#not that i stopped being all about shadow i was going through a rough patch n got embarassed about being 'too autistic' im over it now ^-^

[carmenpeach]

[dollfacefantasy]

You Make Me Cry Every Time

pairing: leon kennedy x fem!reader

summary: leon's going through a rough patch, and he takes it out on you.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, angst, hurt/comfort, leon is mean in the beginning, toxic behavior i guess, implied age gap

word count: 3.7k

a/n: i was going through it and feeling emo so i wrote this. hope everyone enjoys as always <3

tags: @sleepyluxe @kaitkatme @tosuckmyweenis @pupthepokemonenthusiast @bizzarethirst @death-paint @petitecolibri @iron-toxinz @wildest-dreams-at-midnight

The clock on the end table reads 2:43. Muted sounds of nightlife fill the space outside the walls of your apartment. You’re sprawled across the couch, half-asleep, with a soft blanket draped over you. You were waiting for your boyfriend to come home. Again.

Leon had been going through a rough patch. He was moody and ready to snap at any moment it seemed. He drank a lot, and he was gone all the time. You knew he had been through so much and there was no end in sight. That’s why you tried to put up with it, but all of it was weighing down on you too.

You sharply inhale as the sound of keys being jammed into the lock on the front door rouses you from your stupor. Sitting up straight, you rub your face tiredly. Your eyes are still adjusting to the darkness of the living room when the door opens. A beam of light from the hallway shoots across the floor, but it’s gone just as fast as it appears. You hear the lock click again and then see his shadow brush through the room as if you aren’t even there.

He’s in the kitchen now, and you’re not even fully sure of what he’s doing. But you pad in his direction anyways. Your soft voice breaks through the tense silence with a gentle call of his name.

“Leon?”

He turns to you. Even in the dark when you can’t fully see, you can feel the harsh nature of his stare.

“What are you doing up? Told you to stop waiting up for me,” he grumbles.

His tone stings, but you continue to approach him.

“I just worry. I can’t sleep if I don’t know you made it home safe,” you explain yourself quietly.

“Just go to bed. I’ll be there in a second,” he says and turns away again. But before he speaks, you swear you could hear him scoff. 

You didn’t understand where his sudden apparent resentment towards you came from. He had always dealt with so much, constantly feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. But until the last few months, he never took it out on you. Now though, it felt like you were dancing across a floor full of glass shards to avoid setting off an outburst of his.

“I just want to make sure you’re alright,” you say, keeping your voice quiet and cautiously laying your hand on his back.

It immediately became clear to you that touching him was the wrong choice though. He shrugs you off and pushes your hand back down to your side. Now that you were closer, you could smell the scent of booze on him. It wasn’t as heavy as previous nights, but it was still present. You retract your hand and stare at him with concern.

“Leon, what’s wrong? Have I done something to upset you? We can talk about it. I-” you try to defuse the situation before he cuts you off.

“Jesus fucking Christ, it’s enough,” he snaps. He fully pulls away from you. “Take a hint. Go to bed.”

He speaks with such disdain for you, it makes your chest ache. “I was just trying to help,” you say, looking like a kicked puppy more and more with each passing moment. He takes no sympathy on you though.

“Well, you aren’t helping. You don’t know shit about my problems, so stop trying to fix them,” he says to you, his voice ice cold.

“I’m not trying to fix anything. I’m just trying to be there for you because I love you!” you defend. His miserable disposition was starting to frustrate you. This wasn’t the first time you’d jumped through these hoops for him.

“Oh, bullshit,” he says with a roll of his eyes.

That slices through you like a knife. Your lips part slightly in shock, and your words tangle up in your throat. You fight back tears, not wanting to seem even more pathetic to him.

“I can see what you want. You want the old me back. But he’s not coming back. He doesn’t exist anymore,” he rants at you.

“I never said that. You can’t get mad at me for problems you’re creating!” you say to him angrily and cross your arms.

“Aw, you don’t want me to get mad at you? Did I hurt your feelings, baby? Am I being mean to you?” he mocks with a cruel smile before his emotionless expression returns, “Grow the fuck up.”

You try to ignore his teasing and work towards a solution, but that really hurt. And it seemed like he said it with no thought or remorse, like he had been storing that and it just came out. Tears burn in your eyes and a lump rises in your throat, but you manage to choke out your next statement. 

“All you do is push me away. I can’t help you because you won’t even tell me what’s wrong,” you say, forcing your voice to stay even.

“I push you away because you can’t handle real problems. You show me that over and over again. I mean, look, you’re almost in tears, and I haven’t said anything that bad,” he says with a gesture to your eyes.

“If I’m so fucking immature and selfish, why are you even with me?” you ask. A few tears leak from your eyes and down your cheeks but you wipe them away as quickly as you can.

“You know, I’ve been asking myself that question a lot recently, and it’s getting harder and harder for me to come up with an answer,” he says. He keeps eye contact with ease. His voice is laced with venom. There’s no trace of anything but bitter anger.

You honestly struggle to come up with a response. But that’s ok because he doesn’t wait for one before he continues speaking.

“I mean really, what do I get from this relationship? I know what you get. You get the attention you’re so fucking desperate for. But me? What do I get?” he asks, “A dumb little girl who follows me around like a lost puppy? I mean you’ve definitely got a pretty face, but it’s everything else that’s getting harder for me to stomach.”

You can’t stop yourself at this point. He knew how to break you down. Your lip juts out ever so slightly and quivers as tears slide down your cheeks. You take a step back from him and look down.

“There we go. Always with the fucking crying,” he sighs. His tone becomes mocking again as he continues. “You want me to kiss it better, sweetheart? Tell you everything’s gonna be ok. That I’m so so sorry.”

“No,” you cry, trying to defend yourself, “I don’t want any of that from you.”

“I’m sure,” he says flatly.

“Fuck you, Leon,” you weep, “I can’t win with you. You’re absolutely hellbent on being miserable. I’m done. Deal with your shit on your own. I don’t give a fuck.”

You turn on your heel and rush off to the bedroom. You fling the door shut, the thud of the slam echoing through the apartment.

At first, Leon didn’t care. His initial reaction was a shrug. He walks over to the couch, puts his feet up on the coffee table, and turns on the tv to some old movie. He was in a pissy mood, and he especially wasn’t in the mood to deal with you.

But as time goes on, and he sits there alone, a sense of shame starts to cast a shadow over his heart. He keeps seeing your face in his head. The soft look in your eyes while they were full tears he caused. Your body language as he ridiculed you, shrinking away from him, eager to get away but afraid of looking weak. He could hear a replay of his voice spitting out every callous thing he could think of. He felt like such an asshole.

It didn’t help that he was surrounded by things of yours. You’d brought out a pillow and blanket for yourself while you stayed up for him. They smelled like you. On the table, you had a book you’d been reading for a while. You’d tell him parts and explain the drama to him when he wasn’t in a bad mood. The tv remotes, spare the one he had grabbed, were organized in the particular way you always did when you watched tv. He felt the void in his heart growing as you stayed shut away in the bedroom.

You weren’t faring much better. You curled up under the comforter on the bed, crying softly into the pillows. You were missing your favorite one since you’d left it out on the couch. You felt a deep ache in your abdomen, a weight that kept you thinking about him and everything he’d said to you.

Despite how tired you’d been before he came home, you couldn’t sleep now. No position felt comfortable. Nothing made the bed feel less empty.

You felt so pathetic. You should be mad at him, furious, enraged. He acted like such a dick. He said things that gave you reasonable grounds to kick him out. But you didn’t feel that way. You didn’t want that. You were heartbroken. He was right. You yearned for him to kiss it better and tell you it was all ok and that he didn’t mean any of it.

Eventually, you couldn’t take it. You give in. It was humiliating, but that was what you chose. You pad into the living room skeptically. You stand a distance from the couch, afraid of setting off another landmine. But if he wanted to yell, you’d let him at this point. You just wanted him.

He sees you standing near the opening to the hallway that entered the living room. You looked so sad, it tore at his heart. Your face was a mess, your posture was so timid. What was wrong with him?

“Come here,” he sighs and pats his lap.

Without hesitation, you cross the room. You’re in his arms, against his chest. Your arms are wrapped around him tight while your head is buried in the crook of his neck. You start crying again, but you keep it as quiet as possible, still hearing always with the fucking crying ringing through your mind.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out as you struggle to restrain a sob. You didn’t even know what you were really apologizing for. “I don’t wanna fight anymore.”

Another deep sigh escapes him. It could have been interpreted as annoyance, but you could tell it was regret. He rubs your back and holds you close against him.

“Shhh shhh. It’s alright, baby. It’s ok,” he says softly before stroking your hair, “We’re ok. I’m sorry.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” you weep and cling to him.

“No, sweetheart. It’s not your fault. I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be so quick to snap at you,” he says in a hushed tone. He kisses your head and continues rubbing your back, something he always did to calm you down.

He kept his voice quiet to keep his own emotions in check. He wanted you to be ok and to know he was sorry. But you didn’t need to know how awful this made him feel. Guilt was gnawing at him now as he watched you cry out the pain his words had inflicted on you. He gently rocks back and forth with you, wanting to calm you down even more. 

“Baby, this isn’t your fault. None of this is,” he says, “I got my own shit going on, and I take it out on you because it’s easy.”

His voice drops to a whisper towards the end of his statement. His words dripped with shame.

“You don’t deserve the shit I say to you, but I just see you standing there, looking so fucking sweet and perfect and you’re looking at me with all the love in the world and I can’t fucking take it,” he says, his voice cracking a little, “I don’t deserve it.”

“Yes, you do,” you cry, grabbing onto him tighter.

“No, I don’t. You shouldn’t have to deal with this. Staying up every night, waiting for a mean old fuck to come home and yell at you,” he says. It was now his turn for his eyes to water while  a lump grows in his throat.

You were at another loss for words. You didn’t know what would convince him not to feel so down on himself. Instead, you press a soft kiss to the side of his throat. He tilts his head back and deeply exhales at the pure gesture. 

“And when I said I didn’t know why we were still together… I hope you know what a huge lie that was,” he says, “You’re all I have in this ugly god damn world. That’s it. Without you, I’d just be going through the motions.”

You gaze up at him as he goes through this. You curl your legs up on his lap with the rest of your body and lean into his touch in an attempt to offer him some comfort.

“And when I look at you, I see the opposite,” he says, his voice fully breaking now, “I see someone who has her entire future ahead of her, and she’s wasting it hanging around a guy like me.”

“You’re not a waste,” you say, sitting up and placing your hand on his cheek.

Your thumb moves back and forth in tiny motions, dragging across the skin soothingly. You both stare into each others’ tearful eyes.

“You’re not a waste to me. I love you. You’re important to my life too,” you say seriously looking at him.

“Baby…” he sighs. You were so fucking cute. If he had any spine, he would break up with you. Force you to do better for yourself. But he couldn’t. He knew in his heart of hearts that he would never be able to let you go.

You lean in and give him a soft kiss. You rub your nose with his. You shift on his lap to be in a better position to give him your affection.

His hands fall to your hips to steady you. He returns the gesture and presses two gentle kisses of his own to your cheeks. “I’m sorry, angel,” he whispers.

You lean in for more kisses, accepting the apology with your actions. You rub the back of his neck and press your body against his. The question of whether he deserved forgiveness crossed your mind, but you didn’t dwell on it. You didn’t really care.

He groans into the kiss as he feels your breasts flush against his chest. Your tongue enters his mouth, and he returns the passion. In a few minutes, saliva coats your lips and your breathing is heavy. You gently roll your hips down.

He feels that as soon as you do it. He disconnects his lips for a moment and looks at you with dilated pupils. You rock your hips again, bringing down your clothed cunt on his jeans. The stiff fabric gives you a good amount of friction and coaxes a whine from your throat.

“Honey,” he grunts, “Are you sure? You’re not just doing this because… because you think you have to, right?”

He didn’t want you using sex because you thought that’s what would please him. But he also couldn’t ignore the feeling of his cock hardening in pants.

You shake your head, panting as you grind on him, your lips still flushed from making out. “I wanna feel your love,” you say, your voice breathless.

That didn’t make him feel much better, but you felt so fucking good. “Babe, I can make you feel loved in other ways. Afterwards, I can show-”

“Wanna feel close,” you say before kissing him some more to shut him up.

Well, this would be as close as you could get. That put him at enough ease to give in to his urges. He grabs your hips harder, kneading the flesh of your ass too, and guides your movements. Both of you let out pleasurable sounds at the sensation.

“So fucking good to me,” he grunts, “My perfect girl.”

Your hips don’t stop as you pull off your thin sleep top. Your head falls back at the muted pleasure you were receiving from rubbing yourself on him.

His hands leave your hips and cup your tits. He squeezes them and then brings his mouth to a nipple. He flicks his tongue on the peak and swirls it with dedication. You let out a breathy whine.

He scoots you closer and continues his mouth’s work on your chest. His cock was now completely stiff in his pants, offering you even better friction. You feel it pressing on your clit just how you like, and you bite your lip. He can tell it’s feeling good.

He pulls his lips away from your nipples. Then he lays a few wet kisses on your jaw before picking you up by the waist and laying you back on the couch. He tugs off your shorts and panties.

His hand slides between your legs. He drags his fingers through your folds, feeling how wet you were.

“Such a sweet girl,” he breathes and captures your lips again in a quick kiss, “You’re soaked, babydoll.”

You nod timidly. He rubs you a little more, circling your throbbing clit and gliding over your wanting hole. You bite your lip and moan softly. Your hips rock against this touch as well before you suddenly whimper at a loss of contact and look up to see him sliding your fingers in his mouth. He groans at the taste of you before pulling the fingers back out of his mouth.

Reaching down, he unbuckles belt and drops his pants to the floor. He strokes his solid, flushed cock a few times. With the faint glow of the tv casting over the two of you, you can see a bead of precum emerging from the head. He adjusts his stance and positions himself at your entrance.

“I’m so sorry, little love. Let me try to make it better,” he breathes as he pushes inside.

Moans bubble in his throat as your tight, wet heat engulfs him. His head tilts back, and a ragged breath puffs from his lips. He grips the back of your thighs and holds your legs up.

He’s slow at first, dragging himself in and out, making sure to feel every inch of you. Your eyes flutter at the feeling, and your hips squirm for more.

As he begins to really thrust and set a consistent pace, he leans down to kiss you again. It’s sloppy and rushed, but he needed to feel you like this. He needed to feel that he hadn’t broken the connection you two had.

“My precious fucking girl. Am I making you feel good? Do you feel close to me?” he grunts, his grip tightening, “Can you tell how much I love you?”

You whine in response and nod. Your body heats up as he continues to slide in and out. He stretches you out just the way you like, fills you up so perfectly. He hits every sweet spot inside of you to make you forget he was even capable of saying such mean things sometimes.

You reach your arms up and pull his head down to rest against your neck. Your eyes were still full of your tears from earlier and a few slip out because of the strong difference between the euphoria of right now compared to the despair of the last hour.

One of your thighs drops back on the couch as the hand that was holding it comes up to your hair. He laces his fingers through the strands and begins pressing messy kisses to the side of your throat.

“My pretty baby,” he whispers against your skin, “I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

His hips continue their movements, his pelvis connecting with the skin of your ass over and over. He nuzzles your neck. You can hear his mix of harsh pants and soft groans right next to your ear. You cling to him as the heat inside you rises.

“Tell me how it feels, sweetheart. Wanna make sure you’re getting everything you deserve,” he says.

“Feels perfect,” you whimper after a string of moans, “I- I’m gonna cum soon.”

“Me too, doll,” he says. His hips piston into you harder. Your hands dig into the muscles of his back while your toes curl

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Leon,” you choke out as a cry leaves you.

“Mhm, good baby. I want you to cum for me, honey. I want you to feel so fucking good. Let it all go,” he says. 

His hand slides from his hair to your face and brushes away some of your tears. He kisses your cheek softly as you fall over the edge into bliss. Your body convulses underneath him as you release. You moan and writhe and the whole time he strokes your hair, cooing at you “my pretty girl” and “so so good for me.”

You were so tight around him. The sight of your eyes squeezing shut and your lips parting in ecstasy was too much for him. He thrusts into you a few more times before a moan rumbles through his chest and out of his mouth. He slams deep inside of you to spill himself. Hot, thick ropes of cum flood your insides.

You were shaky and trembling as he pulled out and planted a kiss on your forehead. He sits back on the couch, pushing the hair out of his face before pulling you up and close to him. He positions you on his lap and holds you to his chest.

He starts rubbing your back again and kissing your hairline. “Love you, babydoll. So so fucking much,” he whispers.

Your eyes close as you return the embrace and melt into his lap. You nuzzle and kiss his chest, relaxing into the affection.

“There’s my girl. All mine,” he coos.

You nod, enjoying the nice moment and letting yourself pretend that this whole cycle wouldn’t repeat in a few days time.

[ghostgirl101]

Legit ANYTHING Corey related- im head over hEELS for that man rn

Im also a sucker for fluff ;)

Dating Corey Cunningham Would Be Like This:

A/N: Might as well start with the dating hcs 🙃 requests are open if you want more for this guy. Please keep in mind that I'm not comfortable writing smut yet though; I've noted that on my inbox page and pinned post, but I've been getting quite a few smutty asks 😅

🔪• Corey's been through a lot, and to find a person willing to give him a chance and treat him like a person who matters... I absolutely believe he'd turn into a soft yandere. He's head over heels in love, protective to the point of killing anyone who tries to hurt you or take you away from him, and obsessively infatuated. He lives for you, and he'd die for you, period.

🔪• You probably meet him when he's being pushed around by a group of bullies somewhere in Haddonfield, and manage to get them off his back for a while, with a string of hateful comments. The boy's stunned that someone's standing up for him, and when you help him get his glasses back on after they were slapped off his face, he's stunned all over again. It takes Corey a good minute to stop stuttering and staring at you with wide, dopey eyes and form an actual sentence to introduce himself.

🔪• When you take him back to yours to patch him up, you can't help but notice his breath hitch at your soft touches, such a contrast from the rough shoves and harsh words he gets day after day outside. Heart eyes to the extreme as you concentrate on stopping any blood, and apologise when it stings. Corey barely notices it, and when you pull away as you finish, he chases your hand for a second before he blinks back into reality, heat rushing to his cheeks as he looks down at his feet and thanks you.

🔪• He has no idea why you're so nice to him, but from that day on, he's hooked. You're gonna start seeing him randomly pop up wherever you are, and at first, you assume it's because Corey wants to have you around so it discourages people from picking on him. Nope. He wouldn't mind if he was kicked around, if you could lean in close and clean him up so caringly again. He's fallen hard and very quickly, especially when you reassure him that you know he didn't kill that boy on purpose. You believe him? He almost cries, and looks up at you in wonder, with a hopeful "really?"

🔪• Corey Cunningham has found someone that sees him as a person instead of a monster, and he adores that the person is you. It doesn't take him long to ask him out; it is hard for him to get the courage to, since he's worried that he might be going too fast and certainly aiming too high with you. Saying yes to him will just fully unleash Corey being the clingiest, doting, protective boyfriend you'll ever know. He won't let you go now that he's found you. If he can't have you, no one can.

🔪• He's pretty goofy with how he acts and what he says, but you've told him it's cute, so he won't try to change. Being with you, he wants to keep you happy all the time, and keeps you to himself as much as possible, just in case you start listening to what others have got to say about him. Whatever you tell him though, he'll try to remember as much as possible, so he can how he's been listening by bringing it up again or giving you a little gift related to it.

🔪• To be honest, Corey's a really sweet, doting lover, and he looks at you like you're an angel whenever you're close together, or just working around the house. He'll follow you around like a lost puppy, and has puppy eyes to match, constantly clinging to you and wanting to help with whatever he can. It could get a little annoying if you don't want a shadow around you all the time, but he wants you as happy as possible, so if you tell him your boundaries, he'll eagerly follow them.

🔪• Corey's obsessiveness grows the closer you get, to the point where he goes as far as to kill for you. After he runs into Michael Myers, he takes both of your hands and looks you straight in the eyes excitedly as he tells you that he's not afraid of people anymore, and that he loves that you're always there to protect him. But now, he wants to be the one to protect you. He loves you to death, and he wants to prove it. It's up to you to decide whether or not to let him deal with anyone that upsets you with his violent methods, but he can and will if you say the word.

🔪• If you happen to meet Michael Myers, he won't kill you, but he won't be all soft with you either. His idea of being nice is not killing you, and that's that. Gradually, gradually, he'll decide to protect you, even opting to lurk around in the shadows and check on you and Corey every now and then, like a twisted kind of father figure or friend. So, if you're ever in trouble, you've got Haddonfield's boogeymen behind you when you need them.

🔪• It's scary to see the level of protectiveness and unhidden anger in Corey's eyes when someone's rude to you in front of him, a dark glare in his usually kind eyes. Suddenly, they've gone missing, or they've died in suspicious circumstances, Corey not paying any attention to the news report as he hugs you from where you're curled up on his lap with a small frown on your face. If you ask him for the truth, if he did it for you, he'll shrug and nod, "Well... yeah, I- I did it for you. I love you..." and that's all the explanation there really is.

🔪• He likes taking you for rides on his motorcycle in the evening, just to feel your arms embrace him tightly and a proud grin on his face when he knows you're enjoying it. Corey tries carrying you back upstairs afterwards, which ends up with you both collapsing in a heap on the bed, and him engulfing you with a tight hug with kisses planted on every inch of skin he can find.

🔪• Speaking of affection, Corey can be pretty smothering with it. He's shy and awkward at first, but after hugging you for the first time, and having your first kiss, he can't get enough of your attention and affection. He'll drink it up with a lovesick smile and lean into all of your touches. He can show how needy he is by whining in protest whenever you break a kiss for air, and latches back on in a second.

🔪• The pet names he gives you can be the basic 'baby' and 'sweetheart,' but Corey calls you stronger, more meaningful names at intimate moments too. 'Angel' is a very common one that he coos when he wakes you up gently in the mornings, burying his face in your neck, or whenever you're cleaning him up after a fight or a kill.

🔪• The times when he's most vulnerable, when you've got him wrapped around your finger playing with his curls, he'll whisper to you how all of him belongs to you, that he'll do anything for you, die for you. He's being absolutely honest, and it's nice to hear, but sometimes, when your eyes meet his desperate, loving gaze, you have to tell him that you don't want him to do anything too extreme for you, that you love him just the way he is.

🔪• You can never just kiss Corey briefly before you leave the house to work or anything. He'll draw out any affection you give him for as long as he can, so it's a hard task to prise his hands off your waist with a promise that you'll be done with work soon. It often ends up with him trailing after you, holding your hand tightly and stroking the back of it absentmindedly with his thumb.

🔪• Being in a relationship with Corey Cunningham is full of loving attention, obsessively so, and to know that he'd go as far to basically go on a killing spree for you is nice in a weird kind of way? There's no hope of getting out of it though, because he's happily devoted to you now, and that's just the way he likes it. God forbid anyone who tries messing with it.

[whatitsdecending]

Chokehold

Vessel x Reader x Noah Sebastian

Something you never expected to find yourself in was a threesome between a man you were casually having sex with and someone you’d never met before.

A/N: if people like this I have ideas to continue it, so do let me know;)

Word Count: 3.7k

Content warning: voyeurism, threesomes, domination, exhibitionism

—————————

The day had gone by slowly, another festival built-up in the middle of nowhere housing thousands of people that attended. It was hot, hotter than normal for this time of year. At least you think it was, you weren’t exactly from Virginia and this climate was a little different from what you were used to.

You did your best to ignore the blistering heat beating down on you from the sun as you worked on unpacking the stage equipment for the band you were a roadie for; Bad Omens, a group of four guys who make some of the best damn music you’ve heard in a long time.

You enjoyed your job, being able to travel around and get exposed to new music or the same stuff you’ve loved for years. There were times where it made you debate whether it was the right fit for you or not, but usually those rough patches turned into the best thing you could ever imagine.

The band quickly befriended you, as they did with the other roadies, but one member was particularly fond of you. Noah Sebastian, the lead singer of the band. He had the voice of a siren and the presence of a lion on stage, but behind the scenes it was a much different story. Behind that stage presence was the kindest man you know, a man who’s been taking care of you, mentally and physically.

It wasn’t anything serious between the two of you, just quick hookups here and there that took care of any built up tension you had. He was good at it and has learned every little thing that makes you squirm beneath his touch, he had your body mapped out in his mind by the second hookup. Watching him on stage always did something to you, the small heat built up in your stomach and a blush rising to your cheeks every time he’d sneak a glance over to you on the side of the stage.

You weren’t sure if anyone had caught on yet, you’d nervously laugh when someone made a joke about you and Noah but it’d always end there, never going further than just a joke to them. And that’s exactly how you want it to stay.

“Working hard or hardly working?” The voice you’d come to be absolutely enthralled with broke through your thoughts. He towered over you, blocking the sun that had been shining down on you for a while and casting his shadow over you.

“I’ve been working hard for too long, actually.” You respond with a sarcastic smile, grabbing the next box to bring over to the techs. He trailed after you and said a quick hello to the techs getting Jolly’s gear prepped early.

“You got time to sneak away for a bit?” Noah whispered as you walked back towards the trailer that held all the equipment. Your heart skipped a beat at his words, it’s been a while since you and Noah were able to sneak away from everyone, and you had to admit you were due for alone time with him.

“I think I’ve done enough, not much left to unload anyways.” You say, motioning to the much smaller load of equipment left in the trailer than what had been there two hours ago.

“Perfect.” A smile tugged at his lips as turned around and walked towards the building that had the dressing rooms set up inside. The chill of the AC on full blast sent a shiver through your body, goosebumps rising on your skin as you entered the building. You followed Noah through the building, admiring the different band names plastered on different doors or on a makeshift tent in the building. You hoped he wasn’t taking you to a random tent that looked like it would fall over in two seconds.

The breath of relief that left your body when Noah stopped outside a door with the band’s name on it, right at the end of the hallway and was in a bit more of a private area than the rest of the rooms. He slowly opened the door, taking a quick peek inside and then motioning for you to come in.

The room was empty besides two couches and a mirror on the wall set-up as a makeup station for performers. It wasn’t that large of a room, just enough to fit the necessities for a dressing room. But it would do.

“Not that bad compared to other dressing rooms you’ve had.” You broke the silence, leaving Noah to snort in response. “Now we gotta make this pretty quick, I got in trouble last time we snuck around.”

“You know I can get you out of any trouble with the crew, right?” Noah’s voice was low as he came up to you, resting his hands on your hips.

“I’m aware, but I don’t want you to keep pulling favors out of your ass for me.” You say as his face lowered down to place gentle kisses along the exposed skin of your collarbone.

“I don’t mind,” he says between kisses. “Besides, it lets me take care of you for longer.” His hands slowly glide up along the curves of your waist, gently moving your shirt up and exposing your skin. His touch warmed your now freezing body, the sweat from before now dried and left you to shiver in the cold of the room. “You’re so damn beautiful.” He muttered softly as he kissed up your neck, trailing slowly to your lips.

Noah’s lips made contact with yours with a soft intent, not wanting to push you into anything too aggressive right away. He knew what worked best for you and letting it build was the way to make you as aroused as possible. He slowly turned you to now face the opposite direction, assuming he was going to use that to push you into the wall.

He slowly parted away from your lips, smirking as you whined about the loss of contact. His eyes sparkled as you stared up at him, wondering what exactly was going on in that beautiful mind of his.

“Have you ever met my friend Vessel before?” Noah’s voice was low as he nodded beyond your shoulder, causing you to take a glance at the man who had been standing behind you. Vessel, you knew he was the singer from Sleep Token, yet the man who stood behind you was not the man you would’ve recognized to be Vessel.

He stood leaning against the wall, his arms crossed against his bare chest. You didn’t recognize him at first because he was out of character, no mask, hood or black paint to disguise himself from your eyes. He was breathtakingly beautiful, someone you certainly didn’t expect to see at this time.

“Keep going darling, I’m just here to observe.” His voice was deep and thick with the British accent everyone knew he had, but had never heard it before. The way he spoke caused you to turn back around to face Noah, who has taken the opportunity to push his lips back against yours. The small fire that burned deep within you had suddenly turned ablaze, the idea of Vessel just watching as Noah dominated your mouth with his.

You could feel yourself grow increasingly wet as Noah’s hands rested on your hips, pulling them closer to his body until you were pressed up against him. The feeling of his hardened cock pushing against your abdomen through his sweats almost made you drop right then and there, but something made you stop.

His hands started on the small of your back, slowly feeling their way along the curves of your body. The feeling of his breath dancing across your skin made you shiver, his hand moved your hair away from your neck and he began to lay gentle kisses along the nape of your neck.

A small moan escaped from your lips as Noah began to leave the same small kisses along the other side of your neck. Vessel’s hand found its way to rest just underneath your breasts, using that leverage to push his body against yours.

There you stood, pressed between these men who will soon have all the access they want to your body. A small uncertainty crept through your mind despite how desperate you came out to be for the two of them. This small uncertainty made you squeeze Noah’s arm softly, indicating you needed him to stop for a moment.

“Everything okay?” He asked softly, his eyes filled with slight worry. You felt Vessel pull back and take a small step away from you, no longer keeping you pinned against the two of them.

“I’m fine.. it’s just-” you stared at Noah’s hand resting on your hip. “What exactly are you two thinking of doing with me? Is there something new I should prepare for that you and I never do together?”

Noah glanced at Vessel, then back to you. “I genuinely thought it’d be a little more fun with another person joining us, I realize now I definitely should’ve asked you beforehand.”

“I can leave now if you’d like, Y/N. No worries darling.” Vessel spoke, placing a kiss on the back of your head. Before he could get out of your reach you swiftly turned around and grabbed his hand, pulling him back to you and pressing your lips against his. “Your mind seems to change very quickly.” He muttered into your lips, tangling his fingers into your hair and pressing your lips against his once again.

“Well, I guess I’ll just take a seat. Y/N, show Vessel what makes you so addicting.” Noah’s voice trailed away as he sat down on one of the couches. A small moan rumbled from deep in you, vibrating against Vessel’s lips.

“I like to be in control love, I hope you don’t mind.” His voice was a gentle whisper as he pushed your bangs behind your ear. His fingers brushing against your skin allowed goosebumps to surface and sent a shiver down your spine.

“That’s just what I like.” Was all you mustered before Vessel had his hands on the underside of your thighs and lifted you up. Your legs instinctively wrapped tightly around his waist as he carried you to the counter, the clanging of items falling to the floor as he swiped his arm to clear space for you.

He placed you on the counter, pressing his body into your core so your legs stayed apart. His lips attacked your neck like a hungry animal, nipping around every once in a while eager to leave his mark on you.

You glanced over to where Noah sat, his eyes were fixated on the performance in front of him. You could tell how turned on he was by the obvious outline of his cock against the material of his pants. As you stared, you waited for his eyes to connect with yours, that thought alone made you even more wet.

“God I need these off.” Vessel groaned, snapping your attention back to him as he pulled at your shorts. You lifted yourself up a little to allow him to pull the shorts off your body. He kept himself sat on his knees after taking them off, glancing at you with eyes that almost seemed to be begging you to let him fuck you like a toy. His hands slowly roamed around your legs, traveling upwards to your center. The anticipation made your heart race more and more every inch.

His lips pressed gently against the inside of your thigh as he kept his eyes on yours. The way he looked at you as if you were his prey and he’d finally caught you, planning his next move with every waking moment of time that passed by. He wanted you, he was desperate for you.

His fingers trailed along the fabric of your panties, toying with the edge of the material against your skin. You hissed every time his fingers dipped underneath them and brushed against your slick, receiving a low chuckle from him each time.

“You desperate girl, how long has it been since Noah has touched you?” His fingers traced along the inside of your thigh, teasing you once again.

“A week?” The answer escaped as a moan when the cool breeze of the AC hit your wet core and Vessel’s thumb pressed against your clit. “Oh my fucking god..” He deepened the pressure and started slowly moving his thumb in circles, the low wave of pleasure hitting your body. He noticed how your body moved underneath his touch, making sure to memorize every touch that made you squirm.

His large hands wrapped underneath your thighs and gripped them tightly, pulling you closer to his face. His breath moved gently against your slick skin as he drew closer to closing the space between your bodies. His large eyes were fixated on your face, watching every expression that came across it as his lips made contact.

“Doesn’t she just taste wonderful?” Noah’s voice broke through the sounds of your moaning, bringing your attention to him. It didn’t last long before Vessel vibrated his response directly onto your clit, his head nodding to add to the sensation. You moaned loudly and it echoed around the room, Vessel’s way of eating you out was so much different than how Noah did it. This new method being used on you was driving you insane, Noah was a bit more gentle and slow with you, only picking up his pace when you begged for it. But Vessel? It was more animalistic how he ate you, his tongue and lips coordinated well together to stimulate your clit and send you into overdrive.

“Holy fuck, Vessel.” You groaned, the familiar pit building in your abdomen. “I’m going to c-“ He moved his face away from your core right as you said that, a whine escaping from you. “What was that for?”

He smirked at you and wiped his face. “Just warming you up darling.” He glanced over his shoulder at Noah, getting a nod of approval from him. There must’ve been some kind of agreement between the two of them for all this, something that definitely took a little bit of planning by the way they’ve become so coordinated through this experience.

“Turn around for him baby, keep your eyes focused on me in that mirror.” Noah says in a demanding tone. You followed exactly what he said, your eyes never leaving him in the reflection of the mirror. Vessel’s hand pressed on the middle of your back, pushing you forward so you were now bent over the counter. The feeling of his tip sliding between your folds and through your slick made you place your hand against the mirror.

“You should probably keep your hand there darling,” Vessel says as his cock pushes into you. “Wouldn’t want you to go against Noah’s wishes.” The feeling of him stretching your walls was intense, his cock was similar to Noah’s but had a bit more girth to it. “Fuck you’re so tight.” He grunts as he begins to thrust slowly, the movement leaving your jaw slack and tears forming in your eyes.

“God you look so beautiful like that baby, taking Vessel’s cock like the good girl that you are.” Noah spoke as he watched your facial expressions through the mirror. His hand hesitated around the outline of his cock, seeming to want to relieve himself as Vessel pleases you. But he never ends up touching himself.

Vessel’s hands gripped tightly on your hips as he picked up the pace of his thrusts. He wasn’t wrong about needing to keep your hand on the mirror, it really helped you to keep the focus on Noah while he pounds you from behind. The room was filled with the sound of skin slapping together, the cry of moans coming from you and Vessel was harmonious in a way and a beautiful sound to your ears.

The pit was forming again and you wondered if he was going to let you cum this time around. “Vessel you gonna let me cum now?” You breathlessly ask, hoping he’d start thrusting even harder into you to send you over the edge.

But he had something else in mind.

He stopped thrusting into you and wrapped his long arms around your waist, picking you up and carrying you over to the couch. Noah was now standing, his eyes entranced on the sight of you in the grasps of another man. Vessel laid back against the couch holding you tight on his chest with one hand while the other moved to put his cock back in you. This new position allowed for him to reach your g-spot, the pleasurable ache that ran through you each time his cock hit it was enough to make your body squirm.

“I cannot resist myself anymore, Y/N. You’re too damn addicting.” Noah says kneeling down onto the floor, his face only inches away from your pulsing core. “I just… can’t keep watching…” He planted kisses around your clit between his words, your hips buck at every touch his lips left. “Vessel treating you good baby?” You nodded. “Are you desperate for my touch now?” A whine escaped your lips as you nodded again. He chuckled, knowing if he had the control left he’d sit and watch you beg for him, but at this point he needed to taste you.

His lips pressed onto your clit, parting to let his tongue roam around the bud. It was so sensitive from the stimulation happening below, that Noah adding his tongue to the mix made you feel insane. “Oh my fucking god!” You cried out, gripping Vessel’s arm that he kept wrapped around you. “I’m going to cum guys, I can’t-“

“Hold out a little longer darling, let's cum together.” Vessel whispered in your ear, his thrusts hitting you at a quicker pace than he’d been doing.

“I can’t, fuck!” Your hand found Noah’s hair and gripped tightly.

“Yes, you can.” Vessel’s voice was becoming breathy as he drew closer to his release. “All the pent up orgasms from before, you’ll be able to let them go now, let it go darling.” His permission granted you to finally let go what you’ve been needing, the waves of pleasure practically blinding you. You moaned loudly as your legs shook like mad, this was an orgasm you’ve never experienced before. The warm feeling of Vessel’s cum filling you as your orgasm hit its peak was a kind of sensation you’d never had, but certainly one you’d want again.

As you came down from your high you opened your eyes to see Noah staring at the two of you, a look of admiration in his eyes. “You did so good, baby.” He placed a gentle kiss on your inner thigh, pushing himself off the couch to grab a towel. Vessel lifted you off his lap and set you down on the couch, taking in the mess he made.

“You alright, darling?” He chuckled lightly. “A lot just happened all at once huh?”

“I think I need a nap.” You managed to muster out, watching Noah as he came back with the towel he’d dampened with a bottle of water. He gently cleaned up the mess between your legs left by Vessel, letting the cool towel relax the intense sensation leftover.

“I’d love to stick around for that, but my band is probably wondering where I’ve wandered off to.” Vessel said as he put his clothes back on, a smirk creeping on his face. “Hopefully your nap doesn’t last too long, I’d love to see you side stage for my set later.”

“Oh I’ll definitely be there, just let me rest my legs.” You sighed as you were still trying to process everything.

“Right.” Vessel leaned down and kissed your forehead. “Get some rest darling.” You watched as he exited the room, Noah closing the door behind him. He searched around for your underwear and shorts, eventually finding them and helping you get dressed.

“You don’t have to help me, you never put my clothes back on.” You say as he finishes buttoning your shorts back up.

“I know, I just felt like I needed to give you a hand after all that.” He smiled. “Thank you for agreeing to it, that’s something I kind of always wanted.”

“Really? You like to watch other men fuck your own fuck buddy?” You placed your hand in your back pocket, feeling a piece of paper that wasn’t there before. You already knew who left it so you decided to keep it there until you were alone.

“You can say that I guess.” Noah chuckled. “Well, I gotta go start warming up. Are you gonna take a nap here or on the bus?”

“Mm, probably here I am a little exhausted from that. Plus my hips hurt.” You laid back on the couch, feeling the warmth leftover from Vessel’s body laying there beforehand.

“Okay, I’ll see you later to catch Sleep Token’s set. Have a good nap.” He began to leave but stopped in his tracks. “I’ll just let the crew know you’ve got a migraine from the heat and that’s why you’re not helping for the show.” You gave him a thumbs up and he returned the gesture. He left the room, the sound of his footsteps echoing down the hallway as he walked away. You reached into your pocket for the piece of paper, unfolding it quickly as curiosity racked your mind.

Vessel left you his phone number and a small note that read:

Darling, please give me a call whenever you get the chance. Would love to have a one on one with you sometime, call me and we’ll make arrangements for that.

XOXO, Ves

The idea of being with just Vessel made your heart race in excitement. You quickly added him to your list of contacts, waiting to call him later since he was busy now. You wonder what Noah would think about this, if he’d get jealous or not care that you would hook up with Vessel again without him there.

Whatever he’d think, you couldn’t care less. It was just absent minded fucking, right?

[abitofboth]

some more owen carvour hcs because I’m unwell about him

he's meticulous when it comes to cleaning his guns. almost every night on a mission he will sit within the twilight and carefully take them apart and clean every piece. the same goes for his knives, brass knuckles, and any other weapons he happens to use.

he’s pretty consistent with shaving and cutting his hair; keeps his usual length, and a clean shaven face. when he’s going through a rough patch his hair will grow a bit longer and he’ll turn up to work with stubble.

post fall, his hair is down to his shoulders and he has a permanent 5 o'clock shadow.

he doesn’t play games he knows he can’t win. he was so certain that he was going to be the one to kill curt, not the other way around.

he can do tricks with his switch blade and he DELIGHTS in showing off for curt.

big fat crush on brandon shaw from hitchcock’s film ‘rope’. fucked up spy obsessed with his very own fucked up blorbo.

takes the piss out of curt for having a thing for james bond (“the name’s carvour. owen carvour.” “shut UP.”)

connected to that, curt loves the bond novels but can’t concentrate long enough to actually get through them. owen reads them out to him and does voices for all the characters.

he tells curt that “that secret died the night you left me for dead”, but I don’t think that he stopped loving him as soon as he fell. he hated him, yes, but he still loved him. some small part of him was still desperately clinging onto the hope that curt would come back and 'rescue' him from chimera for at least a year or two.

somehow manages to be kinda toxic with his own masculinity but also (in the privacy of his and curt's relationship) fucks with gender a little. for example, he doesn't allow himself emotional relief because 'men don't cry', but on the other hand relishes in being called 'princess' and owns a few lipsticks. loves leaving lipstick kiss marks on curt.

curt is pretty big on cars. he likes tinkering with them, fixing them up, knows all you could need to know about them, and has strong opinions on which ones are good and which ones are shit. owen couldn't care less- as long as it moves and it's not an ugly colour, he's happy.

he has doubts about his job and the governments he serves. where some spies blindly follow, he reluctantly trails behind.

the black and red leather jacket used to be owen's, but curt borrowed it one day and conveniently 'forgot' to give it back. owen has no complaints- he likes curt wearing his clothes and he barely wore it himself anyway.

he stands by the notion that british words and phrases are gospel, and american words and phrases are stupid and wrong.

known for a bit of a resting bitch face. he always looks pissed off, but is probably only pissed off 50% of the time.

older than curt, but only by a year or two.

he is kind to those with less power, and directs his rage to those in charge instead.

has a tendency to pull at his hair when he's super freaked out.

he has panic attacks more often post-fall.

he knows he's hot shit. plays on the 'british charm' when he's flirting with marks and it works every single time.

he knows a decent amount of french. not quite fluent, but enough that he can easily navigate most conversations.

spicy, don't look too close

he likes to take charge most of the time because it's owen, he loves having power in all situations, but he has a submissive streak in him. he doesn't like to admit that it doesn't take much to get him whining and begging.

phone sex. it's risky, but he likes it. transatlantic jerk-offs are key when your partner is in another country.

tops more often than he bottoms, purely because he thinks curt prefers it that way.

pull his hair and watch him melt.

likes when curt manhandles him. he has muscles, and owen wants him to use them.

he'll whisper filthy things to curt on missions with the sole intention of riling him up at the worst possible time.

he enjoys bondage regardless of who is the one being tied up.

[bangtannies-stories]

Kingpin: Chapter 1

Opening/The Invitation

Warnings: Violence (physical violence, including a character punching a wall out of anger)

Kidnapping/Disappearance (The central plot involves the disappearance of a character)

Emotional Distress (Jin’s going through a rough patch emotionally and mentally)

Mafia/Crime Themes (story involves criminal activities, including organized crime, mafias, and rivalries)

Tense Atmosphere (The story maintains a consistently tense atmosphere, which may be unsettling for some readers)

——

In the heart of Seoul, where the air gets damp and cold, and nobody who was a nobody dared to enter without permission or invitation, a tall building sat. On the top floor, the CEO of Sentinel Solutions, South Korea’s most prominent security consulting firm, was in a panic.

He was a tall man, standing at about 5’10. His brown hair was styled into a mullet and parted with a prominent swoop on the right side of his face. Always dressed in a clean, ironed suit, the man was about 37, and behind his charmingly good looks, he was one of the most feared people you could imagine.

His name?

Kim Seokjin.

Seokjin, whose front business already generated enough revenue to keep him wealthy for the rest of his life, had been dealing with a problem in his true walk of life. One where he was known as the Onyx Reaper, kingpin of the biggest crime syndicate in Seoul, the Ecliptic Shadows.

“Boss, we have no leads on Jiwoo.” A deep voice called from the door. It was one of Seokjin’s most trusted members, Taehyung. Taehyung had come to let his boss and friend know that his sister, who had vanished into thin air the previous air, was still not found.

Seokjin, who had shed tears upon tears when his employees weren’t with him, got up and punched the plaster in the wall out of anger.

“I want every available man searching, search all of Korea if you have to! Nobody stops until my sister is safe under our protection!”

Taehyung bowed to his boss, and left the office. As he was walking down the hall, he came across his best friend Jimin who hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep all night.

“How did it go?” He asked.

“Not good. He punched another hole into his wall.” Taehyung answered sadly as the two walked hurriedly to where her disappearance was being investigated.

“I didn’t realize their fight yesterday was this bad. Do you have a clue what it was about?” Jimin asked as he sat down at his desk.

“No idea. All I remember was them screaming at each other before she locked herself in her bedroom. Next thing I knew, the alarm was tripped and she was gone without a trace,” Taehyung answered.

——

After searching day and night for two days, Seokjin was on edge continuously. His sister had still not been found, and the longer she’s missing, the less of a chance she’ll be found alive.

While he was at his desk searching through evidence, his youngest friend, Jungkook, walked in with an invitation in hand.

“Jin- um sir-“ he started but was interrupted.

“What.” Jin said and looked up.

“One of our allies sent this invitation to his son’s wedding. Apparently it’s really important you show.” Jungkook said and handed Jin the invitation.

Jin read to himself,

“Dear Seokjin,

You are cordially invited to Minjae’s wedding. I know we have been dear allies and good friends for a while, so it is requested you show your support and celebrate with us. It has been a while since you have attended any functions with us. Come say hello! The ceremony is at 2pm sharp this Saturday. I hope to see you!

Sincerely,

Park Joon-ho.”

“Jin, I know this is a critical time but I figured we could weed out suspects at the wedding. Many different mafias are coming including… Namjoon.” Jungkook confessed.

Jin banged his fist on his desk in anger.

“That asshole? Why is he showing up?” Jin shouted.

“I’m not sure but I have a bad feeling. He never attends events like this.” Jungkook said.

Jin thought for a moment. He made a decision.

“Fine, we’ll all go. But there will be people searching while we are there.”

——

The day of Park Minjae’s wedding had arrived. Seokjin, Taehyung, Jimin, and Jungkook arrived along with extra security in case something went wrong.

They took their positions and sat through the wedding, constantly on alert for any danger. Little did they know, three pairs of eyes were watching from the back row, watching their every move. The head of the three was very interested in speaking with the Onyx Reaper.

At the reception, everyone was communicating and speaking of relations when Jin was approached.

“Kim Seokjin, a pleasure to see you out and about.” The deep voice spoke.

Jin turned around and came face to face with his rival.

Kim Namjoon, the Shadowstorm Reaper, and head of the Obsidian Syndicate.

——

Kingpin Chapter 1 is finally here! I can’t wait for you all to read what I have been working on. I hope you all love it! If you do, please comment or reblog and show some love!

[diodellet]

i think i've found a place for us (jamil viper x gn!reader)

lovingly strapping jamil into a rollercoaster ride along the full emotional spectrum😇😇 fic title is from this song content warnings: -reader is yuu/ramshackle prefect -mix of jp and en terms -post-Book 4 OB (references to master-servant relationships, assassinations) -self-deprecating thoughts (references to symptoms of depression) ++this fic is hurt/comfort, whatever issues kalim and jamil have, it's probably mentioned here word count: 3.4k words

This was now Jamil's... fourth day of staying at the Ramshackle dorm. And even though he spent most of the time drifting in and out of sleep, he could make a list of all the inconveniences that came with temporarily living in the once-abandoned dorm. Mold, dust, cobwebs—those were only the first of many entries on his list.

It was far from the quiet, secluded place he initially pegged it as. The building would creak and groan as its living residents moved from room to room. At the peak of midnight, bits and pieces of the ghosts' conversations would travel through the walls, up the floorboards, mix with the sound of the wind outside.

That didn't mean it was completely unbearable.

Whenever you thought that you were alone, you would fill the silence with song. More humming and mumbled syllables than audible lyrics, but still melodious and pleasant to listen to.

"I didn't know you sang." Jamil's voice is rough with sleep.

You spin around to see him, eyes widening in surprise. “You! Should be sleeping!”

"I… think I've had enough." 

If anything, he’s spent too much time asleep for the past few days, dealing with more lingering headaches instead of feeling rested and energized. He sits up, turns his gaze to an interesting patch of clawed up wood on the bedframe left uncovered by your mattress. Grim's doing.

"...did I—do you want anything? I could run over to Sam's or the cafeteria?"

"No, no thank you." It wasn’t that he couldn’t stomach the thought of food, but it was along the lines of not really feeling up to it.

He’s been feeling an awful lot of nothing lately. It was as if everything—all the rage, the resentment, everything that had festered within his being—disappeared with the Blot.

“Do you… want to talk about it?” All that remained now was the shadow of his Overblot. The lingering discomfort, the hushed whispers from the students, the vision of ink coating his fingers.

“Just…” He shakes his head. “...Go back to what you were doing.” The words spill out. Clipped, taut. A demand—no, a plea for you to leave it at that.

He doesn’t miss the way you flinch. “Okay.” You nod, and slowly turn back to your textbook. Slip the other earphone back on and spin your pen in between your fingers.

(The reflexive ‘sorry’ catches in his throat, a few seconds too late for it to be used.)

Jamil lies back down, staring up at the ceiling. The hour ticks by, rays of the afternoon light slowly dimming. He shuts his eyes again, but doesn’t let himself doze off.

The scratch of your pen stops. “...hello?” Jamil turns to rest on his other side so that he’s not looking at you or your work desk. “He’s still here, yes… what about Kalim?”

Even if you lower your voice, it doesn’t stop his ears from picking up on the conversation. The same way that his sleep never tips too far into deep unconsciousness.

“I see… I’ll try asking him about that later.” You fall silent again, listening to the person on the other end. “...Are you guys holding up alright? On top of your…usual stuff?”

He suspects it might be someone from Octavinelle, maybe Jade or Azul. 

The chair legs squeak against the floor. “...If it does get to be too much, please tell me. I’ll figure something out. Maybe I’ll visit Scarabia tomorrow or—” The sentence dies in your throat.

Another pause elapses before you give a resigned sigh. “Alright, sorry, I-I’ll leave it to you…thank you.” Something clatters on your desk, probably your phone.

“...Okay, dinner. What to make…” You mutter to yourself, clicking on the desk lamp. Your footsteps travel to the other side of the room to undo the curtains.

He continues to feign sleep, remaining still as you switch on the lamp at the bedside table. The mattress dips with your weight as you lean over to pull up the blanket so that it covers his shoulder.

The first day that he arrived at Ramshackle was in the middle of a snowy night. An otherwise normal interaction with Kalim escalated into a heated argument. And then the dorm leader insisted on doing something by himself, which steered the conversation into doing away with their opposing statuses and then…like his Overblot, Jamil couldn’t remember the exact specifics of what happened.

Only a persistent gnawing at his temples, red-hot flashes obscuring his vision, his hands haphazardly gathering his things. Not a single one of his dormmates stopped him, quickly moving out of his way or fearfully standing to the side. Kalim's voice calling out for him was the last thing Jamil heard before he stepped through the mirror.

Somehow, his feet brought him to the once-abandoned dormitory. His shoulder was protesting under the weight of his gym bag. The wind bit into the exposed parts of his face, his hoodie did little to protect him from the cold. The gate was locked, of course. But just before he turned on his heel to return to Scarabia, one of the Ramshackle ghosts appeared and unlocked the gate for him.

Everything else was a blur after that. He was just…numb. And tired. Pliant to letting you peel off his snow-covered outerwear and replacing it with a thick blanket. Another ghost pushed a warm mug of tea into his hands. He couldn’t fall asleep though, not with Grim sitting next to him by the fireplace and whining about being woken up. 

“—just let me call back in the morning, he’s…no, he’s not hurt, he’s fine.” You were on the phone, cradling it against your shoulder as you laid his hoodie on the back of a chair. “Okay, bye.”

Jamil didn’t feel alright. If he didn’t upend his family’s carefully-built legacy with his betrayal and Overblot, then he single-handedly sent it to its downfall by running away from Scarabia, away from his charge.

“I…should go back…” he mumbled, moving to stand up. He set the tea aside, the drink was untouched. His fingers had warmed enough at this point. The blanket fell to the floor. “Kalim…”

“Will be fine,” you cut him off, gripping him by his shoulders. “He’s got the rest of Scarabia with him. You’re…not okay.”

Those words stung. He shrugged off your hold. “It doesn’t matter, I have to go.” He needed to stop acting like a child. Go back to what he was meant to do.

“Jamil, I’m not letting you walk in the snow. If you really want to go back, then at least…” Your expression, pained with concern, then softened with your voice. “...at least wait for the weather to calm down by next morning. Please.”

“...Next morning. I’m leaving,” he conceded.

He didn’t leave when morning arrived. When he awoke, it was already afternoon. He was covered in two new blankets and Grim was curled up against his legs.

At the foot of your bed, resting beside his gym bag, were two overstuffed suitcases. Kalim’s handiwork.

Save for the light emanating from the desk lamps, the rest of your room is shrouded in darkness. Shadows stretch across the walls, the floorboards, the edge of your bed, seemingly dripping with ink.

He scrubs a palm over his face. The room returns to normal—no, it's always been normal. He's the one with problems. To solve and to shoulder, those were the only courses of action he could take. And to say that he was merely shouldering all these burdens would discount the resourcefulness he honed from a young age. 

But then to be denied both options with your interference—you, Kalim, and that Octavinelle trio—to have you all meddle a second time, it should have sent him into a rage again. Maybe it would have warranted a second Overblot, but he was. Just. So.

Tired.

He pulls himself out of your bed and goes down to the kitchen.

You were at the stove, finishing up a batch of pasta and serving it on a plate. One of the Ramshackle ghosts was carrying Grim in its arms. Maybe to keep him from jumping onto the countertop and sneaking a few bites. Atop the small dining table, an upbeat tune played from your phone, it sounded like something from a musical. The scene in front of him was nice, but dinner was tuna carbonara. And for the past four days, his meals consisted of fish. Not even shellfish, just some iteration of canned fish. Tuna, sardines, mackerel, salmon, maybe shrimp if Grim was up for the "variety."

Jamil can’t complain, he won’t complain. He’s not a picky eater by any means, but even he had his limits when it came to eating processed food. In his mind, he decided that he would have to take over kitchen duties. Tomorrow. He can only manage helping with cleanup.

(For now, even as an outsider, he can enjoy the shred of normalcy that the shared meal brings.)

You spend one more hour at your desk, going through your winter break homework. Steadily and methodically finishing one subject at a time. Your foot taps against the floor, in time with the music playing through your earphones.

“...Done!” You sigh in relief, stretching your arms above your head. “Will you still need the lights, Jamil?” You turn to look at him.

One of his own textbooks laid open on the bed, little lecture notes and annotations neatly written along the margins. His homework was already completed a day before the holidays started. But, he decided he could redo some of them, make an attempt to earn a higher grade.

“We can stop holding back on account of our social status.”

Jamil feels a twinge at his left temple. He closes the book, leaving a pencil in between the pages as a makeshift bookmark, then sets it at the foot of the bed. “No, I’m good.”

“You sure?”

“Mhm.” There’s an urge to make himself small, invisible to your concern. Which he knows is just basic courtesy as a host—as the head of the Ramshackle Dormitory. 

“Alright. Good night, Jamil.” A click, then darkness. 

That would make this the fourth night spent away from Scarabia. Another night of resting in two hour intervals. Of waiting for sleep to claim him before his racing thoughts consumed him. He calls your name. 

It’s surprisingly easy to, now that the lights are off. “You should be sleeping in your own bed.” 

“...But I can’t just let you sleep on the sofa. It’ll be a killer on your back.” The sound of your footsteps slows to a stop, floorboards creaking with the motion. “The both of us are fine sleeping downstairs.”

“Isn’t he a restless sleeper?” 

“Nope, he sleeps like a baby.”

At that remark, somewhere from the first floor, the sound of rapid footfalls could faintly be heard. Coupled with the fire-monster’s trademark cackle.

“Well, that is, when he gets tired enough.”

The both of you lapse into silence, listening to Grim tear through the first floor hallways. The sound of the ghosts playfully taunting him.

You mutter quietly to yourself, “yeah, he’ll tire himself out in a bit. Hopefully.” The floorboards creak again, you’re probably leaning against the doorframe. “Does the noise bother you?’

“No, not really…” The Scarabia dorm was unnervingly quiet in the days after his Overblot. It was as if there were eyes on him, breaths held in anticipation. Watching and waiting for his next misstep. Nighttime wasn’t any easier. Whenever he'd jolt awake, he would stifle any screams or cries with his pillow, wait for the terror to run its course, count the hours until sunrise. “It’s just—”

There’s a faraway crash and the sound of Grim cursing, a chorus of ghostly laughter in response.

“Never mind, I misspoke. It’s…” Stupid. Jamil quickly dismisses your concern. “You should go check on him.” He turns his back to the doorway.

But you don’t leave. The sound of your footsteps approaches your bed. “Grim’ll be fine. I’m… more worried about you. Could you scoot over?”

“It’s your bed.” He tamps the embarrassment down, forces irritation into his words. Nonetheless letting you climb into the spot next to him. The mattress dips with your weight added to it.

Your own response was bashful. “I know, but…” you pause, thinking of your next words. “Grim and the ghosts… noticed that you were having… nightmares.”

“They’ll pass.” He’s dealt with worse.

“...You’re not wrong for feeling these things,” you say, voice low. As if speaking any louder would disturb the other residents of the dorm.

"How could you still say that…” A lump forms in his throat.  “...after…"

"After everything?” 

It doesn’t feel right to hear you cut to the heart of it. His words spill into the darkness of your bedroom. "After throwing you and Grim into the desert, keeping you against your will—"

"Hey, we were glad to get out of the cold for a little bit."

At his silence, you let out a quiet laugh.

"...I mean it though. It wasn't all bad." Your fingertips press against the side of his arm, apologetic.

He doesn’t… shy away from the contact, but he remains still. Staring up at the ceiling. “You could’ve died.”

Your touch withdraws. “I can say the same to you."

"Wouldn't that have been better? What use is there for an insubordinate servant?” Jamil thinks back to the attempts made on Kalim’s life. Investigations were made into the other staff. Into esteemed guests, renowned politicians, prospective and longtime business partners. Through it all, only the Viper household remained clean.

And it just had to be him, the person closest to Kalim, who tarnished that steadfast loyalty. He’s seen what happened to assassins who were caught. 

(There’s a certain irony in having to spill blood for the protection of another.)

"Don't…don't say that. Kalim doesn’t think of you like that…"

But he still treats Jamil like one. “He thinks the world of everyone he meets. Even those who’ve wronged him.”

“...sure, maybe he’s a bit naive—” That was an understatement, Jamil thinks to himself. Dense, ignorant, stupid were more fitting. “—but he really does see you as one of his closest friends.”

“What do you know?” he counters. What could you say that he hasn't already heard?

“Kalim’s not stupid. He genuinely trusted—he still trusts you in spite of what happened.”

And wasn’t that the most irritating part? That he was still being showered in empty kindness and praise by Kalim? That in the end, he would have to be held accountable for something as careless as losing control of himself?

“It isn’t that simple.” Frustration laces the way he says your name. “Put yourself in my shoes for a second—”

“I am…I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s my duty, to Kalim’s family and my own.” God, he was sick of hearing the dorm leader’s drivel about friendship, but to hear himself repeating his parents’ own words to you was painful.

“That’s true, but you’re not…”

There’s a familiar heat building at the base of Jamil’s throat, an ugly mix of shame, embarrassment. “His title and status as the Asim heir takes priority, and I have to make sure that he doesn’t die before that happens—”

“But you were just a kid!” Your voice rises to a furious whisper before falling, quiet and trembling. “...you were just…a kid… and you shouldn’t have had to bear that on your own for so long…And then to be expected to carry on as if nothing happened…”

Jamil should be angry at hearing another shed tears for him. Expressing the emotions that should’ve been his. Only one other person has done that in front of him, and that misplaced kindness sent him further along the route to his eventual Overblot.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t but—” Despite your apology, the thickness in your voice doesn’t let up. "Still…! Who just tells their own child to ‘lose thrice’?"

The anger that he has carefully nursed doesn’t rear its head. Maybe it really did disappear with the dispelling of his Overblot. Or maybe it’s because you didn’t face him with the fear that his dormmates held.

“How do you know that?” His question is met with your silence. With the curtains drawn closed, only faint slivers of moonlight creep into your bedroom, scarcely enough to reveal the shape of your figure beside him. Jamil’s hand reaches out tentatively—the back of your hand is damp—before withdrawing altogether. 

“...When I fell into the Blot ink, I could hear them…and I saw you. When you were younger.” 

He could remember the ink pouring into every orifice. “Then you…” If it went on for any longer, it would have drowned him, then consumed his magic, then his body and then—

“Yeah, then I managed to pull you out.” 

“But you weren’t in the infirmary.” 

“...Fourth time’s the charm, I guess.”

“Did…that happen with the others?”

“Yeah. With Riddle. And Leona, and Azul. I don’t know why it happens." You shift, the sound of your clothes rustling against the bed covers as you move closer to him. Your shoulder lightly nudges his. “The first time it happened, no one else knew what I was talking about.”

“Tell that to the livestream of my conversation with Azul.”

“But they didn’t broadcast it… it was just a speaker call. For the rest of the dorm to hear.”

Jamil sits up. “What.” He was supposed to know about this? Those Octavinelle fuckers.

“I…I thought—oh, I guess they didn’t tell you, I’m sorry—”

His stunned silence is broken with a laugh, bubbling from his throat and building into sharp, hysterical laughter. He feels warm, burns with embarrassment, because of course it wasn’t a livestream. And why was he feeling a hint of relief at that revelation?

His palms press against his eye sockets. To his ears, the sound is foreign, but he can feel the exertion in his throat. Feel his breathing quicken, the start of a sob which he chokes down.

It takes him a few more moments to register the tears flowing down his cheeks. His outburst dies as quickly as it erupted. His chest hurts at the feeling of stifling his cries, to keep them from escaping.

God, he feels dumb.

You sit up, pull him into your arms. Let him cry against your shoulder, rub a soothing hand against his back. You don’t say anything, but the tender gesture speaks enough.

By the time his emotions have calmed down, his head aches with a dull pain. The all-too familiar sensation of exhaustion seeps into him. 

“Will… you ever talk to Kalim?” you ask. Your own expression was stricken with tear tracks, from sharing in a fraction of his pain.

“Of course I have to eventually.” He sighs, lying back down and you follow. “...I have no choice.”

“You don’t have to…force yourself to though.” You reach forwards, gently wiping away his tears with your thumbs. And he lets you. “If you still need time, you can stay here… To rest and recuperate.”

Paradoxically, it’s in the words of a stranger—(did you count as an acquaintance though? Acquaintances didn’t just spoon each other though, they didn’t just tangle their legs together while sharing the same bed)—that he finds a pinprick of solace.

And sure, you could call it that. ‘Rest.’

But to Jamil, this was stagnation. He couldn’t just keep mooching off your hospitality, blindly trusting in Kalim’s resolve to change. He couldn’t let himself stay indebted for this long. 

“I can’t just stay here for the holidays.  But…thank you.” 

Once winter break ends, what would he do? How should he go about repairing his social standing in the dorm? With the rest of the student body? 

What’s the next move?

He doesn’t even realize that he’s fallen asleep. Rest comes to him, gentle and peaceful.

When early morning arrives, Jamil gives himself five minutes. Five minutes of sitting in the rare calmness of his mind, of listening to your slow even breathing, of being encased in between the warmth of the blankets and your body heat. Comfortable, protected, safe in your arms.

Then he extricates himself from your hold. At the motion, you make a weak sound of protest, blindly reaching after him. Your fingers brush against the hem of Jamil’s shirt. He catches your wrist, gently sets your arm down on the mattress. Then he pulls the edge of the blanket over you to keep you warm and goes to get ready for the day.

Since he was planning on making breakfast, he’d first have to check if the school store had anything available.

(A part of him is grateful that Kalim packed a scarf.)

A/N: originally this started as a scene of jamil being the lazy one for once and trying to keep u in bed with him. i just wanted to write cuddles (read: the intended kissies were somehow lost along the way. i am still sobbing crying weeping and calling for them to come back home) but aaa its finally done, one of my persistent brainworms is freed!! and more have taken its place help id like to credit @jessamine-rose for betaing this fic, thank u ms maam twst veteran💕💕 wcidfy ch3 will take a bit more time to be written. so im gonna chip away at other wips (shorter oneshots) as i try to get the main beats down. it would take a miracle for it to be posted soon, so id probably expect chapter 3 in (late) june. anyway, i hope u enjoyed reading this, don't be afraid to rb and holler in the tags!! i treasure each and every comment!! taglist (ig i have one of these now?): @merotwst

[wildbornsiren]

Kinktober Day 31: Hand Job || Sierra Six/F!Reader

Day 31: Hand Job Summary: Six comes back from a job, and you give him a hand. 1067 words. Female/AFAB reader Warnings: EXPLICIT MINORS DNI: public sex, hand job Notes: It’s not October anymore, I know, but I wanted to finish these. For #kinktober2022. Reminder that these will not have part twos, or continuations. Comments and sharing let me know you love me, likes are appreciated. Thank you so very much for reading. It’s so appreciated and means the most.      **Tag list is gone, please follow @wbslibrary​ **

It wasn't ideal, being penned in against the washing machine by Six. However, the scrape of his goatee against your neck more than made up for it. Ever since you patched him up in your bathroom the two of you would end up tangled up in each other. His hands settled on your hips, rough fingertips brushing under the hem of your shirt, skimming over warm skin. “I missed you,” you murmur, biting back a soft sound when he starts to nibble and kiss at your neck. He’d been gone for a week, citing work. He had asked you to watch after Claire, and the teen had seemingly loved camping out in your living room.

He chuckles softly, “I thought about you a lot.” One of those large, warm hands slides under your shirt, resting at the small of your back, pulling you to him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call.” “I understand,” sure you’re curious, but there’s no point in pushing for more information about his work. He moves seemingly in shadows, and all he’s given you is he works for the government. You don’t ask, he doesn’t offer anything other than that. “Claire missed you.” You feel his smile, a soft laugh huffing out against your neck. “I could tell. She’d text me even though I couldn’t message her back.” “She’s a good kid.” You say, he hums noncommittedly, lifting his head when your hands ease under that tight black t-shirt he’s fond of wearing. He’s so warm and solid under your hands, a soft little grunt coming from him when your thumbs brush over a new wound. “Really?” “It’s healing.” He murmurs. “You can kiss it better later.” He tips your chin up, mouth slotting over yours, kissing you slow and easy. You moan into the kiss, lips parting under his tongue. Six pulls you closer, pressing every hard plane of his body against yours. Your hands are flat against his stomach, the muscles flexing under your touch. “I could kiss it better now.” You look up at him, pausing at the open want on his face. He licks his lips, shaking his head. “We don’t have time for that.” Claire was due home from a friend’s house any time now, and you had left her a note letting her know you were doing laundry. “Not enough time to do it properly.” The intent in his voice sends shivers down your spine. Six’s hips rock against you, and you feel what he’s working with, and you know that once you get him out of his clothes, that there wouldn’t be enough time. “You can’t see the kid like this.” One hand slides down his torso, his breathing ragged in your ear. You cup the bulge in his pants, squeezing gently. “Want to give me a hand?” You look up at him, mentally rolling your eyes at the wide grin on his face. It’s almost cute, almost. “Are you serious?” “You don’t have to.” Six says quickly, “I was just playing around. It’ll go away.” “Six,” you say softly. “I’m teasing you.” Voice soft, attempting to reassure him. Under your fingers you feel his cock twitch. “I’d like very much to give you a hand.” You work at unbuckling his belt, feeling his eyes heavy on you. “I also like your corny jokes.” “I’ve got a lot of them.” Six says softly, the hand at the small of your back curling against your skin. “But they can wait.” You unbutton his pants, lowering the zipper. He’s quiet, breathing a little faster, the curve of his body heavy as he rests his head on your shoulder. The sound that spills from his throat is damn near intoxicating when you palm at his erection through his boxers. “Still alright?” His groan rattles your bones, embedding under your skin. “Please, don’t stop.” He murmurs your name, nuzzling against your neck. His mouth is soft, so soft, pressing gentle open mouthed kisses along the curve of your throat. “Need this, need you, and you’re driving me crazy.” Managing to get his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his cock, you find yourself blinking when it slaps against that tight, hard stomach. He’s proportionate, thick, the tip glistening with precome. There are a few prominent veins that you’d love to trace with your tongue, but once again you’re painfully aware of the time constraint. A low groan rumbles through his chest when you wrap your hand around his cock, stroking slowly. Teasing your thumb over the head of his cock, spreading precome along the shaft, he catches your mouth in a slow kiss. He's heavy and warm in your hand, twitching when your wrist twists on the end of the upstroke. A light squeeze just under the head of his cock, and he gasps, hips rocking into your hand. “Like that?” You’re breathless, caught up in the way his eyes are half closed, lips parted, head tipped back, losing himself in pleasure. “Yes,” he grits out. “Just like that, baby.” Six breathes out. He’s thrusting into your hand, and the slick, wet sound encourages you to stroke faster, keeping up with his pace. He’s absolutely gorgeous, especially when he’s moaning your name softly. Another kiss, then one more which turns into two, three—four, you lose count. Still stroking at his cock, loving how he reacts to you. Swallowing the small sounds he makes into the kisses, his hands gently gliding up and down your back, one resting just under the band of your bra, those long fingers barely brushing the underside of your breasts. Hesitantly that hand slides over the cloth, gently groping, a low soft sound muffled as he breaks the kiss, face buried in the curve of your neck. “M'close,” He murmurs, voice vibrating through his chest. When you tighten your grip, slowing, he whines—the sound damn near music to your ears. Six comes, spilling over your hand. His cock pulses, and you can’t look away from the relief chasing across his face. He’s gorgeous, and the low soft moan paired with your name is one that you won’t forge for a long time. You stroke him through it, pulling away only when his whimper is tinged with being oversensitive. His hands tremble as he fixes his pants, tucking himself away. “Welcome back, Six.” You look up at him, licking the spend from your fingers. /end

[epithet-beloved]

HI…ME AGAIN…currently in the throes of a vicious spell (bad sleep schedule) cast upon me by a despicable witch (my phone) and just got hit with a new Illness (Thoughts). Can I request headcanons about EE Sylvie and Delta Caprone? As friends? Enemies? Both??!! Just thought of these two together and scrambled over to this account IMMEDIATELY to get it out somewhere. oh how the Curse has Afflicted me.

DELTA AND SYLVIE PLATONIC HEADCANONS

synopsis… The… erm, “friendship” between Delta Caprone and Sylvester Ashling.

ft. Delta Caprone, Sylvester “Sylvie” Ashling, Agitha Fuckwhistle (mentioned), Rick Shades (mentioned)

tags… epithet erased spoilers, platonic, relationship study, rivals to friends, too many shounen references

word count… 660

a/n… unfortunately not at peak writing vibe so this is less serious than usual ,,, sowwy!! ✧ 🦝

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 I hope you know the title of this document is “fuck you *sends you to the shadow realm*”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Because oh BOY these guys HATE each other so much!!!!!

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 I imagine they’re around the same age, and before Sylvie jumped to college level they were in the same grade.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 The rivalry starts young.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 They were the two biggest Pilot Command nerds in the class.  It would be one fateful day in the springtime where they would be out on lunch break, and play together.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 The battle…  It raged for long over the hour.  It was impossible to tear the boys away from the game, and dang did Miss Fuckwhistle try!

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 It would be that day that a great rivalry was formed!!!! …And then interrupted by Sylvie going to college and their schedules never aligning once Sylvie decided the rivalry was far too childish.  Delta called him a coward for that.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Cough.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Flash forward – DeathCon.  These two encounter one another again and it’s like time stops.  Dread fills Sylvie’s stomach and a cockiness would enter Delta’s mind as he daydreams about crushing the dude at the game that brought them together in the first place.

Sylvester glares at the boy across the hall from them.  Beside him, Rick Shades would also glare, before leaning down to whisper, “why don’t we like him?” “Oh, we go way back,” Sylvie answers, his glasses shining over to hide his expression, his voice grave.  “Way… way back.” “...That does not answer my question at all!”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 The entirety of DeathCon consists of Delta taunting Sylvester – the psychologist almost bursting a blood vessel for the entire occasion.  He… He just keeps winning!  Every time!  What the Hell!!!  Sylvie is so easily angered by Delta’s cocky attitude.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Once Delta’s epithet is exposed, Sylvie goes absolutely INSANE.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He KNEW it. He KNEW there was a reason he never bested Delta before.  He’s using his Epithet – it’s all just… CHEATING!!!

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Cue maniacal cackles and concerned staring from the party.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 He probably even tries to move from his spot to stumble up to Delta and point and laugh in his face.  I don’t doubt the insanity of our little sheep boy.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 From then on, Sylvester is the worst of the pair.  He’s constantly probing and being a little shithead to Delta who just wants to play some cards bro.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 Fine.  Fine!  If this is the attitude Sylvie wants to take, then Delta challenges Sylvester to one last game of Pilot Command – one on one, no holding back.

The mini arena that is just a patch of field in the middle of a park could make a war torn soldier shiver from fear.  The two teenagers would stare at one another from a proportionally long ways away from one another.  The wind dramatically rolls through their hair. It’s so on.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 The battle was intense, definitely illegal, hearts were put in cards.

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 It ends with Delta and Sylvie on the ground, roughed up and staring at the sky above them.  Sylvie begins to think about who won– he could barely remember what the super cool final combo attack was, it was so…

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 And then Delta begins to laugh.

Sylvie looks over at the teenager, laughing like he never saw him laugh before.  It isn’t his self-confident chuckle or anything like that.  It’s an actual laugh, out into the air. He couldn’t help but laugh along. “Dude,” Delta wheezes between breaths, “that was the most intense Pilot Command battle I’ve ever experienced!  You improved!” Sylvie scoffed.  “Aw well…  You seem really dedicated to it…  Maybe I misjudged.  I… really respect you as a Pilot Command player.” Delta’s eyes widened a little.  “What?  Y’serious?” A smile couldn’t help but make its way to Sylvie’s lips.  “Yeah.  I’m serious.”

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 The cathartic release is what the boys really needed.  Their rivalry is much more friendly from then on.  No battle would ever be as intense, but one should fear any team that includes these two shithead teenage boys.

[atsadi-shenanigans]

Feeding Alligators 12 - Hustle

You're getting angry. This does not bode well for the party.

Rated M for language and violence.

On AO3.

You’re picking over bodies, again, when you catch sight of its face. Only for a moment and you’re quick to look away, but enough to catch the mouth full of needle teeth.

Goblins. Actual, living (they were), goblins with big eyes and green skin. You squat down to examine one of the less torn apart bodies. Again, very careful not to look at the face, because avoiding faces means its less likely to stick in your brain later.

The cloth is rough—hide, mostly, but with patches of what looks like crude linen. While you don’t know fashion, exactly, you have a basic knowledge of fabric thanks to that stint in cosplay Sasha (that delightful bitch, good god you miss her) got into a couple years back.

This goblin died clutching a staff with some kind of skull—maybe a goat or a sheep—tied to the end with a bundle of feathers. If they hadn’t been so hopped up on ripping those three guys outside the gate apart, you might have tried to talk to them.

A shadow falls over you. Astarion stands there, not a hair out of place despite the fine spatter of blood across his features that he hasn’t bothered wiping off yet. He’d taken a long-range position when Shadowheart and Lae’zel rushed in. Turns out he’s a good shot with a bow he scavenged off a goblin (after he slit her throat, thus the blood).

“Are you going to take that?” he says.

The dead goblin wears a belt, and on that belt, a pouch. Aside from the dead gnome he’d dropped on you, you haven’t touched a dead thing.

“What?” you say.

He flips his knife, kneels next to you, and slices the pouch free. Metal clinks when he gives it a light toss.

“Into my pocket,” he says cheerfully and does just that.

Leaving you, squatting over the body he robbed. You look up to find every other member of your group doing the same to the other dead.

***

So there’s a whole thing going on inside this Grove place. You keep your distance as a tiefling yells at one of the guys you saved (something about a missing druid) and then punches him out. He says something else about goblin raiders, which you don’t really process, and then something about being forced out, which you do.

The man looks scared shitless, as far as someone with a demon face can. The other tieflings do, too. And the people wearing antlers and feathers and shit look both scared and pissed off. Not at the goblins, though. But at the tieflings. Something about “allowing outsiders brought this on us” and “let them deal with it.”

It’s a very “got mine fuck you” attitude that immediately raises your hackles.

“What an unfortunate situation,” Gale says.

“I don’t think these people will survive such a long trip in their condition,” Shadowheart says.

Astarion says nothing, but you catch him slipping something shiny out of an unsealed crate in a wagon.

“Zevlor did say they had a healer,” Gale says. “I suggest we pay them a visit and see if they have a solution to our infestation problem.”

You tag along. This place feels vaguely Celtic, real nature-y. Apparently the guys with the antler hats are druids? But like, with actual magic who can turn into literal animals.

The group stops to barter with what you think is another gnome, except this one’s ears are round. Then Astarion makes a point to lean over to you and whisper (not quietly), “This one is a halfling.”

So…a hobbit. But they’re not actually called that.

You press your palm over your right eye as the ache spikes. Then you skirt around your group and wander further in. You’re in some sort of cavern with multiple openings. You pass through a ray of golden sunlight pouring in from a hole overhead. There’s a big statue of an animal, the top of the head slightly weathered. Around you, tieflings argue, huddle close and mutter, shovel hay. They’re all holding themselves small and guarded. Gazes darting, like startled birds, never landing on one thing for too long. You can almost feel their misery.

Trapped. Trapped and unable to do a damn thing about it.

Your palms are sweating.

A flash of red. A tiefling child stands in front of a cluster of rocks, swinging his arms. He looks at you for less than a second before shifting away. He’s a scrawny thing, wearing half-ragged tunic with only one shoulder strap. He’s got little ridges laddering down his chest.

They have children, these scared tieflings. Trapped children that know something bad is happening, perhaps without knowing what, exactly, it is.

You wave at the kid. Again, that darting glance. It’s not a suspicious movement. He rocks a little as he stands. He reminds you of one of your paternal cousins (fourth cousin, technically; you have more “kin on our side, don’cha ‘sug?”), who your third cousin (her mother) affectionately calls, “Just a little bit different.”

You crouch down. Look over the kid’s shoulder. He gets hoppy, starts making excited noises. Swings his arm like playing a sword fight.

“You saw us fight off those goblins?” you say. Well, the others did. You clubbed one with your stick which distracted it enough for Astarion to put an arrow through its eye.

The kid nods. Swings his arms again, making those happy sounds.

“Is that something you’d want to learn?” you say.

But this seems to stump him. Or maybe he’s just had enough. He starts to nod but stops, ends up clutching his arm against his chest. You open your mouth to change the subject, but he goes all distant.

Your group has caught up to you. The kid scurries off. The others barely glance your way—Astarion with a sneer—except for Gale. He watches the kid scamper off, and then gives you a smile.

There’s another kid up ahead. Gale seems to take this as an opportunity to talk—the kid offers him a ring, and then makes the biggest mistake of his life when he tells Gale it’s magical.

You’re settling in for some prime time zoning out during the forthcoming lecture, when you register a touch. You look down, follow the wrist to the arm to the second kid with her hand in your pocket, frozen and staring up at you in horror.

Huh. In your periphery, the magic ring kid straightens from his bored slump, and then the pickpocket backs away, crying and blubbering. Which grabs everyone’s attention.

“M’sorry, Mattis, I can’t do this,” the pickpocket wails. She cringes away from you. Like she expects you to hit her.

“Easy there, kiddo,” you say. “It’s okay. No blood, no foul, right? You didn’t hurt nobody; nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

She sniffs a few times. Realizes you aren’t lunging for her and makes a break around you. You let her go. Catch Shadowheart’s unimpressed eyebrow raise and Astarion’s audible scoff.

“In a githyanki creche, thieves are severely punished,” Lae’zel says, making hard eye contact with you like she’s trying to prove some point.

Which she can shove up her ass. It seems the only one not annoyed at you is Gale. These people are a bunch of assholes.

“So where’s this healer?” you say.

As Gale leads the group further into the cavern, the floor sloping down and the glare of sunlight shining through another exit, you pause. Lower your head to murmur to the magic ring kid. “Find a partner who doesn’t get caught.”

The kid, being a shit because everyone in Faerun is, you guess, only rolls his eyes and gives you a, “Yeah, yeah. Outta my way, I’ve got a business to run.”

Part of you want to shove his head. But he lives in a place where stepping over ripped over bodies is normal. Where people loot the dead. Where children are forced to be street thieves while waiting to hear if they’ll be expelled into the waiting arms of sharp-toothed goblins. You don’t need to add to his pile of shit.

Especially when you pass another cluster of tieflings clearly retreating from the cavern exit, throwing nasty looks over their shoulder. Two of them are crying. You catch something about a daughter being taken for “discipline” by some psycho bitch, and your stomach drops out. It’s been a while since you felt that particular wave of dread. Since your lungs clutched up inside your chest and the fear hit so strong it made you dizzy.

A devil child taken for discipline.

Astarion eyeballs you as you sidle up behind them all, talking to two druids and a fucking bear. He must see something in your expression. The little nose wrinkle he sported drops off. “Do you always let yourself be robbed?”

You shrug. Hope the gesture appears loose, like your muscles aren’t wound up to a snapping point. “I’m flat ass broke. Wasn’t nothing for the pipsqueak to take.”

“And if you’d owned anything more than the clothes on your back?”

The druids move aside, all glares and belligerence. The fuck kinda place is this? The fuck kind of shitbag runs a place like this?

You don’t answer. You’re too busy moving up on Gale’s ass and finding out who the fuck this Kahga person is.

[wwtneosay-archived]

For You? pt.2

masterlist for this series here

Synopsis: We finally get some insight on what really happened the night you all went out… Oh, by the way, how was breakfast with Mark?

Word Count: 7.3K

Contents: Hints of Angst/Humor/Fluff/18+ below the cut ahaha

No way no way no way no way, the only thought that races through Haechan’s mind as you shut the door. He instantly replays the entire interaction in his head, fuck, did i really just tell her how i felt about her?

Truthfully he doesn’t know what’s worse, the fact that he just outed himself, or that you didn’t even flinch at what was being said. He’s dying to know what you thought about it, what went through your mind upon hearing those words? The two of you tended to never be serious with each other so he wonders if you even processed what he was saying.

Flashbacks of last night creep into his head as he enters into a spiral.

~

You were fine leaving the club, you didn’t require any assistance or anything like that. The members piled into the van one by one, Haechan stayed by your side just in case you did need anything. He was the one that helped you take your seat, making sure to buckle you up before they took off.

Contrast to the ride to the club, the ride back home wasn’t as lively. Johnny sat shotgun, taking charge of the aux, soft sounding melodies could be heard leaving the speakers, along with the occasional laughter that spilled out of the conversation he was having with their manager.

Whenever they’d hit a rough patch in the road Haechan would peer over to make sure you were fine. You were slumped against Jungwoo, he was relieved that you at least had a somewhat plush surface to lean against because he’d hear the way Jungwoo’s head would bang against the window at any slight bump. The boy was out cold though, oblivious to his pain.

A few minutes of smooth driving pass until the tires meet with a particularly massive pothole. The whole van jerks abruptly, loud groans fill the small van in unison, Jungwoo’s head had knocked against the hard glass, making an almost comical noise. He cried out at the contact which in turn caused your body to shoot up immediately.

Haechan looks over to observe you, your eyes remain closed as your head bobbed against the air for a few moments, eventually slumping against the seats after a while, he chuckled at your sleepy state. Once he saw your body relax up against the seat, he let himself close his eyes too.

He’s on the verge of falling asleep but snaps out of it the second he feels a bit of warmth radiating onto his shoulder, his eyes shoot open at the sudden contact. You had shifted slightly against him. When your movements come to a full stop he makes a great effort to hold the position, trying his best to accommodate you. Yes, he’s straining his entire body right now, but that didn’t matter, you looked so at peace and he’d do whatever was necessary to keep it that way. It did help that the dorms were like 5 minutes away…

Once the van comes to a full stop the members filter out of the vehicle. You remain still though, Haechan tries to nudge you awake but you’re not budging. Panic sets in, as much as he might want to, he can't carry you inside, but he's also not gonna let you sleep in the car? Johnny peeks through the door when he doesn’t see the two of you step out.

“She’s out?”, “Like a light.”, “Ok just get her close to the door i'll take her up.”

Phew, lifesaver. It pays to go to the gym, he realizes that now…

Once he helps you over Johnny’s shoulder, he can finally relax, there’s no way he’s gonna drop you. He isn't reckless, still, Haechan can’t help but shadow him just in case, he wouldn’t want you to bump your head on a corner or something.

As the elevator bell dings you raise your head, your voice is tired, “Home?”, Johnny’s lips crease up at your one word, “Almost.” The hum of the elevator is all they hear before you chime in again, “And Mark?”

Mark? You’re barely conscious in this realm and your first second thought is Mark?

Before anyone has the chance to answer you, you respond to yourself, “Man fuck him, what the fuck was he on tod—I didn’t even do anything to him—He’s probably in his room editing his next instagram poem.”

The boys giggle at your slurred guess, they always did wonder about the whole process of that, it looks a bit time consuming getting the right filters and all…

You don't let up, “Feet probably kicking in the air because he saw Justin Bieber posted on instagram.”

The both of them bust out laughing now. Johnny stumbles in place a bit when he pictures the image in his head, but he doesn’t lose his grip on you. They have to pause a couple of times in the hallways before they make it into their unit.

Haechan opens the door to their room, as soon as Johnny set your body down on Haechan’s mattress, you immediately fall back. Whenever Johnny offers up any assistance, Haechan declines, and he seems quite firm so instead he heads back to the living room.

He props you up on your side as a precautionary measure, seeing that you’re still, he slips out of the room to get some extra blankets, when he comes back in you startle him a bit because you’re sitting up.

He playfully remarks, “Wow, now you decide to wake up?” You don’t respond, just silently smile up at him. He shakes his head with a curl of his lips, floating around the room to shift a couple things into place before joining you on the bed. In the midst of his brief cleaning he feels your arms wrap around his waist, pressing your face into his back, his body doesn't know how to react so he just remains stationary. You’re unmoving but he can still feel your ragged breaths hitting his back. When he begins to shift you squeeze him a bit harder so as to hold him in place, and it works.

“I just—“

“Haechan—” You trail off for a second,

He looks around the room, trying to find a way to rationalize why his heart is beating so fast right now. He snaps out of his daze when he feels his shirt getting wet from behind, a profound sense of concern enters his system, immediately turning around to face you. Your eyes are puffed up, the stream of tears that leave them seems to be endless. He reaches his hand up to wipe away what he can, a faint smile appears on his face as he furrows his eyebrows, “Why are you crying?”

When your eyes meet his you turn into a blubbering mess,

“You’re so— just always so— Haechan I just, I…”

You’re not in the state to pick up on any type of queues, because if you were, you’d notice the way his eyes were imploring you to continue, just say it, please.

You don’t.

You pull him closer, hugging him as tight as your strength allows you too. He rests his chin onto your head, slowly smoothing your hair, embracing your quivering body.

When you finally begin to catch your breath you pull up to look at him, you bring both of your hands to his face, one of your fingers moves to sweep a section of his bangs out of his eyes, “Haechan I—“

Your body doesn’t give out any signals so it catches him by surprise when he feels warm chunks of whatever you had eaten landing on his shirt. Gross.

You’d think his immediate reaction would be to scold you, instead he rushes you to the nearest bathroom, he does cover your mouth to prevent a pile of vomit anywhere else, but that's about all the force he uses. When he successfully seats you in front of the toilet he darts to the kitchen to get a glass of water. He sets the cup in the sink, letting the water flow into it while he picks off the bigger chunks that landed on his shirt. Your retching doesn’t let up the entire time spent filling the cup to the brim, but he’s glad to see that by the time he makes it back in, it looks like you’ve spewed out all that was necessary.

You let out a weak chuckle when you see his blurry figure approaching you, “Hmmnh-not my greatest moment.” You weakly bring a hand up to what you assume is his shoulder “Sorry”.

He pats your back, “Just hope you know you’re never gonna live this down, let’s just get you changed.”

“Mmmh”

“Ok I’m just gonna..” He’s faced with a slight dilemma, is it really ok to get her naked right now? I mean yeah, I can't just leave her like that, she’s gonna sleep in MY bed… It's not like I’m some sick pervert or something.

Once he sorts out his morals he moves to remove your top, that's where most of the puke resided anyways so it only made sense. He tries his best to not oggle your defenseless figure, blindly wiping your torso with a wet wipe, but he does have to make sure you’re fully clean before he slides new clothes on you, so he caves, but only for a moment. Once you pass the quick inspection he slides a tee over you. Now here comes the hard part, bottoms. How the fuck was he gonna just pick you up to slide some pj shorts on?

He is stuck, not really sure how to go about this so he does the most logical thing, asking, “Hey do you think you can put these shorts on?” He’ll admit, he’s a little surprised when you just nod, letting out a small groan in response to his command, he didn’t think it’d be that easy. You slowly inch off of the floor, supporting yourself on any sturdy surface, it does startle him slightly when you just slip off your vomit covered pants without any warning. You don’t pay him any mind, peeking open one eye to make sure the tag is in the back of the shorts before slipping them on, it takes you a minute to locate it but eventually you get it in the right spot.

You successfully get a leg in, but quickly stumble as the other one gets caught in the fabric, your falling figure causes Haechan to lurch towards you, inadvertently catching a glimpse of the animated Wall-e that dawned the backside of your underwear, he’s even in a little heart shape, how adorable. He can't help the laughter that slips out of his mouth, unintentionally louder than he had intended it to be. He always heard you talk about Big Hero 6 more, so he feels as if he's just witnessed a massive betrayal… What would Tadashi say if he knew..

Once you’ve successfully slipped into the shorts you attempt to make your way towards him, he puffs some air out his nostrils when he notices your lack of coordination. Every time you’d inch closer to him he’d slyly step back, but he stopped when you paused to observe him, completely still with your eyebrows raised, barely being able to fight back a smile, “It’s like that?” He grins at your faux irritation, extending his arms out so you’d lean into him.

When you enter his room he lays you onto the mattress, he doesn't bother trying to get you under the comforter, instead he grabs the spare one he brought in earlier, draping it over you.

Seeing you lying peacefully, he moves to clean up the throw up, it’s gross but the task didn’t take much time.

When his finishes up he heads to the bathroom for a quick shower. Having washed up, he makes one last stop at the kitchen to dump his soiled clothes into the trash bin, not wanting the dorm aunties to have to deal with that. Johnny’s slumped against the couch chatting on the phone, he's wondering who it could possibly be at this hour, but to be completely frank, he doesn't have the energy to care so he just says goodnight, continuing his way to their shared room.

The room feels stuffy as he enters, so he turns on the small humidifier in hopes of getting rid of the feeling. Once it’s on, he moves to switch off the lights that were beginning to take a toll on his tired eyes. He tries to be as careful as possible as he slips himself into the bed, not wanting to wake you.

Weary eyes land on you, you look so at ease, he doesn't expect it from someone who just puked their brains out. Swiping a fallen piece of hair out of your face, he observes the way your body rises and falls with each breath you take in. He wishes he had the ability to pause time, he doesn’t mind being the pillar you’d lean on for even the most trivial things like this, a night filled with too much to drink.

He ponders what it would take for him to keep you in his bed forever… Not in a Joe from You type of way, you get the idea, right? Something infinitely more wholesome.

A bitter taste makes its way to his mouth, he blinks away the delusions he’s building up in his head, reflecting on the fact that he hasn’t even been brave enough to tell you how he’s felt about you for god knows how long. Rather abruptly, he shifts his back to face you, not being able to handle the rush of emotions flooding his chest. You shift at the sudden jolt of the mattress, when he feels you tug on the shared comforter he stills.

Warm hands encase his figure, if he was still then, he's completely cemented at this point, the pads of your fingers had the same effect as medusa when she met eyes with anyone.

The effect is magically reversed when he feels you tugging his body into your own, instantly becoming putty at your unconscious plea to have him closer to you. He takes a deep breath in, everything about the way you’re holding him is beginning to cloud his head with a thick pink haze, he can feel his eyelids become heavier in your grasp, slowly beginning to drift away into another world.

Unfortunately his REM cycles are cut short as Johnny decides to enter the room. To say the door slammed against the wall would be an understatement, the loudness of the action caused you to quickly push Haechan out from your arms, making his body smack against the sleek hardwood floors.

He immediately groans at the sudden contact, a mix of anger and pain lace his voice as he blares out, “AHHHH HYUNG!” Johnny’s still attempting to stabilize himself from his entry, throwing his hands up in defense, he matches Haechan’s volume, “You’re acting like I was PLANNING on tripping, relax for a second, will you?” Haechan changes into a whisper yell when he hears you groan, “We were sleeping just fine! Why’d you have to be so careless?!”

The sudden loudness causes Doyoung to make an appearance at the scene, hair unkempt and voice dramatically dropped in pitch, nothing like its usual sound, “Why are you guys being like this? Do you know what time it is?” The boys are startled by his presence, they immediately apologize for the ruckus, to which Doyoung only nods before closing the door.

Johnny blows raspberries as he plops onto his mattress, beginning to take his socks off. Even after Doyoung’s departure, Haechan doesn't let up with little snarky comments. Johnny just eyes Haechan, hoping that would shut the boy up, when it doesn’t he huffs, getting up to leave the room without saying a word.

In all honesty that wasn’t what Haechan was expecting, he kinda wanted a reaction, something, anything, but he should’ve known better.

As he turns back to face you on the mattress, he lets out a sigh of relief, climbing his way under the covers. He might’ve scooted more over to your side of the bed in hopes of getting to feel your arms around him again… After a couple minutes of waiting he gives up all hope, deciding it would be better to let his mind rest. As he's slowly drifting in and out of consciousness, he feels your arms around him again, which allows him to finally rest peacefully.

~

To be frank, Haechan can't really pinpoint the exact moment you began to feel more than a friend to him. Looking at it objectively, it's not like you treated him any differently than any of the other members, so he wasn’t really sure what to make of his feelings for a while.

It clocks him in the chest one night he's out drinking with Mark, they’re sitting at the rooftop of a small cabin, gazing up at the stars. The night was filled with a calm breeze, the light rustling of leaves served as their own personal bgm. It seemed as if the ambiance had spurred Mark into deep thought, because out of the blue, your name begins to spill from his lips. Haechan’s ears perk up at the mention of you, he stops observing the twinkling stars above him to get a good look at Mark.

He starts off slowly, the way your name rolls off his tongue so effortlessly has him reeling, there was so much hidden sentiment in the way he pronounced each syllable. Haechan didn’t speak, in all honesty he hoped Mark would just stop talking, because he had an inkling of what his next words would be.

Unfortunately for him, Mark doesn’t let up, “I think I like her.”

Haechan stares at him for a second, then returns his gaze to the stars, not a single word leaves his mouth.

It's as if the gods held their breath in anticipation of what would happen next, because even the leaves stopped rustling.

Mark sucks in a deep breath, he’s about to continue his train of thought when Haechan finally chimes in, “You’re drunk.”

While the words seemed like a response to Mark, he was really just trying to convince himself that he didn’t have feelings for you. Because how would that look, confessing how he feels only after Mark had the courage to do it first, how pathetic, he thinks.

Mark zeros in on the moon, “Maybe I am”.

Haechan doesn’t tear his gaze from the sky, when he sees a shooting star, he looks at it like it’s his last resort. He didn’t believe much in superstitions but at the slight chance of it coming true he takes it upon himself to make a wish.

Nothing else is said that night, they drift off to sleep without sharing any last words with each other.

~

Haechan’s in the kitchen prepping breakfast when he hears Mark come in through the side door, “Food’ll be ready in a bit, I’m just waiting on the eggs.” Mark yawns, nodding in response. As Haechan sets the plates down on the table they begin to munch on the food. Bird chirps serve as white noise as they devour what's on their plates. Mark is the first to break the silence, “Dude be honest, did I say anything embarrassing last night, I kind of don’t really remember.”

Haechan pauses to take a sip of orange juice, “Hmmm you’ve been worse, you really don’t remember anything at all?”

“Not a single second.”

“Don’t worry, one day your tolerance will be half as good as mine.” He flashes him a toothy grin, to which Mark just responds with a shake of his head.

~

Haechan thinks about it constantly, to this day, maybe his wish really did come true, because after that day Mark didn’t seem to do anything to pursue this so-called “crush” on you, no calling you over if it wasn’t a group hangout, no one on one dates, absolutely nothing out of the ordinary, maybe it really was the alcohol talking, distorting his view on you.

He couldn’t help but steadily regain the hope that one day you’d realize that every single seemingly playful word that somehow always managed to escape his mouth, was never in vain.

—

As the elevator doors spring open you find Jaehyun on the other side of them, “Hey— Damn, you guys look way better than us down there, I’m kind of jealous.”

His dimples make an appearance on his blemish-less face, “Nahh, I think you guys just make me look good, I mean none of you are necessarily known for your high tolerance levels…”

You let out a soft chuckle, “You got that right…” You pause to get a good look at his outfit, its a bit questionable but he looks comfortable so you decide to let it slide, “Where are you headed to so early though?”

He gushes just thinking about his errand, “This store I go to just called, they said they got some of the LP’s I was looking for last time, so I’m on my way to pick them up now.”

Seeing the enthusiasm on his face lets a smile grace your own, “Ohh fun, ok well walk safely, I brought you guys some food, I’ll leave it on the table for when you get back!”

He grins at the thought of not having to worry about breakfast, “Sweet, thanks, I’ll see you guys soon then!” He waves you off with a warm smile as the elevator doors shut.

—

You don’t hear any noise as you open the complex’s door. Once you chuck your slides off you make your way into the kitchen. That’s when you’re able to pick up on the sound of the shower running, ok well at least they’re alive, you think.

You don’t wanna call out any names in fear of accidentally waking someone up, so you resort to quietly knocking on the doors of the two remaining boys. Your first instinct is to knock on Jungwoo’s room. When you don’t hear a response you quietly pry open the door, just enough to get a peek. You allow yourself to come in when you see him lying on the bed, idly scrolling through his phone. He raises his hand when he sees you, motioning for you to join him.

As you settle next to him he drapes his blanket over you, “My head hurts…” His voice is still raspy. You plop your hand on his head, “Have you eaten yet?” He only groans in response, it had no semblance of happiness to it, so you assume he hasn’t. That’s when you perk up, leaning off his bed, “Come on, I brought us some food, let's eat!” It's like a switch was flipped because before you know it, he's running into their shared kitchen, leaving you in the (nonexistent lol) dust.

Jungwoo takes his time to properly set up the meals on the table, and honestly you’re fascinated, because out of all the times you’ve eaten this meal with Mark, it has never been presented like this… The way he's placed everything out on the table really makes it look like some luxurious feast. Your eyes sparkle at his craftsmanship.

He decides to settle down in front of you, taking pride in his work. You can see the glimmer in his eyes as he oggles the food, so you decide to speak up, “You can dig in, I’ll wait for Mark to get out.”

A content sigh leaves his mouth as he looks up at you, “I was really hoping you’d say that, thanks.”

You watch with amusement as his hands dash towards the utensils, “I'll get us something to drink.” He hums, nodding in response, mouth already full of food.

You reach into the cupboards to fish out three glasses, When you spring open the fridge to analyze your options, you’re reminded of the time Yuta had made a funny joke, you decide to adopt it for a second, “Ok, we have Vodka and beer, oh and there’s also some win—“ You’re cut off by stifled coughs, when you turn to peek at Jungwoo you see grains of rice being spewed from his mouth, and you can't help but break out into laughter. He’s hunched over the table, the way his body is spasming makes it seem like he’s improvising a dance move, you have to close your eyes because it’s becoming too much for your stomach to bear.

You anchor yourself against the countertops to remain upright, attempts to regulate your breaths are being made but you’re failing pretty miserably. Between the coughs and laughter, you fail to notice that Mark had made his way into the kitchen. He must’ve heard the commotion as he was leaving the shower.

When you hear Jungwoo hoarsely call out his name you turn your head around, the tears accumulated while laughing at Jungwoo cloud your vision momentarily, so you blink a little, bringing a finger up to your eyes to wipe them away.

You suck in a deep breath before clearing your throat. “Hey Ma—“ You wish there was a warning or something before you laid your eyes on him.

He just stands there observing the two of you for a moment, the only garments that cover his body are two towels, a small one that drapes across his shoulders, and another one that's hanging incredibly low, just enough to cut off your view of the veins trailing down his v-line. The small droplets of water that he failed to dry off make it look like he’s twinkling. His body is slim but toned, the result of years of dancing for hours at a time, you can only assume.

You gulp before speaking up, you decide to fix your gaze the floor, or really anywhere that isn’t in Mark's general direction, “Umm hey, I brought us some food, uhh— you can finish getting ready, I was just serving us drinks.” '

“No dude I’m literally starving, Iets eat.”, He sits himself down at the table.

I suppose that’ll have to work…

You serve some juice into three cups and move towards the table, Goddamn it, why did he have to sit himself next to me?

When handing off the cups, you let out a small yelp when you see that Jungwoo’s bowl is cleared, “You’re done already?!” He only chuckles as he brings the cup to his mouth, chugging it in like three gulps, “Ahhhh~ seriously, thank you, it was the meal of the century! I’m gonna go ahead and take a shower now, I’ll be out in a bit.”

Fuck, hes going to leave me with him, ALONE?

You mumble your response, “Ah- yeah ok sure, we’ll be here.”

When Jungwoo’s out of sight you point out to Mark, “He’s not here anymore, you can take his spot now.”

He doesn’t spare you a glance, blowing on the warm broth that’s floating in his spoon, “I’m okay right here, you can move if you want though.”

Your voice is quite meek now, “Oh no—It's... I was just saying.”

He only hums at your statement.

A thick haze of tension fills the room. It’s painfully quiet, all that can be heard is hushed slurping accompanied by the sound of the water running from Jungwoo’s shower.

It's taking you every fiber in your being to not let your eyes drop in between his legs, yeah you’ve known Mark since you guys were kids but you’ve never seen so much of him so up close, there was never an instance that called for it.

Naturally you cave, I mean you’re only human, you’re just curious that's all. Just one peek, it’ll be short, no harm no foul, right?

Fuck. Big miss steak…

No way that’s real, he's got to have shoved something up there, your brain is making up any excuse at this point, refusing to face the reality of it all.

You take your lower lip into your mouth, your small peek is lasting longer than you might’ve intended, not that you’re aware of this though, you’re too busy trying to visualize what it would look like under the thin fabric of the towel. It's hugging his flesh just enough for you to see the outline of the head of his dick, you let out the slightest gasp when you catch that it twitches under your observant gaze.

Mark clears his throat and that’s what snaps you out of your trance. You immediately straighten out, eyes focusing only at the bowl in front of you now.

Shit. Did he catch me? No, it's just a reaction from eating, he probably got some sort of spice stuck in his throat… I mean everyone does it, Jungwoo did it earlier— It's fine really, I’m just overthinking it—

“Who went with you to pick up the food?”

You attempt to beckon your composure, swallowing some saliva before you answer him, “Just me, the boys wanted some too so I called in the order, the owner said hi by the way..”

He finds an ounce of relief at the thought that you hadn’t invited anyone to your special spot, maybe it was sacred for you too, he thought.

When you don't get a verbal response you look up at him, catching the way he’s smiling at the bowl, his expression dissipates any sort of uncomfortability that was once present, and you notice that you’re able to breathe in peacefully now.

You exhale tranquilly, “To be honest I initially just wanted to go to get some food for us, but it seemed rude to not offer it to anyone else, you know?”

A light smile tugs at his lips, “For us?”

You bring your spoon up to his face, leaning into him, “Don't think for a second I forgot how you treated me last night! I brought it for us so we could talk about it, like how cops give their captives food in the interrogation rooms, I won't be shy about it Mark, I did this to butter you up.”

He grimaces, partly because of his actions, and partly because he remembered how Haechan was all over you… He’s about to answer you and that’s when it hits him,

Now that you’re this close to him he’s able to see that you were, in fact, wearing Haechan’s clothes.

His eyes widened at the realization. The cogs in his head are beginning to turn, his heart rate picks up, but he doesn’t say anything just yet, maybe there’s a perfectly normal reason for you to be wearing his clothes. He doesn’t want to believe what his thoughts are maliciously whispering into his head. Haechan had gotten the best of him at times but he doesn’t want to believe he’d snagged you in the process.

No, Haechan didn’t get to know you that way. No, that can’t be it.

He doesn’t think before the next few words leave his mouth,

“Did you sleep with him?”

You pull back, wide eyed, Huh? Sleep with him? Sleep with who?

“Haechan?”

“Yes, did you sleep with him?”

You’re at a loss for words, the question only echoes in your head, what does he mean, “Did I sleep with him?” Why is he asking this? More importantly, why can you hear the familiar tinge of jealousy coating his words?

You two stare at each other for what seems like an eternity, ragged breaths serve as your only form of communication. Your stomach is in knots, why can’t I just say that we didn’t sleep together? It’s the truth…

He gives you a couple minutes before he decides to interpret your silence as a yes. He pulls away from you, making sure to get a good grip on his towel as he makes a beeline to his room.

The sound of the door shutting serves as a play button, with that, you’re finally able to move again. You shift your gaze to your bowl, and that’s when realization sets in for you. Everything from last night begins to come together, he must’ve seen you and Haechan dancing together… Is that what set him off?

Mark… Had feelings for you?

You’re stuck in the kitchen replaying past memories of you two together. There were times where you’d seen him as a bit more than a friend, but he never did anything concrete enough for you to believe that assumption, so you convinced yourself it was nothing, a fleeting feeling you thought, something that would eventually pass. You guys were kids after all.

… Did it ever pass?

Your feet move before your brain commands them to, they lead you to his room. You didn’t have a plan as to what you’d say, you kind of just hoped the words would formulate themselves once you saw him.

That was not the case…

You barge into his room, he doesn’t react to your entrance. His back is facing towards you, sitting on the edge of his bed hunched over, you take notice of his knuckles going white at the sheer force he’s gripping the covers with. You don't say anything as you let yourself in, gently closing the door behind you.

He hears your footsteps quietly approaching but he doesn’t move, when you stand in front of him, you wait for a response, any type of acknowledgment would suffice, but there’s nothing, no movements, you’re only met with silence. He can’t bring himself to look at you.

You kneel down in front of him to where his gaze is fixed, waiting for a moment to see if he’d meet your eyes on his own, but he doesn’t.

You're the first to break the silence, “No.”

He peels his gaze from the floor, despondent eyes finally connect with your own, “No?”

Something about his expression breaks your heart, feeling the need to clarify, “I didn’t sleep with him.”

He surveys your face, you bite your cheek at his unwavering attention.

This is his chance, maybe it was his reaction to seeing you in someone else’s clothes that got him feeling a bit impulsive, maybe it was the way you had come back to give him clarification on his question, or maybe it's the fact that hiding his feelings for you was finally beginning to consume him,

The position you were in was not helping him sort out his thoughts. Peering up at him from between his legs with wide eyes, It was all becoming too much for him. He lowered his head to meet eye to eye with you, he cards a hand through your hair. Inching towards you until his soft lips are mere millimeters apart from yours, his voice is barely audible when he lets out the following words,

“Can I kiss you?”

You don't even think twice before you wrap your lips onto his. Your skin pebbles at the contact, the smell of his shampoo is overcoming your senses, god, he feels so good against you.

You’re not sure whether to stand or stay kneeling and it’s as if he reads your mind because he pulls you onto him, you both grunt as your bodies collapse into the mattress.

Warm hands explore the expanse of his body, you can feel his muscles flex under your fingertips at each slight graze and its beginning to light something in you. Slowly, you drag your fingers against his collar bones before you bring one down to his pectoral. When you graze over his nipple he moans into the kiss, you can’t help the smile that grows on your face as you’re pressed against his lips, making sure to pull away to get a look at his flustered face.

Your chests raise and fall in rhythm, your curiosity gets the best of you, “How long?”

He doesn’t get what you’re referencing, so he makes an educated guess, “How long? I mean I’ve never really measured it?”

The sudden laughter you let out on top of him lets him know he’s said the wrong thing, a shy smile tugs at his lips before he looks off to the side, pinching his eyes shut. You don't dwell on it too much though, saving him from embarrassment by capturing his lips into a heated kiss.

His need for more become evident as he grasps at your hips, his grip is unrelenting, so much so that you can feel the unique patterns of his fingerprints branding themselves into your skin as he slowly begins to grind you onto his dick. When you feel him twitch under you, you press down harder, needing to feel as much as you can with the towel in between you both.

His voice is hoarse as he speaks into the kiss, “Ah—Fuck.” Hearing those words leave his mouth sends a new gush of wetness to your underwear, the stickiness is beginning to become unbearable. Every receptor in your body is aching for more so just give into their incessant pleas, pulling away from the kiss, closing in on his ear to breathlessly let out your next couple of words, “God, Mark can you please fu—“

“MARK!”

The sudden booming voice startles you both, causing you to focus your attention towards the door. When the voice doesn’t call out again, he brings his hands up to your face, pulling you into a kiss again. As you begin to regain some of your momentum the voice chimes in again,

“MAAARK!!”

You pull away and he lets out an exasperated sigh, “Let me just go see what he wants.”

You nod, letting yourself up off him and he quickly leaves to see what was up.

In his absence, reality begins to set in a little more faster than you would have liked, it hits you twice as hard when you think about what happened not even an hour ago with Haechan.

What am I doing?

When Mark rushes back into his room, you're gone. He searches the entirety of their apartment only to not find a single trace of you. He even goes as far as to check the outer hallways, but still, nothing.

Where’d you go?

Once it hits him that you’re really gone he stomps back to his room, mostly out of anger, why did I do that?

The impact of the door colliding with the threshold causes a few of his hanging frames to rattle, not that he notices, or even cares for them at the moment.

As he settles on the edge of the mattress the towel loosens at his hips, he winces when his dick springs free, coming into contact with the chilled apartment air. He lays back onto his mattress, shutting his eyes, hoping that would relieve him of all the depraved thoughts running rampant in his head right now.

It does not.

Closing his eyes, he sees you now more than ever. The smell of you lingers in his room, heightening his hallucinations. You’re not there but he’s able to feel the way your fingers glided across his skin, he twitches remembering the heat of your body on top of his.

I can’t take this…

He needs to finish what you both started.

A shallow breath escapes his lips as he brings a hand to the base of his cock, it's pathetic how much relief the simple action brings, but he’s not in the mood for scolding himself right now, that can wait for later.

The precum that’s dribbled down his shaft allows him to smoothly glide his fist up and down his dick. After a few pumps he pauses at his pulsing head, shuddering as he slowly lugs his thumb over it, “Ah— shit..” the words are breathless as they leave his mouth. He gives up on the action when he realizes it isn’t bringing him the satisfaction he’s yearning for, settling on pumping once again.

As he picks up his pace he can't help but wonder how you’d feel around him, a million times better than his own hand no doubt, but he’s gotta make due with what he’s got.

Fuck, he thinks about what it would feel like to have your warm walls clenching around him, would they even be able to accommodate him? He stills when a sudden thought pops up, were you a virgin?

That sent him into a frenzy to say the least.

One hand isn’t enough anymore, he brings the other in to assist, balling them into a fist to simultaneously twist as he drags them up and down his shaft. His grip is tight, pumping implacable. Replaying the sound of your voice in his ear is enough to have him fucking up into his hands. The beads of sweat he’s built up are slowly beginning to trickle down his skin, “oh, fuck— so close”, the words manage to escape through his gritted teeth.

Self restrained whimpers turn into blatant groans when he pictures you under him, milking him for all he’s worth. It's not too much is it? You can handle it, right?

Before the fictional you provides an answer he comes undone, your name stitched together with his favorite curse words spill from his mouth like some sort of chant, his release lands on his sculpted midsection. His legs tremble but only for a couple seconds before they calm down. If anyone were to bear witness to his state they’d think they were looking at a sacred piece of art, Greek sculptors would’ve killed for this live study. Beads of sweat adorned his body, sticky bangs draped against his forehead, and his abdomen is contracting with each labored breath he pushes out.

When he unscrewed his eyes the natural sunlight seeping in was almost blinding. He has to lay in silence for a couple of minutes before he’s able to send signals to his brain to wipe himself with his towel. Once clean, he throws on whatever garments he pulls out first from his drawers, quickly shuffling to take a seat at his desk.

The thoughts he’s having are too much to speak aloud, so he satiates the little voice in his head by scribbling them in the little blue notebook that lives on his desk, something he found that helped him sort out his emotions. He’s struggling to keep up with his mind but eventually he gets all of it out, a wave of relief washes over him as he places the final period on the lined piece of paper. Alleviation encapsulates his being as he slumps into the little wooden chair.

Reality interjects with his peace all too quickly though, not only did you two share a moment, but he just fucked himself to the thought of you. Jesus… He searches for his phone and immediately clicks onto your contact page, the line trills in his ear,

He’s met with your voice, only it’s the pre recorded version of it. He tries again, ring ring ring, nothing.

Immediately he enters into panic, instinctive strides head for the door. As his hand is about to make contact with the doorknob he remembers, your location! He darts back to his phone that rested on the desk. Fingers move to open the find my friends app, when he sees your little blue dot walking the familiar route to your home his mind is put at ease. He keeps it open until he sees you’re a few blocks from your house.

He understood if you didn’t want to talk right now, he had to sort everything in his little blue notebook, maybe you needed to do your version of that too. Whatever the case may be, he’d wait; days, months, a million lifetimes, whatever ridiculous measure of time that was necessary, because for you? It would be worth the wait.

—

That’s a wrap! So many mixed emotions, let’s just hope you don’t drown in them…

How on earth will she ever face the two again?

masterlist to find out lies here

[hellhound5925]

Cyare Verd *Beloved Warrior * Bad Batch Edition

Previous Chapter

Chapter Four - Nerf Nuggets

Finally back on the ship we are all able to take a deep breath. Hunter looks back from the pilot seat and I nod at him. I turn to Tech, "Did you want help properly setting that?" I ask gesturing to his leg. "What happened?" Wrecker asks. "It's a rather long story and yes, I'll take the help" Tech replies. He throws an arm over my shoulder and I help him to where they keep the med supplies. He sits down and begins to take off his armor, while I dig through the closet. I pull out a batca patch - which honestly will do nothing but hopefully help with the pain - and supplies to set his leg. "You were a great help to us today" he says holding the support in place while I apply the tape around his leg. "I'm sure you guys would have been fine without me. You seem quite capable" I quirk a brow, quoting him from earlier. He laughs but it cut off by a grunt of pain. "Ni ceta (sorry)" I say not realizing how rough I might be, being. "It's quite alright" he says pushing his goggles back up on his face. "You should be all good now" I say finishing up. "Thanks again" he says looking up at me from his seat. "Ba'gedet'ye (You're welcome)" I nod. I help Tech to his bunk so he can relax.

I grab my buy'ce (helmet) off the bunk - well Hunter's bunk - that I was offered. I hear loud scorning and turn to see Wrecker passed out, one leg off the bed and an arm over his face. I laugh and head towards the cockpit. Echo and Hunter quiet when I approach. "Don't stop just because I'm here" I joke. Echo looks at me and smiles before getting up, "You can sit here, I'm going to try and get some rest." I nod at him as he goes. Curious about the more quiet one I can't help but take a seat. I study the side of his face I can see - which truth be told - he's not bad looking. He's got longer brown hair, 5 o'clock shadow, honey brown eyes that could pierce your soul, but part of me wishes it was the otherside of his face....the tattoo, Maker it's so attractive. He shifts - probably feeling uncomfortable because I'm staring, "Echo told me....What you did for them...for Omega." I look forward and lean back in the chair. "It was what anyone would have done" I say matter of factly. He gives me a look out of the corner of his eye, but I notice he doesn't look away. I close my eyes and tip my head back. Now whose staring. "Something I can do for you Sarge?" I ask a playful smile dancing across my face. Another moment of silence goes by, I open my eyes and glance in his direction, this time he's looking forward. I close my eyes again and end up falling asleep.

————

When I wake up, I'm staring at the grey ceiling. Uh alright this is definitely not where I remembered being before I fell asleep. I roll over noticing I'm on a bunk....Hunter's bunk. How in Haran (hell) did I get here? I wracked my brain but don't remember getting up or laying on a bunk. I hop down and look around noticing 1) We've landed on Ord Mantell and 2) the ships empty. I grab my few belongings and off the ship. Still none of the clones in sight so I decide to head to CID's. Maker Cid is not going to be happy. I'm also not going to get paid now. Osik (shit).

I head down the steps into the Cantina and for once this place is quiet. I see Omega and Wrecker playing Dejarik, Echo and Tech are talking to Hunter. Omega is the first one to notice me, "There she is! I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to get up!". Thankfully I have my buy'ce (Helmet) on otherwise I probably would look like an animal in speeder headlights. I can't honestly say the last time I slept that good. I could use a shower though. I head over to Hunter, "Where's Cid? She's probably pissed." As if on que she comes bursting from her office, "Alright lets get to work here shall we. Oh look who finally decided to join us." She says putting he hands on her hips. "That last job wasn't on us-" I start before she cuts me off. "I know, I know but I've got something else." "Who says I want another job?" I sass. "You technically still owe me" Cid gives me a nasty look. "Fine" I say following her. "You too, Bandana. I've got a job for you two. Should be easy enough." Cid gestures at Hunter.

"This one is easy I promise. All I need you two to do, is pick up 50 cases of Nerf nuggets and get them to their destination." Cid explains. "You're joking right.....You want him - a highly trained clone with enhance senses - and me - a skilled Mandalorian warrior - to make a milk run?" I sass gesturing between Hunter and myself. He huffed out small laugh I almost missed. "Don't you think thats over kill?" I think about it for a second "You know what? Never mind I'm sure it's as bad as it sounds. But please continue." Cid gives me a look, "You'll need to leave tonight to pick them up. Here are the details." She hands Hunter a datapad with the information on it. "To think we could just relax for one day" I shake my head. "Alright now get out" Cid says being....well...Cid. Hunter and I leave her officer and the rest of the group gathers around. "Where are you guys going? Can we come with you?" Omega asks trying to see what's on the datapad. "No, Raven and I are leaving tonight we should be back in 2 rotations. Stay here and stay out of trouble" Hunter commands the group. "Roger" Omega says sadly. She throws her arms around me, "Stay safe okay?" She says looking up at me. Her actions caught me by surprise, I pat her on the back - with my buy'ce under the other arm - "I'll be fine. Besides I've got Bandana here as a copilot." Hunter scoffs at the nickname.

I get myself cleaned up in one of the spare rooms Cid has upstairs. Feeling refreshed I come back down to catch up with Hunter and we argue over whose ship we are going to take, who is going to pilot, and who is going to be 'on the ground' to make contact - Literally thats the most I've heard him talk since I've been here. Which ended in me...here...in dark grey skinny jeans, combat boots, a fitted maroon tank top, and black leather jacket - not that I'm entirely complaining because this outfit feels great - it's just not beskar. I come back out of the fresher with my armor in a backpack slung over my shoulder, pulling my hair out of the braid, grumbling. "You're so pretty" Omega says stopping me in my tracks. My long blonde hair falls in my face and I give the group - who is now staring - a nervous smile. Omega looks at her brothers who have said nothing, "Doesn't she?" She prods. "Pretty...cool!" Wrecker says loudly patting me on the shoulder as he continues by. The others go back to what they were doing but Hunter is still starting, "This gunna work for you Sarge?" I ask, wondering if there's a problem. "Uh, yeah. That's fine" he says trying to act relaxed. I quirk a brow at him, "We should probably get going."

Hunter says his goodbyes and we head to the Marauder. I settle in, putting my backpack where Omega sleeps before taking the co-pilot seat. I watch as Hunter programs the hyperdrive and preps the ship to take off. We sit in silence for a while and I watch as Ord Mantell becomes smaller and smaller until we are out of the atmosphere. "All of this for her huh?" I ask trying to break the silence. He hums in response, "She's just a kid. She deserves to have the life of one." I smile to myself, "That's very noble of you. But I still don't get why you don't just disappear. Head to some back word and lay low." He sighs, "None of us know life outside of war." I choose to say nothing more knowing I'm really in no place to judge. "So, what's your story?" Hunter asks out of the blue. "My story?", "Yeah, I'm sure you've heard ours. So what's yours?" He asks again looking over at me. I look down for a second and pick and my fingernails. "It's not something anyone really knows but Cid. I'm sure you can imagine how far that got me." He huffs out a small laugh, "All too well." "I guess neither of us would be here if you didn't" I say tucking the stands of hair that keep falling in my face, behind my ear.

I sigh and lean back in the chair. Hunter is till eyeing me - probably because I never answered his questions. If I want him to trust me I should just tell him. I mean what do I have to lose. "My story....well, I was born and raised on Mandalore. I lived there most of my life, until I was old enough to start taking on bounty hunting jobs. When the clone wars started things on my planet weren't that great so I left for a short time. When I returned Maul had taken over and things gotten way out of hand. I chose to stay and fight with some of the clans that were left. At the end of the war, after Maul was captured....." I stop wipping the tear that I didn't even realize had fallen, off my face. "I left Mandalore for a small planet in the outer rim. Anymore I don't even remember what I was doing at the time, but when I came back.....everything....everyone was gone. The Empire.....they killed them all and left our cities, our homes in ruins." I pull my knees to my chest remembering the lifeless armor. Hunter lets out a deep sigh, that sounded like it was full of pain. I picked my head up from my lap and looked over. A piece of hair fell in my face. Hunter reached over, gently brushing his fingers over my cheek bone, pushes it behind my ear. It's so funny how someone who could be so intimidating is so.....so....caring.

The Marauder makes a noise like it's preparing to come out of hyper space. This breaks up the moment - whatever you want to call it - we were having. Suddenly feeling vulnerable, I excuse myself to the fresher. I splash water on my face and compose myself. Feeling about as composed as possible I head out of the fresher and stand at the top of the ramp waiting for it to lower. “You good?” Hunter asks, sounding a little concerned. “Fine, let’s just get this over with.” Hunter nods at me and lowers the ramp. The light takes my eyes a second to adjust, I head down the ramp and am immediately met by a short man with a datapad. He seems to be making a comparison. “You must be Cid’s pick up person” he says craning his neck to look up at me. “Where are the cases?” I ask. “Getting ready to be loaded, they’ll be here any second” the man eyes me.

We both stand there in silence. I place my hand over one of my blasters, “I’m getting impatient, Where are the cases?” I ask again trying to make a point. The man fumbles with the datapad and seems to be trying to make a call. “What’s going on out there?” Hunter asks over our comms. I raise my vambrace - which is under my coat sleeve - to my mouth, “Not sure, checking on it now. I’ll keep you updated.” So much for a milk run. “Something is wrong. I can’t get a hold of my men. There are bandits you know, they steal stuff. Anything!” He man says frantically. “Hunter, we’ve got a problem. you’re gunna wanna come out here.” “Roger.”

Hunter comes down the ramp. “So much for a milk run” he teases me and I roll my eyes. “What seems to be the problem?” He asks the man. The man explains what he just did to me but this time he tells us where the cases were coming from. “Great we can track it from there” I suggest. Hunter doesn’t say anything but I follow his gaze, “Oh, no, I don’t think so. I’m driving.” He looks at me “Nice try. I’ll be driving us.” I quirk a brow at him, “I swear you like arguing with me.” “Do not”, “Do too”, “I’m still driving and that’s an order”, “Orders only work on your men!” I say, thinking I’ve finished the argument before heading over to the speeder bike. I get on - in the front- so Hunter is forced to get on behind me, or so I thought. Before I know it he has picked me up, placed me gently back on the ground and climbed on the bike. “You coming?” He asks. I huff an annoyed sigh and he laughs. I - reluctantly - climb on behind him, snaking my arms around his waist. Hmm maybe I did get the better end of the deal. I try not to lean in too close - so it’s not obvious - and breath in his musky scent. He takes a turn a little too fast and I bear hug his core tight as to not fall off. I feel him let out a deep laugh. “For a Mandalorian, I figure’d this would be more fun” he shouts so I can hear. “Yeah, well typically I prefer to be driving!” I shout back.

He pulls the bike to a screeching halt and I hop off collecting myself from that ride. Hunter half smiles at me, “I don’t wanna hear it” I wave him off. We begin our search of the area. Both of us assumed they had been intercepted on their way to us, but we had to be sure. “Sure enough we were right, cases aren’t here” I think out loud. “They must have been intercepted, we’ll follow their route to the Marauder and see what we find on the way” Hunter tells me. I just give him a look. “What?” He asks. “Seriously, I’m driving this time” I say putting my hands on my hips. “Fine” is all he says, before heading back to the bike. ‘Fine’ that’s it, no argument. What’s his deal?

We speed down the roadways until suddenly Hunter reaches past me and grabs the handle bar, turning the bike and pulling the break. We both tumble off and before I can even stand up, Hunter is grabbing me by the arm and dragging me to cover. I give him a nasty look and am about to go off on him when he covers my mouth and pressed himself against me so we are hidden behind the wall. After a moment he lets go, “You di’kut! (fool) You could have gotten us killed!” I whisper yell. “There was someone watching. They were waiting for us” he says, breath fanning over my face. In this moment, being that he is so close to me I realize he’s about 4 inches taller than me. I look back and forth from his eyes, they are a beautiful brown with honey gold swirled through them and I’m pretty sure they pierce my soul. He steps back, realizing we are still close. “Sorry” he says quickly. I let out the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, “We should probably tail them”, “Yeah good idea”.

Next Chapter

[ofpineapplesanddawns]

"you amuse me, [name]"

Doctor Spriggan and my favourite cult leader?

Funny thing is I just watched a video talking about Apostle earlier today, haha.

Warning: The Spriggan being a manipulative asshole (but what else is new in this au)

On with the fic!

--

The village wasn't really much of one, but it was amazing that something was even happening here. Malcolm found himself filled with pride as he looked at the few, small homes that he, his brothers, and his few followers had built in just a short amount of time.

Their small farms were growing well, and the animals were adapting. The island's God made sure of that, all in an exchange of offerings.

Malcolm tugged at his sleeve, feeling the rough material brush against the healing marks there. So far, blood was wanted, but his Lord had mentioned that this was going to change.

He shuddered at the thought, not sure what to expect from the Spriggan, the name that his brothers called their God, for they knew no other name to call Him. Neither did Malcolm, the Spriggan refused to offer a name, had said it was lost to time, said it as if it were a joke.

He watched his people as they worked, before he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye, at the entrance to the woods, leading deeper into them.

They were dark, deep, but he could see a thin, bony arm sticking out of the shadows. Even from this distance, he could recognize it, the torn clothing that was left to rot, the bark and moss covering the 'skin'.

Malcolm went to Him in silence.

The Spriggan was standing there, smiling. "Such an obedient prophet." He said, reaching out to touch at Malcolm's cheek, fingers brushing through hair that he had been considering cutting. "How are things with your... group?"

"They're going quite well. We have four new followers joining the flock, they're getting settled in the group home now, until we can make their them own." Malcolm replied as he turned towards the village, but His hand gently turned his head back to face Him.

"All men again?"

"No, there are women. There is a young couple, they had just wedded and plan to start a family."

This seemed to please the Spriggan, His smile growing, there was a creaking from the patches of bark on His cheeks. "Ah, excellent, things are going according to plan!"

"Plan?" Malcolm frowned and opened his mouth to ask what He meant, but a thin finger was pressed to his lips.

"Shhh..." The Spriggan said, eyes of soil and grass shined before him. "It is beneficial for the island that the populace grows bigger, do you not agree? Families are beneficial to your community and to your lord. Now, it is wise that you do not question this, alright, prophet?"

"I..." Malcolm stared at him, before nodding. "Yes, Lord." He said, then gently pressed his lips against the finger still touching them, an apology.

His Lord looked at him, raising an eyebrow, before he laughed. "You amuse me, Malcolm. I am so glad I chose you over the others." He purred, leaning in close. "Now... go on, go tell your people that I am pleased with their progress, and that I will grant them a boost in their fields."

"Y-yes, oh, thank you, you are a generous God." Malcolm replied and took His hand, kissing the palm of it, only to stop when fingers gently lifted his chin up. He looked at the otherworldly being before him, who looked pleased.

"I am, aren't I, my dear, devoted human." He said, then pushed him back and slipped into the darkness of the forest, whistling as He returned to His burrow.

--

I love that evil plant bastard Ten, he's much more enjoyable than TLV!Ten.

[cityandking]

1, 9, 74, 80 for dai, minah and eniko!

ty!!! // 100 warm up questions

1. If your character wasn’t an adventurer, what livelihood would they lead?

DAI — if Everything hadn't happened he'd still be the cleric on duty at the northern garrison, where he would have completed his service and then gone to whatever next posting the Skysingers assigned him, working his way up the ranks of the priesthood. it would be, I imagine, a somewhat ascetic livelihood of stalwart and unquestioning service, and he would have considered himself content. (I don't think he could go back to that life after everything. I don't know what he'd do instead.) MINAH — if Nora hadn't recruited her, she'd have slipped the city guards (possibly with the help of the Orchestra) and been back on the road performing. they'd have played their tour stops in Tevinter and then gone east again, and honestly probably weathered the Blight in Antiva or Rivain. I imagine it would have been a lean few years (decade and a half), but life with the troupe is often feast or famine, and they'd have gotten through it. if something happened to the troupe... man. I don't even know. ENIKO — if Wick hadn't assigned him to join (spy on) the party, he'd still be in the business of selling secrets, doing all sorts of unsavory jobs for unsavory people, living in the shadows and scraping by however he had to. honestly, since Wick was one of his biggest employers/sources of work, I think he'd probably have eventually ended up working for/with the rebellion anyway and probably intersected with the party at a later point in time

9. What deity, if any, does your character worship? What’s their opinion on other people’s worship?

DAI — Pelor! they had a rough patch, but honestly, he came out of it with a steadier faith and a stronger bond. when it comes to other people's worship, his opinion is largely that his opinion doesn't matter—everyone's faith is their own to tend however they will, so long as it isn't doing harm. ozy and the owl traveller is an outlier adn should not have been counted. (honestly it's not ozy's worship he takes any issue with, it's the blindness of the devotion. though I suppose it's tricky for ozy to go anything with both eyes open when one belongs to the traveller.) MINAH — none. fuck the Chantry. she thinks other people's worship is stupid at best and harmful at worst. (she has a little more respect for the dalish and their gods—I think she'd find their continued worship in the face of such overwhelming prejudice and hatred a little inspiring. still dumb, because divinity isn't real and there's nothing out there that cares, but the ritual and community seem nice.) ENIKO — he doesn't worship anyone or anything. the concept of the gods scare him a little—he doesn't do well with authority, and gods are the ultimate authority. as with most things predicated on belief or faith, he finds worship to be stupid, useless, and a little laughable. if he were ever truly forced to confront divinity, I think he'd be resentful—surely if there were anything that cared or loved him out there, he'd know by now.

74. What makes your character feel safe?

DAI — I gotta be honest I'm actually not totally sure. he's been living in such a perpetual state of waiting for Something To Go Wrong that it's kind of hard for him to completely relax. I think it would have to involve His People also being safe and un-menaced. zaref, just in general. and being able to see the clear, open sky. MINAH — a key thing to understand about minah is that she never feels safe. no matter what there is always a tiny little part of her that is making calculations and keeping an eye out. that said, a locked door and some privacy are nice. so is having a lot of cash to fall back on (she has some pack rat tendencies) ENIKO — wall at his back, clear lines of sight, a knife in his hand and a lot of money in his pocket.

80. How does your character feel about receiving/giving orders? Are they more of a leader, or a follower?

DAI — he's made a transition from follower to leader over the course of the campaign. six months ago he'd have taken any order from a trusted authority, and would have considered any orders he might give (i.e. as the cleric on duty at the garrison) an extension of that higher authority. these days he's a) more discerning and b) more likely to take initiative unprompted. and he's a captain! aren't we so proud of him MINAH — honestly, I think she's pretty chill with both giving and receiving orders. she's used to receiving orders (and direction) from Alesso to ensure the smooth operation of the Orchestra, but she's also been in spots where she's the authority (directing her own act, calling the shots on a job, etc.) she's not going to go out of her way to be in charge, but if she found herself in a position where she had to be, she wouldn't sweat it too much. that's actually been a pretty easy transition in the wardens—though she hasn't had to taken any order she didn't like (except to Join in the first place, and that went—well, not great). chameleon that she is, she can play the leader or the follower with ease. ENIKO — considers himself a follower. less than a follower; he's a well-honed tool for others to use to achieve their own goals. he'll take any order if the pay is good enough—he has no scruples. (he has one scruple: he won't hurt kids.) even when he's giving orders, his authority is a secondhand thing—I think he's far more comfortable receiving orders than making his own decisions.

[trashlie]

Something I've wanted to say for the last couple months but didn't know how to articulate well is: it I so obvious to me that quimchee is in a much better place with her relationship to ILY.

People have their beef with the Shinlyssa flashback, but my personal beef was the way people talked like "it's so obvious she's tired of this story" "it's clear her heart isn't in it". Even before the flashback got going they were saying this.

She hasn't elaborated - nor does she need to - but it seems less like her issues were the story and more just how it affected the story. Quimchee took something that was a hobby and turned it into a living and that will suck the soul out of any creator. How do you push yourself through the rough patches? Where do you find the will and desire to CREATE when you are plagued by depression or creative block or anxiety or burnt out? Even the thing you love the most can and will cease to matter at some point, because it stops being a labor of love and instead becomes a labor of existence.

You can feel how much love quimchee still has for I Love Yoo. It's in all of the painstaking details, in the way she stretches out her scenes to get maximum impact. ILY was always a character-driven story that brings so much life and dimension to its characters and especially as of late it's evident how much she loves telling their story. She's played so much with the way she frames her scenes, dynamic lighting and shadow, the subtle touches you notice upon reread.

Idk like... I get it. I know what it's like to endure those periods where you have no love for what you're doing, where you struggle with this burden because that's what it feels like at the moment. I hope a lot of those people have re-evaluated their feelings and understand that when a person is going through it it doesn't mean they no longer care about their craft, that breaks are important and necessary. I HATE the discourse about all the "breaks" quinchee has taken "ruining the series". No single person can create art 24/7 365. Stop villifying them when their personal needs trump the thing they create.

I'm so glad she's returned to a place full of enthusiasm for the thing she loves, for the story she's carried with her for so long. I'm delighted that she seems to be in a better place with her relationship with her art.

[drfootharpoon]

My Hollow Identity (Fiction?)

By J. (as told to V. H.)

The Interlude of J:

Hello to you, friends.

Go away. It's not ready.

You're not ready. I'm not ready.

...are they gone? ...no?

Breathe deep and pretend. It's just me and you. Or more accurately me and myself. A lens through which to view... me barking at shadows, strangers, etc. Their presence an irritation and a subtle anxiety inducing rage waiting to explode.

Breathe. Hold on to it. Let it go. Release it. Feel relieved that it's gone. Feel depressed that it just filled back up while you were calm. Realize that you are just a vessel. A shell. Husk. A bottle of power and poison. But all you need, crave, lust for is...

Opposite. Love and support. Care and attention. But even then it seems like I'm asking too much from you. Don't worry about it. I'll close the box up again. Forget I said anything. Sorry I brought it up. ...but am I? Half says one. The other says worse. Stop pretending in the mirror.

I see myself reflected. I don't know who that is anymore. It's the skin I hide within. It's the mask over the masks. I don't see anyone inside working the controls. All I see is my Hollow Identity. See what I did there? Brought in the title instead of it just being a theme. Oh. That's me deflecting again. Uncomfortable. But I can't change the subject. Hell, it's about me. Myself. The only one that rarely talks. The others just won't shut up. I don't let them. Keeps me busy and distracted. Life's sweet spot.

The dance of truth between the lines. Here is where I should tread. Not these mires of lost, warm, soft cope. I know I'm running. Falling on purpose. Hurting just to feel something. Something other than nothing or everything. These springs of emotion are not consistent. Geysers erupt ad nauseam and forceful. The public seeing either one of these is embarrassing. Even if I lean into the rage, hate, irrational fears and make entertainment out of it. I hate that. I hate that rage that serves so useful and disastrous. I hate the coldness that I feel on it's plateaus. I want nothing more than to be overwritten.

Breaking into yourself is tricky. The defensive actions are in place before you engage. The trains are offline. The stare becomes mid-range. The distance unimportant. The destination of this city in your head. That mall you wander. Those shops you browse. Those confused streets that lead everywhere but where you want. The gas-station of your dreams that is just as dirty as reality. The bricks that feel rough and red. The concrete and asphalt and dirt roads all with their scents and textures. You become familiar with the surroundings. You ignore the dozens of people floating around. Faces are pointless. Items are enigmatic. All you have is a destination to get to... but where is it and why? How much here is in there? I'm not a participant. I'm the camera minus the man...

Hollow again. The tone of empty gongs somewhere without. Or so you'd like to believe. The song of monotone is pulsing in your chest. It booms in ears and scars.

Who am I? A writer for sure. Everything else doesn't feel like the truest me. Shit. There I go. Trying to hold back tears. Not sure where they came from. Maybe I do and I'm going to ignore it for now. I'm at work and the others just drive by. Why do I have this need to bark harshly at them? Why do I criticize their every mistake? Could be from an upbringing that wasn't the best one. It tracks. Could it be from my trail of thoughts that led me up to these gallows built from my bones? Idk.

Not to mention my confused sexuality. Hey. I said not to mention that. It's private. It's a private thing about privates. Which one do you prefer? Do I have to choose now? Can we just get to know each other first? A drink maybe? A smoke? Something else to avoid this conversation? No? Fuck you. I'm sorry. Don't leave yet... We can still patch things up right? Please don't...

Stop making me feel things. I love it too much. Okay. Fine. Change of subject. Are you gay? What the fuck, dude? What the fuck do you care? How is this your business? Sorry. Why are you so defensive? You know why. Say it. No, I'm not gay. Not entirely. I love women. If they happen to have a penis, it's not a deal breaker. Why does that appeal to you? Mother nature and Mother issues. Can we please leave it there? I'll leave if you don't.

Apologies. Breathe deep. Stop arguing with yourself. It only takes over if you let it.

Squeeze me more. Let this brain juice leak to the floor. That floor so dark and abyssal. Yet solid and imaginary. Squeeze me and stroke until the ultimate clarity spurts all over my face and soul. I haven't had a sober year since junior year of highschool. That was not yesterday... So why am I still blindly wandering these halls? What secret do they hold? Must not think naked people. I'm not good at... There you go getting distracted by... ADHD. Belittling yourself because of trauma. Don't hide it anymore, bro. I'm here for you. Sure, that's what you said last time you left. What do you want from me? Idk either.

I want you. I want you to be you. I want you to be comfortable and confident. All the emotions are not going away. Just have to buy a better filter. Can use drugs for that? Technically. But not recommended. Deleterious effects and returns are abundant. Pharmacy says they have nothing for me. Check out the fancy stores. The ones with products overpriced and possibly a fad. Jump on them while they last. Supplies are limited. You're an idiot. Stop treating yourself like you know what you're doing. Liar. Internet garbage disposal that you are... Harsh. Sorry. The shadows crept in while I was focused on them. Couldn't stop laughing at the absurdity. Of course. Of life. Of... get on with it, man. Forward or something else.

You spoke of abuse. No. Yes you did. Maybe. Hard to say certain things. I know. I don't want to talk about it. Was it negative? Was it neglect? Something like that. Did she love you? I'll never ask her about it if that's where this is leading. Fuck that fucking cunt ass bitch. Easy there. Sorry. There's definitely a bit there. I'm not touching it right now. It's still on fire. Anything else? The neighbor kid. For fucks sake. No. Not him... It's not your fault. I know, right? He used you. I know. Can we please stop? You were like 9. SHUT UP!

Moving on as I seal doors and hatches behind me as I flee down the hallways that never move. Fuck that guy. It's okay dude. Sure. Whatever. Can we please get high now? No. You have to face yourself soon. I don't think I bought the right... Distracted?

Shit. Maybe another tangent will fix that.

You know you're not a real doctor. I know. I'm not a real person but I can still help you. Trust me? No. Sigh. Maybe... What's the catch? None. Liar. Bro. Sorry. You apologize a lot. Why? Comes with the territory. No choice as it seems. Bullshit. Everything has a chance and a choice. Find yours and spin. What do you think this all is about? Me? Sure. You? Definitely. Us? Yes. Why? Necessary. Ok, it's more compulsive than that. Doctor's orders.

The mall of dreams and of tangibility are often the same to me. Blank faces on stick bodies that live independent and close. My shell is made of sandpaper and razors. I can't even keep my closest friends. I'm a snarling dog biting his own leash just for show. But they don't see the show. They don't know how to watch it. Watch me. Like a freak. An adorable monster.

No matter how many layers of clothes I wear, I feel exposed. Afterwards, at all costs, I feel exhausted. Not of my own volition. Just satisfied to be done with shopping, chores, errands. Do you hate them? Objectively, no. I have no reason. No easy answers that don't come without layers of sarcasm and makeup. Then why? Fear. Fear and possible futures. I'm not ready for that yet. Sure. That's the... Liar.

So what conclusion have you come to? I'm still hollow. Angry. Sad. Frustrated. Things all in-between up and null. The points are attached and yet blood flows uncaring. I want to want to be around others. Has there been anyone? Not many. Too shy to approach. Too scary to coddle. It might not be that. That's how it resonates. Few get under my skin. Few with which to I wish I had more time. Much more.

Breathe and hold on to the doorknob. It will be okay. Will it? Maybe. Only one way to find out. Ready? No. Not yet. Don't want to be taken advantage of again. Don't want to be used like a single soft tissue. Disposable and elated. Are you still at the door? Yes. Open it. No. Why? It's not real. So? I'm not a doctor. No, you're not. So? What? Open it. What's on the other side?

Hello? You picked an awkward time to vanish. I didn't go anywhere. Sorry. Am I being needy? A little bit. You're not used to this and it's oddly satisfying. To what end? Maybe another tangent. The hillside is cresting. The sky isn't blue. Bela is dead.

You began this with an intent, right? Yeah. Why? Idk. I'm confused still. The switches and swirls dance in my brain. Thinking about that dance with her. It was a sad dance. I wasn't comfortable in that bizarre relationship. Two ships that skirt and fondle. Two ships on fire. Another ship nests in the distance. I didn't want that ship either. People that exist should be killed. Those that don't are spared. Just go away now.

You're still here aren't you? Yes. Have you run out of ammo and steam? Yes. Is it ready yet? No... but if I'm in charge it never will be so... No. You have to explain it. Don't want to. Too scary and complicated. Are you avoiding me? Of course. Comes with the curtains and the drapes.

There is no simple answer.

I'm... who knows?

Maybe another tangent.

Maybe another day.

My Hollow Identity remains loyal.

Someone reading this should...

Just go have fun and enjoy life.

I'll be there tomorrow.

Promise...