#except i don't know what i slipped on i don't know what ground i am going to hit

[returntotheground]

gotta say, i'm having a real lake mungo moment tonight y'all

[bi-writes]

who to call to clean up after an "accident" than your sick and twisted military boyfriend? :D (dark!ghost x dark!fem!reader, 18+)

cw: dark!reader, dark!simon, horror movie vibes, graphic depictions of character death/murder, unhealthy relationship dynamics, one slip of daddy, smut, unprotected piv, simon "spit in my mouth" riley, reader and simon are kinda psycho :D

you've been so nice to her. really nice. you've let it slide off your back whenever she doesn't do her dishes. you pretend you don't notice when she borrows your shoes from the hallway and wears them out to dinner. you hide yourself in your room when she has her awful, loud guests over, and you have never once said anything about how she takes her sweet time in the shared bathroom in the morning and makes you late 2 days a week for work.

but this? this?

she needs to keep simon's name out of her fucking mouth.

"excuse me?" you say finally. your roommate is shrugging on her jacket to leave, her purse in her hand as she types on her phone, using it as a way to not make eye-contact with you. her long nails are tapping against the screen, and it feels like fucking drip water torture. "what the fuck did you just say?"

she sighs, irritated, rolling her eyes as she keeps tapping away at the screen.

"you're so dramatic, it was just a fucking joke."

"you know, i let a lot of things slide," you laugh, humorlessly, and you cross your arms over your chest as you follow her into the kitchen. "but you need to be careful what you say."

"i don't do anything except call it like i see it," she says, tossing her hair over her shoulder and looking at herself in the reflection of the mirror hanging on the wall. "you need to just...go out more. man like that isn't gonna stay for long if you don't give him something to go for. he's bored, you know. when you have him over here all the time. and i've totally caught him peeking at me after i shower, y'know."

"well why the fuck are you wearing nothing but a towel when my boyfriend is here, anyways?" you snap. "he's trying to be polite, he's a guest. what if i wore a fucking towel when you had your guy friends over?"

she laughs, poking at the edge of her lip to fix the gloss of her pout. "trust me, honey, no one's looking at you in a towel."

you step back, a little shocked. she rolls her eyes again, sighing.

"i didn't--"

"are you kidding me?" you retort. "you're the worst fucking roommate in the world, and i put up with all your bullshit, and now you're going to go so low as to insult the way i look just to make yourself feel better?" you make your way around the kitchen island. "you don't wash your fucking dishes, you steal my fucking clothes, you're always late on your rent so i have to spot you--"

"you know what, just because i'm fucking happy, and you're not, doesn't mean you have to take it out on me!"

"i am happy, you sorry bitch!" you cry. "i'm so fucking happy, you're the only thing in my life making me constantly miserable!"

"oh, shove it up your ass, you ungrateful little shit!" she snaps. "you're just so fucking insecure and hate me so badly just because simon would rather fuck a girl like me than have to spend another minute with--"

the crack of cast iron against her head shuts her up. it dents the side of her head easily, and her face smacks against the countertop before she crumples to the floor.

it's so fast. one minute, she's yapping, high-pitched voice straining your ears. the next, she's silent.

and she won't say simon's fucking name again.

you watch with bated breath as she folds into herself, her head hitting the hardwood last, a slow puddle of blood beginning to grow under the tendrils of her hair as your eyes move to the heavy pan you're still holding in your hands.

fuck, that's a lot of blood. god, you thought she was just full of fucking air.

you drop the pan once the rush of anger leaves your chest. it thunks onto the ground, and your hands shake as you see the specks of blood that are on the back of your hands, sprinkled over the shirt you wear. it stains your bare legs, even your toes, and you don't even want to look at the spray of it along the counters.

you should be crying, you think. you should feel bad. you're trembling a little, but you think it's just the adrenaline beginning to fade and not the guilt you know is supposed to be racking your insides.

you turn your eyes back to her. her eyes are dull. she doesn't move. it's so quiet now, utterly silent, and you take a deep breath as you take in the silence that you've craved for a long while now. you make your way quietly out of the kitchen, stepping over her body before going for your phone that sits on the coffee table in front of the couch.

you keep your eyes on her as you put your phone to your ear. it rings, and you tilt your head to the side as the blood begins to spiderweb under the kitchen table.

"'ello?"

you blink, looking towards the door. you clutch your phone a little tighter to your ear.

"simon?" you say softly. "a-are...are you busy?"

he hums lowly, chuckling, "no' at the moment, swee'eart, why?" he asks. "mmm...missed y'r voice..." you close your eyes as you hear the buckle of his belt. you try not to picture your giant of a boyfriend leaning back on his worn couch and shoving his jeans low enough to fuck his fist. "tolk t'me, luv...tell me 'ow much ya miss daddy."

you clear your throat gently, willing yourself to ignore the soft squelch of what you know is his hand around his cock, to not let it distract you from what's more important. "uhm...i liked the flowers you gave me, simon. t-they were beautiful."

the sounds on the other end of the phone quiet. you hear shuffling, and then a few moments later, the clink of his car keys.

"tha' right, baby?" he asks, and you close your eyes as you hear the front door of his flat opening. he's already on the way, already coming.

"yeah," you sniffle. "really nice sunflowers."

a yellow flower. he huffs on the other end of the phone, breathing a little easier.

"good girl," he murmurs, and then the line cuts. you set the phone down, making your way back to the kitchen and taking a seat at the table. you watch as the blood continues to curl over the floor. you make no attempt to help her; you just swing your feet under you as you look at her spoiled outfit, just grateful she isn't wearing your shoes or one of your jackets. you would hate to have to throw something out that she got all dirty.

there's a curt knock at the door ten minutes later, and then it opens. simon shuts the door behind him, cracking his neck by moving it from side to side before narrowing his eyes at you. you bite your lip, blinking, forgetting suddenly why he is here when he looks so fucking good. he's got a sweatshirt on under his windbreaker, worn jeans tucked into his boots; you like these jeans, his ass looks incredible in them.

"wot happened?" he asks. you stand, remembering your place. your lip starts trembling, and simon's eyes soften just a little. he's wearing his balaclava, hood up over his head and jacket zipped up, shadowing any true expression on his face. his gait sounds heavy as he lets his hands out of his pockets, coming towards you. when he steps into the kitchen, his eyes dart towards your roommate who's still on the floor, laid out unnaturally just by the oven.

he lets out a low breath, clicking his tongue under the mask. you hold your breath as you wait for his reaction.

"bloody hell," simon mutters, reaching up and throwing his hood off. you wring your hands together nervously, your eyes beginning to sting with tears. you brace for the accusations, for the inevitable terror of facing the music. simon is military, for fuck's sake, why the fuck did you think turning to him would be a good idea?

"i...i-i--" you start, looking up at him, and he holds up a hand, taking the side of your face into his palm before smoothing a gloved thumb over your bottom lip. you blink in confusion, not understanding.

"'s olright, baby," he shushes you, shaking his head. "don't cry."

"simon, i--" you sputter a little, gripping his wrist gently. "i just--i couldn't do it anymore, she just--"

he pities you. maybe you can explain. maybe if you tell him a warped story of what happened, he can help you. he must know someone. he must have important friends, he must--

he uses his free hand to move his mask up over his nose, and you lean into him when he bends, kissing you warmly. your eyes flutter shut, and you shuffle closer as he kisses you sloppy, kisses you hot. you mewl as he slips his tongue into your mouth, licking over your teeth and humming low as he pulls away. his eyes are flashing.

mmm. love.

"hmm..." simon licks his lips, smiling a little. he looks over you, almost pensive, his eyes scanning over your face before he settles back on your eyes. it's tender, the way he looks at you. romantic. "let's get this off of ya."

he reaches for the large shirt you are wearing, pulling it up and over your head. he crumples it into a ball before tossing it on top of your roommate, nodding his head behind you.

it's then that you realize simon isn't going to do the noble thing. he isn't going to call the police. he isn't going to turn you in, make you explain, he seems uninterested in knowing what really happened. no, he already knows what happened. but that's not important.

his pretty, perfect girl got into a little trouble. and he's going to make this go away.

"go on, luv. take a nice shower, yeah?" simon turns you around and pushes on your back gently. you suck in a shaky breath when he fondles your ass, pulling on your panties gently. "mmm...take these off, too."

you slip your panties down your legs, handing them to him.

"they have blood on them, too?" you ask, wiping your face, and he chuckles lowly.

"nah," he shrugs, stuffing them into his back pocket after taking a little sniff. "these are just for me."

jesus fucking christ, there's really something wrong with him. there's something really, really wrong with him.

and something wrong with me.

simon looks you up and down, his eyes catching on your naked body for just a few moments before he nods his head again.

"go on," he tells you. "before i get distracted." you pause for a moment, tilting your head back a little as he reaches out and cups one of your breasts in his big hand. you bite your lip, swallowing back a heavy breath as he flicks his thumb over your nipple gently. "greatest tits 've ever seen," he mumbles, scrunching his nose under the mask before he lets you go. "yeah, go on, baby." it takes everything in you to walk away when you see him reach down with that same hand and grip his bulge through his jeans, adjusting himself as he turns back to the mess in the kitchen.

when you shut the bathroom door behind you, you hear shuffling in the living room. the coffee table scraping. the couch being pushed. the rustle of the rug you have there. he grunts a little, and you hear his boots track from the kitchen back to the living room.

you turn the water on hot. you decide to take a bath, not looking at yourself in the mirror as you sink into the tub and plug the drain. you make the water scalding, and it soothes your sore muscles as you rest your cheek against the edge of the tub and stare at the door.

you're not sure how long you stay there. long enough for the water to nearly slosh over the edge of the tub and for simon to swing the bathroom door open, seemingly done with his...tasks.

he's taken his sweatshirt off. just a black t-shirt tucked into jeans, and there's a slight pant to his breaths that tell you he's exerted some energy. you notice he has his gloves still on, but before he touches you, he takes them off and tosses them into the sink.

"move over," simon mutters, starting to undress. you look up at him as he undoes the button on his pants, shucking his shirt off and into the corner before dropping his jeans. the water swishes as you sit up, and you swallow hard when simon kicks his boots and pants off, his cock hanging heavy as his mask is the last to hit the floor.

fuck, he's so pretty.

he has no regard for his size. he simply steps into the tub behind you, taking a seat. he looks comically large in your small bathtub, and you squeak a little as the water spills over the edge of the bath and wets the floor. he hums as he feels the hot water on his back. you don't say anything as his hands start to turn the water a little red. you just look up, away, at him.

you shuffle between his legs, tucking yourself into his space. you can't help but look him up and down, admiring his naked physique. he's just hot. big arms, thick thighs, sunburnt tattoos and scars cutting across his face. he hasn't shaved today, so there's some stubble along his jaw, but your eyes focus a little too much on his girthy length, heavy as it sits on his stomach and leaks a little there. his fat stomach, all solid and pudgy, such a nice place for you to rest your hands.

"you did good today," simon says finally. you look at him, and he tilts his head to the side. his approval makes your chest warm. "callin' me like tha'. wot a good girl you are."

keeping quiet on the phone is what he doesn't add out loud.

you purse your lips, trying not to keen at the praise, but it's hard not to when he reaches over and slides his hand over your shoulder, thumbing at your jaw.

"i-i didn't...didn't know what to do," you admit, and he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. you didn't know what to do, so you called him. level-headed enough to not do something rash and call someone else, no, you called him.

"mmm...tha's wot i'm 'ere for, luv," simon soothes you. "made such a little mess..."

you close your eyes. it's sick. deranged. fuck, it feels nice.

why don't i feel anything?

"i know. i'm sorry."

"nothin' ta be sorry about."

you slump into his arms, resting your cheek on his solid chest. you can feel his cock pulsing against your tummy, and you adjust yourself in the water, straddling him as you rest your chin on his pecs and look up at him through watery eyes.

you aren't sad. no. not sad at all. simon has shown you what he will do for the you. the lengths he will go. what he'll forgive just to take care of you. he's so capable, so understanding.

sick. twisted. mine.

"then i'll just say thank you," you mumble, grinding your hips slowly. simon hums, a wicked smile coming over his scarred face. he licks over his bottom lip, big hands gripping you by the fat of your hips as you grip the edges of the tub for stability. "say thank you to my big, strong man for taking such good care of me..."

he chuckles, his eyes lowering, watching your tits sway as you fit your pussy over his length and grind down on him.

"tha' so, baby?"

you nod.

"mhm," you whine. "how can i thank you, my big boy? how can i show you how grateful i am for cleaning up after me, hmm?" you bend at the waist, kissing him wet and warm, and he hisses as you suck his tongue into your mouth. he tastes like cigarettes, and normally you would curse him for it, but right now it tastes so much like him, and you lick around his teeth trying to taste more of that sweet nicotine.

"fuck--such a naughty little girl..." he snickers, reaching down. you sigh when he slides his big palms over your ass, forcing you to grind slower, the tip of his cock sliding through your folds leisurely. you grip the edges of the tub tighter, pressing down to give you more leverage to grind down harder. "make such a mess, oll the time..." you gasp when he presses into you just enough, the tip breaching your entrance and forcing you to squeeze around him, your cunt trying to suck him in. "olways needin' me ta pick up afta ya..."

you giggle, sliding your hands up his chest, gripping his shoulders for leverage as you sink down onto him. he grits his teeth as you do, his eyes focused on the way his cock disappears inch by inch until you're seated down in his lap, his length kissing deep and twitching excitedly. he always feels like a teenager again whenever you fuck--like you're the first pretty girl to ever wet his cock.

you cup his cheeks finally, smoothing your thumbs under his eyes as you bring his gaze up to meet yours. you swallow hard, looking down at him.

"i-i love you, simon," you breathe. he stills underneath you, his jaw clenching as he frowns just a little. you come a little closer, nuzzling your nose against his, your thumb falling to trace the outline of his torn lip. "i should've said it a long time ago...i-i..."

"heart's beatin' out y'r chest, luv," he mutters lowly. "'s olright...'m not goin' anywhere."

it's so disgusting. you should be fucking ill. you should be scrambling to the toilet, your breakfast halfway up your throat. you should be crying, emotional, begging simon to tell the cops that it was all your fault, because it is. he should've come here and made you do the level-headed thing and confess your terrible crime.

he shouldn't be here, sitting underneath you in your tub, cock-deep inside of you after helping you commit murder and then fucking clean it all up.

"what did i do?" you gasp, sitting up. you move to get out of the tub, but simon growls, putting two firm hands on your ass and shoving you back down on his cock, making you cry. "w-what did i do? s-simon, why don't i feel bad, why am i not sorry--?!"

simon tsks, feigning comfort. he juts his bottom lip out into a pout, mocking your little cries.

"oh, luvvie, don't start cryin' now," he chuckles. "don't start pretending like y'care."

uhm...

"simon--"

"no one likes a liar."

you're still trying to pretend, and he knows this. you're still trying to act how someone normally would react. someone normal, someone who thinks rationally, would never have picked up the pan in the first place. and even if they had, they would've scrambled, cried, picked up the phone and confessed, called an ambulance as they tried to get her to start breathing again, put both hands on her chest and tried to get her wake up.

but you didn't. you watched, unnervingly calm, as she stained the hardwood with her blood. you watched as her eyes glassed over, lifeless, and you watched as her insides began to paint the floor in abstract shapes as you gave it time to spread. and not once during that time, or waiting for simon, did you think to help her.

you didn't want to help her. and you certainly didn't think she deserved to get back up. maybe she hadn't done anything quite harsh enough to deserve death in someone else's eyes. annoying, overbearing, rude.

but it's hard to feel bad when she talked about simon. when she called him by his name. when you've seen her let her towel slip when he's in her vicinity, trying to coax him into her room when you're looking away.

you should've taken one of the throwing knives that simon hides in his boot and thrown it at her then, just for that.

"we're cut from the same bloody cloth, baby," simon says, almost accusingly. you grip the edges of the tub, trying to stand again, but he cants his hips and fucks up into you, drawing a frenzied moan out of you. you reach for his shoulders as he does it again, his tongue darting out before he licks a fat stripe over your pebbled nipple. "'s olright. 's okay, luv. don't worry. don't hafta get y'r hands dirty, swee'eart, i've got it."

"but simon," you whine, but all he does is shake his head. you don't have to put on this morality act for him. you don't have to pretend that you are sorry for something that you had every right to do, you don't have to explain to him why you aren't feeling the way you should be feeling.

simon doesn't care about how you should feel. he only cares about how you actually feel.

"she was in y'r way," simon grunts. "always bein' a bloody brat." he fists your hair and brings your mouth to his, groaning as you tighten around his cock. "'ow many times did she fuck ya over, baby, hmm? 'ow many times did she steal y'r fuckin' things, come outta the loo wearin' nothin' but her fuckin' knickers, yeah? 'ow many times?"

you kiss him, frantic, digging your nails into his pecs and dragging them angrily.

yeah. fuck her. fuck what she did to me, fuck the way she behaved, fuck her stupid face and her stupid attitude and her stupid little games.

"called ya names..." he's hitting your sweet spot now, making you cry from pleasure. your pussy feels so hot, squeezing him because you know he's right, and the way he fucks this time makes you think he really knows what you are and knows exactly how to get you there. "wot a fuckin' twat. deserved every bit o' it, baby."

you meet his eyes, dark and cruel. he's still moving, still holding onto your hips and drawing out little whines, but it's different suddenly, it's more. you nod, understanding.

simon is terrible. no good. his head isn't in the right place, maybe it never has been. you wonder, briefly, if this is what he does when he's at work, if these are the things that he's used to. maybe simon has been in service too long--maybe he doesn't understand that you aren't at war here, that you can't just kill and clean up, that you aren't in the field.

"she deserved it," you whimper, and he grins, all teeth, all mean.

"tha's it."

"she was such a bitch."

"fuckin' right."

"she got what was coming for her."

"nnghhh--fuck, baby, gonna make me fuckin' cum, tolkin' like tha'," he hisses. you practically smack him as you grab onto his scarred face, gritting your teeth as you glare down at him. his lips part, and you spit in his mouth as he fucks up into you, thighs hitting your ass with a wet smack that makes your head spin.

"and i'll get rid of the next bitch that so much as looks your way, simon."

the kiss is searing. hot, blinding, white noise fills your ears as he cums with you, stuffing you full as he cums hard, a pained groan leaving him as he collapses against the porcelain tub with a harsh thud. you follow him, chasing after him, kissing him between heavy breaths as you don't make any effort to move off of him. when simon opens his eyes, he can't help but smile.

he's never seen his reflection without a mirror.

[zarnzarn]

"Why are you panicking on the balcony in the middle of the night?" Penelope's voice cuts through his quick breathing out of sheer terror at her closeness and Odysseus throws a punch towards her.

Penelope catches his fist and yawns.

"Why are you spying on me panicking on the balcony in the middle of the night?" He replies when he finds his voice, pulling his hand back and turning back out to lean on the railing.

"Athena did not want to get out of the covers," Penelope sighs, plastering herself to his back like a particularly lazy lion. "Well? At least panic in bed, darling, winter is cold this year."

He laughs, threadbare but amused. Then sobers. Stares at the moon. "Sometimes, I- I don't-"

Penelope kisses his shoulder and he closes his eyes on an exhale. "Yes?"

"I don't deserve to have been the one to come back."

She is silent as the words hang in the air.

"Half their wives remarried in the fifth year, when we had no word of who lived and who died." Penelope says finally, making his heart jump. "Their parents gave up the first year after Troy fell and no ships entered our harbour. Even the most loyal either left or moved on... everyone except for me."

"Penelope-" Odysseus whispers, voice full of pain. Five years of Ithaka have done much to make the twenty years away feel like a bad dream- except at moments like these, where it comes rushing back in like a spear to the chest.

"So remember that it was for me," She interrupts him, voice firm even as it cracks. "That I deserved for you to have come back- that I stayed married and stayed loyal and waited for you, Odysseus. I kept Ithaka waiting, did not love you less even one second that you were away, and knew that you would find your way back, even when no one else believed."

"Oh, Penelope. Of course it was for you," Odysseus whispers, overcome. "Every drop of blood I spilled-"

"Then cease this regret!"

"But I cannot do that either!" Odysseus sighs, presses his hands to his face. "Everyone I know, everything I touch... all comes to ruin eventually."

"I am still here," Penelope cuts in, voice hard. "And don't disrespect my loyalty by believing that you don't deserve every drop of it."

"Penelope," Odysseus turns, stricken and cracked. They embrace, his fingers shaking. "Penelope."

"I love you, my dear," Penelope softens, cradling his face. "I am sorry our men were lost. Believe me, I am, I hate it, I look at our temples and rage at the gods, the Fates, every single day that we were so close to pure happiness and it slipped out of our fingers so. I hate what it did to you, what all of them did to you. But I cannot be sorry that you found your way back to me, and I will never be sorry that I chose you, even if I knew what was to come."

The tears drip down onto the ground below, although they no longer carry the heavy guilt and grief of five years before. "I am. I am sorry that-"

"If you apologise for marrying her, I'll hand her the knife to slit your throat myself," Athena grouches as she slips beside them, military posture unwoven by sleep until she's slouching to their height. She presses her face to Odysseus' shoulder sleepily, miniature wings flapping idly in her hairline. "It was bad enough playing matchmaker when you were already courting each other, don't give me nightmares of what it would have been like if you'd been driven apart back then. Stop being an idiot. "

"I thought you didn't want to leave the bed," Odysseus huffs, bumping his hip into hers.

Athena grunts. Penelope puts a hand on his cheek to guide his gaze back to hers.

"We love you," She murmurs, pressing their noses together. "And regret is useless. We have fought for our happiness and won- feel the grief and let it pass. Let it go. Be happy, my darling, until we meet our friends again."

"And for the love of the stars, go the fuck to sleep," Athena snarks.

Odysseus laughs, wiping away his tears. "I love you too," He whispers, kissing her. "And I miss them. But you're right, I think- I think it's time to move ahead."

"Everyone dies," Athena pitches in, softly for once. "You will see your men once more, Odysseus. But there are years of living for you yet."

"Even if I say I wish to spend the night on the balcony with you?" Odysseus says teasingly.

"No, then we'll both kill you immediately," Penelope replies, smiling. "Even if Athena's chest does look enticing in the cold."

"Keep your filth-ridden thoughts to yourself, vulgar woman," Athena chides fondly as she pushes her enormous self off the railing and presses a kiss down to Penelope's smirking mouth. "Come back to bed, the both of you."

Odysseus takes in a breath of the chilled wind and follows his lovers back inside, where the branches of their bed sway gently, scattering leaves around their heads.

"I am glad for it too," Athena murmurs behind him as she climbs in after them both, pressing herself across his side and laying a kiss to his cheekbone. Runs a hand down his back as Penelope pulls the blanket over them. "If you have grown so stupid as to not know that already."

Odysseus sniffs, rubbing at his face, but smiling slowly. Two sets of hands envelop him in tight embraces, a riot of messy hair coming into his vision on either side. "I love you both."

"Go to sleep," comes the chorus from either side, bodies pushing closer to him so that not a lick of air remains between them.

He still may not deserve it- but he is still finally, blessedly- home.

[jellieland]

A week or two after the games, Grian will usually check in with the victor.

It's a habit that's probably more for his own benefit than anyone else's. But it is, he thinks, a good habit nonetheless.

After all, as fun as it all is, things can get a bit... intense, towards the end, and it's good for his peace of mind to make sure the last one standing is ok with how things shook out.

Nothing much has ever really come of it before; they're all pretty resilient. He doubts this time’ll be different. Except- well.

Something about it all itches at the back of his mind, and he hasn’t been able to work out why. There was the actual ending, of course, but also Grian may have been whispering in Martyn's ear about how boring that final showdown was turning out to be, and how narratively satisfying it would be if he just betrayed the other two and got it over with, so.

If nothing else, it feels like he's got no reason to break with tradition.

There's just one more concern.

Martyn seems to have made it almost impossible to contact him.

It's not... unheard of, for players to keep to themselves most of the time, especially when it comes to those they don’t share a server with. It seems a little uncharacteristic of Martyn, but the last time Grian saw him outside the games was before they even started, so maybe he does things differently these days.

There are certainly a great many reasons why that could be the case, most of which are perfectly sensible.

But Grian's never been able to resist picking at a puzzle put in front of him, whether the puzzle likes it or not, so he is going to talk to Martyn. And he can just see what happens, and worry about any consequences if and when they appear.

Luckily, he already has a way to do just that.

He doesn't usually need to do this - although it is very funny to startle Scar or Mumbo with it sometimes when they're concentrating. Honestly it's usually less effective than communicators, with how much effort it takes.

But he does have a way. The same way he used to whisper in Martyn's ear very recently, in fact.

He reaches out, away from his home, away from his body, and it feels a little like simultaneously overextending himself, and putting his foot down on a step he thought was flat ground.

That is... not how this usually feels.

It's odd. Rather unnerving.

But it works.

He finds Martyn. Watches the vague shape of him solidify into something more real.

He’s still wearing his red life outfit, for some reason. His eyes are closed. Around his head, the coral curls like a blood-red crown.

“What do you think you're playing at?” Asks Grian.

Martyn blinks his eyes open slowly, looking less confused than Grian would expect for someone hearing a disembodied voice out of nowhere. “Oh good.” He says dryly. “You again.”

He squawks indignantly. “Hey, what's that supposed to mean?”

There is silence for a few seconds.

“...Hey.” Martyn says, and as flippant as he suddenly sounds, he looks as thrown off balance as Grian feels. “Not sure who this is, but I think you might have the wrong number!”

“I think that's unlikely.” He deadpans. “Where are you? I haven't been able to get hold of you.”

“Uh-” There's a short pause as he looks around at wherever he is right now. “Falling into endless nothingness, looks like. Same old, same old, am I right?”

Grian rolls his eyes. “Yeah, ok. Well, I suppose you don't have to tell me.” A part of him makes a note of Martyn’s wording, though. Just in case.

“...Hm. Well, not gonna lie, I do appreciate the change of pace, but I would love to know what exactly you want from me. You know, just on the off chance that you feel like giving me any clues.”

It's at this point that Grian remembers: one of the main reasons this method of communication is good for messing with people is that it makes him sound, um. A little different. And while he can see Martyn, it’s not as if Martyn can see him.

...Best to just pretend that hadn't slipped his mind.

“You do realize this is Grian, right?” He asks, as though it ought to be obvious.

“Riiight, yeah, sure.” Says Martyn. “And I'm also Grian, did you know that?”

“Oh for- what, do you want me to tell you some secret only the two of us would know, or something?”

“Nah.” Says Martyn. “That wouldn't work.”

“Elaborate.” Says Grian, through gritted teeth.

“You know what? I don't think I will!” Replies Martyn brightly.

Grian takes a deep breath in through his nose. “I'm beginning to wonder why I bother.” He grinds out.

Martyn snorts. “Tell me about it.”

There's a short silence.

“But- ok.” He continues. “Just suppose for the sake of argument that you are Grian.”

“...Yes?” Asks Grian warily.

“I have a question for you.”

“...Yeeees?” Asks Grian, even more warily.

The silence stretches for several long moments.

“What's up?” Asks Martyn.

“Yeah ok, this isn’t worth it, I'm leaving now.”

“Wait! No, I'm serious!” Under the amusement, there's a note of something that sounds almost like nervousness in his voice. It's uncharacteristic. Unnerving.

“What are you talking about?” Asks Grian, trying very hard to keep his voice at least mostly free of annoyance.

“Oh, you know! What's going on, what's the deal, what'd you want to talk to me for?” There's a slight hesitation. “You need help or something?”

“I- ok. That's actually sort of relevant. It's really nothing too complicated, Martyn.” He says, grumpily. “All I wanted to do was make sure you're good with what happened at the end of the last game.”

Martyn blinks, and goes very still.

There is a long silence - long enough that Grian starts to feel concerned.

And then Martyn laughs.

It's not a nice laugh.

“Good, huh. You want to know if I’m good with it. That sure is an interesting choice of words.”

“...How so?” He asks, guardedly.

“Grian. Grian, I’m not sure if you remember this, but I won. I won this one, Grian.” Every word he says, however restrained, sounds like it’s had to claw its way out of him. He glares at nothing. “And guess what? It's just like the others. I don’t really care enough for any of it to matter to me, anymore, and that's fine by me.”

Now that's... a lot to unpack. “You- I'm sorry?”

“Well that makes one of us then, doesn't it?” His voice is coated with scorn.

“What are you talking about?”

“Do you actually think I’m going to explain myself to you?” He asks, looking half-amused. “You, of all people?”

“Well unfortunately, Martyn, I can’t exactly put Ren on the line, so I’m afraid I’m all you’re going to get.” He snaps, and instantly regrets it when he sees the look in Martyn’s eyes.

There is a short silence.

Grian shifts uncomfortably. He’s not going to apologize, obviously. But. Well. “That... ok, maybe that was a bit much.” He says.

“...Little bit, yeah.”

There is another silence.

After a while, Martyn speaks.

“I would’ve betrayed him too, you know.” He says coolly.

“What, Ren?”

“Yeah. At the drop of a hat. Soon as it was convenient.”

“I mean sure, I suppose?” Says Grian, caught off guard. “You didn’t, though. Did you? When you had the chance.”

“Eh.” He shrugs, as though that’s an irrelevant detail. “It would’ve been more dramatic later. You know how it is.”

...There's no real way he can justify saying no to that, is there? “Yeah.” He says. “I guess I do.”

He tries to picture the King, betrayed. The Hand, triumphant.

“I dunno, though.” He says, thoughtful. “I don’t think you ever could’ve done it, to be honest. Not in the first one. Whatever it was you were planning, it was just never how that story was going to go.”

“That’s not true.” He says it just slightly too fast. “I know that’s not true.”

Grian scoffs. “You know thinking about something isn’t the same as doing it, right?”

“What, no, really?” He rolls his eyes. “You don’t say!”

“What I’m saying,” He lets his voice turn biting, “Is that you’re being stupid.”

Martyn lets out a startled laugh. It’s surprisingly genuine. “Wow. You’re really bad at this, dude.”

Grian bristles. “Well why am I the one who has to do it then? Why don’t you talk to someone else, if you hate talking to me so much?”

“I mean…” He makes an unconvinced noise. “Obvious problems aside, when do you even expect me to do that? We usually have other things to worry about.”

“I don’t know, maybe at literally any point between the games?” He sighs exasperatedly. “There’s no way you’re that busy.”

“Between the games?” Martyn asks incredulously, and Grian suddenly feels as though something dangerous is hovering over their heads, just about to drop. “What do you mean, between the games?”

“I mean between the games! Like- now! What do you think this is, right now, if it’s not between the games?” He snaps.

“This right now?” He looks nonplussed. “I think we’re usually asleep for most of this bit. Or possibly we forget about it. As you can probably imagine, it’s hard to know for sure.”

“Now I know that’s not true.” He says firmly, ignoring the unease trying to creep up on him. “I know I do stuff between games, and I know I don’t just forget about it. That makes no sense.”

“I mean, I don't necessarily mean everything between the games, more just this specifically.” He gestures around at nothing. “That gets more complicated, though. But you- hm.” He looks curious. “That’s interesting. Where even are you, then, at the moment?”

“I’m at home! Which is where I thought everyone else was too!”

Martyn seems to consider this for a few moments, and then he frowns, and then his expression goes blank. “…Oh.” He says. “Yeah. No, that… makes sense, actually. Yeah. You’re probably right.”

“Wha- what do you mean? Right about what?”

“Everyone probably went home. Or, at least, they thought they did. And hey, what’s the difference, when you get right down to it?”

“...Ok, I’m going to ignore the second part for now, I already got past that little existential crisis after Ren and Doc’s whole… thing… in season eight- if you think everyone went home, why are you- what was it you said- ‘falling into endless nothingness’?”

There’s another pause.

“...You’re really gonna make me say it, huh? That seems cruel, even for you.”

“Wait, no, what do you-”

“Where else do you think I would go?” It sounds less like an admission and more like an accusation. “What ‘home’ do you think I have left, Grian?”

“Look.” Snaps Grian, feeling vaguely tricked. “It’s not my fault that you-”

“Yeah, it never is, is it?” He glares into the darkness. “It’s always a tragic inevitability with you, never a choice you’re making. That way you get to stab people in the back and pretend to be sad about it. Best of both worlds, huh?”

Grian splutters for a few seconds. “Why are you being so rude to me??”

“Because you’re you and I’m me.” He smirks. “Don’t know what you expected, honestly.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s hiding behind inevitability now?” Grian retorts, perhaps a trifle vindictively.

“I never said I wasn’t a hypocrite, sometimes. Also, I never said I felt bad about it.” He replies levelly, and all at once, they’re talking about something else.

“You didn’t need to say it.” Snaps Grian. “You might be good at lying but you’re not perfect. I could see in your face that it hurt.”

He narrows his eyes. “It felt good, actually.”

“Wow, good for you.” He says, almost amused suddenly. “You didn’t say I was wrong, though.”

His expression twists into something unreadable. “I know you, Grian. Like recognizes like.” He says, voice low and dangerous. “You’re a liar.”

Grian shrugs, despite the fact that Martyn will not see it. “And you’re a coward. Your point?”

“I don’t need to justify myself to someone who refuses to admit that he could have chosen to be better, if he’d ever wanted to.” He spits out.

“Hey, at least I don’t try and convince myself I’m a monster just because I want to survive.”

That one strikes something tender; he can tell. “Right, yeah, and you’re just a blameless angel and everyone you cut down had it coming, I’m sure.”

“I didn’t say that. But since you bring it up… how many people did you give up your time for, again?” He grins. “Is it less than one? Because I think it is. I think I’ve got you beat there, Martyn.”

“And where did it get you?” He snarls.

“Home, in the end.”

Martyn flinches back as though he’s been struck.

“Did you forget about that part?” Asks Grian.

There’s a long pause.

Martyn fidgets with the end of the banner he wears around his waist, pulling at where the white threads are coming undone. He stares out into the darkness. “Yeah.” He says. “I guess I did.”

The satisfaction of winning the argument feels less potent, suddenly.

“You’re right.” Says Grian, after a while. “I’m really bad at this.”

Martyn laughs quietly. “To be fair, I’m not exactly helping.”

“You’re really not.”

He sighs. “You know pulling the knife out just makes the wound start bleeding again, don’t you? That’s all we’re doing here. That’s all we’re going to do to each other. We’re too alike to do anything else, unless we just don’t do anything. And hey, we’re not great at that either.”

“Hmm.” Says Grian begrudgingly. “I’d say something about inevitability again, but I honestly don’t think you’re wrong.”

“We both just enjoy pushing buttons too much to be particularly good at not pushing them, I guess.” Martyn sounds half-amused, half-resigned.

Grian makes an irritated noise. “Yes, alright, I don’t need another reminder of the whole button debacle.”

There is more silence.

After a while, Grian speaks again. “There’s something I was wondering about, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” Martyn raises an eyebrow.

“What’s the reason?” He asks.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific with that one, mate.”

“‘This is a death match for a reason.’” He says matter-of-factly. “That’s what you said. So- what is it? What’s the reason?”

Martyn blinks, then lets out a short, harsh laugh. “You think I know that?”

“No, not really. That’s why I wondered what you meant when you said it.”

“It- look. I don’t know if you’re expecting philosophy from me, or something. It’s a death game. People die, and it doesn’t have to mean anything. It doesn’t have to be special, it doesn’t have to be honourable, it doesn’t have to be fair. That’s what I meant.” He frowns. “You know that.”

“I do.” He admits.

“Then why ask?” Martyn looks around as though this time, somehow, he might be able to find Grian’s face in the dark.

He doesn’t.

“I just-” Grian sighs. “What do you want?” He asks. “What do you actually want, Martyn?”

The question sits heavy in the darkness between them.

“What do you want me to say?” Martyn asks. He sounds more tired than Grian’s ever heard him.

“I want you to tell the truth.” Grian says. He needs to know. He needs to know.

“Now, Grian.” Says Martyn, voice gently chiding. “Have you met me? You know I can’t do that.”

“Pretend it’s a lie, then.”

Martyn’s grip on the banner he wears tightens, slightly. There is a long, long silence.

“Or how about,” Says Grian, eventually, “You say something, and I won’t know whether it’s a lie or not.”

There is another pause.

Martyn frowns at the red of the fabric in his hands, as though it might offer him something.

As far as Grian can tell, it does not.

He’s just beginning to give up hope of ever getting an answer when Martyn speaks, so softly he almost doesn’t hear it.

“I want it to be warm again.” He says.

It’s quiet.

For a moment – just a moment, no more – Grian remembers bloody, aching fists. He remembers burning heat.

“Well.” He says. “That makes one of us, then. Doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Says Martyn, voice low. “I guess it does.”

There’s another short second of silence before Martyn speaks again, sounding cheerful. “So, suppose I’ll see you in the next one, huh? If that ever happens.” He grins. “Wanna take bets on how hard Scott’ll have to try not to win it? I’m gonna go with very.”

Grian snorts. “I’m not taking that bet. That man is infuriatingly good at surviving.”

“You’re not wrong! You are not wrong.” He gestures into the void. “And don’t even get me started on Timmy’s whole thing, I think we both know how that one’s gonna go. Unless you want to bet against him being gone first next time round?”

“You’re not Scar.” Says Grian. “There’s no way you talk anyone into taking that bet in a million years. Except maybe Timmy.”

“Fair, fair.”

There’s a short pause.

Grian hesitates for a moment before he speaks – almost, but not quite, reluctant. “Why do you keep looking back?” He asks. “There’s nothing left for us there. You know that, right?”

“I mean, let me know when you find a better place to look.” He tilts his head to the side slightly, curious, and frowns. “Do you really never want to go back?”

“No.” Says Grian. “Never.”

Martyn opens his mouth, and then, uncharacteristically, closes it again. “Yeah.” He says. “Me neither.”

Grian is tempted, momentarily, to tell Martyn to take the banner off and let it go. Let the darkness take it. Prove it.

But just like Martyn, he lets it drop.

Mutually assured destruction is a potent thing.

Now all he has to do is the hard part. The part he’s dreading most of all.

The main concern is phrasing it correctly. Making it sound just how he wants it to sound.

After some thought, he thinks he’s found the words he's looking for.

He could always be wrong, though. He’s usually more one for incredible violence than smooth talking.

“Martyn?” He asks cautiously, casually. “Do you want me to help you?”

The expression that crosses Martyn’s face is unreadable.

He processes the question for a few moments, before he answers.

“Nah. I’m good.” He says, voice guarded. “Don’t worry about it.”

And that’s the rub, isn’t it.

Because now Grian has to decide whether he’s going to let Martyn lie to him or not.

Whether he’s going to pass the test that’s been set before him, or not.

...

Grian’s not a monster.

He’s just realistic.

There's nothing he could do, anyway.

“Well.” He says levelly. “Just let me know if that changes.”

(Martyn would do the same to him. It’s not a justification, or an excuse. But he knows it to be true.)

Martyn stares out into the darkness. His eyes are almost, but not quite, resentful. “Sure thing, man. Why wouldn’t I.”

It’s not said like a question, so Grian doesn’t answer it. “Well, you know I can’t stay here forever.”

“I do know that.”

“Any messages you want me to pass on to any of the hermits? I know you haven’t seen Mumbo in a while.” It’s not really a compromise, or a peace offering. Hopefully, however, it’s close enough to one or the other of those to act in their stead.

Martyn closes his eyes. Breathes in. Breathes out. Opens his eyes again. “If you were Grian, then maybe.” His gaze is cold. “But I think this hypothetical has gone on long enough.”

...It’s a lot easier for both of them, if Martyn believes that.

He’s positive Martyn knows that.

Just this once, perhaps he can manage to not look a gift horse in the mouth.

“For what it’s worth,” He says, looking away, “I moved on from the Bad Boys when it got too expensive to keep them alive.”

“It’s not worth a lot.” Says Martyn flatly. “And it would be worth even less coming from Grian.”

Grian sighs. “Alright. Fine. I’ll see you around, Martyn.”

“I know.” Says Martyn. He closes his eyes.

After a few moments, Grian does too.

When he opens them, he’s home.

…

Oh, that doesn’t feel good.

It really doesn't.

He could dwell on this. It wouldn’t be hard. He could drown himself in guilt over what he’s done, or not done, or will not do.

But- well.

Grian never really saw the point in letting someone else drag you down with them.

[bonesofapoet]

ruination [ lucanis dellamorte x rook ] author's note: i am sleepy and threw this together, but I wanted to share lucanis reacting Badly to rook being reckless in battle so! yeehaw kids let's goooo word count: 839

Everything disintegrated upon your return to camp. 

The copse of trees sheltering the clearing sighed with your weary bones, welcoming you back to this makeshift home after a mission gone so magnificently, catastrophically sideways. Your tent beckoned you into it's sweet embrace, in which you were seconds away from answering it's call - yet a body grazed past, a mere breath away from clipping your shoulder.

A tightness began to slip around your ribcage, burrowing deep and harsh and stubborn into your unsuspecting heart.

Lucanis veered off towards his tent, soundless in voice, yet lacking stealth in his execution. Twigs snapped under boots, metal twanged as gear unclipped and fell to the ground. 

It was obvious how he felt by the way his brows fell together, eyes narrowed so their corners crinkled. Arms were crossed over leather armor upon your approach, half discarded with a grip tight enough to bunch up fabric exposed and straps hanging loose. Angry, would be an understatement, you decide. Livid, however, seemed to be a more accurate description.

"You could have - you almost died."

He sees the rise and fall of your chest as your breath deepens. The audible sigh of an exhale being the prelude to something he knows is going to rile him even more, knowing you. And he does - know you, that is - more than he'd like to dwell on. He knows you and that, apparently, seems to be the trouble.

"Yes," you nod once. Hold yourself a step back, giving him his space. "But I had an opening, and you were busy, if you recall-"

"I was there, yes -"

"I'm sorry." The harshness of his tone was enough  prompting for the words to come spilling through your lips. They still tasted faintly of blood and sweat and magic. You wished he would come near and kiss it away.

Your words sounded scratchy, rough almost. Sincere, for sure. Lucanis wishes he could reach for you and -

"You're sorry."

"I -" you hesitate, unsure how to navigate what you may have just broken. It's new, this version of your Crow. You haven't met him yet, not directly, and now balking in the face of such an occurrence seemed like the thing to do, when caught so off guard.

Truth be told, you hadn't been expecting a confrontation. At least not one so. . .personal.

"I reacted," you mend. "And I suppose in hindsight, I see how it - how I miscalculated. Obviously." the hand not wrapped in bandages raises, gestures to the remnants of the fight marring your skin. It all aches, but you're not going to let him see that. 

Lucanis stares, and stares, and stares. The grip on his elbows lessen, and he shakes his head, stepping back to create more distance. He sees you watching him, eyes wide and clouding with something like hurt, when he backs away from you.

His response is quick, sudden in the way he tears off his gloves and finishes unlatching the buckles of his leathers. They don't fall to the ground so much as they are aggressively dropped, a pile of bloody gear laying at his feet. He needs to take a minute. To breathe, to think, anything - because he's not sure he can hone this kind of anger into anything useful at this very moment. Except -

Except.

You catch the way Lucanis hides the tremors of his hands by busying them with his blades. The way his response time is longer when he removes the bandolier across his chest. How they shake when reaching down to unearth hidden knives in boots and daggers secured in hidden sheaths. He says nothing, yet doesn't turn you away, doesn't walk away, either.

Because Lucanis had come face to face with a possibility he had not allowed himself to foresee. You could have died, and he would be here, in camp, mourning over your pyre instead of hiding how impossibly, magnificently, gut-wrenchingly unprepared he is to lead a life void of - well, you.

A few paces away, your boot toes the ground. You can't look at him either, right now.

"Right. Well. I'll leave you to it then."

Lucanis stops. Slips his gaze to where you stand, a picture of valiant failure to appear nonchalant. He sees the regret tainting your expression, coloring your vibrant heart into melancholy shades of mountain greys. The way you hold yourself back from anything remotely resembling yourself in the wake of a mistake, yes, but - don't you care you almost died?

The blades in his hands fall to the ground, their CLANK clattering loud in the mutual silence. The way your eyes shine as you turn and walk away - 

He lets you go, this time, a hand ripping through hair, an exhale tearing up his lungs. He knows he's hurt you, but until he calms the hell down - it's something he can live with, even if it reopens wounds he thought he'd burned shut.

This dance is tearing both of you into a million pieces, because neither of you will take the goddamn lead.

[tange-my-rine]

borrow some sugar || Tangerine × gn!reader

Summary: You were living in the city, on your own. It was your dream though, you'd known it was far from home but you needed the space. Well, wanted the space. Didn't mean it wasn't lonely. The one time you actually met your neighbor, of course, you put your literal whole life in danger.

TW: blood, guns, murder, threats, cursing (it's Tangerine), protective!Tangerine (eventually), kidnapping, threats, and all things bullet train.

[[A/N: love a good normal person × Tangerine, and this is the epitome of that. Except you get way too wrapped up in it.]]

"Yeah, I know," you echoed out, fetching your keys out of your pocket -mindlessly walking through the hallway, "-I'm always safe, you know that."

Pressing your phone onto your shoulder, you heard a sort of bang -a heavy thud really, on the wall.

You furrowed your brows, the neighbor on that side was usually quiet. Like unusually quiet. You'd seen him, maybe once or twice in the hallway -he'd never said a word to you. Always wearing a suit and a super serious face, you'd assumed he was some sort of corporate worker with insane hours.

"Look," you spoke, unlocking your handle, "-I have to go, but I'll call you back tomorrow. I'm home already."

Slipping into your apartment, you sighed, pushing your phone into your pocket, dropping your keys, and taking off your shoes by the door. With the familiar thrum of your fridge, you mindlessly wander up to your couch and drop your bag.

It had been a terrible day at work, your boss was... well, your boss. And your work was exhausting, your feet hurt and your brain was working on the migraine of the century-

You just wanted to eat and watch your comfort TV show and turn your brain off -for an hour, at least. If not for the last few hours before you went to sleep, that was dream case scenario. Finally, when your brain was succumbing to the buzz of the voices, your eyes drifting shut, and the couch seemed so fluffy, there was a noise.

At first, you ignored it -figured it was your brain or something out in the hallway.

But then, it came back -a clear, harsh knock.

'2:30 am,' flashed across your screen as you looked at it, and then again, seriously, you thought you imagined it. Because who would that be?

You were fully awake now, leaning up on your couch, staring at your door -waiting, testing if it was real.

Knock.

Huh, you stood up -wiping at your eyes, and slowly slinking to the door.

"Hello?"

You don't know what you expected, but it certainly wasn't what you saw.

It was your neighbor, sweaty with ripped clothes (a suit, you think) -was he ever in anything else? His eyes were lidded, nose bleeding, it stained his mustache, and you were pretty sure there was a knife in his shoulder-

"You 'ave any first aid?" He had an accent, a crazy accent that somehow suited him but you didn't expect at all.

"Are you-" you were in disbelief, "-Are you okay?"

He paused, before retorting -frankly, "Did you hear a fuckin' word I said, love?"

"Sorry, sorry," you swallowed, beckoning him inside, "-I think I have one in my bathroom. Just- Just sit at the counter."

"Right, thanks."

You weren't even sure your feet were touching the ground at this point, but still, you were quick -sifting through your cabinets.

A man is bleeding out in my kitchen, your brain panged, -a man is bleeding out in my kitchen.

Blinking, you mindlessly -in an entirely different way now- but directly made your way to the kitchen. A kit in your hand, you pinched yourself for a moment -this would be one weird fucking dream.

As you said, the man sat on a stool -blood dripping down onto your tile. You briskly wondered how to get that out, before sliding all the supplies across the countertop -the clatter filling the quiet air.

Pulling yourself onto the stool opposite him, you licked across your lips -fidgeting with some packaging.

"You couldn't just borrow some sugar?" you mumbled, taking out an alcohol wipe.

"What?" He furrowed his eyebrows, frown still present on his lips -it seemed like it stayed there.

"This-" you motioned to him, "-is the first time we've met. You couldn't do a normal neighbor thing? Like borrow sugar-"

"Sorry, love," he rolled his eyes, "-I'll think of it fuckin' next time, yeah?"

"You should," you scoffed, "-I don't think every neighbor would appreciate bloodstains."

"And you do?"

"No," you stressed out, dabbing at a cut along his cheek -not the worst one but the first one you could handle right now, "-I am barely awake right now, and I'm half convinced you aren't even real-"

"Very real," he tsked, less biting this time.

You digested that information, swallowing dryly. A man, in some business, was on your stool, bleeding.

"Honest question," You pursed your lips, before focusing on another cut above his eyebrow. You were blatantly ignoring the knife, you literally had no idea-

"Go ahead," he huffed out, breaths puffing out of his chest.

"How the hell did you get stabbed?"

The man paused, thinking over his answer (why did he have to think?), "Break-in?"

You raised an eyebrow, tossing out the wipe, "You sure about that answer?"

"Better if ya didn't know, love," he mended -blue eyes slinking over your kitchen.

You hummed, picking through the material -thank god you took that sewing class, "Kind of expected that, mysterious suited neighbor."

"Tangerine."

You flicked up your eyes, confused, "Is that... Is that your safeword, or...?"

"Fuckin' hell," he sighed, using a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, "-'s my name."

"Your name?" you questioned, tone raising.

"My brother-" he began before shaking his head -solidly, "-Doesn't fuckin matter, are ya gonna get to the knife wound or?"

"Listen," you spoke -a little pressed, "-I'm not one to stitch up wounds, Tangerine. I have to remember my sewing class-"

"You gonna stitch up my fuckin' shirt then, love?"

"Oh my god," you exhaled through your nose, "-no wonder you had to come to a stranger."

He opened his mouth -eager to bite back, but you promptly interrupted him.

"I have no experience," you said, taking the knife handle into your hand, "-but I'm pretty sure this is going to hurt like hell."

"Lucky for you, love," he spoke through labored breaths -wrapping his fingers around yours, "-I'm very fuckin' experienced."

And then without hesitation, he tugged it out.

The next few moments were bloody and unreal to you -your hands working quickly but your brain significantly falling behind. You could cross 'stitching up a wound on a handsome man' off your bucket list if it was ever even on there.

Now, you sat on the stool -hands sticky red, and your shirt (one of your better pjs, sadly) stained just the same. With a roll of bandages, you wrapped his shoulder with tedious little movements -eyes focused only on the skin. Only looking up when you'd tied it off, mind finally settling.

"Is that everything?" You asked, careful to not put your hands anywhere except your shirt.

"Yeah," he spoke, softer, "-just some bruisin', I think."

"Let me get you some peas," you echoed, sliding down from your stool -steps slow, you were just tired.

He didn't speak a word, as you dug through your freezer -finding one at the very bottom, of course.

You extended your hand, the cold sensation keeping you up -aware. Right now, your brain was in overdrive, probably ever since he'd shown up at your door, and your body merely just followed behind.

He shifted, grabbing it from you -you saw a kiss of a tattoo that you were curious about but not enough to ask. Your eyes sunk along his shirt, which was not a shirt anymore, all bloodstained and ripped up.

Before you could stop it, you were asking, "Do you need new clothes?"

Tangerine paused, looking at you like you grew a third head. You were past that point, you had his literal blood on your hands -there was no need to be shy now.

"'Had a boyfriend about your build," you clarified, "-I never gave him back like 10 shirts, so-"

"10?" He interrupted and you thought you might've seen a smile quirk onto his lips.

"He smelled good," you offered, before spinning to the kitchen and proceeding to scrub your hands with no hesitation, "-You want one or not?"

"Yeah," he sighed out, a little awkwardly, "-Yeah, thanks."

"While I'm at it," you spoke over your shoulder, "-do you need a place to stay?"

He pursed his lips, hand pushed into the peas against his ribs -you imagined it would be a big bruise in the morning.

"I'm pretty sure whatever happened," you emphasized, "-left a mess. I have a couch if you need it."

"Bein' awfully fuckin' nice to a stranger," he hummed, eyes tired.

"I figured you would've killed me way earlier," you remarked, finally drying them on a nearby towel, "'Had some good opportunities."

He smiled then, you actually saw it with your own two eyes -you almost thought you were hallucinating. His head tilting back, as his shoulder pressed against your counter -he looked kind of like a painting, all twisted angles and sharp jaw.

"What's yours?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, "My what?"

"Your name, love," he answered, soft and attentive -much different than before (you kind of thought he might've lost too much blood).

"You wanna know that now?" You laughed, but even still you told him -there was something about him that made you feel at ease. He really shouldn't have.

He stayed that night, cozied up in your ex-boyfriend's shirt (which he looked surprisingly good in) and freshly showered. You didn't see him when you woke up that morning, and you didn't know why you had expected it.

A few weeks go by, and you were pretty sure that he moved out. Which, in retrospect, made sense, even still something in you felt kinda disappointed. He was the first person you'd actually talked to in months.

Coworkers didn't count.

You shook your head, he was literally covered in blood. In a business he couldn't talk about, and you missed him? You were officially losing your mind.

"Stupid," you muttered, eyes dipping across the TV -some sort of cheesy romcom that you'd never seen before in your life but still felt nostalgic to watch. It wasn't the worst thing you'd ever seen.

Good enough to sit and eat your favorite meal to, it was interesting enough to keep you awake.

When you finally slinked off to bed, and tossed into your fluffy comforter and soft pillows, you were exhausted. Far too exhausted to stay awake any longer. So, you didn't.

The sun was creeping through your window when you woke up, but not a morning sun -a too early sun. You groaned, looking to your phone and seeing without a doubt, it was 4:15 am. At first, you didn't know why you'd woken up so early but then you heard it.

A knock.

Initially, you were not going to move because it was warm here and you were tired.

But then you thought about if it was him, and if in the morning you'd see him dead on your doorstep. That would be suspicious, and you'd probably end up in jail-

You sighed, pulling yourself out of the bed and pattering to the door. And when you swung it open, you were met with familiar blue eyes.

Before you could stop it, you asked, "Don't you have any friends?"

He barked out a laugh -chuckle really, but something in him seemed nervous (like he wasn't sure if he should have come), "Lovely to see you too, love."

"Right," you agreed, before shuffling to the side and letting him in. He relaxed ever-so-slightly.

The first thing you noticed was a split on his forehead, just a cut -it wouldn't need any stitches (thank god, these pajamas were your favorite), and then you dipped to his clothes which were actually in tack. It was a blue suit, really complimented his eyes, and you wondered distantly if he did that on purpose. He seemed the type.

His pants though were dirty, and you could see him limping -only slightly. He was definitely not in as bad as shape as before though; you really wondered why he was here.

"Sit," you motioned to the stool and disappeared into your bathroom.

You got much of the same things and climbed onto the stool beside him, eyes sweeping across his face. Now that you were closer, you could see little cuts along his skin -teeny tiny.

"Glass bottle," he offered before you could say anything.

You hummed, nonchalantly, "Coulda guessed."

Your brain was numb at the moment, still sleepy and you once again thought this might've been a hallucination. He was handsome after all, and you did daydream about handsome men so it definitely could be. And you guessed you could have a saviour thing-

You stopped your train of thought, interrupting the silence as you dabbed at his forehead, "You know I'm not a doctor, right?"

He spoke, frankly, "You talked about a sewing class when you needed to stitch up my bloody fuckin' knife wound, love."

You nodded, fair point, before continuing, "Then why are you here?"

Tangerine paused, and you thought distantly he didn't have an answer, until he answered, "'Hard to do myself."

You thought for a moment, before replying, "What about your brother?"

"Not in the fuckin' country," he answered simply -something frustrated in his tone. But then again, when wasn't there?

"Hmm," you hummed, before rubbing the rest of the tiny cuts -he hissed slightly, "-different job?"

"No," he exhaled, "-just a different... mission."

"'Make it sound like you're a super spy," you laughed, "-but Tangerine isn't a very cool codename."

"Fuck you."

"You are such a joy," you remarked, debating bandaging the top cut, "-Are bandaids too baby for you?"

"Plasters?" He asked.

British, right, you nodded -waving one in your fingers, "Yeah, I think it's all I've got for your wounds. Well, unless you want it wrapped around your head-"

"'s fine," he muttered -low but you still caught it.

"Good," you assured, sticking one to his skin -fingers fluttering along his skin (when was the last time you touched someone?).

"Alright," you leaned back, gathering up your supplies -promptly ignoring the thought, "-all done here. Your leg-"

"Bruised ankle," he clarified -explaining the limp.

"Oh," you spoke, "-I'll get the peas again."

Your eyes dipped to his pants, covered in... something (maybe a mix of blood and dirt?), "And a pair of pants."

He didn't say a word, merely staying seated, as you grabbed the peas -sliding them across your counter. Before stalling slightly, asking-

"Do you even still live here?"

He pressed his lips together, apparently debating telling you -which you were slightly offended by, "No."

"So you're staying?" You asked, neutrally.

"Don't 'ave to," he spoke -not combative, and you really thought you were hallucinating then.

You tilted your head, confused, "You can stay, didn't I say that before?"

He nodded, still so wordless, and you were honestly the most confused you ever could be. Tangerine was quieter, softer, and it was nothing like the time before; he even seemed grateful.

"Honest question," you started.

"Yeah, love?"

"Are you okay?" You decided, careful wording with eye contact strong. You two were kind of close, he left his life in your hands -it was strangely intimate. Your relationship was very confusing, but it felt right to ask.

"Yeah," he answered -furrowing his brows, "-these wounds are fuckin' nothing, love. I have been far, far closer to death."

"No, I mean-" you clarified, "-like mentally. You're being too nice."

He raised his eyebrows, "Too nice?"

"Yeah," you stressed like it was obvious, "-you are like grateful and shit. You've barely cussed at me."

"You saved my fuckin' life, love," he questioned, "-shouldn't I be kind for 'at?"

"You should," you agreed, before contradicting, "-but you don't."

He was quiet then, eyes not meeting yours as his fingers tapped against your counter -seemingly running things over in his mind. It was awhile that he was doing that, but you patiently waited. You suspected opening up at all wasn't his forte.

Finally, still looking around your living room, he mumbled, "'Needed to see someone."

You took him at his word -not dwelling because it really felt like he didn't want to, and the rest of the night was the same. He took the pants, slept on the couch, and was gone in the morning -even though he couldn't have slept more than a few hours.

It started happening pretty regularly after that. You'd fix him up, he'd talk, you'd talk, he'd stay over. You started loosening up, talking about your job, and your life -nothing super specific. He stayed clammed up about his job, but his personal life he did talk about -there wasn't much, but he did talk about his brother.

You felt like that was a big thing.

And then, after quite a few months between visits, you heard a knock at your door. Super late as always, you made your way to it -expectant and in routine. This time though, there were two of them: a familiar Tangerine, and a man with bleached tips and a surprisingly big smile.

"Hello," he smiled and it was very odd -Tangerine hardly smiled, "-lovely to meet ya, I'm Lemon."

You could assume from the name, even still, you felt a little out of place, "Nice to meet you."

"Brother," Tangerine motioned to him -frustration nearly radiating off of him, as he made his way inside.

"Rude," Lemon spoke, "-can I come in?"

"Yeah, of course," you exhaled, letting him in.

Tangerine was relatively well -bruised knuckles, a busted lip, and a mild slice on his collarbone. Lemon was even better with just a black eye, atleast on the surface.

Instead of on the stool, Tangerine beelined straight to the bathroom -slamming the door.

You pursed your lips, turning to Lemon for answers, "What the hell is wrong with him?"

"Annoyed 'im into takin' me 'ere," he answered simply, "-'Wanted to meet who my brother was talkin' about."

He talks about me, you thought for a moment -you fully believed that you were a little miniature part of his life, not something he'd talk about. Especially to his brother.

He must've seen your confusion, because he continued.

"Oh, he never shuts up, love," he laughed, "-'Feel like I already fuckin' know ya."

"Huh," you responded, puzzled.

You thought about it for a second, running over the idea in your mind. What did he have to talk about? Your life? Your boring job, your lack of love life, your favorite cheesy movies? He told that to his brother? His brother with the same unbelievable life?

Why the hell would he do that?

"Please, sit on my couch," you finally spoke, wandering towards the kitchen with intent, "-I'll get you something cold for your eye. And then, I'll deal with the tantrum."

"Thanks," Lemon smiled, tottering off to your TV and without hesitation, popping it on.

He really was very comfortable for not knowing you. How much had Tangerine said?

You stepped into the living room, offering the same peas to Lemon (did you even like peas?) that you often gave Tangerine. He smiled gratefully.

"Do you need any like Tylenol?" You asked, further -eyes swiftly drifting over his eye, it was a nasty sort of yellow, "-that one is a shiner."

"So nice," Lemon hummed, "-no wonder my brother was hoggin' ya. But, I'll be alright, 'ave had worse."

You nodded, before slowly making your way toward the bathroom. Raising your hand, you gently knocked -nothing compared to his on your door in ungodly hours of the morning.

"Tangerine?" You offered.

The door slid open, and your eyes swam over him -taking in his wounds that you had before like in confirmation. He really wasn't hurt bad, not like other times.

Turns out, you didn't care and still wanted to help.

He was leaning against the counter fidgeting with his hands -you think there was blood on his rings. You spoke before you could think about it.

"You want me to wash those?"

He quirked an eyebrow, "What?"

“Your rings,” you clarified, mentally cursing yourself, “-or… do you need help with your wounds?”

He seems to think about it for a moment, eyes dashing across his knuckles -his rings, really. You only watched him for a few moments, half convinced you had dreamt this all up, that maybe he didn’t even exist. Maybe he was a figment of your imagination, he was certainly handsome enough. And his name was Tangerine. This could definitely all be a dream.

“Think I can do the rings myself, love,” he laughed a little -you still weren’t used to that sound, “-and the wounds aren’t ‘at bad.”

You looked at him for a moment, peering along the busted lip and the slice on his collarbone, “You sure? It’s kind of all I do, is it not?”

He smiled, mustache quirking up, “If it makes you feel better, you can clean the cut. But really, love, I’m fine.”

You pursed your lips, taking in his breaths that swirled with yours -the bathroom was small, “I’ll just get you some ice for your knuckles. But if you die from infection, it’s not on me.”

He really laughed at the one, as you spun on your feet back to the kitchen -digging out some other frozen food you hadn’t gotten around to eating yet. With a solid motion, you extended it forward (it was maybe tater tots?), offering it to Tangerine.

“Sorry it’s not the peas,” you spoke, pointing to Lemon -who at the time seemed to be half asleep on the couch, “-your brother stole those.”

“The fuckin’ twat,” he hissed out, a little too personally -you thought it was probably about something far bigger than your frozen peas. He could definitely be that petty though. So, it was possible.

"Woah, somebody's pissy today. Bad day?"

Tangerine seemed to pause, eyes swimming over you -like he was committing you to memory, you briefly wondered why.

"Yeah," he said, solidly -not elaborating. You knew better than to expect him to.

"Well," you spoke, a little awkwardly -not sure where to go, "-I've got... icecream?"

He looked at you like you were insane, but then again, when wasn't he? You said a lot of things without a filter in front of him. Handsome men, what could you say?

"Like..." you clarified, clearing your throat, "-to eat."

"Yeah, love, I fuckin' got 'at part. Why the hell would I want icecream?"

There it was. Tangerine in his true form.

You opened your mouth to respond, but someone else cut you to the chase.

"Sorry," Lemon perked up, "-did you say icecream? Because 'at would be really lovely with this movie, a great pair-"

"Yeah," you turned to him -his presence was a lot warmer (why was his name Lemon?), "-I've only got one flavor, but..."

"Fine with me," Lemon responded, with a big smile, "-brother, are you gettin' any?"

Tangerine huffed out of his nose, genuinely frustrated apparently -much different than a moment ago. What was he even angry about? There was nothing-

"No," he spoke through a snarl.

"Ouch," Lemon put his hands on his heart, replying flatly, "-really hurts, mate. Not used to your shitty behavior at all."

You decidedly left the room (not really it was all open concept), waltzing toward your kitchen with a focus in mind. As you were digging around, trying to find the pint you'd hidden from yourself, you were interrupted.

"Do you..." you turned at his voice, Tangerine, he didn't look very certain of his words, "-Do you need any help, love?"

"Help?" You questioned, raising an eyebrow, "-With icecream?"

"Well," he was suddenly very grumpy -probably embarrassed, "-you help me all the fuckin' time, so I just thought- Excuse me for fuckin' offering."

"You..." you started, standing and now facing him, "-You were going to repay me for saving your life, by helping me with icecream?"

"'S hardly saving my life," he grumbled, under his breath -you still heard it.

"You had a knife-" you motioned harshly to stress the word, "-in your shoulder the first time we met."

"Not deadly," he retorted, a bit pompous.

You rolled your eyes, "Look, give me the benefit of the doubt-"

Tangerine quickly said -almost on instinct, "I certainly will fuckin' not."

"-let's call it even," you continued, ignoring his remark, "-I save your life, you save mine."

"That's..." he started, "-That's makin' it even?"

"Well, yeah," you tilted your head, "-a life for a life."

He furrowed his eyebrows, you took it as him not understanding.

"Let's say that I'm getting chased down an alley," you clarified, before interjecting, "-Ooh wait, or maybe I'm getting robbed-"

"Are you fuckin' excited at the idea of gettin' robbed, love?"

"No," you quickly mended, "-it's just a better story. Plus, that's not relevant-"

His lips quirked up into a little smile.

"-What I'm saying is," you started, "-If I'm in trouble, you have to save me. To make it even."

"And how am I supposed to know when you're in trouble, then?"

You paused, pursing your lips -good point, "Uh, I don't know. Do you guys have like a bat signal? Like I hold up a fruit stand sign to the light-"

"Very funny," Tangerine interrupted -flatly, "-Look, just take my phone number, yeah? If you're ever in trouble, you can ring me like a fuckin' normal person."

"You're one to talk," you responded, before furrowing your eyebrows, "-Wait, you guys have phones?"

"Yeah," Tangerine stressed, "-who do you think we are?"

"Well, I don't know," you explained, "-don't phones have trackers? Won't that out you guys? When you're on... jobs?"

"Burners," Lemon quickly clarified, "-well, kind of. 'S on a secret network, basically."

"So," you started, processing, "-you want to give me your secret phone number?"

Tangerine hummed, realizing but seeming to settle, "Well, it's not like you've given me a reason to not trust you, love. Should I not?"

"True," you responded, "-I have not snitched on you. Even with... all the blood, and the knife, and the job you won't talk about-"

"We get it, love," he groaned out, "-just give me your fuckin' phone, yeah?"

You without hesitation gave it to him, he seemed to quickly put your phone number in his, and then his in yours -handing it back to you open on the contact. With a smile, you made his name the tangerine emoji.

"You put me as the damn emoji, didn't you?"

"Oh, yeah," you laughed out, pocketing your phone in one fellow swoop.

You ended up seeing them both a few more times after that with varying injuries. (Once Lemon had a broken nose, and Tangerine had a broken finger. No more knives, thankfully.)

They were starting to be familiar to you -friends even. Despite not telling you about their job, you had gotten to know them well; you hate to brag but you were pretty good at settling their arguments. It made you integral to their dynamic.

You probably should've known one day you helping them stay alive would come back and bite you in the ass.

See, if you were asked, you'd probably assume they had many enemies. They were, at least, fighting people on a daily basis -you don't do that if your job is a positive one. And fighting people, almost regularly, is a surefire way of saying 'somebody hates me'. They probably had an enemy in every other city, if you were realistic.

You don't know why you hadn't thought of that.

That day, it was just a normal one. You worked until the sun went down, and then went home. Or you were supposed to.

Your shift at work was long and exhausting and you kind of wished your bed was right in front of you -so, to be honest, you weren't in your most aware state. It was always dangerous walking the streets tired, you knew this, so you usually had someone walk home with you. This night, in particular, was a lone shift (hell on earth) with a manager you didn't like, so you didn't ask.

And maybe that was stupid of you, but you doubted they would say yes.

Your feet pattered along the sidewalk, street lamps fading in and out of your view. Every few steps it'd get dark and then light again; to be honest, you were too tired to feel scared when it was dark.

And then, right as you stepped into the light, you heard the screech of car breaks (which you were kind of used to) and then suddenly there were hands all over you. Gloved hands, black-gloved hands.

Before you could say a word, you were thrown into the back of a van -no seats by the way, and enveloped in darkness.

It took you a minute to adjust, head spinning and hands shaking against the cold metal underneath you. It kind of felt like when you met Tangerine for the first time, like you weren't really there. Like you were experiencing something so bizarre, it couldn't be real-

Shit, you thought to yourself, Tangerine.

You patted yourself, ruffling over your pockets -trying to find your phone. It was dark and you couldn't even see. You guessed that was why, your phone went clattering onto the metal, away from your hand -loud.

There was something in you that hoped that these guys were stupid. That they'd look over the noise and ignore you until they took you wherever the hell they were taking you.

You weren't that lucky.

The van was distinctly pulled over, tires even scraping along the bumpy texture. And within minutes, the door to the van was flung open.

They were just a shadowy figure, light framing them so you couldn't see any of his features at all. He was just a shadow. You didn't know if that made him any scarier.

"What the hell are you doing back here?" His voice was low and gruff -like a smoker.

"I didn't-" you started, trying to avoid your phone -it was shadowed in the dark. You doubted he could see it-

And then his eyes flicked directly to it.

You literally could not have had a worse day.

Instead of reaching for it, he eyed for you to instead. And for a second, you thought he might've been trying to help you. That was wrong.

With your phone in your hand, the man promptly put a gun to your head. From a distance, yeah, but still trained directly into the center of your forehead. Was he going to kill you? Just like that?

This was suddenly very real, you swallowed back tears and nearly dropped your phone -trying to raise your hands up.

"Please," you begged, slowly and shaky but clear enough for them to hear.

"Shut up," he hissed out, "-listen. Take your phone, and call 'em."

"C-Call who?"

"Don't play dumb with me," the man echoed out, and you heard the click of the trigger pulling back -dear god, "-we know you're close to the twins, we've been watchin' your place for months."

"Okay, okay-" you breathed out, it felt like your lungs were full like you were suffocating-

Tears burned at the backs of your eyes, as your fingers, shaking, scrolled around the contacts app -he hadn't texted you or anything so all you had was his contact. Only for emergencies, he'd said.

You almost wanted to scare him once, but the idea felt so very stupid now.

Clicking call, the man nudged your hand, speaking lowly, "Put it on fucking speaker, now."

You dutifully did so, even if it took a few tries to hit the button -your hands were shaking enough to blur the screen. Your head was spinning, and the only thing your could feel was the cold metal beneath your legs.

Why did you ever think this was a good idea? To get caught up with... with bloody men who had a mysterious job?

You were moving back home if you made it out alive -the city wasn't worth this.

"'Ello?" His voice was spent, and you could hear the raggedy breaths puffing out of his chest -somehow hearing his voice calmed you just a second.

The man nudged you again, so you spoke, "Tangerine?"

He must have not been paying attention, because your shaky whisper -wet from your tears, you were crying, went relatively unnoticed.

"Little busy at the mo-" you heard a solid hit and what sounded like a crack, "-ment, you sure this is important, love?"

The man kept his eyes laser-focused on you, you took it as a sign to keep talking.

"T-Tangerine," you repeated, more inflection -the shake in your voice unavoidable.

The noise on the phone, suddenly got very quiet -you heard him mumble something to Lemon 'you got 'im?' before seeming to pull his full attention to you, "Everything okay, love? You sound... Is somethin' wrong?"

The man looked at you, expectantly. You took it as to tell him what was happening, clenching your nails into your skin -it might bleed. The pain was distracting, even just for a moment.

"I-I'm," you tried, but your voice cracked, and your breath turned into a sob, "T-There's a man, he has a gun to my head, I don't- I don't know why-"

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Tangerine spit out, something fierce in his voice, "Lemon-"

The man snatched the phone from your hand, voice low and in a growl, "Seems I got something you want, Tangerine. It's only fair."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Doesn't matter," the man deflected, "-all that matters is that I have your little nurse, and you have no idea where we are."

The van, suddenly without warning, started up again -swinging back onto the road. You braced yourself against the wall, mindlessly blinking -this isn't real, this isn't real, this isn't real.

You could hear the pounding of his footsteps -rushed, like he was trying to get somewhere, "If you lay a hand on 'em, I will fuckin' rip you apart, piece by excruciating piece. Slow and fuckin' steady, for hours-"

"You say that as if you know where we are," the man responded, "-as if you have a chance of finding them in time."

In time? your brain chimed, and everything felt so far away now.

"I swear to fuckin' god-" he spit out, venomous, "-if you hurt 'em-"

"Yeah, yeah," the man retorted -confidence in his tone, "-I got that part, fruit."

You breathed out, swallowing back tears, and wiping your eyes so hard that you were seeing spots; maybe this was all a dream, maybe you had just fallen asleep at work-

"Hate to do this to you," the man echoed out, "-but we have to go. Let's hope we see each other later, for your sake."

Tangerine nearly yelled through the phone, but that didn't stop him from hanging up.

At the next stop, the man moved back to the front -taking your phone with him. You sat alone, in the back of a van, in complete darkness.

Would this be the last thing you ever see? Really?

It was just like you were in the city, so incredibly alone. At least you had a chance then, to remedy it. Now... Now you weren't even sure you'd be breathing in a few hours.

"Oh god," you breathed out a big exhale, a sob bubbling up your throat -you had so much left to do, "-oh god."

The van didn't stop for what felt like forever, bumpy roads and quick turns -they were speeding the whole time, and you had no idea how they weren't pulled over. But maybe it was because of the hour, it was fairly late.

The door swung open before you could think about anything else, two men rushing in and grabbing you by the shoulders -dragging you out.

"If you scream," you felt cold metal to your neck, "-you're dead."

"Aren't you going to kill me anyways?"

"Only if your friends," the other man retorted, "-don't behave."

They tied something around your eyes, leaving you completely in the dark -gloved hands squeezing your shoulders so tight, they were definitely going to bruise. Three sets of feet pattered along what sounded like concrete, as your mind went numb -the cold, bitter air filtering over your skin.

It was echoing now, after you heard the swing of some heavy doors opening -must have been a big place. Your mind was reeling, you felt like you weren't even really there.

Then, without a word, they threw you forward directly into a brick wall -seemingly latching a door behind you. Your head spun for a moment as you tried to reorient yourself -blindfold still on, as you pulled it off you felt a stickiness on your forehead.

Pulling your hand in front of your face, you realized it was blood. How hard did you hit your head?

Your fingers flitted across it again, and you hissed. Apparently very hard.

You tried to look at your hands, see how much blood, but it was all shadowed -the darkness didn't change much from what you saw in the blindfold.

Hands shaking, you leaned yourself against the wall -tears steadily making their way down your cheeks. You could cry now, freely, as you finally were brought back down to your body.

This was really happening. You were in some dingy old room, and there were men outside who wanted to kill you to get at someone else. You were expendable, a pawn.

Any moment, any feeling, and they could just kill you. You'd die here, and nobody would know what happened to you.

You'd be one of those news stories you couldn't believe.

The brick scratched against your head, but it was kind of numbed by your headache -pounding where you knew the split of skin to be. Or where you could've guessed it was anyway.

That couldn't mean anything good.

Your breaths were starting to hollow out, low and slow, your body coming back to the cold concrete floors. You were grappling with your helplessness, what the hell would you do? What could you do?

You were... you couldn't do anything. You were done. This was it, all that work for... for you to die in some dingy old room alone.

And then, you thought of something you hadn't thought to. Something you'd never let your mind dig into, not really, because at the time it seemed stupid.

Tangerine.

You'd always known there was something there, something bubbling under your skin. Even with everything, you still... there was something.

Something warm in your chest at the idea that he came to see you. That it wasn't just for the help anymore. And he was handsome, and he promised to save you and his eyes and his arms and his hands-

Before you could think about it for too long, something interrupted you.

Boom.

It made your ears sting, the noise bouncing along the walls -you flinched where you sat. Breath sudden in a gasp, you stilled. Almost like as if someone could see you, like you were hiding.

There was some shuffling outside, someone messing with the latch on the door -they were struggling. Maybe because their hands were shaking? They were trying to get in-

And then, right outside the door was an even louder-

Boom.

It makes your head sting, squeezing your eyes shut so hard that you see spots. You swallowed, trying to calm the pounding in your head, rubbing at your temples.

Gunshots, you recognized, suddenly, they were gunshots.

Your heart stuttered in your chest, they were right outside the door. With a gun. With a gun-

Before you could think of anything to say, the rattling at the door started again -the scratch of metal against metal. It sounded more frantic now, somehow, and your whole body froze. Maybe if you didn't move they wouldn't hear you?

The door swung open, light pouring in that made your eyes sting. The door pounding against the wall -loud and opposing.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you held your breath, staying completely still -hoping the shadow hid you against the walls. One hand covering your face, waiting until a figure steps into the room.

And when one did, cast in shadow, you sat very still. Watching their head twist around the room, back and forth -looking, searching.

You bit back a sob, let me live, let me live.

Then, they spoke.

"Love? Are you in 'ere?" He echoed out, "-Or was that fuckin' twat lyin'-"

"Tangerine," spilled out of your mouth as you rushed forward -wrapping your arms around him in a huff, "-holy shit, Tangerine-"

He stood frozen for a second, unfamiliar with the affection, you assumed. You inhaled a shaky breath in, the whiff of his cologne keeping you stable, there. You were safe-

His arms slowly met around you, unsure, but settling comfortably. Holding you for a second, just a second.

"Are you alright, love?" He pushed back a little bit -blue eyes scanning over you, "-Did he fuckin' lay a hand on you?"

"No, just-" you breathed out, pushing through the pain, "-he slammed me against the wall, I hit my head pretty hard, but that's-"

"Your head?" He asked, grabbing your wrist and pulling you into the light, "-Come out 'ere, love, so I can see."

"It's not really-"

Tangerine let out a big sigh, turning back to you, "Let me help you, yeah?"

You pursed your lips, eyeing him for a moment -he was relatively unscathed, just a blood stain on his shirt and maybe some busted-up knuckles. His hair was still in place and his suit jacket uncreased, he felt composed -sturdy. Stable, really.

"Okay," you whispered out, letting him guide you out the door -you hissed at the little light you did see, almost instinctively squeezing your eyes shut.

"Sorry, love," he spoke, soft and gentle, "-can't control the sun for you."

"You could block it," you remarked, "-god made your shoulders insanely broad for a reason."

He laughed, moving in his place so less light shone on you -hands moving to hold your face (tilting the wound into the light), "You think my shoulders are broad, then?"

"Duh," you responded, something in your head woozy -you stumbled a little in place.

"Shit," he reacted, hands smoothing to your shoulders, holding you up, "-Can you 'ear me? Stay fuckin' awake, yeah?"

"Okay," you blinked heavily, trying to see him clearly.

When you did, he stood there eyes desperately searching yours -looking at you, concerned. They scattered all over you, settling on the split on your head for a bit too long -it was still pounding in your head, made you flinch a little.

"Do you think-" you started, "-Do you think I need a hospital?"

"No," Tangerine breathed out, fingers dusting along your wound, "-just need someone to watch ya overnight. And to clean you up a bit."

"Wouldn't..." you echoed, "-Wouldn't a hospital do that?"

Tangerine met your eyes, his lips quirking into a smile (just barely), "You think you're fuckin' funny, yeah?"

"I'm just making a point," you deflected.

"Just-" he sighed out, before connecting your eyes again, "-let me help you. I want to, yeah? I really fuckin' want to."

"Okay," you echoed out, relaxing into his touch -relaxing finally, "-fine."

"Good," he tsked, and without hesitation wrapped his fingers around your wrist, "-now, let's get out of 'ere, shall we?"

You did so, eyes squeezed shut tight because all the light did was hurt. But Tangerine soothed you, hand still on your wrist, ("Close your eyes if it hurts, love, I've got you.") and guided you along, even sitting you down in the car and pulling the seat belt along your body.

"You know I could do that myself, right?" You spoke, eyes squinted open -the car was much darker.

He didn't dignify you with a response, sliding into your side and shutting the door behind himself. He silently settled into the seat beside you, like the passenger seat was taken. Which it decidedly was not.

His blue eyes kept darting to you, and you could feel his leg pressed against yours.

"You know that I'm fine, Tangerine," you exhaled, looking to him, "-don't you?"

He didn't respond, so you continued.

"You looked at my wound, I'm alright-" you laughed a little, "-I can sit in the backseat by myself."

Tangerine seemed to think for a second, before speaking decidedly, "If you go to fuckin' sleep, love, you won't wake up. I'm 'ere to keep you awake."

You could feel his breath fan over your face, and you swallowed. You could hear your heartbeat pounding in your ears, as your eyes stayed on his (blue, blue-). With another intake of breath, you snapped them away -eagerly looking out the window.

Well, you thought to yourself, you're doing a really good job, Tangerine.

The city blurred by, as it made way to more familiar silhouettes but not... not yours. Not ones near your home.

"Um," you spoke, particularly to Lemon (who was driving) "-are we not going... home?"

"You serious, love?" Tangerine offered, blue eyes decidedly matching yours.

"Are we not-"

Lemon interrupted -catching your eye in the mirror, "You were kidnapped, mate. Do you not remember 'at?"

"No, I do," you huffed out, eyes dashing between the two of them, "-they didn't get me at home though, they got me off the street."

"Doesn't mean anythin'," Tangerine countered, jaw twitching ever so slightly -he really didn't like talking about them, "-'Ey 'ave eyes on your home, 's how they made the connection to us."

"Tangerine-"

"He's got a point," Lemon responded, fingers tapping along the wheel, "-takes too much effort to prove 'im wrong, trust me."

"Lemon-"

"Why do you even want to go home, love?" Tangerine interrupted, eyebrows furrowed -genuine curiosity.

"Because it's my home," you reiterated, "-it's familiar. I know you guys may have forgotten the feeling, but it... it would make me feel a lot better to be home."

Tangerine sighed, a deep heavy sigh, "How about a compromise?"

You pursed your lips, eyes flickering across his face (god, was he pretty), "I'm listening."

"We stay at the hotel a few nights until they cool off," he offered, "-and then, you can go home."

You sighed out in relief.

"But," Tangerine clarified, "-me and Lemon need to stay with you for a while. There's not a fuckin' chance you're goin' alone after this. Especially so soon."

"What so-" you started, "-you guys are going to constantly be around me? I have work, and I... I need to get groceries-"

"We 'ave to be, love," Tangerine spoke in almost a whisper, soft, "-these people, they're not goin' to be as fuckin' nice next time. Lemon and I know 'at."

Right, you thought to yourself, mysterious jobs. They've probably done something like this before.

You involuntary shuddered, thinking about the darkness and the gun and your life-

Tangerine looked at you, eyes darting around your face -a slosh of concern sliding over his features, flickering in his eyes. It was no wonder those thoughts had come to the forefront of your mind, he was so protective of you. There's only so much you can resist feelings for someone who so very much values your life.

A handsome someone, your mind tsked.

Before he could open his mouth though, you turned your head back to the window. A familiar swirl bubbled into your stomach, you couldn't chance looking at him. Afterall, getting flustered with him was surely a dead giveaway and there was no way in hell Tangerine felt anything remotely the same.

And that was plain embarrassing.

You felt suddenly like you were in school again, and were crushing on a jock -that never even looked your way. It felt pretty hopeless, and even though it did, it didn't stop you from going to every game -just to pretend for a little while.

Was that what patching him up was? Your own sort of way to be close to him, to pretend for a moment that everything was different.

Shit, you thought, that is embarrassing.

Luckily, you severely doubted Tangerine would ever know. You were pretty good at keeping secrets. Hence, well, the whole reason you were even here in the first place -you regularly housed assassins.

It took only a few minutes after that (feeling blue eyes boring into your side the whole time) when Lemon pulled into a parking spot and you arrived at the hotel. Lucky for you, it was far from a dingy old place on the side of the road.

This place was way above your paygrade. You had never even dreamed of living such a luxury; all golden accents and marble floors. You hardly even knew this place existed in your city.

"I take it back," you whispered to Tangerine, as Lemon strode up to the front desk to request a room change, "-we can stay here forever."

You saw the woman point to you, clearly in concern and you suddenly remembered the wound on your head. Your fingers smoothed along it, and you grimaced, Lemon seemed to come up with some sort of explanation, though. And she promptly looked away.

Tangerine laughed at your words, a quiet little chuckle, and fell rather silent. You peered over at him, wondering why he hadn't said anything back; and when you did, he seemed to be stealing little looks at you -silently fidgeting with his rings.

You pursed your lips in thought for a moment, debating asking him about it.

Before you could, he opened his mouth to say something -eyes lingering on your face, like he was trying to memorize it (something in your chest fluttered), "Love, I-"

"Sorry, mates," Lemon interrupted, eyes dashing between the two of you for a moment, "-rooms are booked tonight. Lady says we can try again tomorrow but she doubts it'll 'ave changed."

"So," you swallowed, "-just two bedrooms?"

"Yep," Lemon popped the p, "-and hate to say it, but I'm gettin' one by myself. You lot can figure the rest of 'at out yourselves."

Something was gleaming there in his eye -something mischievous; you frowned -heartbeat stuttering in your chest.

Maybe there's a couch, your mind chimed -a little patheticly.

As fate would have it, there was. And an entire kitchen and living space -an expensive kitchen and living space. You were truly floored by this place.

"This is a hotel, right?" you questioned, eyes lingering on the high ceilings (you decidedly did not have those).

"For rich blokes," Lemon clarified, "-the kinds 'at hate to 'ave anythin' besides luxury."

You spun around, eyes darting between the two of them, "Like you two?"

Tangerine frowned, and Lemon snorted -disappearing off into the kitchen; leaving just you and Tangerine alone in the living space. That being said, each room was actually divided, with no open concept -just archways.

You slung yourself onto the couch, inelegantly (but when were you ever elegant) and were pleased to find it felt like clouds, "Why, if you could pay for this, did you ever come to my apartment? They probably have an on-staff nurse you could page, good god-"

"Eh," Tangerine mended, voice calm and confident, "-like the company better 'ere."

You smiled to yourself, small and quiet, heart fluttering in your chest. You are not making this easy, fruit man.

You cleared your throat, about to shift the subject because you frankly could not address the fondness in his eyes. Instead, Lemon came to your rescue with a smile.

"Well," he spoke, "-I'm fuckin' exhausted, I'm off to bed. If you need anythin', ask Tangerine."

And then, with that, he left -disappearing behind one of the doors down into the hallway.

"You can't sleep," Tangerine said suddenly, "-your head... We've got to get you to a doctor in the mornin', so they can look at it."

"Why not tonight?"

"I truly fuckin' doubt anyone of credit would be open this late," he explained, sauntering up to your side and sitting down (when he had the whole couch).

"Tangerine," you spoke, "-the emergency room doesn't just... close."

"I just," he sighed out, leaning back into the couch "-I want you safe for tonight, yeah?"

"I doubt they'd show up to a hospital," you reasoned, weighing your words.

Tangerine frowned.

"Look, I just-" you paused, "-you don't have to be on watch duty. You need sleep. Just take me to the ER, and I'll-"

He scoffed, repeating, "There's no fuckin' way you're going alone, love."

Swiping the keys off one of the tables near the door and shooting Lemon a text, he grabbed your hand and guided you outside.

The night was a surprisingly quick one, as you were taken into the ER and looked at. They quickly bandaged and stitched your wound, even sending you in to get your brain looked at. Tangerine was dutifully by your side, all night, even when they told you they'd rather keep an eye on you tonight. Something along the lines of what Tangerine said, keeping you awake.

He did, however, end up getting some sleep -slouched over in a hospital chair. One of those plastic ones that really could not be comfortable, and you knew his back would ache in the morning. But when you asked him to, he straight refused to leave ("No fuckin' way, love"); so, you were sort of glad he had gotten some sleep after all.

Then, the next morning, they set you on your way. Quickly reminding your husband (it was the only way Tangerine could stay overnight) of all the bandage changes and consistent eye he should keep on you; he seemed rather serious when listening -eyes intent, and almost as if he could, he would take out a notepad and write each thing down extensively.

You were touched, something in your chest swirling widely.

Was this how he felt when you took care of him?

Well, you sort of doubted so, because they were different circumstances. Despite the closeness and the fingertips on the skin, it was less protective and more domestic. Something very different in the closeness there, and the presence of him now.

Even now, as you leaned onto the couch, scrolling through channels -you felt his eyes solidly on you.

"Tangerine," you tsked, bandage smoothed across your head, "-I'm fine."

He blinked, as your eyes swam over his face and a pink dusted along his cheeks, "That's not what I- I was just... just lookin', love."

You furrowed your eyebrows, curious, tilting your head, "Why?"

Tangerine paused, blue eyes bubbling along your skin -like he was considering his answer, or maybe deciding on one. You thought for a second that he wasn't going to say anything -wordless, as always.

"Need to change your bandage," he deflected, getting up, grabbing some supplies, and roaming over to you on the couch.

You groaned, leaning your head back against the cushions -so soft and cloudlike that you almost couldn't stay frustrated, "We just did that."

"'At was yesterday, love," Tangerine hummed, smiling ever-so-slightly, "-the doctors said-"

"The doctors said," you mocked his accent, shaking your head with the words, "-spare me the speech this time, Tan."

He smirked, face so close to yours now (peeling the old one off, rough fingertips dusting along your forehead), "Fuckin' argumentative today, yeah?"

You swallowed, eyes darting between his -back and forth, responding shortly, "Maybe."

Tangerine furrowed his eyebrows at the quickness of your response, dabbing at the wound quickly -cleaning it. He was gentle, with tiny little movements; it was hard to imagine these were the same hands that hurt others. He was so soft with your wound, why-

"You alright, love?"

He was a breath away, blue eyes (upon finishing the bandaging) matching yours, intensely. Tangerine just had an intense stare, like you simply held the world in your hands. It was like he didn't blink, even though you knew he did.

You swallowed, for a moment, eyes dashing along his face -it really was totally unfair. Your cheeks grew a little hot at the closeness, you saw his eyes dart to it -eyebrows furrowing together.

Good god, it really was like high-school again.

"What, yeah-" you laughed, awkwardly -eyes darting away from him, "-why would I not be?"

Tangerine hummed in thought for a second, and you could nearly hear the gears in his head turning, "Love... you're actin' really fuckin' odd right now."

You fidgeted with your fingers, watching them in your lap -you couldn't think straight right now. This was all new in your brain, and when was the last time you had feelings for someone-

"I'm not," you answered, finally -a bit like a toddler who was getting in trouble but the meaning all the same.

He sighed out a breath, seeming to settle on something and you could almost feel his eyeroll.

And without another second, you felt his fingers on your chin. Rough fingertips brushed against it, as he tilted you back to face him.

You blinked.

His blue eyes flickered along your face, slow and tedious, "You know you're safe with me, yeah?"

"Tangerine," you exhaled.

"I'd-" he started, eyes dipping away before coming back to yours -so genuine, "-I'd save you without the deal, you know 'at? Anytime, anywhere-"

"Tangerine, that's not-" you faltered, he was so broken open, vulnerable, to you right now. Something in your chest heavy, and your heart ready to spill on your tongue.

"I'd shoot 'im over and over again if it made ya feel safe, love," he continued, fingertip brushing along your skin like he was cradling your face, "-I'm sorry I ever let 'im put a fuckin' hand on you, you 'ave to know 'at."

"Tangerine," you sighed out, soft, "-That's not your fault."

"It is."

"Tangerine-"

"You're afraid now, aren't you?" He echoed out, a soft sort of whisper but filled with intent, "-How does 'at not mean I'm responsible? I never should've-"

"Tangerine!" You exclaimed, resorting to using your hands to cup his face -bringing him back down to earth, "-I'm not... afraid."

He paused.

"Well, yeah, I am, but it's not-" you tsked, before sighing, "-I know you'll keep me safe. I don't know how I know, I just... do."

He furrowed his eyebrows, "Then why-"

And then, as normal, your brain stopped functioning, words coming out before you could think them over, "You're very pretty."

He opened his mouth, a smirk smoothing onto his lips. You didn't let him continue.

"And I'm not immune to a pretty man caring about my well-being," you clarified, swallowing -somehow maintaining eye contact, "-I'm not... good at handling it."

"You're..." he started, a quirk of a smile on his lips (not that you were looking), "You're fuckin' flustered, love?"

"Mortifyingly embarrassed," you corrected, your voice squeaked out.

Tangerine laughed a little, "Ya sure you didn't hit your head too hard?"

"Ha ha, laugh it up, mustache," you responded, rolling your eyes -much more comfortable. The banter was easy.

"Well," he tsked, and you were suddenly very aware of how close his face is to yours, "-you apparently fuckin' like it, love. What's 'at say about you?"

You swallowed, "Didn't say it doesn't suit you."

"Hmm," he hummed, and there was a flicker of something in his eye -mischievous, "-guess not."

"Nope," you popped the p -awkwardly. Your eyes darting between his frantically, you felt something building in the air a moment -heavy as your eyes sat on his, and his on yours.

It was almost as if, a look, one glance held your entire being in the balance.

"I think you're quite pretty too, ya know," he echoed out, low and gravelly -you could feel his breaths scattered across your face. He was suddenly very close to you again, the fuzziness that banter provided snatched away.

Something twisted in the bottom of your stomach, as you opened your mouth -letting out a very quiet, "Thank you."

He seemed to take those words, just absorb them in the heavy silence that had bestowed upon the room. There was a part of you that wished Lemon was still here, that he could pull you apart but he left early that morning. And now, here you were, and all you could think about was his lips and that stupid fucking mustache-

You blinked, clearing the fog, and clearing your throat -backing up and standing to your feet.

Tangerine slowly came to the realization, the haze drifting out of his eyes, as they came to default onto yours -still intense but not as close. You could handle this.

"Anyway," you bit your lip, "-I'm kind of starved, do you... want anything?"

"Do I fuckin' want anythin'," he mumbled to himself for a moment -hands carefully putting the old bandage on the table and arranging all of the supplies so they wouldn't fall off.

And with a slow measured breath, he rose to his feet -steps teetering closer to you. His hands found solace in his hair as he rifled it up a bit, and on the cuff of his shirt -you saw a little blood. Was that from you? From your bandage-

"I've got somethin' in mind," he finally said, a little distant from you, but nothing like before (maybe just a few steps away from the closeness of the couch).

"Yeah, um," you cleared your throat, but it still felt dry, "-what do you... want? I think we've got like some... fancy tortilla chips and salsa, which... is a good one, or-"

He laughed a deep sort of low chuckle, erasing those steps you talked about before. You swallowed, words trailing off; there was a little spark in his eye when he noticed that you had -pride.

"You are really un-fuckin'-believable, you know 'at, love?"

"I think you've told me before."

He laughed at that, shaking his head, and you felt the breaths of each one scattered along your face -brushing onto your lips. You snapped your mouth closed at the thought.

Deep breaths, you thought to yourself, deep, deep breaths. You can do this.

Tangerine grew rather silent, before words seemed to bubble out of him without thinking, "You."

"What?"

"I want you, love," he clarified, "-in particular, I'd really love to fuckin' kiss ya right now, is 'at alright?"

"I didn't think you were the type to ask," you quipped, before you could really think about it, again.

He furrowed his eyebrows, a bit in defense.

"No, I mean-" you scrambled for a minute, "-you feel like the kinda guy that does it-"

"It?"

"-in like an emotional rush. You know? Like no words, just... just..."

Tangerine sighed, but you could see the quirk of a smile on his lips -you hadn't scared him off yet apparently.

"Sorry," you squeaked out, and you definitely saw a smile smooth across his lips.

"I'm fuckin' askin' ya, love. Say yes or no, yeah?"

"Yes," it came out in a rush of breath, a little like it clawed up your throat with desperation, "-yes."

Tangerine didn't hesitate a second longer, pushing forward with a force unmatched -big hands coming to cup your face at the hinge of your jaw. It was desperate, almost like he'd been waiting to do this awhile and the idea of that, made your breath catch.

You briefly wondered when it started, before he pushed into you further -hands righting themselves just below your ears on the back of your neck. He made you bump into the wall behind you. Tangerine promptly swallowed your squeak at the sensation, as easy as breathing.

Of course he was good at kissing too, your mind chimed, so unfair.

And then a more coy voice spoke up, but hey, he does want to kiss you though, I'd count that as a win.

Yeah, you decided as his mustache scratched ever so slightly at your upper lip and his hands dropped to your waist, definitely a win.

He pulled back a moment, breaths ragged and slow -eyes darting over yours, "Was good, yeah?"

You decidedly didn't answer him, pushing forward to kiss him again -this time a little slower, less rushed. He was just as slow, fingers holding your waist just slightly tighter like he didn't want you to leave.

Why the hell would I leave?

Tangerine was the one to part that time too, eyes slow to open like the kiss had affected him just as much. Your heart beat a little faster at that.

"Take that as a yes, yeah?"

"Oh, definitely," you laughed, hands coming to rest between his chest and shoulders.

He's strong too, your mind unwillingly retorted.

He didn't move, like he was simply absorbing your breaths and to be fair, you were pretty sure you were doing the same. He was nearly panting after all.

Words slipped out before you could stop them, "When I told you to borrow sugar, this was not what I was expecting."

Tangerine paused for a moment, gears working. Before his face flickered into something of annoyance, frown so prominent.

"Good god, fuckin' shut up, love."

"Make me," you offered, laughing.

And he certainly did.

[crowsoundsonly]

Don't Stop

pair: the Darkling x fem!reader

word count: ~3k

summary: general kirigan discovers just how touch starved you are in a sparring session.

warnings: lite semi smut, essentially a thigh kink...., a touch of self-conscious reader with moments of poor self-esteem, kind of ooc!darkling at the end, but i'm not mad about it.

a/n: hej guys !! this is the first fic that i'm posting on this blog, so i hope you like it !!

You know you are not alone in your fascination with the Darkling, making the fact that you watch him more than you should more of a problem than it should be. You hear the whispers among the other Grisha about his appearance, his power, his mystery, and you can’t help but to fall into the trap. He never pays you any attention, and why should he? You never considered yourself the prettiest, the strongest, or the best, especially when it comes to the Small Science. Grisha you are, but exceptional you are not.

...

“Again,” Botkin calls to you, instructing you to run the training course around the courtyard and into the forest for the third time today. With only a nod, you obey and take off running, praying that this will be the final time. 

You concentrate on your breathing, keeping it at a steady rhythm as you pass through the courtyard, glancing quickly at Botkin watching the other Grisha spar in the middle. The path into the forest is all too familiar, the ground becoming uneven with unearthed roots and rocks. You quickly slip into the world of your thoughts which is dangerously full of General Kirigan. 

Lost in yourself, you fail to notice the ground becoming stone under your feet. You skim the shoulder of someone as you round the corner of the last hall before you return to Botkin at the start, sprinting the final stretch. Your combat instructor is waiting for you, his arms crossed before him, standing beside the Darkling himself. 

Your heart seemingly beats faster; not due to the three mile run you just completed, but for fear and anticipation of what these men have in store for you. Halting before them, you quiet your breathing, willing your heart to slow down enough so you can get a word out without panting. 

“This is her?” General Kirigan asks in a tone that can only be described as nonplussed, his eyes surveying you carefully. 

“Yes, sir,” Botkin nods.

A hum, then a reply that makes you even more apprehensive than before, “She’ll do.”

“Do what?” you blurt, then recover yourself by finishing, “If I may ask.” You know you should hold your tongue, but the words are spoken before you can tie them down. Eyes expectantly watch the General as the corners of his lips twitch up slightly at your question. 

“Fight.”

Before you can register the word, you are grabbed by the arm and led by General Kirigan to the sparring circle in the middle of the courtyard. Every sense you have is trained on the General’s hand on your body, on the grip he has around your arm. As quickly as you were snatched, you are released and left alone in the middle of the ring.

Luckily, many of the Grisha have already completed their training, so you are unhindered by too many eyes watching the commotion. Still, enough gather around to get your blood to sound in your ears. You stand, eyes darting around in an attempt to puzzle together what is happening to you. 

“Who am I fighting, sir?” you ask tentatively. 

A smirk pulls at the General’s mouth before he simply says, “Me.”

Your brain comes to a halt. Then goes into overdrive. You cannot possibly fight the Darkling, the most feared man in the country. You are a mediocre fighter at best who can barely fight Grisha of her own level. The Darkling is going to beat you to a pulp if he shows any self control.

General Kirigan humorously watches your panic as he shrugs off his kefta, seemingly enjoying the terrified look on your face. You take short breaths in an attempt to get your adrenaline pumping enough so the pain will be less intense. You have no doubt that the Darkling will land every harrowing jab he throws.

“Are you ready?” he asks with more intensity than you think necessary. A simple nod from you is enough for him to begin. 

He approaches you quickly, immediately on the offense. A few quick lunges and carefully placed hits graze off of your defensive positions until the last blow of the round finds its place under your rib cage. Your heart hammers against your chest, your focus completely intent on shielding yourself from his attacks that come too swiftly to keep up. 

General Kirigan begins stepping around you, his feet becoming involved with the spar, leaving you with another source of attacks to defend. You are successful at first but within three steps, you are grabbed by the waist and pinned to the ground, the Darkling holding you down with his thigh locked through yours. Your nose is pressed to his chest, breaths heaving in and out of your mouth.

You feel every place the Darkling touches you. The cool metal of his belt buckle brushes against the exposed strip of skin above your pants. One of his hands grips your wrists that scratch against the dirt above your head. His thigh presses the inside of yours, dangerously close to your core as his hips shift ever so slightly against your stomach. Your body responds involuntarily to the position, moving closer to his thigh before you regain control over yourself.

A small chuckle sounds from General Kirigan who stares at you from above. 

“How long has it been since someone touched you like this?” he whispers before abruptly standing up, his knee grazing your core as he moves. 

He reaches out a hand to assist you, and you take it, nerves igniting in your stomach as his hand grasps yours and pulls you off of the ground.

“Thank you,” you say quietly once you are on your feet. 

“Thank you,” the General replies before bowing, whispering your name as he gathers his kefta and waves to Botkin.

You watch him leave in complete disbelief. He took you down with ease, so you should be much more embarrassed by that, but you are too possessed by the feeling of him to care.

...

You thought little of anything other than the moment you had had with General Kirigan. The reason Botkin had chosen you to spar with the Darkling when there were other, more impressive Grisha training at the same time you were has escaped you, and you doubt that you will ever understand. A repeat performance has not happened, and you don’t expect it to. Your life continues as usual, other than the occasional whisper about the fight muttered between Grisha over dinner plates. 

...

Picking at the herring in front of you, you feel the hair at the back of your neck prickle, followed by goosebumps rippling over skin under your kefta. Your eyes dart from one face at the table to another, attempting to find the eyes that watch you. The effort is fruitless, and the feeling fades as quickly as you noticed it. 

Subconsciously, you glance at the Darkling sitting at the head of the table. It is a luxury to see him at dinner as he is always far too busy to dine with the other Grisha. He sits tall, his features sharp yet bleary with disinterest. You wonder if he has always looked as he does now: a man who knows the world’s cruelty and the bitterness of time. His hand wrapped around his fork holds your stare as you recall the feeling of those same fingers around your wrists, imagining what they would feel like in other places. You catch yourself falling down the rabbit hole of General Kirigan, so you force the last few bites of fish down before sneaking away from the dinner table to bury your thoughts in the shelves of the library.

...

The Darkling watches you quietly excuse yourself from the table and slip into the hallway. He had been watching you during dinner, taking in the way you scrunch your nose at every forkful of herring and smile pleasantly after each bite. He felt your eyes find him as he sat, listening to his Grisha argue. You look at him a lot, no more than the other girls, surely, but the General has started to take notice of you everywhere. He finds you in the hallways, always bowing to him respectfully. 

At night, for reasons unknown to him, he thinks of the way your body responded to his, how your hips sought out his thigh and the feeling of your breath erratically hitting his chest. No one has responded to him the way you have in a long time, and he thinks he wants to feel it again. 

After dinner is through, he strides through the Little Palace, intent on escaping his duties for the night. He has had enough of the country’s and his Grishas’ troubles, so he heads to the stables for a late night ride alone. Swiftly moving down the hallway, he notices a thin stream of light spilling out from under a library door. Rarely do the Grisha study at this time of night, as they are usually causing trouble in efforts to impress their classmates. And if they are studying, it is never in this library - the small one that often smells of spores due to the age of the books that are somehow always damp. 

He pauses for a moment, considering entering the room to find who is in there, but decides against it. He begins to walk away, only to stop after a few steps to satisfy his curiosity. Opening the door, he finds a form laying on the couch with the light dimly glowing from the candle in the corner. Whoever it is doesn't notice him as they do not move from their place.

General Kirigan walks further into the library and finds that it is you on the couch. The book you were reading is on the floor with its pages bent at awkward angles. You have your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, almost as if you were comforting yourself, providing yourself with the touch you crave from others.

The jab he made about being touched while you were pinned under him begins to echo in his mind, coming to realize that his question was a legitimate one. 

Silently, General Kirigan strides to you, crouching in front of your sleeping form. A hand comes to ghost over the side of your face before he can stop himself. Your eyes flutter open, blinking blearily. When the sight before you comes into focus, you sit upright quickly, causing the Darkling to retract his hand from your face.

“Sir,” you start, but he waves his hand to cut you off.

“Follow me,” he says, standing from his crouched position and striding to the door with only a single glance behind him. Wordlessly, you get up and walk behind the general, wondering what he could possibly want. 

Your nerves tingle with anxiety and surprisingly with excitement. You have wanted his attention, and here he is, finally giving it to you. Whether this is a good thing or not, you haven’t decided. 

Suddenly, General Kirigan comes to an abrupt halt before turning sharply and opening the door to your right. He slips in quietly, and you follow him into the room, discovering that it is a bedroom. A large four poster bed with black satin sheets stands in the middle of the room, clouding your mind with the images of the fantasies you have dreamed up at night, and your neck heats at the indecency of your thoughts. 

“I am going to be honest with you, and I ask that you do the same,” the general says as he stands in front of the bed, his focus completely on you. 

You nod in agreement, nervousness forming a pit in your stomach.

“You have monopolized my thoughts. I have seen the way you look at me, and it has led me to believe that you will not object to what I have in mind. Now, I want to ask you again. When was the last time,” he takes a step in your direction, leaving no more than a meter between you, “someone,” another step, “touched you like I did?”

By the end of his question, he is standing directly in front of you, his eyes locked with yours. You want to tear your eyes away, but you find yourself unable to do so. Your body is hot, embarrassment flooding your veins, but somehow, you are not bothered by it. He prefaced his question with candor, and you want to do the same.

“Never, sir,” you whisper, providing him the honesty you promised.

A small smile pushes his lips up as he reaches a hand to tilt your chin. His hand drops slowly to your throat when he whispers, “Would you like me to do it again?”

“Yes, sir.”

The general makes no sudden movements and without any urgency, puts his hands on your waist and pulls you to his body. You take the necessary step forward to have your stomach flush to his. His hand finds its place at the small of your back, the other pushing a strand of your hair out of your face. 

Your hands stay by your sides, unsure as to where to put them. He notices and moves to grab them, bringing them around his neck. His hands slide down your arms as they come around your waist, his fingertips pressing into your hips.

His eyes never leave yours as he leans down to whisper into your mouth, “Tell me when to stop.”

You nod, almost imperceptibly, but it is enough confirmation for him to close the gap between your lips. A breath flutters in through your nose, the sound of your nerves causing him to smile against your lips. He kisses you slowly and surely. He does not rush into your mouth, keeping his kisses languid and smooth, each one flowing into the next.

Slotting his thigh between yours, he pushes himself closer to you, the feeling of his leg pressed to the inside of yours inciting warmth to seep into your core. Your hips move upon their own accord, rocking to find his thigh like they did when you sparred. Your breath hitches, and you pull away to look at him, embarrassment creeping up your neck as every part of you starts prickling with heat.

The almost triumphant look on his face leaves you breathless and sweeps away your embarrassment. “Does it feel just as good this time?”

“Yes,” you breathe, closing your eyes as he meets your lips again.

The kisses come a little quicker now as his hands remove your kefta from your shoulders. You help him push off his own, unbuckling and untying shirts as you go.

“Will you lay down for me?” he asks as he gently guides you to the bed behind him, kissing you once along the way. “That’s a good girl.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your mind unsure, but your body craves the feeling of everything he is so willingly offering. Black sheets engulf you as you lay back on his bed, your dress falling up your thighs. He removes the shoes from your feet and kisses a trail up your calves. You can’t help the sighs that escape your lips as your eyes slip closed. 

“Look at me,” General Kirigan says, breathing your name against your knees. You watch him slide his hands up your legs, your sides, skimming your chest before resting them beside your head. “When was the last time someone touched you like this?”

You look right into his eyes and whisper, “Never.”

Your response elicits a smile from him before he captures your lips again, moving his thigh to press into your core. You gasp and keen into him, your chests pressing together. The feeling of him between your thighs has pressure building in your stomach, the muscles below your navel tight with anticipation. One of his hands comes to rest on your stomach, teasing you and causing you to jolt beneath him, your hips pressing further into him in response.

His thumb begins to caress the skin just above your panty line, and this causes the fire in your core to burn hotter than you have ever felt. He begins to help you rock into him, finding a rhythm that makes you whimper and kiss him harder.

Suddenly and without warning, his hand is out from under your dress and his thigh is absent from between yours. Your eyes fly open, thinking that he has had enough, and your heart leaps into your throat. 

What you see leaves your heart pounding in your ears but not out of concern. He is sitting on his heels, looking down at you in what could only be interpreted as awe.

His eyebrows are high and his lips are slightly parted as he leans back down, not touching any part of you but with his lips. He kisses your neck, your throat, your collarbones with his hands bracing him beside you. The lack of contact anywhere else on your body has you reaching out and pulling his hips to yours, the feeling of his pants on the inside of your thighs making you tingle and clench your legs around his.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he whispers again against the column of your throat, reminding you that you are in control. Everything is a new land yet to be discovered, and you are enjoying every moment of exploration.

“Please,” you breathe. “Don’t stop.”

a/n: yay !! thanks for making it through !! let me know if you want to be on my taglist :)

[penguinsravioli]

Crush Confessions

❝⁺ ₊ ✦⋆ ｡ ˚chapter 1❝⁺ ₊ ✦⋆ ｡ ˚ Anthony Vaughn x Reader

“Well, shit.” I stare at the map while everyone crowds around it. Heaps for keeping my body count a secret. “Well damn (name), I didn’t know you got down like that ay?” Dusty nudges my side. I frown, I don't think my count is that high in my opinion, but I’d rather keep it on the low you know? This happened during holiday, me and Ant I mean. Didn't mean much to me because we were shit-faced.

But he’s been avoiding eye contact with me since I walked in. I think it's because he’s into Jesus and all that.

“Says here you went at it wiiiiithhhh, Ant and Missy huh? You enjoy getting a gobby?” I rolled my eyes. “Fuck off, cunt...” I shove Spider out of the way. Adjusting my jeans on the way down, they’re seriously starting to ride up my ass. When me and Missy went at it, I didn’t do anything with her. She did go down on me though.

To the gym, we all traveled for an assembly.  I sat down near the back, like 2 rows from. Which placed me behind Dusty, I messed with the charms on my acrylics, stoically staring at my feet when the gym silenced. I look up and see, Harper, with a full buzz. “Pack it up Eleven” Missy shouts. I hold in a chuckle. While Amerie frantically calls out her name. “Sit down Amerie,” Woodsy commands. Shortly after, she begins.

“I am a woke woman.” I sit up a bit straighter, curious on what’s about to come out of her mouth next. Woodsy is known to be a tight stuck-up bitch of a principle, I don't think she's that bad. She just… “I enjoy sex as much as the next person.” …has a way with her words is all.

“But reputation is everything and this map..has jeopardized your reputations” No fucking kidding woods. “And the reputation of our school. On the first day back, we are currently in the process of contacting all the parents of everyone on this map” 

Shit…shit shit shit shit shit- I am so fucked. Woodsy’s voice begins to lessen throughout my brain. “-and have strongly suggested that there are to be no more parties, shindigs, or gathos-” my mouth begins to dry up. What will my parents say? They’ve had the ‘talk’  with me but they're not really understating you know. “Oooi central link is losing her shit” Spider comments. “Shut up Spider..” Ant whispers. “Hey! Hey!-” There's Woodsy’s voice coming in again. My legs begin shaking “-Unsupervised parties equals alcohol. Alcohol equals poor choices. The risk-taking behaviors outlined on this map are unacceptable.” I sigh, lightly pulling at the end of my hair. Trying to calm myself down, I'm so gonna get my ass beat when I get home later. Woodsy ends her speech a bit later and we’re finally dismissed. Well, except Amerie. It must have been her. What a dog. 

Maths passes by excruciatingly slower than usual. I check my phone, no notifications. My legs begin to shake again, and the under of my boobs are sweating, how fun. I put my head on the table, I feel a headache coming up. I look at the clock. Thank GOD. I get up to use the bathroom as soon as the bell rings. I breathe in and out slowly. “You’re good man You're good, chill out” I attempt to calm myself down. When it finally works I walk out of the bathroom. Turn a corner and there in the gym, is Harper beating the shit out of Amerie.

“worldstar material?” I question, weaving myself into the crowd pulling out my phone to record. “Well shit, beat her ass then” I instigate. A small chuckle slips from my mouth when Amerie falls to the ground, Harper leaves, and Ameries nose is bleeding.

“Yikes..” I turn away. My ass is already grass when I get home. Let us not deepen the grave by being late to class.

“Oi (nickname), can we talk?” It’s Ant. I feel just as bad for him as me. I’ve met his mom, she's scary. “About? It seems to me you've talked a bunch” “Listen I’m sorry about it. I know you told me not to spill but Spider kept on prying because he saw us walk out of the bathroom.”  During holiday I had snuck out and went to a party that Sasha So invited me to. Now I don't drink, but I do occasionally take a hit. The last time I had gotten high I almost died of laughter, like so deadass. I'm a giggler, but this time I was dissociating.

—“Oi (nickname) you good? Ant looks at me. He’s a bit high, you can tell because usually when he’s hella high he acts like he doesn’t have a brain. “Yeah bruh, heaps”. We stare at each other for a moment and I begin giggling, he begins giggling too. “You know… you’re real cute when you’re not trying to be like spider and your group leader dusty” I turn my body towards him and get closer. I was wearing this cute skirt, it was pretty tight on me but it made my legs look quite nice. I had paired it with this cute black tube top as well. “Am I? I always thought I was a bit of a ripper” I giggle at his remark. My arms begin to wrap themselves around the base of his neck. “Wanna show me how much damage a ripper like you can cause?” He smirks, “sure mate” he puts his hands down my waist, dropping his arm to grab my hand as he leads me to the bathroom.—

I shake off the memory. “Listen, Um Anthony..” I think to try and find the right words to say. He lifts his head to reveal his puppy-like eyes. Ugh, what an asshole that boy is. “I don't really care anymore. But I think it would just be best if we forgot about it yeah?” His face seems to melt a bit with sadness. “Yeah Yeah, Of course. No biggie”

“Cool, Catch you later I guess” I begin to walk away from the sulking Ant. “Will the following students please meet at classroom 5D”

I continued walking, trying to get away from Ant, who was currently burning holes into my backside. “Amerie Wadia, Harer McLean, Sasha So, Missy Bekett, Dustin Reid, Spencer White, Anthony Vaughn—“ I whip my head around, and his face looks confused. “Well Shiiiit” I smirk his way, he rolls his eyes and adjusts his backpack straps beginning to walk the opposite way from me.

“(name) (lastname), Darren Rivers, Quinni Callegar-Jones, Douglas Piggott—“ He turns around. “HA!” I roll my eyes and follow him out the doors.

[skzoologist]

The link

word count: ~1.8k

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort

summary: Everyone has their own limits, but some turn a blind eye to it.

a/n: If there are any mistakes to this, please tell me so I can fix them, as I wrote it past midnight when I wasn't feeling well. I ran through it the next day, but I am just one person and so mistakes could have easily slipped past me. Either way, I hope you enjoy it!

Back to the masterlist

Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!

!I don't condone anyone stealing my work and posting it anywhere without my permission, or feeding it to AI!

!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life!

·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙

·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙·͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙⁺˚•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙˚⁺‧͙

Bae had been feeling off all day, from the very moment he had opened his eyes. It was an unsettling feeling, one that sat heavily in his stomach and made his organs twist into knots, like a myriad of snakes piled on top of each other.

Then he met the others and it all became clear, the air so tense you could basically cut it.

He felt nauseous.

It was comeback season; their album was nearly releasing and so everyone had been working day and night to perfect their skills, to perfect this gift for their fans. Each member sported an aura of exhaustion around them, the skin underneath their bright eyes dark and dull. Some looked more worn down than the others, contagious smiles not quite reaching their eyes.

Bae wasn't an exception to this, far from it. He had pulled his fair share of all-nighters, only beaten by 3RACHA themselves. Perfectionism ran in his veins, and so he could easily recognise when someone was trapped in their own mind, ruining their body for the sake of some unattainable perfection.

And it didn't take more than a single glance to see it on Chan, the signs all there and hard to deny.

The male looked like death itself, forced into a prison of flesh and hating every second of it. Those chocolate eyes were dull, never truly seeing what was in front of them unless it was that cursed laptop screen he had spent days upon days staring at. Not to mention how irritable he was, snapping so easily that the younger members were now afraid to approach him, sparking quite a few confrontations that were hard to break.

And Bae was forced to witness it all, heart heavy as their strong leader was crumbling to the ground in front of his very eyes.

It was late at night that Jisung asked him to stop by their studio, needing some advice and Bae had always been happy to help, especially in such stressful times. No matter how much his own joints ached, mind on the brink of exhaustion, he would always heed the members’ calls. And so his hands deftly packed his bag and locked the room, being the last one to stay behind and practise the dance moves until they were burned into his synapses.

He made quick work of the way there, empty hallways bright in contrast to the outside world that was bathed in darkness.

Once he reached the door, he peeked his head in, no need to knock as he was a regular there. Jisung noticed him almost immediately, as if the male had been staring at the door this whole time, rushing to his side with an almost panicked look. That made the alarm bells inside Bae’s head ring ceaselessly, already guessing that it was about Chan; and it wasn't anything good.

“Hyung, oh my god I'm so happy you're here. Chan hyung’s out of control and at this point you're the only one that can help.” - the frightened boy rushed out, words nearly unintelligible.

Bae held Jisung close, running a calming hand through the younger's dark locks as he put a tiny smile onto his face, hoping to reassure and calm the slight trembles in the other’s body. He already knew what this was about; sadly it wasn't the first time, and most definitely not the last.

“It's okay Sungie, go back to the dorms. I'll take care of it, hm?” - he hummed out, voice low and unwavering.

Jisung nodded, looking up at him with wide, grateful eyes. With a small push of his hands away the quokka went, and he was forced to address the heated argument that could be heard from inside the room by now.

Right, Changbin was still in there with Chan.

With a deep inhale Bae pushed the door open, softly closing it after he slipped inside. A sight he was unfortunately familiar with greeted him: Changbin was shouting back at Chan, both participants equally frustrated with each other. So much so that they didn't even notice him, only when he placed his hands on the younger's shoulders, touch firm yet gentle.

“Bin, I got this. I'll pack up afterwards, just go after Jisung. Please?” - Bae asked in a soft voice, his voice only heard because the two were surprised into silence by his sudden appearance.

When he felt that the other was about to protest, unable to let things go, he hugged Changbin from behind and gently squeezed him into himself. It was something he had always done in times like these, when things got too heated; and it never failed to calm Changbin down, something he was hoping to achieve at that very moment.

It seemed to have worked once again as the younger's shoulders slightly relaxed, a long sigh heard from his direction. Bae patted his back, watching him leave before he steeled himself, eyes now staring at Chan.

Chan, who went back to working on a track, jaw set so tight Bae was afraid the man would break a tooth. Still, he knew he wouldn't have an easy time with the older and so he softly called out to him, slightly dejected at the lack of reaction.

That didn't deter him and so he tried again, only to have the raging storm that was now Chan directed at him.

“What? You're gonna tell me to go back and rest too? Save it, I don't fucking need it right now.”

Bae took in a deep breath, the burning in his lungs grounding him and granting just enough distraction to steel himself. His hyung wasn't acting like how he usually did; these words weren't truly his.

“If you're just gonna stand there, you can go. You're bothering me.” - Chan mumbled and Bae could feel his own storm brewing inside, answering the older’s in a silent rage.

With a single step he closed the distance, hand slamming against the table with such vicious force that Chan flinched, wide eyes now blinking up at him.

“I don't need your sass right now either!” - he hissed out, face now so close to Chan’s that he could see the wonderful array of browns swirling inside those eyes.

He took another breath, eyes slightly narrowing down at his entirely too tired hyung.

“I understand the pressure you're under, and you know I do. It's not easy to be the leader of our group, especially when it's comeback season and work buries us alive. But please, listen to us. You need rest now, not more work!” - his voice was determined, words cutting straight to the point as he knew just walking around it with pretty sentences wouldn’t work.

His pleas fell on deaf ears, Chan’s eyebrows furrowing in renewed anger.

“I know my own limits, so y’all can stop pestering me so damn much.”

Bae never wanted to hit Chan so much before, to make the older see some sense already. He could feel his own pulse climbing, heart beating faster and faster. That sickening feeling that resided in his stomach was now replaced by burning acid. The sorrow he felt for the man was the only thing keeping it in check.

“If your limits include snapping at us constantly, then by all means, go ahead. I'll just go back to drying up Innie’s tears then, but maybe Sungie joined him by now too.”

Bae was aware how cruel saying that was, and his heart hurt at the words. But nothing else worked when Chan became blinded by deadlines and the impossible weight of public expectations; he knew, he had tried everything in these past years without any success. His heart ached and broke into tiny pieces at his hyung's expression, eyes now wide and filled with nothing but immense guilt and regret.

Before Chan could say anything Bae pulled him close, not caring how this awkward position was hurting his aching back. He could feel the older tremble in his hold, hands latching onto him as if he was Chan’s lifeline.

There was only silence after that, no sound heard besides the occasional quiet sniffle. Bae didn't acknowledge those quiet little sounds, instead he soothingly ran a hand over the other’s back and drew little shapes into the clothes skin there. The hold on his clothes tightened, making his heart squeeze painfully, pulling the other impossibly closer to himself.

Once he was sure Chan was calm enough, he gently pulled back, giving his hyung an understanding smile.

Chan was always there for all of them, giving them a shoulder to lean on whenever they needed it. He was a constant in their life, their rock, their pillar; something they could lean on when times turned harsh. There was not a day when none of them leaned against their oldest hyung in a way, may the reason be something silly like a lost game, or something serious like the fear of failure.

It didn’t take long for the older to weasel his way into Bae’s heart, and so he swore to himself that he would let Chan lean on him, seek comfort in him, no matter what.

“I'll pack up and then we can go, alright? Save your work in the meantime, before it gets lost.” - he gently instructed before doing as he said he would, waiting for his hyung's nod.

There wasn't a lot to pack up, only Jisung and Changbin’s jackets, along with a bag that belonged to the former. Bae put them all together, the bag slung over his shoulder and the jackets tied around it, leaving his hands free.

“Ready?” - he asked, glancing at an awaiting Chan.

The male stood there, eyes cast towards the ground in shame as his hands fidgeted and tore at his nails. Tension was visible in the older's form and Bae could feel his heart painfully squeeze at the sight, silently beckoning Chan over.

Once his hyung was in reach he kneeled down, back open and turned towards the other.

“I don't-... Bae…” “Hyung, please?”

His voice was nearly pleading, wanting to lessen Chan's burdens as much as possible. Thankfully there were no more protests heard in the silent room as the older climbed onto his back, actions slow and hesitant.

With a single motion Bae stood up, a surprised little sound escaping the one he carried. It drew the smallest of chuckles out of him, yet he just silently went on his way back to the dorms, letting the teasing comments die on his tongue.

It was quiet, neither of the two really spoke on the short trek. They didn't need to; there was a certain level of understanding between them, forged by the time and difficulties they had faced together. It was more than enough for Bae to understand Chan’s silent words, his hyung practically melting into his hold as time passed. That hold around his neck was steady, trusting, and he couldn't ask for more.

“Thank you.” - the words were murmured into his skin sleepily, drawing a small smile out of him. “I'll always be here for you, Hyung.” - his words were but a whisper, afraid to shatter the tranquillity that settled over them.

[lawrites]

Rubens Can Suck It!!

Sweet Gotham S1! Edward Nygma x Plus Size! Female Reader

You are having an awful day when someone leaves a note on your desk, describing your figure. It sets you off, and Ed is the one who seeks to comfort you.

This fic features a LOT of insecurities, specifically around being plus size. It talks about the feeling of being seen by others and how shitty some officers at the GCPD are. But Ed is sweet. No warnings beyond that EXCEPT some dirty thoughts from Ed 👀.

It's been an awful morning and it's only 8 AM.

As a woman who works in a field primarily made up of men, especially a plus size woman, you have made your confidence into your armor. Yeah some of the officers could be pigs, (most of them, actually), but you do love your body and how it looks, so it doesn't bother you.

You enjoy wearing bold colors, pretty dresses, structured pant suits, and even pencil skirts to work most days. They make you feel infallible, and you KNOW you look cute in them. No matter what those tiny men say, you can get through the day feeling good.

And usually...it works. There are some days that you think everyone struggles with their looks, no matter their size. It's what happens when your society is constantly screaming "YOU CAN BE BETTER BUY THIS PRODUCT" at you from all angles.

And so, while you are beating yourself up for letting your confidence slip, you decide to go ahead and make yourself more comfortable while you get it back. Especially because trying to force it wasn't working.

Every glance in the mirror was followed by a critical voice, today. Your hair just didn't sit right, your chosen outfit was too tight and the textures were bothering you, and the high heels you sometimes wear would clack and bring eyes to you. All of that sounded just...exhausting, especially when you just want to get through the day and go home without drawing any attention to yourself.

While usually a pair of eyes on you wouldn't bother you, the thought of Harvey Bullock only staring at your tits when he talks to you, or Jim glancing up and down in what he thinks is a subtle way, or any of the officers giggling when you walk by...yeah it would take only one thing to set you off today, you can tell.

So, while it isn't the most flattering outfit you own, you throw your hair into a ponytail and pull an oversized sweater and linen pants on. Comfy, cozy, still professional enough, and properly disguising your body from any eyes, appreciative or insulting.

After that rollercoaster of emotions while you were getting ready, you don't have time to stop for coffee on your way in, which just adds to your mood. And, of fucking course, some guy decided to begin terrorizing Gotham at 7 in the fucking morning, so all public transport is delayed.

You barely manage to get to your desk by 8 AM with no coffee and already in a bad mood. Setting your stuff down, you dig your palms into your eyes, trying to fight off the urge to just leave. A small slip of paper in neat handwriting makes you smile just a bit, though.

What is always found on the ground

But never gets dirty?

You struggle for a second, your brain moving at a slow pace thanks to the lack of coffee. That is, until you hear footsteps and something blocks the lights streaming in from the windows. You gasp and turn towards Edward Nygma, who is standing right next to you and casting a...

"Shadow!" You blurt out.

He gives you one of his sweet, tight-lipped smiles and nods. "Correct!"

You force a cheery tone to your voice so you don't spoil his mood. Ed may be a bit...odd, but he is one of your best friends here, and he doesn't deserve to be brought down just because you aren't in a good mood. "Great! How many is that so far, Eddie?"

He immediately recites, "That would be 85 riddles correctly guessed out of 90 I have shared with you. 3 you needed a hint for and 2 you did not solve entirely."

You cross your arms in mock anger. "Hey! I did my best! Those ones were hard. It's almost like you wanted me to fail or something."

He hurriedly scrambles to get the next sentence out, "Oh! Oh I would n-never! I j-just..."

Whoops, guess your bad mood made that "mock" anger sound more like actual anger. You take on a placating tone, "Ed, it's ok! I know you just enjoy riddles. And sometimes that big brain of yours makes up a new one that stumps me."

You laugh, maybe a bit bitterly, now, as your bad mood forces itself to the front again. The next sentence is nearly mumbled, "I mean, it must be difficult, sometimes, making puzzles for someone who isn't as smart as you."

Ed seems confused more than anything, now. "I'm...I'm not sure what brought that on, but writing down riddles for you every morning is f-fun for me!"

You sigh, twirling a pen from your desk in your hand to avoid eye contact. "It's just...it's just one of those days, Ed. I couldn't find an outfit that made me look nice..."

Ed interrupts you with his insistence, but he still stumbles over his words, "B-but you always look n-nice!"

Your smile comes out as a grimace, "You're sweet, Ed, but everyone doesn't think so." You glance around to make sure that your next words aren't overheard. "I know that I can usually brush cruel insults away, because I try to tell myself I'm beautiful..." You choke out the last part of your sentence, cutting yourself off before you get too emotional in the middle of the office.

You get up and decide to leave the main lobby to get some of the shitty coffee from the break room. At least there you could better disguise the tears in your eyes. "It's really not a big deal, Ed. I guess I'm just not myself, today. Give it a day or two and I'll be more amusing."

And without waiting for a response, you hurry off.

He stands there awkwardly for a few moments, unsure how to respond to the dismissal you just gave him. Usually the two of you would talk for at least 5 more minutes.

Wracking his brain as he walks away, he tries to think of something to cheer you up.

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

Rubens

Flashes of his paintings fly through Ed's mind as he attempts to type out a sweet note to you. Every time he gets a glance of a plush thigh or your soft belly, he thinks of how he painted Venus, the Goddess of Beauty.

A voice he's been trying to avoid for a while now pipes up, Yeah, Goddess of only beauty? I'm sure that's all you're thinking about, Ed. How about Goddess of Se-

Ed cuts the voice off before it can finish that thought, but now he is unfortunately thinking about it, even at work. Rubens didn't paint all of his women clothed, especially Venus. Her nude form fuses with yours in Ed's mind, haunting him, taunting him.

There's just...so much he can play with. Your body...so much he can sink his long fingers into. He goes back to your belly, what he has ascertained to be the main source of your insecurity. He empathizes with that, but all he can think of whenever you wear something tight is bending you over in the medical lab on site and holding onto that plush belly as he-

Again, he cuts himself off. He would like to think that the other voice took over again there, but those thoughts were all him. He adjusts himself a bit as he sits at his desk, trying to be subtle.

Then he looks back at the screen in front of him, remembering your mood today, and that hits him like a bucket of cold water. He curses the tears in your eyes from old insecurities popping up again. He has seen you become more and more confident in your time at the GCPD, learning to ignore the pigs that giggle at everything that isn't "normal" to them.

Ed knows that feeling, and especially the taunts from those cops, well. He's off, to them. He never quite knows when to start or end a conversation, and he injects his interests even when he knows people are tired of them.

And that's why he likes (loves) you. You always smile and try with his riddles. You even continue to talk to him after, and are interested in who he is outside of work! That's rare. And if he could return that joy you have given him every day, it would be worth it for the possibility of you figuring out his true thoughts.

Unfortunately, while he has a mind for riddles, analytics, and all things mathematical, he has not been as blessed with poetry. So he wants to type this out...if nothing else than to keep you from feeling like you owe him something.

He types and deletes and types and deletes, looks at the clock, drums his fingers on the desk, and then types slowly this time. Reading it over, he nods at what he has written. It's not amazing, but he hopes it will make you feel like there are people in the office that are on your side, maybe even a secret admirer.

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

And now you're soaking wet. You just wanted to escape your desk and get a simple sandwich and the sky decided that it was a perfect time to begin a deluge right before you got back to the GCPD building. Why? God hates you, apparently. There's no other explanation that would satisfy your overdramatic mind at this point in time.

Luckily you managed to keep your precious food dry by stuffing it under your coat, but the rest of you is definitely not so lucky. You huff and start towards your desk. Bullock sees you on the way, starts a sentence of some sort, (most likely to quip at your condition), but the glare you send his way shuts him up immediately.

You end up collapsing at your desk and peeling off your outer coat, feeling the air conditioning of the building start to combine with your wet clothes to make a chill seep into your bones. Trying to ignore it but unable to suppress a shiver, you place your food on your desk...wait...is that? It is! Someone left a little typed note to you under the bag.

You pick up the note, giving it a quick glance to see if there was anything to connect it to someone. There are no initials or name...hmmm.

Your eyes read over the words on the page once...twice. And your heart shatters. How could...why would...how could someone be so heartless that they would taunt you today of all days?

There is a group of those rude, awful officers that like to congregate together around the water cooler, gossiping and laughing at anyone who wasn't them. But right now, one of them is talking while looking directly at you, and when he stops he throws his head back in laughter, with the rest following.

Holding back a sob, you crumple the letter in your hand and get out of the room as fast as you can without running. As soon as you are out of their sight, tears start streaming down your face and you run to a nearby empty room. It doesn't even matter what it is, you just care that it's empty and safe and lock the door behind you, collapsing against a wall and trying to catch your breath as you gasp for air.

You hold that position for only about 30 seconds, trying to muffle your sobs so they couldn't be heard by anyone outside, but apparently you weren't quiet enough. A quiet knock sounds on the door.

Tap tap tap

You do your best to school your voice, but it still comes out shaky as you reply "Please find another room."

But the voice that filters through the door is one you recognize well.

"Y-you looked cold, so I brought you an emergency blanket. Oh! And a-also your lunch."

You let out a sob, unable to stifle it. "T-thank you, Ed." And you walk over to the door to unlock it, opening it just a tad so he can't see your state.

But Ed is observant, and even with what little you present to him, he can see you are massively upset. Your eyes are bloodshot, and you are trembling, whether from the cold or from your current emotions, that he can't tell. He tries his best to gather some courage.

"W-would you mind if I sat with you for l-lunch?" He holds up your bag of food and you notice that his own lunch is clasped in his hand behind it.

Quickly, you try to consider if you are ready to fully cry in front of Ed, but his kind, if nervous, smile and his own insistence on joining you made you certain that he wouldn't be too judgemental.

You turn your head to the side to try and hide it a bit more as you step back to open the door. Your arm sweeps over to gesture to where you were sitting. "Be my guest, Mr. Nygma."

This makes him let out a nervous chuckle, but he enters anyway. You close the door behind him and lock it.

"I hope you don't mind, I just don't want anyone to see me...well..."

He nods, "That is perfectly understandable."

You both stand awkwardly for a few moments, but you eventually feel the floor calling to you again, so you nestle against the wall where you previously had collapsed. Ed slowly settles down at a respectable distance from you, his gangly limbs shuffling until he finds a comfortable position.

When he hands you your bag of food, he decides it's better to talk about what happened than sit in silence. "M-may I ask why you are upset?" You glance at him, and your eyes start to fill with tears again. He hurriedly starts to stutter through another sentence, "Oh! B-but if you p-prefer not to talk about it, t-that's ok!"

You shake your head, glancing down at the floor. "I just...I guess people like to take advantage of you when you're down sometimes, Ed."

You sigh, but begin feeling more angry than sad. "I mean, I've been in a bad mood all day, I got rained on when I was just trying to get some food, and then some asshole leaves me this."

You open your hand to reveal the crumpled note to Ed. He keeps his face as neutral as he can, recognizing it. Oh no, you fucked up, Ed! The voice in his head gleefully taunts.

Your sniffle brings him back, and you look down at the note, spreading it out so you can read it out loud.

"While you are not seen by others as a beauty

I cannot keep myself from glancing at your desk.

Your figure is full, and yet one word sticks truly,

I can only describe you as such: Rubenesque."

Ed ponders over the poem, while a bit rudimentary, it was full of his true compliments to you. But your face crumples when you get to the last word, stuttering it out.

Your eyes look to him, "I mean, Ed! How could someone write this?"

You see his face scrunch in confusion. "I admit, I do not quite understand. I see nothing wrong with the note?"

Feeling frustration well inside of you, you gesture with your hands wildly. "Nothing wrong? It's that word, Rubenesque!! It's an insult, I know it, especially with how those assholes were glancing at me as I read it, laughing once I was done."

Ed seems to be more confused now. "I was not aware it was an insult?"

You nod, and remember all of the times you have heard it in the past, "It's always been used by people who want to try and appear to be kind, but truly aren't. They call me Rubenesque in this snide tone, like it's something they can barely stand to spit out of their mouths."

Ed tries to interrupt, but you continue, softer now. "I just don't know Ed. The whole note seems to be mocking me...calling me full figured and not a beauty. Am I really that bad?" He shakes his head while you feel tears starting again, so you look down at the floor.

Now at a whisper, you barely get out the next words. "I just...I don't even want someone to like me anymore. I just want them to leave me alone." With that vulnerable confession, you sob, and bring your hands to your face, trying desperately to cover it. A shiver runs through you again.

After a few beats, you feel warmth around you, and you glance up to see that Ed has moved closer to cover you with the blanket he brought. His long arms stay in place in a hug after he positions it, keeping you close to him. You are a bit taken aback, as the most that Ed has touched anyone in the past was maybe a handshake.

He leans down so you can hear him, his voice more sure, now, even if it is soft. "Do you know about the painter, Rubens?"

You shake your head. "Is that where the term comes from?" He nods. Not feeling charitable, you grab the blanket and bring it closer around you as you grumble out, "Rubens can suck it."

He lets out a giggle at that, and you feel your heart warm at the noise. "I understand that you feel it is an insult...would you mind if I explain what it really means?"

You nod, because even if it is as bad as you make it out to be, at least you can hear his voice as he explains it.

One of his hands strokes the blanket surrounding you, right on top of your arm. "Rubens painted many different subjects, but the descriptor of Rubenesque usually refers to his nude paintings of women. Specifically, women like Venus."

You lift up your head to look at him. "Venus as in the Goddess of Beauty?"

He nods, gently. "Yes, among...other things." His eyes darken for just a moment before returning to his informative rant. "The women he paints are known to be full-figured, yes, but they are beautiful because of that, in my opinion."

You sit as still as you can, barely breathing, wanting to hear every word he says. A long finger comes under your chin and guides your face until you are looking right at him. "I wrote you that note. I think you are the definition of beauty."

And with that, he brings you gently forward, looking in your eyes the whole time. You let him, and lean forward to meet his lips. The kiss you share is sweet and short, but it fills you with a giddiness that makes you feel like a teen experiencing her first kiss again.

You separate smiling at each other, and Ed reaches up to kiss your forehead. "I apologize for upsetting you. I was trying to be a secret admirer."

You chuckle, "Yeah, well, it didn't help that I read the note as uncharitably as I could." You glance up at him, "I'm sorry for crumpling it up in anger."

He shakes his head. "D-don't apologize. I'll write you as m-many bad poems as you want." One of his long arms slowly moves down, and a finger traces your hip over the blanket. "Is this ok?"

You feel a warmth spark through you again as he makes contact, and all you trust yourself to do is nod. He nuzzles into your neck, whispering in your ear.

"I want you to know, right now, so there is no doubt, I love your body. These hips, your plush belly...even your soft arms." You feel his warm breath on your ear, and it makes you shudder. "They all remind me of art, and they make me want to..."

He trails off, and brings his hand away from your hip quickly, as if burned. You miss his touch, already, and confusedly ask, "What? Ed?"

You can't tell anything from his neutral face, but he gets up, suddenly, grabbing your lunches together again. "Let's find a better place for lunch, more comfortable...maybe with a table."

You nod, standing up with him. As you position the blanket around you, Ed wraps an arm around your waist.

"A-and...if you would like...have dinner with me tonight. I'll cook for you and...tell you more of my thoughts."

Your cheeks heat up, and his do as well. "Ed, I..." You think for a moment. "I'd love to have dinner with you."

He grins at you, again-one of his sappy, closed mouth grins-and leads you out of the room in his embrace. The two of you chat and giggle, seeking out a proper place for lunch and ignoring all of the stares you get. If you have each other, the rest of the world doesn't matter.

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

[kinkandkreep]

♡︎ 𝐂𝐖: 𝐌𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲, 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐫

♡︎ "__" 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞

♡︎ 𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞

♡︎ 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @missgab @sucidalbutpretty @kawaiimusiccollection @nekogeisha-blog @k-cris @dreamsygirl @fishisahappydog @mikeyaki @mytaiyakeylover @tampon-earrings @wakashudou @aaria-malfoy @halparkebitch @cashout-princess @loveameripanshipperlove

Following your episode at dinner, you and Izana made yourselves comfortable on his plush leather couch, snuggling close to one another, with Toto finding his home curled up in your lap. You’d slipped out of your dinner outfit, now clad in one of Izana’s big shirts and some leggings.

Something was queued up on the television, but neither of you paid what was on much mind. Instead, you were both caught up in your own thoughts. 

Izana, though he knew it probably wasn’t the most appropriate thing, kept replaying your earlier words in his head. 

‘__ slept with Hanma? Does that mean there’s potentially something more between them?’ 

The white haired man worries his bottom lip as he thinks, eyes glazed with concern. 

It’s somewhat shameful, he knows, but upon hearing that Manjiro had made such a huge, terrible decision and pushed you away, Izana thought that perhaps now might be his chance to do what he should have done years ago before the little blond bastard snatched you away from him. 

He wasn’t too apt to admit it, though he wasn’t necessarily ashamed of it, but Izana was fairly certain he’d been in love with you for about as long as he’d known you. Of course, as cognizant as he was of this, and as good as he was at masking his emotions most of the time, he figured that neither you nor anyone else would be privy to that information. 

Except for one person. 

Izana’s frown deepens at the thought that Manjiro had known about his love for you, and that his decision to marry you was partly motivated by spite. It’s certainly a horrible thought, but it’s a thought Izana can’t help but have nevertheless. 

Now though, with the revelation that you’ve actually slept with Hanma, Izana can feel the most minute amount of fear creep along his spine that you’ll be swept away from him again. 

His hand absentmindedly rubs your arms in a manner meant to be comforting, but it also serves to ground him as his thoughts spiral.

You, on the other hand, are consumed with thoughts about where this night is headed. 

You’re not sure why you divulged the fact that you’d slept with Hanma to Izana, but now that you had, you felt a strange sort of tension between the two of you. 

You hoped Izana wouldn’t judge or think differently of you now, even though you knew the likelihood of that happening was nearly nonexistent. 

But why then were things now so awkward?

‘Was it because I cried? Now that I think about it, that was kind of embarrassing. Aw man, I knew I should’ve just kept quiet.’

You sigh, which of course catches Izana’s attention. 

“You ok __? If you’re tired, you’re welcome to the guest room, or even my bed if you’d prefer that.” 

You looked over at the clock mounted on the wall. It was pretty late, running up on midnight, and your earlier crying session had admittedly left you a little worn out. 

“Thanks NaNa, I actually am kind of tired. I’ll take the guest room, no problem. I wouldn’t want to kick you out of your own space.” Standing, your cradle little Toto, who up to this point had been asleep, to your chest, placing a little smooch on his fluffy head.

“Where should I deposit the little one?”

Something about the visual of you cradling a little bundle dressed in an article of his clothing has Izana’s heart fluttering a little bit. 

“Uh, his bed is in my room. Here, I’ll show you the way.” 

You follow Izana, cooing at the sleeping Toto the short walk to his bedroom. 

Once there, you gently place the sleeping pup down, watching fondly as he shifts slightly before settling. 

"I'm happy he's so comfortable around you. I don't think I mentioned it before, but Toto was a stray. I found him wandering the streets near my apartment one day, if you can believe it. He was really hesitant initially for anyone to come near him, but overtime he's grown more open to other people. Though you seem to have left an especially good impression."

Izana chuckles, clasping a hand on your shoulder and gently squeezing. 

You smile. "Just call me the pup whisperer." 

A little bit later, you've settled into the guest room for the night. It's around 1 o'clock now, and while you mentioned being tired earlier, you find that you’re having trouble falling asleep. 

Visions of your earlier encounter with Mikey and flashes of the pictures exposing his infidelity plague your mind this particular night, causing you to toss and turn. 

You stop for a moment, listening for Izana. 

‘Ugh, this is so stupid. Why can’t I just forget and fall asleep?’

You huff, frustrated with and frankly over the whole situation. 

It takes a few more minutes, but eventually you decide that you’ve had it. Standing, you quietly make your way over to Izana’s bedroom. The door is slightly ajar, and you peek inside. 

The man seems to be sound asleep, laying lateral with his right hand tucked under his head. His breaths are quiet and even- long, white lashes fanned out over stubbornly plump cheeks. 

You can’t help but giggle quietly at the thought. NaNa always complained about how stubborn the fat on his cheeks was, and how they’d never slimmed down like Mikey’s. 

Steeling yourself, you push the door open more, easing inside and carefully shutting it behind you. 

You stand to the side of the bed for about a minute, contemplating your next move. 

‘Should I just…get in bed with him? That would be kind of invasive, and I’d hate to wake him up over something so silly.’

Having successfully convinced yourself that this whole endeavor was stupid, you prepare to turn and exit the room, being stopped when you hear a low voice mumble “__?”

You turn, only to see vibrant lavender irises blearily focused on you.  

“Hey NaNa. Sorry, did I wake you? I was just…ugh, what was I doing?”

You sigh, feeling even worse now that you’ve accidentally woken your host. 

“It’s ok. What’s the matter? Come here.”

Izana sits upright, opening his arms and gesturing for you to come closer with his hands. 

Before you really recognize it, you’re launching yourself into his embrace, feeling more than hearing the rumble of a chuckle he releases in his chest. 

“It’s ok, __. Would you like to talk about what’s bothering you, or do you just need someone there to help you sleep?”

Your response is muffled, but Izana can make out the word “both” before you begin to pull away from his chest. He’s still somewhat groggy from sleep, but he can see the beginnings of tears well up in your eyes. 

“Sorry to wake you with this,” you say, rubbing the heels of your palms forcefully into your eyeballs. 

Izana chuckles, shaking his head dismissively. 

“It’s no bother at all. I’m glad you find some comfort, however small, in me.”

You can’t help the tiny smile that forms at Izana’s words. You’re grateful in the moment that you’ve got such an amazing support system surrounding you. 

“Thanks NaNa, I truly appreciate you.”

The two of you snuggle close to one another as you lie down, your face buried into Izana’s neck and chest. You breathe in deep lungfuls of his naturally spicy, slightly sweet scent, happy to find that the rhythm you’ve adopted in combination with the comforting smell is slowly lulling you to sleep. 

Izana tenderly and lightly scratches his fingers over your scalp, hoping to soothe you even further. Trying to be as subtle as possible, or at least, more subtle than you anyway, he breathes in your scent as well, eyelids fluttering over lilac irises as it invades his senses. 

“I love you, __.”

Mostly asleep by this point, and not thinking too much of it, you respond:

“Love you too, NaNa.”

When the morning arrives, you find that you’ve slept quite fitfully. Being snuggled up to Izana left you pleasantly warm and comfortable, and your mood has improved drastically from the night prior. 

Yawning and stretching until you hear a satisfying pop sound, you look over to your host, finding that he’s still fast asleep. 

He looks adorable, curled up and breathing quietly through his slightly parted lips. 

Smiling, you lean down without thinking and place a kiss on his exposed forehead. NaNa’s hair has grown out over the years, not being as long as it was when you were younger, but it still reaches about shoulder length, and is much fluffier than before as well. 

The gentle touch of your lips to his skin causes Izana to stir, and he eventually blinks open tired eyes to focus on you. 

“Good morning, __.” Izana’s voice is much raspier after sleep. 

“Good morning NaNa. So, what shall we do for breakfast? If you’re awake enough for that.” 

The man chuckles, slowly sitting up and stretching in much the same manner as you had earlier. 

“How about we try this European recipe I discovered a little bit ago? I should have all the ingredients, and it’s very simple to make.”

You nod, ecstatic about the prospect of food. “Sounds good to me.” 

About 30 minutes later, after both you and Izana have washed up for the day, you find yourselves in the kitchen, an assortment of bread, cheese, fruit and preserves laid out before you on the counter. 

“Wow NaNa, we haven’t even made whatever you’re talking about yet and it already looks delicious.” You can feel saliva pooling in your mouth in anticipation as Izana laughs. 

“And that’s not all. No breakfast anywhere would be complete without eggs.” 

Grabbing the eggs from the fridge, Izana spends the next 15 or so minutes showing you how to make lightly buttered brioche toast coated with fresh strawberry preserves and paired with fluffy, goat cheese eggs and even more fresh fruit. 

“Here, put some of the egg on your toast and try everything in one bite.” Izana holds up an egg covered portion of the buttered and jammed toast for you to taste. 

Leaning forward and taking what was probably a larger bite than would be considered polite, you hum approvingly, thoroughly enjoying the melding of the flavors, from the sweetness of the fruit to the tanginess of the cheese and savoriness of the eggs and butter. 

“This is delicious NaNa. It’s a good thing you found this recipe. And it’s so simple! I could make this for myself when I go back-...home…”

The thought of having to return to where Manjiro is halts you in your tracks, and your expression subconsciously falls.

Seeing this, Izana frowns, before placing a comforting hand on your shoulder and squeezing reassuringly. 

“Hey, you’re welcome to stay here for as long as you need. No rush, no need to stress.”

You offer him a sad smile, one which he readily returns, though his has a more cheerful edge to it. 

“Now, enough of that sadness. We’ve got the whole day ahead of us, and I don’t plan to let it go to waste.”

Spending the day with Izana seemed to be exactly what you needed. 

The two of you hit the town with a vengeance, stopping by all your favorite stores and small shops, not spending a whole ton of money but splurging here and there. You wouldn’t normally have indulged in retail therapy to soothe your frazzled nerves, but you found that it was actually proving to be quite effective. 

Around lunch time, you and Izana decided to hit up a new spot, one that specialized in Western cuisine. 

“So, feelin’ better?” Izana asks over a mouthful of Chicago deep dish pizza. 

“Much, all thanks to you.” You give him a much brighter smile than before, proceeding to stuff your face with your own slice. 

The two of you relax, chat and eat for the better part of an hour in the little restaurant, your previous vexations all but forgotten. 

Izana seems to have swiftly become a balm for all your worries, one which you are increasingly grateful for. As he eats, you observe him quietly, not realizing you’re staring so intently until you hear him distantly calling your name. 

“__.”

You startle a bit, blinking a couple times before humming in response. 

“Uh, yeah? Sorry, I didn’t mean to zone out there.”

Izana smiles, shaking his head. 

“No worries. But I asked if you had decided what you were going to do regarding the situation with Manjiro.” 

You sigh, picking up and absently wiping at your hands with a napkin before setting it on your now cleared plate. 

“I haven’t. Not really anyway. I’d initially decided that I was going to “make him suffer,” and while I do feel that I’ve, at least to some extent, been successful in doing that, I haven’t really made myself feel any better either. This situation is just so terrible and messed up, and I hate the fact that I’ve been pushed into it.”

You can feel the tears creeping up, and you lift your eyes, tilting your head back and taking a deep, steadying breath in and out to stave off the impending waterfall. 

Izana frowns, wishing more than anything that he could go back in time and change the past, so that maybe he could have done what he should have from the start, and spared you the heartbreak. 

Reaching over, Izana covers one of your hands with his own, squeezing gently for comfort. 

“I’m so sorry __. I wish I could do more to comfort you.” 

You shake your head, giving him a little smile. “No NaNa, you’ve done more than enough. Thank you.”

With that, the two of you finish up your meals, with Izana insisting on paying the tab. As you exit the establishment, a violent shiver shoots through you and you quickly jerk your head around in all directions, trying to locate whatever it is that made you so on alert. 

“__? You ok?” Izana watches you with a lifted brow. 

You don’t respond for a few seconds, still searching for the source of your sudden discomfort. Finding nothing, you breathe out a sigh, shaking your head to steady yourself. 

“Yeah just…felt something odd a moment ago.”

Izana’s lips purse in thought. “Hmm, I wonder what it could have been?”

Deciding to simply brush the strange feeling off, you hook your arm around Izana’s, loudly declaring that now you want to head to a dessert shop, something which makes the white haired man laugh.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, a certain blonde ex-gang leader sits observing your interaction from across the way. 

He sips quietly from his coffee cup, the hand not holding the glass clenched tightly into a fist on his lap. 

His mind swirls with violent machinations, though his expression remains uncharacteristically, and somewhat frighteningly, flat. 

Sitting down his drink, the man pulls out his phone, quickly sending a text before pocketing the device once more. 

‘Oh __, what a silly girl you are. But don’t worry, I promise I’m going to make everything alright again.’

ᵃ/ⁿ: ……..🙂 ʰᵉᵉᵉᵉᵉᵉᵉʸʸʸʸ ʸ'ᵃˡˡ…….

ᵒᵏ ᵖˡᵉᵉᵉᵉᵉᵃˢᵉ ᵈᵒⁿ'ᵗ ʲᵘᵐᵖ ᵐᵉ, ⁱ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ⁱᵗ'ˢ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᶠᵃᵉᵛᵃ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵃ ᵈᵃʸ ˢⁱⁿᶜᵉ ⁱ ᵘᵖᵈᵃᵗᵉᵈ ᵗʰⁱˢ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ. 😭

ᵇᵘᵗ ⁱ ᵃⁱⁿ'ᵗ ᶠᵃʰᵍᵒᵗ ᵃᵇᵒᵘᵗ ʸᵒᵘ ᵍⁱʳˡⁱᵉˢ! ⁱˢ ʲᵘˢ ᵇᵉᵉⁿ ᵃ ˡᵒᵗ ᵍᵒⁱⁿ' ᵒⁿ ʷⁱᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᵉⁿ ⁱ ᵃˡˢᵒ ʰⁱᵗ ᵃ ʳᵒᵃᵈᵇˡᵒᶜᵏ ᵃˢ ᶠᵃʳ ᵃˢ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ⁱ ʷᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵗᵃᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵗᵒʳʸ ᵃⁿᵈ ʰᵒʷ ⁱ ʷᵃⁿᵗᵉᵈ ᵗʰⁱⁿᵍˢ ᵗᵒ ᵖʳᵒᵍʳᵉˢˢ. 

ⁱ ˢᵗⁱˡˡ ᵃⁱⁿ'ᵗ ᵍᵒᵗ ⁱᵗ ᶜᵒᵐᵖˡᵉᵗᵉˡʸ ᶠⁱᵍᵘʳᵉᵈ ᵒᵘᵗ ʸᵉᵗ ᵇᵘᵗ ʷᵉ ᵍᵉᵗᵗⁱⁿ' ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ. 😂

ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵉᵃⁿᵗⁱᵐᵉ, ⁱ ʰᵒᵖᵉ ʸ'ᵃˡˡ ᵉⁿʲᵒʸᵉᵈ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵘᵖᵈᵃᵗᵉ! ˡᵉᵗ ᵐᵉ ᵏⁿᵒʷ ʸᵒᵘʳ ᵗʰᵒᵘᵍʰᵗˢ ᵃⁿᵈ ˢᵘᵍᵍᵉˢᵗⁱᵒⁿˢ ⁱⁿ ᵗʰᵉ ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗˢ! 👋🏾

[oceaneyesinla]

I am back with another installment of Sanemi comfort! I do so love writing these, and I hope these can offer some comfort to other people struggling. We're all going to be okay <3

CW: implied mental health problems

Divider by @/cafekitsune

Sanemi's eyes have been watching you a little too closely ever since he got home, and you're starting to think he might have sussed you out. You're trying your best to act like normal, but the cracks are getting harder and harder to paper over, and you're worried that your boyfriend is starting to see through your lame excuses and half hearted smiles. He's observant, and singularly devoted to knowing your every expression and emotion.

You try to relax, settling into the couch and focusing on the manga in your hands. You're so intent on getting through even one page instead of getting distracted and starting again that Sanemi's voice makes you jump.

"Come on." He's standing up, beckoning to you as he shrugs on his leather jacket. When you give him nothing more than a blank stare, he continues, "You've been crying - I could tell as soon as I walked in the door. And I know something ain't right, sweetheart."

Guilt and dread rush through you, and you can feel your lip wobbling as you try to hold back the tears welling in your eyes. Some small part of you dared to hope that Sanemi hadn't noticed your subdued mood and late night fretting when the anxiety got too intense for you to sleep. He works so hard and does so much - you don't want to burden him with the weight of your demons when he already carries the world on his shoulders.

In seconds, he's across the room and crouching in front of you, cradling your cheeks in both big hands as his thumbs brush away the first couple of falling tears, "I'm here. Whatever is going on, I'm here and I'm not going anywhere, alright?"

At your nod, his lips lift up into the softest smile, "We'll talk tomorrow, okay? For now, we're going for a ride."

You love Sanemi's motorbike - it feels like you're flying when he's speeding down the highway, and you've never felt safer than you do when you're pressed against his back, listening to the sound of the engine and enjoying the wind rushing past you.

He helps you slip into your own leather jacket (the one he insisted on buying for you before you ever got near his bike) and takes your hand as you walk down to where his bike is waiting. Just like always, he makes sure your helmet is on properly, checking the straps and the fit before you both hop on. With a final pat to your hands, joined across his stomach, you're off into the night.

You don't know where he's taking you, but you would follow him anywhere. Every day he gives you a new reason to fall a little harder for him, and today is no exception.

The little ball of love and emotion grows as he drives up a familiar path, and you can't help but squeeze him a little tighter when you realise just where he's brought you. The bike slows to a halt and you're off in seconds, barely taking the time to pull off your helmet before you're throwing yourself into his arms, unable to speak past the lump in your throat.

"It's okay, sweetheart. I get it." His arms wrap around you in turn, and you feel yourself relax more than you have in weeks. This is your favourite stargazing spot, and the location of your very first date. It's the place you always come when you need to ground yourself - when you just need to exist for a little while. Looking up always has a way of making things seem less hopeless.

You pull away, looking up into violet eyes. You're scared, you're tired, and you don't know what path lies ahead - but you know whatever it is, Sanemi will be walking it with you, "Sanemi ... I'm not okay."

One hand reaches up to cradle your cheek, and he gives you a sad smile, "I know, sweetheart. Tomorrow, we'll talk to your doctor, and we'll come up with a plan."

He holds out his hand, and you swear the love in his eyes makes them brighter than all the stars overhead, "Right now, I wanna look at the stars with you."

You take his hand, and you let him lead you to your favourite spot. Lying there in the grass, his hand warm in yours and the stars twinkling overhead, you feel those little embers of hope sparking back to life. You've got a long way to go, and you know it won't be easy, but as long as you keep looking up, you're sure you can make it. With Sanemi by your side.

@pixelcafe-network

[pinkqueenxoxo]

I hate you (but when you kiss me i forget) - part 1

harry potter x draco malfoy

summery: harry asks draco to compete him, but things don't go as he expected

The cool evening air of Hogwarts hit Harry’s face as he mounted his Nimbus 2000. He needed to clear his mind, to escape all of his tensions and worries, and the only way he could think of was a solitary Quidditch practice.

He took off into the sky, the rush of wind against his face and the feeling of flying through the darkening sky temporarily silencing the questions that had been bothering him. Could he beat the dark lord? Was he strong enough, good enough? How many more would have to die to protect him? He closed his eyes and let the cold wind carry those questions away, focusing on the feeling of the broomstick beneath him. 

Meanwhile, across the grounds, Draco was also trying to escape his own thoughts, flying in circles above the Quidditch pitch. His Nimbus 2001 soared through the air with precision as he tried to forget the letter he got from his father earlier this day, the letter that was going to change everything. The recent events had made him feel out of control, and he tried to shake off that feeling by flying, making sharp turns on his broom. 

Harry soon spotted Draco flying above the pitch, his silver-blonde hair glinting in the setting sun. He closed the distance between them, circling Draco and stopping in front of him. 

Draco stopped his broom and scowled at Harry, “oi, potter, you’re in my way.” 

Harry smirked at him, “well, I just remembered that shit you told me this morning. About you being faster than me.” 

Draco immediately slipped on his usual facade, giving Harry a smug grin. “I’d hardly call it shit, potter. I am faster than you.” 

Harry’s smirk widened. “Why don’t we settle it then? A race to the black lake.” 

Draco grinned wider, his eyes gleaming with the challenge. “Alright potter. Can’t wait to see your face when I beat your sorry ass.” 

Harry smiled and rotated his broom so he was next to Draco, calling out, “we start at three!”      Draco tightened his grip on his broom, getting ready to take off. Harry did the same, and then started counting, “one.., two.., three!”                

Both of the boys took off towards the black lake. They landed almost at the same time, both panting. They glared at each other for a moment, and then Draco drawled, “well, potter, it seems like I won.” 

Harry gritted his teeth “like hell you won. I got here first.” 

Draco took a few steps closer to Harry, his taller frame towering over him. He took in Harry’s disheveled appearance, his hair and clothes ruffled, and said lowly, “is that so?” 

Harry frowned up at him, trying to suppress the blush spreading on his cheeks, “yes, my broom got here first, it was so fucking obviou-“ 

but before he even had a chance to finish talking, Draco crashed his lips against Harry’s, pinning him up against the tree. Harry didn’t know what to do, his enemy was kissing him, and it was so much better than he could ever imagine. He couldn’t decide if he should push Draco away or let him continue, but then Draco’s tongue scraped against his bottom lip, and every fiber of his being focused on that touch between them, every thought in his head disappearing except the overwhelming need to have Draco closer, to have more of his touch. He pulled Draco closer to him, parting his lips to grant him access. A small whimper left Harry as Draco’s tongue swept into his mouth, dominating him, and he could practically feel Draco’s smug grin. He ran his fingers through Draco’s hair, tugging slightly, and he felt a pang of satisfaction when Draco moaned, squeezing Harry’s ass in response. Draco then pulled away, breathing heavily, and took a step back, releasing Harry from his grip. 

Harry looked at him, his cheeks flushed, and said breathlessly, “tie?” 

Draco smiled rather smugly and said, “tie.” 

And then he fixed his hair and started walking away. Harry, still trying to process what just happened, didn’t stop him. Draco walked away a few steps, and then turned around and said, rather flirtatiously, “oh, and potter? I better get a rematch soon.”                                                   

“Don’t worry,” Harry said softly, “you will.” 

[ch0wen]

Hi!!!!!!! Loooooove your writing!!!! May I ask Tangerine x reader (fem if you want!), hot "Thank god you are safe!" kind of sex?

Thaaaaaank you for your support and for sending this over!! 💕 I am so so so happy to read comments on my posts and I really appreciate receiving these messages. Please accept this work as a token of my gratitude -

Request: Gunpoint - Tangerine x gn!reader

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), smut, & cursing

“I’m okay. I promise.”

“He held a gun to your head, Y/N.”

He has a serious look on his face but his dick is sliding deliciously in and out of you. He’s thrusting slowly. Analyzing, not admiring, your body to ensure there aren’t any hidden cuts or marks he may have missed from earlier. You’re clenching down on his cock to try and savor the feeling of him filling you up. Gripping him to hold onto the feeling of being full to avoid the emptiness from him slipping out.

You’re grateful Tangerine is so doting. It’s an entirely different side to him that not many people see. He’s generally caring and listens to you, but his worry is not an emotion you see often. In reactive situations, when the cause for the stress is over, he gets clingy and has to state verbal reminders that you’re okay, but they're mostly for himself. It's been a while since you've seen this side of him, but today put him in a position he hasn’t been in before and you could tell it shattered him.

Earlier, you opened the front door of your apartment with a smile, thinking it was just Tangerine meeting you for your agreed date. However, you were staring down the barrel of a gun with a sweaty, blonde man’s hesitating finger dancing on the trigger.

Moments later, Tangerine’s pounding footsteps were heard down the building's corridor. His tight facial expression faltered once he got a look at the scene now in front of him. Blondie had swooped in behind you and put you in a chokehold; the pressure of the gun prodding at your head.

The look on his face paired with the gun made your stomach twist. He paled whilst trying to fight off any trace of worry to not give Blondie the reaction he wanted. But you can pick up on any of his micro-expressions, except he wasn’t successful at fully hiding some of the changes to his demeanor. Contorted eyebrows here, a quivering lip there, hands stuttering with the flexing then balling of his fists, and a command to let you go with a slight quiver to his stern tone. And when he locked eyes with you, you could read his silent plea for you to stay calm. He was helplessly trying to figure out a safe way to free you from being Blondie’s hostage without having said man react and shoot you. You never saw that clear emotion wash over him before. It didn’t make you feel good at all. You felt horrible to be in a position where your smart, always confident Tangerine was unsure of himself and what to do next. To feel this way being the one with a loaded weapon pressed against your temple says a lot.

But you’d do anything to never have him doubt himself or for you to be labeled as a damsel in distress. So, you took initiative to defend yourself against Blondie by throwing your head back into his nose as you’ve seen in the movies. Honestly, what they don't tell you, is that the impact causes whatever part of your own head to throb. But arguably that was the preferred pain over the harsh smack of the gun to your face. Your body hitting the ground with a quickly forming welt set Tangerine off, and now Lemon is currently out God only knows where to dispose of Blondie’s corpse.

Tangerine embraced you over the cooling body, followed by a quick text to Lemon. He iced your cheek/eye in the kitchen. Leading to more kisses that finally wound you up on your bed for him to 'assess' how bad your injuries are. Now you're here.

“Tan, I’m not gonna break. Fuck me, baby.”

Wordlessly, he is moving back to sit down near the end of the bed and pulls your body with him. You’re now straddling his lap; being wrapped in his arms with his dick never slipping out of you. His hands soothingly stroke up and down your sides as he continues to thrust his cock rhythmically. Fingers ghost over the bruise on your face. He’s afraid to apply any pressure to it. This close you can see how genuinely concerned he was and still is. There are traces of tears around his baby-blue eyes. You're not sure if they’re from now or earlier in the hall, and he would deny having ever welled up if you tried asking. But you carefully stroke under his eye with your thumb to wipe them away and now he’s staring at you.

“I was so scared I was going to lose you,” he admits.

You kiss his fingers as they sweep over your lips then replace the sensation with a soft kiss to his own. A silent message that that didn’t happen. You’re alive.

“I’m right here,” you whisper promises against his lips, “I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.”

His mouth quirks into a smile and nips at your lip,

“Oh, yea. You’re an absolute bore to be stuck with,” he teases.

Your giggle turns into a hearty moan as he gives you an unexpected firm fuck up into you. Oh. His pace has impressively sped up and his hands keep alternating where he's holding you. Like he wants to constantly touch you to physically confirm you’re here with him.

“You’re safe,” he whispers; moans escaping past his concerned tone.

“I’m safe.”

“You’re mine.”

“Yes, baby. I’m all yours.”

“Mine,” he nods then sucks a love bite into your collarbone. Then moves to place one onto your skin just above your left nipple. Taking a moment to pay attention to the sensitive bud by licking and suckling on it. You’re writhing against him; pushing his hair back from his face to watch him pay attention to your chest.

Your nails bite at his shoulders with each drive up into you. The bed creeks and shakes with his hips pistoning into you from below, creating the sickest, dirtiest slapping sounds in the room. What he's doing with his lower half is a stark contrast to the gentle touches he places on your face. The overwhelming sensation of your creeping orgasm and being cradled so close to Tangerine is your confirmation that you’re here and today really drove in the fact that you know Tangerine will always strive to keep you out of harm's way.

[dankmaths]

god fuckign dammit i cant stop thinking about thefucking hospital scene

just rewatched it and i don't want to spend 5 hours formatting a long unhinged twitter thread so here we are. i am mishmashing the game and anime and manga scenes together in my personal canon blender. p4 spoilers of course

cause like, naoto is the one to suggest they throw namatame into the TV. and kanji's on board with it too. but the one yu has to fight over it, the one yu has to think carefully about and talk down, is fucking yosuke hanamura.

of course everyone has a personal stake in it considering namatame was going around kidnapping everyone, but yosuke specifically...

he phrases it like "we have to stop him before he hurts anyone else," but it seems like a big part of his motive is revenge. saki's kindness meant a lot to him, regardless of how real it was, or selfish his motive is, and it wasn't fair she had to die. so now he's gonna kill namatame. and it doesn't matter if that goes against his morals, or if no one else is willing to do it. he is absolutely dead set on killing namatame (pun intended). the only thing stopping him from doing it is yu.

it's ironic looking back. because like yosuke, namatame also lost someone important to him, and is trying to use his power to do what he thinks is right in his own way... just like yosuke wanted to be a hero, namatame wanted to be a savior, but yosuke is too blinded by rage in the moment to see that. the big difference is who got to them first. yosuke's had yu with him the whole time to keep him grounded, and eventually, the whole investigation team- namatame got adachi.

(side note- i more often think about yosuke+adachi parallels; how they're both bored with everything, but yosuke has the team and adachi pushes everyone away, but that's not really relevant rn lol)

there's also the scene where yu goes to confront the true killer alone, and yosuke's waiting outside when he comes back. and at that point he's not angry anymore, just… disappointed. (feelsbadman) but i don't think it's because he changed his mind.

after you calm him down in the hospital, he's STILL thinking about doing it:

(another side note- the va in this scene is top notch. this line gave me chills rewatching it. first time i saw the hospital scene i was getting a little scared lol)

and after learning the true killer's identity he fucking hates adachi. even after defeating him he never really forgives him. he still gets pissed and tries to attack adachi when he shows up unexpectedly in ultimax:

yosuke was 100% willing to kill someone, and he'd 100% do it again if his partner gave the okay. but as much as he hates adachi, he understands that he's important to yu, enough to know yu would break their promise and sneak into the TV alone. and despite how he might feel, he doesn't want yu to lose someone important to him too.

there's also the scene in the anime after the hospital, where after yu tries to send everyone home promising he'll be okay, yosuke comes back to comfort him. he's still upset, but he's deferring to yu's leadership and more importantly, making sure that his partner is okay comes first.

that's why i think it's great the anime puts the fist fight after the hospital scene. cause he spends his whole social link struggling with his grief and insecurity and jealousy; and then, in december, with tensions running high and these nasty revelations about himself and awful feelings swirling inside, it all finally comes to a head. and he tries to get it all out in the only way he knows how: two dudes beating the shit out of each other. Thats True Love Babey.

not much of a point to all this, except that i really love yosuke's character (and souyo) lol. something is wrong with him. I Know What He Is. he's like the team mood maker and he's always joking around (and i think golden especially looooves to play him up for comic relief), but perhaps the moments when he lets the veneer slip are the moments where he shines the most.

[brittlecakes92]

Okay I am definitely all for how much I wanna rail this man(and how I want him to violently rail me), but I am also curious what some more fluffy moments look like. Like I’m very furious what a reiko proposal looks like 👀👀

Believe you me, there is nothing I want to do more then ride him like my own personal stallion. But, lets get into the fluff. Now, I'm going to be honest, Reiko strikes me as the type to just slip a ring on your finger when you are asleep, and when you wake up and see it and give him a look he tells you; "You're mine anyways, so why are you acting surprised?" But, let's get into the meat and potatoes of this. (: I have some ideas bounced around with some of these! - Reiko is the one to know immediately that he wants to be with you, there are no questions. No doubts. He doesn't want to waste time, especially when it is time that he could be making memories with you. -Reiko is definitely going to bring up the idea of a proposal to General Shoa, he is after all like a father figure to him and holds his opinions in high regard. - Reiko is attentive, especially when it comes to detail. Now, he may not be full fledge mushy gushy, it's Reiko, we don't expect that, but you are the exception when it comes to his gentle side, with that being the case, he remembers every small detail about you. He would die before ever slipped up and forgot something. He's been engrained to pay attention to every things. So when the proposal happens, expect a shit ton of your favorite flowers. Like, and ungodly amount. - I imagine Reiko has a spot where he goes to be alone. Away from everyone, it's his spot, it's where he would seek comfort before you, it was something that he knew was his and his alone, and now he has you, and he knows that you are only his. So he takes you to his spot to make it your special spot. - Reiko doesn't pull away, doesn't get nervous like a normal man, he isn't a normal man. He is so confident in himself and your devotion to him, and not only that, but his devotion to you. He knows you aren't going to turn his proposal down. -He doesn't get down on one knee, I'm telling you now. He won't do that. But he will still make the asking portion of it memorable for you. He won't cry, but he will get teary eyed at your display of emotions, and easy smile on his face. -You are his everything, his future, and if you thought he was an aggressive protecter before, you have no idea how much that has just multiplied. You are his family, and he won't let anything take his family away again. ---------------------------------------------------------------

You followed behind Reiko, he led you down the path to the training grounds. Most of the soldiers had already returned to their own homes because of the hour. The sun had started to set lower behind the mountains as you made your way further into the woods. "Reiko.. where are you taking me?" You asked as watched the branches sway lazily in the wind. "Patience is a virtue you will do well to learn." He said glancing down at you. You rolled your eyes before holding back a smile at his teasing quip. You stopped when you came to an opening. Reiko stood beside you, arms crossed across his chest as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye. This was important to him, this moment had to be right, there were not exceptions for him. "Go ahead." Reiko nudged his head toward the direction of the opening. Reaching up you locked your pinky around Reikos, his arms slowly uncrossing before he let you pull him behind you. You stop when you step inside of the cove you stopped in your tracks, the opening was littered in the blossoms of your favorite flowers, mini lanterns casted their glow on the scene in front of you. "Reiko.. what is all this?" You turn around and bump into him, his hand reaching out to grab your left one holding you steady. "This, used to be my comfort when I needed to be away." Reikos other hands reaches out the grab you and pull you closer to his body. He rested his forehead on yours, a smile gracing your lips made his heart tremor. "I didn't think I would ever need anyone. or want anyone for that fact. But you came into my life. You changed that. You are my future." Before you could say anything you felt the feeling of metal slide onto your ring finger. "Will you be mine forever?" Tears slipped past your eyes, as you connected you lips to his. Laughing you kissed him again before squeezing him in your arms. "I've always been yours." You spoke into his chest. Reiko lets out a breathy laugh at your response. "Yes, but you can't say I was brute when reminding you of that." You pulled his head down into another kiss. Your future held so much potential, and you were ready to take it on with the man you love. Your husband. Thank you for the asks! I hope you enjoy! (: