighs, finally deciding to plop onto the old swivel chair. “I know you briefly told me that you’re ready to move on from your parents…”

Seungcheol scrunches up his face, grabbing a cylindrical tool from off his cart as he eyes Jeonghan carefully. “Something like that, yeah.”

“And rumor has it, your dad hasn’t been happy about your brother and his new girlfriend.”

“I wouldn’t say new, but my dad has been acting new about her.”

“Well, he’s been making moves to target you instead.”

The tool wraps around the oil filter, and with a bit of strength, it loosens as more oil spills from the sides, flowing into the bucket in unison with Jeonghan’s news.

“He’s targeting me? Stop being so ominous and go straight to the point.”

“Maeri’s back,” Jeonghan finally spills, and Seungcheol pauses in his movements. “Your dad met up with hers the other day—I have this bad feeling he’s gonna try to set something up.”

Out of all the people that Seungcheol has met through his parents and from their “community” (aka the rich people cult), Jeonghan is the only person he trusts. Although Jeonghan will never cut ties from his generational wealth, his loyalty as friend and unconditional support for Seungcheol has always been admirable.

“I mean, he hasn’t called me and—”

“Hey! I’m back! I brought—” you stop in the middle of your driveway, staring at the car you could never afford in your lifetime before looking at Jeonghan and Seungcheol. “I—Oh, uh, hey.”

Jeonghan grins mischievously, stealing a glimpse of Seungcheol then back at you. “Hey, I’m Jeonghan. Seungcheol’s friend.”

You mimic his smile, and something in Seungcheol eats him up whole because he’s quick to speak before you do. “Jeonghan meet—” he says your name, then for a brief pause, he calls you by a label so confidently, he even surprises himself. “—my girlfriend.”

Girlfriend. He hears Pomp and Circumstance play inside of his head, the image of him receiving his diploma at the podium while in a cap and grown flashes before his eyes. Choi Seungcheol has finally graduated from the school of fuckboys, reaching that point in his life where he looks at the prettiest girl who manages to make his stomach tie into knots and call him his—truly his. 

“Wow,” Jeonghan clicks his tongue. “Your girlfriend? Insane. I thought you said you weren’t gonna settle.”

He shrugs with that smirk on his face. “Wasn’t. But when you meet a girl like her, who are you to say no?”

Your cheeks heat up as you place the bag of food on the coffee table. “It’s uh… nice to meet you. I didn’t know Seungcheol had friends other than the girls he met at the club.”

Seungcheol shoots a glare but Jeonghan snickers. “I like you already,” he compliments, hand sliding into the pockets of his shorts. “I actually came to convince Seungcheol to attend a fundraiser that my mom is hosting this weekend,” the look Jeonghan gives his friend for a brief moment is suspicious, but the next inquiry gives it away. “… You should come too! Be his date.” 

“Oh, um—”

“I’m not sure about that, Hannie,” Seungcheol interrupts, arms crossed over his chest. “I don’t think she’d want to see that part of our lives.”

Jeonghan quirks a brow. “And why not? She’s dating you, right? I’m sure she can answer for herself, and I’m sure she wants to see that side of you and your family.”

Both Seungcheol and Jeonghan divert their attention to you.

“You know, you didn’t have to say yes to Jeonghan,” Seungcheol’s standing outside of your bedroom door, leaning against the wall while waiting patiently for you to get dressed. “It’s a whole thing if we go—it ain’t like going to a work party.”

“Well, he—he made a, ugh,” you grunt, and he could hear you shifting inside with a struggle. “He made a point, if I’m dating you, I’m dating all of you.”

“Baby, why are you getting ready in private again? You’re acting like I haven't seen all of you.”

“I’m just—gah,” you knock your foot into the bed frame and wince. “I feel awkward.”

Truthfully, ever since the two of you had made it official, things haven’t… escalated, ironically. The nights he sleeps over are all pure and innocent; he’d nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, shower you with kisses, and wrap his arms around you to pull you close, resting your head on his chest. 

But that was it.

Nothing more.

He hasn’t asked for it or initiated it, mostly because he’s slightly afraid you’d take it the wrong way but quite frankly, he’s been holding himself quite a bit. From when you come out the shower, the thin oversized shirt that hangs from your body is no match for your nipples protruding through the thin fabric, how you bend over to grab something and your sleeping shorts barely covering any skin, and there was even a time where you’d reach over his lap to grab something, breasts brushing against his thighs and ass up, he was wrestling with his sweatpants to hide his raging boner.

Trying to be a respectful gentleman, he keeps his distance. Normally, he’d be bold in his attempts to sway you—just as he did several times, including that night in his bedroom back at home, but now that you’re his girlfriend, it… feels inappropriate?

Weirdly enough?

A part of him is afraid you’d leave, especially when he’s got you now, but he admits that those cold showers aren’t doing any favors for him anymore.

“…Hey,” you call out again, this time it halts his train of thoughts with the door swinging open. Clutching onto the fabric of your dress in the front, his eyes immediately focus on your cleavage. Fuck. “The zipper is kind of low. Can you help me?”

He swallows that brick inside of his throat when you turn around.

Pushing your hair aside, you give him a view of your entire back. The zipper latch is right where your ass curves, and with a sharp inhale, he places a hand on your waist before pulling it up. It feels brutally slow, not to mention when he reaches up higher, he realizes where he expects your bra—there isn’t one. The smoothness of your skin is exposed and his dick twitches in his pants.

“Uh, um. I’m done,” he steps back, clearing his throat. “Ready?”

He feels like a vacuum sucked the air out of his lungs.

To him, you’re gorgeous all hours of the day. But something about today, in that tight fitting dress that hugs the outline of your body so well, and the makeup you applied only amplifies your beauty. He can’t help himself when he’s sneaking glances at your chest then back up to your eyes to the point he needed to get the fuck out of the house before he oversteps a boundary.

“Wow, uh, you look great!” Way to act natural. “Let’s uh, let’s head out.”

“Mkay,” you make your way before him to the front door, rummaging through the closet for your heels, and he turns away when your ass sticks out while you slip on your shoes. “Can you start the car?”

It’s going to be a long night.

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[kitten4sannie]

No thoughts rn only sannie holding it in all day not being able to go to the bathroom and you dont understand why he is all whiny today until you notice him moving his legs together trying to hold it in as best as he can and you realize why he has been all squeamish and whiny so you step on his cock until he relieves himself bc it hurts so good uwu (u dont have to post this btw, im on anon bc i am slightly embarassed)

- jenna

jenna im gonna lose my marbles !!!! subby masochist san makes me wanna eat my fist AND you snuck the piss kink in there?????? youuuuuu 🫵🏼 you’re the enabler not meeeee anyways don’t hold me personally responsible for what happens underneath this cute little barbed wire <33 also please don’t be embarrasseddd this ask was so hot dude 😵‍💫

(warnings: sub! san, dom! reader, piss kink obv, mommy kink, small cock san agenda, foot play)

As your boyfriend sat down on the couch next to you, you couldn’t help but notice that he cracked open yet another water bottle and brought it to his plush pink lips. “You’re still thirsty?” you perused, watching your boyfriend take long, deliberate gulps, eyeing the way he gripped one of his thick thighs, his fingers squeezing into it through his thin gray sweatpants.

“What do you mean, baby?” San questioned aloofly, wiping the liquid away from his mouth and letting out a small groan, his legs tensing up.

You tilted your head to the side, looking him in the eye. “That’s the third water bottle you’ve drank and it’s only been a couple hours. Aren’t you full?”

San’s eyes dilated in real time, licking at his bottom lip, before slowly sitting back against the couch, automatically spreading his arms along the top to appear as casual as he could. “I’m pretty full now, yeah.”

Not thinking much of it, you turned back to the TV screen, your attention staying on the show you were watching until you began to hear small whimpers coming from beside you, concerning you enough to break concentration.

San was sitting with his legs pressed together and his back slightly arched off of the couch, both hands on his upper thighs and clutching them. He felt your gaze and returned it, his cheeks rosy pink and his brown eyes glossy.

“What’s wrong, Sannie?��� you asked softly, biting at your bottom lip, feeling your heart begin to pick up the pace.

“N-nothing, baby,” your boyfriend replied, weakly shaking his head, strands of his parted golden hair beginning to stick to his forehead. He squirmed around a bit, gritting his teeth. His tummy felt so full, like he was about to burst, and it didn’t help that you were staring him down. He swore he was about to fall apart in front of you. Make a mess all over himself and the couch. It made his cock twitch.

“You have to pee, don’t you, Sannie?” You turned your body to face him completely, lifting one of your feet up and resting it on San’s knee, slowly sliding it up along his thigh, feeling his muscles tighten up underneath the sole of your foot. “You’re being a naughty boy and holding it on purpose, huh?”

“N-no, I swear, I’m a good boy,” he whined, giving you the biggest puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen. “I’m just–aahhh…!” San couldn’t think all of a sudden. All he could focus on was the weight of your foot pushing down onto his small soft cock and balls, sending a zap of pleasurable pain into his lower abdomen. He had to go. Bad.

“Oh, you’re a good boy, huh? Then why are you getting so wet for Mommy already?” you challenged, sliding your foot up and over his cock, covering it completely due to how petite it was. Pre-cum was already staining the material of his pants, making you beam with pride.

San let out a small whimper, unable to keep himself from lowering his sweatpants and revealing his twitching cock, his lower abdomen visibly distended. “I cant help it, Mommy. Please take care of me.”

“I’ll take care of you, Sannie. Don’t worry your pretty little head about a thing,” you reassured him softly, despite the pressure you were putting on his slick cock, the pad of your foot moving upwards and pressing downwards into his pelvis.

“Oh my god,” San moaned, tossing his head back into the couch, pressing his own hand against his tummy when you went back to stimulating his cock. He reached over for your hand, your fingers interlocking, looking up at you past his wispy eyelashes. “I-i’m gonna make a mess, Mommy. Let me make a mess for you.”

“Oh, yeah? How bad do you want it?”

“I wanna pee so bad, Mommy. Please step harder,” your boyfriend begged, a bit of drool slipping past his lips, squirming more and more underneath you, his breath growing ragged. He was so close to feeling complete and utter bliss that he lifted his hips up from the couch, continuously rolling them into the bottom of your foot.

Stepping down harder and moving your foot back and forth like you were trying to get something off of it, you noticed San’s moans and whimpers starting to crescendo, a look of bliss in his watery eyes. You reached forward and lifted up the hem of his t-shirt, stuffing it into his mouth to watch his abs grow taut against his sweat-covered skin as he inhaled and exhaled deeply, the muscles in his upper arms straining the closer he got to relieving himself.

“Isch schpilling out, Mommy…!” San cried out in a muffled voice, biting down into his t-shirt, his back arching painfully as a fountain of almost clear liquid began to shoot out of his reddened cock, slowly covering himself in his own release. Once the heavy flow turned into a slow trickle and eventually stopped, he collapsed down and sunk into the couch, panting heavily, his sweatpants now dark gray and heavy with his piss.

“My messy boy,” you cooed affectionately, squeezing his hand and rubbing your thumb across his knuckles. When he looked over at you with a clouded gaze and flushed cheeks, you leaned in to press a gentle kiss onto his lips. “Let’s get you in the shower.”

[cheerycherrycandy-resurrected]

What You've Done, You Cannot Undo (Medieval AU)

Chapter 16

The ghouls split off to spend a day exploring the Abbey. Rain opens up to a new friend.

And to balance out the fluff from last week, here is a dialogue dump to move things along to what we're all really here for (and no, I don't mean a convoluted segue into how The Band Ghost™ can exist in this universe, but that is also coming)!

Rating: M Content: guilt Words: 5596

Links to full fic: Tumblr | AO3

Hi tag pals! @everybodyshusband @revengeghoulette

Read below, or on AO3!

Dew and Rain returned the remains of their breakfast to the common room before they left, and found Mist already waiting for them with Sunshine by her side.

“Ready to go swimming, boys?” She grinned. “Sunny’s promised to bring us a picnic later if you behave. That means no pushing your husband in the lake,” she pointed an accusatory finger at Rain, but her eyes sparkled with mirth, “mostly because I don’t want to have to hear him complaining about his hair afterwards.”

“Promise!” Rain chirped, itching to get his gills wet. Dew was too pleased to hear him speak again to really care about any jibes Mist threw his way. He huffed anyway though, pulling another giggle from Rain.

By the time they were down at the lake, the sun was high in the sky. It shone warmly on Dew’s skin and reflected brightly off of the water’s surface, making him occasionally lose sight of the two frolicking water ghouls. Everything about the situation was peaceful; he could hardly think of a happier moment, and certainly nowhere else he would rather be. He thought all his years of pain might just be worth it, if he got to keep this life that was dangled before his eyes. His pack were together and safe, ghouls who despite many ups and downs had trusted him when it mattered most by allowing him to bring them here. The ghoulettes, who had taken him in when he had nothing, and had not only forgiven him for his sudden departure but welcomed him back with open arms.

Especially precious, was the friendship that seemed to be developing between the two water ghouls in the lake. Dew had watched the pair take off, racing to the centre of the lake with shrieks of competitive joy. They had come back to pester him on the dock a few times in the hours they must have been here, but now they seemed to be gossiping together, purposely just out of his earshot. They occasionally shot him covert glances when they thought he wasn't watching, but Dew couldn't find it in himself to care: Mist would never share anything he wouldn't want her to, and there was little Rain could say to her that she couldn't have already known or assumed. After the revelations of the day before, Dew was also relieved Rain had a ghoul of his own element to bond with, one who could explain things the rest of them had no knowledge or experience with. Seeing the two interacting like old friends, one the first to truly see Dewdrop, the other the first he wanted to truly bare his soul to, filled him with more warmth than the sun beating down from above ever could.

As Dew lay on the dock watching them, Rain was having immense fun with Mist. She was small, but she was strong; giving him a real challenge as they raced around the lake. Rain couldn't remember the last time he had this much space to swim in, and he could feel his muscles unfurling as he pushed himself to swim faster. They stopped when the dock was a mere speck in the distance, shouting with joy and exhilaration. Rain panted, lashing his tail through the water to send himself into a spin. Mist giggled as he splashed her, before plunging under the water and tearing towards the lakebed. He gave chase, eyes widening as the light faded the deeper they got. Sat on the sandy ground in victory, Mist blew out the breath she had been holding in a ring of bubbles towards Rain, both of their gills flaring as they laughed.

She kicked off, still underwater, back in the direction they had come from. Rain followed behind as they glided past tall stems of underwater plants, fronds reaching out towards the trespassers with curious, spindly, green fingers. The fish here were unfamiliar to Rain too; larger, more suited to the slightly chilly water temperature. He spotted many more shells dotting the floor, like the one he had given to Dew yesterday. Mist kicked through the teal-tinted water, back towards the sunlight reaching down from above. They resurfaced, close enough to the pier and Dewdrop that Rain could make out his relieved facial expression at seeing them again, but far enough away that they would have to shout for him to hear. Rain raised an arm to wave at him and giggled as Dew waved back.

He looked back at Mist, to find her grinning at him.

“Oh, you are down bad!” She crowed. Rain blushed and dunked himself back under the water to escape her all-knowing smirk. Mist caught hold of him with her tail, stopping him from fleeing and dragging him back up.

“Don't worry, he is too,” the water ghoulette cackled teasingly, “I can't tell if you'll both be more or less insufferable to be around once you figure things out.”

Rain pouted at her; he didn't want to think about that right now: there was still the possibility that Dew's recent attention was just a crush, and he didn't think his heart could take being broken twice.

That reminded him of something he had wanted to ask Mist: she had tried to explain how he was able to cause to much damage in the fields that day, but he hadn't fully understood everything. He knew his nightmare about his past love had been a catalyst for the destruction, but he wasn't sure how much danger his past memories still posed to those around him.

“I wanted to ask about something, about my power?”

Mist heard the change in his tone, and stopped her teasing immediately.

“What did you want to know, Minnow?”

“That morning, when everything happened,” Rain couldn't bring himself to say the words ‘when I killed those people’, “there was a girl who looked like someone I knew, someone I'd had a nightmare about that morning.”

If Mist was shocked, she didn't show it.

“What if that made things worse?” Rain continued in a whisper, “What if I didn't need to hurt anyone? Maybe they were right, maybe I am a monster!”

“Oh Rain,” Mist couldn’t hide the sadness in her voice at the thought of the sweet water ghoul holding so much guilt in his heart, “you couldn’t help it! This kind of thing is rare, but it happens. The unpredictability is part of being a water ghoul.”

“Maybe your nightmare was the overtopping wave that set this off,” she continued, unsure if she was helping or not. Rain deserved to hear the truth however, “but you couldn’t have stopped it if it was. For you to be this age and not have full control of your element was becoming dangerous – the sooner everything overflowed the better. The longer you went on as you were, the more damage you were going to cause when it eventually exploded, and isn’t it better that you didn’t injure your pack?”

“I didn’t want more power though,” Rain lamented, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes, “not if it meant hurting anyone! I was happy as I was, I just assumed I was a naturally weak water ghoul.”

“I know, I know,” Mist soothed him, “knowing why it happened doesn’t make it any better.”

Rain shook his head in agreement.

“One more thing,” he glanced towards Dew, “the nightmares. They haven’t stopped, or changed. They just feature someone else now…”

“Dew.”

No acknowledgement was needed; it was clear on in the agony on Rain’s face that she was correct.

“What if I hurt him next time?” Rain’s voice was uncharacteristically cold, the idea so horrific that his own mind was trying to numb the thought of it. Mist could see how viscerally scared he was.

“I promise that won’t happen Rain,” her tone was one of utter conviction in her words, “this sort of thing just doesn’t happen twice. As long as you take care of yourself, your element should be stabilised but stronger.”

Rain was still scared, but the burning intensity in Mist’s icy blue eyes was undeniably truthful.

“If you’re still worried, we can practice together? Help you get used to the new sensations so you can feel how to control it better?”

Mist’s suggestion comforting him, Rain sniffed and nodded. He was so frightened of hurting Dew, or anyone else, through his own ignorance. He would do whatever it took to guarantee that it could never happen again.

The pair floated in silence for a while longer, pensive and thoughtful. Rain shot another look at the dock: Dew looked like he had fallen asleep, his head resting on his arms where he was laid on his front.

“Go on, tell me about him.” Mist tried, hoping to distract Rain from his darker thoughts.

It worked. Rain’s mind immediately cycled through all of the new sides he had seen to Dewdrop over the last week.

“I don’t know where to start,” he confessed, “it feels like he’s changed so much just in the last weeks, like he’s let go of some wall he had up.”

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?” Mist prompted.

Rain did. He started by describing Dew's early reaction to him, and his own attempts to bond with the fire ghoul who smelled so faintly familiar of water. He told her about their argument the morning of the incident, how Dew had poked at his deepest insecurities, proving himself to be the very sort of fire ghoul he had been fearful he was.

“Stupid boy,” Mist huffed, “I'm sorry he was like that. I know he hurts inside, but that's no excuse.”

Rain shrugged. “Not your fault though, is it.” He could see how deeply Mist cared for Dew, their bond almost like that of an older sister and young, clueless brother, and how Dew's own misdeeds hurt her in turn.

Everything had changed after that day, Rain explained. From the moment he saw Dew staring down into his jail cell, barely believing it was him in his woozy haze, he had seen a different side to him. Whether through misplaced guilt or genuine affection, Dew had shown himself to be sweet and caring, and Rain was falling further for him every day.

“He's like a different ghoul now,” Rain sighed, “he's kind, he seems happier, but I don't know how much of it is real, and how much is just him making up for his past behaviour.”

“Rain, Honey, I think you might be overthinking this,” Mist looked at him like he was phenomenally stupid, “he's clearly infatuated with you. Even when he was here before, he had defences around him that were a mile high, but you seem to have swanned past them like they weren't even there!”

Rain considered her words. “I don't understand how he changed his mind about me so soon though. He hated me before!”

“Dew is very good at denying himself what he wants,” mused Mist, “but you'd need to ask him why he was trying to push you away.”

“I see how he looks at me,” Rain murmured, “there's got to be something there, right?”

He felt awkward saying it aloud, but Mist was right; he saw how the fire ghoul stared at him with a barely concealed mixture of want and reverence.

“I'd say more than something,” snorted Mist, “he was practically salivating over you yesterday. You two need to sort that out for the rest of our sakes. The tension is killing me!”

Rain giggled but was by no means averse to the idea. He just needed to work out what to say to Dewdrop, and how he would cope if he rejected him. In the meantime, he could selfishly continue to enjoy basking in Dew's less than subtle gaze, soaking in the feel of his eyes burning into him.

“You'd better be serious about him though,” Mist warned him, suddenly looking threatening as she stared Rain directly in the eyes, making him squirm, “break his heart, and I'll tear your fins off one by one with my teeth.” She snapped them for effect.

Rain nodded frantically. “I would never!” His eyes burning with a passionate conviction, he raised his hands out of the water first in a placating gesture, and then faced them towards each other, sending a volley of turquoise sparks arcing between them. “I won't let anyone or anything else hurt him, either.”

“Hells below you are terrifying!” Mist's stern facade dissolved like sugar into the lake, as she laughed in disbelief at Rain's newfound ability. “Seems like you've got a pretty good grasp of your element already, you don't need me!”

Shaking his head adamantly, Rain gazed at her with imploring eyes.

“No, please teach me! I can't risk hurting him again.”

“You won't,” Mist assured him, “but we can practice regardless. Let's start with waking up your ghoul, shall we?” A wicked grin stretched across her face.

Rain looked back at the dock. Dew was very clearly sound asleep now, his tail hanging limp over the edge and trailing through the water. He had an urge to chase it like a cat with a ball of string.

Mist glanced up at the sky, looking at the position of the sun overhead.

“Sunny will be here soon with a picnic. Perfect timing.” She looked at Rain's hands. “Here's what we're going to do.”

Dew didn't know when he had fallen asleep, only that he must have done. His whole body felt warm after soaking up the sun like a lizard all morning, every knot in his muscles working its way loose. His peaceful dozing was rudely interrupted by a sudden cold shock, the feeling of a hosepipe directed precisely at his forehead.

“Wha– pffttt!” Dew spluttered as he jolted back into consciousness, coming to terms with his surroundings, and then the two water ghouls bobbing in front of him with matching angelic smiles.

“Hello sleepyhead,” Mist cooed, “it's almost lunchtime!”

“You,” Dew glowered at the pair, but there was no heat behind it, “when I find out which of you that was...”

“Oh hush!” laughed Mist, hauling herself onto the pier and sprawling out to let the sun dry off her tank top and shorts.

Dew had managed to avoid seeing Rain divesting his shirt earlier that morning, feigning interest in rolling up the cuffs of his trousers instead. Now though, the sight of Rain pulling himself up onto the dock was inescapable, and so, so much more distracting. His shoulders, strengthened from years of swimming in a way his recent sickness hadn't been able to take away, flexed temptingly. Water cascaded off them in rivulets which only served to highlight them further, and Dew wanted to sink his teeth into them. He knew he was staring, as the rest of Rain came into view. He felt lightheaded, his eyes tracking the droplets of water as they traced paths over his chest and down his flat stomach, running along the jut of his hipbones and leading to–

“Get a room!” Drawled Mist, without even looking up.

Dew forced his gaze away from the water ghoul, who sat himself on the edge of the pier with one knee temptingly bent, leaned back on his elbows and smirking. He was going to be the death of him.

“Rinse your hair through, I'll braid it again.” He mumbled gruffly, partly glad of an excuse to avoid Rain's knowing gaze.

That was how Sunshine and the others found them a short while later; Mist still laid flat on her back, and a tomato-faced Dew sat carefully plaiting a shirtless Rain's hair. It was impossible to ignore how close Swiss and Mountain were, plodding along behind her as she skipped along the wooden panelling clutching a basket. Aether too seemed happier; walking with a spring in his step.

“You all look very cosy,” Sunshine laughed as she plopped herself down next to Mist with an ungraceful thump. Dew's blush intensified again, while Rain's tail happily slapped the deck next to him. He wondered to himself as he secured the ends of Rain's hair, what exactly the others had got up to this morning to leave them in such a good mood.

~~~~~~~

Shortly after Rain and Dew had left for the lake, Aether had also wandered out. He had intended to head straight to the library but gotten lost along the way. Wandering aimlessly through endless stone corridors, he had eventually bumped into a sort-of-familiar face.

"Hello Aether,” smiled Astra, the senior infirmary ghoulette dressed in regular clothes rather than the standard Abbey uniform or the lighter fabrics the infirmary ghouls wore while on duty, “how are you doing? I assume Mist was correct about Rain, since we haven't seen him since?” Her expression was sheepish, ashamed to have been unable to help the water ghoul.

“Hello,” Aether bowed his head graciously, “yes, Rain is doing much better now.”

The relief on her face was crystal clear.

“Please don’t let yourself feel guilty about it though,” Aether added, “Mist stressed how rare an occurrence this was, especially in a ghoul his age! It would take another water ghoul to notice.”

“She would be the one to know,” Astra nodded, “coming from a clan as ancient as hers. She’s still going to give us Hell for not knowing this though, and quite rightfully!”

“From what I’ve seen of her, yes she will.” Aether smiled ruefully.

“So, what’s next for your pack?” She asked. “Do you think you’ll stay here? Move on?”

“We haven’t decided yet,” ‘that would be a whole pack decision’, thought Aether, “but it seems very nice here so far. It’s very different from how we lived before, though.”

Astra nodded. She had seen many ghouls come and go, some staying for weeks or months like Dewdrop; others staying many decades before moving on, if they chose to at all.

“Well, if you do decide to stay, you’ll always have a place working with us in the infirmary should you want it. The contents of the encyclopaedia you and your packmate wrote is far and above the knowledge of some of the quintessence ghouls here!”

“Thank you, I’ll bear that in mind.” Aether was a little surprised to hear her make an offer so brazenly – didn’t decisions like that have to pass through the man in charge here? It was one more question to ask him, he supposed.

The older quintessence ghoulette beamed a luminous smile at him.

“Anyway, where are you off to?” she asked, more conversationally now.

“I was looking for the library,” he paused, looking around at the many identical hallways, “but I think I’m a bit lost.”

“It can be a maze in here!” Astra chuckled, “Look for the small carvings in the ground. The symbols direct you,” she pointed at an upside down cross with an incomplete circle around the lower half, “this is the symbol of our church. So it points to the Chapel.”

Aether squinted at the marks in the marble. She reached out with a foot and nudged a different one, a symbol resembling a scroll. “You want to go this way.”

She pointed at the neighbouring symbol, a snake winding around a club. “I’m heading to the infirmary, so the library is on my way.”

In relief, Aether set off after her.

“Are you looking for Copia?”

Aether nodded. “Our introduction got cut short the other day. I wanted to thank him, and have a chat about expectations here.”

“I’ll take you straight to his study then. He’s probably hidden away in there again.”

The library was mostly empty when they entered, especially compared to the busy and studious atmosphere of last time. A handful of ghouls were sat around in the scattered chairs, along with a few humans in black and white robes. Astra led him through the library and down a passageway leading from the back corner to a small door, left welcomingly ajar. Astra rapped her knuckles on the door frame regardless, before poking her head round.

“I've got a visitor for you, Papa.”

The man looked up from his desk, age lines smoothing slightly as he relaxed his eyes and refocussed on the ghouls hovering in his doorway.

“Good morning, my dear ghouls!” He stood up and bustled around the desk to greet them. “Aether, I hear your young packmate is on the mend! Wonderful, wonderful...”

Aether nodded with a smile.

“Hello again, Papa Emeri– uh,” he paused, “how should I address you?”

“Just Copia or Papa is fine, that’s what most people call me round here!” he laughed. “Thank you Astra!” he called after the ghoulette as she wiggled her fingers in a goodbye, and disappeared back up the corridor to begin her shift.

“Thank you Copia, Rain is doing much better now.” Aether followed him to a pair of comfy armchairs in the opposite corner to the desk.

He filled the older man in as best he could, quickly summarising Mist's solution and Rain's immediate improvement.

“My my, how peculiar and fantastic your kind's power can be,” Copia listened, enraptured, “I am delighted the young one is feeling better. I hope I can meet him at some point?”

Aether shrugged, “He's rightfully a bit wary of humans right now, but I'm sure he'll come around.”

“Yes, indeed. Sometimes the behaviour of my own species appals even me...” The sad look in his eyes spoke of decades of witnessed tragedy. “I hope he knows he is safe here.”

“I'm sure of it,” Aether had no doubts there – the environment so far had felt nothing but safe and welcoming, “I wanted to thank you, actually. Not just for taking us all in so suddenly, but for taking Dew in before.”

“It is nothing, dear ghoul,” Copia talked with his hands a lot, noticed Aether, as he began gesturing wildly, “that is the very reason for this place! You ghouls are the pinnacle of His most marvellous creations, and my duty to serve Him is my duty to you.”

Aether had been under the impression that most people saw ghouls as His unholy servants, there for Him to command. Seeing this man so dedicated, both to their Unholy Father, and to His ghouls was a delightfully refreshing change.

“I hope you all know you are safe and welcome here,” he continued, “and I dearly hope you decide to stay. You would be a real boon to our little community.”

The pair stayed talking; about Aether's previous travels, his life within the pack, and the role of ghouls within the Abbey. Aether found him extremely easy to talk to, once they had both navigated past initial formalities, and could instantly see how he inspired such loyalty from the ghouls who lived here. His original mission of collecting their book was quite forgotten by the time Sunshine appeared to collect him for their lunchtime picnic. He left, with promises to return.

~~~~~~~

The last to leave the Den that morning had been Swiss and Mountain. The two had taken their time, in no great hurry to rush what was shaping up to be a completely relaxed morning. By the time they made it outside, the sun was high in the sky above them and casting an optimistic yellow glow on their surroundings.

Yesterday on their tour, Sunshine had beelined straight to the complex of greenhouses, but today they took in the gardens around them. The whole area was well maintained and cared for, even the moss growing around the paviours seemed especially luscious and fluffy. Directly outside the door they exited through, they found themselves in a landscaped garden, but one which served to highlight the natural world rather than control it. The hedges outlining the paths grew in chaotic patterns, themselves dictating the curve of the walkways between them. No two neighbours were the same, leading to a contrasting jumble of colours and textures. Adding to the organic beauty of the garden were the clusters of wildflowers scattered like confetti at a wedding, all growing bigger and more vibrant than the environment outside the walls of the Abbey would allow for.

Here and there along the winding trail through the centre of the garden, the shrubs had made way for the outside influence of benches carved from fallen trees. The bushes curled their arms protectively around those who entered, shielding them for a moment from those outside of their domain. Swiss imagined sitting out here on a summer’s evening, so close to the Abbey and yet in a wholly separate world. He thought about all the secrets the plants had overheard in the aeons they had grown here; how many generations of whispered conversations, quiet declarations of love and tears of private sorrow they had watched over.

The spiralling paths relinquished them back into the glaring sunshine all too soon, the pair walking in companionable silence towards the orchard that lay between the Abbey and the lake. From up here at the foot of the building, they had a spectacular view over the surrounding countryside and the unfamiliar environment they now found themselves in.

“It’s so… different?” Swiss murmured, taking in the horizon pierced by faint mountains, almost transparent with distance. “The sky seems taller, somehow.”

The ghouls hadn’t lived in a flat region before, by any means. The vast expanse of rolling green hills had seemed to stretch forever back there, a never-ending patchwork of small fields and forests all sewn together by meandering rivers and streams. Mountain had wandered his whole life, yet the village he landed in with Aether was the furthest from his birthplace he had ever been. Contrary to what his name suggested, he was from a disarmingly flat region; one where the horizon both felt infinitely far away, and so close one could reach out and pluck it from the sky. The distance to the mountain peaks made his whole life’s journeys pale into insignificance; feeling like he had walked in circles for decades. The horizon had never felt so distant, the world never so big. Mountain felt the familiar tug, begging him to explore his far-off, snow-capped namesakes, a call to experience something new and spectacular.

“I travelled so much, before,” Mountain mused, “and yet there is so much more to see.”

Beside him, Swiss looked at the landscape in awe. Mountain felt his warm presence beside him, and an even stronger pull to follow the multi ghoul to the ends of the earth. Whether that was to the impossibly distant peaks and beyond, or no further than the lake at the bottom of the hill, Mountain thought he would be happy.

Shaking himself from the hypnotic hold the view had him under, Swiss continued slowly towards the orchard, checking over his shoulder for the earth ghoul who followed as though drawn by magnetic forces. Once they were under its protective canopy, no longer able to see the vast and overwhelming expanse surrounding them, he felt safer and less exposed. Here, the sunlight filtered down through the trees, picking up the colours of the leaves in addition to its golden hue. The rays danced through their hair, glinting off the small gold beads woven into Swiss', and making Mountain's auburn waves glow like molten copper. The pair sat on another conveniently positioned bench under the shade of a pear tree

“It feels peaceful here,” sighed Swiss, leaning back with his legs outstretched, “quiet, at last.”

“How are you doing Snapdragon?” Mountain asked, having noticed Swiss was quieter than usual over the last few days. “It's okay if everything's a bit much here, I feel it too.”

Swiss thought for a second before answering.

“It's just a lot of change,” he replied, finally, “everything's different, there's a lot of new faces, and I'm so tired Mount.”

Summoning all of his courage, Mountain shuffled closer to Swiss on the bench and placed an arm tentatively around his hunched shoulders. To his delight, the multi ghoul immediately slumped against him, grateful for the comfort.

“There are a lot of new faces,” Mountain agreed, slightly overwhelmed by them himself, “and it's so big here. Is that what's bothering you?”

Swiss shook his head, his hair tickling Mountain's armpit where it brushed against him.

“I'm still having visions. Lots of them.” Swiss admitted. “They're not bad!” He added hurriedly, seeing Mountain's horrified face and feeling him flinch around him. “They haven't been about Rain for a while either. They're just a lot of noise really, and lots of faces I don't recognize. It's like I'm getting fragments of a story, but told out of order and with the names removed.”

Mountain hummed sympathetically. Swiss had struggled with an influx of visions when he first joined the pack; unused to having the four other ghouls so present in his subconscious and producing unbidden premonitions. Suddenly having hundreds more not only made his head a loud and busy place but raised other questions about who these unknown ghouls were, and why they would feature so strongly in his future. They lapsed into silence for a while, both afraid to disrupt the delicate balance of their current position.

“Do you think you'd want to stay here?” Mountain asked after a while. Swiss thought for a second before answering.

“I think so. I'm not made for a life of travelling like you and Aeth, I want to settle somewhere, like we were before at the farmhouse.”

Absently playing with one of Swiss's dreadlocks, Mountain nodded pensively.

“I hadn't thought about it much, not until recently,” he admitted eventually, “I was moving around for so long, even after I met Aeth. Our life in the village was so different to what I was used to before, but I think I miss it already.”

After what felt like an eternity of constantly needing to keep moving, his life with the pack had given him a taste of what a settled existence could look like. In the village though, there had been the constant threat of the fragile truce they had with the humans collapsing. When it inevitably had, the pack had bolted like rats from a sinking ship. Here at the Abbey, he had glimpsed the first refuge that felt truly safe; this place was designed around them, His ghouls. They were not interlopers here, treated with a constant air of suspicion, but rather the intended residents. This place felt like it could be a home.

“I think I want to stay too,” he finished, “I want the life the ghouls here have, a real community. No more running.”

‘I want it with you!’ His internal voice screamed.

Swiss twisted to look up at him, golden eyes glowing in delight.

“It sounds like we want the same thing then.”

Oh, how Mountain hoped that was true.

The pair sat as they were for a while longer, soaking in the peaceful atmosphere the trees provided. Neither of them wanted to move, yet there was so much more to see and explore, the beauty of their surroundings eventually pulling them back to their feet. As they wandered, they were so close their hands kept brushing, sending synchronised sparks up their arms every time. Mountain resumed their activity from the long journey northwards; naming the various flora he recognised. The fruit trees were obvious to both him and Swiss, but some of the myriad of smaller plants were a mystery to them both.

Swiss quickly found himself becoming distracted again, as fascinating as Mountain’s explanations were, by the way the sun caught the high angles of his face and his hair danced in the light breeze. His antlers were unglamoured, catching the wayward strands in their many outstretched fingers, in a way Swiss wanted to copy. His eyes sparkled with interest as he talked, glowing an even more vibrant green than the leaves of the trees around them. Swiss loved seeing the reserved ghoul like this, blooming like one of the flowers he loved so much as he waxed lyrical about whichever of nature’s wonders had caught his eye.

“Are you even listening?” the earth ghoul laughed, making Swiss realise he had been staring, lost in his own thoughts.

“Of course!” he spluttered indignantly. Mountain’s carefree laugh suggested he didn’t believe him.

“We should think about heading down to the lake soon for the picnic anyway,” Mountain said, looking up at the position of the sun, “see how Rain and Dew are doing.”

“What, see if they’ve finally noticed how completely gone for each other they are?” Snickered Swiss, thinking of his own predicament. Maybe talking about their smitten younger packmates would inspire the courage in him to say something to the subject of his own affections? That was possibly wishful thinking on his part, however...

“See if Mist’s bashed their heads together yet…” Mountain nodded in a mock-serious tone.

They laughed together all the way down the hill, not stopping even when Sunshine appeared behind them, overtaking to lead the way to their packmates on the dock.

A very pink Dewdrop was sat braiding Rain’s hair as they approached. Mountain shot a look at Swiss, and shook his head; it didn’t seem there had been any further developments between the pair. Their current position was still incredibly cosy though, a far cry from their volatile relationship of a few weeks previously.

“Soon,” Swiss whispered, “I give them a week.”

They cackled to each other, unaware that one of the subjects of their mirth was thinking the exact same thing about them.

[mvqtvn]

I wrote this (incomplete) passage a while ago, my language isn't very great but it is what it is

A short passage on my version of Cypher x Omen, my comfort ship:)

this is a warning for cringe.

The light flickered over the duo, who had just finished their training with Maxbot. Sweat trickled down Omen’s forehead, his shoulders heaving from overuse. He leaned against the lockers of the practice room, pouring water into his mouth. As Omen controlled his breathing, his shadowy form became more stable. Yoru watched him, puzzled. Despite Omen’s stoic demeanor and noble strength, he couldn’t understand how he could fall for someone as emotional and unpredictable as Cypher.

Cypher, the protocol’s spy. No one dared to get on his wrong side, knowing he might just leak every single personal detail about them. Most agents disapproved of Cypher having access to every file, and Yoru wasn’t an exception.

Watching the two interact so domestically baffled him. Their differences were stark. In missions, Cypher always relies on his utility while Omen relies on his raw strength. In the protocol, Omen is well-liked for having a strong mind and body, while Cypher is mostly avoided by the agents and some never even got to interact with him. Yoru simply didn’t understand their relationship.

“Omen, may I ask you about your love life?” he asked, leaning against the lockers.

“Hm, that’s unexpected coming from you… Sure, ask away” Omen glanced up, there was still a hint of wariness in his smile.

Yoru hesitated, sensing Omen’s caution, but still pressed on.

“I was wondering, and don’t take this the wrong way, but why are you still with that… Cypher?”

Omen stiffened. He had known some agents in the protocol disapproved of his relationship with the team’s spy, but he never thought that Yoru of all people would engage with such matters. Intrigued, he remained silent and let him continue.

“As in, I see your interactions with him. You care for him far more than he does to you… I mean, I think he’s just taking advantage of your affection. Using you as a way to feel loved. After all, it’s not like anyone can love him anyways...”

Yoru softened, but his words hit hard. Omen started shifting uncomfortably. Yoru didn’t want to seem unreasonable and desperately tried to explain himself.

Yoru - ”As in, everyone in the protocol knows Cypher’s a weird guy. Hiding his dirty laundry but digging around to find other’s secrets, you know, it’s just… not something people appreciate. I don’t want you to be betrayed by him, you don’t know what he’s hiding.”

That line made Omen snap. Cypher doesn’t hide things from him. He has heard the words that came out of the spy’s mouth, and it was definitely genuine. Or at least it felt that way. The shadowy mist that once Omen’s composure started to unravel slowly. He was getting agitated. Worry clouded his mind as thoughts raced through his head. Would Cypher really betray him after all the things he had said? The shadowy mist flowed out like water and wrapped around his arm in coils. The more Yoru’s words sank in, the larger the tendrils grew. The bandages that wrapped tightly around his arms were slowly starting to loosen. By Yoru’s lingering looks, Omen knew he saw it too.

“Sorry, I went too far.” Yoru admitted, backing off the conversation cautiously. He was aware of the tension he had created and didn’t want Omen to get frustrated or lose his composure. After all, he has seen what Omen becomes when he enters that unstable state.

“It’s alright riftwalker, but I have to go meet Sage. It’s time… for her to rewrap my bandages.” Omen said in between pauses while scanning his bandages that were now covered by his shadowy tendrils.

He could feel himself ripping apart, and it was almost unbearable. Despite this, he knew he couldn’t dwell on the pain. The safety of his colleagues mattered more than his need to relieve the stress. He couldn’t risk hurting another friend. Omen swiftly turned and walked away, heading to Sage’s medical office.

Yoru watched as the man walked away. By the twitching of his arms and the hesitant steps he took, Yoru knew he was clearly having a rough time keeping himself together. He wondered how Omen had managed to do so in the past. Omen’s body was mostly made of mist-like shadow with a few cyan-glowing stripes littered over his limbs. Maintaining a stable condition would definitely be straining. He took a final glance at Omen before he turned the corner, he had nothing but admiration in his eyes towards the enigmatic man.

reading what i wrote makes me cringe... lmao

i might continue writing this, i really enjoy the idea of cypher being disliked cuz of his role in the protocol

aaaaa

thank you for taking your time to read this

[smilesrobotlover]

Whumptober day 14- water inhalation

I don’t like this one. Like, I like some parts of it but overall how it was written I don’t like. Oh well. It’s not meant to be perfect lol. It is obvious that I’m getting burnt out with all this writing?

Anyways, warning for water inhalation, nearly drowning, a frickin water monster, and yeah.

~~~~~~~~~~~

The water was dark and cold as Sky swam through it, clenching his teeth around the water dragon’s scale for dear life. The lake he, Warriors, and Twilight were near needed to be investigated in order to find a kidnapped zora, and Twilight was the only one with zora armor. Sky had his dragon scale, but Warriors didn’t trust how it ran out of air until he broke the surface or ran into a bubble. Since they had to go into deeper waters, where bubbles were not promised, Sky supposed it made some sense. But he hated having Twilight go on his own. It wasn’t that he doubted Twilight’s ability, his zora armor seemed very dependable in water, but the way Twilight eyed the water nervously made Sky nervous for him.

“I’ll be back with the missing zora in no time,” Twilight reassured, mostly to himself. “It shouldn’t take that long.”

“Are you sure you’re good to go on your own?” Sky asked. “I know that it’s not armor but my scale has worked before…”

“Sky you were in shallower water, this is deep water. Anything could happen,” Warriors said, and Sky frowned.

“Shallow water isn’t that safe compared to deep water,” he mumbled.

“Well I’ll be fine,” Twilight said. “It’s not the first time I’ve been in deep water. I’ll be back soon, hopefully.”

Sky sighed and watched as he put up his mask and disappeared into the water. Sky and Warriors waited, and waited, and waited until Sky couldn’t wait any longer. It had been hours since Twilight dove into the water, and fear for his friend overwhelmed him. If Twilight was in danger, how would they know? If he drowned, how would they know? Being in water was dangerous, and despite Warrior’s protests, Sky took off his clothes and jumped into the water, with his trusty dragon scale hanging in his mouth.

Sky didn’t know how long he had been swimming. There weren’t a lot of obstacles, and it was overall an easy swim, but it was dark enough and deep enough to make Sky uncomfortable. Thankfully, there were plenty of air bubbles for Sky to use to fill up the air in his scale, so he didn’t worry about running out like he thought he would. So he hoped that finding Twi would be a simple task for him.

Sky stopped by a big rock and gave his arms a moment to rest. He’s been swimming for a while, the pressure of being so deep was hurting his ears, and he could feel his hands begin to get all pruny. But there was no sign of Twilight, so he knew he needed to keep going. Sky eventually found himself in a strange underwater cave, or at least, he thought it was a cave. Nothing about it looked natural, in fact, it looked like a castle that was underwater, rotting away from years of neglect. Sky knew that this was where the zora was being held, and that this was where Twilight was.

When he entered the weird cave-palace, he was relieved at the different glowing algae lighting up the place. He didn’t know how any of it worked, but it helped him see where he was going, so he decided not to think about it. When he entered a more slim hallway however, he noticed that it wasn’t as lit up as the rest of the palace, and it seemed to have been a lot cleaner. That was odd…

“Excuse me.”

Sky flinched and swam away until his back hit a wall. He groaned in pain and looked around. Did he imagine that voice? Is he losing his mind?

“I’m sorry to scare you, turn around.”

Sky spun around and saw— what he assumed was — a zora. He looked at her in surprise, he was expecting the zora to look more like the parella, but seeing this one, they were nothing alike. The zora was in a cage of some sorts, only able to peak out of a small opening on the top.

“Are you a friend of that Hylian?” She asked, and Sky nodded, assuming that she was talking about Twilight. “I thought so. He was here, trying to help me. But when he found a key to open this cage, a monster with tentacles grabbed him! I don’t know where he is, I’m so worried about him.”

Sky felt his heart drop. So Twilight was in danger, and was attacked by some monster that Sky knew nothing about. Just great. Sky had fought Tentalus before, so a tentacled monster didn’t frighten him, but he fought the monster above water, not in water. The idea of fighting something as big as Tentalus in the water scared him.

“I think I may know where the creature took him,” the zora started, “I think the key he had before he was grabbed is around here somewhere. If you get me out, I can help you save him.”

Sky nodded and immediately looked at the ground below him. Lo and behold, he found a big key in the corner. He grabbed it and unlocked the cage, allowing the zora to leave her prison.

“Follow me!” She said before swimming out of the hallway. Sky struggled to follow her, she was definitely built for water, and many times she had to stop and wait for Sky to catch up. His arms and legs were burning, and his throat was painfully dry. Sky just had to make sure that he didn’t cough, or else he’d inhale a bunch of water. He already did that before, and the pneumonia he got from it was not fun. Finally, he and the zora reached an open area, and Sky couldn’t hold back the gasp when he saw a big creature with tentacles jutting out all over its body. Sky narrowed his burning eyes and saw that one of the tentacles was wrapped around something.

Twilight.

Sky felt fear burst through his chest, not knowing if Twilight was conscious, unconscious, or worse. He turned to the zora and gestured for her to stay.

“You want me to stay?” She asked.

Sky nodded.

“Alright, be very careful.”

Sky nodded again and swam as fast as he could to Twilight, but also as quietly as he could. The monster wasn’t moving, so he assumed that it was asleep, and he did not want to wake it up. Sky carefully went up the tentacle that held Twilight, and he felt relief when he saw the mask on his face, meaning (he hoped) that he was still getting air. But his relief quickly melted away when he noticed that Twilight was unconscious. He went up to his and cupped his face in his hands.

Twilight, please open your eyes, he thought to himself, wishing he could say it. Twilight made a strained face, and his eyes began to open. Sky’s fear quickly disappeared when he saw Twilight’s pale blue eyes looking back at him in shock. Sky smiled, then began to observe the situation. Twilight was unable to move in the tentacle he was trapped in. His legs were free, but his arms were trapped, pinning them to his sides. Sky watched Twi try to struggle, but the monster’s tentacles were too strong. Sky dove down deeper, observing the tentacles. He didn’t want to wake up the monster, but he had to get the tentacles to let him go. Sky gently stroked the tentacle, and it squirmed a bit. Sky panicked, but he saw that Twilight was able to get an arm free, and the monster stayed dormant. Sky and Twi made eye contact and they both nodded. Sky continued to pet the tentacles, feeling nauseous at how slimy they were. They squirmed, and Twi was able to get his other free. Sky smiled at Twilight, until an ear piercing screech rang out, shaking the whole building. Sky looked behind him and saw the zora he rescued swimming out in the middle, smiling maliciously at Sky. The zora suddenly melted into strange goop, the stuff floating in the water, and realization hit Sky. Was this a trap set by the puppeteer? Anger boiled in Sky’s chest, but the situation returned to him when there was quick movement besides him. The monster holding Twi stirred, and Sky watched the rancher struggle as the tentacles tightened around his waist. Twilight yelped as he was then dragged through the water, along with the rest of the monster that began to circle around Sky.

Panic surged through Sky when he saw the round mouth full of pointy teeth snarl at him. This thing was not Tentalus. Sky didn’t even know where to begin on fighting it. A tentacle almost hit Sky in the head, and he dove down to get lower, feeling the air beginning to thin out. He looked around for different air bubbles, then at Twilight, who was struggling against the tentacle that continued to squeeze.

Fighting was out of the question. He needed to get this thing to let go of Twilight, then they could escape. Saving a zora was out of the question since the zora was a fake, so all he had to focus on was Twi. An air bubble appeared in front of Sky, and he quickly grabbed it, filling the scale with air again. He eyed the tentacle holding Twi, and tore through the water, dashing as hard as he could into the tentacle. The creature shrieked, tentacles whipping around sporadically. Sky dodged them and rammed into the tentacle again, and again, and again. Sky looked up and saw that Twi was slipping free. Determination flew through Sky and he rammed into the tentacle again, ignoring how the air was beginning to run out. Twi miraculously slipped free from the tentacles, and Sky felt relieved. Now they could finally get out of here. But before Sky could try to swim away, a tentacle slammed into him, and he crashed into the wall. The dragon scale popped out of his mouth, and he involuntarily swallowed water. Sky felt his heart spike as he realized that he had no air, and no way to get air unless he broke the surface. Twilight dove for Sky, grabbing and dragging him through the water. The tentacles made a hole in the wall, and Twilight kicked his legs as hard as he could, dragging Sky through the hole. The monster roared as the two heroes fled, debris from the sunken castle threatening to crush them, but Twi dodged it all, swimming surprisingly fast for dragging Sky.

The hero of skies tried to avoid unnecessary movement, knowing that if he stayed still, then he would be able to preserve oxygen. But he couldn’t help but try to ease the strain that Twi was going through. Sky looked up at the surface, desperation for air clawing at his burning lungs, and he kicked his legs a little more frantically. Twi looked down at him in worry, trying to go faster, but darkness was already entering Sky’s vision. Bubbles escaped his mouth as it became unbearable, but all Sky could do was to kick helplessly. Finally, unconsciousness overcame him, and for a moment, all Sky could feel was peace.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Sky opened his eyes, all he could see was darkness.

Where am I? He thought to himself, trying to move his hand to his aching head, but he felt impossibly heavy. It felt as if all energy was sapped right out of him, and he almost wanted to go back to sleep, but something kept him from doing so.

Am I dead? Was his first thought. He didn’t know why it came to mind, but he tried to remember all that happened before. He had to save Twi, there was a monster, they were in water… did he drown? Sky groaned as he tried to sit up, but he had no strength, and a sudden cough assaulted him.

“Sky!”

Sky opened his eyes and was surprised to see Warriors sitting over him. Panic surged through Sky. Did he dream the whole thing? No, no that’s ridiculous he couldn’t have.

“Sky? Are you ok?”

“Wh—where’s Twi?” He croaked, his voice sounding like it hadn’t been used in weeks.

Warriors looked to his side, and Sky noticed Twi curled up and asleep. Relief swept through Sky and he laid back down. So it definitely wasn’t a dream.

“I was worried when Twi came up with you unconscious. Luckily you turned out fine.”

Sky gave a small smile.

“Twi was worried too. He would’ve stayed up with me but… well he’s hurt pretty badly, he needed the rest.”

Sky’s smile melted into a frown.

“How badly?” He asked.

“I think he may have a cracked rib, and his arms are badly bruised,” Warriors explained.

From the tentacles I presume, Sky thought to himself. “Is he ok?”

“Much better than you. How are you feeling?”

“Bleh,” was all Sky was able to say, and Warriors chuckled. “The stupid puppeteer faked the zora kidnapping story.”

“So I’ve heard. He’s done nothing but cause trouble for us, he almost killed you and Twi. But you’re awake now, so we should be fine.

The hero of skies stared ahead. He was awake now, but he learned from experience that almost drowning can do a lot to you. When he had to find the tadpoles for Faron’s challenge to prove that he was the hero, he ended up drowning. If not for Groose who launched himself to the flooded woods, he would’ve probably been dead. And if not for his knowledge of pneumonia, he would’ve died a lot later. Sky groaned. Having to lay in bed while dealing with pneumonia was awful, he didn’t want to experience that again. But unfortunately, the feeling in his lungs and body said otherwise.

“Wait, Warriors,” Sky called out, almost coughing right then and there. Warriors looked at him earnestly. “Do you… do you know anything about pneumonia?”

Warriors frowned, but realization hit his face. “Oh, yes I do, are you ok?”

“I don’t know but, I might have that….”

Warriors rested his hand on Sky’s shoulder. “It’s ok, you boys did the hard work, now let me take care of you.”

Sky smiled and put his hand on top of Warriors with a nod.

“Thanks commander,” he said, before drifting off again.

[howtodrawyourdragon]

Going on a Trip

Summary: Set in a Modern AU. Ever since that pregnancy test came back positive, Astrid's been a little overprotective.

Warnings: Pregnancy

Rating: General

Dead Dove: No

Words: 1 002

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Characters: Hiccup, Astrid

Pairing: Hiccstrid

Author's Notes: So fun fact: in Dutch/Flemish we have the saying "zoals een kip zonder kop!" Which basically means doing something without thinking and often in a nonsensical way.

Posting something a little lighter after the Dead Dove fic I just posted. 😇

I got the inspiration for this fic because I went to a zoo last Monday and there are always without fail families with very small children (literally ages 0 to 10, I saw two mothers with literal 1 to 3 month olds in slings) or a pregnant partner. And since I was taking requests for this Pregcup series, I had to write it, of course.

Also wondering just how many people are going to click on this fic thinking it's a Pregstrid fic despite the tags and the series I'm putting this in.

Enjoy!

-XOXOX-

“And you’re sure you have everything you need?”

“Yep, 100%!”

“But you’re sure? You got a bottle of water? Bottle of coke to keep your sugar levels up? Made your sandwiches?”

“Well, no, you made them because you’re scared I’ll go hungry for an hour. But anyway, yes and yes and you stuffed my bag full with literally every sugary thing we have in the house. If our doctor knew, she would get a heart attack.”

“You got your pain killers for your leg? Your migraine meds? Are you sure we shouldn’t take an extra bottle of-”

“Astrid, please!”

Hiccup grabs her hands and puts a stop to her pacing. They’re in the kitchen and she’s holding onto the strap of his shoulder bag, running around with it like a headless chicken. They’re leaving for a trip today, a trip to the zoo because living amongst dragons doesn’t mean they don’t still appreciate or are even fascinated by the other countless of creatures they share their amazing planet with. The entire group is going, the dragons get a day off for once.

Much to Toothless’ dismay.

He would much rather come along, but zoos are going through the trouble of keeping dragons out. So if they were to bring one in, they wouldn’t exactly be welcome.

“We made a list yesterday, we got everything ready before bed and you woke up extra early to make sure I wouldn’t be going hungry today. We’re ready to leave,” he assures her and Astrid relieves herself with a sigh. Because he’s right, they’re ready.

She looks down at their joined hands and smiles, his thumbs stroking the back of her fingers. This is before her gaze falls further down and finds the reason why she’s so concerned. Her husband is about five months pregnant.

They knew from the start that they wanted to have kids and after some time spend talking about it in which they both agreed Hiccup would carry their first, they went ahead and found success rather quickly. But ever since that pregnancy test came back positive, she’s been a little bit overprotective. And Hiccup thought it was annoying at first, he has already spend his entire childhood with an overprotective father. But in his fifth month, he both understands it and even appreciates it.

Because while his morning sickness was at its worst, she, Toothless and Sharpshot made sure he didn’t need to leave the bed for anything other than to go to the bathroom. She muttered sweet nothings in his ear when his moodswings appeared. There is this one commercial about these doggy treats that are meant to be good for their dental hygiene and every single time he watches it, he cries without fail. Something about them having good dental hygiene just gets to him. This coming from a dragon and cat person.

The other side of this is that Snotlout is no longer allowed to eat at their place, Hiccup can no longer stand his eating habits. Then there were his cravings, which she gets up for in the middle of the night just to take care of. Astrid has been so understanding and supportive, he figured that the least he could do was return the favor.

“You’re right,” Astrid admits. “We’re ready.”

And if it turns out the five sandwiches she made for him aren’t enough, they can always buy an extra snack at the zoo.

-XOXOX-

They took a bus there and now they’re taking that same bus home. It’s from a private company with comfortable cushions, air conditioning and a bathroom. But that first one is the most important to Hiccup in particular, who sits next to Astrid and is just knocked out cold after the tiring day they’ve had. His seat leans back just enough for him without bothering Heather, who sits behind them along with her brother and reads a book.

As he sleeps, Astrid looks through the many pictures on her phone. Between her device and those of all her friends, they probably have hundreds of pictures. Of animals and monuments, some as a joke, of them as a group, split up in duos, selfies… or in her case; her pregnant partner.

Him looking at animals, reading a plaque, watching a family with small children, resting on a bench, taking a picture of something or someone else, in the souvenirship, she even has one of him eating. This man could do nothing without giving her some reason to take out her phone’s camera. Astrid is certain he has a picture of her taking one of him.

Because he’s tall and skinny, his bump isn’t all that big yet, which is a slight disappointment that Astrid will not share. Although it is probably better for his back, which already suffers from being a lower leg amputee. At the same time, he started showing a little earlier than normal, which she thought was a blessing. She loves his belly and she loves seeing it in pictures. He’s growing their first child!

Glancing at it now, she can’t help but smile and places a hand on it, her thumb stroking through the t-shirt he wears. He did end up eating all five of those sandwiches.

All of them are sunburned. Because while Astrid was so worried about Hiccup going hungry, she completely forgot about the dangers of the sun. They all did. From the corner of her eyes, she spots Ruffnut’s fight not to scratch the itchy redness of her skin, Snotlout looks as bright red as a tomato and the shape of Dagur’s sunglasses have been burned right into his face. Both of the redheads in their group are more sunburned than then rest.

When they finally get home in another hour or two, she is going to lotion hers up from head to toe. And they will probably both enjoy it.

But for the time being, Astrid puts on her music and closes her eyes, her hand still on her husband’s belly.

[drpeppertummy]

a potential writing suggestion if you want!

perhaps... mean to him painfully hungry val ? 🫣

this is soo tiny & shitty but in my defense i havent written in 500 years

[hunger, very brief mention of stuffing at the end]

Val winced and hugged an arm around his middle as his stomach let out an angry growl. He hadn't eaten a thing since the crack of dawn. He hadn't had time. He'd woken up early that morning with a busy day ahead of him, and despite all his preparations, he'd still found himself running late. In his hurry to get moving, he'd only had time for a cereal bar.

Now, it was after one. He was finally on his way home from a long day of errands and appointments, and his stomach ached badly, as did his head. He tried to ignore the nagging hunger pangs as he drove. His belly rumbled impatiently. For a moment, he considered swinging into the Wendy's that was approaching on his right, but decided against it; he'd rather get home quicker and be done with the long day out. It was only once he was too far past it to change his mind that the traffic began to slow.

The traffic only grew slower as Val entered the congested stretch of road, until he was just barely inching along. He let out a groan of frustrated defeat. What an idiot, he thought dismally. He'd known it was a bad way to go, but somehow it had still seemed quicker than taking some back road route. His stomach whined pitifully, and he slumped back in the seat.

At the next red light, Val did a quick rummage through the glove compartment, hoping to find some sort of forgotten snack hiding between the napkins and papers. It wasn't unheard of for a loose granola bar or a piece of candy to be sitting around in the car, but right now, he couldn't find a thing. His belly let out a long, hollow groan, and he pressed a hand against it, trying in vain to soothe it. Nothing at all, not even an abandoned bottle of tepid water rolling around on the floor. Somebody must have cleaned out the car recently, and he silently cursed them for it.

It was nearing two now, and the ache gnawing away at Val's empty stomach was only growing worse. He hoped there might be another restaurant he could pull into as traffic trudged along, but it seemed like Wendy's had been the last one on that stretch of road. That at least meant he was probably almost out of the worst of it. He desperately hoped so, anyway. His head was pounding, and he felt sore, fussy, and tired.

Finally, the pace of the traffic began to pick up, and Val could see his turn in the distance. It remained in the distance for some time, teasing him, until finally, at long last, it was upon him, and he eagerly slipped away from the busy crowd of cars. He'd have liked to go tearing down that quiet road like a madman, but, ever cautious, he kept his speed reasonable as he made his way back home.

"Sheesh, where've you been? I thought you were only gonna be like a couple hours," said Connie as he dragged himself through the door.

"Me too." There was a certain grumble in his voice, but more than anything, he sounded relieved. His belly rumbled loudly.

"I made potato soup," she said, taking his arm. Val didn't think he'd ever heard a more beautiful sentence in his life.

After a big bowl of thick, chunky soup, the painful hunger was a distant memory, having been replaced by a much more welcome feeling of fullness. His belly felt taut and heavy and warm, and he wanted nothing more than to snuggle up in Connie's arms and take a nap. After cleaning up, with his long list of tasks finally done for the day, he was finally able to do just that.