#pause for drum effect

[viewlumia]

Behold, my least favorite line in the entirety of Ninjago!

[pastelaspirations]

Inky. How dare. How dare you post this on here and NOT TELL ME-

I am. Holding your shoulders. Staring deep into your eyes. As I beg you to h e l p m e. Your art. I. I'm not even in this fandom, man, but. Seeing these two together, I...

Am I not the only one who can feel chemistry between them, tell me I'm not the only one-

TWO OF THEM!!! 🐏🐐

they are so silly… silly little fellas…!

[lovemni]

𐔌 현진 .ᐟ ꒱ ── "the art of loving you."ㅤ❀

HWANG HYUNJIN! ⓘ when your artistic boyfriend wants to use you as his muse for the first time . . (,,>ヮ<,,)!

⌣ ﹒ ✿ ﹕ 𝑏f!hyunjin ₊ ‎ ‎ 𝑓em!reader ˙ . ꒷ g. fluff , pure love ! 33OOwc. ⎯⎯ Yᗩᑎi's ᒪIᗷᖇᗩᖇY ⟢ cw. nicknames , kisses , intimacy , jokes. ┆ ���� ⋮ an original drabble .ᐟ ֹ ₊

𝑦𝑎𝑛𝑖'𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑖𝑙 𓈒 𓈒 ⭑ huhuhuhu i wrote this in the span of an hour. minus the formatting. i love love so much :( i love hyunjin so much :( i cried writing this sorry. mostly written for my hun, ishi. i know life isn't the best right now, but here's a lil' something that might help you be a bit more at ease! apologies if it isn't very effective though. love you! happy reading <3

the apartment smelled like faint lavender and the lingering sweetness of the vanilla candle she had burned earlier. a warm, golden haze from the late afternoon sun spilled in through the sheer curtains, pooling on the wooden floors, stretching shadows long and lazy.

the world outside hummed softly—distant car horns, the occasional laughter of neighbors, the rhythmic tapping of a tree branch against the window. inside, everything was still.

cozy.

wrapped in the kind of silence that only felt peaceful, never empty.

hyunjin had been staring at her for a while now, perched on the couch with his sketchbook in his lap, his pencil resting against his bottom lip. he wasn’t even pretending to be subtle. every few seconds, his fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for her but thought better of it.

she was curled up at the other end of the couch, distracted by the book in her hands, knees tucked to her chest, one sock slipping off her foot.

he liked her like this.

relaxed.

unfiltered.

beautiful in the way that people are when they don’t know they’re being watched.

he swallowed. his heart was already tumbling over itself.

he had been thinking about it for days now. weeks, even. the idea had planted itself in his mind like a stubborn seed, refusing to be ignored. i want to capture her.

it wasn’t just a want. it was an ache. a pull.

he had sketched her before—messy, thoughtless doodles in the corners of napkins and on the backs of receipts, quick little impressions of the way her hair fell, the way her lips curved when she was deep in thought. but this—this would be different.

this time, he wanted her to be his muse.

he exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly. she finally looked up, blinking at him, and he panicked—like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

"what?" she asked, voice soft with amusement.

hyunjin hesitated. his fingers drummed against his sketchbook. "nothing," he mumbled, glancing away.

a pause.

then she nudged his thigh with her foot. "liar."

he huffed a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. she always saw right through him.

for a moment, he debated brushing it off, pretending like it wasn’t clawing at his insides. but he knew he couldn’t. not with her.

so he bit his lip, gathering his thoughts, before finally exhaling.

"i want to paint you."

the words hung between them, stretching the air thin.

she blinked again, tilting her head. "what?"

hyunjin sat up straighter, shifting so he was fully facing her now, sketchbook balanced on his knee. his fingers curled over the edges of it, gripping it like a lifeline.

"i—i've been thinking about it for a while," he confessed, voice quieter now, like he was scared of startling the moment. "i want to paint you. properly. like… really take my time with it."

she didn’t respond immediately, just studying him. he could see the gears turning in her head.

"you want to paint.. me?" she repeated, as if testing the weight of it on her tongue.

hyunjin nodded. "yeah."

he couldn’t quite read her expression. he wasn’t sure if she liked the idea or not, and the uncertainty sent something anxious skittering through his chest.

"you don’t have to say yes," he added quickly, fingers tightening around his sketchbook.

"i just—i think you’re beautiful. and i want to capture you. not just your face but… you. the way you exist. the way you are."

there it was again—that ache. that pull.

she was silent for another beat, then a small smile played at her lips. "that’s very romantic of you."

hyunjin exhaled a breathy laugh, relieved by her teasing tone. "i am very romantic, actually."

she hummed, pretending to consider. "i don’t know… what if you make me look ugly?"

he scoffed immediately, reaching out to flick her knee. "impossible."

she giggled, pulling her legs away.

hyunjin watched her for a second, then, quieter, more vulnerable—"you’ll do it?"

she held his gaze. and then she nodded.

"yeah," she murmured. "of course. i'll be yours in whatever way you need."

hyunjin's entire body melted. his shoulders dropped, his fingers loosened, his breath left him in one long, relieved exhale. a slow, glowing grin stretched across his face, dimples appearing, eyes crescented with something soft and adoring.

"you really will?"

she rolled her eyes, but her smile was fond. "yes, baby."

baby.

his heart stumbled over itself again.

before she could react, he was already leaning forward, hands finding her waist, pulling her into him. she laughed as she tumbled into his lap, arms instinctively wrapping around his neck.

"hyunjin—"

"thank you," he murmured, burying his face in the crook of her shoulder, voice muffled against her skin. "you have no idea how much i wanted this."

she softened, fingers threading through his hair. "i think i do."

hyunjin smiled against her skin. his hands rested against the small of her back, warm and secure, holding her like something precious. because she was.

and now, he could finally capture her the way he saw her.

the apartment smelled different today.

not drastically—just subtly altered, the way a shift in seasons feels. the usual traces of lavender and vanilla were still there, clinging to the air like a familiar embrace, but now they mingled with the crisp scent of stretched canvas, the faint musk of oil pastels, and the distinct earthiness of paint—thick, rich, waiting.

hyunjin had been preparing for this all morning.

sunlight pooled through the wide windows, gilding the hardwood floors in a lazy sprawl. the apartment was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of fabric as he adjusted the sheets draped over their couch to protect it from accidental paint smudges.

his art corner—his sanctuary—was usually a little more chaotic, but today, everything was placed with care. he wanted the space to feel right. to feel like it could hold something sacred.

at the center of it all, his easel stood tall, an untouched canvas waiting, patient and expectant.

his brushes were lined up beside it, freshly cleaned, their wooden handles smooth beneath his fingertips as he traced over them absentmindedly. next to them sat his palette, dappled with early mixes of color—soft beiges, warm caramels, a whisper of rose.

he had mixed those shades by memory alone. he knew the way she looked under sunlight, the way her skin carried warmth like a secret.

now, all he needed was her.

the guy straightened, glancing toward the hallway just as she appeared, wrapped in one of his oversized sweaters.

his breath caught.

she always stole his clothes, and he always let her. he liked the way she looked in them—how the sleeves hung past her wrists, how the fabric swallowed her just enough to make her look small, but never lost. she looked comfortable. at home. and something about that made his chest ache in the best way.

"you done?" she asked, voice still laced with sleep, soft and warm at the edges.

he smiled.

"almost," he murmured, crossing the room. his hands found her waist instinctively, fingers slipping beneath the hem of his sweater, tracing over her skin. "but first, let’s make you comfortable."

she raised an eyebrow, "is that an excuse to undress me?"

"partly."

she rolled her eyes, but there was no real protest as he gently peeled the sweater off her, leaving her in just a simple tank top and shorts.

hyunjin hummed in approval, fingers trailing over her shoulders, brushing against her collarbone.

"perfect," he murmured.

she let out a soft laugh, tilting her head. "you haven’t even posed me yet."

he smiled, but he didn’t answer right away. instead, he took her hand, guiding her toward the chair he had placed near the window—where the sunlight would catch her just right.

"i want you to be natural," he said softly. "just be comfortable. let me see you the way i always do."

she settled into the chair, shifting slightly, and he stepped back, studying her.

he had painted people before. strangers, muses, faces he barely knew but found interesting enough to capture. but this—this was different. this wasn’t just painting a face. this was capturing a feeling. a presence.

his fingers twitched, itching to start.

she watched him, tilting her head slightly. "how do you want me?"

he swallowed. his gaze softened.

"just like that," he murmured.

she held still, trusting him, and something in his chest tightened.

slowly, he stepped closer, fingertips grazing her cheek, tilting her head just slightly. his thumb traced the curve of her jaw, lingering at the hinge where her pulse thrummed beneath his touch. then, his hands drifted down, adjusting the way her shoulders rested, the way her hands settled in her lap. every movement was careful, reverent.

"there," he breathed. "stay like that."

she held his gaze, steady and sure. "okay."

he let out a slow exhale, stepping back. his hands found his brushes, and then, finally, he began.

the first strokes were light, tentative. the foundation of something much bigger. his focus narrowed, the world outside of this moment falling away. it was just her and the canvas, and the quiet, steady rhythm of his breathing.

he traced the shape of her first—soft lines, delicate curves. her shoulders, the slope of her neck, the gentle angles of her collarbones. then, slowly, he worked his way up—capturing the arch of her brow, the fullness of her lips, the way the light kissed her skin.

hyunjin didn’t just see her—he felt her.

every touch of paint was a memory, every brushstroke an echo of the way he adored her. the way she looked when she laughed, when she was lost in thought, when she reached for him in the middle of the night, half-asleep but seeking.

she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

and now, she would live on his canvas, exactly as he saw her.

...minutes melted into hours.

the apartment existed in a bubble of stillness, broken only by the soft drag of bristles against canvas and the occasional shift of fabric as she adjusted her posture. hyunjin barely noticed time slipping through his fingers; he was lost in the rhythm of creation, in the steady pull of something deep and unspoken.

she remained patient, quiet but present, watching him work.

at some point, she broke the silence. "you’re really taking your time with this."

he didn’t look away from the canvas, but a small smile played at his lips. "of course. you deserve to be painted slowly."

her lips parted slightly, caught off guard. then she exhaled a soft laugh. "that might be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said."

his gaze flickered to her then, his brush hovering midair. "i say romantic things all the time."

she hummed. "you do. but that one made my heart flutter a little."

hyunjin grinned. "good."

he went back to painting, his eyes flickering between her and the canvas. the room had dimmed slightly, the sun lower now, casting long golden streaks across the floor. the light touched her cheekbones in a way that made him pause, his fingers tightening around the brush.

"hold still," he murmured, stepping closer.

she obeyed, but her brows lifted slightly in curiosity.

hyunjin reached out, fingertips barely brushing the corner of her mouth. he tilted her chin, his touch featherlight, tracing the outline of her lips with nothing but air between them.

"you have no idea how beautiful you are, do you?" he murmured.

her breath hitched, but she didn’t pull away. "w—"

"you don’t," he cut in gently, thumb ghosting over her bottom lip before he stepped back. "you’re always so effortlessly perfect, and you don’t even realize it. that’s why i want to paint you. so you can see yourself the way i do."

a moment passed.

she swallowed, something unreadable flickering across her face. then, softly, "i don’t think anyone has ever looked at me the way you do."

hyunjin’s throat tightened.

he knew he was staring too much, that his emotions were slipping into the air between them, heavy and unguarded. but he couldn’t help it.

"i love you," he said simply.

her lips parted again, but this time, she didn’t try to deflect. she just let the words settle, her eyes softening as a slow, glowing smile spread across her face.

"i love you too."

he inhaled deeply, letting it fill his chest. then, shaking off the moment before he could get too distracted, he gestured toward the canvas. "now stay still, my muse. i have work to do."

she giggled, settling back into position.

hyunjin returned to his easel, but his mind was still full of her.

brushstroke after brushstroke, he captured the softness of her gaze, the delicate slope of her nose, the warmth in her expression. he mixed colors carefully, making sure her skin glowed the way it did under sunlight, the way it did when she laughed, the way it did when she looked at him like he was the only thing in the world.

hours passed like this—soft conversations, lazy teasing, moments of silence that weren’t empty but full of something warm and steady.

eventually, she sighed, stretching her arms above her head. "hyun, my legs are falling asleep."

he blinked, coming back to reality. "oh—wait, don’t move yet."

she groaned playfully. "i’m dying."

"you’re not dying."

"i might be."

hyunjin laughed, but he set his brush down, stepping closer again. he crouched in front of her, hands gliding up her legs, massaging gently. "here," he murmured. "better?"

she melted instantly. "mmm. yeah."

his thumbs pressed into her calves, slow and firm. "you were so patient for me," he murmured. "thank you."

she peeked down at him, her fingers threading through his hair. "always."

he exhaled through his nose, closing his eyes briefly at her touch. then, without thinking, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her knee. just because he wanted to.

she stilled slightly, then her fingers curled against his scalp.

"hyunjin."

he looked up, his hands still resting on her legs. "yeah?"

her gaze softened. "can i see it?"

his heart did something funny in his chest.

he stood, suddenly nervous, rubbing the back of his neck. "it’s not finished yet."

she reached for his hand, squeezing gently. "that’s okay."

he hesitated, then nodded. slowly, he stepped aside, letting her stand and move toward the easel.

her eyes widened slightly.

for a long moment, she said nothing, just taking it in.

he chewed on his lip, waiting. "do you like it?"

she turned to him then, and he almost staggered back at the look on her face.

she wasn’t just smiling. she wasn’t just admiring.

she was looking at him the way he looked at her.

like he was something to be treasured.

like she had never felt so loved in her entire life.

"hyunjin," she breathed. "it’s… it’s beautiful."

hyunjin let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

then, before he could say anything, she was in his arms, burying herself into his chest, wrapping around him like she belonged there.

he closed his eyes, arms curling around her, holding her impossibly close.

"it’s you," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. "exactly the way i see you."

and that was all he had ever wanted to do.

...she didn’t let go.

even when the painting stood in front of her like a quiet confession, even when her eyes were still drinking in every delicate brushstroke, she couldn’t bring herself to step away from her lover.

instead, she pressed her face into his chest, arms tightening around his waist.

hyunjin chuckled, his palm smoothing over her back. "baby," he murmured. "aren’t you gonna keep looking?"

"i’ve seen enough," she mumbled, voice muffled against his sweater. "it’s too much."

his brows furrowed slightly. "too much?"

she nodded, inhaling deeply—his scent, the warmth of him, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "hyunjin, my boyfriend, the love of my life, the most dramatic artist to ever exist—"

he snorted. "oh, here we go."

"—has painted me with so much love that i might actually pass out. and it's-"

hyunjin grinned, resting his chin atop her head. "please don’t pass out. i’d have to catch you, and we’d both go down, and then you’d blame me."

"i would. because it would be your fault."

he hummed. "i love how you admit it so easily."

she lifted her head slightly, just enough to peek up at him. her eyes were still shimmering, lined with something fragile. but her lips curled, soft and fond.

"hyunjin, you love me so much," she whispered.

his breath hitched.

he wasn’t sure what it was—maybe the way she said it, like a realization, like an overwhelming truth she was only just coming to terms with. maybe the way she was looking at him, wide-eyed and almost awed, as if she couldn’t believe how much love she was receiving.

but something inside him ached.

he lifted a hand to cup her cheek, brushing his thumb over her skin. "of course i do," he murmured. "you didn’t know?"

she swallowed, her lashes fluttering. "i did— but i didn't think it'd be this.. much!"

"then why do you look like you’re about to cry?"

her lip wobbled. "because—because i love you so much too, and you just—you love me so much, hyunjin, it’s ridiculous."

his heart squeezed.

and then she was rambling, as if the words couldn’t come out fast enough, as if they’d been sitting in her chest, waiting for this moment.

"my boyfriend loves me so much that he paints me like i’m the most precious thing in the world," she whispered, blinking rapidly. "my boyfriend loves me so much that he stares at me like i’m art before i even become art."

the guy bit his lip, trying to fight the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"my boyfriend loves me so much that he took hours to mix the perfect shade for my skin, because he wanted me to glow exactly the way i do in his eyes. my boyfriend loves me so much that he barely blinked the entire time, like he was memorizing me all over again."

she sniffled, voice wobbling. "my boyfriend loves me so much—"

hyunjin burst into laughter.

she gasped, offended. "hyunjin!"

"i’m sorry," he wheezed, pressing his forehead against hers, shoulders shaking. "you’re just—" another laugh bubbled out of him. "you’re so cute, baby. you’re literally giving a whole monologue right now."

her cheeks burned. "it’s not my fault! i’m emotional!"

he softened instantly, his laughter fading into something gentler. "i know," he murmured, tilting her chin up. "i love that you are."

she huffed, her lips pursing, but her eyes were still damp. "well, you did this. this is your fault."

"yeah?" his thumb brushed over her cheek, catching the faintest trace of moisture. "then let me take responsibility."

and before she could say anything else, he kissed her.

soft. slow. full of everything he couldn’t put into words.

her hands curled into his sweater, and he felt her melt, felt her sigh against his lips, felt the warmth of her love spilling into the space between them.

when he pulled back, she blinked up at him, dazed.

"you’re not real," she whispered.

he laughed again, quieter this time. "neither are you."

she exhaled, leaning in to press her face into the crook of his neck.

for a long moment, they just stood there, wrapped up in each other, the painting forgotten in the background.

then, in a whisper—"thank you."

he smiled, his arms tightening around her. "you don’t have to thank me."

"yes, i do." she pulled back just enough to look at him. "for painting me. for looking at me like that. for loving me like this."

his heart swelled.

he kissed her forehead. "always."

she sighed dreamily, resting against his chest again.

and just like that, time slowed.

there was no rush, no urgency—just them, bathed in the golden remnants of daylight, wrapped in love, in laughter, in warmth.

just them, in their little world, where hyunjin’s brush had captured her beauty, but his love had captured her heart.

⤿ 𝑚𝑎𝑠𝘵𝑒𝑟𝘵𝑎𝑔. @its-stayville-forever @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger @woozarts @katsukis1wife @shotngun @reignessance @peskybirdysya @honeyybbuubblleess @ellemir2404 @4ng3l-ch1ld @urlocalmultigroupfan @ashtxrie @minlixyaoi @shuuporanglinos — fill out this form to be added !! ✶

comments, likes, asks and reblogs are always appreciated !! req. are officially closed till the month of june. thank you for reading, hope you liked it <3

[katamari-of-luv]

Every new Spamton Sweepstakes page I've found so far:

(Spoilers if you want to find them for yourself! If I missed something, feel free to add on!)

Clicking the "What's next?" link at the bottom of the main page takes you to /chapter3/, which simply reads "Not applicable." and has an ellipsis for a page title. UPDATE: Holding down the left arrow on your keyboard on this page causes the word "But..." to slide in from the right side of the screen.

Manually inputting /chapter1/ yields the same result (notably without the "But..." -- thank you rollingdanielle for pointing this out), while /chapter2/ reads "Applicable." instead. /chapter4/ has a red pixel slowly fade in at the center of the screen. Clicking that takes you to /chapter4/message/, which appears the same at first glance but actually contains several hidden links under the red pixel:

These link to one of two different six-second audio files: e.mp3 ("fading in" sound effect?) and m.mp3 ("fading out"?). I would love to hear it if anyone else finds a way to translate the "message". The placements of e's and m's don't appear to coincide with either binary or Morse code, but I could very well have missed something. Perhaps something Wingdings-related but I'm only a third of the way done with writing this post and that would be my fifth time pausing to puzzle out this one page. Maybe later.

UPDATE: HOLY SHIT. This comes from convobreaker on Bluesky's very informative thread. The layout of the audio file links correspond to a QWERTY keyboard, and the m.mp3 links match up to letters that can be unscrambled to spell /chapter4/thankyou/. The page is titled "How long did it take her to smile?" and presents you with two boxes to input text and a button to confirm. Pressing it with nothing in either box or anything but a valid email address in the first displays the text "Unknown contact." Pressing it with only a valid email address in the first box gives you the hint "She never smiled?" Filling the first box with an email address and the second with anything at all replaces everything with text reading "Thank you." Presumably the correct answer will send you a response.

On that note, /chapter5/ (titled "back") sends you here:

1 is unclickable, 2 takes you to d.mp3, a six-second drum and organ loop (that I could swear I've heard before-- can anyone identify it?) (UPDATE: Thank you to vividviolence and rollingdanielle! It plays before fighting Berdly for the second and final time in the Snowgrave or Weird Route, and may imply the "Applicable/Not Applicable" text refers to whether a Weird Route is possible in a given chapter.), 3 leads to ma.mp3, a warbling sound effect that fades out towards the end, 4 takes you back to /chapter4/, and 5 is h.mp3, a short acoustic guitar-like clip. It seems like manually inputting any "chapter" pages past 5 only takes you to room-dogcheck (they don't redirect, just display the little white dog).

Upon returning to the main page, clicking the "glitches and secrets Web Ring" banner, and continuing through to the /egg/ page via the "clues" link, a new link can be found embedded in the words "secret cats". /rain/ is another of Noelle's private journal entries, regarding the time she invited Catti over to play a "sillyriffic" Cat Petters minigame together. As per usual, she reminisces on seeing things in video games nobody else is able to replicate (but suspects Kris of knowing about it this time?) The "try it yourself" text leads to a playable version of this minigame at /rarecats/. The green dancing cats bouncing around the screen award points when clicked in accordance with the rarity scale on /rain/. An "angel wing" cat causes a stained glass window to appear onscreen and fade after a few seconds. Clicking that in time brings you to /windows/, a page titled "Aren't you forgetting something?" containing many instances of the same window sprite repeated over and over.

Each window links to a different combination of the same six words. Every page except one brings you to /room-dogcheck/. The correct combination, /lostwheretheforestwouldgrow/, leads to a page titled "ROOTS" which displays a blue tree that slowly floats up and down. It plays a single somber piano note the first three times it's clicked, then sends you back to /windows/.

UPDATE: Thank you to theyloy for tipping me off to this! Clicking the tree three times actually takes you to /window/ with no S. All the windows but one are now scrambled versions of the phrase /thepoorchildren/. Clicking and dragging to "draw" on this page, titled "Therapy", for long enough eventually reveals the red tree the man who gives you eggs hides behind, and clicking that links back to /egg/.

And last but not least, there's a new clickable area in /ramb/. The red desk at the front of the swanky, inviting green room now leads to /romb/, a silent set of wooden doors with the page title "No one will shed a tear for him." Clicking on them plays a door-opening sound effect and causes the screen to go black for a moment, then this text appears:

The text cannot be highlighted, and clicking either of the empty spaces plays the ma.mp3 sound effect associated with Chapter 3 via the /chapter4/message/ page discussed earlier in the post. This is wholly conjecture, but it may be of note that the spaces appear to be the right size to contain the word "egg".

UPDATE: Thank you once again to rollingdanielle! After clicking the door, but before the text appears, you can ctrl+A to click an invisible button floating around the screen. Doing so changes the page title to "You can never defeat us!!! Let's rumble!", plays ma.mp3, and then redirects to /chapter3/. This text could possibly be used in the Lanino and Elnina fight, as the speaker refers to fighting alongside at least one other person and "rumble" could be a pun on thunderstorms.

With that, I've listed off everything I know! Again, you're welcome to reply or reblog with anything I may have missed. Just one more month and Deltarune will be Tomorrow...

[robo-writing]

Kinktober Day Fifteen: Old Man! Logan - Hand Kink

| Kinktober Masterlist |

It’s the way you stare at them when he’s driving, how your thighs press together when they flex around the wheel, how you bite your lip while his fingers drum across the dashboard. It’s how you shiver when he pulls you close to him, thumb rubbing against your hip. It’s meant to relax you, but from the way you flush he can tell it has the opposite effect—you might not tell him, but he knows for a fact that you’ve got a thing for his hands. Kind of obvious really, you barely do anything to hide it, and if you are, you’re doing a real shit job of it. Between fiddling with his hands absent-mindedly and tracing each vein that runs through, he was bound to say something.

“You like my hands princess?”

You suddenly stop playing with his digits, suddenly shy at the question. “Yeah, I think they’re nice.”

“You know that’s not what I’m asking,” he says, turning towards you. “Don’t be shy, you can tell me.”

You pause, eyes darting anywhere that isn’t Logan’s face—that is, until he holds you by the chin and stares you down. Unable to turn away, he asks you for the last time and from the low tone in his voice, you know he expects an answer, nodding yes.

“Oh? Do tell, I’m curious,” he chuckles, and you find yourself lost for words.

“W-Well, they’re big, and strong,” you begin, and he nods his head for you to continue. “And they feel good when you—”

You stop yourself, suddenly aware of how intently he stares you down. Eyes roam your face, a smug grin barely hidden behind the salt and pepper of his beard, amusement written on his expression. His free hand dances across your thigh, fingertips drumming against them slowly.

“When I what?” he asks, squeezing at your flesh. “Go on baby, I didn’t tell you to stop.”

You look down for a split second, the width of his palm against your leg making you just that bit weaker. “They feel good when you touch me.”

“Touch you? Where?”

He’s teasing you, you know it—he takes pleasure in how speechless you become at the sight of his hands moving higher, how you part your legs to accommodate him. His thumb rests centimeters away from where you need him, your heart picking up with each touch.

“Focus darling,” he breathes. “Where do I touch you?”

You take him by the wrist, leading him to your ever-moistening pussy. “Here, Logan.”

His fingers dance across your fabric-clad mound, dragging his thumb up to where your clit throbs against it. You press yourself against his palm, dragging yourself against him with little resistance, his eyes darkening at the sight of you grinding yourself on his hand like a needy little whore.

“That’s right baby,” he says, his free hand playing with your bottom lip. He feels your pussy clench at the nickname, pressing a kiss to your temple as he continues. “My big, strong hands makin’ you feel good?”

“Yes, yes,” you whine, scooting forward against his palm. The sight of it disappearing under you, the pressure of his fingers, the drag of your panties against you makes your head spin, moans slipping past your lips.

He admires that about you, how easily you fall prey to his charms, even if it’s something so simple as touching you—he hasn’t even put his fingers inside you yet.

His palm moves faster against your cunt, thumb slipping past your lips to play with your tongue. You’re so pliant in his arms, so focused on pleasure, so focused on the weight of his fingers in your mouth and his hands working against your clit—

“You gonna come for me doll?” He breathes, laughing when you nod your head shakily. “Go ahead then—show me how much you really love my hands.”

[munsonsmixtapes]

The Magic Touch

Simon “Ghost” Riley x yapper!reader

Y��all liked this pairing so much that I decided to make another fic! Thanks @the-witty-pen-name for the request.

Summary: You give Simon a PowerPoint presentation about something that you’re very passionate about.

cw: mention of Ticketmaster

You stand in front of Simon who’s sitting on your couch. You have your computer hooked up to the TV and your powerpoint is all ready to present with your pointer and everything. Simon is nothing but amused, ready to hang on to your every word like always. You’ve been making these powerpoints for a couple weeks and he always gets excited to see what topic you’re going to educate him on next.

“Alright, tonight’s topic is,” you pause and Simon leans over, drumming on the coffee table for dramatic effect as you go to your next slide. “Ticketmaster,” you finish. Simon has very little knowledge of the company but he does know that it’s public enemy number one. “This may or may not be because I just lost out on tickets and I’m still bitter. Anyway.”

You go to the next slide and explain the history of the company and how quickly it became popular, getting progressively more angry as you explain how they were the ones who decided to start charging fees on top of the already outrageous ticket price. How they have so much control over tickets and love events as a whole.

As you get more angry, Simon feels your rage as well. He’s upset for you and he wishes there was something he could do. He hates seeing you so worked up.

“And now, they’ll hike up the prices because of the demand, so one second, the ticket will be a hundred dollars and then you check later and it’s doubled. And don’t even get me started on how you’ll go into the presale and there will somehow already be resale tickets.”

You’re fuming now and Simon takes it upon himself to defuse the fire. He understands your frustration, he does, and he thinks your feelings are totally valid, but he hates seeing you so worked up like this.

“Alright, let’s take some deep breaths baby.” You both take a breath in and then it out before his hands rest on your shoulders, giving him a loving squeeze. “You said you didn’t get the tickets, how about I buy them for you?”

“It’s like you didn’t listen to anything I just said,” you roll your eyes.”

“I was listening, honey, I just want to help you. I hate seeing you so upset. Now come here.” He takes your hand and leads you over to the couch where he was just sitting. He opens his computer that’s sitting on the coffee table and has you log into your account on the website.

Once that’s done, he goes into the presale and you give him the code that you’ve memorized by now then shut your eyes tight as he clicks on some seats in the exact section you’ve been trying to get all morning.

“And done,” he says and your eyes fly open, seeing that Simon did in fact get the tickets you’ve been losing your mind over trying to buy for hours. And he did it in just a couple clicks.

“What the fuck, Simon?” You shove his shoulder but can’t keep the smile off his face.

“How about a kiss in exchange for working so hard?” You roll your eyes again and press your lips to his and he can’t help but smile into it, so happy to have you in his life, that he gets to call you is.

“How was that?”

“Payment accepted. Now how about we get you a pretty outfit to go with those tickets?” He asks, opening another tab to go to your favorite clothing website and you lean your head on his shoulder because you really are one lucky woman to have a man who has the magic touch.

[villainousauthor]

"This might be a new low for you." Hero's voice is firm, unwavering. Villain looks up from their delicate work, crossing of wires and fuses. They were hoping to get this explosive planted quickly and efficiently, though Hero's presence may delay their goal.

"I didn't know you previously held such a high opinion of me. I'm flattered." Villain's speaks in a deadpan tone.

Hero crosses the room, standing before Villain, arms folded in irritation. "A government building? Really? I thought my opinion of you couldn't get lower, but you dropped the bar into hell." Villain looks up, meeting their stern glower. Their fingers drum across the wooden desk the explosives sit on, holding Hero's gaze.

"Is this supposed to have any effect on me? I'm used to your scorn." They stand up, rising to Hero's height. "Either try to stop me or get lost. If you try to fight me, though, know I won't go easy on you this time."

This was too important. They didn't have time to play their usual games with Hero, or worry about their disappointment.

"I can tell." Hero speaks, sitting down on the desk, as if uncaring about the literal ticking bomb inches away. "You have that look on your face. Like you're thinking hard about something." They sigh as if exhausted. "Trying to fight you when you get like this never goes well."

"So leave-"

"Nope." Hero crosses their legs, uncrosses them, and leans back, meeting Villain's stare again. They're forcing a show of relaxation, but Villain doesn’t miss the way their limbs shake, or the way fingers won't stay still. "I have a better idea." They continue.

"Do go on."

"You go ahead and finished setting up these explosives and high tail it out of here like a coward, and I'll stay here." Hero's tone is like that of someone discussing the weather, or the latest sports game.

Villain blinks, opens their mouth, and closes their mouth before finally finding their words.

"What? You do know what a bomb is, right? I know your skull is a bit thick, but you do realize what would happen in that case?"

Hero makes a show of a fake explosion with their hand, complete with an auditory Woosh.

"I'd be turned into paste. Probably. If your weapons skills are even that good." They try to keep their voice in that same casual tone, but yet again, Villain doesn't miss the slight tremble. They're frightened. None of this makes sense.

Villain pauses for a moment. "Are you suicidal? Is this a cry for help because I'm sure this Hero gig of yours pays well enough for some therapy-"

"Nothing like that." Hero interrupts with a shake of their head and a laugh devoid of humor. "I appreciate the concern, but no, that's not what's going on here."

Staying quiet for a moment, Villain waits for them to elaborate.

"I'm calling your bluff." They say simply. Like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "It's easier than trying to fight you and getting my ass kicked."

Frowning, Villain speaks a bit firmer, still confused though. "You're what?"

"I am calling your bluff. You can go ahead and blow up this building, but I'll be right here when it detonates." Hero smirks, like they've figured villain out.

Standing up taller, they lean over the wooden table and grab one of Hero's shoulders harshly. Their face becomes something wild.

"Are you really so self-centered, so arrogant, that you somehow- somehow in that stupid mind of yours think-" They exhale harshly through their nose and let go. "You think that your stupid threat of self destruction is enough to make me change my mind? You think your life matters to me, at all?" Their voice gets harsher as they speak, volume raising slightly. Why would Hero even try this?

"Okay then. So prove how worthless my life is to you." Hero shrugs. "You go ahead and set the bomb off, and I'll stay here." Hero tries to hide their smug smile. Despite their fear, they know they've caught Villain off guard.

Pinching their own face so hard they worry their nails may cut skin, Villain breathes loudly.

"You realize I could turn this back around on you, right? I could call your bluff. You wish to risk your life like this?"

"Call my bluff then." They challenge. "Unless you defuse this bomb, I'm not leaving." Hero raises their chin defiantly, eyes dagger sharp.

Villain rounds the table, grabbing Hero roughly, jostling them with a grip hard enough to ache. Hero's face doesn't change. "You think I can't drag you out of here? That I couldn't possibly knock you out and take you with me?" And then give them lecture filled with ire boarding on something violent later.

"You can certainly try," They keep that rebellious smile on their face, "but I'd fight you tooth and nail the whole way, and is that how you want to spend your precious escape time?"

Sneering, Villain can't decide if they want to shove them away or grip them tighter. "I hate you. I hate you so much." They all but snarl at them. If the imminent threat of explosion didn't kill Hero, they're sure the look on their enemy's face would.

Still, Hero pushes. "No, you don't. If you did, you'd already be out the door. You'd be killing two birds with one stone." Hero's hand reaches for the beeping package of wires, hand trembling, but they grab it nonetheless. They shove it to Villain roughly.

"Prove you hate me. Or defuse the bomb." They keep on the act of confidence, but that underlying dread is still in their eyes, the deep seated fear of what will happen.

Idiotic as always, Villain decides. Like there was any chance Villain would do anything else but spare them. Their stupid, infuriating Hero.

"I can't stand you." They growl, ripping one wire from the fuse.

[feelbokkie]

Bluebell

"I had nowhere else I could go"

☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

💐Bokkie's Garden M.list💐

genre: non!idol au, angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: swearing, cheating (mentioned), best friends fighting, drinking (barely), heart break

pov: 2nd person

pairing: jisung & reader

description: your best friend is trying to protect you from a secret that he knows will hurt you. the two of you get into a drunken fight with words better left unsaid. when the truth comes out, you can only think of one person to turn to.

word count: 8,067

a/n: i am so sorry for what you're about to read...it's kind of based on the most diabolical thing i read on twitter recently. or at least one particular line is...everything else was already in motion. you'll see what i mean later

©feelbokkie (2025) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

"Are you guys driving up there or taking the train?" Felix asks before taking a sip of his drink—some mixed cocktail that he had already been drinking when you got to the bar.

"The train is faster and cheaper. Plus, I think it's more romantic." You lean forward and rest your elbow on the table, placing your chin in one hand. With the other, you stir your drink with your straw.

The bar is unsurprisingly quiet for a Thursday evening. Besides your group, only a few other people are lounging around. A couple sits in the corner, enjoying each other's company. A man sits alone with his head in his hands at the counter, a couple of empty bottles of soju sit in front of him. The bar owner has decent music playing that livens the atmosphere. On the TV, a baseball game plays quietly.

Every Thursday, the 9 of you meet up for drinks. Afterward, You all go out for dinner and catch up on what's going on in your lives. Thursday, as unconventional of a day to go out, is the only day when all of you can get together.

Seungmin, Minho, and Changbin are engrossed in a conversation on the other side of the table about something that happened at Changbin's job yesterday. You're on the other end of the table talking to Hyunjin, Jeongin, and Felix about your upcoming trip to Busan with your boyfriend this weekend. Chan sits in the middle, contributing a little bit to both conversations. How he's able to participate in both is something you can't even begin to understand. Your best friend, Jisung, sits beside you quietly drinking beer while completely lost in thought. He checked out of the conversation a few minutes ago, the effects of the beer most likely overtaking his mind.

"Do you think this is going to be the trip?" Hyunjin excitedly drums along to the song that's playing from the speakers on the table, a knowing smile creeps onto his face.

"The trip?" Jeongin furrows his eyebrows as he tries to figure out what Hyunjin is hinting at.

"I think he means," Chan sets his drink on the table and pauses for a moment, looking at you. "do you think he's going to pop the question?"

Jisung scoffs beside you. When you turn to see what's going on with him, he's facing forward, staring at nothing and taking a large sip of his drink.

"In Busan?" Jeongin's exaggerated response pulls your attention back to the conversation.

"You're only saying that because you're from there and are immune to the true beauty and romance of the city." Felix pats Jeongin's shoulder lightly.

"Yeah, but there are better places to propose...like Jeju or Chuncheon. Busan? Where are you guys going to go? Gwangalli Beach—Ow!" Jeongin's hand flies to the back of his head and turns to Chan, betrayed and surprised by the sudden smack.

"It was a spontaneous trip right?" Hyunjin sits up quickly, shifting the direction of the conversation.

"Yeah,"

Your boyfriend came home last week and surprised you with train tickets. Three days and two nights in Busan. The two of you have gone on trips before, but they were trips the two of you planned together over time. It was completely unexpected, but not unwanted.

Things between the two of you had been awkward for the past couple of weeks. It was almost like he was avoiding you. He'd get up earlier and leave for work. Some nights he'd stay later to work overtime, leaving you to have dinner alone. Texts and calls were less frequent while arguments seemed to happen every time you were together. One time he got mad when he found you holding his phone when you were trying to find a picture the two of you took together from a previous date. Another time, he was complaining about how much time you were spending on your phone because the bill went up. You were worried that he'd come home one day and break up with you. But your worries dissipated when he mentioned the trip and he explained that's why things have been off.

"Well, if I was dating someone and I was ready to take that relationship to the next level, I'd plan a weekend getaway and pop the question." Hyunjin leans back into his chair, stretching his arms above his head.

Beside you, Jisung mumbles something under his breath that you didn't catch. Chan shoots him a confused look before joining the other conversation.

"So Y/n," Felix sets his glass on the table and rests both of his elbows on the table. His chin rests in his hands as a smile spreads across his face. "If he does propose, would you say yes?"

"Hey, don't get their hopes up like that. What if he just wanted to take them on a trip?" Jeongin warns.

"Yeah, but they've been dating long enough that if he did propose, it wouldn't be completely unexpected," Hyunjin argues.

"Well, even if it doesn't end up being a proposal, I still think that you two make the cutest couple. Don't you guys agree?" Felix

"I think it's all fucking bullshit," Jisung mumbles louder. This time, you hear him.

"Okay, what the hell is your problem?" You snap. You move so fast you nearly knock your cup over.

Jisung doesn't look at you. Instead, he takes another sip of his drink and continues to face forward. He lets out a refreshed sigh as he finishes his drink. He sets his cup on the table a little too forcibly, making a loud thud that causes the conversation on the other end of the table to quiet down and look at what's going on. "Nothing,"

"Really?" You scoff in disbelief, turning your body towards him fully. "Because you've been weird pretty much the entire time I've been here and you've been making snarky comments the entire time."

Jisung squeezes his eyes shut, creating three little lines between his eyebrows. His lips press together into a fine line like he's trying to stop himself from saying something. After a moment, he lets out a deep sigh and opens his eyes. "Just forget it. It's nothing."

"No, you've been weird with me for the past couple of weeks and now you're sitting there muttering things under your breath. If you have a problem with me, just tell me."

"Drop it, Y/n."

“No, no, no. Clearly, something is on your mind and you need to say something about it. Go ahead, the floor is all yours.”

You continue to stare at Jisung, hoping that he’ll at least look at you. But still, his eyes are locked forward at something the one spot on the wall left bare. His jaw clenched, his arms crossed across his chest, his leg bouncing rapidly under the table, and heat radiating off of his body.

While you spend most of your free time with your boyfriend. Whatever remaining bits of freedom from work and general life admin is spent with Jisung. The two of you met back in university and became fast friends. The two of you did everything together. You spent countless hours in the library trying to complete assignments. You’d walk each other to class even if the other didn’t have classes until later in the afternoon. You were there to hype each other up with budding romances. And you were each other’s shoulder to cry on when those relationships failed. When graduation rolled around, the two of you got a place together. Which you only stayed at until you moved in with your boyfriend nearly two years ago. And until recently, the two of you remained close.

It came out of nowhere. You didn’t think much of it when he canceled on you while you were nearly at his place for your weekly Monday night movie night. He said he wasn’t feeling good and even after you offered to check on him, he was adamant about you not coming over. And when he couldn’t meet up during both of your lunch breaks on Wednesday, you figured he was still sick. So when he when he didn’t show up for the Thursday night meeting with the group, you brushed it off. He’d still answer your calls and texts but not for long. You thought something was wrong when the same thing happened the following week. You wondered if you had done something wrong to hurt his feelings but when you asked, he denied it. Still, he found excuses to not meet up this week. Today is the first time you’ve seen him in three weeks.

Sensing the sudden tension at the table, the conversation between Chan, Minho, Changbin, and Seungmin dies. The rest of the group shift awkwardly in their seats as Felix leans over towards the other end of the table a tells them what’s happening. Chan looks between the two of you before saying something to Seungmin, who quickly disappears from the table. Chan clears his throat and cautiously pulls your and Jisung’s drinks away. “Maybe we should switch over to water, yeah?”

“I’m not drunk,” Jisung waves off the older man.

“Then why are you being such an ass?” You snap, quickly getting annoyed with your best friend.

“Hey, maybe you two should do this when there’s not a single drop of alcohol in your systems.” Minho interrupts this time.

“But Ji has something very important to tell me.” You turn your body towards Jisung, crossing your arms over your chest. “Maybe it has something to do with why he’s been avoiding me for almost 3 weeks.”

Jisung, still refusing to break eye contact with the wall, lays both of his hands palm down on the table. You don’t miss the slightest twitch in his jaw as he clenches his teeth. His leg is still bouncing under the table. His hands slowly ball up into small fists. “Drop. It.”

“Let’s play a game or something!” Felix claps his hands together loudly, hoping to cut the tension spreading in the room.

“If you’re mad at me, just say so. Don’t sit there all moody and muttering shit under your breath.”

“Leave it alone.” He uncurls his hands and lays them flat again.

You stare at your best friend one more time, hoping he will look at you. Moments pass and Jisung is still refusing to look at you. Instead, he continues to stare at the wall with his leg bouncing as he clenches and unclenches his hand.

Annoyed and over whatever temper tantrum Jisung is having, you grab your phone off the table, take some cash out of the back of your phone case, and toss it on the table. “Fine, whatever. I have to be up early for my trip tomorrow—“

“Don’t,” Jisung grabs your wrist to stop you from leaving. He finally looks up at you. His eyes are large and rimmed with tears threatening to fall out. After a moment, his hand slides down your wrist into your hand. “Please don’t go on that trip.”

“Why not?” You huff, still annoyed at whatever is going on with Jisung but still curious enough to know what's going on in your drunk best friend's mind.

His grip on your hand tightens as if that'll be enough to prevent you from leaving. But as he continues to stare at you, his eyes scanning your face, his mouth stays open, loosely hanging in an empty expression of despair. Like whatever he wants to say is on the tip of his tongue but some invisible force is preventing him from saying it.

You scoff as you yank your hand out of his and march straight towards the door. “Whatever,“

“He’s cheating on you.”

Your body reacts before your brain does. You freeze, hand on the doorknob while you try to process the words that just left Jisung's mouth to no avail. It's as if he's speaking a language you don't understand. They just keep bouncing around in your head as your brain tries to decipher the meaning of the words.

He's cheating on you.

Not a single person in the room breathes while you try to process Jisung’s words. The couple in the corner stops talking, trying to see what is going on with your group. The man fighting his demons has apparently paused the battle while trying to figure out what is going on. The bar owner clinks glasses together as she tries to pretend she’s in the kitchen. You're not exactly sure which one of your friends, maybe Felix, mutters a string of swears under their breath.

With your heart drumming in your chest, you turn around back to the table. Seungmin is back at the table, frozen behind Chan while holding two cups of water and his mouth hanging slightly open. Felix sits quietly with his tongue in his cheek, arms crossed over his chest like he's restraining himself but he can't hide the murderous blaze that's burning in his eyes. Hyunjin and Jeongin aren't any better with flared nostrils and muscles flicking angrily in their jaws as they both stare off into the distance. Chan watches you with a tenderness in his eyes that almost hurts. His hands betray him by exposing how angry he is with white knuckles and his hands rest clenched on the table. Minho stares at the half-empty bottle in front of him with his usual expressionless face, his hands fidgeting on the table like he's not sure which emotion should take priority. Changbin stares at you with brows furrowing in shared concern. Your eyes finally lock in on Jisung. His gaze carefully studying your face, searching for what isn't being said. Or maybe he was searching for a specific reaction.

"That's not funny." You whisper as you walk back to the table slowly. Your voice is tight and hoarse as you choke back tears. "Why the hell would you lie about something like that?"

"Why the fuck would I lie about that?" Jisung's eyes grow impossibly wide as his brows shoot up in surprise.

Your brain refuses to wrap around the fact that your boyfriend would cheat on you. The man who would give you his shoes when yours became unbearable on a night out. The man who took time off work to take care of you when you got sick. The man who could tell when you were having a bad day and would come home from work with your favorite food and ice cream and watch cheesy movies with you until you felt better. The man who will pause the show he's watching to explain the entire plot to you from the beginning so you can understand the joke he's about to tell you. The first man you told 'I love you' to and meant it full heartedly.

"I don't know, you tell me." You laugh dryly.

"Y/n, I would never try to hurt you deliberately like that." His voice is soft, almost like he's talking to a child trying to get you to understand.

"If he's cheating on me, why would he plan to take me away for the weekend?"

"Because he's a piece of shit." Someone, possibly Jeongin, grumbles.

His lips press together as he pauses for a moment. He lets out a deep breath that you're not even sure he knew he was holding in. He stands up and walks up to you. He places his hands on your shoulders and grips tightly. "I saw him myself. Three weeks ago. I saw him...being really friendly with some woman when I went to get our dinner for movie night."

"So...you want me to believe that my best friend allegedly caught my boyfriend cheating on me three fucking weeks ago and didn't say anything?"

“I know, I know but I didn’t want to be the one to hurt you. I confronted him that same night and told him that either he tells you or I do.”

“Hey, maybe we should—” Chan starts to try to calm everyone down but Changbin puts his hand on his shoulder to get him to stop.

“Did you guys know?” Your voice cracks, tears stabbing at the back of your eyes again as you turn to the rest of your friends. A chorus of denials and a wave of shaking heads fills you with a strange reassurance. Especially Minho, Jisung's other best friend. If he didn't even confide in the only other person he's closest to then maybe... "So it's just your word against his?"

"Well considering he hasn't even said anything, it's just my word. And that should tell you a lot." His tone, while slightly sarcastic, is gentle like he's trying to get you to understand.

"I think you're full of shit." You spit. Jisung's hands drop from your shoulders, falling defeatedly to his sides. He gawks at you in disbelief, like you're suddenly a stranger. "I think something else is going on with you and you want me to be as miserable as you. So you're making up some stupid story about my boyfriend cheating on me."

"Y/n—"

"No, no," Jisung waves off Minho and presses his lips together into a fine line. He walks back over to his seat and slumps into it. He refuses to meet your eyes, instead staring at the floor. "If they want to throw a tantrum and choose some piece of shit asshole who obviously does not give one single fuck about them, let them. I don't care anymore."

"Han—"

"I have to go get ready for my trip." Your voice cracks as you look back to the ceiling, blinking back tears. You let out a deep, shaky breath while holding back screams of frustration. You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head before storming off to the door again, this time determined to leave.

"Whatever, just don't come crying to me when he breaks your heart!"

💐💐💐

Hwang Hyunjin was wrong, it was not the trip.

There was no fanciful proposal on Gwangalli Beach. But that doesn't mean the two of you didn't have an amazing trip.

You didn't sleep well the night before. You couldn't help staring at your boyfriend as he slept peacefully beside you while you kept thinking about what Jisung told you. Cheating would explain his recent behavior. The late nights, the private calls, the sudden change in his appearance. But as the trip went on, the more at ease you felt. Most of those behavioral changes also coincide with him planning the trip. Working overtime to afford the trip. Private calls with hotels and excursions to make sure everything is booked correctly. And it's perfectly normal for people to want to change their style and appearance.

He really did go all out for the trip. The two of you were only going to be there for three days, but it felt like a week. He booked a nice hotel with a beautiful view of Haeundae Beach. On the first day the two of you at lunch near the hotel and just wandered around, taking in your surroundings. Later that night you went on an evening cruise to look at the night viewpoints and fireworks after dinner. The next day, you two ate breakfast at the hotel and then went on a guided K-drama day tour. You got to spend most of the day pretending like you were a lead in a drama. It was more of an event for you, but your boyfriend had no problem taking pictures of you and pretending to be your main love interest. That night, you went to BIFF Square and ate street food for dinner. You even had time to buy some souvenirs. There wasn't much time left on the last day before you had to catch the train back to Seoul. So you went and had breakfast near the Sea Life Busan Aquarium and spent a couple of hours with the sea creatures, taking cute matching photos with them and even petting a sea lion. For lunch, you did a local cuisine cooking class and ate what you made. After that, all you had time left to do was to grab some food to go and take it with you on the train home.

The perfect weekend getaway.

"Wow, we got home just in time. It's really pouring out there." You close the front door, making sure to lock it before making your way back into the apartment.

It started sprinkling when the train pulled into Seoul. It started to rain a little more during your taxi ride back home. A few minutes ago, you started hearing the loud thuds of rainfall so you went to check how bad it was. You're not surprised, it being monsoon season and all, but you're glad the two of you didn't wait for a later train. Neither of you packed umbrellas and that short distance between the car and your apartment building would have been enough to soak both of you.

You walk quickly back to the kitchen and pull the whistling kettle off the stove. You pull some snacks out from the fridge and set them on a plate before pouring two cups of lemon and ginger tea. You're still in the clothes that you traveled in. You wanted to relax for a bit before settling out of vacation mode. You knew you would be tired after your trip so you requested tomorrow off. But still, being home is back to reality. You have so much laundry to do after this weekend and general organizing to do.

"Y/n, come here for a second." Your boyfriend calls from the living room.

"Okay," You put the cups and plate on a tray and bring them to the living room. You set the tray down on the coffee table. You offer your boyfriend a cup, which he politely declines before you nestle down on the couch with a cup. You can't hide the smile spreading across your face before taking a sip of your tea.

Your boyfriend sits across from you, rubbing the back of his neck. He's also still in his travel clothes. His hoodie is long gone, tossed haphazardly across the arm of the couch but he's still wearing the matching Busan shirt that you asked him to wear home with you. The two of you sit there in somewhat comfortable silence. After a couple of minutes, he clears his throat and looks you in the eyes. "I think it's time we end this."

"Wha...what?" Your voice quivers. Something in you cracks immediately. You're not if it's your heart or your soul. For all you know, it could be the tea cup in your hands. You lower the cup into your lap to keep your shaking hands from spilling it.

"This...this relationship is just...it's not working anymore." He admitted. There was something in his tone of voice that caught you. Like he was revealing something obvious.

"What do you mean?" Your voice cracks. You set your cup back on the table, no longer trusting your shaky figure. Pressure builds up behind your eyes but they stay dry.

"I just mean..." He sighs before readjusting his position on the couch. One foot is firmly planted on the floor while the other gets partially tucked under him. His body is turned more towards you. He takes one of your hands into his and gently strokes the back like he has hundreds of times over the years. "Look, I loved you at one point and now I don't. People change. Feelings change. That's just the way of life."

You yank your hand away from him, almost as if he burned you. "That doesn't make any sense. When did you—"

"A few months ago."

"A few months ago?"

"There's...um, there's no way around this so I'm just going to come out and say it. I've been seeing someone else."

"Jisung was telling the truth..." You whisper to yourself. The pressure behind your eyes builds up more, and your chest starts to ache like something heavy is crushing it.

"Y/n, I know this must be difficult to hear—"

"If you've been..." You swallow hard, trying to get rid of the lump forming in your throat. "If you knew you were going to break up with me, why did we go to Busan?"

"Well," He chuckles nervously. His eyes begin to shift around the apartment, not focusing on anything in particular. He licks his dry lips before looking back at you. Something almost indescribable in his eyes. An apologetic look with a mischievous glint hiding behind it. "You normally give a dog one more good day before putting them down."

"Oh my God,"

Whatever little air that still in the room is gone. Sucked up into some black hole that refuses to swallow you as well. Your chest feels hollow as whatever cracked earlier shatters into small bits of dust also being sucked into the black hole. The ache in your chest grows into a sharp burn now that there's more space to attack. And still, your eyes remain dry.

"I know we share the apartment and everything but—"

"I...I...I can't do this right now. I can't be here. I—I—I need to get out of here." You force yourself off of the couch and all but run to the front door.

"Y/n—"

💐💐💐

You’re not sure how long you’ve been walking around aimlessly. It’s dark outside, the only light coming from cars, streetlights, and nearby buildings is not enough to help you navigate the streets through the heavy rain. You’re soaked to the bone, having grabbed nothing when you left earlier. You didn't even stop to put on proper shoes, leaving you to walk through the streets in your house slippers. You lost one a while ago and kicked off the other one in frustration. Walking barefoot doesn’t hurt as much anymore with your feet as numb as you are right now.

You still haven’t cried. Your life as you know has shattered into a million pieces but you know you don’t deserve to cry. You were warned and you chose to ignore it. Now you have to suffer.

You’re not sure where to go. Most of your friends live on the other side of town. If you tried to walk to their house, you’d show up in the morning if you’re lucky. You can’t remember if you took your phone out of your pocket or not. Even if you didn’t it’s either dead or broken from all of the rain so you can’t order an Uber. You’re certain you don’t have your wallet. You remember putting it in the front of your backpack after you got your train ticket earlier so you wouldn’t lose either of them. You haven’t seen a single bus for a while. Not even one of the night buses, so even if you had your wallet you couldn’t take one. Only one person lives within walking distance from your apartment. And while you’re certain you strayed too far from the path to his apartment, he most likely doesn’t want to see you.

All the warmth has long since left your body, leaving you shivering and wrapping your arms around yourself. Part of you wants to give up. What you can still feel in your body is exhausted. Another part of you needs to keep going.

So you do. Your legs walking almost robotically down the street. Into a building across the street from a 24-hour convivence store that you vaguely recognize. They take you to an elevator where your hands, now also taking a life of their own, press various buttons: one to call the elevator another to close the door, and the final one takes you up the elevator. Once you get to the floor your body wants to go to, your legs are off again twisting and turning a few corners. They stop when they reach a door. Apartment 914. Your arms spring back to life leaving two firm knocks on the door. Before your brain can catch up and realize where you are, the door swings open.

Jisung stands in front of you in an oversized faded long-sleeve I Want to Eat Your Pancreas shirt that you two found thrifting one day paired with black sweatpants. He chews on his lower lip subconsciously, one eyebrow raised and head cocked while he stares at you.

“Y/n, what are you…Wait, you're drenched. Did you walk in the storm?” Jisung doesn't hesitate pulling you into his apartment and shutting the door behind you.

“I had nowhere else I could go.” You whisper. Or at least, it feels like a whisper. Your voice is dull and distant, almost like you're not even there.

Jisung leaves you in the entryway and disappears further into his apartment. A couple of seconds later, Jisung reappears with a large towel. You reach out to take it from him but he ignores your hand, wrapping the towel around you himself. He hurriedly dries your head first, making to give extra attention to your hair. When he finishes drying your hair the best he can, he pulls the towel down over your torso. He helps pat you down with the damp towel as best as he can.

“Where are your shoes?” He asks incredulously, nearly yelling and waking up his neighbors.

You look down at your feet and wiggle your numb toes. You haven't felt your feet in so long, that you forgot that you lost your shoes.

“Probably in the Han River by now.” You joke, your voice hollow and empty, as though there is nothing left inside. Maybe there isn't anymore. Maybe your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—took everything in those few minutes.

Jisung watches you for a moment, trying to read you. The corner of his eyes soften, three faint lines appear between his brows as he pouts at you. He's beyond worried. You show up unexpectedly in the middle of the night sopping wet with rain water like a zombie from a horror movie. Only, you're not trying to eat his brains. You're not doing much of anything. You're paler than he's used to seeing you, even in the winter. The usual brightness in your eyes that he's grown accustomed to faded away, leaving a dull and lifeless gaze. He's not even completely sure you're actually with him right now. For all he knows, he could have fallen asleep on his couch while watching TV and is currently dreaming.

Noticing you starting to zone out a bit more, Jisung taps your cheek to get your attention. At the first tap, he immediately yanks his hand away, staring at it for a moment before turning back to you. Slowly, he moves his hand to your face. He gently places his palm on your cheek. His hand, warm and soft, rests there for a second while his eyes widen in alarm. His other hand flies up to your forehead. “Hey, you’re ice cold.”

Jisung runs his hand through his hair as he looks around his apartment for a moment, looking for—who knows what—before pulling you away from the entrance and further into the warmth. With his hand in yours, grip firm like he'll lose you if he doesn't, he tugs you along with him as he walks to the bathroom. He quickly walks over to the shower and turns it on, letting the water warm up before he moves around the bathroom. He moves around quickly, almost panicked, as he pulls you behind him so he can grab your stuff under the cupboard: the stuff you normally use for showers. Out of habit, Jisung bought them the first shopping trip he went on after you moved out. Now they sit waiting for you just in case. You've only used them a handful of times since then when you went straight to his place to hang out after work.

Something else cracks inside you as you watch your best friend flutter around the bathroom. The two of you fought four days ago. It was probably the worst fight the two of you have ever had. It was definitely the first real fight the two of you have gotten into with each other. And looking back at it you were the worst offender. He tried to warn you about your boyfriend and you accused him of lying. Han Jisung. Your best friend. The one person who you know for a fact has never told you a single lie the entire time that you've known him. You chose your boyfriend over him and yet, here he is trying his best to take care of you when he should have told you to fuck off and slammed his door in your face.

"Ha-Hanji..." You whimper, your jaw trembling as you grasp the hemp of his shirt with your free hand.

"Hm...?" His back is still to you as he sticks his hand under the water, checking to see how hot it is.

You sniffle one...two...three times to keep the tears welling up in your eyes from falling. But no amount of sniffling can stop the tear that briskly escapes, running down your face as quickly as the rain falls from the sky. More tears run down your face as you grip more of Jisung's shirt. Weakness, exhaustion, and all of the emotions that you haven't let yourself feel for the past few hours finally take over your body, causing your knees to collapse. Jisung quickly spins around and catches you before you hit the floor hard. You open your mouth to speak but instead, a choked sob escapes from somewhere deep inside you. Jisung doesn't say anything as he drops your hand and snakes his arms around you in a tight embrace. Like he can squeeze all of the pain and heartache away. Or at the very least, absorb it so you don't have to suffer more than you already have.

“I-I’m s-s-sorry,” You gasp between sobs, trying to fit words in when you can.

“H-hey, it’s okay. I don’t care about that.” You're not sure how it's possible, but Jisung hugs you tighter as you gasp between cries, barely able to catch the breath needed for the next. He's thankful that your cries are drowning out his own sniffling as he rests his chin on your shoulder. "I got you now, okay?"

The two of you sit like that for a while in the ambiance of the shower and your tears. Or maybe it's a few minutes. You're not entirely sure how much time is passing. All you know is that today is the longest day of your life so far. Jisung doesn't rush or shush you. He lets you cry and alternates between rubbing and patting your back while he hums one of your favorite songs as he tries to console you. Eventually, you calm down enough to revert back to sniffling.

"Y/n...you're going to get sick," Jisung calls softly as he loosens his hold on you. He leans back a bit so you can meet his red, glassy yet dry eyes. He pulls his sleeve into the palm of his hand and pats your face dry. “Let's get you out of these wet clothes and then you can take a hot shower to warm up a bit, yeah?”

Out of tears and low on energy, you pull yourself out of Jisung's arms and nod as you rub your eyes with the back of your hands. Jisung stands up just and helps you pull yourself off of the floor. He puts the rest of your things in the shower for you. He quickly puts a fresh towel on the rack for you before he leaves you alone in the bathroom, closing the door tightly behind him.

You take one deep, labored breath before peeling off your wet clothes and leaving them in a soggy pile on the floor near the door. You waste no time walking into the steaming hot shower. The shock from the temperature change stings against your skin at first but the pain quickly subsides as your body adapts to the warmth draping over you. You stand there for a moment letting the water hit you as you stare at the shower walls, tinted blue from Jisung's new shower curtains. They were green when you lived with him because of an argument you won.

"Green is calming and so are showers so it just makes more sense."

Knock, knock.

“Y/n," Jisung cautiously calls into the bathroom, not wanting to completely invade your privacy. "I'm leaving some clothes for you on the counter.”

You mumble out a string of words that you hope are some version of a 'thank you' before you hear the door click shut again.

💐💐💐

When you step out of the bathroom roughly 20 minutes later in the clothes Jisung left for you, a pair of your sweat pants and a shirt you left at his apartment for sleepovers, you find Jisung sitting outside the bathroom with another towel in his lap. He slides his phone back into his pocket and stands up quickly. He changed his shirt into a plain white t-shirt with a logo in the corner that's mostly peeled off.

"I tossed your clothes in the washer for you. Your phone and keys were in your pockets. Your phone is sitting in rice as we speak.." He announces as he pulls you into the living room.

"Thanks," You croak, your voice hoarse. Whether it's from the rain, your crying, or a combination of the two, you're not entirely sure.

He leads you to the couch, forcing you to sit before tossing the towel over your head and running off to the kitchen. You settle into your seat and pull the towel off your head just as Jisung kneels down in front of the coffee table, a kettle in one hand and two bowls of Shin Ramyun in the other.

"I know you like to do the whole air-drying thing, but you're going to have to dry your hair really well tonight. If you die of hypothermia in my apartment I will raise your body from the dead and kill you myself." He jokes while pouring hot water into both bowls.

You roll your eyes as you bring the towel back to your head and begin drying your hair half-heartedly.

"Ah, not like that—Hold on," He places the kettle on a coaster and yanks the towel out of your hands.

He stands up next to you and begins vigorously rubbing the towel against your head. You get pulled and jerked in several directions as he tries to make sure he covers every part of your scalp.

"You know, I might get sick faster if I'm bald." You mutter under your breath as a few strands of hair get yanked clean off.

"Okay, okay, sorry." He releases your head before thinking quietly for a minute. You're startled by a sudden clap. "Oh, I'm so fucking stupid. Wait a minute."

The towel falls to the floor and Jisung runs out of the room. Not even a minute later he's back with a hair dryer in his hands. He walks to the back of the couch and plugs the hair dryer in the outlet. You hear the loud whirling of the machine go off for a second as he checks to make sure it works before he clumsily climbs over the couch, nearly falling off of it.

Jisung quietly dries your hair for you on a low setting so you're not overwhelmed by the noise and so that he can hear you if you decide to start talking. Halfway through, you do. You tell him about the trip that only a few hours ago held a special place in your heart. Now, there's a bitter taste in your mouth as you recount each detail. Slowly, you tell him about what happened when you got home. Not everything just what your boyfriend—ex-boyfriend—said at the end right before you stormed out.

"I'm going to beat his ass," Jisung mutters under his breath as he shuts the hair dryer off, setting it off to the side.

"I think you might lose there." You lean over to the table and grab one of the bowls of soggy noodles.

"Hey, I've bulked up recently since I started working out with Chan hyung and Changbin hyung...I'll get one good hit in at least before he knocks me out." He takes the other bowl and starts mixing it around. "I'm sorry your ex is a massive piece of shit."

You set your bowl on your lap as you stare at it for a moment. You watch the vegetables swirl around the broth as guilt brews in the pit of your stomach. "I'm sorry I didn't listen to you..."

"You know, I was really pissed off at first." He shoves a mouth full of noodles in his mouth and chews for a bit while he thinks about his words. He swallows half of what's in his mouth and starts again. "But when I sobered up a bit and really, truly sat there and thought about it, I realized that I would have most likely done the same thing if the roles were reversed. Nobody wants to believe that the person they love wholeheartedly would betray them like that."

"Yeah...but still—"

"Nope, not doing that. Just shut up and eat. You warmed up the outside of your body, now you need to warm the inside."

💐💐💐

After the two of you eat and Jisung forces you to take a shot of ginger, turmeric, lemon, and honey—payback for all the times you make him do it to prevent him from getting sick—he takes you to his room. He cleaned it a bit while you were in the shower. Not a lot, but enough so you don't trip at least. As you settled into his bed, he tossed one of his hoodies that he threw in the dryer so it would be warm. You recognized it right away as the one hoodie of his that you two would fight over frequently. An oversized black hoodie with an image of two, what you assume, herons on the front. You've stolen it from him so many times that he started keeping a close eye on his clothes when you lived together.

Once you settled into the bed, Jisung shuts off the light and starts to leave the room.

"You're not staying?" You whisper. The two of you have slept on the same bed before. Once when the neighbor above you had a leak that was directly over your bed and a few times during sleepovers. It's second nature to the two of you by now.

Jisung pauses at the door for a moment, his silhouette outlined by the living room light. His finger quietly taps along the door frame as he thinks. "You had an eventful weekend. I thought you might want some space to...decompress or whatever."

"If I decompress or reflect or just sit here with my thoughts, I will spontaneously combust." You force a chuckle, the strained laughter unable to fully mask the underlying disgust in your voice. "Can you stay...please? I really, really don't want to be alone tonight."

"Of course. Just let me give me a couple of minutes to shut everything off." Jisung doesn't wait for you to respond. He doesn't need to.

You lay on your back, staring at the black ceiling. The low hum of Jisung's fan rings through the room. You rub your temples with a gentle, circular motion, seeking relief from the persistent ache that started throbbing behind your eyes halfway through your meal. A sigh turns into a yawn as you think about every decision that led you to this exact moment: heartbroken in your former apartment with your best friend.

"Hey, tomorrow we can head over you your place with whoever is free and get your stuff. Or if you're not up to it, you can just tell me what you want to grab and we'll get them for you. You can move back here, your room is still free." Jisung yawns as he walks back into the room.

You hum a response, not caring at this point what happens. You're too drained to think about it anymore. Your eyes quickly start to pull shut when the familiar scent of Jisung's body wash and shampoo hits your nose.

And yet, despite how much fatigue takes control over your body, a small thread begins to unravel in your brain. You think back to every moment in your relationship. Every gift. Every kiss. Every 'I love you.' You know what they meant to you. The joy that would radiate through your body for every little "just because" gift he gave you. Flowers that he said he saw on his way home that he knew you'd like. A little trinket that caught his eye that reminded him of you. Something you mentioned once in passing that he remembered and picked up for you. Every little kiss good morning he peppered you with when you started to stir while he was getting ready for work. The random kisses he would give you throughout the day because he felt like being as close to you as possible in that moment. The good night kiss he'd give you as you crawled into bed. The first time he said "I love you" when you were cooking dinner for him for the first time. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. And even though you had flour in your hair and you were on the verge of tears because of how disastrous the night had gone, he looked at you with the most awe-stricken eyes and said those three big words. Every single "I love you" he uttered every time you started rambling about something you were interested in. The random "I love you" calls and texts throughout the day that always seemed you find you when you were down. Was that all conditional? After thoughts? Replacements? "Here's a gift because I screwed up and cheated on you." "Here's a kiss because you're right here but I rather kiss someone else right now." "I love you...until I find someone else."

You didn't realize you were tossing and turning until Jisung's arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him and trapping you in one position. The soft, gentle rhythm of his heartbeat against his chest gives you something else to focus on, slowly quieting your thoughts. His fingers softly drum a song against your back that you're not even going to try to figure out.

"Hanji," Your voice soft and weak.

"Yeah?" His voice is equally as quiet, his voice laced with sleep.

"I'm done...I can't go through this again. I can't get hurt like this again."

His fingers stop moving along your back for a moment as he thinks to himself. For a second, you think he fell asleep. Or that he was asleep the whole time and he answered subconsciously. But his fingers start again, playing a new song. Something familiar but the name escapes you.

"Somewhere out there, there's a guy so stupidly in love with you that it hurts to watch. And one day, when you're ready...when all of this is behind you...you'll find him. And he's going to shower you with all of the love and attention you deserve. So much so that you're not going to remember this little speed bump. You won't remember how you felt or what was said or even the name of the guy who fucked it all up."

"I don't think that'll happen." Your voice droned in a weary monotone.

"I know so," Jisung says definitively. Like he can look into the future and knows what he's talking about.

"What makes you so sure?"

"Hm...just a feeling. Take my word for it." He shifts around a bit before leaning down and pressing a kiss on top of your head. "Now go to sleep. If we wake up early enough, we can egg his car before he goes to work."

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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[kqutie]

BIRDIE 01

relationship : l&ds love interest/bird!reader

sum. : you fall asleep and wake up as a bird in the love and deepspace universe. you're a little disgruntled at first but then you spot someone familiar and it's not as scary of a situation

tags. : fluff ; bird reader ; tooth-rotting fluff ; is it a dream or an isekai

length. : 2.4k

a/n : this was inspired by the event where zayne encounters an adorable pink birdie in a gazebo and mc takes pictures hehe~

navi.

With a sigh, you lean back and rest against your cosy lounge chair, snuggling into your fluffy blanket with a small smile on your face. Your arms were beginning to ache a little too much, and you had to put your iPad down from playing ‘Love & Deepspace’, but you had no regrets. For now, you’ll settle for taking a quick break, snuggle up and steep in the soft emotions your favourite, virtual men left you buzzing with. Seeing them always puts you in a good mood and a sleepy one too, so it wasn’t surprising that you easily slipped into slumber not long after commencing your pause from the game. You’ll get back to it again as soon as you wake up. You were determined to earn more diamonds to spend on more pulls. 

Not everything goes to plan, however… 

‘What the?…’ you think to yourself, blinking awake and gasping when you realise you’re up in a tree. ‘How the hell did I get up here?!’ In your alarm, you look down, then up, then side to side, only to increase your trepidation — where had your arms gone? Where were your feet? WHY WERE YOU COVERED IN FEATHERS?!  AND WHY THE UNIQUE COLOURING?!

Are you a bird right now? Why?!

I want to play Love & Deepspace on my IPad!!! Your priorities are as straight as can be. 

This is just a dream! I’m just dreaming of being a bird for some reason, but that’s okay because all I have to do is wake up and I’ll be back to playing Love & Deepspace before I know. It was logical enough, and you managed to calm yourself down. But the real question was, how do you wake yourself from a dream? Your first instinct is to snap your eyes shut and try to fall asleep somehow; maybe if you fall asleep in this dream, you’ll wake up from it…

Time ticks past slowly, your eyes still snapped shut. You don’t know how long you’ve been furiously chanting to wake up, but when your eyes open once more, nothing’s changed. Suddenly, everything feels too real: the air is to crisp in your lungs, your body feels as light as feathers, the sun assaulting your corneas is too blinding, and your racing heart drums against your ears deafeningly, making the too-real world spiral around you.  This can’t be happening!

When you open your mouth, now beak, to cry out loud, frustrated and confused, sweet little chirps come out instead. When you raise your arms, now wings, to the sky as if demanding, pleading for an explanation, you end up fluttering your wings. With mounting irritation, you jump in a huff, forgetting to stop your arms from beating your feathery wings, effectively lifting you off the solid branch beneath. This sends you falling from your perch unceremoniously, chirping in distress until instincts hit you and your wings spread out wide, catching the air before safely gliding to a lower branch. 

‘Great! Juusstt great!’ you cry in agony, wailing at your odd situation, only to hear incoherent chirping come out of your mouth—beak. Agitated, your breast feathers bristle up, and you imagine yourself inflating like a balloon, pumped full of hot air, fit to bursting. You would have willingly blown yourself up from the frustration too, if it weren’t for a familiar figure catching your now, eagle-sharp eyes, courtesy of your new avian status. 

Silvery, grey-ish hair; an adorable but handsome face; eyes gently closed in sleep; a soft white hoodie with a light blue shirt underneath— you recognise him in an instant. It’s Xavier… 

Of course, you would dream of him. You were obsessed, after all. But you were suddenly overtaken by a hungry curiosity. Ravenous in nature, it easily devoured your annoyance and planted an entirely different seed of thought in your head. Would this vivid dream allow you to admire Xavier closely?… There was only one way to find out~

With a flutter of your small, iridescent wings, you fly over to Xavier’s sleeping form as he dozes on a park bench. The fly down was piloted by complete instinct, graceful and silent, as if on autopilot. You weren’t prepared for the sudden impact of landing, however, and had a bit of a tumble when landing on the bench beside Xavier’s thigh. With a huff—that also came out as a chirp—you rolled onto your little bird feet and shook your little round body to realign your ruffled feathers before tilting your head curiously upwards.

Xavier looks like an angel as you stare up at him, your tail feathers wiggling in delight at the sight of his beautiful visage. This was surreal; he looked so tangible. You tilt your head and let out a small chirp of adoration. Suddenly, you’re very happy that this dream is so realistic. Suddenly, you don’t care about being a tiny little bird. Right now, all you care about is this handsome man before you. If only you could see his eyes… 

From how much bigger he is in comparison to your pocket-sized form, you gather that you’re probably a pretty small bird, so… even if you perch on his lap or shoulder, he wouldn’t wake up, right? Oh well! This might be your only chance at being with him in such a tactile way; you weren’t going to waste it. With a big flap of your wings, you settle on his lap and preen with glee, chittering happily on instinct and doing little hops across his thighs. You’re sitting on Xavier’s lap! It’s a dream come true! It’s only natural for you to do a celebratory dance. Little birds don’t weigh a lot, so he surely won’t wake up from something like this. And you have all the time to continue admiring him up close— 

“…What the…?”

Startled, you look up and gasp—chirp—at the familiar pair of gentle blue eyes staring down at you, steeped in confusion as he blinks away the fuzzy varnish of sleep from his vision. He’s awake! And, although you feel a little guilty for disturbing his sleep, you were too awestruck to do much else but admire him. His eyes have always been beautiful. They were an innocuous trap, really, but one that you would willingly fall into over and over again. Even with his furrowed brows, the gentleness of his gaze remained, accompanied by the elegant slope of his nose and the reserved but inquisitive tilt of his lips; he was the epitome of softness, underpinned by a disarmingly deep and gentle voice.  

When Xavier had strolled through the park and located a comfortable bench for a nap, he didn’t expect to sleep for long, only a little while. It wasn’t an ideal place, but it was good enough to rest his tired eyes and weary limbs. What he didn’t expect, however, was to be woken up by a small, harmless bird hopping about on his lap, only to stare up at him as soon as he woke up. It wasn’t like the birds that visited him at home, rather, this one was much smaller, round and fluffy with a little head resting atop its ball-like body.  

“What are you doing?” Xavier asks, not expecting a coherent answer but unable to stop himself from asking. As if understanding him, however, the little bird lets out a small chirp, a sweet and airy sound, but an indecipherable response. 

“Hmm…” Xavier, unperturbed by your disruption of his sleep, takes a finger and pokes your belly, almost toppling you over if you didn’t flap your wings in protest and steady your little bird-feet on his lap. It made him smile faintly at how adorable you looked, and how vulnerable too; he couldn’t believe that a single poke had you almost falling over.  

Chirp! Chirrp! 

“You have a bigger belly than Fatso.” That comment earned him a light nip on the finger, “Sorry, sorry.” He chuckles deeply, the sound coming from deep within his chest, unaffected by the slight reprimand and proceeds to tickle your belly with a finger to emphasise his apology. The sensation gave you a warm feeling and released tickling butterflies in your stomach. He’s touching you, he’s solid and tangible, and he’s here; he’s real! 

Feeling an overwhelming joy, you flutter your wings and rise from his lap as he looks at you in wonder. Xavier has never seen such an animated bird before, let alone one that seems to understand what he’s saying. Its antics are quite amazing, it’s difficult for him to look away, and his eyes remain transfixed on your small, feathery form, attached by strings of interest. Following your movement closely, Xavier watches as you perch yourself on the edge of his shoulder before hopping as close as you can to his face. You disappear into his periphery as he lets out a questioning hum, his expression quickly falling into a small smile when he feels your soft little head nuzzle against his cheek. 

“Cute…cuter than Fatso.” Xavier comments, earning another playful nip from your tiny beak, which makes him chuckle and shake his head fondly, drawing your attention to his soft hair.  Feeling no shame (this is a dream after all), you fly up with another flutter of your wings and perch on his head where you nuzzle down into his silvery locks. Xavier feels your soft weight at the very centre of his head and rolls his eyes playfully. He probably looks like a fool right now, but that doesn’t take away from your cute fondness. It makes him wonder why you’re so eager to be close to him. Were birds always this affectionate? 

“What are you doing up there? There’s nothing interesting—ow!” It was probably the cuteness aggression you’ve built up for Xavier that made you tug on his hair, but now you feel bad. To express your apology, you give a sad chirp and softly nuzzle at the root of the silver strand you just tugged at. “So birds can be apologetic too, huh?” Xavier plucks you from his head and holds you in his palms as he rests his cupped hands on his lap. “Just don’t do it again. My hairs aren’t worms.” He offers you a gentle smile and gently rubs the top of your small head with a finger, his smile brightening as he watches you lean into his touch and let out a happy chirp. 

You stick to Xavier like glue after that, hovering around him like the moon orbiting the Earth. Sometimes you perch yourself on his shoulder, often nuzzling his cheek affectionately as he leans into your devoted intimacy with a chuckle. At times, you would nestle your little head beneath his ear and wiggle in bliss when you find that if you focus enough, his faint pulse will tap comfortingly against your soft, feathered head—a consoling rhythm. Other times, you would perch on his head again, surrounded by the fragrance wafting from his hair, it was clean and fresh, bringing with it the allure of fresh laundry, only faintly touched by a note of sharp eucalyptus. The scent tickled your senses distinctly, it was vivid and not like any dream you’ve had before. It all feels too real, but alas, you pay it no mind. You just wanted to focus on absorbing every little detail you can before you eventually wake up.

Today was his day off, a rarity for the discomfort that flooded his veins because of it.  His fingers had been itching for something to do all day, but now that he was having to care for a cute little birdie, he didn’t mind it so much. Whenever he felt a restlessness in his fingers, all he had to do was reach for you, and his unease disappears. It disappears when you let out a satisfied chirp, sounding like a contented sigh, as you lean into his touch with a peaceful look on your little face. Xavier had never seen a bird look so content before, let alone one that looked like it was smiling, but he certainly has now. And it was adorable. 

“Are you that comfortable with me?” he asks absentmindedly, smiling at you with his eyes and mouth. 

Chirp! You answer immediately, leaving no space for doubt. ‘Yes, I am!’ he imagines was your response, his smile brightening with an airy chuckle as he watches you close your eyes and peck lightly at his fingertips, your tail feathers wiggling in glee. You’re an adorable, precious little thing, and it was easy to foster a warm fondness for you in his chest. 

“I wonder where you came from.” Xavier hums in thought, giving you a teasing poke before tickling your cheek with his blunt fingernail. “It’s as if you know me.” He watches you tilt your head at him as if questioning his inquiry, but he stays silent, entranced by your movements. You always appeared to move as if in a hypnotic dance that demanded his attention; it was the same sort of hypnosis all birds chanted whenever they elegantly swooped by, always managing to catch a person’s eyes. But you were a special sort, especially with your unique colourant, he’s never seen such a winsome plumage on a female bird before, as they’re usually much duller than their male counterparts. 

You make a faint cheeping sound before ruffling your feathers, shaking off his words casually before tilting your head at him once more. It felt like you understood him through your actions, but rather than answer him confidently like you did earlier, you opted for admiring his appearance instead, dismissing his words entirely. With a shake of his head, Xavier sighs in surrender, his warm smile returning when he watches you hop close enough to cuddle against the cushion of his hand, resting against the curve of his palm. “I suppose it isn’t important…”

૮(•͈⌔•͈)ა ✧˖°. ༄

“So this is where you’ve been… You look very cosy,” Xavier comments thoughtfully. You had gone missing for an extended period, and he had gone into a slight panic when he felt a subtle weight in his hood. Following his suspicions, he carefully slipped off his hoodie to find you asleep in his hood, head tucked into the soft feathers of your round body. 

He sets you down on the coffee table, bundled up in his hoodie as he leans back against his sofa. He feels strangely at peace today, his mind more relaxed than usual, as if he had just woken from a restful sleep, even though he knows he hasn’t. Without intending to, his eyes find your peacefully sleeping form again, and a smile blooms over his lips. His shoulders sag, and his eyes begin to droop. It was time for a nap. 

navi.

a/n : this is the result of my recent love and deepspace obsession and i have more planned for our darling boys. i will be writing a small imagine for each of the boys so look forward to the next one, just so that it stays a little exciting, i won't be mentioning who will come next hehe~

[zazaiafe2]

Holotropic breathwork and shifting

Disclaimer! Do not try holotropic breathwork if you have heart problems or certain medical conditions. Always check with a professional. Also, be aware: if you have trauma, this breathing can bring it up to the surface. Please use caution.

1)What is Holotropic Breathwork?

Holotropic breathwork is a powerful breathing technique combining deep, fast breathing + evocative music, aimed at reaching altered states of consciousness.

It was developed by Stanislav Grof for therapeutic exploration.

2)How is it practiced?

✅ Usually lying down in a safe space

✅Eyes closed

✅ Breathing in a circular pattern: deep inhale, deep exhale, no pause (Yes you will look like a warthog)

✅ Keep the pace steady and intense(About 2-3 seconds of very deep inhalation and 2-3 seconds of very deep exhalation)

✅ Usually lasts from 20 to 60 minutes

3)What music or sounds to use?

-Tribal drums

-Shamanic beats

- Emotional film music

-Even nature sounds

-> Anything immersive, repetitive, with no sudden stops

This helps push you deeper into trance.

Here are some examples of what you can listen to.

4)How can this help prepare for shifting?

Holotropic breathwork:

-lowers mental resistance

-weakens the “critical filter”

- triggers ego dissolution

-expands your sense of possibility

-reduces anxiety

-leads to discoveries about oneself

-can soothe or remove blockages.

All of this can prime you for a smoother shifting experience.

5)How to use it to your advantage before shifting?

Treat it as a preparation ritual:

→ Release pent-up emotions

→ Calm your nervous system

→ Open up your subconscious

-> After finishing the session, you can go straight into your shifting script,visualization or method.

6)What to do during holotropic breathing?

-stay open to sensations

-if you feel tingling, buzzing, or emotion rising, let it happen

-don’t panic, just breathe through it

-you can mentally remind yourself of your DR intention gently, but don’t force it, you can also gently affirm.

7)Effects on the body and mind

You might feel:

-vibrations

-muscle twitching

-tears or laughter

-heat or cold

-a sense of floating

-mental images, memories or even visions

-> This is normal! It means your subconscious is opening.

You can also listen to subliminals if the rhythm of the sound allows it.

8)Meditation before or after

Doing a grounding meditation before or after the breathwork can help integrate the experience.

→ Before: it calms fears

→ After: it helps process any emotions released

I also invite you to drink a glass of water afterwards, it is possible that you will sweat a lot.

This kind of short meditation before or after can really help.

9)Not mandatory, but helpful

Holotropic breathwork is not a shifting requirement.

But it can help remove subconscious blocks and relax your emotional body, making shifting or void states easier to approach.

10)Dissociation & practice

This technique naturally encourages dissociation, which is helpful for many shifting methods.

-> It might feel intense at first, but you’ll adapt if you go slowly and build up over time.You can start with just a few minutes and gradually increase,I personally find that the most intense effects occur around 20-30 minutes.

11)Final thoughts

Holotropic breathing isn’t for everyone, but if you want a deep reset of body + mind before trying to shift, it can be a powerful ally.

Practicing once or twice a week can really help:

→ It gently trains your mind to let go of your daily identity

→ It supports healthy dissociation

→ It can clear subconscious blocks

→ It improves your ability to stay calm in altered states

-> In the long run, that can boost your chances of shifting by up to 30–50%, especially if you combine it with visualization or scripting after the session.

For everyone who tried it and want to, give me updates.

Happy shift

[3rdgymbros]

━ 𝐌𝐲 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐨 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 !

— pairing; vil schoenheit x ramshackle! reader

— summary; in true ramshackle fashion, you confess to vil through a chaotic song, and it doesn't have the intended effect.

— notes; this was fun to write hehe. please donate to my kofi or consider commissioning me if you like my work bc im broke and need cash. and know that i am mentally smooching everyone who reblogs my stuff.

❋ After weeks of pining, you finally decide to pluck up your courage and confess to Vil in a way that feels grand and romantic — because, of course, Vil deserves nothing less.

❋ You consult with your friends before finally deciding on a grand romantic gesture: a heartfelt serenade under the stars.

❋ Grim, Ace, and Deuce eagerly volunteer to help, sensing both chaos and entertainment in your (poorly thought-out) plan. And you manage to rope in Epel, of all people, to help you compose a song.

❋ You would have been better off enlisting Rook’s help.

❋ Epel takes his role of the group’s lyricist very seriously. Unfortunately, most of the song consists of poetic potato metaphors, given Vil’s penchant of calling everyone by that nickname.

“Your hair is as golden as a potato, it surrounds your face like a beautiful halo.” “You’re the flawless gem in my potato patch; my heart turns to mash around you.”

❋ You think it’s an absolute masterpiece, and none of your friends have the heart to tell you otherwise.

❋ The four of you sneak over to Pomefiore in the dead of night, armed with precisely two things: nerves of steel, and some old instruments you’ve found up in the dorm’s dusty attic.

❋ Grim provides lighting and ambience with his flames, Ace makes a valiant effort to pluck at the strings of his borrowed guitar, and Deuce shakes his tambourine with far too much enthusiasm, it’s almost enough to drown out your painfully off-key singing.

❋ And there you stand in the centre of it all, holding a bouquet of wildflowers (still with the muddy roots attached) and warbling singing your heart out, your voice cracking from nerves and the lack of practice.

❋ Instead of romantic ambiance, it’s pure chaos. Birds startle out of the trees. Lights flicker on in nearby dorm rooms. The nearby students think a murder has just taken place on the grounds.

❋ All the noise music has the intended effect of summoning the object of your affections.

❋ Draped in a pink satin robe, Vil appears at the window, his hair in a perfect loose braid, and a silk sleep mask pushed up to his forehead. Really, it’s unfair how effortlessly flawless he looks even in the dead of night. He doesn’t interrupt your performance but instead folds his arms and watches, his expression caught between bewilderment and judgment.

“You’re the apple of my eye, my sweet potato prince, please go out with me, don’t make me cry!”

❋ You finish the song with a dramatic flourish, slightly out of breath. You’re still holding onto that bouquet, staring up at Vil with wide, hopeful eyes.

❋ There’s a pause before Vil pinches the bridge of his nose with a deep exhale. In a flutter of pink, he descends the stairs to meet you, looking like a queen poised to address her court.

❋ Instead of swooning into your arms, Vil stands before you, his eyes narrowed and his voice a mask of carefully controlled calm. “Prefect,” he begins. “Do you honestly expect me to be wooed by that . . . Performance?”

❋ And you’ve opened up the floodgates; Vil’s perfectionist tendencies take over and he spends the next ten minutes giving a detailed breakdown of how the performance could be improved.

“Prefect, your pitch is horrendous, and you’re completely off-tempo.” “Ace, never pick up a guitar again. Your rhythm was an assault on my ear drums.” “Deuce, why are you even here? Your tambourine skills are atrocious." “And you — Grim! What were you thinking, using fire in such a haphazard manner? Do you want to set Pomefiore ablaze?” “The lyrics are positively horrendous. Who even writes about potatoes in a confession?”

❋ Vil’s lecture lasts for all of ten minutes (Ace kept count).

❋ You remain silent through it all, but you’re just about ready to combust from embarrassment as Vil continues his critique.

❋ Finally, he falls silent with a final, dramatic sigh. "If you wanted my attention, you didn’t need to orchestrate such a . . . Spectacle. Though I will admit, the effort is . . . Endearing. Misguided, but endearing.” He softens just slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he reaches for the bouquet of flowers, careful to avoid the muddy roots.

❋ He turns on his heel to leave, but pauses on the doorstep, his back to you. “By the way . . . I would prefer some red roses the next time you come for a visit.” He disappears back into Pomefiore, leaving the group in a stunned silence.

❋ Wait.

❋ Next time?

❋ Was that . . . An invitation for a second chance? Ace immediately confirms this with a triumphant yell, and you can’t help but grin, feeling like a love-sick fool despite your bruised ego and the lingering humiliation.

[blahblahwritings]

Collateral Souls - 3

Hello! Two chapters in one day. I'm busy the next couple days but I'll be no doubt fixating on how to progress.

I'm trying to stay two chapters ahead to at least give myself breathing room.

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART FOUR

Warnings: Flashbacks and medical stuff with needles.

Word Count: 2642

Chapter Three - A Second Chance

Valentina gathered everyone in the briefing room above the residential floor. From the moment everyone sat down, it was chaos. Words were hurled viciously from one end of the room to the other like knives. 

Six guards surrounded you, a security measure in case you tried anything, but you were drained. Stasis did that. Waking up in a panic only to then use your powers on a large scale so soon after was bound to have its effects. Even if you wanted to run, to escape, you doubted you would get far. Instead, you stood outside the meeting room, peering in through the glass walls. You couldn’t hear a thing through the soundproofing. 

Your eyes scanned the strangers in front of you, arguing amongst themselves, too busy to notice the inky shadow creeping in and under the table, eavesdropping. An extension of you. Their voices reverberated off your pounding skull, metallic and distorted, like listening through a tin can.

“HYDRA has a known history of exploiting people like her and she is too valuable an asset to lose. She will undergo deconditioning and training to be a part of this team.” Valentina’s voice cut through them like a blade as she stood suddenly, chair wheeling backwards. Her hands were poised on the table, her navy blue pantsuit a little ruffled. She cleared her throat, hands moving to pat out any wrinkles in her blazer as she stood to her full height. “She will be given a trial period. We will watch her closely, monitoring her abilities and whereabouts. I am not saying she can be trusted, I am simply saying we take the risk.”

Bucky couldn’t argue with her, his history with HYDRA was awfully similar. He was just lucky Steve was there to defend him. He sat, head in hands, wishing he was anywhere else. 

“Are you forgetting that she almost killed me?” John raised his voice, his neck bruised where your shadows had coiled. He was furious at the mere thought of you being allowed a free pass onto the team after what happened. His hands clenched at his sides.

“Part of me wishes she did while she had the chance.” Ava muttered, arms crossed, expression drawn. “She’s dangerous,” Ava said quietly. “We should track her—at least until we know we can trust her. House arrest?”

“We were all given second chances, why not her? We’ve all pulled some bad shit at some point.” Yelena defends, shrugging, cutting in before John has a chance to react to Ava’s comment.

“Yes, but she is very powerful, very scary. We need to think about this.” Alexei chimed in, nodding as he paced up and down the room.

Bob sits quietly, listening to everyone talk about you. He remembered how scared and confused he had been when he came out of his pod months ago now. How they had all pointed their guns at him and how he was shaking and almost paralysed with fear. He could barely get his name out of his mouth when they had all first met. He sympathised with you.

“She was scared.” He spoke, barely above a whisper but they all heard him. “S-She was surrounded by strangers and machines in a place she didn’t know. How else do you expect her to react when everyone immediately treats her like a-a threat?” He says a little louder, not quite meeting anyone’s eyes. 

The team pauses for a moment as if listening, then goes back to arguing. 

Bob’s head falls forward with a sigh, looking down at his hands in his lap. He hated arguing. It always made his heart drum against his ribcage and his hands tremble. He fiddles with the hem of his jumper as he spots a shadow, swirling under the table. He frowns, then looks up, directly into your eyes which glowed softly through the glass.

You retract the shadow instantly, blinking as your eyes return to normal.

Your pulse throbbed in your ears. Head pounding. You stumble. A guard steadies you.

Bob doesn’t say anything.

--

It's another half an hour before they all come to some form of agreement. You are placed on house arrest. Free roam of the main floors of the tower accessed by a keycard, but if you want to leave then you need one of the team to accompany you. Training every other day with Bucky and Yelena. You don’t protest. If anything you were just relieved you weren’t being caged in another cell. Or terminated.

You are quickly taken to the medical bay which makes your anxiety spike. Places like this never meant anything good for you. Bucky stands nearby, watching you and noticing your fear.

“They’re going to fit a temporary subdermal tracking device and conduct a routine health check.” The supersoldier explains, his body language communicates tension, distrust. But, he understood what you were going through. It does nothing to ease your nerves. 

The clean sterile smell and the soulless white walls remind you only of the experiments you’d been forced to endure. You were ushered onto a table. The cold metal surface brings sharp fragments of memory cutting to the forefront of your mind. You shake it off, focussing on the doctor who appears through a doorway with a kind smile.

“Okay, Y/N..” She says, looking over some papers before looking up at you. “I’m just going to give you a once over, make sure you’re healthy, nothing out of the ordinary. That means I will need to take a blood sample and a few other things. Does that sound alright with you?” She asks sweetly, eyes warm. 

The whole situation was strangely terrifying. Her tone, the question of consent, is completely foreign, sending your brain into a meltdown. All you could do was look at Bucky, then back at her and nod. 

She smiles and talks you through everything as she works. Her hands hold a syringe and you swallow thickly, mouth dry, sweat forming on your brow despite your body being cold. Your eyes glow a little and Bucky tenses. The doctor gently takes your arm in her other hand and presses the needle to the crook of your elbow. 

The sting is familiar. Too familiar. The moment the needle breaks skin, your vision tunnels.

Metal straps. Bright lights. A voice saying, “Increase the dose.”

Your heartbeat spikes, thudding in your throat. The air grows thick.

Lights flicker. A glass explodes behind the doctor. You didn’t mean to. You never mean to.

She jumps, scared. Bucky flinches, watching your every move but you don’t look at either of them. Eyes squeezed shut as she continues to draw blood. Something flickers behind your eyelids, the face of your handler, brows drawn and angry. Once finished, she removes the needle and places a cotton ball on the scratch.

“Hold this, please.” She says softly. You do, eyes opening. “Do you suffer from headaches? Aches and pains? Anything like that?” She asks, tone a little shaky but professional. You nod despite the fear rushing through you.

“When I’m drained I get headaches. Nosebleeds too.” You answer tensely, voice tired. She notes it down, offering a bottle of painkillers. 

“Okay, we can monitor that. The likelihood is that the more you train, the more you can push yourself. Start small and try not to go to breaking point every time.” She advises, and continues with the examination before finally pulling back, finished. “Alright, that should be everything for the health check. The only thing left is the tracker. It's another needle I’m afraid, so calm yourself with some deep breaths.” This needle was bigger, thicker. 

Your breathing speeds up as she moves to your upper arm this time. She places it against your skin, then presses gently.

You’re not in control.

Not again. Please not again.

Breathe.

The lights pop. The shadows flinch.

She leaps away with a frightened squeak and you twitch. You swear you hear the sound of restraints rattling against your skull. 

“S-sorry” You whisper. Bucky’s jaw clenches and you look down. “I’m not doing it on purpose.” 

“I know.” He speaks, voice gentle. A flicker of something softer in his eyes, understanding.

The doctor shakes as she approaches again. You felt guilty for scaring her. She was younger than you by a year or two. Hopeful. Kind. She quickly finishes putting the tracker in your arm and gets you to sign the paperwork before leaving.

Bucky brings you to the elevator and then up to the residential floor. You take in the space carefully, mapping out the exits. The rest of the team stand bickering in the common area before turning to look at you. You are introduced to everyone individually, they are relaxed, but none of them step too close. 

You’re coiled like a spring, eyes flicking to the cameras around the area. Every muscle is tense as Bucky tells you their names.

Alexei is the only one who offers his hand to shake and you take it gently, your hand dwarfed in his as he smiles, his moustache curling upwards in kind. John doesn’t move. Just watches. Coiled. Waiting. Yelena offers a small smile as she is introduced and Ava gives a curt nod. Bob gives you a little wave from behind the others. It’s awkward. Gentle. You hold onto that for a second longer than you should.

You don’t say anything as Bucky guides you to the spare room between his and Ava’s and opposite Bob’s. “I’ll let you take some time to settle in, get used to the place..” He says, eyes trained on your face as he opens the door for you. You shift past him carefully and into the room. 

Sterile grey walls and floors. A floor to ceiling window. A double bed pushed against the left wall perpendicular to the glass opposite you. A desk and lamp stand next to the bed. Shelves hung empty above the desk. A door to an ensuite bathroom was opposite the entrance to the room. A closet and dresser lining the wall between the doors. It was cold. A camera had been installed in the corner of the room. Surveillance. It felt a lot like another cage, even if it was nicer than the last.

Bucky goes to close the door but you swing around and grab it before he can, a panic in your eyes. Shadows whisper. Cage. Cage. Cage. Bucky holds up his hands gently. 

“You can leave it open if it helps,” Bucky says softly. “I just figured you might want some space. Time to breathe.” He explains, voice softer than before, knowing that look all too well. “The door only locks from the inside.” He adds, gesturing to the small locking mechanism. You swallow and nod, eyes darting away again before he leaves. He pauses a few steps away. 

“I know what you’re going through. The fear. The panic. The distrust of everything. But you are safe here.” He whispers, eyes finding yours. Then he turns the corner, gone.

You stay still for a moment, watching as Bob briefly appears walking down the corridor and opening his door to go inside. He looks back at you over his shoulder, his eyes soft. He goes to say something. You close your door.

--

You had been sitting for hours on the bed, legs crossed in front of you. You didn’t have any possessions, so you just waited. For orders. For tests. For something. But nothing came. You were exhausted, but your body was still on high alert so you couldn’t sleep. 

You had listened quietly, hearing footsteps moving around outside your room as people came and went. You heard dishes clattering as people ate dinner, but you didn’t emerge from your room, even when the smell of it drifted into your nostrils and your stomach growled in hunger. It wasn’t until you had the safety of the dark that you finally decided to move. 

You closed your eyes, enveloping yourself in shadow. There was a brief moment of feeling like you were falling as you apparate from the bedroom and into the dark corner of the common area. 

Alexei was snoring on the sofa, an open pack of cookies on his chest. The darkness in the tower whispered softly to you, communicating the whereabouts of everyone nearby. John is on the phone with someone in the kitchen to the left, the light spilling out of the room. He was complaining to someone, explaining that you were just a ticking time-bomb. His voice was echoey and distorted due to the exhaustion of your abilities, but you got the gist. 

The more you used your power, the more you felt the shadows twitch, agitated. Careful. Careful. Careful. They hiss. Yet you continued to listen. 

Bucky and Yelena appear, exiting the elevator from a late night training session. They talked quietly about you, discussing what could help you settle in. Bucky insisted that establishing a routine could help but Yelena wanted to take you to get some clothes since you had nothing. 

The shadows itch — no, crawl. Like barbed wire under your skin. You should stop. You know you should stop.

“She’s dangerous.” John's voice echoes through the darkness. But it’s warped. Twisted. He didn’t say it like that. Did he?

The whispering shadows won’t quiet. They pull at your limbs like anchors. Your nose bleeds again. You wipe it away without looking. You slowly move from the shadows as Yelena and Bucky both pass and enter their separate rooms. You might as well take a look around the floors you had access to.

The floor above, the briefing room. Dim glass office cubicles surrounded the outskirts of the level, the main meeting room standing in the center. Valentina stood, talking to Mel, spotlighted by the bulbs above them. The phone lay in the middle of the table on speaker as they negotiated how to spin your addition to the team to the public, and to the higher-ups. From their tense body language and drawn expressions, it wasn’t going well. 

You stay hidden in the shadows, backing slowly into the elevator again and this time to the level below the residential floor. They continue to hiss.

“Isolate her.” Your handler’s voice echoes from the shadows as you exhaust yourself further.

The elevator slid open. A long corridor stretched ahead, flanked by changing rooms. The air reeked of sweat and chlorine. The doors after that opened up to reveal a gym on the left fitted with treadmills and various different fitness and weighted machines. On the right, there was a room filled with sparring mats, melee weapons lined the walls for training purposes. Then, at the end of the corridor, a door to a pool. 

You moved around the space, looking at the array of weapons and taking note of the cameras. You tried to stay in the shadows, where you were safe, but you were drained. They flickered around you but you were undoubtedly able to be seen by whoever was watching now. You move back to the elevator and back to the residential floor. 

You dragged your legs achingly back to your room. Each movement brought with it a deep aching throb ricocheting through your whole being. You were on the brink of collapse as you placed a hand on your doorknob, twisting it and stepping inside. 

There were a few moments where you shuffled tiredly towards your bed before you noticed it. A small plate sat on your bedside table, a hastily made sandwich in the middle, cut in half. It looked as if it had been made in a rush, as if the person making it wanted to finish it before they changed their mind. A note was messily scrawled and left under the plate to weigh it down.

“Thought you could use something to eat. - Bob”

--

Taglist:

@eywas-heir @qardasngan

[winteringdream]

006. saving the princess😍

previous | masterlist | next

synopsis : you first meet maki when he sits next to you during a lab practical. despite your best efforts, though, it feels like no matter how hard you try, you can never seem to have any other classes scheduled with him. so, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

You sink into the chair in front of Woonhak, sliding your drink onto the table. He’s hunched over his phone, tapping rapidly, a mischievous giggle slipping out before he finally locks the screen.

“Shouldn’t you be off charming the entire Communication department or something? We never meet up during the day,” you tease, leaning back.

He leans forward, grinning like he’s sitting on the world’s biggest secret. “Maybe, maybe not. But I figured you’d want some very interesting information.”

He drums his fingers excitedly on the table, eyes sparkling. “About Maki.”

Your hand freezes halfway to your drink. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Woonhak laughs seeing how your eyes widen. “See? Knew it was worth showing up.”

You narrow your eyes. “Okay, spill. I figured you’d be the one to figure it out, considering you’ve talked to practically every student on campus.”

Woonhak clutches his chest dramatically. “Please, give me some credit. I don’t talk to everybody.” He pauses, then leans in with a grin. “But turns out I didn’t even have to try. I’ve been close to Maki this whole time.”

“What do you mean?”

He taps the table proudly. “My roommate Jihoon’s friends with him.”

Woonhak rocks back in his chair. “He asked me if you had met Maki in the library.” He pauses for effect, eyebrows wiggling. “Says Maki’s been acting kinda weird lately.”

You roll your eyes. “Weird how?”

Woonhak leans forward again, voice dropping, barely able to contain his grin. “You know distracted. Asking about some girl he ran into in the library.”

You groan, covering your face. “Oh my god.”

Woonhak pokes your arm like an annoying little brother. “Hey, I’m just relaying info."

You shake your head, sipping your drink to hide your smile. “So what, now you’re my informant?”

He beams. “Obviously. Plus, don’t you wanna know more? Jihoon’s around later I could always get more details.”

You give him a look. “You enjoy this way too much.”

He shrugs and leans back again, crossing his arms with a self-satisfied grin.

“What can I say? Watching you almost get flattened by a textbook and hearing there’s a chem guy losing sleep over it? Best entertainment I’ve had all week.”

He taps his fingers against his cup, barely able to hide how pleased he is with himself.

You roll your eyes, trying not to laugh. “Glad my near-death experience makes for such quality entertainment.”

Woonhak grins wider, propping his chin in his hand. “I mean, it’s not every day you get saved by someone’s reflexes and then find out they’ve been lowkey asking about you.”

You shake your head, the corners of your mouth curling up. “Remind me again why I hang out with you?”

taglist: @leloyo @stormy1408 @missychief1404 @banez @ihruaz @saranghoeforanton @jakeyuni @leloyo @fae-renjun @strayy-kidz @blooqz @kimakento @1ckyw1ckyyyyy @pookalicious-hq @ihruaz @sqrclouds @littleaprilcherryblossom @jsbluu @yumengnyangnyang @injunnie-lemon @lakoya @lleuviennae @nicholasluvbot @addictedtoboba @starrihan @cinnased @mushroomsoup119 @lavendersloane @lulumallow @meoriapeuda99 @conwunder @lhs01nye @haruabf @smiles4hyuck @iarainha @cowsidfk @tlnyjoong @haruharua @addilynli @bbykaixx @hoonieg

[nomadwrites]

bubblegum pink ⋆˚✿

gojo satoru

summary ⋆୨୧⋆ in which you've managed to convince the greatest jujutsu sorcerer of your time into getting pink highlights. what could go wrong? a lot, you learn.

contents ⋆୨୧⋆ spoilers!, pure fluff & rusty writing

notes ⋆୨୧⋆ let's start off easy, shall we? feedback is most certainly welcome & would be much appreciated! enjoy ₊˚ෆ

"come on, it's only temporary!"

"not a chance! do you know how much time and effort i put into caring for these lustrous locks?"

"it'll grow out anyways," you huff, setting down the contents of the hair dye kit on the bathroom counter. "and here i thought you were the adventurous type."

"adventure is one thing, but this? this would be an act of vandalism," satoru feigns a look of betrayal, silver lashes framing his wide blue orbs, "like defacing the mona lisa."

you gasp in exaggeration, clasping a hand over your mouth. if there was one thing on the boy’s long list of things he loved about you, it'd be your ability to keep up with his personality.

"sure. but don't you get tired of always having the same old hairstyle? maybe it'd be nice to switch it up every now and then, yknow?"

"i hardly doubt anyone could ever get tired of this." he gestures to himself, standing tall, a smirk gracing his features.

“you’re insufferable.”

“and you love that about me.”

you do your best to hide the smile that threatens to break free, chewing on your bottom lip. “oh but you’d look absolutely gorgeous,” you plead, voice dripping with honey as you cross your arms over your chest, leaning against the countertop. you bat your lashes at him, round doe eyes peering into sparkling azure pools.

the look you give him makes his heart do flips and his gaze softens ever so slightly. he can't say no to you, not when you're gazing up at him with those puppy-dog eyes of yours. you’re perfectly aware of the effect you have on him, but that’s not to say you’d ever take advantage of him. if anything, you’re just as smitten.

satoru adores gratifying you, answering to your every beck and call, no matter the request, even if they can be a little odd at times. who was he to deny you anything when you looked so entrancing?

he pretends to ponder, drumming his fingers along the cool ceramic of the sink counter. if you're quiet enough, you might hear the way the gears in his head shift as he puts on a show of overtly dramatised deliberation. it almost makes you snort, but after a minute or two of silence, he caves in, shoulders slumping.

"if it makes you happy," he breathes, flicking his gaze back to you as you perk up with excitement, light practically radiating off of you. he might come to regret this in a few hours, but when he sees the way your eyes sparkle with a radiance that seems so pure, he thinks it won’t be so bad. after all, it is only temporary.

"just so i get to hear it again," he pauses, slender fingers intertwining with yours as he guides you over to him and plops down onto the closed seat of the toilet, long legs splayed on either side of you. "you think i'm gorgeous?"

“not quite yet,” you say, running your fingers through his silver locks, admiring the soft lavender undertones. his glasses are sitting just above the tip of his nose, brilliant sapphire depths on full display. no matter how many times you’ve looked him in the eye,, it always manages to knock the air out of your lungs. “i’ll see what i can do.”

“aren’t you a sweetheart?”

“i am.”

he exhales, humming in agreement as he relaxes under your touch and relishes in the scent of your skin, not the fragrance of perfume or shampoo, but you.

this is nice, you think. free time has always been hard to come by, even more so for gojo than you. things had changed after the star plasma vessel incident. he had changed, and although he did his best to hide it, you knew better. you were there to ground him, to remind him of his humanity and his purpose for becoming a sorcerer. you were there to keep him afloat.

"so!" you clap, startling him enough to knock his glasses askew, "let's get started!"

"booo," he pouts, like some child. he likes to think you're like this because of him, that you've spent so much time with him you've essentially become a miniature satoru gojo. the thought of it makes him feel all warm and mushy inside, something he really only feels with you, despite how popular he is with people.

you get to work, skimming through the pamphlet of instructions. satoru attempts to help you, mostly by staring whilst seated on the toilet, questioning if you really knew what you were doing. you stick out your tongue at him as did he, tugging on his lower eyelid.

you manage to end up with a bowl of bright pink sludge, the scent of chemicals wafting through the enclosed space of your bathroom. satoru grimaces, both at the smell and how awfully pigmented the dye seemed, cautiously eyeing the mixture held between your gloved hands.

“no turning back now.”

“you’re sure this is temporary?”

“mhmm!” you say, throwing a towel over his shoulders to shield his black linen shirt from any stray drops of hair dye. contrary to popular belief, the all-powerful jujutsu sorcerer doesn’t make use of his infinity when there was no real need to, his reasoning something akin to him wanting to experience moments of normalcy with those close to him.

“i’m great aren’t i? strong, handsome with a heart of gold,” he’d said, standing in akimbo.

“in an alternate universe, sure.”

you smile at the memory, recalling the way he tutted when you responded, earning chuckles from both shoko and geto.

“y’know on second thought–” satoru’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts, “maybe blue would be a better option? make my eyes pop and all that,” he stalls, turning to look at you.

“it’s not gonna be this bright toru, it’ll be a lot lighter once we rinse you off. besides, i’ve only got pink right now–“

“great! so we should–“

“but you already said we could–“

and you’re both tugging, trying to grab ahold of the bowl. “toru stop it! you’re gonna–“

splat.

"ah," he blinks.

silence falls between the both of you, letting the sound of droplets hitting the floor echo loud in your ears. you’re wide eyed in disbelief, and it takes you a moment before you press your lips together in a futile attempt to conceal the snort that bubbles from your throat.

———————-

“don’t you look pretty?” geto teases, snapping a photo of satoru’s lifeless body as he sits limp at his desk, looking as if his soul had left his body. you’re sure it did last night after rinsing him off in the shower, fully clothed, the sight of him drenched in fuchsia finding a permanent home in your brain. shoko echoes after the raven-haired boy, resting her head on a closed fist.

satoru’s once moonlit hair now a splotchy mess of soft pink, the hair dye staining his eyebrows an even brighter shade of bubblegum. you had to practically drag him out the bathroom by the feet afterward.

“what have you done?” he whined, voice breaking.

“me?!” you gasped, “you had a part to play in this too!”

it was a miracle he’d even changed out of his wet clothes, albeit it taking around an hour or so. you’re sure he laid on the floor for the rest of the night after you’d left, geto being the first to find him in the exact same position this morning. thankfully, you hadn’t had to drag him to class.

at the very least, this would be another fond memory you’d share together.

[irregularcollapse]

you’ve got this strange effect on me (and i like it)

a Buck/Bucky agent vs. assassin AU, heavily and blatantly inspired by Killing Eve

2.8k words | frottage, knifeplay, references to canonical character death and other killings

read on ao3 (or in full below)

It fits well. The fact of that has Gale grinding his molars into the raw inner flesh of his cheek, but it’s undeniable: it fits well. It fits well, which means that Gale has never worn a single piece of clothing in his entire life which was actually the right size. There’s copper on his tongue; he works his teeth until there is the slightest tag of meat between them, and keeps on grinding so his mouth is nothing but sting.

Gale looks at himself in the mirror, wearing a suit delivered to him by an internationally-wanted assassin-for-hire, and is consciously aware of the emptiness and heat cleaving out his gut.

He’s never had an occasion to wear a cummerbund, and likely never will, but the rise of it over his abdomen is secure in a familiar way: the posture that settles across his shoulders and down his spine carries the muscle-memory of wearing his holster. There hadn’t been a shirt wrapped with the suit in the luggage, and so Gale had foregone anything under the jacket, and seeing it now he thinks that’s the intention. It’s severed at the hem, shorter than a man’s blazer is supposed to be, grazing the line of where the cummerbund reaches over the waistband of the pants. When Gale turns in the mirror and cranes over his shoulder, the garments gape and his lower back is bared. He pauses. He swallows. Grinds out, “Get a grip” for no-one to hear but himself.

There are boots in the case as well, oil-shiny and sharp-toed with a heel height that forces a sound like tchah from Gale’s throat, a derisive “Jesus” and roll of his eyes. Hands curling with an urge for collision, he hooks the boots with rough fingers and tugs them on over his bulk-bought socks. The double stomp is to settle his heels, a louder burst of what’s tightening his tendons. The heat in his gut is an angry fizz now, and it’s spreading. Hands at hips, fingers drumming, Gale looks to the mirror again.

“Jesus,” he curses once more, glaring at himself fractionally taller and grossly flashy and draped in blood money. He sucks his teeth, and forces back the acrid taste seeping over his tongue. Curt’s dead, and Gale has this suit. He should wear it, when he wins the hunt. When he puts a goddamn bullet between the Major’s eyes.

Gale flexes his shoulders under the sharp lines of the jacket; none of the coil in his body loosens. His hip juts, pointed into his palm. The neckline of the blazer shifts, yawns over more of his skin. He chews at his cheek anew, and the lean of his hips leads him into turning again. It’s a marinated movement, this time.

The lifted heels of the boots have changed the angle of his body, the flow of the pants. Noticeably, they hug. The tailoring doesn’t feel tight, but the fabric is cupping him in a way none of his other pants do. Gale is staring at his own ass in the mirror, and his brain is only giving him one thought: “Huh.”

There’s a bubble sitting at his uvula where it could make him gag, which might be a laugh or a surge of vomit. Either way, it floods his mouth with saliva. His fingers run themselves over the fabric, the curve of himself, and what escapes his mouth isn’t laughter or bile, but a low hum with much too much air in it. Gale can feel his own pulse, throbbing in his neck and wetly in his chest. It fits well.

The Major never touched him. Never stood in close enough proximity to be able to, and certainly never measured him. Gale has never had a suit tailored, but there should be a process to it: measurements, and fittings, and adjustments. His hands smooth over the seams at his hips, sight tracking too as he traces the band of the cummerbund where it meets his own skin—a sway he hadn’t noticed before, a certain camber accentuated by the high rise and the crop of the jacket—and he feels the clothing caressing as closely and precisely as the Major’s eyes must have, for it to all fit this well. Gale licks his lips.

Nestled next to the tissue-wrapped suit was the velvet-lined box containing the aftershave that had been lab-tested for anything malicious and found to be innocuous: the feeling that Gale got when he even looked at the bottle couldn’t be blamed on any poison or drug or biochemical agent. He picks it up, uncaps the nozzle, and sprays a light mist of it over where his jugular is pulsing. One more, on the other side of his neck. He leaves the bottle on his nightstand, and breathes out slowly as he presses his wrists to the damp spots of fragrance. Cuff pulled back and inner arm presented, he inhales against his own skin. Smoky, thick with musk. Heady spice. Gale breathes in once more, slower. Deeper. A bright knife of citrus. His gut twists, and his lips part and drag as he breathes out. The coil is tighter; the urge is hotter. Gale lowers his arm, and clears his throat deliberately. It isn’t right.

He’s nervy, and all blood, and riddled with edges as he strides his way to the kitchen, not contemplating the decision as he takes the half-drunk bottle of wine from the fridge. Marge said she’d come by later in the week to polish it off, but he can always buy her another. If there was ever a time to drink, it’s when he doesn’t have control over what his brain’s doing anyway. He’s alone, no one to see it, and he can just tell Marge he put it in a meal. She won’t call him on it, despite intimate knowledge of his culinary failures.

The wine is dry, and crisp, and slakes some of Gale’s thirst on the first sip. He leans against the countertop, and takes another. His eyes are closed as he breathes through his nose, tries to savor it, tries to let it go down easily and do what it’s supposed to do to calm him, when a rough voice says, “You didn’t have to get dressed up for me, babydoll.” Gale’s eyes snap open.

The Major is standing in his kitchen, smiling crookedly. Gale throws the glass of wine at him.

“Hey,” the Major protests, sounding indignant more than anything, and the impromptu missile never connects because he slaps it out of the air—crack and smash as it hits the wall instead—but Gale has time to dart past him, toward the hallway, the coat rack by the doorway where his holster is hanging, improper storage but he’d been tired and irritated and wound up when he got home with the suitcase—

The hemline of his jacket jerks like a seat belt under his ribs, and the slick heels of his boots slip on the tiling, his feet scrabbling for purchase as he’s dragged back into the kitchen by an assertive hold. The Major has him leashed by the belt encircling the bottom of the blazer, and he’s cooing little shush noises as he reins Gale in, and for all Gale’s thrashing and flailing he still ends up thrown down onto his own kitchen floor.

Gale scrambles, boots scraping as they grind glass into the tiles, pants wet at the hip from the spilled wine, straining for a hold on the counter’s edge to drag himself to standing, launching himself toward the knife block—birthday present, “Maybe you’ll take better care of yourself with the right tools,” Marge had said—but barely has the chef’s knife in hand before his wrist is cuffed by an uncompromising grip and he’s spun, sick imitation of a dance, and pinned into the cabinets. The Major’s hips are an anchor against Gale’s own, and he slams Gale’s hand on the granite once, twice, a third time that makes his grip loosen and flex as the pain smarts, and it’s just as quick then that the point of the chef’s knife is pricking at the hollow of Gale’s throat. He stops moving, at that.

The Major’s still smiling. “You got me wet,” he says. His chest is heaving, just like Gale’s is, and his white t-shirt is blotched translucent with wine. The knife indents Gale’s skin; he can feel it in his collarbones.

“Do it,” Gale grunts. “Do it, because if you don’t, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“You won’t.”

“Give me back the knife, then.” The Major huffs a short laugh, and the tip of the knife twists and presses as he shifts his grip.

“You won’t,” he repeats. “You like me too much.” He leans in, heavy, hips grinding into Gale’s and the blade digging hard enough that it seems about to burst the skin. His lips are incongruously soft at Gale’s ear, brushing and breathing with delicacy. “I get you wet.”

Gale’s lungs wrench out a noise, rough with rage. “You killed Curt.” The image of it rises, dark and hazy, club lights through smoke: the way their bodies had been entwined. The way the Major had held Curt close, as he drove the knife in. The way Curt had shuddered and it looked to Gale a lot like pleasure.

“It was always going to be just you and me, Gale. He was gettin’ in your way.” His nose traces a near-gentle path from Gale’s temple to the corner of his jaw. It’s a nuzzle, where his vein is beating. “He was nice. Good kid. You’re not nice, sweetheart.” He breathes in, measured, and his cheek grows into Gale’s with the broadening of his smile. “You’re wearing it.”

“Jesus,” Gale says, and this time he can’t deny that it’s a moan. His back is the sweep of a bow, arched by the way he’s caught against the counter, bent by the Major and how he’s got Gale snared. They’re flush from thighs to chests, hips to hips and lungs to lungs, and from the prick of the knife to the roll of his breathing to the hardening of his cock, Gale can feel the Major’s every inch.

“You shouldn’t have killed him,” he whispers, and it’s low like a plea. “He didn’t think about you, he—He didn’t hate you. You were just a perp to him.”

“Not worth my time, huh? That what you’re getting at?” The words are coming harsher, just like his breaths hot on Gale’s skin, spelled out too in the movement of his hips, rubbing himself against Gale like a scratching post.

“He was nice. Not the one you wanted. Not—oh, Christ.” Gale doesn’t know what he’s saying, but it breaks off in a groan anyway. He’s gripping the edge of the counter tight enough that he can feel his knuckles lock up and start to ache. The heat in his belly, the gape of fire and frustration, is flaring and sparking.

“Go on. Say it. Say what you were goin’ to say.” The Major’s other hand, the one not holding the knife poised at Gale’s throat, is hunting and taking in its own way—along Gale’s side, up under the jacket, burning and ravening over his bare skin.

“Not like me. Should’ve taken me instead. Take—Take me.”

It’s the wine. There’s something in the aftershave. Something about the suit. Something done to Gale one of the times they crossed paths—or something done by the Major’s steel blue eyes, in the moment they met and Gale didn’t know who he was, a hypnotism wrought by a rakish crinkled smile and the audacity of the pet-name “Dollface” said to a stranger. Any of it, Gale grasps for any lifeline that will excuse it, the sour-sweet want coursing through him and how since he learned it, the Major’s face has been coming to him each and every night and all his waking minutes too.

“You want me to kill you?” He growls it, arm a restraint snaked around Gale’s waist, and now it’s that hold keeping him up, not the bench. The Major doesn’t only have lips at Gale’s neck now, but his teeth as well, scraping and nipping as he ruts. His cock is hard, a blunt obvious line, and Gale’s is hard, rubbing and turning the inside of his trousers damp.

“No,” Gale groans. The knife digs in, and his skin splits—barely a sting, barely the tip, but it’s lush and alive and Gale’s cock twitches with it. “Yes. I want you to—Major.”

“Bucky, call me Bucky.”

He does: “Bucky,” in a long sighed-out moan, and he doesn’t know what he’s begging for. His life. The win. To come.

“Christ, you want it.” All of it. Gale can’t even refute that, not when his body is blazing with awakeness and his hips are rocking against the Major’s, Bucky’s, not when he can feel the thin rillet of blood wending its way between his clavicles, over the rungs of his breastbone, teasing and warm. This man’s hands on him, they have squeezed life from other people, beat and gutted and pulped, and Gale wants them in every inch of himself. When Bucky draws his face from Gale’s neck, teeth scraping over his jaw, and looks at him with eyes hungry and violent, Gale shudders from cock to throat: those eyes have witnessed so many others empty out. He wonders what Bucky will see in his when he comes, and if it’ll be anything like death.

“Too pretty to be a CIA agent,” Bucky is huffing, panting, close enough to put his hot breaths into Gale’s open mouth but not close enough to kiss, except for the blade at Gale’s throat. “This body, hidin’ it the way you do—this face, God, I think about you. Look at you, dolled up for me.” His big hand is a clamp at Gale’s waist; one of Gale’s own hands tears from the counter, fisting in the back of Bucky’s t-shirt. “I like you like this. I like you so much, Gale Cleven. You’re like me. We’re the same. We’re the same, aren’t we?”

“No,” Gale groans out, then, leg hooking behind Bucky’s of its own accord, leverage for his own humping, the way he’s trying to get at the hard hot friction in Bucky’s pants: “Yes.”

“What have you done to me?” Bucky grits, breathy, gasping. That should be Gale’s question. “There’s something about—Fuck, I feel—oh, fuck—” He moans without any real words then, shaking and slumping against Gale, mouth open and slack and loud and sweet as his hips buck through it, as his forehead finds Gale’s with surety.

He’s barely quiet, still panting, when he drags his grip from Gale’s waist and reaches back around to his crotch, directly at the zipper and shoving his hand inside. There’s frenzy in how he grips Gale’s cock, in how he tugs and twists, in how he murmurs, “You are wet for me, aren’t you?” The sound of it is obscene, decadent: in Prague, when Gale had found one of Bucky’s marks bleeding and dying (presence of Bucky still hot in the air) it had sounded wet like this, wet like the way Gale’s rattling and gasping, wet like the choke of Bucky’s hand on his dick and how much Gale is leaking.

Bucky’s hands are occupied, one holding the knife and the other holding Gale’s cock, so Gale is the one to clutch, to wrap: his hands clamor at shoulder and spine; his leg hitches. He’s already come, but Bucky groans, huffing and sighing, their heads still pressed together and his closeness making Gale’s mouth wet too. The pace, the vice, Bucky’s thumb—the feeling is a piston through Gale’s core, and he shudders, and the knife scrapes. The pain is a concentrated spike, clean and sharp, and Gale feels himself clench, shake, release. The orgasm comes with a drawn out cry, “oh, oh fuck,” and quieter, longer, “Bucky,” and when Gale’s body loses its tension he finds himself guided to lean back against his kitchen counter. The flat of the knife is laid against his cheek.

“You know, I just wanted to have dinner with you. Maybe watch a movie.”

Gale can’t open his eyes; he isn’t sure when he closed them. The dizziness isn’t only in his head. The knife grazes, delicate, over his skin and clatters when it’s set on the stone. Gale’s mouth is open, and invites Bucky’s tongue when it delves inside—quick, a savoring taste that comes with a suck to his loose bottom lip and a short, bitten moan. He’s still trying to locate his lungs when he hears the slam of a door. Gale opens his eyes, and his kitchen is empty. He lifts his wrist to his nose. Smoky, thick with musk. Heady spice. A bright knife of citrus. He feels his own teeth on his skin, as the smile comes.

[ghcstao3]

was??? going through old wips for inspiration and??? no clue when i wrote this, nor where i was going with it, Nor if i’ve ever shared any of it so. let me know if i should continue

‘09 ghoap AU — “one last job” / cw implied drug use

-

The world comes to in a series of sluggish blinks and hazy memories, and Simon already wants nothing more than to crawl back into the hole he’s just emerged from.

The sweat pooling at his temples isn’t exactly conducive to comfortably resting against the wall of the toilet cubicle, skin slick with perspiration keeping his head upright about as effectively as a newborn baby’s neck. But he has no choice so long as he wishes to keep the scant contents of his stomach intact, especially with every swoop and pulse of nausea that washes over him in rhythm with the muted thump of music from the club whose loo he’s been occupying for an indeterminate amount of time. It’s probably disgusting—is disgusting, getting so intimate with the sharpied cocks and vulgar words and stains of mysterious origin plastered all over the partition in such a way, but Simon is dizzy, the wall is solid, and this is hardly one of the worst positions he’s ever been in.

Simon’s leg bounces erratically, the curved edge of the toilet seat digging into his thigh as he struggles to blindly fish his phone from his pocket. His fingers are clammy, tremorous; a frustrated growl tears from his throat when the device slips from his grasp more than once before he’s able to pull it out and pry it open like it isn’t currently the most offensive thing to his senses.

But he pauses, then, not entirely certain why he needed the phone at all in the first place. There had to have been a reason, surely, but as Simon glares at the backlit numbers through a single squinted, bloodshot eye, he can’t find it in himself to be arsed to remember. If he’s honest, he can’t really recall much of anything at the moment, much less why he thought the old burner would serve as any kind of solace, any kind of cosmic saving grace. As it is, the phone is merely a foreign object, silver and scratched and impossible to comprehend the longer Simon stares at it.

An idea strikes him after many minutes have dragged by, whether or not it’d been the one he’d originally forgotten, and he begins dialling his brother—until about halfway through he thinks better of it, knowing that on the off chance Tom actually picks up at this ungodly hour, his voice and inevitable spiel would be more grating than it’d be reassuring, and Simon has already discovered enough new kinds of headaches in the past several minutes to last him more than a lifetime.

He sighs a raspy, crackly sort of exhale, then unceremoniously snaps the phone closed and shoves it back into the lint-filled depths of his trousers. His eyelids are leaden, his shoulders burdened, and he’s content to slump further against the wall and slip back into the embrace of that unconscious void if only because it’s the one thing he can manage without making things worse for himself.

A sudden, sharp rap on the stall door startles Simon just as he’s succumbing to that temporary relief, setting off the drum of his heartbeat like a jackhammer in his chest, a crescendoing panic unhelped by the intruder’s insistence, their continuous knocking on cheap metal. With strength previously entirely sapped from his body, Simon’s sitting up, alert, prepared to flee, even when his aching limbs and substance-addled mind are so adamant to keep him tethered to this, quite literally, shitty place.

“Oi, you right in there?” A Scottish brogue demands of him, booming, deafening; it rattles Simon’s bones, seizes his spine, worms beneath his skin. The words have Simon inexplicably ill all over again, and once he manages to wrench his mouth open to respond along the lines of either fuck off or fuck you, he discovers his mouth has been stuffed with cotton, his lips cracked and tongue stapled in place.

Another resounding beat of knuckles on the door, shoes shuffling on the dirty tile outside. Simon’s heavy gaze drifts downward to loafers far too pristine for an establishment such as this, too expensive and too polished and too out of place, and suddenly he’s even more terrified, more baffled by this individual so keen on seeking him out. Why should someone be so concerned of his rotting away on filthy porcelain, if not for some ulterior motive? If not to ruin him further, somehow more irreparably?

“I know you can hear me, Riley,” the voice says, low and gruff and teetering on the verge of threatening. It speaks a warning, Simon thinks, but he also thinks it could be a million other things he hasn’t the time nor capacity to consider. This warning means little to him, is no more significant than the sweat still beading on the nape of his neck, and he shoves it from his mind with the ease of swatting away a particularly bothersome fly.

He still can’t force himself to reply. Simon smacks his lips instead. He has second thoughts about not calling Tom.