#anyways I hope the signing isn’t hard to understand

[cheqorb]

your mer-love fic was so good and ugh i LOVE mermaid au’s (esp with blue lock but theres BARELY any)!!

anyways u should do a pt 2 of your mer-love drabble/fic with rin, sae, kaiser and ness!! i’d love to read it if you do

MER-LOVE, 1.3 ft. rin, sae, kaiser, ness

mermaid au! bllk boys with a researcher! reader

NOTES: thank-you for requesting anon! this might be absolute dogwater but hope you enjoy this…a few months after you even asked this (sorryyyy).

MER-LOVE MASTERLIST

any interactions with RIN are short and definitely not sweet. if he isn’t being harassed by any other mers that are interested in him, he normally stays around you because you “don’t bother him as much as the others do”. quoted by rin himself; which is considerably high praise coming from the rather aloof merman.

you probably first meet him simply because he got dragged by bachira or the like, but he’s not much of a conversation starter since he just sorta glared at you the whole time. it doesn’t get much better from that point onwards either, you’d think rin believed the world was against him by the way perfectly normal, well-meaning compliments are thrown to the side as if you’re insulting him.

with time though, he’ll start growing more fond of you! how can you tell? unless you’re freakishly talented at guessing people’s real emotions, who knows.

he (kinda) gets cuter in a way? maybe it’s just you being optimistic but you could’ve sworn that he has this look of pride whenever you choose to spend time with him over the other mers. like, of course you don’t want to hang out with weaklings like them or something along those lines. it takes a while but he’s noticeably softer with you than he is with his friends — he actually calls them lukewarm, but that’s just rin for ‘friends’ you think.

“rin, ya there?”

he stares at you with mild disbelief, which almost makes you burst into a fit of laughter. “since i’m very clearly here next to you, i think the answer’s quite obvious.”

you nod, smiling. “thought you’d say that but anyways,” you reach into a bag that you brought with you, “i wanted to give you a present! take it as a token of my gratitude for you chatting with me.” he eyes the object you give him coldly, but takes it anyway with a ghost of a smile on his face. how adorable.

SAE is someone very hard to come by, and even harder to start conversation with that don’t end in him just swimming away from you. if you thought talking to rin was like talking to a brick wall, just wait till you meet this guy.

he’s seemingly apathetic to anything and everything, incredibly blunt, and overall not a very nice guy. at least his lil brother doesn’t outright ignore you (he does call you an NPC and half baked though)! speaking of which, if you meet rin first you can definitely see the resemblance between the two. appearance is a main one, you would know those under-lashes from anywhere and now you definitely know where he gets the attitude from.

any signs of him ‘warming up’ to you are basically non existent. he’s as straightforward as ever and isn’t keen on the idea of suddenly being all over you like humans normally seem to do with the people they like.

to give credit where credit is due, he tries? even though he’s still a bit brutal with his delivery, you think he tries to avoid being so aggressive with his tone. he’s not exactly sugarcoating things, but simply not saying what’s on his mind as much as he used to. that whole spiel about if you’ve got nothing nice to say, don’t say anything, right? and besides, just him tolerating your presence should be enough for you to understand he’s trying to be nice (it really isn’t).

sae had a talent for ruining any positive conversations with his honesty, the aftermath typically being him leaving the person soon after or an awkward silence between the two of them. but you also think he’s got a talent for somehow making people feel better. he doesn’t sugarcoat things and while it can be harsh, it also means that compliments from sae are genuine.

he listens to you rambling on about some annoying incidents at work, making the effort to nod every once in a while to remind you that he’s paying attention. “sounds like something you can deal with yourself. there’s no reason to worry yourself about it, that’s a waste of your time.”

you laugh. “so you can be nice, sae.”

amidst a certain merman’s grumbling of someone called ‘KAISER’, you gain snippets of info that paint a less-than-flattering picture of the merman. he sounds like a major jerk. yet, despite his (isagi’s) colourful descriptions shall we say, you can't help but wonder if this kaiser fellow’s supposed villainy is just an exaggeration. but then again, to evoke such hatred from the usually amiable merman, he must be quite the character.

your first encounter with him is unremarkable, only seeing him as another mermaid who decided to show their face and you as some random human.

his curiosity is piqued however when he notices how fond the other merfolk are of you, and in typical kaiser fashion he’s determined to outshine everyone else. from your perspective, he’s just a weird dude. it’s as if he expects you to be grateful for his attention, even though it’s clear that he’s the one vying for your approval.

it’d be somewhat cute if it were anybody else, you think..? on him, it’s aggravating.

and yet, the more you pull away, the more determined he seems to become to disrupt any semblance of peace you have. he appears so often that you’ve grown to actually tolerate his presence and it even amuses you sometimes if the day is particularly boring. kaiser finds you just…okay (liar). he means- you’re nothing special so don’t get ahead of yourself but like, if YOU wanted to, he wouldn’t mind being with you until nightfall.

also don’t mention the sheer disgust and almost betrayal on his face whenever he sees one of your total losers of a colleague on watch duty instead of you. even worse if they’re partnered with you.

judging by the very obvious glare kaiser had on his face, you would say that he’s not too pleased with the sight of you and (coworker) together. still, he could learn a thing or two from the more calm mermen about being discreet about his hatred. you sigh as your companion only spares you a sympathetic look.

what’s weird is that kaiser occasionally glances in your direction — of course, whilst still glaring daggers at (coworker). like he wants you to do something about them tagging along.

“kaiser, you’re embarrassing me over here and yourself,” you say, leaning over the edge of the boat. he pauses for a moment before simply turning around, probably sulking over the fact that you do indeed have relationships with other people that don’t involve him. that, or he’s embarrassed he got called out.

you’ll naturally come across NESS if you’ve already met kaiser and at first, you simply took him for the more timid type which could be the reason why he follows the former around like a lost puppy. wrong. not in the slightest.

well that’s a little harsh, but you mean that while he definitely has a bashful quality to him, he also seems to flip completely if you dare make a comment about kaiser. it’s a little scary. in spite of his dedication shall we call it, he’s actually one of the easiest mers to get along with. talk to him normally, avoid the topic of kaiser too often, spare some affection for him and he’s all over you soon enough!

just being generally nice around him is something he’ll appreciate it even if he doesn’t say it outright. poor thing is a little unfamiliar with people showing him basic human (or in this case merfolk) decency. makes you want to pat him on the head and spoil him a bit/squish him until he breaks — depending on what type of person you are, i guess.

when he gets more comfortable with you, ness is also clingy. like, really clingy. practically chasing after the other mers if they dare come within 10ft of you kind of clingy. it’s one of those rare moments where you appreciate the fact that kaiser is there since ness is still able to be reasoned if he’s there with him. sounds a little toxic at first but just set him straight and be patient with him. the end result is (hopefully) a slightly more relaxed version of him.

“…you alright, ness?” you ask hesitantly. the merman in question is suspiciously quiet, especially after he just got into a mini spat with someone else.

now, he looks up at you as if you’re a saint which weirds you out even more. he nods his head, “are you worried about me?”

you’d think it was intended to be a snide comment, if it weren’t for the fact that you were dealing with ness here. besides, he says it so sincerely that you’d feel bad for poking fun at him. maybe later though. “of course.” it seems to light up his whole world.

[smilesrobotlover]

Whumptober day 13- infection

Idk if any of you remember the post about me asking about how to write signing, but that post was for this fic. This is about Moon, my beloved Link oc and he is deaf, so I needed to write a way for him to be signing. I was originally going just use apostrophes but most of the deaf people who responded to that post said how I should use normal quotation marks, so that’s what I did. I hope it won’t get confusing, I tried to make it clear that Moon and Groose were signing, so just know that when they’re talking to each other, they’re signing. Thanks again to the deaf people who responded to that post ☺️

Anyways if you wanna know more about Moon, you can just go on the “moon” tag or “the hand of Farore” tag. There’s A LOT to Moon. You can even go to @thehandoffarorecomic if you want, but there’s no comic just yet. Rn I’m playing with the story.

Warning for an infection. It’s pretty mild lol.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Link had been distant from the others for a while now, and Groose was starting to get worried about him. Link wasn’t a very social person, so him keeping to himself wasn't at all strange, especially after what happened in Groose’s own home. But the way he walked away from Groose everytime he approached him was odd, it was almost as if he was avoiding him. Farore noticed his behavior as well, and though she tried to talk to him about it, it seemed to have been in vain.

“He won’t talk to me,” she said, her little bunny nose twitching, “I know that he’s still new at signing, but I figured that he’d at least tell me something.”

Groose shrugged. “Link isn’t that new to sign language. He’s actually quite a chatterbox whenever we talk.”

Farore frowned. “So he’s good at sign language, why isn’t he telling me anything?”

“You’re a goddess aren’t you? Shouldn’t you know everything?”

“Knowing everything is Nayru’s job, not mine!”

Groose rolled his eyes. “Isn’t that just convenient.”

“Watch it Groosie, I’m still a goddess.”

Groose snorted. “Sure sure, don’t call me Groosie. So what should we do?”

Farore hopped closer to him and rested against his legs. “Have you tried talking to him?”

“I have. He just walks away from me. I’m worried.”

“Well, you should try harder.”

Groose was taken aback. Of course he would’ve tried harder, but after what happened, he didn’t want to overstep his boundaries. “W-why me? He’s with you all the time!”

“Yes, but… I think you’re the first friend he’s ever had. Plus, you’re both the same age, I think you’ll have an easier time connecting with him.”

“Farore, I’ve tried to talk to him. It’s not gonna work now.”

“Then try harder.”

“Oh my Din, why do you want me to try harder? You’re around him more, you know him more, I… my mom tried to get him killed, why would he— why would he want to talk to me?”

“Groose, please,” Farore pleaded, giving him a serious look. “Just try one more time.”

Groose groaned “Fine! Fine, I’ll ‘try harder’!”

“Thank you.”

Groose glared at Farore and stomped away. He didn’t care that she was a goddess and that he was sassing her, she was annoying, and it wasn’t like she was Din anyways. It took him a moment to find Link, but Groose finally found him under a tree by a pond. His eyes were closed, and he was holding his leg with a strained expression on his face. Groose frowned and knelt down in front of him, lightly tapping him on the knee. Link flinched and his eyes opened wide as he stared at Groose in shock, but he calmed down when he realized he was in no danger.

“Are you ok?” Groose signed, titling his head in concern. Link was pale, and his eyes had bags underneath them.

“I’m good,” Link quickly signed back, and Groose figured that he would say that. It’s all he told him since he started acting strange.

“Just try one more time.”

Farore’s words echoed through Groose’s mind and he rolled his eyes. He should obey the goddess, or at least put some effort in. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that Link was still upset over what happened with his mother… he didn’t want to overstep his boundaries.

Link’s eyes closed and Groose tapped his leg again, being met with annoyed blue eyes.

“You’re not good. You look sick.”

Link looked away, and Groose moved so he was in his vision.

“Are you sick?”

Link pursed his lips and looked down at his leg. “It won’t slow me down. Don’t worry,” he finally answered. Groose frowned. That was a weird thing to say.

“I don’t care that it won’t slow you down, I care that it will hurt you, or worse.”

Link stared at him, his grip around his leg tightening. Groose noticed and reached for his hand, but stopped.

“May I?” He asked, and Link didn’t respond. Groose slowly reached for his hand again, and Link didn’t fight back, instead, he let his hand be taken off his leg. Groose didn’t know what he expected, but he realized that with Link wearing pants, it would be difficult to see anything wrong. Groose sighed, at least there was no visible blood. “Does it hurt there?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I got a cut. It’s been there for a while.”

Groose felt his blood run cold. Was there an infection?

“I need to see it. Now,” Groose signed rather quickly, and Link looked at him confused. He brought his fingers together in one hand and pointed them all to his palm, then dragged a finger up his arm slowly. Groose sighed and signed a little slower and more clearly. “I need to see your injury. This could be serious.”

“I’ve turned out fine before.”

“Have you had cuts like this before?”

“I have. And I’ve walked them off before.”

“Link, you can’t just walk injuries off.”

“I had to,” Link’s face had nothing but anger written on it, and he stared straight into Groose’s eyes that it made him squirm. “If I couldn’t, then I would’ve been left for dead!” Link’s arms flailed slightly as his hands flip-flopped at the end of his sentence.

Groose backed away a little as Link’s breathing grew heavy, tears beginning to appear in his eyes. Guilt gripped Groose’s heart as he thought about everything that happened before. His mother trying to kill Link, the slavers tormenting Link with their very existence, and Groose didn’t do enough to stop it. He sighed and stared at Link’s shaking hands. He looked up and waved at Link to make sure he was watching.

“You won’t be left for dead. Not with me. I promise,” he signed slowly and clearly, making sure that Link understood that Groose would never do such a thing. “You’re my friend,” Groose’s pointer fingers hooked together, and he kept them there for a while while Link just stared, looking more exhausted than before, and Groose tried again. “Let me help you. Please.”

Link finally nodded and let Groose check his leg. He rolled up his pants and inspected his shin, which was where the injury was. Groose was not a medic by any means, but he could tell that with the way the cut was inflamed that it was infected. He decided to go to Farore to help, figuring that she would know what to do more than himself. Groose’s worry grew when Link limped painfully to Farore, and he knew that the infection was severe, he just didn’t know how bad it was.

Thankfully, Farore knew ingredients for a healing potion, which Groose was able to make right away. As soon as Link drank it, he started to act more like himself. His color returned to him, his fever went down, and his eyes were lit up again. Groose was relieved that the healing potion worked, and he stuck by Link’s side while it went through his system. It didn’t take long for Link to finally fall asleep, and Groose was left alone with Farore, who was curled up on his chest for comfort.

“I knew you could do it,” she said after a moment of silence.

“Do what?” Groose asked.

“Get through to him.”

Groose rolled his eyes, but he smiled slightly.

“Why were you so intent on me getting through to him though? He likes you more, you—“ Groose paused, feeling guilty again, “you aren’t responsible for his pain.”

Farore tilted her head. “You’re not responsible for his pain either.”

“No, not for all of it, but… if I had stood up to my mother more, or had spoken up against the slavers that she worked with or—or anything to stop my mother’s involvement with slavery I— Link wouldn’t had suffered like he did!”

Farore frowned. “That’s not fair to you Groose. You are not responsible for your mother’s actions. You were manipulated by her. You didn’t understand the extent of what was happening with slavery.” Farore got close to Groose’s face. “You didn’t know any better.”

“I should’ve known. I’m going to be the king of the Gerudo, I should’ve known better.”

Farore made a sad face and backed away. “You’re only sixteen. You’re still a child.”

Groose didn’t say anything and instead held onto Link’s hand. Farore rested her paw on their clasped hands and they all stayed there for a moment, until Farore spoke up again.

“I’m not gonna be with him forever.”

Groose looked at her confused. “What do you mean?”

“When this is all over, me and my sisters will return to the sacred realm, we will leave Hylia to protect Hyrule again, and… I’ll have to leave Link behind.”

Groose stared at her. She was going to leave everything behind?

“I won’t be gone gone,” she quickly clarified, “I’ll be here in spirit, and I’ll listen and answer your prayers. But physically I won’t be here anymore. I just want…. I just want Link to have support when I’m away. That’s why I pushed you to talk to him.”

“O-oh,” was all that Groose was able to say. Though he knew she was a goddess, it was easy to forget. Farore gave Groose a smile and hopped away. But before she jumped off the bed, she turned to Groose.

“Link doesn’t blame you for anything. I hope you know that.”

Groose’s hand tightened around Link’s. He didn’t believe her, even though he knew she was right, it wasn’t ok for Groose to believe her. Farore hummed at his reaction.

“You should talk to Link about it.”

Groose pursed his lips and stared at his unconscious friend. “I’ll do it when he’s better.”

Farore smiled slightly. “Ok, fair enough. Do it when he’s better.” Groose smiled at Farore before she jumped off the bed, leaving him alone with Link.

[whiskeyncoke-redux]

I’ve always thought it would be fun to be a seat-filler at award shows, and now I can’t stop thinking about sitting next to a flirty Pedro Pascal.. (especially since they say you aren’t supposed to talk to the actors!)

The idea of him introducing himself (as if he isn’t a famous actor), sharing candy he snuck in with you or trying to make you laugh while on air and having to shoo away the award show employees that try to intervene. Him just being smitten with reader the whole night.. okay, I’d *love* to hear your take if it interests you!

Hi Nonny dearest, sorry it took me so long to respond, I just had to get my thoughts together because I LOVED this idea so much!! So here we go, hope you like it.

The Seat Filler

Pedro Pascal x Reader

A/N: here's another one, hope you all like it. No hateful comments please. Again I gotta shout out @ziggyrocket for the support ❤️. It's 6:32 in the morning, apparently I don't sleep like a normal person, I'm on my second cup of coffee, so any typos or whatever are my bad... and Maxwell house coffee's.

Warnings: none (well, corny jokes I guess)

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

You had signed up for this gig half on a dare and half out of curiosity. Being a new sign-up, you hadn’t expected to be called in right away, but yet, here you were, in a borrowed gown, in a theater mixed with some of the biggest stars and regular people just like you: seat fillers. 

You remembered the main rules the director told you: 1) look like you’re enjoying yourself, always smile and 2) most importantly DO NOT talk to the actors, meaning the actual celebrities. You nodded and murmured your understanding along with everyone else who was there to work as fillers, not really thinking anything of it. What celebrity would want to talk to me anyway? You mused as you took your seat.

You looked around the theater, excitement flooding through you at the idea of being in such a place surrounded by people you had admired from afar, in magazines, and online. You took a deep breath to steady yourself; you didn’t want to make a fool of yourself. You glanced at the empty seat next to you on your left and wondered who’d be in it.  On your right was another filler and on their right was another empty seat.

The filler next to you leaned over slightly and whispered, “Who do you think they’re gonna put next to us?”

You shrugged. “No idea, hope it’s someone good.”

He nodded in agreement, then a look came over his face as he glanced over your shoulder.  You turned your head to look and you blinked hard as you recognized the man coming towards you, and taking the vacant seat next to you. While the man next to you was busy getting settled,  you glanced back over at your fellow seat filler, whose jaw had semi-dropped. You both exchanged excited looks, then you nudged him lightly with your elbow and he shook himself, cleared his throat lightly and sat up. You both faced forward, determined to be on your best behavior. 

Unfortunately for you, your newest seat mate had different ideas. Pedro knew the whole deal with seat fillers and how they were told not to speak to anyone. But he felt a mischievous streak go through him when he saw you glance at him briefly. 

“Hi,” he said, taking his seat. “I’m Pedro Pascal.”

“Hi,” you said back, nervously glancing around to make sure that no one saw you speaking to him. 

The two of you smiled at each other, before you turned back to face the front. He took a few seconds to study your profile as you sat there, determinedly facing the front, sitting as still as a statue. 

He glanced down and saw that your elbow was resting on the shared arm rest. With a small smirk, he placed his on the arm rest too, bumping yours. 

You looked over at him, smiled awkwardly and whispered a hurried, “Sorry,” before moving your arm and facing forward again.

After a few minutes, you placed your elbow back on the arm rest, and, noticing that, Pedro, bumped your elbow again with his. You moved your arm again. And then a few more minutes later, you placed it back again, only for him to bump you again. After the fourth time this happened, you looked over at him with a slightly raised eyebrow and he just smiled innocently at you.

A few minutes later you felt him shift next to you, you looked over and saw him pulling out a bag of Skittles. You tried to hide your smile, but he noticed and nudged you slightly and offered you some. You looked around, making sure that there was no one watching, and then you held open your palm and he shook some of the candies into it.

“Thanks,” you whispered and popped a few into your mouth. 

A little over an hour into the show, you could feel him getting restless next to you. You figured the sugar had gotten to him. After the Skittles, he had pulled out a candy bar, broke it in half and shared it with you. He fidgeted in his seat, tapping his fingers on his knee and the seat. You tried to ignore it, but you had to admit it was more than a little distracting.

“Are you okay?” you whispered hurriedly to him.

He turned to you and nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

“Are you though?” you asked, gesturing to his jiggling knee.

He smiled. “Yeah.” But his knee kept jiggling, you had to suppress a laugh at that. 

He noticed you struggling to keep a straight face, and decided to aim the restless energy he had at you. He was going to make you laugh, really laugh, by the end of the show. His mind was made up.

He thought for a moment and then he leaned over to you, “Psst, hey.”

“Yeah?” you answered looking straight ahead.

“I have a question.”

“Mmhmm?”

“Why did the bicycle fall over?”

You were confused. “I’m sorry?”

“I said: why did the bicycle fall over?”

“Uhh, I don’t know. Why?”

“Because it was two tired.”

You turned to look at him after that, he laughed at the look on your face.

“That was corny,” you said, shaking your head, but pursing your lips to keep from laughing.

“Oh, that reminds me of another one,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye. He looked around,  cleared his throat, and then asked, “What does corn say when it gets a compliment?”

You shook your head and shrugged your shoulders, not wanting to say anything but wanting to hear the punchline, you turned to him.

Barely able to suppress his giggles, he answered,”Aw, shucks!”

You put your hand over your mouth, trying to stifle the laugh you felt escaping your lips.

“Okay, one more,” he announced. 

“Oh, lord,” you groaned.

“It’s a good one, I promise.”

You waved your hand slightly for him to go ahead, knowing he would anyway.

“Okay, why are pirates called pirates?”

You bit your lip trying not to laugh. “I don’t know why?”

He leaned closer. “They just arrrr!” he whispered the last word in a bad pirate accent. 

You couldn’t help it, you snorted, then quickly covered your mouth to stifle your giggles, but he’d heard it, and he smiled at that.

“Good one right?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No, oh my god, that was bad, but…” you couldn’t finish as a fresh wave of giggles overtook you. Your shoulders shook with your suppressed laughter.

He smiled and laughed along with you. For the rest of the ceremony, he would lean over and whisper comments about one person’s speech, or another’s outfit, nothing malicious or mean, just something to make you smile. And he always had a bad joke or two to whisper to you. 

By the end of the program, your cheeks were hurting from all the smiling and your stomach was sore from the laughing. You couldn’t help it, a few had escaped, luckily it was during the jokes the emcee told, so it looked as if you were enjoying the show. Truth be told, you couldn’t remember what had happened during the show, or who had won which award. If someone had quizzed you on it after, you surely would have failed; but you felt it was worth it because being seated next to Pedro had made it the best night of your life. You hadn’t laughed that hard, or enjoyed yourself that much in a long time.

After the show was over, you headed out with your fellow seat filler.

“You seemed to really be enjoying yourself,” he said as you filed out into the lobby.

You nodded with a huge grin on your face. “Yeah, I did.”

“I could tell,” he said, nodding, “what was he saying to you to make you laugh so much?”

You shrugged. “Oh, just a few jokes, and comments that’s all,” you said lightly.

He looked at you curiously, but when he realized you weren’t going to elaborate he commented, “Lucky you. The one they put next to me was on her phone the entire time.” He shook his head. “At least you got some entertainment.”

You two chatted for a little more, making plans to grab a late dinner with him and some of the rest of the seat fillers. Before you could leave, however, you felt someone tap you on your shoulder.

“Okay, I have another one,” you heard Pedro’s voice in your ear before you could turn around. “Just thought of it.”

You looked at him. “All right, go on.”

“Which bear is the most condescending?”

You started laughing then answered, “what?”

“A pan-duh!”

You burst out laughing along with him. “Where on earth did you even hear these?”

He shrugged. “Internet.”

“They are so bad,” you said, still chuckling.

“And yet, you laughed. Therefore they did their job,” he pointed out.

“True enough,” you agreed, “thanks though.”

“For what?”

“Making this event… well, eventful. I was prepared to be bored out of my mind, sitting there like a statue, smiling a fake smile the entire night.”

He smiled at you. “Well, I’m glad I could help. So, what are you planning on doing after this?”

You shrugged. “I was gonna grab something to eat with some of the rest of the seat fillers…”

“Oh, okay, I'm doing the same.” He nodded and looked away. You noticed that for a second he looked slightly nervous, but before you could get a good look, his face cleared and he turned back to look at you.

“I guess I should let you go then…” you said, turning to catch up with your friends.

“Wait, one more question.”

You stopped and looked back at him. “What's up?”

“Well, you know, I have a lot more jokes…”

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, and, well, all my friends and family have heard them. But you haven’t, at least I’m pretty sure you haven’t….”

You nodded. “I haven’t, I don’t think.”

“Good, well, I shall have to inflict them upon you, you know, if you don’t mind. Maybe over dinner tomorrow?”

You thought for a second. “I don’t mind at all,” you answered with a huge grin.

[rubyreduji]

fighting for your love — yjh & hjs

summary: when you couldn’t pick who to date between joshua and jeonghan, you weren’t expecting to result in a fight, literally

tags: smut (minors dni!), romance, boxer!au warnings: explicit unprotected sex, threesomes, floor sex, praise, fingering (f. receiving), oral (m. & f. receiving), spitroasting, throat fucking, dacryphilia, double vaginal penetration, light degradation, choking, squirting, multiple orgasms, creampies, overstimulation wc: 5.5k an: it took me a month to write so i hope you enjoy it, kai if you're reading this i hope you especially like it lol my little local jihan lover

“This is ridiculous,” you state as you watch the two boys slide their gloves on.

“It’s not ridiculous, it’s necessary,” Jeonghan says as he climbs into the ring.

“If you can’t pick, then we’ll pick for you,” Joshua tells you. “This is how plenty of animals find a mate and what are humans other than another species of animal.”

You let out a frustrated huff.

This isn’t the outcome you were expecting when you couldn’t pick between Joshua or Jeonghan after they both asked you out.  You understand that this is their thing, that they’re boxers, but this is honestly unnecessary. 

You’ve known both boys for a while now and are no stranger to their competitive nature but you didn’t think it would bleed over into their romantic lives as well. You should have known better. Your work for the gym they belong to and even though you’re around their coach and manager more, they’ve both seemed to take an interest in you anyway.

Despite being frequently annoyed by their antics, you actually do like both of them, that’s why you’ve been having a hard time picking between the two of them. Each has their own pros (and their own cons) and you truly don’t know who to pick, so here you are now, about to watch Joshua and Jeonghan box each other to become your boyfriend.

Everything really started a year and a half ago when Jeonghan signed on with Sebong, the gym you work for. You work basically as the assistant of the owner doing all of the work he doesn't want to do. You didn’t know he was joining the gym though, and was surprised to see such a handsome man standing in the lobby of your gym, which is not open to public access.

The first thing he did when he saw you was flirt with you. Soon the gym coach came in and took Jeonghan away, but that has been his lasting first impression ever since. After that, anytime Jeonghan would run into you in the gym, he’d take time out of his training just to flirt with you.

Joshua on the other hand, has been a long time member of the Sebong gym. He’s been around longer than even you have and he’s always been more or less respectful and kind to you, keeping his fair distance. That is, until Jeonghan appeared. The two seemed to be able to turn anything into a competition, and when Joshua realized that Jeonghan had his eyes set on you, he decided to do the same.

At first you thought it was a joke, but then it seemed to progress further and further to the point there was no way the boys were dropping all the money to bring you lunch and flowers whenever they could just for a laugh. So once you started to take them seriously, the competition really picked up. Taking you out on nice (expensive) dates, buying you gifts, showering you in flattery, requesting you route for them in their next match, whatever they could do to get your attention away from the other man and onto them. It was a bit over the top…but you also kind of loved it.

As you slowly got to know each man better, you slowly started to fall for both of them. There’s something so charming about the way you can never expect what Joshua will do next, yet he’ll always be a gentleman about it, and the way Jeonghan can be mischievous but still so caring at the same time. It’s so frustrating having to pick just one.

In terms of boxing, they’re also pretty equally matched. Joshua’s always been one of Sebong’s best boxers and one of the reasons why become so competitive with Jeonghan in the first place was due to the fact Jeonghan was able to sweep in and match his level. 

Sometimes you’ll watch them during practice, going harder than anyone else in the gym, not wanting to quit until the other does. You know Coach loves it though, because they help push each other to be better.

The two are usually the last two out of the gym, forcing you to stay later so you can lock up after they get done. You don’t mind too much, you like watching them practice, and they always offer to help you clean up before leaving. After locking the doors they’ll always walk you to your car like proper gentlemen, and sometimes they’ll even invite you out to eat or something of the likes. You usually say yes.

You think one of your favorite moments with them was when you all went out to a bar together and got drinks and food and spent the whole night out talking. It felt natural, like the competition was set aside and you guys were just enjoying a night together as three friends. 

The only problem is…the more time you spend with them, the harder it is to choose one. You’ve told them such on many occasions but the answer doesn’t seem to satisfy either man. That’s how Mingyu’s (not so) brilliant idea came to fruition.

“You’re both boxers, just fight for her.” It was said as more of a joke, but when you’re dealing with people like Jeonghan and Joshua, nothing is a joke if it can become competition. You were close to strangling Mingyu after he said it, but the other two were already gearing up to start the fight.

Which brings you to where you are now, after hours in the gym, staring at the two black haired men standing in the ring. 

“Nothing will get out of hand, it’s just a friendly fight to determine who is worthy of your love,” Joshua assures you. You huff.

“What if neither of you win?”

Both men turn to you. “What does that mean?”

“It means you two are a little too evenly matched. I’ve seen you spar before and it always ends in a tie.”

“Not this time princess. Those are always practice matches, there’s something valuable on the line now,” Joshua says. 

You know you should be annoyed that they're treating you like some prize to win, but if you’re being completely transparent, you find it a little hot. It’s not your fault that you have two hot boxers wanting to literally fight over you. It doesn’t mean you find them any less ridiculous.

“You can’t stop us Y/N-ah,” Jeonghan tells you. “Unless you pick right now.”

“You know I can’t do that. I-”

“Like both of us,” both men recite back to you in tandem. You roll your eyes.

“It’s not my fault you’re both annoyingly charming.” They send you twin grins at this.

“Just sit back and wait, pretty girl. We’ll have your answer for you soon enough,” Joshua says. “No hard feelings toward the other.” You doubt that last part, but you still just sigh and let them continue. It’s clear you’re not going to be able to stop them.

The two take their stance, shifting their weight from foot to foot, watching the other warily. Their elbows are tucked close to their bodies, their gloves up high to protect their face. Whichever one throws first will set the whole tone of the fight. Joshua makes the first move, but not really. It’s a fake out, but Jeonghan is able to see it coming, and doesn’t fall for it.

Instead he goes in for his own jab, connecting his glove into Joshua’s side. That gets Joshua going and he’s on Jeonghan, rapidly punching at his face. Jeonghan has no other choice than to back up, trying to block the hits. Jeonghan swings at Joshua to try and get him away and the two boys latch onto each other. They hit at each other a bit more before letting go and pulling back.

It doesn’t take long for them to go at it again though. This time it’s Jeonghan getting in his rapid fire hits. Joshua shields the punches away from his head, trying to make a few hits of his own as he does. Then in a miraculous turn around Joshua gets the upper hand, slamming his glove into the side of Jeonghan’s head.

It’s clear the hit resonated in Jeonghan, but he doesn’t let it slow him down. The two skirt around the boxing ring, dodging the other’s attacks while trying to make their own. If you weren’t so familiar with the world of boxing, you’d think they look a little ridiculous. 

You do enjoy the sight a bit though.

Jeonghan’s hair is pulled back and exposes his long, pale neck. You can see a thin layer of sweat start to create a sheen there. His face is hardened and focused as he makes his attacks on Joshua. Speaking of Joshua, he looks just as good himself. His bangs hand in his face slightly, sticking to his forehead with sweat. His usual smiley face is replaced with one of determination and fire in his eyes. Both of their bodies are on display, their well defined muscles and hard abs out in the open for you to gaze at. You enjoy the sight of the way their bodies move; the clear image of their muscles working hard to win the fight. 

You’re not sure how long you get distracted staring at the boys’ bodies but when you finally tune back into the actual fight, both boys are clearly starting to get worn out. Just as you predicted, they’re too evenly matched to knock each other out. They do look incredibly sexy though, worn out and sweaty. You discreetly clench your thighs together, a little too into the sight of the boys going at it for your affections.

You smirk at that though as an idea starts to formulate in your mind. Both boys are in their own corner of the ring, panting, when you approach the side.

“Are you boys done yet?” You drawl and their eyes flit over to you, like they almost forget you’re here, even though you’re the reason they’re even fighting in the first place.

“Not yet baby, still haven’t won yet. But don’t worry, I will soon,” Jeonghan says.

Joshua scoffs. “Yeah right. It’s gonna be me who wins, princess.”

The nicknames go straight to your core, further encouraging your idea. You lean against the ropes of the ring and stare at the two boys intently before speaking. “You know, I’ve always said I can’t pick between you two, but what if I don’t want to pick.”

“Y/N…?”

"Have you two ever considered…you can both have me?"

You watch the way Jeonghan’s throat bobs as he swallows and Joshua’s eyes go wide a bit before a smirk overtakes his face.

“Oh? Is that what you want pretty girl?” He asks, slinking towards where you’re standing, Jeonghan following suit. 

You suddenly feel a bit shy under their looming gaze. “M-maybe.” 

“Maybe?” Jeonghan asks, a playful tone to his words. “That won’t do, baby. You gotta tell us exactly what you want.”

You squirm a bit. “I- I want you guys. Both of you.” 

“Want us to do what?” Joshua asks. You look at both boys who have matching smirks on their faces and you’re starting to realize maybe this isn’t your best idea. When the two men aren’t being competitors, they’re being the evil twins, and you think you may have awoken that side in them. That’s not going to stop you now though.

“Want you to touch me. To fuck me. Please Joshie, Hannie, I need it.”

“Good girl,” Joshua mutters before he’s throwing off his gloves and slipping through the ropes of the ring so he can pull you against his body. His skin is still warm from all of the physical exertion earlier and it feels nice against your own skin. It doesn’t feel nearly as nice as his lips pressing against yours though.

Joshua’s grip is firm, yet gentle at the same time. His kiss is searing against your lips and you let yourself get lost in it. One of his hands cups your neck while the other is snaked around your waist. He holds you in place, not that you’d go anywhere if he did let go. His lips are a mix of sweet from his strawberry flavored chapstick and salty from sweating during the boxing match.

You nearly forget about Jeonghan until you feel him slide up behind you, his own arms snaking around your body, trapping you in between both men. Jeonghan’s mouth attaches to your neck and a shudder runs through your body. The feeling of his teeth grazing your skin makes you gasp into Joshua’s mouth, allowing the younger to slip his tongue in.

Jeonghan’s fingers dig into your hip bones and you can feel his own hips grind up against you, his half hard dick nestled right against your ass. In the front you can feel Joshua’s own cock rub against your thigh. Both feelings combined have your head spinning and your panties dampening. 

Jeonghan’s mouth continues to attack your neck before he’s tugging at your shirt collar, trying to reach as much skin as he can. If this was any other situation you may scold the man for stretching out your shirt, but you can’t be bothered right now, wanting his mouth on you as much as possible.

Your attention is pulled away from Jeonghan’s ministrations at the feeling of Joshua’s hands snaking up your shirt. His fingers brush against your bare skin, before fully cupping your tits. He paws at your boobs over your bra for a second before his fingers dip under your bra as well. They brush across your nipples and you moan around Joshua’s tongue still in your mouth. 

For two men who use their fists for a living, they’re also very skilled with their fingers. Jeonghan’s hands travel down your body before they grasp at your thighs. His cock is still pushing up against your ass as he pulls your body back into him even more. He squeezes at your thighs and when one of his knuckles brush up against your clit through your pants you gasp and whine, grinding down to try and gain the friction again.

“Heh,” you hear in your ear, “so fucking needy. It’s so hot baby.” 

“P-please touch me more,” you beg, pulling your mouth back from Joshua.

“Ah, you want me to touch you more? Where? Here?” His fingers brush against your crotch once more and you jerk.

“Yes! There, please! Please Hannie, I need it. Need you.”

“Of course baby, Hannie is gonna take good care of you.” His fingers plunge into your pants and he slides his fingers over your panties and against your clit. He starts to rub it in slow soft circles, causing your legs to go weak in the men’s arms.

“Princess,” Joshua mumbles into your ear. “You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you. So fucking pretty. I’ve liked you since you started here, you know.”

You whimper at his words. If there’s anything that will set you off, it’s having someone want you as desperately as Jeonghan and Joshua do.

Your panties are already soaked through with your arousal and you’re sure that Jeonghan’s fingers are also drenched. You squirm in the men’s grips, wanting more. Thankfully, they seem to get the hint.

“Fuck,” Joshua finally pulls away from you. “Clothes off. All of them.” Jeonghan also pulls away from you, allowing you to quickly shed all of your layers, leaving you bare to the two men staring at you like you’re their next meal. You kind of are.

Both boys also get rid of the rest of their clothing and your mouth goes dry a bit at the sight of the two naked men in front of you. They’re similar in build with fit bodies and taut muscles. They’re not too similar in their other appendages though.

Though both of their cocks are fully hard, and dripping precum, Joshua’s is fat and heavy and on the tanner sider while Jeonghan’s is long and skinny and a pretty pinkish color. The sight of both of them drives you crazy, though.

You’re still in the middle of assessing their bodies when they descend on you. Their bare skin feels even better against yours now that you’re also naked. You’re already a bit breathless as they sandwich you between them again.

“God, you’re even more gorgeous than I imagined, princess,” Joshua whispers in your ear. “And I’ve been imagining it for a while.”

A shiver runs down your back and you press your body into his even more. Something about his voice, the way he said the words, makes your head dizzy. You’ve never denied that Joshua Hong is one of the prettiest people you’ve ever met, but his voice is also incredibly sexy and deserves to be recognized. Especially when it gets all deep and teasing the way it just did.

“What do you want from us baby?” Jeonghan asks. Oh god his voice as well. The light tone turned sultry. You swear they’re both trying to kill you.

“Anything, everything,” you strangle out. “Please just touch me.”

“I think I can do that,” Joshua says with a smirk and then he’s sinking to his knees so his face is level with your crotch. “So pretty down here too.” He lifts his hand up so he can press two fingers against your clit. He plays with you there for a moment as you slump back against Jeonghan, relying on him to keep you standing.

Jeonghan chuckles at this and he snakes his arms around to your front so he can knead at your breasts. He tugs and flicks at your hardened nipples. Your mind is already reeling, your body buzzing in pleasure. You can barely think as Joshua grabs your leg and lifts it over his shoulder so he can dive straight into your dripping cunt. He licks a long strip against your slit before attaching his lips to your clit, sucking harshly on the bud. You cry out and bury your fingers straight into Joshua’s hair. 

“You sound so pretty for us,” Jeonghan tells you. You turn your head so you can capture his lips with yours and he greedily accepts.

Jeonghan’s kiss is less harsher than Joshua’s, but just as eager. Whereas Joshua tastes like artificial strawberries, Jeonghan tastes sweet like sugary candies and cakes. Your free hand reaches up behind you so you can bury your fingers in Jeonghan’s silky soft hair as well.

You’re not sure which boy to focus on, as Joshua starts to prod at your entrance with his fingertips. He teases you there until he finally inserts a finger, slowly pumping it in and out of you. You wiggle in his grip a bit, wanting even more, but Jeonghan holds you still.

“Patience baby. You’ll get what you need soon enough. Let Joshua enjoy his meal for now.” Jeonghan’s hands still play with your tits as he talks to you. “You can be a good girl for us, can’t you?”

You nod. “Y-yes. Wanna be good for you two.”

Below you, Joshua’s now fed you a second finger. His mouth is still sucking at your clit, not letting up. When you look down at him, his eyes are closed in complete pleasure. His free hand has been squeezing your ass as he goes down on you and you can’t help but think about how pretty he looks like this.

You’re sure his cock is leaking all over the floor and the thought has you groaning. You can feel Jeonghan’s cock nestled in the small of your back and you reach around to grasp him. Jeonghan doesn’t seem to be expecting this and he lets out a hiss before thrusting into your fist.

His cock is slender and fits nicely in your grip. You rub your thumb over his slit, collecting his precum and using it to lubricate the rest of his cock so you can pump him in your fist. Jeonghan’s mouth latches onto your shoulder and you can feel him trembling behind you. Your hand is only half working at him, too distracted by the way you can feel your stomach tightening.

“J-josh!” You cry out before you’re clenching down around his fingers, your legs giving out on you. Your body twitches as you orgasm, your body sinking down to the ground. Joshua grabs you, holding you in his arms, gently rubbing at your skin while you grasp onto him, trying to ground yourself.

Joshua presses soft kisses to the corner of your eyes and your cheeks as you try and catch your breath. “Are you okay pretty girl?”

You nod. “I’m okay, just took me by surprise.”

“Can we keep going?” Joshua asks you softly and it sets off a warm feeling in your stomach. You’re not sure how someone who made you cum a minute ago can be so soft with you now, but you’re not complaining. You just cup his face and kiss him quickly.

“Yeah. Here, I wanna suck you off. Can I?” You look up at him with wide eyes and his face goes pink for a second.

“Y-yeah. Yeah, you can.”

“Ehem,” Jeonghan says, reminding you and Joshua he’s still there.

“Ah, Hannie,” you turn to the older man, “you can uh, you can fuck me. If you want.”

Jeonghan curses softly. “You sure baby?”

You nod. “I’m sure. Josh loosened me all up. I need your cock in me so badly, please. I just came and I’m still so needy.”

Your words cause Jeonghan to groan and he gets down on the floor to meet you and Joshua. He pulls you in for a kiss, his fingers sliding down against your wet folds. You’re still sensitive down there and you mewl a bit.

“Fuck, you’re gonna let me fuck you nice and hard baby?”

“Yes, yes please,” you nod frantically.

“Help Joshua out first baby, then I’ll fuck you.”

You turn to the younger of the two men. Joshua is sitting back, his cock resting against his toned stomach. You position yourself between his legs on your knees in front of him. You lean down and gently take his tip in your mouth, sucking at the head. Joshua gasps slightly, encouraging you to do more.

You pop your mouth off of him and lick and kiss down his length to his balls. They sit heavy and drooping and you lick and kiss at them as well. You can hear the small grunts Joshua is letting out and you move up to kiss at his tip again.

His cock is thick and you’re not completely sure you’ll be able to get it all in your mouth, but you wrap your lips around the head again. You’re going to try your best no matter what. You run your tongue around the rim of his tip before flattening your tongue and trying to push yourself down further.

Your tongue presses against the underside of his cock as you try and get all of him in your throat. Your lips are stretched tight and you can feel the strain in your jaw. You pull your mouth back before plunging it back down, trying to get down further as you bob your head up and down his length. You can hear the lewd noises of your mouth fill the room as they mix with Joshua’s moans.

You’re so focused on pleasuring Joshua you jump when you feel Jeonghan grasps your hips. Your ass is pushed into the air and you can feel him drag his cock over your slit. He teases you with a few more swipes before he unceremoniously shoves his cock into you. His slender width allows him to push into you easily, especially with how wet you are from Joshua eating you out. You moan as Jeonghan bottoms out, the vibrations going straight into Joshua’s cock.

Joshua reaches out and grabs your head, shoving you down further on his cock, his blunt tip ramming into the back of your throat. Behind you Jeonghan does the same, his own tip hitting your cervix, the slam of skin echoing throughout the room. Joshua has a tight grip on your hair and he guides you up and down his cock, practically face fucking you.

You can’t do much but moan and allow both men to fuck into you like you’re nothing but their desperate cock sleeve. You don’t mind it at all though. You actually kind of love them using you like this. It’s dirty, the way they just shove their cocks into you with no care, but it has your pussy drenched, no matter how embarrassing it is.

Your throat is burning from the way Joshua is using your mouth and your fingers dig into his thighs. Tears are welling up in your eyes a bit and you can’t tell if it’s from choking on Joshua’s cock or the pleasure Jeonghan is giving you by continuously drilling into you.

“F-fuck, Y/N,” comes Joshua’s choked out sob before he’s spilling his seed right down your throat. You gag as you try and swallow it all down but some of it still drips out of your mouth. “Shit Y/N. You look so hot like that. Dirty little girl, taking my cum down her throat.” Joshua reaches up and swipes the rest of his cum off your chin.

Your throat burns and your voice is raw when you try to speak. “J-josh.”

“You were so good for me.” Joshua reaches up and cups your breasts in your hands, kneading at you softly. “You feel good princess?”

“H-hannie, feels so good. W-want more though.”

“More?”

You nod. “Please Shua, fuck me too. Need to be full.”

“Fuck baby,” Jeonghan mutters from behind you. “You want us both in your needy little hole?” He thrusts up into you roughly to help make his point.

“Yes. Need both of you so badly. Please Josh.”

“Shit princess, that’s so slutty, how could I say no,” Joshua smirks at you. “Lean her back Han.”

Jeonghan does as told, leaning back and taking you with him so your cunt is now more exposed to Joshua. Jeonghan’s cock is already buried in you, but due to its slender size it still leaves room for Joshua to slide in. Well slide in isn't exactly the right words. 

You feel Joshua push his tip up against Jeonghan’s cock at the folds of your pussy. He ruts at your entrance for a second before starting to push in. His cock is thick though, and it stretches your pussy wide, your opening burning as it does. If it wasn’t for all of the arousal lubricating Jeonghan’s cock and your cunt, you’re sure Joshua wouldn’t have even been able to get in an inch.

“God you look so pretty like this,” Jeonghan coos. “Our nasty little slut.” 

You choke out a moan at the name and Jeonghan chuckles. In your front, Joshua is still slowly pushing his cock into you bit by bit. After what feels like forever he’s shoved inside of you and you feel like crying from how desperate you are.

“Please move, I need it, please,” you beg, not caring how pathetic you sound.

“What the princess wants is what she gets,” is Joshua’s response before he pulls out only to slam right back into you. You cry out, your fingers finding purchase on Joshua’s shoulders. “God you feel so tight around my cock.” 

Joshua reaches down and grabs your legs, picking you up. Your legs automatically wrap around Joshua’s waist, pulling him closer to you. His cock moves rapidly in you as he matches Jeonghan’s pace. The older of the two’s cock slams deep into you while the younger’s fills you up, satiating your fervent desires.

Your mind is reeling and you can’t focus on anything other than the sheer pleasure coursing through your body. You can feel Jeonghan and Joshua’s mouths and hands all over your body, feeding your hunger for them.

At some poit you realize that your cheeks are wet, tears freely streaming down your face as both men do their best to abuse your cunt.

You let out a strangled gasp when you feel one of Jeonghan’s hands snake around your neck, his other one grasping harshly at your breasts. His fingers close down around your neck, his hot breath brushing your ear. 

“Gonna let me and Josh cum inside you baby? Let us fill up your needy pussy with our seed?”

You whine, high pitched and needy. “Yes. Yes, please. Cum in me, use me however you want.”

“Hear that Shua? Our baby girl wants us to use her like the cumdump she is.” Jeonghan’s fingers are still tight around your neck, making you light headed in the best way possible. 

Instead of responding Joshua just roughly grabs your chin and pulls you into a kiss. His tongue slips into your mouth once more and nearly shoves it down your throat. You can barely breathe with Joshua’s mouth over yours and Jeonghan’s hand on your throat but you don’t care. It makes your head fuzzy and all of your senses go crazy to the point that there’s nothing other than Joshua Hong and Yoon Jeonghan.

A shudder runs through your whole body and without much warning your body is trembling as you hit your orgasm. Your pussy clenches down on Jeonghan and Joshua’s cocks, holding them in a vice grip. They both let out twin groans as your body goes limp in their grip, your mind completely blank.

You’re not sure who cums first, but before you know it they’re both spilling their seed into you, filling you up to the brim. You’re still shaking when they pull out, some of their cum spilling out and dripping down your legs. Slowly Joshua lowers you to the floor.

“You’re so pretty like this, Y/N-ah,” Jeonghan says in a soft voice. “All fucked out like a cock drunk whore.”

Your body is exhausted and you want nothing more than to rest, but then you feel Jeonghan’s fingers trailing against your puffy folds. You mewl out when you feel his fingers insert into you, shoving his and Joshua’s cum back into you.

“Can’t let it go to waste, can we?” He says with a smirk.

Your whole body is overstimulated and just having his fingers in you sends your twitching. Your fingers grasp at air and you whine.

“Shh, be a good girl for us. Can’t you do that pretty girl?” Joshua asks as he runs his hands up and down your warm skin. He stops at your tits, kneading them softly before flicking your sensitive nipples.

“J-josh, H-hannie!” You cry out. Jeonghan’s fingers are now moving rapidly inside of you, your walls fluttering as your body screams at you. 

Your eyes screw shut and your back arches as you reach your release once more. You can feel the liquid spray out of you, drenching your legs and Jeonghan’s hand. It seems to go on forever before your body is falling limp to the ground once more.

“Oh god princess, that was so hot,” Joshua says, a bit breathless. Jeonghan pulls his fingers from you satisfied with his work.

Your body is completely boneless as you lay on the ground, trying to catch your breath. Your eyes are closed and you think you may never get up ever again.

You’re not sure how long you lay there as Joshua and Jeonghan move around, cleaning up the mess you made and rubbing at your sore body. When you finally get some semblance of feeling human again you open your eyes and sit up.

“Hey baby,” Jeonghan says to you in a soft voice. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” you sigh, “very good.”

“Sorry we kind of went in hard there at the end,” Joshua says. He caresses your face with his hand. 

“I asked for it. I liked it,” you admit. “Thank you, you two.” 

“You’re thanking us?” Joshua laughs a big incredulously. “That was like a dream for me.”

Now with the ability to think again you glance around and realize you’re still on the floor, of the gym, covered in cum and sweat. 

“Ugh, I feel so gross. This is so gross, these floors are filthy,” you groan.

Jeonghan snorts. “Come on, we can go clean up in the locker room.”

“Round two in the showers?” Joshua shoots you and Jeonghan a mischievous look that Jeonghan sends back. You groan again.

“You two may have the stamina, but I certainly do not,” you state, knowing damn well that you’re going to let them fuck you again in the shower.

The boys are quiet for a moment as you three walk to the shower before Joshua finally pipes up. “So does this mean you choose us both?”

“Yeah,” you smile at them, “I choose you both…if you both still want me.”

“Of course! I’m not going to let him stop me from having you,” Jeonghan says.

“Even if you have to share?” You ask.

“Yeah, I’ll just be the better boyfriend,” Jeonghan proclaims proudly.

“Hey! I’m going to be the best boyfriend Y/Nnie can have!” Joshua shoves the other boxer’s shoulder. This sets off an argument between your two new boyfriends and you roll your eyes before turning on the shower.

The least you can say is that your relationship definitely won’t be a boring one.

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[moondirti]

7. PROPOSITION

CHAPTER SEVEN OF ANIMALIC | MIGUEL O'HARA X F!READER

↼ chapter six / chapter eight ⇀

summary: a proposition is made in hope for new beginnings

mature | 4.7k words warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, apocalypses, death, decay, blood, injury, sexual tension, angst, no use of y/n notes: I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ORIGINAL. anyway repost lol

During the liminal period between detonation and your understanding of it, you’d been convinced of your own fatality. Dead girl walking; the shell-shocked mantra playing in an unremitting loop as you navigated the flattened planes of your once-home.

New York was a ghost town. Or – town isn’t exactly the proper verbiage, not when it comes to describing the hollowed locale. It’d been flushed of all its previous pomp; skeletal buildings with their windows blown to bits, light posts bent at the root, central park a glorified bonfire pit for skyscraping flames. In truth, when you’d awoken, you couldn’t recognise your whereabouts. 

That was the basis for which you told yourself it was a dream. Everything existed as a distorted reflection of what you were familiar with, a fucked plane capable only of occuring in feverish delirium. The bite, you’d accepted – nodding to yourself grimly. You must’ve gotten sick again and passed out before the speech, transported to some stuffy hospital that pinned you with needles full of hallucinogens. How else could you have explained your occult ability to phase through walls, or the complete absence of people?

(In hindsight, it was denial more than anything.)

Yet time progressed on a tortoise’s shell, marching with all the leisure of reality. It didn’t jump like it would’ve had your consciousness been in charge, with its aversion to the mundane and grotesque. No; you’d started to see the faults in your logic when the substance that perpetually fell from the sky proved to be human ash, or when – the further down you travelled – maturating flesh increasingly marked your path. You’ve never known your mind to be so cruel. 

So, dead.

If so, then you’d settled on purgatory. A state where souls atone for their unforgiven sins and are purified. It was an interim solution; you weren’t the religious type, anyway. But maybe that'd been it. Maybe you’d been given a last hope at redemption, thrust in a distinctive nightmare to comprehend how much worse hell could be. At least you lacked pain, at least you were dressed – clad in the silk of your gala gown. But the sky had been red, covered in a sheet of dismal smoke, and you couldn’t see the stars at night.

It was a sign; you’d failed at reaching them. 

The notion had paralysed you for days, tearing at the false comfort you’d wrapped yourself in up to that point. You’d weeped, and tested the limits to your intangibility with lacking enthusiasm. Blotchy faced, snotty nosed – passing your arm through rubble, succeeding, then trying the same with your feet, which abraded against the rough surface instead. The inconsistency was hard to keep up with, but the task at least distracted you from a profuse existentialism.

You’d heeded no patterns; some days, you were completely nonphysical. Or, parts of you remained that way, while others shifted back to palpability. It’d been a tug of war, dependent entirely on your mood and a greater scheme you had no part of. With your limited comprehension, it’d only guaranteed the purgatory hypothesis. Not mortal, nor spirit. Stuck in a great between. 

(What heaven was worth this? Who deemed it so?) 

The guessing game got old. You’d needed something else – more than water, or a fresh change of clothes; good, honest science. Truth. You couldn’t move on until you’d had reason to believe the outcome could justify this. 

You turned to the cosmos then, impartial as ever, despite their discernible absence. They were still there, you knew. Just beyond the firestorms, the sun burnt bright enough to penetrate smog. Its hazy glow provided an alternate reminder of something for you to still pursue – wherever it was, wherever you were. You couldn’t be sure that an afterlife meant nirvana or elysian fields, yet fulfilment looked to be the common denominator. An underscore.

To you, that would only ever be one thing. 

Deep space, your stars – your Sol. 

(It was hope in the one way you could define it.) 

The threads started to converge in an instant of poetic cognizance. The Phoenicians had done it, and so too had ancient sailors. Stars for navigation, for reasoning. Of course. All that entailed for you was to certify you were worth it. 

You’d started by cleaning. Little things, far from where you’d originated. A neighbourhood of collapsing houses, nested in beds of fine porcelain and dust. The times where you could use your hands, you’d sweep the debris onto them and deposit it in a hole, harrowed from a singed lawn at the end of the row. When you were immaterial – a state that had begun gaining rarity the better you were able to cope – you’d focus on mentally tallying inventory. Some to set aside, for whatever poor individual would visit next, and the rest for you. A diet of canned beans and bottled water was better than nothing. 

Then, you’d dealt with the bodies. 

There were none within the city, nor the suburbs. It was only when you’d ventured outwards did they start to crop up; thin corpses with leathery skin still stretched over their frames, starved or burnt or both. The smell had been putrid, reeking of pure rot, and you’d surmised that perhaps they’d taken too long to find salvation. It’d motivated you to keep working, burying them in marked graves with a plug fastened over your nose. You didn’t want to end up like them, as a chore for the next. 

It was near impossible to keep a timeline of it all. Now, you estimate it as months, though it had felt longer. You’d gone through it with no milestones, or any inclination as to whether you were finally getting close. Cleaning the entire expanse of purgatory seemed too big a task to ask of anyone, immortal or not. Yet as the weeks crawled by, you’d started to reckon that was exactly it. You’d felt nothing special, no sweeping message from God alerting you of your success. Just more devastation, more labour. 

(Were you wrong?)

You’d started to get sick again. Irritated sinuses, a scratchy throat. Every breath you took was more useless than the last, oxygen unable to circumvent your system. Smoke inhalation, likely. You’d searched for ventilators to help treat the symptoms, alongside pain relief for the sores spotting along your palms. There’d been nothing, and that wasn’t to say it had always been that way. Empty, orange bottles decorated every barren street, purged by apocalyptic gluttons.

(You couldn’t trick yourself – the dead had no use for medicine.) 

Some fate must have willed it, though. It was there, in the seventh hospital you’d scavenged, that it’d happened. 

A… being, no taller than five foot four, decked in a bright yellow suit and a hazmat mask. Loitering the entryway with a trash bag full of salvaged goodies. It hadn’t noticed you, preoccupied with routing the way back home – so you rushed into a nearby room to change into your gown. It was wrinkled and torn in places, having been the outfit you’d initially spent weeks in, but it was far better off than the grimy cargoes you’d adopted in its place. 

You’d kept it for this; your day of judgement. 

It – he, as it turns out – lived in a bunker, deep beneath the catastrophic surface of the state. You’d followed him there. A perfectly normal thing to do, candidly, for someone who’d forgone social interaction since death. It couldn’t dawn on you that he was surely in the same boat; isolated, cornered like an animal on its haunches. If it had, you would've made an effort to approach him with caution. 

So, it certainly shouldn’t have come as a surprise when your ecstatic hello was met with an axe to the face. Naturally, it’d phased right through you, a feat which only furthered the old being’s terror. 

God had turned out to be more skittish than you’d expected. 

(“Blimey, whit the hell are ye supposit tae be.”

“I’ve been waiting so long–” 

“Ye're gonnae get yourself killed wearin tha’ flimsy thing, lass.”

You’d felt so stupid. You should have surmised that the occasion called for modesty.

“Forgive me,” 

“Whit is it ye want? I don’ have any food for sharin’.”

“Redemption, if you please. I promise I’ve been good, I just want to see the stars.” But of course he’d know that. “Sir. Lord, sir.”

“Is somethin wrong wi yer head?” He’d huffed. “It's tha’ radiation, I'm tellin’ ye. Or maybe I'm dead an’ seein’ things.”

Dead? Another lost soul? 

“Are you not God?”

“God? Ha!” The human scoffed. “Trust that I wouldn’ be livin’ in this rat’s ass if I was.”)

It turned out that he did have food, and plenty – stuffed cans stacked in rows atop rows of nourishment. Medicine too, an age old ventilator that he’d tapped with a knuckle to spur into function. He’d agreed to let you replenish if you’d take a gander at his malfunctioning radio, of which you had limited knowledge on but were willing to give a try. You’d no idea what he needed a radio for in the afterlife, anyway. 

(“The battery contacts are corroded, I think.” You had spit through a mouthful of corn. It’d tasted like pure sugar to your neglected tongue. “If it matters to you this much: baking soda to neutralise the acid, then a bit of vinegar over it to help wipe off the gunk.” 

“Smart one ye are,” He’d pulled a cigarette from one of his various pockets, lip curling at your inquisitive gaze. “Don’ give me tha’ look, I ain' got none for ye.” 

“I’m okay, thanks.” After a bit of deliberation, you’d added, “I’m afraid I don’t understand something.” 

“Whit is it this time?” 

“Why’d you set up permanent camp here? Don’t you want to leave?” 

“An’ where wad I go?” His lighter had taken several starts to sputter a flame. 

“Heaven. Hell – if that’s your thing. The cosmos?” 

He’d barked another one of those sturdy laughs. “Ye one o’ them fanatics? That say wha’ happened wis for good cause?”

“Huh?” Tentatively, you’d placed the radio back on its rickety stool. “What happened?” 

And all humour had drained from his face, his pupils hardening to flat beads. If it hadn’t been for the sudden shift in mood, you’d have gone forever traipsing on a fantasy. No; it was the tremor, the breaks in his once haughty inflection – idiosyncrasies that could’ve only been described as sympathy-triggered. It’d built upon your doubt, your already wavering faith, to strike you out of your mental regression. 

“The Alchemax bomb, lassie.”)

He had a bucket for you to throw up in, slick with panicked sweat, unable to hold on to anything as your body oscillated between materialities. He’d made no comment on how your hands fell through the floor, or the knees that started to sink alongside them. Your fault, your fault. Any thought besides blame hadn’t time to develop, recycled for fuel to keep the cognition running. Your fault. Your fault. All this time. 

(Who could you have turned to? You’d been praying to deities who’ve long since left.)

Night bled, and the man had retired. You’d stayed plastered to the ground, crouched over a slosh of your purged innards. The foulness hardly moved you; it’d felt good to punish yourself in that way. You’d taken to being your own arbiter, and such was one of the many reparations to come. 

(You’d shunned the voice that insisted you deserve none of it. If you hadn’t been so ambitious, so blind to the flaws–) 

You’d wanted to leave. So desperately that the wish had seized every cell in you, shaking them with a vigour unparallel to even celestial fury. You’d wanted to leave. There’d been nothing for you to divert your efforts to after learning the truth. Nothing you could have done to fix it. You’d wanted to leave. To anywhere but there.

Please. Please. Please. 

Just this one thing. 

The air warped.

You hadn’t noticed it immediately, still wrapped in your own misery. Scratchy skin accredited to grief, you kept rocking in place, bathing in muggy sobs. But it’d only grown worse, like a fraying fabric chafing along every appendage. Your dirty nails dug into your palms.

The friction peaked, rubbing you raw. You’d heaved in large gulps of oxygen, pulling at your flesh like it could’ve stopped it. Your jaw had unhinged, teeth clamping down on your thumb to muffle the overstimulated scream that’d threatened to break. Tears sealed your lash lines shut. 

Almost a second later, it stopped, interrupted by the blare of car horns. 

And, when you’d opened your eyes, you found that you were someplace else entirely.

Your fingers graze along something rough. At first, it’s easy to mistake as your jeans, the denim hardened in places with lack of care. 

The space seems to have shrunk since Miguel fell asleep, slumping inwards, its rock walls poking your elbows and curved spine with a clinical brutality. It’s difficult to imagine how he feels; twice your size, unused to fitting those muscles through tight squeezes. Disastrous still, the low creak of the steel arch above puts a timer on your misfortune. The topic of your demise is of increasing relevance. 

Perhaps he drifted off for that exact reason. To hinge on ignorance; an avoidance of this waiting game. Or, more credibly, to force you into a figurative detention. Think about what you’ve done, and what I’m asking of you. 

In any case, it’s working. The trauma you’ve tried repressing thus far rushes through your conscience, carving gaping canals of remorse, lapping at its banks to keep it fresh. You’re convinced your heart could give out, wrenched in innumerable directions, the only respite afforded being the glitches that rip through you. You deserve to stay here, but he doesn’t. He’s always only sought what was right. 

(You can fix it, do this one thing.

Though you can’t grasp where to begin.)

You pinch the fabric, tugging at it in a nervous tick. You don’t feel the tension across your calf, an observation that grows stranger the harder you pull. Reaching over with your free hand, you smooth over your pants. They’re still level with your shin bone, unmoved. 

Huh. 

There’s a mortifying moment where you fear that it’s Miguel’s suit you’re fiddling with, before taking into account that it’s impossible to twist the nanotechnology. 

And it’s too close in to be a wall.

You delicately trace the surface with your pinky, searching for any discernible edge, intent on mapping out the overall shape to deduce its origins. Your arms wave about in a frantic fashion, but to your bewilderment, you find no real boundary. Weirder yet, it appears to slice through your shoe and a portion of Miguel's thigh. 

Feels like–

Your stomach lurches, broiling in a bold concoction of thrill and trepidation. It throws you off guard, your brain lagging behind the reality your body already accepts. You know what it could be, having undergone the phenomena in several situations similar. An answered prayer during your lowest points – back at the man’s bunker, a few times since then.

Nerves humming with electric fervency, you tamp your hope into something more manageable, unable to handle another blow should this turn out poorly. Or – comparably – should you succeed; if this is, indeed, a portal. Your resolve trembles with the strength of a baby bird's wing, missing the survival instincts that once bolstered it. 

(What would it mean for you?)

Biting your lip, you plunge your fist through to the other side. 

It comes in contact with something cold, unlike anything in your little cave. Cold, glossy and… crinkly. A plastic bag of sorts, packed full of a pulpy filling. You’re tempted to draw away, disgusted, but redirect that intensity into inspecting instead.

The bag rests upon an uneven floor, marred by pebbles that lend a sense of ruggedness to the place. Outdoors. Downright filthy, too; judging by the clammy residue that sticks to your knuckles. Bile nudges up your oesophagus, inspired by the unidentified refuse you’re granted access to. Squalid; a dumpster, probably. Decorated in bursting trash bags.

But then–

Mooring yourself upon Miguel’s abdomen, you dip your forearm further in. The static off the portal’s perimeter sings with discordant vibrations, its intensity bordering on painful. It prickles the fine hairs along your limb, scouring any goosebumps raised with a grating ferocity. You stifle the whimper that arises as a consequence.

Your fingers dip under the trash, grazing something that makes you pause. Rubber. Ring-like. 

The day pass? 

Swallowing, you jerk it towards you. It doesn’t budge, stuck under the refuse. 

(It occurs to you to give up. The moral dilemma its purpose poses is abundantly clear.)

Hooking all four digits around its circumference, you pull harder. The portal eats at you, hostile to the foreign intrusion. Any longer and you’re afraid it’ll cut your arm clean off, right under where that gutter almost did the same. Your adrenaline had been enough to numb the torturous incident then, both physically and in memory – and though you lack that direct threat to your life now, the setup is much the same. A situation where you’re finally in control, a reclamation to the morality you’ve long since lost. It’s personal – the scolding he’d given you like a knife to old wounds. 

The prospect fuels the surge you need, distending through your biceps, reinforcing their efforts as you finally yank the bracelet out. The portal makes no noise when it zips back shut, but you feel the lull, its energy abandoning you to wallow, alone again. Or, not alone; you gently settle between Miguel’s legs, careful not to disturb him. 

There’s a stark silence that passes afterward, a line of astonishment keeping it intact. You allow it, needing time to process the staunch implications of the day pass sagging upon your lap. Its lilac hue gives a faint light to your surroundings, illuminating the cranny you’ve only been able to picture so far. It’s about what you expected – save for the resting face of your companion. 

He looks good. Which isn’t to say he doesn’t usually, but the peace that graces his features compliments him, rounding out any harsher edges. You trail your gaze up his neck, to the jaw that points to a pronounced chin. Lips that pout even over retracted fangs. An aquiline, masculine nose. It fits him, you think. Lends itself to the fluffy hair that frames his sharp cheekbones. You linger on it probably longer than you should. 

That is, until you catch sight of the blooming discolouration marring his temple. 

It’s partially obscured in shadow, yellowing along the ends and purple in places you don’t have the advantage of properly observing. Yet, the bruise communicates all it needs to, loud and explicit. You’re not in a position to procrastinate any longer; you’ve already spent a year running from fate. It might make you sick, your organs tying together in a nauseating knot – and every impulse in you might scream against it. To run away; to leave him here for dead. Live the rest of your life in peace – it’s only right, it’s only right.

Then, you remember what he’d said to you. 

(“Explain this to me, O’Hara – what just providence made me spider-woman to a barren land?” 

“It’s not fair.” He didn’t skip a beat, tone laced with a hard understanding. “But it’s fact.”) 

You really hate him sometimes. 

Bracing yourself, you shake his shoulder. He’s up in an instant, snatching your wrist in one warm palm. You wait for the tired mist over his awareness to melt, a stone lodged in your throat.

“¿Qué es?” He whisper-shouts. “What?”

“I–” Your voice warbles. Pathetic. “I have something for you.” 

He squints. 

(Rightfully so.) 

Breathing through the hesitation that strikes the rungs of your ribcage, you hold up the day pass. 

He doesn’t realise what you mean immediately, flicking back and forth between the bracelet and your furrowed brows. Realistically, his doubt can’t have lasted longer than a few seconds, yet you’re eternally paralysed within the anticipatory dread – a fossilised mosquito captured in amber. Even when he does eventually catch up, you stay still, letting him pilfer the key to your freedom and watching as his drowsiness sharpens into a pointed resolve. 

And you don’t stray, not for the entire stretch during which he tinkers with its components. It’s not his aforementioned allure that encourages it, nor the sudden flashbacks to your earlier breakdown. Ridiculously enough, it’s satisfaction – a contentment at having finally defied your self-interests. You look to him like you had the sun back home. For validation on the path you’re headed towards, a small hint of a job well done. You’re too cautious of your own pride, betrayed by it more often than anyone else, but he–

He knows what it means to be a true spider-hero. 

You hope that one day, you will too. 

“Lyla?” Miguel demands into his watch, testing to see whether the spare parts of your contribution resolved its issues. 

“You’re alive! Huh,” A miniscule projection of his LYrate lifeform approximation blinks into existence, tilting her heart-shaped glasses down as if to punctuate her disbelief. 

“I came across a few obstacles, but I’ve got the Wr-” He catches your wince. “Our target. Set coordinates for 928. I’m coming home.” 

“Gotcha. Can you wait until Reilly coughs up a twenty, though?” 

“You bet on my survival?” 

“Silver linings!” 

“Lyra.” 

“Okay! Alright. Home it is, boss.” 

“And tell Jess to be on stand-by with an empty cell,” He adds, lowering his pitch to one more understated. You can’t lie and imply your appreciation – no matter what he does to soften your circumstance, it retains its somberness. You’re going back to that desolate wasteland, and this time, you have no will in ever leaving. 

“Figured you’d want to get her in the go-home machine as soon as possible. No?” 

“No.” He asserts, the decision rumbling from deep within his chest. You steel yourself against the shiver that wobbles through you. “I’m not done with her, yet.” 

“Explain something to me, would you?” 

You smell of lemon antiseptic and dirt, arms wrapped in fresh bandages from shoulder to wrist. It’s an unpleasant combination, exacerbating the headache that gnashes on your skull under these fluorescent lights – darkness having been an ally to your concussion. The acetaminophen they’d given you at the med-bay has done nothing to aid your pain, and you’re convinced that the only thing that would work is a long, hot bath. 

That is to say, you’re not ready to have this conversation. 

When you don’t respond, Miguel stands from his seat, exercising the prominent muscles in his legs. His sweats do their best to conceal them, but you’d been in close quarters with him for far too long to have forgotten the way they bulge and shift with every move. If you focus, you can sense them now, pressing against your ass, pinning you in place. 

He huffs. You doubt your glassy-eyed ogle is doing you any favours. 

“Can’t make any promises.” You murmur, before deciding against it. It probably isn’t the best time to test him. “I’ll try my best.”

It’s the first time you see him in casual clothing, which changes him – much like sleep does. Outside of his suit, he looks younger, on a pedestal closer to common man. A white t-shirt stretched taut across his chest, loose pants. Lighter colours, in complement to his bronzed complexion. 

Get a hold of yourself. 

“For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve managed to weasel your way out of responsibility.” He starts. Wrong, you want to say, because your breakouts have always been based on pure luck. “You threaten falling into floors, to phase through walls. Except, when we were trapped back on 15. You silently accepted our fate, despite having every means to prevent it. It’s telling, in my opinion.” 

You nod, already aware of what he’s getting at. “Sounds like you don’t need me to explain, so–” 

“You can’t control your powers, can you?” 

“Bit late in figuring that one out.”

“Then how’d you come about the day pass?” He presses, not so much questioning anymore.

As it stands, you have two options: 

To lie. It’s easy, natural after a full year of it. Your interrogator doesn’t need to know the truth if all he’s going to do is send you back, and with his newfound revelation about the nature of your abilities, it could prove advantageous to keep their full scope from his knowledge. You don’t owe him shit. 

That’s Wraith talking, of course.

The you you want to be, however, beckons for candour. There pervades the confessional once more, a box drawn around you, prompting you to relieve yourself of all your secrets so you can be cleansed. Religion – a fickle thing, but it feels right, here. 

Besides, who knows when you’ll be able to talk to anyone again. 

“I’m not… entirely sure.” Your frown tucks underneath your teeth, and you suck on your lip while trying to formulate a coherent answer. “It’s happened previously. It’s like a portal, except it’s invisible and appears on the irregular occasion. I was thinking of ho– my earth when it materialised by my hand.” 

His forehead creases, drawing in incredulously. 

“You can create gateways into other dimensions?” 

“Not quite. My working theory is that, somehow, the boundaries between worlds are thinning. I think I mentioned how my intangibility works?” He gives an affirming blink. “My atoms find the quickest way through something, so maybe they’re able to do the same through, ya know, the literal fabric of space-time.” 

It really does sound idiotic to put out loud. 

Miguel cups his face, rubbing away the weariness gathered in his wrinkles. There’s a plaster over the contusion on his forehead, overcast by rowdy tresses of wet hair. You do your best to suppress the image of him in the shower, steeling your expression into one of indifference. 

“That holds up. This started a year ago?”

“Yeah,” 

“There was a thing with a super-collider.” 

“A… thing.” The scientist in you cringes. Though, you have no room to talk. 

“All I’m getting from this is that, if I were to send you home, you could just high-tail out of there whenever the opportunity arises.” 

His distrust shouldn’t shock you as much as it does. You ponder the best way to go about this, yet your tongue betrays you, speaking before you can lasso it back under command. 

“In theory, yes.” You pause, waiting for it to sink in. “But I won’t.” 

Some grand gesture of faith that was, you imbecile. 

“Sure.” He stresses, unconvinced. 

Taking a step forward, you crane your neck to meet his eye. Patchouli catches the office draft, clouding your head until all that comes from you is unintelligible nonsense. 

“I’m sick of this game of cat and mouse. I don’t want to be the bad guy any more.” Your thunderous heartbeat drowns the effect of your proclamation. It’s hard to tell whether you come across as genuine or not. “All my life, I’ve only ever done what was wrong, what was selfish.” You rephrase his earlier reproach. “Let me be right, just this once.” 

Your conviction sways when he tenses. No; this doesn’t feel honest, not even to you. 

You want to be good. With all the fire of every star in this goddamn universe, blazing hot and colliding to expel devastation upon its neighbours. It shrinks up in your core, skyrocketing in temperature. It verges on explosion; a supernovae, life-giving. You want. You want. You want.

But, you’re afraid you don’t know how. 

“We can make a deal?” You offer, plummeting to new depths of uncertainty. A deal requires mutual credence; for every skipped vow, you’ll lose out on something too. “Let me stay, just until I learn how to be the hero you need me to be. After that, I’ll go home – I swear it. And you’ll never have to worry about me again.” 

He gives no blatant indication as to whether he’s seriously considering it. His head dips, and he turns his back to you, likely calculating collective factors to form the best solution. The way you perceive it, though – this elongated reticence:

He sees no other choice. 

chapter eight

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[doobea]

DAYTIME SHOOTING STAR - REO MIKAGE

synopsis: Being a college student sucks. Having a crush on your best friend also sucks. Your best friend having a crush on your other best friend is . . . kinda the worst. In which, Reo is hopelessly in love with you but you’re hard crushing on Nagi.

-> MASTERLIST. -> PLAYLIST.

contents: second lead syndrome feat. fem!reader & reo, heavy narration in the beginning as per usual whoops, also in an au where bluelock never happened LOL, grandparental meeting, reo x stardew valley vibes, of course y/n and reo get together duh, nagi's been shipping them together since high school word count: 3.9K a/n: FINAL PART OUT YAY :3 thank you for joining me on this journey hehe this was also my first time attempt of writing reo so hopefully his characterization went ok ;-;

VEGA -> prev.

You get the feeling that Nagi is up to something, after a while.

Well, Nagi is always up to something — gaming and dozing off, to be exact. This time, though, all of his attention seems to be fixated on you.

“That’s not your sweater,” he says, pointedly, one day, when you waltz into their apartment with a handful of pastries. You decided to make a detour trip to a local bakery earlier in the morning, carefully curating the palettes of the two males because —well— after that happened you felt like a small offering would be needed in a way. 

Like how many others delegate, the kiss was rather… confusing to all. Nagi doesn’t bring it up when you three all return back to festival grounds, nor does he bring it up to Reo when you finally go home. Reo’s been texting you like all things are normal, and you guess it’s because he doesn’t really know what to do either. Though, he’s been more endearing than usual over text, which you take as a sign that something is progressing.

Let’s just say that it’ll be weird for you to wake up without a ‘good morning, did you eat yet?’ text from a certain billionaire’s son.

Backstory aside, Nagi’s not lounging around for once. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter with a freshly brewed cup of coffee in his hands from a brand you’re not familiar with. Judging by its fine print font and pastel color scheme, you assumed that Nana stopped by not too long ago. And his gaze isn’t leaving your sweater. Whatever, you’re probably not wearing it correctly anyway. Stupid rich people problems.

“It’s Reo’s,” you say, lightly, and scoot by him to place down the baked goods. “He accidentally gave me his sweater when he returned my things, that’s all.” 

It wasn’t an accident. Reo had made sure to spray that sweater with all the cologne he had. The sweater is warm, comfortable, and smells just like him. It’s nice.

Nagi gives you a look. It’s not a strong look, but it’s obvious enough to make your cheeks heat up. “Uh huh,” he deadpans before giving you a full up-down. “You’re wearing it, though.”

“Yeah, I am,” you shrug it off, trying to pretend that you don’t understand what the big deal was. 

Okay, yeah, your best friend suddenly kisses you and now you’re rethinking about your life choices since high school because you were so sure that you liked his other friend. And the fact that you kissed back? Was that supposed to happen? And you didn’t wear this sweater today in hopes of Reo seeing you, nope that’s not it. Reo doesn’t make you feel warm and fuzzy because this sweater does all of that. It’s a comfort thing and Reo doesn’t bring you comfort… right?

You apparently have some cheesy expression written all over your face, though, and that causes Nagi to pinch your cheek to snap you back to reality. “Suits you,” Nagi decides to end the topic before shifting to the main subject. “Reo’s out this morning.”

“I wasn’t trying to see him,” you grumble out, eyes narrowing as you fix yourself a latte and adding way too many shots of espresso to fight off your internal turmoil. You add a large serving of caramel syrup to balance out the bitterness and then top it off with a heavy serving of whipped cream, sighing happily as you get a mouthful of the sugary concoction within the first sip.

Nagi simply shakes his head and drains the rest of his drink in one go. “Well, he’s been talking about you nonstop, if that makes—” Nagi stops in his tracks when he watches your ears perk up. “—you happy…”

At this point, Nagi probably thinks everyone is in on a poorly executed inside joke, except for him. He doesn’t like it, but what can he do? His two best friends are now awkwardly pinning each other and neither of them are sparing him any details. Then again, he’s not sure if he wants all the details. So, instead of poking a dead fish around, he exits to the living room and throws on a weekly series that he’s been meaning to catch up on. These past two months have been quite tiring.

You eventually join him on the couch, body now running on full blast of caffeine and loads of caramel. “Sei, tell me everything that he’s said, please?” and you throw out your best attempt at puppy eyes because you know that Nagi has always been horrible at saying no to these kinds of things.

But maybe getting a girlfriend has changed him, somewhat.

“You’ll hear it from him, eventually,” Nagi simply answers, smiling.

Of course, regardless of how many times you repeat yourself, Nagi would spit back the same response. Since when did he start caring for Reo’s secrecy all of a sudden? Pretty lame. You zone out when an action sequence comes on the screen and begin texting Reo.

‘where are you’ You text over a character monologue in the background.

‘At some stores, picking up last minute gifts for later.’ Reo replies back with a series of emojis.

By ‘stores’, you would only guess it’s nothing but high-end designer stuff. ‘Gifts’ implying that he’s buying multiple for your family and relatives. ‘Later’ is when the two of you will depart on visiting your hometown for the weekend because it turns out Reo was actually serious about taking up your off-handed comment.

‘i told you not to get anything!!’ You send an angry emoji right after. 

Nagi is absolutely reading over your shoulder, too, and if looks could kill, you’re pretty sure you’d be in a million pieces, burning to bits on the floor. “Got a hot date with Reo, huh?”

“Well, you didn’t want to come and we’re not dating…” you huff before pushing him away. “And stop reading my texts!”

“Don’t text while I’m watching my show, it’s distracting.” Nagi shoots back, and you don’t really have an argument for that.

Though, you just glare at him until he eventually backs off and you go back to texting Reo, a bit more subtly, talking about various expensive gifts that he can get instead of showing up to your family doorsteps with diamonds and silk robes. You haven’t had anyone from the city come visit your hometown, so you’re a little nervous to say the least. Especially since someone accompanying you is several tax brackets ahead…though Reo wouldn’t judge you differently. Because he likes you, in more ways than one. Fuck.

You’re ignoring a lot of things happening right now, and bringing him over to meet your family is making you feel weird. Ugh, whatever.

In the end, Reo ends up returning half of his purchases because apparently designer bags and jewelry won't serve your grandparents that well in their everyday lives. So he opts to buy them expensive fruits instead. Fruits are already expensive in the country, so when Reo showed up with boxed grapes that costed more than your current outfit, you could've sworn your eyes were about to pop out of your sockets.

Reo should’ve known better than to wear anything remotely formal when he agreed to come visit your hometown. Tailored suits are expensive and difficult to replace and, from what he’s experienced within the past hour, the mud that’s been splattered all over his dress shoes and pants haven’t gone away no matter how much cleaning reagent he’s used so far. But complaints are off the table, no matter how much he absolutely wants to point out the sweltering heat and the lack of air conditioning in your home. 

The plane ride over wasn’t any better. You blatantly refused to use his credit card for first-class seating upgrades regardless how many times he’d begged you.

“It’ll only be a two hour flight, Reo. Plus, economy isn’t that bad.” You reasoned. 

Oh, but it was.

He’s a gentleman and gentlemen should always let others pick which seat they want first. Window seat was a non negotiable for you, and he didn’t really mind. What he did mind was the random stranger seated to his right.

Screen brightness — max.

Volume settings — max.

Chewing noises — sadly, also max.

It’s a miracle that he didn’t flag down an attendant and leave you for first class. Well, flight aside, landing happens and, inevitably, comes the next part.

“Are you enjoying your stay so far?”

Your grandmother comes into view, coming to Reo’s rescue with a sunhat and a bottle of water, and the basket next to her was already filled to the brim with all types of vegetable assortments from the garden. Reo graciously takes the hat and sips of the water before glancing down at his own basket, which is very much barren. He thought offering to help with harvesting will win him some brownie points, but he should’ve known how dirty it would get.

“It’s definitely different from what I’m used to, but it’s nice here.” He’s honest about the last part. 

The city doesn’t offer much in terms of parks and recreational activities and, despite the fact he’s pretty sure his button up is practically attached to his skin and that there’s probably a centipede (or two) crawling in his shoes, the whole nature thing is pretty serene. Your parents’ old home is a cozy cottage right off the side of the country road, surrounded by rice paddy fields with a wide range of mountains in the backdrop. Occasionally, Reo would see truck drivers making pit stops out in the front to either pick up a small shipment or make small talk with your grandfather — it’s completely foreign to him given that he’s so used to the stuffy business world. Seeing all of this makes Reo understand why some would enjoy a life of simple living and solitude. 

Your grandmother laughs. “We were afraid that you wouldn’t like it here.”

To this, Reo digs his hands back into the soil and pulls out a set of carrots in hands. “Sorry, did I give off that impression?” Says the boy who’s currently dressed head to toe in formal wear. Idiot. 

“Our granddaughter has been…” she trails off for a moment, finger pursed to her lips and head tilted, before finishing. “She’s been blowing up the family group chat about this trip for a while now. Safe to say she’s been worried.” 

Oh. That’s news.

Reo wipes off the puddle of sweat from his face and straightens his back. “It’s beautiful and peaceful here, you wouldn’t be able to get this back in the city. Everyone’s been really nice and the food,” he points down to the field. “You wouldn’t be able to get these without them costing an arm and a leg for the sake of being ‘organic’.”

“Sounds like you want to move here.”

And for the sake of earning those brownie points, “Yeah, I can see myself doing that one day.”

“Imagine that. Can’t stay away from our granddaughter, right?” she teases, and it causes him to do a double take.

“W-What?”

She ignores Reo’s stammering and hands him a pair of gloves and a metal bucket. “Once you finish picking the rest, come meet me by the farmhouse, the cows need some attention.”

Reo might have to rethink his career path after this trip.

“Can you tell your cousins to knock it off, please?” Your best friend is grumbling and hiding behind you for all things safety related.

One thing you forgot to mention, outside of the laborious work, is that your little cousins are an absolute menace to outsiders. The youngest one has been non stop terrorizing Reo around the house with a live grasshopper while the older one keeps throwing him glares and middle fingers. This has been going on right after dinner and Reo’s getting really sick of them and their chattering about how they hate seeing you with someone that needs ‘pampering’.

You huff and roll your eyes playfully. “You think I haven’t tried shutting them up?”

“Good point,” Reo groans from behind. He’s gripping your shoulders as if he’s on life support, shaking every time the youngest one raises the grasshopper closer. “Can’t you just give them an iPad or anything?”

“And what? So they can turn into those kids who stare at a screen all day? No thank you.” You tease, but you give your cousins a final stern look before getting to their eye level. 

Reo watches, silent but amused, as you pluck the insect out of the boy’s grasp and pinch his cheek with a light tug, not enough to shed tears but enough to cause him to yelp. You motion the older one over, who just grumbles under his breath but obeys anyway.

“Big sis, we swear we’re just playing together—” the older one starts, and you simply respond with a hard head shake.

“That’s not how we treat guests in our home. Last time I checked, you guys didn’t like it when I made you clean out the pig pen for fun,” you retort with a casual grin. “Time to head back to auntie’s place anyway, it’s way past your bedtimes.”

Both of them sigh in defeat, but that doesn’t stop them from throwing up a pair of middle fingers at Reo. Hey, down with the rich — they’re on the right track in life. And you know deep down they’re just looking out for you ever since your experience in high school, even if the hatred towards city folks is on the extreme side.

You’re stifling a laugh as the pair leave the house. Reo loosens his grip on your shoulders when they are out of ear shot and nudges your sides because you still have that damn grasshopper in your hands.

“Puke or cry in my house and I’m making you sleep with the cows tonight.” The threat is spoken casually, with a bit of affection to it, but Reo knows damn well it’s a valid threat.

“I’m not going to puke or cry,” he replies, haughtily. “And, for the record, I helped the cows earlier today so I’m practically their mother.”

“Oh yeah, thanks for that, you didn’t have to.” You gently toss the grasshopper out the kitchen window, making sure it landed on a patch of soft grass. “Grandma was constantly raving about you after you finished. Saying something about planning the next weekend trip together.”

“Yeah, might as well help around, you know?” Reo weakly chuckles and briefly looks down at his hands. What he doesn’t add is that his hands are going to be sore for the next few days and that maybe your grandparents think he’s going to move in with them in the future. Something of that sort.

“It’s not the worst idea,” You grin. The sun is down, and the stars in the sky are starting to poke through. You catch Reo trying to get a good look before an idea pops up. “My room has a pretty good view of everything, if you want to head up?” You would offer to lay outside but, considering that the ecosystem here offers much bigger bugs, you decided against it.

Unsurprisingly, Reo takes up on the suggestion.

Your old bedroom is sparsely furnished, and that’s intentional. Most of your personal belongings are currently at your college apartment. All that’s left is a full sized bed, an old boxy television with an equally old boxy stand, a couple of bookshelves stuffed full of children's books, and one of those large colorful beanbags by the window sill. 

It’s a nice bedroom, for all things considered. A lot more vibrant and has more character than Reo’s old bedroom growing up. From what he’s shown you before, his bedroom was almost a black and white minimalist’s wet dream. 

“It’s a bit dusty, hope you don’t mind.”

Your bedroom window has a nice view of the mountain side, and Reo’s quickly distracted by the swarm of fireflies and night stars as he quickly shoves his suitcase into the corner and settles on your bed without a second thought. 

“I like it,” He replies, in a careful, casual voice. And maybe it’s just your imagination, but you swear, your best friend sounds both anxious and excited, and maybe there’s a hint of nerves in there, too. Whatever it is, your stomach is back to doing those weird flips.

You try to think. You’re aware of several things right now. First, your best friend is making himself very comfortable in your bed. Second, he’s giving you a look, one that just screams some sort of smug superiority. Third, despite it being humid and warm in your room, you really just want to bury your face into his shoulder. Maybe you should climb in with him, look at the stars together, curled up and snuggling, maybe even run your fingers through his hair, and—

“So,” Reo interrupts and snaps you out of your strange reverie. “You’re sleeping on the floor, right?”

“Huh?” your voice is bleary, and your thoughts are kinda far off. Reo shuffles his way under your sheets and suddenly you put two and two together. “I saved you from those little demons and this is the thanks I get?” 

“I deserve it since I worked,” Reo sighs, dramatically, when you finally find the courage to sit down on the ends of the mattress. “Or did you want to share it together?” Tease oozes into his tone.

That last bit makes your heart skip a couple of beats. Alcohol wasn’t in the dinner mix and, even if it was, Reo would never be this bold in front of you. Perhaps there’s something floating in the summer air.

“Stop pretending that you live here,” but you eventually settle yourself underneath the blankets too, just on the other side to put some good inches in between.

Reo’s smiling, and that’s all that matters. It doesn’t bother you when he manages to hog all the blankets and the limited amount of pillows. He’s a gentleman, but also has his needy side that he’s not afraid of showing. Not to mention that he looks good in the dim lighting, even though he’s only been wearing one of your grandpa’s old t-shirts after working in the field. It finally makes the strange fluttering in your stomach calm into a steady, present warmth, and that’s maybe more problematic, but you don’t give it any real thought.

Reo speaks up after a few passing heartbeats. “Can I… say something?” 

You swallow thickly. “Go for it.”

It can’t be just your imagination, the way Reo’s mouth parts, just a little, the way his tongue is dating out to wet his lips. You’re leaning forward, hand reaching down between. You can’t stop looking at him. 

“I want…” Reo tries to say, but his throat is a giant lump.

“Reo,” You breathe out in response, head tipping, “If you keep looking at me like that, then…”

It comes in swift moments, with Reo pressed close, with both of your hips bumping together, with arms slung over the other’s shoulder. There’s been those moments of laughter, where it feels as if the whole world has faded away in a blur beyond the gaze of your best friend. It’s cliche and dumb, but you feel, in a way, that you’ve been looking at Reo for your life. And you have, really, because he’s always been there for you.

There’s a lot of things that Reo could say. They’re burning on his tongue, building in his throat, getting stuck there. He should just push them out, just say it. Or, maybe, he should say nothing at all, because that wonder and those answers are all reflected in your gaze.

Both of you are so close that he can make out every strand of your lashes. He can see the subtle shift of color in your eyes, the dark band increasing around your pupils, that slight nervous glimmer there. It’s got Reo’s heart pounding in his chest, hammering to be freed. He’s got one hand pressed into the small of your back, stroking there, slow and affectionate. His other hand is trembling, just a little, and he steadies himself bracing it against your cheek.

It’s got you shivering, and Reo realizes that you’re both a bit terrified.

“I want to be yours,” Reo might be nervous as hell, but he steels his voice, and brushes your lips together, he’s so close, when he talks. “I can’t think about anything else when I’m with you. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing, but—”

“Reo,” you take the initiative here, shifting closer, and settling your lips close to his neck. “It’s okay. I want you too.”

You take another inch forward and Reo allows it. Maybe you’re both getting more comfortable with each other. Maybe getting brave and feeling more grown up. Likely, it’s a combination of everything, and a good dose of ‘fuck it’s, from being young, and dumb, despite it all.

You’re not sure who leans in first but, before it even fully registers, his lips glide over yours. There’s some awkward teeth clacking involved, probably from the fact both of you are way too full of nerves over this, but Reo fixes it and begins to trace his tongue over the small opening of your lips. You move your hands straight to his locks, still damp from the earlier shower he took and the scent of lemongrass and citrus invades your nostrils.

Reo's kissing you as if he wants to swallow you whole. It's hungry, desperate, and intimate in a way that made your heart swell triple in size. The sounds of your beating chest floods your ears as he's pouring his emotions into the kiss, making sure that he's leaving behind evidence that his soul is yours to claim. The heat radiating off his body pulls you in, like an invitation, and you sink further into his touch.

After a moment, you pull back, hands still entangled in his hair.

“Your parents, aren’t you worried about—”

“I don’t pay mind to that type of stuff,” he presses a firm kiss on your forehead. “And you shouldn't have to either. That’s a future thing to worry about.”

That sounds good, you agree, but you’re growing too sleepy to voice it. Instead, you shut your eyes, reaching over blindly to find the edges of the blankets, tugging it up over you two. There’s really no way to move, without cramming at the edge of the mattress. You don’t care, and Reo doesn’t seem to, either.

“Hey, Reo?” You mumble as you both slip into silence.

“Yeah?” He’s tried, but awake enough to shake past the exhaustion, enough to form vague words. “What is it?”

You sit up, just a little, and it’s enough to inspire Reo to force his eyes open. You’re watching him, eyes intent, shining bright with emotion. It’s almost — just almost — enough to have Reo saying those three special little words. They’re right there, on the tip of his tongue, and only then he realizes that he’s terribly in love with you. He’s hopelessly in love. It’s way too early to say it, but he is.

You laugh, burying your face in Reo’s neck again, pressing a kiss there. “I’m glad that you’re here with me.”

Reo has hesitated a lot, during the past months. It’s taken him a while to get here. For once, though, awake or dreaming, it doesn’t matter. He doesn’t hesitate. 

“I’m glad too,” he mumbles, and then, he’s dreaming, of endless what if’s and possibilities with you now in his life.

© 2023 DOOBEA. do not copy any of my writing and translate/repost.

additional note: idk why it took me over a month to pump this out LMAO but i hope you guys like the ending bc i was mulling over this chapter so many times before deciding to end it as such... anyways, I WILL BE BACK INTO MY BLLK FIC GROOVE HEHE gotta focus on my milestone fics + that ice skating rin series next :3 i love you guys and thanks again for being patient with me ;3

TAGLIST -CLOSED

@celestair @kitorin @popponn @yoisami @anurst @katsukiiishoe @yuzurins @vitaniangel-blog @kunikame @miwafei @astruoise @faeroow @wooasecret @limerence-lu @jaynawayna @iloveblogging2 @futuristicxie @rinlvr @au-ghosttype @wavetokio @yuusami @phtogravi @funnibunneh @idontevenknow129 @startaee @darthvada @livelaughloveisagiyoichi

[itsabouttimex2]

I loved the reactions to the lady bone demon defendant! But what about LBD reacting to it? Platonic of course, but would she try to manipulate them? Perhaps get them to join her willingly or by force?

Descendant of the Lady Bone Demon: Part Three

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

Maybe they should've seen this coming. Maybe there were a few warning signs they didn't pick up on. Looking back on it now, it's pretty obvious, isn't it? All those little things should've added up a long time ago.

The way the room grew silent and tense when you walked in, no matter how how exuberant it had been prior. How you manage to sneak up on everyone without even trying, as though you had no presence. The wide berth that strangers give you, even though they can't explain why. That last one had been particularly strange for your friends. They hadn't understood why people would treat you so coldly, not back then.

They understand now.

Just because someone loves you doesn’t mean that they want the best for you.

The man that Megapolis calls their ‘Mayor’ has somehow become your most enduring caretaker thus far. Everyone that came before him had either given you up after a few scarce months of guardianship, disappeared without a trace, or succumbed to some kind of sickness.

Frequently, the blame had been put on you. If a child gets passed through foster home after foster home after foster home and never acclimates to any of them, there’s a conclusion that many will draw- the child isn’t trying hard enough.

Never mind how many of your guardians would leave you locked outside for hours on end, well into the freezing cold night.

Never mind how often they ‘forgot’ to properly feed and clothe you, pocketing the allotted care salary for themselves.

Never mind often you weren’t allowed to explore the temporary houses outside of your own room, kept away from areas meant for ‘real’ family.

Never mind often how you were fed box-mix macaroni-and-cheese while your foster family ate real meat and vegetables.

Never mind any of that, of course.

The problem was obviously you, your ‘families’ had decided. And so had their friends and extended families, and even the system that threw you from one miserable little home to the next, leaving you with no one and next to nothing. All that you owned you carried around in a disposable plastic sack, never bothering to unpack and try to settle in.

You’d be gone in another month or two anyways.

Until you had been introduced to the mayor of Megapolis, that had been all the life you had ever known.

With one hand firmly on your back, he leads you into his house, a discreet building hidden away in quiet part of the city. It stands proudly above you, an ancient building refitted time and time again to suit the ever-changing trends of time. The walls are painted in elegant grays and a variety of tastefully selected blues, providing a clean and refined atmosphere.

It wasn’t often that you could truly call a temporary home clean. And this was certainly the first time you could apply an adjective such as ‘elegant’ to a building.

So many houses run-down from lack of care, pet urine long-seeped into fraying carpets, worn cots covered in dust and packed six or eight to one crumbling room.

His arm shifts down your back and to your wrist, holding tight. With such unnervingly wide eyes and the rictus grin he sports, you should be scared.

You should be scared that he’ll hurt you. But you’ve lived a life that’s proven to you a single fact: getting hurt is inevitable.

No matter how much you come to trust someone or how long you live with them- there’s no love or kindness. Just an always-ticking clock, counting down until the moment they break and throw you out quicker then they would toss trash.

But there’s no bruising grip this time. No harsh shoves. No unkind words. No molded side room that smells of bleach and detergent.

“Welcome home, Y/N!” he calls out with a much too loud tone, grinning ear to ear. “I hope you like your new room!”

It’s… actually nice. Not ‘for your standards’ nice. It’s ‘hotel’ nice. ‘Lavish guest room’ nice.

The longer you spend basking in the pleasantly smooth greys and blues of your new room, the more welcoming they feel.

“Thanks,” you manage to say, hoping that you weren’t ‘too late with gratitude’ as you had been so many times before according to many, many caretakers.

“Why, of course!” The grey-clad man pats your back with far too much force, pushing you inside with a stretched grin. “Please, get comfortable! I hope you’ll enjoy your- hopefully- very long stay!”

The door slams behind you, but doesn’t lock. That’s good, you think. You could leave, if you wanted to. You weren’t just trapped in here until your case worker came and asked for you.

And you think that might be the case when he knocks on the door hours later, probably to hand you a metaphorical eviction notice and throw you out because he got ‘unnerved’ like everyone always does-

And you are instead invited downstairs for a hot drink.

How could you say no?

The fireplace is hot, stoked by old papers strewn between the logs inside. If you looked closer, you’d see the names of your previous caretakers and case workers, printed onto them in neat lettering, all in a short, succinct list. And you’d notice the big ‘missing persons report’ stamped in bright red.

But the tea is warm and sweet, and the ‘Mayor’ has his arm around your shoulders as he holds you a little too close-

And you’re naive and desperate enough to consider this safe.

The Lady Bone Demon watches from within. She’s an ever-present force creeping through your veins, ice-cold and unearthly. Her power courses your blood, pumping slow. She feels through your hands. She sees through your eyes. She hears through your ears.

There’s no escape from her.

Carefully, the Lady sows and reaps your suffering. From the confines of your flesh, she makes note of all that brings you to tears, all that brings you to your knees.

In pulses, she strengthens you. Where you walk, crystals grow, smothering flowers and grass in your unknowing wake.

In waves, she activates the powers lying dormant in your veins. Bones buried deep underground shift and stir, waiting eagerly to heed your call.

In surges, she unleashes her presence, staining your eyes the color of a deathly cold ocean. All but a select few retreat in droves, leaving you to wonder what you’ve done to deserve your loneliness.

It is nothing short of cultivation. Within you blooms a small seed of her power, and she stokes it from the inside. The bud of cold blue slowly blooms, rooting deep through your blood. In time, she weaves those roots further and further into the fertile soil of your flesh, ensuring that they may never be pulled free without the utter destruction of your life.

A flower; unremovable, of crystalline sinew and careful tending, a slow and creeping overtake of your life woven by hands unseen. A growing mote of power to be plucked and consumed, taken as part of a greater whole when the day finally comes that you bloom.

And what a wonderful sacrifice you shall make for her cause.

[bangchansgirlsblog]

I have a request, you could pick which ever <3!! stray kids (idm the member) making a bet on the reader to get with them, stray kids comforting reader thinking they’re cheating but the reader isn’t. I’m

I saw someone else do this and it was so good, but your one of my favorite stray kids writer , but if your not wanting to I totally understand ><

- 🌷

Silly bet

Warning: None

Pairing: Han x reader

Summary: ^^

!kinda proof read!

Thank you for the request love ☺️

Hope you enjoy the story!

-🩷

**

It wasn't like I should have found out but the truth comes out at the end.

today was a long day at work. There was no lie there. Everything was so frustrating. The day started with my co-worker spilling coffee all over my brand new shoes, then losing the earring Han had just got me for our 2 year Anniversary and then lastly falling down and twisting my ankle when I was rushing down the stairs because my ignorant boss thought it would be "funny" to make me run with stacks of papers in my hand trying to see if I can make it for one side to the other. So yeah my day wasn't going great. At all.

"Han?" I call for my boyfriend but I hear no response. The house was quiet. Was he not home yet?

I put my shoes by the rack and limp over to our room to put everything away before I could start on dinner. All the rooms were dark and had no sign of human activity.

I put my bag down and changed into something more comfortable and head back out to the kitchen.

"What should I cook today?" The thought run through my head but after some time I just realized how tired I was so I just decided to order some Chinese. 

I grab my phone to call my boyfriend to see what he would want from the shop,

"Hey baby?" I say into the phone after he picks up after a few rings.

"Hey my love!" He beams. I could hear a few voices behind. The boys must be with him.

"I've had a long day, I don't think I'm going to cook." A sigh leaves my lips as I play with the collar of my...well his hoodie.

"Awe my love, do you want talk about it now or when I get back home?" His voice is laced with worry, I can hear it.

"When you get back home please, but don’t worry it’s not that bad," I explain to him knowing Han he would literally leave work at that moment just to come home.

"Okay…rehearsals are almost done anyways so I'll see you in like and hour yeah?"

"Okay but I'm ordering Chinese. What do you want? Should I get the usual?"

"Yeah let's do the usual yeah," I hear some laughter and a few screams which cause me to chuckle. “All of you shut up!”

"Okay I'll see you in a bit,"

"I love you,"

"I love you too baby doll,"

A small smile plays on my lips as I wait for him to hung up.

"Who was that?" I hear through the phone. My curiosity took the best of me. Plus he hadn't hanged up yet so I technically wasn't breaking boundaries?

"Just Y/n, she's had a long day at work," Han softly says and rummages through something probably in the studio. "I'm worried about her, she's been so stressed lately,"

"Dude I can't believe you’re actually in a 2 year relationship, remember how this all started?" The other voice says, it was hard to tell who is was.

"Chan, I still haven't told her about it and I don't think I ever will, it'll just ruin things," Han replies to him. What will ruin things? And what hasn't he told me yet?

Was he cheating? Is he doing something behind my back?

"I'm just saying Han, she was a stupid bet I don't think she'll really care if you tell her sooner rather than later. Plus your in LOVE for crying out loud. You guys have been together for 2 years! I don't think she'll care about a stupid bet,"

My body freezes as I listened in on the conversation even more. I was a bet? A bet? What the hell? I knew Han was out of my league when we first started to get to know eachother but I thought maybe he liked girls like me….i was wrong the whole time? I was just a bet?

"I know I know but it still feels wrong and she's been so stressed lately so no I don't think I'll ever tell her,"

I remain silent as a screeching sound runs through my ear. A bet? I was a bet….

I had no words literally and the constant voices were running through my head in all directions. Heartbroken was in understatement.

Nausea hits me really hard as the thought of my 2 year relationship was being based on a bet. 

"Anyways what time is it anyway, I need to get home to the wifey,"

The phone goes quiet until I hear Han's panicked voice. Probably realizing I was still on the phone.

"Y/n? You're still there?"

I small 'fuck' in the background made my Chan and whispers start to echo through the room.

"Y/n baby? Did you hear any of that?" He asks again. Panic was very visible in his voice. His breathing getting heavy.

"I was a bet?" Is the only thing I could say and ask. Nothing else could come out. My brain couldn’t scrape anything at all.

"No- I mean- baby- let me explain-" I hung up the phone and drop it to the ground. Everything was a lie.

My heart was aching with pain and the room seemed to become very very shaky.

A heavy breath leaves my mouth before a sob escapes. The vibrations make my body shake and the ground feeling like it was swallowing me.

The floor was cold and the room felt hot. The clothes in my bidy were slowly suffocaying me. i didnt know what to think or what to do.

My phone vibrates over and over. The picture of me and Han popping up with each ring. The feeling of throwing up coming now and again as I clutched my body trying to make sense of everything.

How could a person affect you so much Y/n? Han knew how much I loved him he knew how much I cared for him, if he really did love me why didn’t he just tell me? Why didn’t he just explain it to me?

My stomach started to hurt due to how hard I was crying. As each sob left my mouth a shiver went down my spine.

“Baby?!” A voice causes my neck to snap towards the direction of the door. The love of myself stood before me as he quickly shut the door and put his shoes away.

“Han?” My sore throat is able to make a sound but my voice is hoarse and breaking.

“Babe, don’t cry my love please?” He takes a few steps before he is right infront of me. His hands reach out but my body dodges his touch.

“How could you?” Was all I could say through sobs. “I thought you loved me..”

“I do love you mama, I really do. I just- we were just young and stupid. Please let me hold you. Please let me carry you onto the couch. You’re gonna get a cold.” His eyes are soft. His lips were plump and worry was painted all over his face. He was wearing a hoodie and some sweatpants with a beanie on his head.

I nod my head slowly and his hands work quickly . He pulls me into his embrace. His scent filling my nostrils.

“Are you okay?” He softly asks. I nod in response. It’s all I could do.

We were sat on the couch now. My knees were against my chest as I watched him move back and forth around the house before sitting down beside’s me.

“Can I please explain now?” He asks, “I hate seeing you like this my love. Look at me please?” I refuse to look at him. I was afraid that I would fold, I wouldn’t be strong.

He lets out a sigh before beginning, “Y/n the bet was stupid. The bet was almost 3 years ago my love you have to believe me when I say it only last a month before I noticed I was actually in love with you. I told the boys that I didn’t want the money and that I had fallen for you. They told me it was okay and that we would never have to speak about it again but guilt was eating me alive-“

“Then why did you just tell me?” I look at him looking for answers.

“I- I was so scared of losing you…” he pauses and takes a deep breath in before wiping the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes, “ You are my first love, my first everything, I didn’t want to lose you because of some stupid mistake,”

“Oh…but what about the trust? Has everything been a lie?”

“No no no no, you have to believe me there Y/n. That’s the only thing I haven’t told you. I swear, you know everything about me, more than the boys do-“

“Oh…” a silence falls upon us as I play with the promise ring he had given me when we had gone on vacation to Greece. He had gotten down on one knee when we were on the beach and I started to freak out thinking that he was going to propose but it was a relief when I heard his question. Don’t get me wrong I will marry him one day I just thought we were still too young to get married plus he has his career still building up. It was just horrible timing.

“It hurts, you know?” I break the silence.

“I know my love, please let me make it up to you? Don’t give up on me please. I was stupid and young and my action has no excuse but please forgive me. I love you with everything in me.”

A little sigh leaves my lips as I study his face. His hand was on my lap. The silence fell upon us again. The panic attack that had happened a few minutes ago had now died down.

“I- I forgive you Han but I don’t know maybe it’ll take time to fully forgive you for lying to me,”

“That’s totally okay my love,” a small smile plays on his lips, “I’ll wait for you but just know I really do love you okay? And your my everything,”

“I love you too Han, so much it hurts.”

**

[annymation]

"This Wish" Reimagined

Asha's "I Want" song in my Wish rewrite

Something that quite bothered me in Wish’s “I want song” is that I never really… Connected with Asha as a character while listening to it.

With Ariel we WANT to see her get to the surface.

With Quasimodo we WANT to see him out of Notre Dame.

With Mirabel we WANT to see her make her family proud.

With Asha I want… her to have more than this…?

And what is “this”? Like, the subject is vague, and that’s because the song writer Julia Michels was asked to just “Write a song about a young woman that wants to fight an corrupt system” which is a neat concept… But Julia didn’t know what that corrupt system even was doing, I’m not joking, she said so on interviews, AND SHE SAID DISNEY ASKED HER TO DO IT IN 3 WEEKS LIKE GIRL!?

Anyway, as a result, I can’t really relate to Asha’s struggles because the song feel like it could be sang by ANYONE facing a hard situation where they “May be young but are not wrong” or “Have hesitations about what to do”…

But who is ASHA in this, aside from the person who is singing the song? Yeah, she wants more, but more WHAT?! You can listen to “When will my life begin” without watching Tangled and you’ll totally understand what Rapunzel’s personality is and what she wants… But in This Wish?… I don’t know who the heck is Asha, and I watched the movie!

It doesn’t help that in the movie the BIG HORRIBLE REVEAL that Asha is facing is that the system that only grants one wish per month… isn’t granting EVERYONE’S wishes… when that should’ve been common sense, like, does no one in Rosas understand basic math???

In my rewrite though, Asha has been silently questioning the system around her but knowing full well she couldn’t change it so she just accepted it, until the day arrived for her to give away her wish to conform to the expectations. She said she didn’t want to, and questioned if the king even granted all the wishes like he said he did. Seeing that she had spirit, the king and queen gaslight, gatekeep and girlboss manipulated her to get a wish out of her, and after that, by peeking through a door, Asha discovered the truth about her kingdom’s wish system, a truth so terrifying for her that she ran as far away as she could. And with no one else to help her… She made a wish upon a star.

(There, I summarized my rewrite so far, if that sounds cool to you consider checking it out here)

I think that’s a more interesting premise, and it gives Asha more nuance, but how do you translate ALL THAT into one song? Well, here’s how I’d change “This Wish” to do that:

“This Wish”

Should have listened to my own instincts No time to cry now for what could have been If I could show them everything I've seen Open their eyes to all the lies then Would they believe in me or in them? But when I speak, they tell me, "Sit down" But how can I when I've already started runnin'? All I wanted to do was grant my wish on my own But now that wish's stolen and, I am all alone [Chorus] So I look up at the stars to guide me For I know they can send me a sign If knowing what it could be is what drives me Then let me be the first to stand in line So I make this wish Asking us for freedom, hope and bliss So I make this wish To have something more for us than this [Post-Chorus] Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah, ah-ah More than this, oh-ah-ah-ah For many years they’ve been tricking us all Yeah, they said “We’ll protect you” while being our downfall Now what’s a girl like me supposed to do? How do you fight a king and queen? oh and they’ve got magic too! And all I've got is reservations and hesitations On where I should even begin I'm past dipping my toes in But I'm not, no, I'm not past diving in If I could just be pointed in any given direction On where to go and what to do My legs are shaking, but my head's held high The way you always taught me to [Chorus] So I look up at the stars to guide me For I know they will send me a sign I'm sure there will be challenges that find me But I can take them on one at a time So I make this wish Asking us for freedom, hope and bliss So I make this wish To have something more for us than this [Post-Chorus] Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah (So I make this wish) Hey, yeah, yeah, yeah, ah-ah (To have something more) More than this, oh-ah-ah-ah [Outro] So I make this wish To have something more for us than this!

Thank You For Reading!

[chicken-fifi]

Stray Kids Reaction | You Have a Heart Condition

Pairing: Stray Kids Members x Reader

Requested by @curiousgworge : hey! uhm, i know this request may sound weird, but i just had a procedure done and found out that i'm gonna need a peacemaker. im kinda freaked out and in a lot of pain right now, so how do you think the stray kids guys would be with a parter that has heart conditions? faints out of nowhere and gets real tired over almost nothing cause their heart just can't keep up. sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but im kinda nervous and feel like this could calm me down? anyway, thankyou for coming to my TED talk 🤍

Genre: angst (?)/fluff (?)

A/n: i know i said it in my response but i wanted to say it here too, but i wish you the best in your procedure and a very speedy recovery. i genuinely hope that the pacemaker does help you for the better and that your nerves are eased a bit. please take care of yourself and your health. note for readers that this is not going to be medically accurate.

Tunes: You're forced to let go of your comfort character, but you can’t | Playlist | by Martine Malfoy

Bang Chan:

I envision Chris as being very protective of you in general

So if you have a heart condition he does nag a bit when you do things that he knows are going to tire you out or cause problems for you

Yes he’s busy, but ask him to do the hard things to spare you from the trouble and possible complications

He reads up on your condition and asks questions to get as familiar as he can with with it so he’s aware of the symptoms and signs he should be worried about

He also does his best to find activities that you can enjoy that can also help keep your heart healthy without tiring you out and joins you in doing them

“Please ask me to do this next time.”

Lee Know:

Minho gets worried and frets over you constantly

He tries not to let it show, but it does

He goes out of him way to do things for you when he notices that you’re doing something much more taxing than normal and plays it off as he was just just about to do the same thing anyways so why not

He does his best to be a good caretaker but also not cross a line that makes you uncomfortable

“Oh, this? I was going to do the same thing anyways so I’ll just do it.”

Changbin:

Also a bit of a nagger and frets over you

However Changbin does these things in a more silent manner

Like he’ll do them before you even think to avoid even the possibility of you doing something taxing

He also reminds you constantly to call him for anything

No matter how small

“Text me, call me. If you need anything done. Anything. Just call me and I’ll do it.”

Hyunjin:

Hyunjin is in a constant state of worry when he isn’t with you

He knows a fair amount about your condition from what you’ve told him and what he’s read from credible sources on the web

He also knows you can be stubborn and force yourself to do things rather than taking it easy and allowing yourself to be vulnerable

Which he understands, to go from being so independent to not being able to have level of independence is a hard transition

“Just let me help you out okay? I know you can do it, but please let me.”

Han:

Jisung picked up on everything really quickly

From the worrying rate at which you would get tired doing little things to the day you fainted

He’s the first person to call you on everything that you shouldn’t be doing when you’re supposed to be resting

It may be annoying and frustrating, but it comes from a well meaning place

He’s honestly just doesn’t know how to express that because for a hot minute he really thought he was going to lose you

“You’re supposed to be resting right now. It’s not good for your heart so soon after everything.”

Felix:

Another worrywart

Felix tries to read up and understand the condition from what your doctors tell him after your initial hospitalization

And he takes all of their suggestions to heart on what you should and shouldn’t do

He’s constantly on your heels just making sure you’re okay and it can get annoying here too

So he does try to back off but he continues to watch on and intervene when he notices things are going awry

“I’ll help you. You do this and I’ll do that, how does that sound?”

Seungmin:

Seungmin voices everything

Concerns, worries, fears, and questions

And listens to everything you have to say to about your condition

He supports your need and want to be independent

But also steps in when he notices that he needs to or when you not necessarily want to say or admit to needing some help

“I’ve got you. Don’t worry about it.”

I.N:

Jeongin is another who worries and it shows

His worry stems purely from the fact that there’s nothing he can to stop the illness

He can help avoid problems and do things for you that could lead to some serious health issues

But ultimately, there’s not much that he has any control over

And that terrifies him for you

But he does his best to support and be there for you

Taking all of your worries and carrying them with you as best as he can

“You’re not doing this alone. I’ll be here. Every single step of the way. I promise.”

[charliedawn]

request for all 3 Sinclair brothers (only dating the reader obv) Where like when taking care of a decent group of victims, they notice reader isn’t anywhere to be found? They look everywhere and can’t find any signs. Turns out she is asleep on the roof of the house, chilling. Sorry if this doesn’t make sense.

This is my first time trying 'fluff' I guess ?

Enjoy !

It was a lovely night and—instead of following the rest of the brothers who had decided to spare their victims and actually help them—you climbed up one of the empty houses of the ghost town Ambrose had become. You looked up at the stars and realized it might be one of the only places in the country where the stars showed so clearly. You just wanted to have a moment away from the other survivors and thought it would be a good idea to come here without warning the Sinclair brothers—unaware of the worry you would cause them. They started searching for you frantically in every house, afraid you might have escaped. They split and decided to cover more ground in hopes of finding you.

But, it was Bo who found you first.

He looked at you from afar, frowning as he saw you smile...smile at the stars. He had never seen you smile like that. His fists clenched as he realized you were smiling for something so stupid...while you had never smiled at him for anything—certainly not like that anyway. But, he relaxed when he saw your tears. He thought you were hurt and immediately got out of his hiding place to sit down next to you.

"What the hell are ya doin' here, sweetheart ?", he asked and you seemed stunned for a second at his presence. You didn't think he would be the first one to find you, but you should have known. He was always a good tracker. A hunter in the bones. You weren't sure as to whether or not you should be talking to him first, but you answered nonetheless.

"I was...watching the stars.", you confessed and Bo frowned a little before leaning forward to look at your wet cheeks and empty expression. It seemed you weren't even seeing him. He wanted to shake you awake.

"Why in the bloody carnation would ya go and do sumthin' like that ?", Bo asked—clearly not understanding the reason behind your behavior. Had they done something wrong ?

"...I just needed time to think."

The survivors had asked if you wanted to follow them, but you weren't sure. You had hence decided to go up here and think—even catch some sleep maybe...But, sleep didn't seem to come. You loved the Sinclair brothers, but you could feel that something wasn't right. You weren't right.

"Yar seriously worryin' me, sweet thing. What's the matter ?" Your bottom lip trembled and your eyes watered once more. It wasn't right...The feelings you had for him and his brothers. They were killers, and even though they were trying to change for you, it wouldn't erase everything. You knew that. And yet...you had still managed to fall for them. Hard. It was more than a little crush. More than a fling. You were in love, and the sole notion was crushing you from the inside, because how were you supposed to love them and protect them when you weren't even a slasher ?

"I'm just...happy we've met. And I was thanking the stars we did.", you smiled weakly. It felt fake.

A half-truth.

But, he seemed to buy it.

"Aww...Sweet thing.", he kissed your forehead lovingly and somehow, his kiss burned you. "We sure glad we met ya too."

Your breath hitched and you wished the kiss didn't feel so sinful. You wished Bo was a man. You wished you weren't one of their victims. You wished your heart hadn't grown attached to the three serial killers. You weren't delusional, just in love. And it hurt.

Lester found your hiding spot next and stopped as he saw the both of you intertwined. His jaw twitched and he marched to you before getting Bo away from you.

"Hey ! Paws off, Bo !" Bo seemed annoyed at being interrupted, but only shrugged before licking his lips and smirked.

"What's wrong, little bro ? Jealous or sumthin' ?" Lester rolled his eyes before sitting down between the both of you and ignoring Bo. He looked at you instead and frowned worriedly as he saw your thoughtful face.

"...Are ya alright ?" He seemed genuinely concerned, but before you could answer—Bo did it for you.

"Of course they alright ! I ain't done anythin' !" Lester eyed Bo suspiciously before shaking his head. He would deal with Bo later...

"It would be the first time...", he mumbled and Bo's eyes widened.

"HEY ! What's that supposed to mean ?!"

Alerted by Bo's protesting, Vincent found the three of you and silently approached you while studying your expression carefully. He knew that look. It was the same he had when Ma and Pa had decided to separate him from Bo. He was afraid it might have snapped whatever connection they had—but he was sure glad when it didn't.

Vince stayed silent and sat down at the empty spot next to you while the other two started bickering. He looked up and let out a soft sigh. It was a beautiful night indeed, and he wasn't about to ruin it. Bo and Lester seemed to understand it wasn't the time to fight and eventually calmed down. Vince scooted closer to you and the other two brothers soon followed. You were shoulder to shoulder and the brothers decided to respect your wish for peace.

You stayed in perfect silence for a few minutes before you smiled to yourself and laid down on the roof—still looking up.

"I wonder if there are people up there ? Watching us like we are ?", you asked—a clumsy way to change the subject. Bo let out a small skeptical snort before shaking his head.

"Nah. If anything, they'd be laughing at us."

Lester sent him a warning glance before looking at you with a smile.

"I'm sure they are, darls'. And they' jealous. Because they don't got ya'."

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath before smiling—feeling safe with the three brothers surrounding you. It felt like home. But then, the feeling came rushing back—threatening to burst out of your chest.

"...I wonder if you’ll still like me if I told you what I felt for you...for you all."

You hadn't actually meant for them to hear that. It was supposed to be a question for the stars—but of course Bo would decide otherwise.

"And what exactly are ya feelin' ?", he asked with a small playful smile and you sighed. It was no secret the brothers had been fighting over you. Lester and Bo kept shouting at each other for no reason whenever in your presence. Vince had closed himself off in his work and barely showed his face anymore. Bo had decided to do the same at the garage. At the end, it felt like you were alone in the house. A mindless ghost going from door to door. It was almost like you missed the days when you were their victim, at least they were together and you knew that no matter what—they'd be a pack. But, now ? The pack seemed rather split and especially with he decision not to kill all the victims. Bo was against it. Of course. Vince was was rather sad to have lost his life models—but had stayed silent as always. And Lester...even though Lester was very talkative—he hadn't spoken up on his opinion.

At the end, you had had no choice but disappear to finally gather them all in the same place.

"I love you." None of the brothers spoke or reacted for a few seconds and you decided to share what had been tearing you apart. "And I see that it's driving you against each other that I don't want you to kill anyone. And I don't want that. And I don't want to choose either. And it's driving me insane."

Vince couldn't take it anymore and pulled you into his arms. He had been shy to actually do it for weeks and felt guilty at making you feel in such a way without noticing.

"Hey hey. Look at me. We love ya too, sweetie. We always have. And if you don't want us to kill ? Then, we'll stop. Gladly. It's okay.", Lester tried to comfort you and smiled reassuringly at you while stroking your arm lovingly.

"And who said anythin' about choosin' ?!", Bo asked with a small frown of incomprehension. "Ya think we kids or sumthin' ? We men. We take our goddamn decisions. Who ever said you had to choose for us ?! Or, that it had anythin' to do with ya ?!"

"You all became so aggressive between each other since I arrived, so I assumed...", you started and Bo tsskd.

"We brothers. We rednecks. We basically made for fightin'.", he explained and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. He wasn't good with all that complicated feelings' stuff...

Fuck. He needed a damn smoke !

He let out a small sigh and cracked his neck to the side. When he reopened his eyes, both of his brothers were holding you and he then realized that you had stopped crying. You were now looking at him with a small sheepish smile and held out your hand to him. He shook his head and raised himself on his feet to leave.

"Oh hell no. Nope. Ain't gonna be all mushy and stuff !"

But he was pulled back down by Lester who gave him an annoyed look.

"Come on, Bo ! Stop bitchin' and get over here !"

Bo seemed surprised. He was usually the only one cursing, but Lester seemed determined to get him to show some love.

"Fine ! Jeez ! I swear y'all make me wanna barf with all this emotional bullshit !", he grumbled before finally indulging and wrapping his arms around the three of you.

You closed your eyes and smiled. You felt...safe.

"Would you...stay with me a little longer ?", you asked with a small shiver and waited as the brothers reluctantly released you to answer.

"Of course, sweetie. Anythin' ya want.", Lester said with a reassuring smile.

"Whatever...", Bo added and Vince nodded suit. You all looked up at the stars and weren't aware of the same wish you all made at that very moment. It wasn't much, but but you all wished to stay together forever.

You knew it would be difficult, but you were certain everything would be alright—unaware of the worried glances the brothers exchanged behind your back. Truth was, they had no clue where everything was going and preferred to lie and reassure you than confessing it.

The bloodthirst was still there, lurking in the dark.

Being slashers meant more than just wanting blood. It was need. Pure instinct. Even now, the sparks of murderous intents could be felt at the back of their heads. You didn't notice as their shadows enveloped you. One way or another, you would never leave them. They would try to change for you, but either way...It'd be at your risk, not theirs.

You didn't notice the way Vince's grip on you turned possessive, or how Bo's eyes darkened as he kissed the back of your hand. Lester saw it, but didn't say anything.

Afterall, he was a Sinclair too.

He smiled.

Goodnight, sweet rabbit...

[welcometololaland]

wip wednesday

y'all - i feel like i've been so fucking annoying lately but i'm here to request one thing of you - give me some juicy snippets to read because i'm finally on top of my shit. and i've always wanted to start wip wednesday (for all i know someone has already started it but don't rain on my parade! let me live in denial) and now i maybe can. This is from ALTA which is (omg) so close to being posted. 10 days. fuck. i'm not ready (i am).

“She’s really gone, isn’t she?” TK asks, his voice breaking as his head remains burrowed into Carlos’ shoulder. He’s stopped shaking now, which Carlos takes to be a good sign, but he’s cried so persistently that the whole front of Carlos’ jacket is wet. 

He pauses, leans back and cups TK’s face in his hands, using his thumbs to brush away a few errant tears. He briefly considers making a passionate speech about TK’s mother being dead but not gone – living on in his heart – but then he decides for pragmatism. He thinks TK will appreciate that more, anyway.

“Yes,” he says simply. “But that doesn’t mean it’s easy to accept.”

TK sniffs, his glazed eyes staring helplessly into Carlos’ own. “What do I do now, Carlos?”

Carlos sighs, brushing away another of TK's tears. “I’m not really sure, TK,” he admits. “But right now, I can take you home. It might be nice to cry somewhere that isn’t your high school computer lab.”

A tiny, hesitant smile appears at the corners of TK’s mouth. “I think my dad will be relieved,” he says. “He keeps asking why I haven’t cried yet, like it's some kind of crime.”

“Well, he’s definitely going to be pleased to see you,” Carlos points out, as TK nods tearfully. 

“Could you— Do you mind coming with me?” TK asks as Carlos steps back and drops his hands. “I don’t really want to be alone and my dad is driving me nuts. My other friends…they wouldn’t understand.”

“I hope they do understand, TK,” Carlos replies solemnly, collecting his books and following TK out of the darkened classroom. “I think everyone will do their best to support you.”

TK makes a non-committal sound as they walk down the empty hall – devoid of students – amplifying the sound of their sneakers on the linoleum. “Not like you,” he says, after a pause. “I know we’ve only been friends for a little bit, but you’re different.”

“Oh yeah?” Carlos asks, pushing open the front doors and following TK down the steps. “In what way?”

TK pauses, looking back up at Carlos as he descends the stairs, a pensive look on his face. “You’re good, Carlos,” he replies simply. “You’re good for me.”

Open tag for anyone to share but also some targeted attacks under the cut (with insane requests, feel free to ignore me)!!!

@theghostofashton (need some exes to lovers PLEASE), @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut (boxing AU boxing AU!), @goodways (got a tasty treat shannon?) @reyesstrand (food fic???) @strandnreyes (please don't hurt me but you can if you want) @rmd-writes (just because i love you) @heartstringsduet (FIRST AID?!) @carlos-in-glasses (what's next up CIG?) @birdclowns (your wip snippet game has me blurry eyed, i must know more) @fitzherbertssmolder (any comic progress?) @louis-ii-reyes-strand (been loving your snippets) @lilythesilly (fighter pilot AU?!) @kiloskywalker (tarlos fighter pilot AU????) @sanjuwrites (soulmates????) @three-drink-amy (teacher AU teacher AU teacher AU!!) @chicgeekgirl89 (any yachts about?) @lemonlyman-dotcom (some music fic for my ears???) @wandering-night19 (4 x 18 coda???) @thisbuildinghasfeelings (cross stitching update??!!!) @freneticfloetry (something from the soulmates timer fic???) @alrightbuckaroo (summer parisian au my beloved!!!!) @cha-melodius (you've got mail AU????) @redshirt2 (anything you would like to contribute, i'd just love you to keep feeding me!) @iboatedhere (how are those prompts???) @orchidscript (lovingly bullying you to keep writing) @marjansmarwani (i know the words are hard but also i am lovingly bullying you as well <3) @morganaspendragonss (has angst queen got anything this week?) @lightningboltreader (THAT ANGSTY ONE BED THING I AM SCARED BUT I WANT)

[cheesecake-the-chicken]

anyways so about that singlet thing ^^’ (tw for dissociation and syscourse/system origins under the cut)

i’ve been doing some research into it and i’m pretty sure i’m median. we think we used to be a singlet until a really recent period of heavy dissociation, when the original self fractured and became us. im still kind of the “core” of the original self, but the others are the parts of him that branched off.

at first we thought i had synthesized/imagined them or that i was pretending, but things have kinda stayed this way for a while lol. i have really bad dissociative amnesia as of late so i cant honestly tell you how long it’s been like this or if there have been many signs leading up to it, but what i do know is that there’s been a distinct “we” that was separate from “i”.

according to the terms commonly used here (and i could VERY easily be mistaken!), we are probably “mixed origin”? it’s hard to say but the fracturing is a very recent development, caused by heavy dissociation due to Reasons

i’m not gonna lie i used to err on the side of caution when it came to endogenic systems, i didn’t want to assume anything as a (then?) singlet because it wasn’t and tbh still isn’t my place. but this has definitely opened my eyes and made me realize that i could very easily be seen as faking, even though i’m (most likely) not.

i’m still hesitant to call myself a system because i REALLY don’t want to if it isn’t my place to, and we only know so much about ourselves so far. we originally thought we were just aspects of the same person that got emphasized, but we understand it better that we are fragments of the consciousness of the same person. we don’t have osdd i believe, but we do have c-ptsd and the theory of secondary structural dissociation really fits us.

therefore, i think i’m going to change my dni to include anyone who’s sysmed or tries to fakeclaim others. it’s my understanding that very few people on this website are psychologists/psychologists/neuroscientists/doctors, and nobody’s experience is universal. so little is understood about plurality and the brain in general, and i don’t want to be mutuals with anyone who feels it’s their place to police other peoples’ experiences

i probably cant answer any personal questions about it right now in my/our best interest, but just know that i’m getting the help i need! i’m just hoping to find maybe anyone else who has similar experiences or is also median. i may post/rb about it more in the future

love you guys! sorry for the ooc kinda post

[ashes-writing-corner]

A bit of a shorter update tonight guys! But I hope you like it anyway ^^

TW: mentions abuse/childhood trauma, non descriptive.

Taglist: @stargatenovus

Ghosts That We Knew

13- A Dead Man's Letter

You were still on the hunt for a therapist weeks after the confrontation with Ghost. Getting one wasn’t easy, and to be honest you weren’t in any rush to find one. It wasn’t that you had lied to him, at least not intentionally. You had already mentioned you didn’t like therapists, you didn’t trust them. You didn’t want to be just another doctor’s paycheck. It wasn’t like they cared about you anyway. However, to set Ghost’s mind at ease, you told Ellie’s therapist you were searching for one. Thankfully for you, they were more than willing to help you find an ideal one. 

For the time being, you were perfectly fine with running your business, which was doing pretty well. Life went on as normal. You kept Simon’s file in a locked safe in your room, so no one could get to it and you still had it close at hand in case you needed it. But on more than one occasion you found an envelope either on your bed, your nightstand, or on the floor in your room. You knew what it was. Simon’s letter. Ghost was asking you to read it, without speaking of course. Needing to regain his strength, he had gone quiet in the weeks following. 

You sat in bed, contemplating opening it, when your phone rang. An unknown number…

You didn’t pick it up, as you didn’t pick up unknown numbers. If it was important they’d leave a message. You flipped the silent phone over, thinking it wouldn’t be so distracting as you picked up the envelope. But after a minute, you just decided to put it in the nightstand and just focus on what it was he had written. Taking a slightly shaking breath, you decided to open the letter and give it a read, being delicate so as not to rip anything. The paper was already yellowing a little, meaning he wrote this a good long time ago. You blinked as you took in Simon Riley’s handwriting, which admittedly wasn’t the best, but it wasn’t illegible. 

To the poor soul reading this, 

Since you’re reading this, two things have happened. 1. I’m dead. And 2. You’re the poor sap who got stuck with this heart. Just to let you know, you’re only one of a few letters I’ll be writing, as I’m hoping all my bits get used. Hell knows I’m not using them anymore. 

A heart’s a heavy burden, and believe me I know that better than most. You’ve probably read all my stuff, as I signed the release forms earlier today. Without it, it’d be illegal for you to even see my records. But as the knew…keeper, I guess, for arguably my most important organ, I figured that was important info in there for you to know. But it doesn’t tell you everything. Only what you need to know. Maybe some notes from therapy thrown in for flavor, mental evaluations and all that. But they don’t tell you a damn thing about me. Who I was, what I wanted from life, all of that. Things about me that not even my closest friends know, few as they are.  The dreams I had, the hopes I mislaid. They’re not mine anymore. But…I want you to know this: They aren’t yours either. 

The truth is, I wanted to spend my life making the world a better place, so no one has to know what it means to suffer the way I did. This isn’t meant for you to pity me, but to understand why I made the decision to become a soldier and a donor. I lived a hard life, came from a bad home with a half mad father and, for a time, a drug abusing brother. I rose above that though, challenging as it was. I got my brother the help he needed, kicked our father out, and did my best to make sure everyone was happy before I made that choice. You, whoever you are, are the last person I’m saving, and the one who’s face at the very least I won’t know. And yet you’re being trusted with the most vital part of me…crazy isn’t it? And I don’t trust easy admittedly. 

All I got is one last wish, one last demand. I want you to live. I want you to live your life, and live it in the best way you can. Live it harmlessly, if you can. Help others when you can, but don’t enslave yourself. Live selfishly, at least a little, something I never got to do. Live…fully. I guess is what I’m trying to say. 

And drop that thought most likely going through your head: “This heart isn’t mine”. Trust me, it’s yours. It was meant to be yours the second I signed that paper to become a donor. This heart was always mine to lose, and it was always yours to gain. No matter what your silly brain is telling you, I’m telling you this right bloody now: I did not die because of you. You. Did. Not. Do. This. I chose, as I always have. And now you have a choice. Choose better than me. Choose to live your life. Be a bit selfish, because I wasn’t always able to be. But live. Just…live. And know, even though we’ll never meet, know that I’m so proud of you for fighting this battle, whatever it is that landed you this. I’m happy that I got to help you. And now you know the only thing I ask in return. 

Live your life. And take care of my heart. It was always meant to be yours, in some way or another…

Stay frosty. 

Simon “Ghost” Riley, out. 

You didn’t know what to think when you read it. It seemed a bit devoid of emotion, but it was rather matter of fact. The last part got to you. It wasn’t exactly a confession as he stated, but a reiteration of the truth. Simon lived on. Was living on. And he was doing it through you. There was something so humbling about that, now that you were thinking about it with a clearer head. It didn’t entirely change how you felt, but it put it in a different light. The familiar feeling you had at the beginning of your friendship now made more sense. Simon was a part of you now. 

Taking your phone out, you decided to see who had called, and lo and behold they left a message. You listened to the voicemail, heart pounding. An unfamiliar male voice sounded. 

“Hey, Y/N, I think that’s what Soap called you? Anyway, he told me about your situation. My name’s John Price and I’m also interested in meeting you. I hope you don’t mind, there’s actually two of us coming with him, the other being Kyle Garrick. We look forward to meeting you and hopefully clearing some stuff up” there was a pause before the man continued, “We were there that night, Y/N. The night of your transplant. As I said, I can’t wait to meet you, and I hope you and your kiddo are doing okay. Don’t hesitate to give me, Soap, or Gaz a ring, alright?” he proceeded to give you the number of their last member, Kyle Garrick, before ending the message. 

You almost dropped the phone. 

They were there. 

They. were. there…

If you guys enjoyed this please consider liking, reblogging, and commenting! Yall seriously give me life and keep me motivated! Thank you so much ^^

[nikethestatue]

A Match Baked In Heaven

Part 3 Here

Part IV

Thickfreakness

“Who is the bloke with the tats?”

Pots and pans were banging together in the background. Feyre was ‘cooking’. Every Sunday they had lunch at one of their homes–dad’s Soho mansion, Nesta’s Notting Hill flat, Elain’s Russell Square Georgian manor, or Feyre’s bohemian Camden loft. 

“Okay, I want to make salmon en croute,” Feyre announced boldly and Elain’s heart fell at the words.

Her younger sister wasn’t what one would call a ‘cook’. And she knew that about herself. Yet it never stopped her from experimenting–wildly–in the kitchen. 

“Fey, that might be somewhat ambitious,” Elain cautioned her.

“Why? How hard can it be?”

“Perhaps it’s not difficult, but it is somewhat time consuming and requires a decent amount of prep. Why don’t you go with something easier, like Shepherd's Pie? Or a nice fish pie?”

“Nooo, it’s so boring,” Feyre moaned loudly. Elain chose not to remind her that salmon en croute and fish pie were basically the same thing in essence. 

“Okay, well, if you want to venture the en croute route, then good luck!”

“But what if I don’t do it right and it all falls apart?” Feyre whined.

“That’s why you should do something simpler. And no, Fey, I am not going to cook Sunday lunch in case you fail,” Elain warned.

“Ugh, Ela-aaaii–nnn,”

“No. Make fish pie. That’s it.”

“Don’t try to weasel out of the question! Who is the guy with the tats holding Piggy?”

“It’s Piglet. Not Piggy.”

“And?”

“He is a client,” Elain said calmly. 

“What kind of client?!” Feyre pressed excitedly. “You usually don’t have clients with tattoos! And that arm!” she gushed. “What does he do? Tell me! Come on! Is he hot? He is hot, isn’t he? An arm like that is attached to a hot man. And Piggy sleeping like that on him. Aww. Aww. Aww. Piggy never likes anyone–I don’t even think he likes me! I pet him and he looks like he is suffering. But the sexy arm bloke–Piggy is sleeping on that arm like a baby. Do you know the story about the scars? I bet it’s something incredible! Like he was saving a baby from a burning house. Or maybe he flipped a car over to pull a granny out of a burning vehicle,”

“You seriously need to calm down,” Elain interrupted her. “I am growing concerned for you. And for my sanity.”

“I demand you tell me!”

“He is an athlete,” Elain relented just a bit. 

“I knew it! A footballer? A rugby player? What is he?”

“A sumo wrestler,” Elain teased, only to throw her sister into a complete tizzy.

“I hate you! Can you set me up with him?”

“No,” Elain said immediately. 

“Why not? What’s wrong with me?” Feyre demanded.

“You aren’t his type,” Elain cut her off. This conversation irritated her. She didn’t want to think of her sister and Azriel Night. Just no. Azriel was a headache, but he was her headache.

“What is he looking for? What is he like?”

Elain exhaled, thinking about the question.

“He…well, he is the most annoying and impossible man I’ve ever encountered. He is by far my worst client, and I’ve dealt with some doozies,” she complained loudly and passionately. “He is so rude and, and…he is just no good.”

“No good?” Feyre repeated. “That’s what you managed to come up with? No good?”

“He is no good. He is not articulate. I asked him what woman appeals to him and he says ‘pretty’. He isn’t taking this seriously at all. He is probably wasting my time, but I have no choice but to work with him. He signed the contract–which I had hoped he wouldn't. And now I am stuck with him. 

“Anyway. I am going to find him the best possible match–someone he wouldn’t be able to say ‘no’ to and then he’ll be out of my hair! Forever. And he also made comments about my body!”

“What kind of comments?”

“Said I had nice breasts.”

“Oh, that’s the worst! When a man tells you that you are beautiful and have a nice rack,” Feyre fake-sympathised with Elain. “That is tough.”

“Gah. Quiet. I knew you wouldn’t understand.”

There was more clatter in the background and finally, after a string of curses, Feyre said,

“You are certain you want to find him the best match possible?”

“Of course!” Elain cried. “I take pride in my work.”

“Oh I know. Only I’ve never heard you talk about any client at length and neither did you ever get so passionate about how much you hate them.”

“It’s because I do hate him!” Elain insisted, before relenting and correcting herself. “Well, I don’t hate him. Why would I hate him? I am just exasperated with him. His whole persona is…just ugh,” 

“Is he a yob?”

“No. Nothing like that,” Elain disagreed. “He isn’t walking around in a tracksuit with a shaved head. He dresses nicely. He is definitely not…”

“What?”

“Well, he thinks that I am posh,”

“You are posh!” Feyre laughed. “We are pretty darn posh, Elain. Daddy is a Knight, remember?” Elain sighed and murmured, “how can we forget?”

“And then the Duke of Velaris,”

“We are not discussing that.”

“Well, then you are posh to him, especially if he is a boy from the East End.  And I reckon he isn’t posh to you?”

“He is from the East End. There are traces of Cockney in his speech. And it doesn’t matter…I don’t care about any of that. Professionally speaking, I don’t make distinctions based on someone’s origins or class.”

“Nevertheless, he doesn’t sound like your normal client,” Feyre said.

“He isn’t. He is difficult and everything with him is a challenge.”

“Well have you considered that maybe in the end, the reward will be great?”

Elain chuckled and said, “I am not sure what constitutes ‘great reward’ in this situation. Pawning him off to some poor unsuspecting woman who doesn’t know what she is getting herself into?”

“The women you work with usually can handle a complicated man,” Feyre reminded her. “They are man eaters.”

Elain sighed. 

“Give my love to Piggy,” Feyre chirped. “I’ll see you on Sunday!”

“Good luck with en croute. And it’s Piglet. You know, you are like Az-,” she stopped abruptly, catching herself right before she blurted out a client’s name. 

“Pardon?”

“Nothing. You are just like my new impossible client. He refuses to call Piglet by his name!”

Feyre laughed at that. “What does he call him?”

“Pinky. It’s not Piggy or Pinky. It’s Piglet!”

“I actually like Pinky! I think it’s a good alternative.”

“Ugh, maybe I will set you two up. You fit right up.”

“Ooohh yeah! I am ready when you are.”

Elain snorted at her ludicrous sister and threw “bye, you nincompoop!”

“There is an old lady dying somewhere inside of you!” Feyre yelled back.

Elain leaned back in her armchair. It’s been a long night. A long week. 

Feyre was right. Elain was an old lady. It was Thursday night and she wasn’t at the pub or a bar. She wasn’t hanging out with her girlfriends. She was alone, in her office.

She ran her finger over the phone’s screen, bringing it to life. Clicked on the Photos. And clicked on the one that she kept staring at for the past two days. Azriel Night, his expression softer than usual, looking down at Piglet in his arms. 

She had cropped the top of it obviously, before posting it on IG. It was only Piglet in the circle of muscular, tattooed arms. She titled it simply ‘Making New Friends’ #puglyfe #Pigletthepug and the photo received 368K likes, and over 55K comments, mostly about whose arms these were and who was Piglet’s ‘new friend’. 

She should’ve deleted the photo from her phone.

She should have. There was absolutely no reason to keep it. It served its purpose, it was all the rage on Piglet’s page and there was no further use for it. Her finger had hovered over the delete button for two days now, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it. Why? Because Piglet looked so good and comfy? That had to be the reason.

She was definitely going to delete it tomorrow.

-

It was Friday night, and Elain was ready for some pampering. At least this was her excuse for not going out on a Friday night yet again. But she had a busy week and she was owed a little time to herself. 

It was half past eight, and she just sunk into her favourite armchair in her bedroom with her e-reader. Piglet was on the bed, with her phone propped for him, dog videos playing with the sound low. Whenever he liked what he saw, he emitted a satisfied growl, which resembled a cackle. Therefore, even though she was immersed in her book, his angry growl got her attention, because it was followed by the distinctive ping of FaceTime.

Who the hell was FaceTiming her at this time? Also, she rarely video chatted with anyone anyway. 

She stretched, almost falling out of the chair, but managed to grab the phone, almost getting her finger bit by her disgruntled dog. 

“Hell-...o,” her voice died as she was faced with none other than Azriel Night. 

He looked like he was in bed, his face sharp and as handsome as ever, but not as tense as what she was used to. The man’s appearance was both his blessing and his curse. He was outrageously good looking, his face both elegant and perfect, but also typically inscrutable and emotionless. He was not a good person to read facial cues off, and that made it difficult for Elain to understand whether he was serious or not, pleased or displeased, happy or angry or sad. 

“Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match

Find me a find

Match me a match!”

Azriel sang to her. 

Her mouth was hanging open.

His voice was…nice. Husky. Sexy. And he sang well, which literally made no sense whatsoever. But he did?

“A girl’s night in, I see?” he asked, smirking. “And here I thought you’d be hitting the clubs. Bumping and grinding,”

“No one says ‘bumping and grinding’ anymore,” Elain told him. 

“Yeah, I know. But I just brought it back and made it cool again,” he announced nonchalantly.

“What are you doing?” she demanded. “Why are you ringing me on a Friday evening? How did you even get this number?”

“Ms. Archeron, you gave me the number,” he reminded her. 

“No I didn’t!”

“No, you most certainly did.”

Thinking back to the last time he was at her office, Elain recalled what had transpired and cringed inwardly. She couldn't believe that she gave him her personal number!! She never did this. She always, always gave her clients her business number and never picked up on the weekends.

“Fine,” she admitted her oversight. “I gave you the number. Why are you ringing me?”

Azriel made himself comfortable against the pillow, and it stuck Elain just how intimate this was–both of them on camera, in their respective bedrooms, late at night. This was highly, highly irregular.

“Couple of reasons really,” he said casually. “Firstly, I know my schedule for next week and therefore, I wanted to book your time,”

“You make it sound like I am a hooker,” she winced, wrinkling her nose.

“Naw. You’d make the worst hooker in history,” he chuckled and Elain gasped at the audacity of her words. “Maybe as a matchmaker you are managing, but as a hooker,” he tsked. “No chance.”

“And why is that?”

“You challenging me on that, Ms, Archeron?”

“Simply curious.”

“Easy. You like things done your way–obsessively. You are a control freak,”

“Oh, back to insults I see,”

“I ain’t insulting you, matchmaker. Just stating facts. And a hooker’s job is to do the things that the client tells her to do. So there is that.”

“Oh, phew. I am not terribly broken up because according to Mr. Night I won’t make a successful prostitute.

“Besides this odd conversation, anything else?”

He thought for a moment and then grinned, exposing his perfect teeth. He looked so handsome when he smiled it was unfair. Unfair to all men.

“Guess what I am doing?” he teased.

“Lounging about, by the looks of it,” Elain shrugged. She feigned indifference, but Azriel could see through it–she was curious.

“Take a guess,” he encouraged her. “Come on. Humour me!”

Elain bubbled her lips and finally said,

“Probably eating or drinking something.”

“Yes!” he nodded and then reached and showed her two biscuits.

“Are those the same ones?” she gasped.

“Sure are!” he winked at her and then stuffed both in his mouth. Chewing with comical energy, he chomped and said, “nom, nom, nom’.

At that, Elain burst into laughter, like she couldn’t help herself.

“You are mad!” she cried. “I can’t believe you are still eating these!”

“Why? they are really good,” he insisted. “Delectable. And I think you might have to bake some more for our next meeting.”

“Or is that so?”

“It is so.”

“I suppose I should,” she conceded. “I can’t believe that you just pulled a ‘nom, nom’...So you wouldn’t have to drag them with you all over the country.”

Azriel paused, looking at him, slightly perplexed.

“Do you know where I am?” he asked at last.

Elain thought for a second, then simply told him, “Manchester”.

His face dropped and he glared at her in shock.

After a long pause, where she enjoyed his surprise and confusion, he finally asked, “How do you know?”

“Arsenal is playing Manchester United tomorrow–in Manchester. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

“Wait. Are you telling me that you like football?”

“Is it really so far-fetched that I might?” she inquired, relishing in her victory. 

“Wait a minute,” he even sat up in his bed, staring at the phone. “Wait. What is your team?” he demanded roughly. “And if you say Chelsea…Well, I don’t know what I’d do, but it would be something bad!”

She laughed. 

“You are mental.”

He didn’t react to the insult, other than asking roughly,

“What. Club. Ms. Archeron?”

“Tottenham, if you must know. With Arsenal not far behind. You ought to know that the Duke of Velaris,”

“Oh yeah, Granny Elain’s hot piece on the side,” Azriel chuckled, “what’d he do?”

“Being a military man,” Elain said, ignoring his quip, “he helped in the formation of Arsenal with the armoury workers. Better that they played ball than got drunk on gin.”

“So I am indirectly connected to your Duke? Captaining his team?”

“It’s not his team, and he isn’t my Duke, but he did love my gran.”

Azriel considered it and then murmured, “the plot thickens, doesn’t it? So, my stats that you rattled out the first day? You knew who I was? All that info?”

“Of course,” she shrugged. “I mean, the height and the weight I got from the roster. But I knew your background and who you were.”

“Well, well,” he complained, “that doesn’t seem fair at all.”

“What doesn’t?”

“That you know all these things about me, and I know very little about you.”

“That’s not unfair,” Elain argued. “That’s normal. I need to know things about you, but you don’t need to know anything about me.”

“I beg to differ. Like, I don’t even know what your success rate is? In your matchmaking? Maybe you're piss poor awful? I doubt it, but what if,”

“I am not piss poor awful, Mr. Night. I am very successful.” With some pride in her voice, she added,  “I’ve worked with 88 couples. You are my 89th client. Out of the 88, I’ve had, so far, 81 marriages.”

“Shiiit,” Azriel whistled.

“3 couples did not work out, unfortunately. The rest are still dating. I am quite good at what I do, Mr. Night. I’ll find you a fine wife.”

“Ughehhh,” he breathed.

“What?”

“Wednesday afternoon, are you free?” he asked instead.

“Why? Is that when you are available?”

“Yes. But I’d like to take you out,”

“Mr. Night,” she started immediately, but he interrupted her,

“Not a date, Ms. Archeron. Calm the fuck down. You ain’t my type,”

“About 5 days ago, you literally said that you wanted your wife to look and act like me. Make up your mind, Mr. Night.”

Azriel laughed.

“You got me there. But really, I am not asking you on a date or anything preposterous like that. Just wanna get out of the office. I have just the place.”

“Just the place…”

“Yeah, I am betting my bollocks that you’ll love it!”

“Keep your bollocks. Let me see,” she looked up her calendar on her phone and said, “I can do 3 pm, if that works for you.”

“Perfect! I’ll pick you up.”

“What shall I wear?” she inquired, now very interested in where he was planning to take her.

“Clothes. Pearls. Your usual posh shit.”

“Posh shit. Got it.”

He continued, “Now, the other reason I rang,”

“Which is?”

“Would like to say ‘hello’ to my mate Pinky.”

“No one by that name here,” Elain said firmly.

“Aww, don’t be like that. Lemmie talk to the wee lad! I bet he missed me.”

“I doubt it.”

“What was he doing when I rang?”

“Watching videos,” Elain told him reluctantly.

“His doggie videos?”

“That’s what he likes.”

“He also likes me. So let us have a chat.”

With a dramatic sigh, she brought the phone closer to Piglet’s face and heard Azriel exclaim,

“Hey big lad! How are you doing?”

Hearing Azriel’s voice made Piglet actually raise his head and his tail wiggled.

“I missed you. Do you have a pretty bow on?” Azriel continued, her voice all sing-songy and cooey. Elain dipped the phone a bit and Azriel saw Piglet’s bow, which was a chequered tartan today. 

“Ohhh, you are handsome!”

Bark. Piglet barked in agreement.

“I had a client from Scotland today,” Elain explained. “He loved the bow.”

“Scotsman also needs a wife?” Azriel asked.

“That’s why people come to me. They either need a husband or a wife.”

“Did Pinky like him?”

Elain looked back at the phone and told him, “He doesn’t really like anyone,”

“He likes me!” Azriel protested.

“Only.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Piglet doesn’t really trust humans. I think he knows that the previous family didn’t want him because of his leg and that when he was hurt, they abandoned him. And after that…well, I don’t know if he understands the concept of death, but I feel like he knew that they didn’t want him alive anymore. That they left him behind and would never come back for him. 

“So he doesn’t really care about humans. He tolerates them, but he only loves me. And the only other person he ever responded to willingly, is…”

“Who?”

“You.”

Azriel didn’t say anything to that.

Elain stroked the dog’s back gently, looking down at him, seemingly having forgotten that Azriel was still on the phone.

“Put him on, will you,” he requested again.

She jerked out of her thoughts and then put the phone in front of the pug.

“You be good,” Azriel ordered him gently. “Take care of Ellie, alright? Remember, lad, you are the man of the house. I trust you to protect our girl when I am not there.”

Bark-bark.

“That’s right. You get me. Miss you, mate. Put Ellie back on the phone.”

Elain just gawked back, unable to form any words. What the HELL was that?

Ellie?

Protect?

OUR GIRL?

What in the world?

“We are kindred spirits, Pink and I,” Azriel decided. “He sees me. And I get him.”

“What?” she breathed, still trying to wrap her mind around everything that she just heard.

“I know about abandonment too…and Pinky recognises that,” Azriel said easily. “You know, when I was 8 years old, my father lost a game of cards. He didn’t have the money to pay, so he offered me, as a consolation prize. The men who played with him–well, they decided that it would be fun to light my hands on fire and see how long it would take for them to burn. And burn they did. When someone finally heard my screams, they rang the emergency services.

“My father and my step-mother never came to see me in the hospital, before I was moved to a foster home. So like I said, I know about abandonment.”

Elain was so shocked, she gasped in horror, staring back at him.

“He knows what it’s like not to be needed,” Azriel added softly and then winked at her. “Enjoy your beauty treatments, matchmaker. I’ll see you on Wednesday. Also, you better root for us tomorrow. G’night.”

With that, he clicked off, leaving Elain bewildered and emotionally destroyed.

-

He would never, ever, ever admit this to anyone, including himself, but Azriel Night was slightly intimidated by Elain Archeron.

She didn't exactly threaten him physically, but psychologically, there was something about her that made him…nervous. Unsure of himself. And he wasn’t a very confident man to begin with. Elain had noticed his self-esteem issues almost instantly–one of the very few people who did–and that made hiding himself from her even more complicated. He wasn’t sure what it was exactly about her, but she made him want to be better. Present the best version of himself. He still yearned to be himself in front of her, because as strange as that was, she seemed to accept him. But he wanted to be someone she enjoyed dealing with. She was judgy, but she didn’t judge him. He annoyed her because he didn’t take her and her work seriously–which he didn’t–but despite their head-butting, Azriel wanted her to like him…Oh Jesus. He sounded like an emotional teenage girl at a sleepover even to himself. 

Why?

She was a pearl-wearing weirdo who had more complexes than she had cardigans. Why did he care what she thought about him? Why?

But he did.

So before he picked up the phone and FaceTimed her, he actually did some push ups. He knew that she had one soft spot–her dog–and he was fully prepared to use Pinky to his advantage. He had the biscuits all prepared, ready to spring them up on her at any moment. But he sure didn’t expect to be talking football and finding out about that side of her. And then getting excited about that…like an emotional teenage girl at a sleepover. Nevertheless, he had all these topics prepared in advance, so he could have a smooth conversation with her…and what he didn’t expect to do was to fuck it all up and tell her about how he got his hands burnt. Absolutely unnecessary. Totally inappropriate. He should’ve stopped when things were funny and light, and when she looked surprised and frazzled and adorable (his favourite look on her). But he went ahead and destroyed it all like a damn sledge hammer. What was wrong with him? Everything. That was the simplest answer. Everything.

He sat in his boxers on the bed, his head buried in his hands. 

It rained outside and he wasn’t looking forward to the game tomorrow, because the weather promised to be abysmally bad and he’d have to run for 90 minutes in the pouring rain. Oh joy. 

Therefore, when his phone rang, Azriel jumped, startled.

It was FaceTime.

He had her under ‘Cute Matchmaker’ in his phone, and she was calling him now. Not even ten minutes after they hung up.

He exhaled and pressed the button.

Before he could say anything, make a joke, or tease, he was faced with Elain’s tear-covered face, her huge, cartoonishly enormous round eyes wet and brimming over with tears. She’d removed all her little beauty patches that she had clearly forgotten about when they were speaking before. Now, it was just her pale, beautiful and grief-stricken face.

“Why did you tell me?” she sobbed. 

He was taken aback and was at a loss for words. He watched her wipe her eyes with her first, but tears just flowed out of her eyes in little rivulets.

“How…how,” she hiccuped, “could they…why? How could they…you were eight…”

She choked back a sob and all Azriel wanted to do was beg her to stop crying, explain that it was over twenty years ago and that it was the past, but he also knew that it would cheapen the emotion of her reaction.

“It’s not human, to do something like that,” she wept. “To take a little boy and maim him like that…Why?”

“People do cruel things all the time,” Azriel’s voice was hollow. 

“But…but…” she gulped in the air, snot and tears mixing together on her face.

“I am sorry,” Azriel said sincerely. “This wasn’t my intention. I didn’t mean to upset you,”

“I can’t believe that something so awful happens in our world,” Elain admitted naively, “it’s incomprehensible.”

Worse things happened in this world, and Azriel had seen many of them, but he didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure whether Elain Archeron, matchmaker to the rich and powerful, the little delicate pearl-wearing oddity was very adept at living in the real world. She existed on a different plane: enigmatic and sincere in her nature, maybe a little too innocent, but that’s kind of what attracted Azriel to her. Why, despite finding her difficult and mystifying at times, puzzling and irritating he relished in her uniqueness.

“Bad things happen,” he only concluded with general vagueness about his statement. 

“I can’t accept that,”

Azriel wanted to argue, tell her that she was being glib, that it wasn’t a matter of her acceptance and that she needed to accept that some people were born in shit, lived in shit and died in shit. That children were abused and that often, parents were the ones who abused them. He wanted to tell her to get her head out of her arse and face the world in all its ugliness.

But he didn’t say any of that.

He made Elain cry, and it made him feel like a massive arsehole for some reason. Instead of laying harsh truths on her, he wanted to protect and shield her from those very truths. This was a girl who rescued three legged pugs from certain death and then put bows on them. 

“Will you stop crying?” he asked gently.

“No, I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about it. About you. About how horrible it was.”

She sniffled and trembled, and he watched her and Pinky as he rubbed his head against her arm, trying to comfort her. The dog whimpered sadly, not understanding why she was so upset. 

Azriel thought frantically, trying to find a way out of this mess, until something popped into his head. Something that he and Cassian used to do when they were in the group home, to make themselves feel better about their lives.

“Can I make it all better?” he requested quietly.

She looked at him, blinking over her tears.

“How?” she wiped her face again.

“You’ll have to trust me.”

“Ha!”

“Don’t argue with me, woman,” he ordered sternly. “Get your arse in bed, and under the blanket.”

She glared at him suspiciously, not understanding what he wanted. 

Prodding her over the phone wasn’t exactly easy, but he nodded and said, “Come on, lass. Don’t be stubborn. Under the sheets you go.”

The phone wobbled and jolted, but he knew that she followed his directive and in the next moment, she was holding the phone to her face.

“Turn on your side,” he instructed.

She dared to roll her eyes at him, but did as he told her.

“Now what? How is this making me feel better?”

“Ms. Archeron, be quiet for one sec and quit making a fuss. Trust the fucking process.”

“Remember how we discussed language?” she cocked a brow at him.

“Remember how we discussed not being annoying and bossy all the time?”

“We never discussed that.”

“We are discussing it now.”

“Is this sexting? Is this what we are doing?” she suddenly popped her head up from the pillow and stared at him in horror.

Azriel attempted to smother a laugh, though it came out as a loud snort. 

“Do you have any idea what sexting is?”

“Yes, talking sex stuff on the phone. And if this is your idea of making it all better, this is a hard pass. I am not sexting with you.”

“No sexting. You are not my type,” he reminded her.

She only scoffed in indignation at his words.

He quickly added,

“Unless you really want to do some sexting with me. I am quite good at it,”

“No doubt,”

“Good at dirty talk. I’ll understand. No judgement. If the ginger bloke isn’t hitting all the spots–which I am guessing he isn’t since you are home alone with your dog on a Friday night–then I can help out…relieve some tension. No strings attached.”

“You are obsessed with the ‘ginger bloke’ as you call him,” Elain pointed out. 

“More like fascinated with what man would date you?”

She winced at his words and he immediately realised that he didn’t say the right thing. Not at all.

“So in your mind, I am so undateable that only the most odd and deranged man would grace me with his merciful presence?” she whispered and a sad tear rolled down her cheek.

“I am sorry! That’s not what I meant,” he pleaded at once. “I didn’t say it right…”

“No you didn’t,” she concluded. “I am sorry, Mr. Night, but I am tired and upset and your idea of making me feel better isn’t working. Good night.”

“No, no,” he exclaimed quickly, attempting to salvage the situation. “Please. Just stay on the line for a second. I didn’t mean it like that. I just want to know who you chose to be your boyfriend? What does he have that no one else’s got to make you fall for him? Is all. That’s all I meant.”

“You are brutish and aggressive and rude,” she told him, sniffling.

“I know,” he confirmed.

“You are supposed to argue!”

“Why argue if it’s the truth? Now. Close your eyes.”

“Close my eyes?”

“Yes.”

Elain closed her eyes. 

“Think about it, but not too long. And then describe your ideal day,” he urged quietly.

“I don’t know what my ideal day is,” she argued softly. 

“Well, create it for me. Create it in your mind. What do you want to do? Where do you want to go? Who do you want to be with?”

She thought, her brow furrowing and a cute little line appearing between her brows.

At last, she told him, “In London. I want to be in London,”  her eyes were still closed. “I want to wake up and it’s quiet, but I know that I am in the city. I don’t linger for too long, but I do take the longest shower, with like…10 shower heads!”

Azriel smiled at that, but didn’t comment, not wanting to break the spell of the moment.

“And then I dress in something very comfortable–joggers maybe, or a nice tracksuit. Soft and loose. And then, I would go downstairs and there would be breakfast. A full English–fry bread and beans and black pudding. The whole deal. And I would eat it all. All the sausages and all the eggs. And I’d drink all the tea too. And once I am done eating, the door would open and in would come Piglet, and behind him, my husband. And he would…”

She stopped talking.

Azriel waited.

There was more to her dream than just devouring a full English. There was something that she was apprehensive about sharing, but wanted him to know. 

Azriel knew people–he could read them fairly easily, and Elain wasn’t exactly complicated. But he was the captain of his team, and he had to operate and adjust all the time throughout the game, reading his teammates’ moods and needs. 

So as he waited for Elain to say more, he already suspected what it would be. 

“He’d be pushing a pram,” she whispered, voice barely audible. “With our children in it.”

“He is good, this husband of yours,” Azriel commented simply. “Makes you breakfast. Takes the dog out. Minds the children.”

“He loves me. And I love him,” she murmured.

“What’s he look like?”

“He is tall.”

“Anything else?”

“No. He is tall.”

“How many children?” 

“Four. I mean, two when I think about it. But eventually, four. Why do you want to know?”

“Four is a good number,” he approved. “What else? Tell me more.”

“I think I’d like to go to Portobello Road Market and get lost in the crowds and find fun things there to buy.”

Not what he expected, but alright. He leaned towards a fancier store. Not fucking Portobello Road Market. 

“Piglet loves it there,” she added. “He loves crowds. And then we can stop by my sister Nesta’s house and have lunch. Or no…no, no,” she shook her head vigorously. “I want something else!”

“Okay, what do you want?”

“I want to go to Greenwich, to the park. I love that park and the observatory. And the views,”

“You’d be looking at where I live,” he smiled.

“What? Where do you live?”

“Canary Wharf.”

“Ohhh,” she whistled softly. “Fancy! You are a footballer, I guess it makes sense. It’s either that, or Primrose Hill or a big pile in Surrey or something,”

“You are right.” Azriel was amused. But she wasn’t wrong.

“So, we’ve gone all the way from Bloomsbury, to Notting Hill, to Greenwich…Where to now? After the park? What did you do at the park by the way?”

“Played with Piglet. With my husband.”

“Uh-uh. And?”

“And then we need to go to a pub because I’d be tired.”

“Legit.”

“Get a couple of drinks…”

“So your ideal day is travelling around London and eating?”

“Basically yes. I love eating so much,” she admitted dreamily. “Afterwards, I want to have tea somewhere too. At a nice place. Maybe at the Goring.”

“Are you still wearing your tracksuit? And hauling around your dog and kids?” Azriel teased, and she stuck her tongue at him, in a very unlady-like gesture, and un-Elain-like reaction. 

“You are messing up my dream day!”

“Sorry. Just trying to picture you in your very comfy joggers at the Goring. What else then? Where are we finishing this day? A swanky restaurant? A bar?”

Decisively, she said, “no! We’d go to my favourite place.”

“I am waiting here with bated breath, Ms. Archeron. What is your favourite place?”

“G Kelly, Mr. Night. I get a meat pie with small liquor and mash and apple crumble with custard.”

“What the fuck do you know about G Kelly?” he gaped at her through the screen. 

“You are so rude. I like what I like, Mr. Night. Leave me alone. And my husband will love it too!”

“I mean, I love the place, but come on,”

“What does it have to do with you?”

“Aren’t you marrying me? I am tall. I can make babies. I’ll take Pinky out.”

“You are unhinged,” he said flatly. 

“Tell me that you are at least considering it?”

“Marrying you? Hardly.”

“Don’t you want your own bit o’rough?”

“You are not a bit o’rough, Mr. Night. You are a multi-millionaire who lives in Canary Wharf. As I said before, you need to get out of your own head. You are adored by millions and you play for one of the best teams in the world. Yes, you grew up rough, but that’s all behind you,”

“Is it?”

“It is. I grew up as a normal child and I was exposed to many different people and places. I am not as posh as you think.”

“I’ll take your word for it. You feeling better, Ms. Archeron?”

She considered it and then nodded, “I am. Thank you. This was surprising, but it did the trick.”

“I know. Well, sleep well then. I expect you to watch the game tomorrow and root for us. And for me.”

“Oh, is that an order?”

“Yeah, it kind of is. We’ll be discussing it on Wednesday. Don’t get in trouble meanwhile.”

“Oh, I’ll do my best,” she promised, hiding her smile.

“‘Night, big lad,” Azriel called out loudly. “You be good too.”

Piglet was already asleep. 

-

The more you know…

[snowangeldotmp3]

hello, back again with more supergirl robin! this was also written a little while ago, but idk i might actually pick this au back up sometime, just for funsies. who knows.

Supergirl takes a deep breath.

“I spent so much of my life trying to fit in and be normal. Not to draw any attention to myself, to make myself smaller and fit into this box that everyone else seemed to fit in to. And I could never make it work. No matter what I did, or how hard I tried, it’s like everyone knew there was something… different about me. 'Course, they just thought I was a little weird, not that I was a literal space alien.”

Nancy smiles softly, something warm stirring in her when Supergirl grins back at her. She understands, kind of. Of expectations and following them and fitting into a box you’re not meant for. She gets it. 

Supergirl continues. “And it’s hard, you know? All of that weight on your shoulders. Especially at fifteen years old. Like high school isn’t already hell on Earth.

“But then I think you get to this point where the dam just, breaks, you know? There’s a point where you have to realize that you will never fit in, you’ll never be what they want you to be. So you have to make that choice. Do I want to keep pretending to be what I’m not? Or do I live as myself, regardless of others think?”

Nancy nods, humming in agreement. She hadn’t expected Supergirl to be so profound. She’d fully prepared for this to be a ‘never meet your heroes’ moment. That it was all an act with Supergirl, that she put on this persona of hope, help, and compassion for all, that once the cameras stopped rolling, or nobody else was there to see it, she'd be a completely different person.

She's not. 

Nancy wants to be surprised that Supergirl’s so genuine. She should be surprised, especially since she was so worried. But it just rolls off of her. Nancy doesn’t write this down, the whole interview is recorded anyway, but there’s just something so personal about this, that she knows it would take away from the moment. She can’t help but be drawn in by Supergirl’s words, either. It’s magnetic, hypnotizing, and weirdly inspiring.

Supergirl crosses her arms, leaning against the balcony facing Nancy. “It’s not easy to be yourself, but it lifts that weight off your shoulder,” she pauses, and a chuckle escapes her. “Sorry, it’s just… It’s funny, you see it everywhere, too. ‘Be yourself,’ she air quotes. “But they don’t mean it. It’s ‘be yourself’ until you’re too weird or too gay or, hell, not from here. It’s a marketed version of yourself. Which is worse, I think.

“But it’s hard sometimes to be honest with yourself. To figure out who you are and where you fit. Sometimes you don’t fit, sometimes you have to carve out a space for yourself and say, ‘No. I do belong here.’”

And it’s…wow. The emotion in Supergirl’s eyes, it’s raw. Nancy can tell this is not some hokey hope and acceptance speech. This is, was, Supergirl’s life.

Nancy does write that down. 

She wants to say something. Something smart and intelligible and how Nancy agrees with everything and how she understands where she’s coming from. 

Except…

The only thing Nancy’s mind seems to focus on is the fact that Supergirl is gay.

Nancy remains quiet, taking in and processing the information that’s just spilled in front of her, ignoring the way her face heats up the longer she thinks about it. About how Hawkins' one and only superhero, is gay. Supergirl must take this as a bad sign, because she’s quickly filling the silence again. “Sorry. For rambling like that. It’s like my brain just decided to word vomit.” She winces, arms crossing over her chest, caving into herself.

For a moment, Nancy is reminded of Robin, of rambling words and hands moving while she talks. She can see why they’d be good friends. 

“No! No, don’t worry about it at all.” Nancy crosses her arms, forgetting the notebook. “I get it, actually. Trying to be something you aren’t.”

Supergirl quirks a brow. “Really?”

Nancy nods. “Like you said, High school’s hell on earth. I thought I could balance being the perfect daughter and the perfect student and the perfect girlfriend. And I couldn’t. I was living a lie.”

She doesn’t give her the full story. Supergirl might be open and genuine and able to talk about all these things, but Nancy is not. Some of these wounds are still fresh, Nancy’s walls are still up. Besides, this is supposed to be a professional interview, not a sleepover where they share their deepest, darkest secrets.

Supergirl must see through some of it, see some of Nancy’s pain. Or maybe she’s just an empath. Maybe that’s a secret power she has. She places a firm hand over Nancy’s, and whispers, “I’m sorry.” 

And it’s so warm and gentle and heartfelt that Nancy… Nancy doesn’t know what to make of it, but she knows she’s got to change the subject. Fast. She cannot develop a crush on Supergirl.