#plus it's so much easier to write angst somehow

[reasonablyobsessed]

what is it about writing in the very deepest, darkest and most ominous parts of the night that makes writing so much more easy and enjoyable? am i having the writer zoomies?? is this what it is???

[jjungkooksthighs]

Claws of Carnality | jjk (m) (16)

Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader

Genre: (fluff, angst, and smut) abo/werewolf,  fantasy

Rating: 18+/nsfw

Word Count: 14.3k (We really said it's been almost a year so we're going to write thirty plus pages)

Summary:

At the bathhouse, you discover your alpha is much worse is off than you originally anticipated. You tend to him, but some scars never fade.

Warnings: MAJOR CHARACTER INJURY, LOTS OF BLOOD MENTIONS, GORE, MENTIONS OF BROKEN BONES, MENTIONS OF LOSS OF BODY PARTS, dom!jungkook, alpha!jungkook, sub!reader, omega!reader, cursing, praising, possessive!jungkook, teasing, marking, manhandling

Author's Note:

It's been awhile since I updated. Honestly, the grown-up life is rough. That's all I really have to say to answer for the extended hiatus with this story and my other one. Mental health has been going up and down periodically and it really was so hard to write through it all. I spent about two weeks going back and forth with the chapter. I wondered if it would ever make it to a post several times because things kept getting deleted. I finally decided to just sit down and write and not stop. This is the final result. Thirty-one pages. I hope you enjoy. I'm sorry that this isn't the long-awaited mating chapter that I know you guys all really want to see, but it is important to me that the characters are nuanced and that their connection is not one built purely on the basis of desire. Sure, that is part of it, but there's much more to it. So much more depth and meaning when we build relationships with people. Especially romantic ones. Enjoy!

To read more, click here for the masterlist.

“O-over there, alpha,” you quietly suggest, “It would be easier for me to-“ you flounder in flusterment when the strong arm circled around your front curls possessively around you- “I-It would be easier for m-me to tend to you if you sat down on the bench.”

The male makes a deep, rumbling sound as he draws in another heavy breath of your intoxicating pheromones, “As you wish. But it will cost you for being so irresistible.”  

The sound goes straight to your cunt, and you have to bite into your cheek to keep from making the sound of need that your wolf begs you to release. You shift where you stand, hoping that the quaint press of your thighs together will somehow trap the slick from where it is secreted from your sex.

“What…what is the price I must pay for my transgression?” You ask, hoping that balms, ointments, and medicinal solutions splayed on the tray you hold in your hands don’t fall from how much your heart pounds in your chest.

It’s hard enough as it is not to look down, for he is completely, utterly, and mouth-wateringly naked. 

“Two things,” his uninjured arm tightens even more around your front, his hand bunching itself in your skirt as he groans at the fresh scent of desire that drifts from you. “The first is you will not leave my sight. I want you as near to me as you can be.” He noses at the side of your throat, your lashes fluttering in the warm sensation of his breath as he utters, “It was a second hell to leave you after that duel and be without you, but I wanted to respect the tradition–and your decision– had you chosen to prepare yourself for me.”

His words have affection swirling in your chest.

This male really was something special. Even after battling three other wolves and being severely injured on your behalf, he still put your needs before his own.

And really, how could you deny him his request when that was all that you wanted, deep down? To just be by his side. Forever his loyal, loving, doting mate.

“You needn’t ask me that, alpha, for it was already in my mind.” You faintly confess.

He likes that answer.

You know based on the way he presses his mouth to the oily gland along your throat. It is gentle and soft, and it is so different from what you’d seen on the glen not too long ago during his duel.

So much violence and so much pain he was capable of bringing, but with you, he would never harm a hair on your head.  So great was his love for you that he would protect you from that even if it meant taking those scars onto his body.

He’d given his oath to you that he would do exactly that, and gods, he had kept to it.

It is why you let him maneuver you forward away from the watery basin you’d found him in and toward the long ebony wood bench that almost stretches from one end of the chamber to the other. A tall pillar of white wax holds a flickering wick that is set in brass lanterns hanging from the ceiling on each side of the bench, and in front of its legs are caged candles guarded by glass that have high, bright flames.

“How agreeable you are being. If you can so easily agree to that, then the second of my terms is this.” He turns you both before the front of your knee can make contact with the wood, the arm he has encircled around your waist spinning you so that you face him.

His hand never leaves your side, his fingers remaining entrenched in the sea of your skirts. Somehow, none of the vials fall from the tray you clutch onto.

Golden irises that burn with more intensity than the fire beside him have you utterly struck by their luminousness as he demands, “You will promise me that if this,” he jerks his chin toward his mangled form, “is too much for you, you will tell me. I said before that I only wanted you to tend to me, and I meant it. But if you are uncomfortable, you must say so.”

Again, he was putting you first. Despite the fact that he was hurting, he was still choosing your comfort over his own.

Just how much more could your heart swell for this male?

You shake your head, finding your voice full of doubtlessness and confidence that surge into you as you say, “I want to do this, alpha. I spent years studying the art of medicine and herbal treatments so that I could one day use it to help others.” You rise on your tiptoes to osculate your lips against his. “I would be lying if I told you I hadn’t secretly wanted to learn it mostly for situations like this.”

He smirks against you, his mouth lingering near yours as he teasingly prods, “Situations like this? Are you saying that you thought about getting me shirtless and all alone so you could touch me under the guise of that excuse?”

Heat races to your cheeks and that confidence you’d had before vanishes with it. Soon, you’re blushing as you blurt, “No! I mean, yes! I mean….alpha!”

Years ago, you had never entertained the idea that this male before you would ever become yours. That you would ever be able to have a moment like this with him. He had been a constant thought in your mind from the moment you’d first laid eyes on him when you’d been but children, and as you both grew older, his presence in your mind and thoughts had only grown stronger.

But apart from your dreams and musings, he’d been so far for you to reach with all the duties and responsibilities that had been thrust on you from such a young age. So many other omegas had vied for his attentions, and with all of them clamoring for one look in their direction whenever he had returned to the compound from his exploits deep in the forest or in the forge where he had been stationed, you had never been able to get close enough with a constant herd of wolves –female and male alike– around him.

His rank had drawn many to him, each of them hoping that the next in line to be the ruler of the pack would select them to be part of his inner circle. Any selected by him would instantly rise in rank upon his ascendance to becoming Pack Alpha, and so naturally he had had to be guarded in his interactions and limited in his contact with others beyond his work in the forge as the pack’s only blacksmith beside his father.

Rumors had spread fast in his unannounced absences that he would take with his father for increasing increments of time the older he became, because when he returned to work at the forge, there were bags under his eyes that had become more mature, had become hardened with the calluses on his hands as he worked them day after day.

Sometimes he would return with a new wound on his body that he tried to hide under the various furs he draped over his body. You knew because of the chitter of the omegas that would inevitably gossip about in front of the fire in the omegean den on your way back to your chambers after a long night in the archives that you went to after you left the schoolhouse for the day.

Those were the nights that you found your paws bearing down on the grassy ground as you ran through the hills deep in the woodland in your journey toward your favorite creek that was tucked away behind a wall of vines, deep into the forest, that no one but you knew about.

Or so you had thought.

He’d been there, too. From a distance, of course. From the moment you stepped out of your chambers, he’d been able to smell you. The wind had a cunning way of carrying that to him no matter where he was, and he was helpless to the wolf in him he had been learning to control that bayed and bayed until he listened and tracked that captivating scent that made everything else in the world fade away.

You wonder, as he urges you between his legs that he opens for you in invitation to stand between, just how much he had to sacrifice to be sitting before you now.

Your alpha observes your expressions change from embarrassment to concentrated concern, and he tugs on the invisible cord tying you both together that is the bond you now share. You let him in without hesitation, your thoughts becoming known to him as he draws on the connection.

He can hear your thoughts, can feel your emotions, can see your memories if he taps into it. In the developing stage of the bond, you wish you knew how to show him all of your dreams of him, all of your memories of him, and all your thoughts that you’ve ever had of him.

There’s something that you want him to see, but gods, your voice just won’t work the way you want it to under the emotion that cracks and breaks it. So, you let him see a memory you’d kept buried deep in the trenches of your mind for many, many moons. One that no one but he would ever carry.

It had been a rainy, stormy night. So heavy was the rain that it pelted your skin even through the thick coat of your white fur as you’d torn through the earth with paws too eager to rush you away from the center of your stresses and away to the woodland where it all melted away with the streaks of color that passed by you in your inhuman speed as you ran, ran, and then ran some more.

Thunder had rumbled through the sky on this particular night so loud that even your eardrums rang after the deafening strikes of sound that cut through the sky as lightning flashed before your eyes from under the  canopy of trees.

The forest was vast, but that night, it had seemed all too small for you.

You hadn’t stopped until your lungs screamed for air, your haunches burning from how hard you’d pushed them, the bolt of white light in the sky similar to the color of the flame that had burned in the stone fireplace set in the middle of the wall on one end of your chambers while you’d carefully, attentively read the letter left to you on your windowsill.

Such a beautiful poem about a boy who had come to love the girl he admired from afar. And so meticulous had each letter been etched onto the parchment. You knew whoever had written it had taken much time to compose it with each swirl and curve of each syllable.

 You had left it on your bed while you had gone to find another book to hide yet another letter from your secret admirer with no name, but had not noticed the shadow that had swept under your door to reveal your father, who had taken one look at the letter on your duvet before anger had turned him cruel at the prospect of his perfect little girl being corrupted by some hormonal male.

He'd cast the parchment into the fire despite your ardent pleas not to, the tears falling quickly when he’d let that fury burn you with pokers of curses and chastisements for your lack of purity.

He had always been adamant that you were to study the ways of the pack and devote yourself to teach its art to the youth. Those letters, to him, were nothing but distractions.  Distractions that made you no better than the common whore in the fantasies they would ineluctably fill your head with.

Or so he had said.

That was why you had found yourself bounding through the forest that night with tears in your eyes not even the rain could wash away. But that night, fate had had other ideas.

You’d intended to go to the cave by the creek. You had never made it inside.

You’d stopped behind one of the oak trees on the edge of the forest floor before the soil turned to rock by the stream, the wide-mouthed cave beyond occupied by two figures.

Just by the smell of them, you knew they were of the same blood. One was older with their more muted, aged smell and one was younger.

You knew the scent of the younger one. That scent of blooming gardenia, pear and black vanilla. The same one that lingered on the letters left to you on your windowsill.

Each time the lightning pierced the black sky, their figures flashed. And each time, the two were locked in combat. Each held only a small iron dagger, their fighting leathers more than enough protection for them both lest either were struck by the other.

Unable to look away, you found yourself moving closer until you hid safely behind a thick, bountiful bush and could discern voices. Their voices. Only bits and pieces could be made out through the rainstorm, but it was enough.

“…too slow, son….can’t keep putting your arm up like that…too open and easy for me to…”

The next split of white light through the black sky illuminated them both, and the slightly shorter male with hair the color of ebony had a knife at his throat. It was held there by his father, who shook his head in disapproval as he gripped the younger male’s forearm in a vice-like hold.

“…cannot protect her if you cannot protect yourself. You are not ready.” The older male had decided. “Until you are, you will not see her. Even from afar.”

Another lightning bolt ruptures the clouds covering the moon, and a younger Jungkook had let his dogma guide his blade as he had voiced:

“Eventually I will be. And when I am, she’ll be mine. Not even her father will stand in my way.”

The next time the streak of lightning found its way through the atmosphere, the older male had been twisted around, his arm held behind his back while the younger alpha had pressed his blade to his father’s throat.

A self-satisfied grin with pointed canines protruding from under his upper lip had made your beating muscle in your chest stutter as he had released his father from the binding hold he’d had on him.

You could have sworn he looked right at you from behind the mess of leaves and brambles.

When the white fulmination cleaved through the clouds once more, your heart stopped when his father had quickly captured his son’s wrist to the hand that held the dagger by his neck only to bend forward and rotate forward, effectively flipping Jungkook onto his back. Jungkook, who had been unprepared for such a technique, had been brought to the craggy ground with a grunt, his other hand shooting out to grab for something, anything, to find purchase in as his knife fell from his fingers. Jungkook was fast, but his father had simply been faster.

The older male had easily used the momentum of move to step around and over Jungkook’s now prone form. Jungkook, who had been propped up on one elbow with a sharp looking rock held in his now bleeding hand from the blade of the dagger that had cut into his palm in the fall. It laid too far for him to reach, the essence of his defeat staining it.

White electricity strikes yet again, the deep rumble of thunder loud under the pounding of blood in your ears.

“Distracted. She occupies your mind even now. That…is dangerous, son.” The older male with gray streaking the black hairs stuck over his eyes had said. “Too dangerous for you to be allowed near her until….oncoming rut is over...”

That was the last thing you heard before there had been a flare of heat on your right, the rift of lightning arcing along the old oak’s stump beside you as the clouds clashed and loud sound pierced the earth.

You hadn’t even flinched. That didn’t matter. The only thing that did was the alpha on the ground who’s scent clung to the parchments that made you blush, smile, and kick your feet while you coveted them close to your chest as you wished to the gods that whatever force was keeping him from your side would release him.

The fascination that had turned every letter of his had tilled the very hard edge with which he spoke as he growled, “No. I cannot go through that again. You cannot make me.”

“Won’t I?” His father flipped the dagger in hand. “You’re on the ground right now because you cannot keep your mind off her. What is to stop you from venturing into her chambers tonight when you inevitably begin thinking of how good she smells? Of how pretty she looks when-“

Jungkook had pushed up on his hand, the other holding the rock slicing the air close to his father’s thigh. Each side of the older male’s mouth pulled downward, the metal of his dagger gleaming as sparks had flown upon impact of the pointed edge of the rock hitting the blade with such force.

“Don’t.” Jungkook’s jaw tensed. “Do not dare to say the things I mutter in my sleep when you have me chained to the fucking trees.”

His father had shrugged. “Then become stronger for her. Until you can, you’ll stay here, deep in the woods. Far away from her.”

The cords in the younger alpha’s neck went rigid as he scowled. “I will find my way to her. One way or another.”

With that, he’d pulled his knees toward his chest before punting his father in the chest with his feet. Such energy he’d used to push himself back from the older male as he’d used the force of the action to drive his feet over his head in a backward roll, his bleeding hand reaching around the hilt of the curved dagger on the ground. When he’d gotten to his feet once more, he had bared his teeth with determination set into those expressive features of his.

His father had nodded in approval, “That’s the spirit, son. Never accept defeat. That’s how you win.”

The clash of metal had soon become drowned out by the outpour of rain, but not even the water could snuff out the iotas of light that came at each powerful strike of their blades against each other.

Hours must have passed, but you swore it felt like it had only been minutes as your eyes followed the younger male everywhere he went, his wild dark locks sticking to his forehead and sides of his face as he moved with purpose and confidence.

There was an art to his movements as he continuously, mercilessly brought down his blade on his father’s. Time and time again.

Whether he held a quill or a blade in his hand, he was filled with purpose. Purpose that was entirely carved by you.

It had taken his father being backed into the stream for you to realize that you were too close. And that the air had become too thick to push air through your lungs as the organs in your chest contracted too deeply?

Why had it suddenly become so difficult to breathe?

Jungkook wades into the stream up to his calves, not willing to let up on his father despite the water urging him with its flow against him.

The closer he got, the more labored your breaths became.

You needed to shift. You needed to shed your heavy furs that had been drenched by the rain.

But to do that, you had to leave him.

So, you did. Quietly, you slipped into the night, careful not to make any sound lest you drew any attention to yourself. You hadn’t known you’d been holding your breath until you found your way back to your chambers, your footfalls light as your furs had begun to fall away from you. After you’d collected the rainwater you’d left in a barrel outside your window in several smaller bowls and emptied them into the cauldron hung over the metal hook above your fireplace to heat what would be your bathwater, your hands had sought the comfort of the thickest bound book that you kept on your bookshelf.

You had been too hasty to get to the dog-eared page you’d marked in the book, accidentally tearing the page before finding what you’d come to your book for. Inside it was tucked your favorite letter left to you on your windowsill. One that you found yourself rereading night after night.

It read:

The moon pales in comparison to the light that twinkles in your eyes,

The stars tremble in awe of your brilliance,

The night must blanket them and still, you offer more warmth,

Warmth that not even the sun can make as pleasant,

Warmth that the clouds could not even shade,

Warmth that no rain could fall with,

The flowers around us bloom, but none blossom with the beauty and grace of you,

The seedlings take root, but gods, none do so like the one you’ve planted in me,

The water they draw into themselves is life-giving, but yours is so much nourishing,

 Still I sit here, hoping that you will allow me to bask in your radiance,

Still I sit here, promising that I will grow stronger in body, soul, and mind to be at your side,

Still I sit here, thinking of you when I cannot see, hear, or touch you as I do in my dreams.

Wait for me, my beautiful flower who only becomes more alluring under each moon.

Wait for me, and I will be your loving attendant,  

Wait for me, and I will be yours.

You are forbidden to me now, but soon, you will not be. Soon, I will make you mine.

You will never have to look longingly at the wolves who hold and dote on each other while your only partner is the books you keep in your library. I will be everything you want me to be if that is what pleases you.

You will always have a shoulder to lean on, an ear that will listen, a hand that will caress you.

You will always have me.

You will never have to spend your nights crying into your pillow alone because of your father. I will be there to hold you close. I will be the fists that pummel him to the ground for daring to hurt you. Or anyone else that meddles your happiness.

All I can do for you now is watch over you from afar. Guard and protect you from the males I know you do not desire. From the females that have become venomous in jealousy of your unmatched intelligence, spirit, and beauty. From the threats that loom deep in the forest.

I hope you can forgive me for keeping my name and a face a secret from you. I suspect by now you have figured out who I am. And if you have, you will then understand why I commune with you this way.

The elders, nor your father, would allow it since you have not yet presented. Besides…it looks like I have some developments myself that I need to make. You have so consumed my mind and body that I can no longer make sense of certain things.

You are everywhere and yet, you elude me. It is the most tragic of ironies.

Until we meet again, my fair flower. I will see you long before you see me, but you can always find me in our dreams.

Always.

-Your Alpha

The air here had been clammy, too, so when you had let your thumb brush at the corner, the oils from it smudged the ink. Panic stole your breath and you not wanting to blemish the beautiful lettering,  you’d slipped the parchment under your pillow and gone to the window to open it in hopes of letting some crisp, fresh air in.

Even here, you could still hear the clang of metal from the forest under lightly falling raindrops. You had let your body move on its own when you’d leaned out from the ledge of your windowsill that was only a few feet from the ground, the baser part of you subconsciously trying to be near to him despite the space between you.

That muggy draft that had clung to your ribs still did not dispel as the cold drops trickled down your body, the tears of the sky slow in their consolation as they dribbled along your arm as you lifted it up and stuck it out of the window.

It still wasn’t enough.

You needed to be able to breathe. And thankfully, you knew just what to do from all the books you read.

Hot water could provide relief to respiratory issues.

Your eyes landed on the largest of the wooden bowls you’d used to collect water from the barrel of rainwater outside, each of your hands holding it as you’d dipped it into the cauldron over boiling water, careful not to let it burn your fingers as you brought it to the tub, the sloshing of it causing you to stare down at it to see your reflection.

Your mouth was ajar with partially sharpened teeth that had not fully shifted back yet, your face flushed with redness and your eyes… your dilated pupils, now the color of the sun where they were usually silver like the moon, glowed back at you.

You blinked rapidly, surprise lighting up your face as you gaped.

Your wolf had been scratching at your psyche to do something about the irremovable weight that felt like it was pushing against your organs.

Another bout of thunder rolled through the sky from outside the semi-circular opening in the wall along the far end of the small, square room. The accompanying flash of lightning brought with it the deadly gleam of daggers behind your eyes, the image of Jungkook’s blood staining it in your mind’s eye as the suffocating pressure in your chest worsened.    

You’d had to sit on the edge of the tub, unable to get air between your lips and before you could think, you raised the steaming bowl over your head and let it pour over you.

Its cascade down your flesh had immediately silenced your wolf, who preened at the hot sensation of the liquid all over your flesh. Everywhere the water touched, it washed away the uncomfortable weight that had smothered you so.

When you looked into the mirror across the room, the gold in your irises had been swept away with the last drop of water to leave only silver.

Your surprise had been doused until its remnants became distress as you looked up at the moon, your hands coming together before your bosom as you bowed your head in deference to ask, “Please, gods, do not let him suffer for me. Wherever he is, please, protect him from harm. Keep him safe.”

You’d gone to bed that night without bothering to dry off, the lightest of layers heavy on your skin as hushed prayers and pleas for his safety left your lips while you held the letter he’d left you against your thudding heart.

Words have a way of failing you when he’s around, but that? It was so much easier. So much better when you couldn’t find language sufficient to let him know what you wanted to say.

He seems to understand, because then he’s releasing your skirts and grabbing the wooden tray of salves, gauze, and other medicinal solutions with his uninjured hand and, lost in his eyes, you don’t even realize he’s put it beside him until his voice finds you through it all.

You need not worry for me, my love. I have everything I need right here. I may have had to grow up faster than everyone else around us, but I would do it all over again if it meant that you would be mine.

You only notice your hands are empty when you go to brush your forehead against his, your unoccupied hands lifting to cradle each side of his face as your eyes burn with the tears that threaten to fall.

“You are too good to me, alpha. I promise you that you will never have to be alone again. Not now, and not ever.” You pledge as you kneel between his legs, reaching for the thick roll of white translucent fabric with a loose, open weave. You take it between both hands, your mouth setting in a thin line as you rip it so that you have two moderately sized pieces while your alpha takes in the image of you on your knees before him.

“Nor do you, my love. I am officially yours now, just as you are entirely mine. No one can deny us from each other anymore.” He professes, lifting his unharmed arm so he can sweep your hair out of your face while you work.

It was no small thing to allow an omega to do this. The action was something of a rite that went back to the earliest of their ancestors. When an alpha was harmed in battle or in the hunt for prey, the omega that he let dress his wounds, by doing so, accepted the bond between them. To allow an omega to see an alpha at their most vulnerable…it was a very special, intimate moment.

And you knew of that. He knows because the thought surfaces in your mind the moment you daub the dry fabric against the top of each pectoral where four dark and furiously red lines curve diagonally downward and end on each side of his pelvis. Blood beads the incisions that Yoongi’s serrated claws had left, and the tears that had threatened to fall before fight against the entrapment of your eyelids as you try to blink them away.

“It hurts, doesn’t it, alpha?” You ask with the guilt weighing at your words as you uncork one of the small ovular vials containing a yellow liquid, the woody-sweet scent pungent in your nostrils as you use the oil left by crushed eucalyptus to clean your hands before you pour it onto the strips of fabric you’d just torn and after, you push the cork into the vial and set it down before you.

You let guilt drag each of your hands containing the gauze downward very lightly as you follow the large virgules of red. Where you normally would admire the strong, defined contours of his chest, now, the sight of it has woe whispering in your ear.

His skin is hot to the touch. As if fire burns under his flesh. So fuming and inflamed in the redness that surrounds the gaping, curling lacerations. Both sides of his sternum have been raked– no, ripped–through by sharp claws. Yoongi had cut into your mate’s skin eight blood red half-moons; four on either side of his chest that were turned away from each other, their ends incurving from the base of his neck all the way down his torso and even along his hip bones. Layers of crimson ooze and leak down his body like water, and the sight has something in your bosom tightening in on itself as your vision becomes cloudy.

Somewhere down between the middle of his pectorals, the cloths become too saturated and heavy with blood to soak up any more.

Perhaps the tangibility of his suffering is what finally has the tears falling down your cheeks, the burning in your eyes unavoidable no matter how many times you try to blink it away.

Despite that it feels as if fire sears him everywhere Yoongi’s claws had been, there is worse pain to be felt. Like the gut-wrenching punch that is delivered to his belly when he sees the first of your tears slide down your face.

With the hand he has on your chin, he tilts your chin up as he answers honestly, “Nothing harms me more than watching the light of my life weep for me.”

“I…I can’t help it, alpha.” You respond dolefully, your own stomach dropping to the bowels of your body at the high volume of blood he’s losing so quickly. He’d already turned the entire tub of water he’d been in red, and still he bled. If this kept on…

You don’t let that thought continue. You can’t. 

You drop the sopping cloths into an empty glass container you’d put next to the roll of gauze only to take the roll between your hands once again. This time, you do not stop unraveling it until you have much thicker stretches of cloth folded into squares. You do not forget to grab the vial of yellow fluid once more, the viscous oil slow to make its journey to the cloths. You lightly press them against the spots you had had the other ones placed against. The second you put them to his mutilated flesh, they slowly turn crimson. The more they are stained with his lifeblood, the more you are soused with leaden compunction.

It burns, yes, but your sadness smolders him more.

“You are blaming yourself for this.”

It is not a question. It’s a statement.

You draggle each of the gauzes down along the underside of his pectorals, letting them rest there as you watch them turn completely red with his blood.

Momentarily, you wonder if the silvers he’d put on you before would be able to numb the contrition that pulls your spirits away from you.

Your mate will not have any of that.

He runs the pad of his thumb along your chin as he coaxes, “Peer into my eyes, Y/N.”

Unquestioningly, you do. He’s more than earned your obedience. What you see in the depths of those orbs is unending and bottomless in the plunge to the part of him that he would never show anyone else. The part of him that he had kept buried and sunken in wait for the right creature to unearth it. So many masks he had had to wear when so many had ulterior motives and designs around him, but this creature before him? He would break them all to pieces so she could see him for what he really was.

Once, he had asked his father how he would really know if anyone wanted him for him and not his power or his rank. His father had simply laughed and told him: You won’t. All you can do is watch and wait to see someone’s true colors when they think no one else is watching.

This creature before him who cried in the face of his pain and suffering did so out of pure, genuine sorrow. He could feel it sinking your spirits, your very thoughts through the bond. He could see it deep in the valley of your eyes that are, even in the guilt that tries to make them cloudy, drizzling with love for him.

There was no doubt in his mind that you were true and that you were absolutely, unequivocally his. That is why he allows the walls of his reservedness to crumble as he confides:

“Hear my words, my love. This is a result of my own weakness. I teased you before about you wanting to do this. But know that you are only in this situation because I wasn’t strong enough to do what I needed to do.” He doesn’t let go of your chin. With his other hand, he places it between your breasts. The action has him sucking his lip between his teeth as excruciating pain shoots through his upper bicep where the flesh has been torn from limb. A river of red gushes from the open wound, but it matters little to him when pangs of your heart are slower even than his as if it, too, was sulking itself in blame. Despite the way his split blood vessels cry more tears of blood in the movement, he goes on with a grimace, “I know what you’re thinking, my sweet, beautiful girl. You are not to blame for this. Do not pity me. Do not feel guilty for me. If anything, I should be the one pitying you for having to tend to me for such serious injuries.” He leans forward, his lips meeting the flesh between your brows, “I’m sorry you had to see that. And I’m sorry I didn’t come back to you with only a scratch. But I meant every word of what I said when I made that oath to you that I would protect you with my body. My body can be mended. My soul, if it lost you, could not.”

The male before you shouldn’t even be able to move in his condition.

And yet, he does.

For you.

Your own emotions crack and fracture under the seriousness of his words and unhesitant ministrations. Each is packed with the mass of his candor and you can’t stop yourself from pouring your heart out to him.

“You ask me to simply accept this…this agony that you must be feeling, alpha, and I,” you cry out,” I cannot! I care too much for you to simply turn off my emotions. I cannot do it!”

You lift the strips of soddened fabric away from his chest through eyes full of tears, your sight descending to where you hold them in your now shaking hands as you place those, too, in the same glass bowl as the others. “You ask me not to blame myself, but your wounds…they are there because of me. And they are serious. Serious enough that if this keeps on, you-“ Your sniffle, shaking your head in unwillingness to finish the unbearable thought. You take the gauzy roll in your hands once more and unwind it, you have to rely on muscle memory because at this point, the constant slew of tears is too much for you to see through.

Your alpha’s eyes soften as you try to rub at your own, your tear-streaked cheeks sullied by the tracks the salty water had left,  the fresh blood that now covers your hands a stark contrast to the darker, dried blood he’d painted on you earlier during the Smearing.

Why did that make you look even more beautiful to him?

“I’m not asking you to simply turn a blind eye to your feelings, sweetheart. Such a task would be difficult for anyone with a heart to attain.” He brings his lips under one of your eyes, the tang of salt and iron left on his lips as he does. “What I ask is that you try not to blame yourself for my errors. It is my misjudgment that earned me more scars. These are not the first, and they likely will not be the last.” He turns his head so he can leave a soft, featherlight kiss under your other eye. “These scars shall be proof of the trial I had to face to earn you. And I would take hundreds of thousands more of these for you. If I had lost an arm or leg tonight, I would have been alright with it. Your smile and your happiness are worth that much to me.”

The sound of the white fabric shredding between your fingers is muffled under his voice. It’s as if your senses have been dulled to all but him. Even the firelight fails to crackle in your ears amidst the steady beat of his own heart while you tremblingly let the lip of the vial teem with the oil that smells of honey, mint, and citrus.

“My happiness should never come at the expense of pain or suffering, alpha,” you murmur mournfully as you eye the bawling gashes of scarlet.

You crimp the gauze into two thick squares once they have been wetted with the oil before holding them down over the underside of each of his pectorals. You wait until the part in contact with his frayed skin is steeped in scarlet before you flip each of them over and depress them along the arched curvatures going in opposite directions toward each side of his pelvis.

His lips tighten, wrinkles forming where none existed before when you tenderly wipe away at the jagged ends of each of the four lines on either hemisphere of his torso where Yoongi’s claw had pierced the deepest, not bothering to hide his expression from you now at his most vulnerable. There was nothing to hide now. No reason to keep his pain from you when he knew that doing so would just upset you more.

It pains you to see him like this. You wish there was a way for you to make it all disappear, but unfortunately, there were no medicinal or herbal remedies that had the power to do that.

“Such is our way, omega. It is my duty to protect you. I will never neglect that obligation if it ensures your safety." He hisses when you gingerly drag the gauze along the same path upward to collect the stray rivulets of crimson that had dripped from the top of his wounds.

The incinerating flare of flames feels like it is scorching him from the inside out under each slash and tear in his flesh left by Yoongi’s claws, and each time you attempt wiping away the bloody tears his body weeps, more of his life essence is there to replace it.

The oil offers a mild cooling sensation, but it is similar to throwing a block of frozen ice into a roaring bonfire.

You note the lack of stoppage of blood flow from those wounds, concern turning your lips down even more. What you had been reluctant to think about before was becoming all the more possible now. Even if you did keep trying to refuse it.

Worry soon lugs you asunder with the guilt that swims densely about you, and your brows furrow as you instruct, “Alpha, I need you to lie down now. You aren’t having any changes in the blood loss and I fear that something bad may happen if you lose too much more.”

He nods, but the action has a dot spotting his vision and no matter how many times he blinks, it remains. Soon, there are more. And as he holds your watery gaze, more tears trek down the contours of your cheeks.

Something in his chest twinges that has nothing to do with the wounds Yoongi had left.

“As you say, my love.” He brings one knee carefully up toward his chest, his foot resting on the edge of the wood as he asks “What will you have me to do with this arm of mine? It’s in bad shape.”

You grab the now near-empty vial of eucalyptus oil that you’d set on the ground between your knees and return it to its place on the tray, your mind easily supplying you with the answer to his question after having spent so many nights hunched over tomes about medicinal treatments and herbal remedies as you rise, one of your hands wrapping around his nape and the other laying itself over the palm he has pressed between your breasts. The arm that palm is connected to is the one that Yoongi had mangled such that you can see bone between the split mess of muscles bordering it.

You can only imagine how much agony he must be in. If you could take it into yourself, you would.

Not that he would let you, though.

His promise to you had been made not only out of love for you, but out of pride as an alpha. An alpha that could not protect their mate was not deserving or worthy of her. It was an alpha’s responsibility by right to be the source of security and protection for his omega.  An alpha who could not guarantee that for his omega had failed her.

Or so the tradition had held.

“You need to relax this arm and let me maneuver it so that it rests by your side. What I’m about to do will require a certain position,” you urge him down by the back of his neck, and while you know your measly strength could never compete against his, the fact that he allows you to move him so readily is an obvious display of trust. His back is laid atop the bench first, and you are delicate in the way you guide his head down until it, too, comes to a rest on the wood. “And it…it will hurt. I’m going to have to move your arm so we do not risk further injuring it. After that, I will need to clean it before applying pressure where the worst of the damage is.”

With conviction clearer than any concoction you could give him, he asserts, “Do what you have to do.  You know what needs to be done. You have trained and studied well. It goes without saying that you have my trust. All of it.” He adds.

Gods, you couldn’t have asked for a more perfect mate.

“Let me be the voice of reassurance this time, alpha,” you express while you curl your fingers around the hand of his that is placed along your sternum. Your other cups the underside of his forearm and, scrupulously, you usher it to his side before slowly and surely straightening it. He grimaces, and to distract him, you assure, “I’ll do everything I can to fix you. I promise, alpha.”

You monitor the bone in his arm that shifts in the movement, the middle of his humerus exposed and clearly fractured. From the dark line running perpendicular to the bone along the end closest to his elbow, you know instantly that he’s suffered from a transverse fracture to the bone. Honestly, you had expected worse with the way Yoongi had thrashed his head with Jungkook’s poor arm trapped between his teeth. Those teeth had managed to pierce halfway through the vessels and muscles lining his upper arm, the punctures still gushing blood.

It should have been impossible for him to have moved it. And yet…

“How did you move this arm when your bone has been broken, alpha?” You ask, swallowing the emotion that wants to be let out as you assess him.

His brows scrunch together and he answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “The pain was inconsequential next to the sadness that pooled in those pretty eyes.”

You fight the burning at the edges of your vision as you silently take your skirt between your fingers, the soft material pliable under your fingers. You don’t say anything. All you can do is let your hands work as you find the slit cut into it and tear along the line.

“What are you doing, my love?”

It is a question not asked out of doubt, but genuine curiosity.

The sound of ripping fabric ceases as you pull a sizable amount of the organza away from you and turn it inside out before placing it onto the tray beside his head and grabbing for the rectangular glass canister next to the eucalyptus oil.   

I have to clean it. It’s infected already, and if I don’t get the bacteria out, your condition will worsen. Once I clean it, I will have to mobilize and brace it. A piece of my skirt should be the outer layer so as not to discomfort you.

You don’t trust your voice not to rupture, so you gently push the words to him through the bond as you grab the roll of cotton wool beside the gauze and unwind it before pressing it to your lips, closing your eyes, and silently begging for the mercy of the gods to take pity on him. To save him.

You knew what to do, but there was only so much that herbs and medicinal solutions could do.

You discard the thought like one of the blood-stained gauzes before you. You couldn’t afford to think like that. Especially not when you’d promised to put him at ease as he had always done for you.

When you bring the wool away from your mouth, you lift the lid from the container and the musky, earthy smell of the ginger poultice you’d prepared weeks ago joins the scent of muted iron in the air as you dip the wool into it several times to ensure its transfer onto the material.

The ginger will not hurt you, alpha. The pressure I will have to put on you will, however.  

“I meant what I said, omega. Do what you need to do. I can take it.” He confides, opening his mouth so he can bite onto it.

I know, alpha. I know. More than anyone.

You pick up the considerably long, thick strip of wool from where you’d left it in a heap atop of the open poultice, bending over him before straightening it out so that it ran the length of his upper arm. Thankfully, it was just wide and long enough to completely cover his arm.

With one hand holding one end and your other hand on the other, you bring it down over the split skin from just under his shoulder to just above his elbow.

Just as you’d told him, there is no burning sensation as the gelatinous, thick solution is applied and spread across his sheared muscles, blood vessels, and bone. The blood spurting from the ruptures in his flesh is quick to permeate into the cotton, but you’d expected as much.

The ginger and eucalyptus have antioxidants, antibacterial, antiseptic, and disinfecting properties good for fighting infections. That’s why I chose to have Namjoon collect them from my personal store that I made.

Have I ever told you how attractive I find your intelligence?

Yes, alpha. You have.

You smile through the tears as you untwist more cotton wool from its spool, careful to lay it flat over the existing layer you’d just put over him. It, too, becomes saturated with his life’s essence within seconds.

He needed something else. Something to help boost the efficacy of the poultice. And you knew just the thing.

You scan the tray, evaluating the vials and containers left on it as you note the last addition you had yet to make. There, in the middle, was the small wooden box no longer than your hand and no taller than your pinky. You flip open the latch, the powder inside a brilliant yellow with the hint of orange tang under your nose.

His irises follow your every movement as you peel the layers of cotton wool up and off of him, disposing of them both in the same bowl as the other discolored fabrics.

When you unravel the dressings this time and steep them in the poultice, your other grabs a considerably sized clump of the crushed turmeric powder and sprinkles it all over his slashed open arm.

Three handfuls of that later, you are satisfied with the way the powder has been packed over the gash and surround it with several strips of the material lathered in the ginger solution.   

The turmeric has curcumin in it, which can enhance granulation tissue formation and wound contraction. It also decreases inflammation and oxidation and can increase antioxidant capacity of the body, which means it helps fight compounds that could damage you.

The words are recited just as you had written them in one of your journals, and you busy yourself remembering that in lieu of your mind wandering to darker, scarier thoughts as his life’s essence clings to your hands while you rip apart more strips of cotton and run them all through the container of poultice.

Keep going, my love. Tell me more.

He feels the quiver of your hands as you lay each rectangular cloth down over his raw, chafed abrasions lining his chest, his uninjured arm wrapping around your thigh to steady you as his temples begin to ache.

The ginger root that this poultice was made from speeds along the healing process for cuts and abrasions among the other qualities it possesses. You won’t have to worry about these dressings falling off.

Underneath each dressing you affix to his front, his very cells feel as if they are being engulfed in an inferno. One that only blazes hotter every second that passes.

The gingerols and shogaols are compounds in it that will work as a natural adhesive to the cotton and to your skin without sticking or gluing it to you.  

His second lack of response has you tilting your head in confusion.

You had said before that the poultice was not meant to feel like that, so whatever was happening, he was certain that you were not the cause. Perhaps it was just some strange side effect of blood loss? How odd that this sensation did not spread to his arm. He really should have studied more.

I’m fine, love. I think. My chest… it feels like I’m burning up from the inside. Have you any idea what that could be?

You’d read many books on herbology and medicine practices. None had ever described that as a symptom of blood loss.

With worry making your mouth go drier than cotton, you examine the way he blinks rapidly as if trying to get something out of his eyes.

W-what else ails you, alpha?

More dots have begun to occupy his sight, and no matter how many times he tries to close and open his eyes, they will not dissipate.

I cannot see properly. It is like there are dark circles blotting parts of my vision.

˙

That was definitely a symptom of blood loss. But the burning sensations? That wasn’t characteristic of the lesions that had been cut into his skin. Nor was the ceaseless gush of scarlet from his chest injuries.

You recall the events that had brought you both here, identifying that it had only been Yoongi that had managed to harm your alpha. He’d been bitten on his arm and struck by claws on his chest. Two different points of contact with two different mediums.

You compare the two areas where he’d been mutilated, spotting the angered, puffed up flesh just that became more raised the closer it got to his now covered traumatisms on his torso. Like something was agitating it from the inside. His arm, however, mangled as it is, is not as badly puckered up around the gash despite the blood he’s losing. Which brings you to your next observation: His blood drips slowly and languidly from his chest wounds where it wells and spurts from his arm. With as deeply as Yoongi had pierced through him, he should have been losing more.

What is going on in that pretty head of yours, my love? Have you…have you discovered something?

There’s a slight pause between each of his unhurried words through your bond. As if it took effort to pull them forth.  

You push through the distress that wants to drag you down, forcing yourself to focus and do everything that you could to aid him as you turn your attention to his arm now that you had taken care of his chest wounds.

You needed to stop the river of red that streamed down his arm. Without removing the cloth you’d set over it, you use your teeth to shear the white open-weaved fabric from the now nearly depleted roll it had once been spun around.

I will have to apply pressure as I said before to make sure the medicines set on the punctures in your arm. It…it’s going to hurt, alpha. If you want, you can bite onto my skirts. I don’t mind.

The offer earns you a nod, and so you rise to stand by his side and a wad of your skirt in your hands, hoping that he doesn’t mention the way that they shake as you do.

Forgive me, alpha.

It’s all the warning he gets before you place the dressings over the first layer covering his arm and push into the afflicted area, mindful of where his bone has been broken and avoiding that as you squeeze. Unlike the ruptures along his chest, this area does not nearly scald you.

He curses, his teeth grating into the fabric of your skirt as you apologize over and over again, guilt leaving tangible evidence of itself on your face while you cry for him.

Anyone else would have flinched, but not your alpha. No, he simply screws his eyes shut as he hisses through the material between his lips.

I’m sorry, alpha. I’m so, so sorry. But you have to stay like this for five minutes. I have to try to make the bleeding stop.

The dots that had been impairing his vision increase and the ache in his temples he’d felt before turns into a fierce throbbing as the world begins to dim around him while the claw marks along his chest ripple forth with black blood.

You perceive the way his eyes begin to flutter closed, the arm he’s wrapped around your thigh beginning to loosen. A tremble overcomes his body in the way that it suddenly is as if it’s gone down many degrees, and at that, a lump of dread drops into your stomach.

Not wanting him to slip into unconsciousness, you squeal. “N-no! Stay with me, a-alpha!”

Your voice cleaves through the barren desert that has set upon your throat.

I’m sorry, my love…I’m trying, but…it’s cold, yet my body feels like it’s on fire.

There are longer standstills between his words now. Like each one has to be dug up from the recesses of his mind.

Why has it suddenly become a….a blizzard in here? Why does…does my head feel…feel like someone is…is pounding… into it?

The dread in your belly is joined by another chunked mass of fear as his responsiveness slows with the unseen ice that encases and numbs him. When his good arm falls limply to his side from where it had been encircled around your thigh, you snivel, shaking your head vigorously back and forth as you whisper through a cracked voice, “No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be.”

As his eyelids tiredly droop, that’s when the panic grips your organs and wrings them out.

You had to stay strong. And you could not panic.  Doing so would only stress him further.

But that thought is difficult to keep under the fleeting consciousness of your mate before you, who squeezes his eyes shut before opening them wide in effort to keep awake as you had instructed as he shivers.

You swallow around a brittle, sandy throat, wiping your hands on your bodice before your attention sifts around the room in search of something, anything, to help you. You start with the tray. The bowl of blood-soaked, soiled gauze and wrappings sits on its edge, the rolls of gauze and cotton wool in front of it. Next to them, the rectangular wooden box of turmeric powder remains beside the canister of ginger extract. Around them, the vial of eucalyptus lays on its side where the other glass containers of assorted colors and contents are placed. Three had been unused.

The first was a smaller brown bottle of oil secreted from crushed neem kernels you’d plucked from the seeds yourself. The second was a moderately sized canister of milk-colored paste you’d boiled and ground from coconuts. The last was a large flask of honey.

All would work to stop the bleeding. Five minutes had felt an eternity with his continually shallow breaths in your ear, his heart rate weakening under the lack of blood to push through his body. You hadn’t understood why your vocal cords felt so sore, but when you release him and the mewling coming from your mouth dies out, that answers the question.

You waste no time emptying the bottle of neem oil over each of his wounds as you sniffle, “Keep looking at me, alpha. Don’t go to sleep. I-I need you awake for me.”

Despite the gnawing pain in his temples and the ever increasing temperature that boils the parts of him under the skin of his thorax, he battles the darkness that wants to swallow him as he tries to stay in the light of your eyes that shine glassily down on him while you pour the honey, with unsteady hands, along each striation channeling his chest and arm before adding another lining of gauze over his crimson turned bandages.

“One more, alpha. One more, and then I can make a splint for your arm.” You don’t care anymore about the snot that runs down your nose with the tears trailing it as his skin begins to lose its color.

He nictates through bleary, dimmed orbs, and the sight twists your heartstrings.

You keep your hands busy, because you know the moment you stop is the moment he could slip through your fingers.

You cover both hands in the creamy mixture and with the first pass of your fingers against his sternum, you wrench your hand back in the overwhelming heat that scorches you like a blazing sun.

“You’re burning up, alpha.” The words are choked out. “It’s gotten worse.”

He says nothing. Doing so would cause it to sear him even more.

His pained expression is answer enough. And the discomfort of the sensation it had brought was nothing compared to what you knew he faced. For him, you would cross any sea of fire. For him, you would do this. No matter the cost.

So, you gently trail your fingers around the reddened, plowed planes of his chest to surround all sides of the new contours there in the substance.

You shake the canister over his arm so that thick dollops land over the flesh there so you can spread them around, too.

Once you’re certain no part of him is bereft of your attention, you straighten and scour the room for anything you could use as a splint. There alone atop the cabinet by the door, was a clipboard with paper. No doubt a visitor’s log.

It was the perfect length for his arm.

Before you leave his side, you check his vitals for any unseen changes. Still he attempts to combat the throes of sleep that wish to pull him asunder, but the most serious of his wounds have now been disinfected and dressed.

“Alpha,” you prod, “I’ll be right back, okay? I need to get something to stabilize your arm.”

You wait for him to give a slow incline of his head, the action causing him to wince as explosive pain fires through his temples.

You turn, but the watchful glance you keep on him remains as you make your way across the room. You do not miss the way his fingers along his good arm twitch as if searching for you.

Your fingers close around the edge of the board of wood, your own chest splintering at the sight.

You return to him within seconds, but gods, it had felt like hours.

This time, you walk over to the side of him where his bad arm now rests, one of your hands wrapping around the underside of his arm to coax it only an inch upward. He lets you so you can slip the board underneath it as you observe him for any fluctuations in symptoms. His pupils are stagnant and idle, but they do not stray from you even as his breathing begins to slow and his heart beats become fainter and fainter.

Worry sets in your veins as you take the piece of your skirts that you’d torn earlier and tie it around the board of wood and the bandages you’d put there.

When you press your index and middle finger to the pulsating vein along his neck, it beats feebly.

He needed to replenish the blood he’d lost before it was too late. And you knew, right then, exactly what you needed to do to fix that.

However, no matter how much you flipped through the pages of the books you’d read in your mind, the answer to his inquiries and asymptomatic conditions he’d alerted you to did not match what you knew of blood loss. Whatever he had described was clearly something else. Something that Yoongi must have done since he’d been the only one to successfully injure your mate.

Yoongi, who had bitten him on the arm and his claws on Jungkook’s torso where, surprisingly, Jungkook had explained the worst of his pain to be. Where you yourself had felt it to be in the irate ire of the wounds there so hot to the touch.

It is with that identification that you scrap the books you’d read about common ailments in lieu of one you’d been hunched over for many weeks trying to memorize in its abundance of knowledge. One that had detailed poisons and toxins. There was one that matched what you had seen and heard from him. One that, if introduced into the body, was capable of corrosive necrosis in cells and had sensations and symptoms that matched what he’d described. One that was odorless, colorless, and impossible to cure.

It must have been dappled on Yoongi’s claws. He must have known about the deadly poison carried by a large fungus that even necromancers hesitated to harvest. It was capable of causing the entire bodily organs and tissues to break down and feel as if they were burning in their degradation when the toxins turned the cells against each other.

Jungkook’s eyes close, and horror clods your ribs and bowels of your body.

You had to keep him awake. For fear of losing his life, you had to keep him from sinking into the darkness.

Stay with me, my mate. My alpha. My love. Please, don’t leave me.

The words course like a ravine through the bond, the waters of your affections evident in the tracks they leave down your cheeks as you lift your leg up and over so you can sit astride him, desperation making you move before your mind can. The raindrops of your sadness fall over him like a fall downpour, and soon, his entire chest is wet with the salve of your handmade solutions and sadness.

The longer his eyes stay shut, the closer he dangles to that dangerous idea you’d kept rejecting and denying. That idea became more real by the moment.

You promised me, alpha. You promised me that you wouldn’t leave me! I can’t do this without you!

Distress takes control as the rush of thoughts spill from you and you bring your hand to your teeth that you had subconsciously sharpened in the iron that now falls across your tongue.

I can’t do this without you, alpha. Life without you was life without meaning. Life without you was like having silver thrust on me every day from the moment I woke to the moment I fell asleep: gray, senseless and deadening.

Something warm trickles from the sides of your lips when all of your now edged, serrated upper teeth easily prick and slice through your palm and you suck a mouthful between your lips.  

The taughtened muscles around his eyes and mouth slacken, the movement of his irises behind his lids moving this way and that. As if he was still trying to search for you in the darkness. The gentle thud of his heart is all that you hear in your ears anymore. No other sounds matter.

You speak to him through it, hoping with everything in you that doing so will give him something to hold onto.

I love you, alpha. I love you more than anything in this world. So please, come back to me. Come back to me so I can express it to you, show it to you, and make more wonderful, beautiful, colorful memories with you.

You take his chin between the fingers of your other hand, lifting it before using your thumb to part his lips.

With the hand you’d just bitten, you hold it over his mouth only to turn your palm to the side before curling your digits in, your nails sinking into the fragile flesh to cut into it so that more streaks of crimson dribble down, the dark drops of your blood falling between his lips.

Adam's apple bobs as he tries to swallow it, but it’s not enough.

As you watch your blood spread across his tongue, you can’t help but notice how his skin has gone whiter than sleet, his usual golden glow drained with his life’s essence as he continues to shudder beneath you.

The faint presence of him dwindles in the bond like candlelight that the cold darkness schemes to snuff out, but still he is kindled in yours as you lean forward, your mouth seeking him.

Take my blood, alpha. Drink and replenish what you have lost. It is the only way.

The last sound of you is tucked in his mind just as your mouth slots itself over his, the mouthful of your blood that you had drawn forth from your hand soon emptied into his as he swallows it weakly. You mindfully set your bleeding hand between the middle of his sternum, the thick redness sobbing for him, too, as it spreads down his torso and seeps into the coverings draped across his chest.  

With the first swill of you down his throat, the throbbing in his temples begins to dull and the air around him starts to warm.

It’s as if your blood had passed life into him, for his tongue eventually sweeps at the excesses of your mouth for the remnants that percolate from the small scrapes your teeth had left in your cheeks. You let him lick it, and with each pass of his tongue over each one, the muscle beating under your hand on his chest beats steadier. Stronger. Louder.

He required more. Way more after all that he had lost. And you? You intended to give it to him.

When he’s lapped all of your quintessence up, you pull away only to bring the hand you’d bitten to his lips in offering.

With his eyes still closed, he can’t see it, but he can smell it.

The tang of iron is powerful enough to summon his mouth to it, his baser being taking over as he closes his mouth around your open palm.

His teeth pierce through you easily and when your blood bursts forth from the punctures and he sups it without hesitation.

The violent, searing pain stemming from the claw marks along his torso where your blood had permeated through his bandages starts to lessen amid the ache that is dispelled in his skull. The quavering of his body soon ceases in the absence of the chill he’d felt before.

He wraps his lips tighter around you, and when he extracts your essence this time, it is with more urgency.

You run your other hand through his dark, ebony hair, the color slowly returning to his cheeks as he drinks from you.

“Take as much as you need, my love. You will require quite a few mouthfuls to, ah-“

You pause when he detaches from your hand, licking at the stray droplets of your blood before gripping your forearm to bring your wrist to his nose so he can inhale and run his lips longingly along it. His head falls back as he does, the pink muscle slipping between his lips to taste the remnants of you there, too.

“Want to…bite you…right here. Can I?” He asks hoarsely yet huskily.

You’re already answering before he’s even finished.  “I’m all yours, alpha.”

The implications of this are not lost on you. By puncturing your scent glands where they produce the oils and scent of you the most­–seconded only by your neck–his bite will forever leave his trace where he’d enter you. No other wolf would be able to take in your succulent smell without his lingering odor behind it.

From where you are seated on his lap, you swear you see his eyes roll back behind his lids.

When his canines elongate such that they protrude from his upper lip and he penetrates your flesh along the middle of your wrist, your blood eagerly teems into his mouth. Just like the first time he’d bitten you, there is no pain in the sharpness of those teeth. What was urgency before becomes hunger now as he feeds on you, his cheeks hollowing as he quaffs the life-giving nectar you have produced just for him.

You shudder as he draws deep, gulping mouthful after mouthful and all the worry you’d had before is sapped away as he does. 

Your flavor is so fucking saccharine on his tongue, and each time your essence washes down his throat, his body surges with vitality and energy.

He can’t get enough of it. It’s too good. You’re too good.

More he takes and more he swallows like a crazed male, and you allow it as your own lids lower while you ogle him as the released endorphins stored in the glands along your wrist flood you in pleasure as you mindlessly–instinctively– rut your hips into his.   

“Do I taste good, alpha?” You moan softly, your body growing limp as the fingers you’d twisted and twined around his locks loosen.

You taste sweeter than sweet.

His good arm shoots out so his fingers can splay around your hip to steady you as he indulges in the pulses and pangs of strength that return to him with each consuming swig of your lifeblood, your hips helped back and forth by the hand he has on one of them as your moans turn to whimpers.

You taste something like pineapple, grapes, strawberries, and everything good in this world.

When his eyes open, he looks at you like you’re a fucking goddess. Like you’re some kind of deity, and he is some servant beneath you.

He revels in the revelation that graces him as he takes in the sight of you atop him. 

Your crimson-stained lips have slightly fallen ajar to reveal still jagged, pointed canines,  remnants of red still flecking the sides of your mouth. Your silver irises have been glazed by desire, the daubing of crimson along your lids creating a deprived picture. 

The dried, dark paint of his own blood that he’d smeared all over you was still there, but the new addition of his scarlet handprint between your breasts and streaks the same color all along your skirt and bodice are all the more depicting of a debased creature. 

You straddle him, your gown ripped unevenly along one of your legs to reveal one bare calf and thigh. 

How he had fucking ruined you. 

His once pure, innocent goddess that must have been a fallen, divine being sent to him to save him. 

“J-Jungkook,” you whine when your vision begins to darken at the edges as his teeth bury themselves deeper into your flesh so he can cravingly command more of you down,  “I…I-“ 

The strong hand on waist pulls you down over his hardening member, your breath hitching when you remember he’s entirely naked beneath you. 

“Even goddesses have their limit. I can see it,” he groans around your wrist as he savors the way you sag forward, your thighs loosening from where you’d been squeezing him between them. “I can feel it.” 

He takes one more mouthful of your rich, piquant ichor, your front slumping forward until your head rests in the crook of his neck. 

With your jugular vein so close to his ears, the rhythm set by the tune of your heart beats far too slow. The sound snaps him out of his craze instantly as the hand on your waist clutches you tighter as if you might slip away if he doesn’t hold you close enough. 

“Goddess? Do you mean…me?” You drawl out the words through the tingling sensation in your head.

Despite the loss of your blood, affection courses through you when he attentively dislodges his teeth from you and makes sure to catch the bright red drops that run forth from the two new dark blots along the underside of your smaller wrist. As he does, he affirms, “You saved me.”

The hand at your waist gives you another comforting squeeze before it journeys up along your side, your shoulder, and then down your arm until his digits close around your wrist so he can rub soothing circles into it. “I was so lost in the darkness, omega, but your voice…I followed it back to you.”

“Me?” It’s all you can say. The rush of endorphins fades with the extraction of his teeth, and your hips slow to still as his words sober you.

One side of his lips turn up at that. “Yes, my love. You.” He coaxes your wrist upwards so he can kiss you where his teeth and yours had been. “You,  the light of my life. The reason for my being, The purpose of my existence.” His head falls to the side as he shepherds your hand toward the palpitating muscle along his chest. “I once thought of you as my queen, but I see now that you’re so much more than that.” He places your hand right above his heart, and you’re so mesmerized by those beaming irises of gold that you don’t even realize what he’s done when those warm, calloused fingers brush along the side of your cheek until they rest in your hair and his palm holds the edge of your jaw to coax it upward as he brings his mouth near to yours. “Your voice is a song that even the muses envy. Your body is the drink of the gods that even they would fight wars for. Your mind and soul are so perfect and good that even demons would wish they could bottle them.”

His eyes twinkle with sincerity as he goes on, both fondness and affection for him taking turns to cleanse you of the desire you’d felt before so that something much deeper can fill your entire being.

“Shhh, alpha… you need to rest now. This can all wait until later.” Your words are throaty and full, for your heart has somehow found its way there, too. “You lost a lot of blood and-“

 He seals your mouth with his, and like wax under a newborn wick, you melt into it. He’s warm and gentle in the warmness that he emanates that no candle ever could. The quiet intimacy of it has your lids falling to a close, the air around you making way for you both as you share each other’s breath.

There was nothing quite like this. Nothing like the way that your fingers sought any part of him that they could as they both encircled his uninjured wrist, unwilling to let him go. Nothing like the way your body was perfectly molded against his, the kiss akin to a butterfly’s wing in its softness that could take your breath away. It was the water that quenched after a drought. It was the furs that gave such comfort on a winter’s night. It was the rain and a flame all at once.

And gods, he couldn’t bear even a second’s separation from her. Truly, he’d never been so blessed with the gift of life until now. Until you. Hell would surely have frozen over before he would relinquish this: your mesmerizing, mellow eyes; your pliant, pretty lips; your stuttered, stammered breaths whenever he looked at you; your smaller, tinier hands that loosed and tightened around his wrist as he held you.

But his damned lungs just had to get some air, and so he had been forced into breaking the kiss.

When his mouth parts from yours, he breathes heavily. “I do not need rest when I have you. Imaginings and visions leave little to be desired when their source is on top of me like this. And,” the other side of his lips lift up and you’re sure that thudding in your ears gets louder as he does, “It would be rather impolite not to pay my respects to you, my divine little deity. You were–are–magnificent.”

You try to hide your face in his neck, your cheeks heating up at his praise. He won’t have any of that, and so he urges it back up.

Looking into those eyes is like looking into two orbs spun by the sun. That warmth that emanates over your skin like warm rays makes everything else lackluster, and even his voice carries that vivid color of emotion as he voices, “Do not hide from the truth, my love.”

You make a sound of questioning, not understanding what he’s just said. It’s as if there’s a fuzzy blanket around your body and mind, your disoriented thoughts too sluggish to formulate for you to say much more.

He chuckles lightly, his chest moving up and down gentle enough to not jostle you.

“You do not know it, but I shall help you see.” He offers, nosing at your jawline as he does. “Allow me to show you what you did to me, my love. I think you’ll find the evidence of your miracles when you do.”

He releases you, a quiet whine leaving your lips at the absence of his touch. Soft lips are there to soothe you when his mouth brushes where his hand had been at the edge of your jaw. There he presses his lips as he tells you, “Look down, my love.”

You’d been expecting to see more blood spilling from the open wounds arcing down both sides of his chest, his bandages completely soaked through with his life’s essence.

You did not expect to see one of the lines of gauze you’d laid down over the lacerations lifted in the air by your alpha to reveal a deep gash completely closed, the angry red slash now only a faint line of pink.

As if it were nothing but an old war scar.

At first, you think you might be seeing things.

You blink owlishly at him, and he grins only to pull back another strip of fabric that you’d used to pack another wound.

It, too, is only a faded, paled remnant of what it had been minutes ago.

Your fingers lethargically draw down his torso where the flesh that had been raised and furious is now smooth and normal.

There is no pain that festers there with the poison that had been set upon him by Yoongi’s claw. Its dissipation had had nothing to do with your medicines. He knows that now. It had been you.

Your lids have begun to grow heavy as sleep begins to beckon, and all you can do through the drowsiness that has set as you rest one of your temples against his shoulder so you can still stare at him as you manage the only word you can summon in your dumbfounded state. “How?”

“My mother used to tell me stories about our ancestors. It was said that the first rulers of our kind, who were chosen by the gods, were given abilities no others possessed.” Your mate tosses the soiled dressings into the bowl before he reaches for his splinted arm wrapped in bandages. “Abilities that made the rest of our kind lower their heads in awe.” He unties the knot you’d made out of the ripped fragment of your gown you’d affixed the wooden board to, and while he does, he tells you, “She told me that the king and queen of our kind were fated by their souls. That the first omega’s songs of mourning had so moved the gods when he’d been killed trying to protect her that they gave her the power to heal him through her kiss.”

Slumber drags you away from him, his voice fading the more it tugs and tugs you as he goes on. “So powerful was she that the other wolves revered her as a goddess in her capacity to mend and restore not only the physical body, but the soul and mind as well. And her king? He was vested by the gods who took pity on him with strength, speed, size, and stamina that no other could match.”

Distantly, you think you see a glimpse of the linens you’d put around his arm being peeled back to uncover what you had thought had been a mangled mess of bone and flesh. But no longer. Now, just like his chest, there are only small grazes and punctures that have since been pulled together with slightly darker cicatrix marring him.

When your lids fall closed and sleep takes you from him, he uses that arm to secure you close as he attentively watches over you. In your ear, he confides, “Rest up now, beautiful deity. You shall need it for what is to come, my love.”

[navybrat817]

Like There's No Tomorrow

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Summary: When you make a rash decision after you're passed over for a promotion again, Bucky encourages you to follow your dream. It's the start of an unforgettable journey. Word Count: Over 3.4k Warnings: Insecurities, impulsivity, reflecting, slight angst, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and the best, okay?). A/N: Writing this was very personal and therapeutic after my recent work experience. While I can't actually live this life, I know Firecracker and Daredevil will have many adventures together. Also for @the-slumberparty's Eight Types of Love Challenge (Ludus - Road Trip / Surprise)❤️ Thanks to the beautiful @whisperlullaby for the encouragement and @buckyownsmylife for giving this intro a look and assuring me it wasn't garbage, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You quit your job on a Friday afternoon.

On paper, it appeared to be an ordinary day. Nothing different from your usual routine. You got up, brushed your teeth, showered, dressed yourself, gave your boyfriend a kiss, selected a caffeinated beverage, and got to work. While you wouldn't call your job your dream job and some of the tasks were monotonous, you were good at it and you cared about your teammates.

In fact, they were one of the reasons you stuck around for as long as you did.

“Just wanted to say you've done a lot for us and we wouldn't be where we are without you.”

“I’m so sorry. I hope this doesn’t get you down.”

“I wish there was something I could say to make you feel better.”

“For what it’s worth, they made a mistake.”

Tears filled your eyes as you looked through the messages a few of your teammates sent after the promotion announcement was made minutes ago. There was an overall mixture of surprise and confusion when they heard you didn’t get it. They knew how hard you worked to move up and how badly you wanted it. You wished you hadn’t gotten your hopes up since that usually led to disappointment.

Of course, you were happy for the candidate who got the job. It wasn’t their fault you didn’t advance. Their success called for celebration. It didn’t make it any easier for you though and it didn’t lessen the hurt that you were passed over once again for something you were more than qualified for.

You somehow held it together though, not wanting everyone around you to see you break. Crying was reserved for the bathroom, your car, and home. Plus, you had shown enough vulnerability to management during the lengthy process and aftermath. They didn’t deserve an ounce more.

Especially after you were told that the value you provided wasn’t enough.

“I know this outcome is disappointing, but this isn’t a setback. You still have a lot to be proud of,” your manager told you the day before when you received the email entailing that you didn't receive the promotion and why. “Take the feedback we’ve given you and use that to get to the next level next time.”

He was only trying to help, but who would want to try again when they’re told they aren’t enough more than once? If the intention was to fuel your fire, they snuffed it out. Then again, your feelings were so raw because you hadn’t given yourself enough time to digest the news. Being told you were just out of reach was salt in the open wound, stinging much more than it should have as you tried to figure out what you did wrong.

Because you had to have done something wrong, right? Were the words you wrote in your application not eloquent enough? Did you not display the right amount of confidence in your interview? Why were you always on the cusp of greatness, but never quite there?

Blinking the moisture from your eyes, you straightened up and began to type again. Personal feelings aside, you had a job to do. You needed the income. You also had to prove that they were wrong in overlooking you. Again.

But as the sound of your fingers flying across the keyboard became white noise in your head, Bucky’s words from earlier in the morning shimmered into your mind.

“Just quit, Firecracker. They don’t deserve you and you deserve better.”

Bucky Barnes, your boyfriend. The kind of man you didn’t think was real until he came into your life. Gorgeous, faithful, doting, protective - you thought men like that only existed in books. He supported and hyped you up every time you went for a promotion and wiped away every tear when you didn’t get it. Your crying and self-doubt broke his heart and this morning may have been the last straw for him.

Maybe it was the last straw for you, too.

Glancing around the office as you saw everyone else typing with minimal conversation, the room had never looked more lifeless to you. There was nothing about the place or the job that inspired you, so why continue to give yourself over to a place that didn’t give back to you in return? Why stay in a place that dulled your shine?

The sudden realization hit you square in your chest that you didn’t want to be there anymore.

“Have a great weekend, team. Good luck and thanks for everything.” You sent in a message before you could stop yourself.

You had never had an out-of-body experience before, but it was as if your spirit was beside you as you began to close the programs on your computer. Glancing at your desk after you set your phone to voicemail, you realized you had hardly any personal touches in your space. Except for the photo of you and Bucky.

He was your one bright spot in the building.

With the utmost care, you put the photo in your bag once you shut everything down. Your heart sank as your gaze swept over your team, an uncomfortable pit settling in your stomach as you went to see your boss. Disappointing anyone always brought you a sense of dread and you didn’t want to let him or anyone else down, but you were thinking of yourself for once.

You owed yourself that.

“Hey,” your boss smiled as he glanced up from his desk before he noticed you had your bag. You shifted on your feet when his cheerfulness shifted to concern. “What’s up? Are you clocking out early?”

“Not exactly,” you answered, gripping your bag so hard your hand began to ache.

“Is everything okay?” He asked, leaning forward in his seat.

You didn’t know how to respond because it wasn’t okay and nothing he could say or do would change how you felt. You didn't want him to try and sway you to stay. The heartbreaking part was that he was, overall, a good boss. He taught you a lot and helped you better yourself. So did the team as a whole. They were rock stars. Each and every one of them.

But now they weren’t enough to make you stay and maybe it was a blessing in disguise that you didn’t go anywhere with your job.

So with a bittersweet smile, you uttered, “I quit. I’m sorry.”

You tossed your building key onto his desk and turned away before he could reply. Your mind raced as you put one foot in front of the other and ignored the stares of your coworkers who caught on to what had just transpired. It was hard to breathe, but your steps for once felt light instead of heavy. Your boss may have called out for you, but you didn’t dare look back. Not when you couldn’t stay in there another minute.

What you didn’t expect was for Bucky to be waiting outside as you went out of the door.

Your boyfriend managed to take your breath away every time you saw him and today was no exception. All 6’4” of him, he decided to cover his beefy frame with one of his favorite leather jackets, a fitting shirt, and tight jeans. His stormy eyes zeroed in on you as he pushed away from his old pickup truck and ran a hand through his chestnut hair. He was stunning.

He was yours.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you blurted out as you raced toward him. “Get me out of here. Please.”

But why was he there? You didn’t plan to meet up with him until after work and your shift was only a little over halfway over. Did he want to surprise you?

He caught you easily with his large hands before you could stumble into him. “Whoa, easy. Get in,” he said, opening the passenger door and helping you in. Your hands trembled as you buckled yourself in, your body in flight mode because you had to get away from the office. He wasted no time getting in and peeling out of the parking lot, the building becoming smaller and smaller in the distance.

You weren’t even sure how far away he drove before he pulled over and stopped the car since you didn’t look behind you. Resting your shaking hands on your thighs, the high of walking out dissipated until it left you cold. Reality sank in. Would it pull you under?

“Talk to me,” Bucky urged, his voice calm and gentle instead of demanding. “Please?”

“I quit my job,” you whispered, your gaze set in front of you, but not seeing anything in focus. “I couldn't do it anymore.”

Bucky leaned over to turn your face toward him, sympathy and understanding filling his eyes. “Oh, baby, I knew today would be the tipping point. Waited most of the morning for you to walk out,” he said. You were about to question how he could possibly know that, but he could read you better than anyone. “Just a feeling I had.”

“I quit my job. I quit,” you said again, your breathing more shallow than before he engulfed you in a warm and grounding embrace. Your fingers twisted in his jacket as you breathed him in. Sandalwood and citrus were scents you now associated with love because of him. “What did I do?! I didn’t even give notice. I just tossed my card down and left. Fuck, I just burned my bridges with everyone there.”

You stifled a sob as you hid your face in his neck. You swore to yourself that you would never be that person who walks out on a job, but you did just that and screwed over your entire team. Would any of them understand why you did it or accept an apology? How long would it take for that guilt to go away since you essentially gave up after the words of kindness and encouragement they gave you?

“Breathe, baby. I’ve got you” he whispered, rubbing your back as you steadied yourself. “Yeah, you quit today. And maybe you burned a bridge, maybe not. But I couldn’t be fucking prouder of you.”

“You’re proud that I walked out on my team?” You asked, whipping your head up so fast you were lucky you didn’t get whiplash. “They don’t deserve to deal with that. Not to mention, I have nothing lined up.”

The thought of starting over again made your stomach drop again. The job market could be a terrifying and hopeless place. What if you couldn’t find anything? Or what if you burned through your savings by the time you did?

“I’m proud that you walked away from something keeping you down. After everything you’ve done for them, I’m sure most of them will get why you couldn’t do it anymore,” he assured you, the corners of his lips turning down when you sniffled. “And don't worry about not having something lined up. We'll figure it out.”

“We?” You questioned. Bucky was your boyfriend, but this wasn’t his problem.

“Yeah, we,” he said, pointing between the two of you with his forefinger. “You and me. I'm in this with you.”

Your heart melted before logic tried to take back over. “I should just go back there and apologize. I can say that I-”

He framed your face and pressed his warm lips to yours before you could say another word. He coaxed you to return the kiss with ease and you responded with parted lips and a sigh. His kisses left you lightheaded as sparks ignited, threatening to explode if you went much further. Which was why he stopped to let you catch your breath.

“No. You’re not doing that,” he said, his scruff tickling your forehead as he pressed a kiss there. He knew that was a weakness of yours and it instantly stopped you from arguing. “We're going on an adventure and we can’t do that if you’re chained to a desk.”

“An adventure?” You repeated with uncertainty.

“Yeah. We’re going to drive and see where it takes us,” he said, his lips touching your forehead once more before he started up the car again. “Just need to grab a couple of things before we go.”

“What about work for you?”

“It’s taken care of,” he assured you. He wasn’t the type of guy to lie, but when did he have time to plan this? Neither one of you had mentioned going anywhere.

Leave it to Bucky to do something impulsive to make you happy.

“Okay,” you said, trusting him and deciding to play along with his endeavor. “You said we need a couple of things. What do we need? Besides the essentials.”

“Your laptop. And a journal if you don't feel like typing.”

You refrained from rolling your eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know. My laptop so I can apply for new jobs and pray that they don’t reach out to my now previous boss as a reference, right?”

“Oh, no,” he chuckled, a playful smirk on his face when you swung your head toward him. “The laptop is so you can write like you've always wanted to. And the journal if you prefer to write some of your thoughts and ideas down by hand.”

“Wait. You want me to write on this trip?” You asked, making sure you heard him correctly.

“Yeah, I do.”

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head. You couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Your boyfriend was certifiably crazy, but you loved that about him. “Bucky, no. I can't just write,” you said.

“Why not?” He shrugged.

“Because it doesn't pay the bills or provide security,” you replied.

Writing was a silly hobby that you did from time to time to help you channel your emotions or escape from the real world. At best, it was a dream. Nothing more. He knew that. At least, you thought he knew that.

At the end of the day, it wouldn’t put a roof over your head or food in your stomach. How were you expected to hold onto dreams that wouldn’t take you anywhere? And at what point did you stop believing in them and yourself?

When did you start thinking so cynically?

“But working a job you're not passionate about just to provide safety is the better option? There’s a difference between doing something you love and doing something you’re good at when your heart isn’t in it. You’ve done the latter for years now,” He said with a huff as you inhaled. “That isn't living and you’re lying to yourself if you think it is.”

Your eyes narrowed as his words sank in, your shackles raising. “No, it isn’t living, but it’s the most practical thing I can do! And, yeah, I am good at my job because I worked my ass off!” You argued, taking a breath. You didn’t want to start crying or snap at him when he was right. “Or at least I was good at my job. And I would’ve done my best had I advanced, but I couldn’t even accomplish that.”

Which begged the question of why you applied. The higher title and pay would’ve been nice for recognition and comfortability. You believed you earned it. But was it what you wanted to do for the rest of your life? Was that your path when you looked toward your future?

You hadn’t taken into account your own desires and values.

“Hey,” he said softer than before. “I wasn’t trying to-”

“And say I do try and write for real. How can I even enjoy this adventure knowing I'm probably just going to fail again?” You asked in a small voice.

How many hits could you take before your armor cracked?

Bucky's jaw clenched. “And that's exactly why I'm glad you finally quit. You've had so many people over your head telling you that what you do isn't enough to achieve what you want. And now you believe it,” he said, his hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough that you feared he’d bend it with his strength. “Fuck that and fuck them for making you feel that way.”

Your mouth fell open as you stared, his fury for and defense of you making your chest tighten. “I…”

“Why can’t you be a writer, huh? Why not try? You’re talented and I’m not just saying that to make you feel better. That’s where your heart is and it shows with every word,” He pressed, knowing you put your whole self into your creative outlet. “And, listen, we have money set aside for the time being and more than enough for this excursion. So I don’t care if writing doesn’t pay the bills for a while as long as you’re happy and doing what you’re passionate about. We’ll have each other and that’s enough in my eyes.”

Contemplating his words, you had to give him credit. The job wasn’t something you did because you were passionate about it. You did it because it was safe and expected of you when in many ways it held you back. Besides, what did you have to lose at this point? If you didn’t try, you’d never know. You’d look back one day and regret it if you let the chance pass you by.

Why not do something impulsive?

Why not make the most out of the moment you were in?

“Okay. You’re right. I should try to write and we should go,” you nodded, taking a deep breath. “Let’s grab a few things and see where this trip takes us.”

“There she is,” he smiled over at you, making your heart swell. “There’s my Firecracker.”

The nickname would always warm your heart. “You know, this actually sounds a bit like that book idea I had the other day,” you said, excitement seeping through your veins. Your fingers twitched a bit, too, with the urge to write. “Do you remember? I told you about it while we were eating pizza.”

Bucky took one hand from the steering wheel to grab yours. “I remember everything you've ever said.”

“Flattery will get you everything, Daredevil,” you said, biting your lip to keep from smiling too wide. “So, we're really doing this. We're just leaving?”

“Not just leaving. We're taking a long overdue road trip," he says, bringing your hand to his mouth to kiss it. “You deserve it.”

“We both do,” you said, the uncertainty leaving your body more with each passing second. You even turned off your phone so you wouldn’t be tempted to look at any emails or messages. “We deserve to live today like there’s no tomorrow.”

“‘Like there’s no tomorrow’,” Bucky quoted back to you with a hum. “Sounds like a good book title.’

“I’ll have to write it down so I don’t forget,” you smiled, linking your fingers together. “And don’t forget your journal, too. I don’t want you to miss a thing.”

“I won’t forget it,” he promised.

“Bucky?” You asked, swallowing as he gazed over at you. “Thank you. Really.”

It felt like you could breathe again without a weight in your chest. You didn't feel perfect, but you felt good. All thanks to him. You didn’t know what you’d do without him.

“You don’t need to thank me, baby, but I should thank you for letting me take you away,” he winked, keeping your hand in his as he faced forward again. “Makes me feel like a real hero, even though you wouldn't let me storm the castle.”

Oh, he wanted so badly to go off on your manager, but there was no need. “You are a hero,” you said. He saved you without knowing. “But try not to speed, Daredevil. I don’t want us to get pulled over before we get started.”

He groaned, but nodded as he let off the gas. “I’ll try not to speed. Need to make sure I get you to where we’re going safely.”

“I trust you.”

You would find out soon enough that Bucky had a list of things written in his journal that he planned to do with you on this trip. Everything you had ever said in passing that you wanted to do or try, but never could because of work. Because he paid attention to you. And you were right.

You deserved to live today like there’s no tomorrow.

And he wanted to be by your side while you lived your best life.

So, lovelies, where are they doing on their trip first? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

congrats on 2222!! soulmate au with frankie would be so cute. I love frankie sm he’s just the cutest 😍

Hi lovely! Thank you for this prompt. I was a bit apprehensive because I've read one (1) soulmate AU in my entire life and wasn't sure if I could do it justice. But obviously, Frankie takes this by the ears and I just had the best time writing it. This is also a college AU because apparently I love AUs set with Pedro boys in college 🤷🏻‍♀️

This drabble is actually an AU of an upcoming fic I have in the works, called Summer House (with a lot less angst and pain). I hope you like it sweet anon!

Frankie Morales x soulmates AU

Fuck Yeah 2222 Sleepover micro drabble request | 1346 words (sorry) | warnings: mentions of alcohol consumption, college AU, inexperienced reader, drinking games, friends to soulmates

Sometimes, you wonder what colour Frankie’s eyes are.

It’s not something you wonder about often, not when everyone has grey eyes - but not really. One day, when you kiss your soulmate for the first time, you will see their eye colour, and they will see yours.

So you definitely don’t have any business wondering anything of the kind about Frankie at all, seeing that you two do not get along. Never have, probably never will, despite having been in the same close knit group since you were kids. Benny has long played the second to your principal in your duels with Frankie, while Santi is his, with Will keeping the peace whenever you get into a particularly thorny disagreement.

But that’s the funny thing about friendship. Despite your bickering, you got his back, and you know he has yours.

You’ve heard about it once or twice through the grapevine in high school, but finding one’s soulmate seems to be a dime a dozen in college, with happy news dropping left, right and centre throughout the academic year.

While you’re not in a hurry to find your fated other half, you start thinking that you should at least get started with the kissing part. You’re way behind your friends and peers on that front, somehow missing out on the formative experience despite being a regular fixture at house parties at high school, then sorority parties in your freshman year in college.

You really should blame the boys. No one wants to risk messing with a girl who has three hulking seniors and one equally hulking sophomore at her beck and call, not when there are far easier options around.

But you know it’s not just that, and you’ll only admit it when you're drunkenly tucking yourself into bed, alone yet again after another party. It feels like you’re the only person your age who’s still (stupidly) holding onto the hope that your first kiss can be something, not just a sloppy makeout session with too much tongue and too little meaning.

And so you find yourself, still never been kissed, when summer rolls around at the end of your first year at college. Your gang of five is about to shrink to just you and Benny, with the rest of the boys enlisting after they graduate, and the impending farewell upsets you more than you care to show.

The five of you spend the first week together at the Millers’ summer house after school lets out, as has been tradition since you were kids - with your parents when you were younger, but it’s been just kids for the last few years.

Well, just the kids plus one, since Frankie always brings a girlfriend. Unfailingly, it's someone beautiful with perfect hair who has a wandering eye for the other boys, and hates your guts for being the only girl in the group.

On the last night, the guys invite a select crowd over for one final hurrah before they go home and get ready to ship out to basic training the following week. Music is booming, cheap beer is flowing, and you’re all in the garden, the sticky Floridian heat clinging to you like a second skin.

Ironically, it’s Frankie’s girlfriend who wants to play spin the bottle. He sits opposite you, his Standard Oil cap pulled over his eyes but failing to hide his annoyance at being forced to participate. You roll your eyes at him across the circle, and he gives you a middle finger back.

Will, the self-appointed gamesmaster, spins the bottle set on a pizza box atop the lawn.

It spins, and spins, and spins - until it doesn’t.

You look on in sheer horror when the bottle stutters to a stop squarely before you, the other end pointing at Frankie, who turns green with nausea.

‘FUCK NO!’

You attempt to run, only to be tackled to the ground by Santi, who practically hauls you by the waist back to the circle as you kick and scream.

Frankie, on the other hand, has to be restrained by both Miller brothers.

‘I have a girlfriend!’ he shouts, digging the heels of his beat-up sneakers into the grass.

She doesn’t seem to mind though, clapping gleefully along with everyone else, chanting, ‘Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!’

Shoved toe to toe in the middle of the circle under watchful eyes, you exchange vicious glares. Frankie’s broad shoulders are hunched over defensively, arms crossed. It’s strange, you’ve known him forever, but this is probably physically the closest you’ve ever been to each other without being locked in a fist fight.

Warmth bounces off his tightly wound up frame as he towers over you, and by some folly, you feel an inexplicable pull.

You fight the staggering want to bury your nose in that grey tshirt (the one he wears Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, and restocks at Old Navy when it wears too thin), to swipe that hat off his head to brush the curls from his face, to look into his eyes - and see what colour they are.

In the end, Frankie breaks first - you’re not sure if it’s the jeering and goading from the crowd or your stubborn standoff that makes him snap. Grabbing you by the elbow, he hauls you firmly into his chest before you can react.

You should be embarrassed, mortified that this is how you’re going to end up losing your first kiss. And yet, losing doesn't seem like the right word.

There’s a deep-seated calmness inside you, knowing that it’s going to be Frankie. The boy you’ve known since you were three, the teenager who used to make you cry with stupid juvenile pranks, and the man now who wouldn’t hesitate to throw a punch if anyone even looks at you the wrong way.

As soon as the tip of his proud nose brushes yours, your eyes slide shut of their own accord - and he kisses you.

God, his lips are so soft. Your breath catches in your throat, and your knees wobble so dangerously that your fingers twist into the front of his tshirt, holding on for dear life.

Can he tell that you don’t know how to kiss, at all? Does he think you’re terrible? The fact that this feels so fucking perfect despite having no idea what you’re doing sets you on edge, a magnifying glass trained on your inexperience in a way that makes you stiffen with nerves and awkwardness. 

He must be appalled at how bad you are, especially after the litany of gorgeous, more experienced girls he’s been with over the years. You can’t believe you’re subjecting him to this, how would he ever look you in the eye afterwards -

But then, something shifts when his hands find your waist, palms easily spanning the small of your back as he pulls back for air, but only just, still so close that you can feel the tickle of his beard on your chin. There’s an unmistakable hitch in his breath, a tremour as he exhales, which in turns makes you tremble and switches off the unwelcome commentary in your head.

It’s as if he wants you.

Before you can think too hard, Frankie leans in and kisses you again, harder this time, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam of your mouth, and heat chases down your spine like a meteor. He sucks on your bottom lip when it falls open in a gasp, dipping between your lips with a clever swipe of his tongue against yours that makes you shudder and whimper, which he swallows with a possessive growl.

Your lungs are burning when he draws back, his nose still touching yours.

Then he calls your name.

You blink as your eyes open -

Frankie’s staring at you, lips parted, his gaze reverential. Like he’s never seen you before. Reaching up, he takes your face in his hands, calloused palms on your cheeks, thumbs swiping away the tears that won’t stop. You break into a watery grin, which he mirrors, a warm chuckle rumbling in his chest, holding you close as everything falls into place -

Frankie’s eyes are brown.

Note: In case it's not clear, in this fic, everyone’s eyes appear grey. You can only see your soulmate's eye colour after you kiss them for the first time.

[risriswrites]

Booze, Burgers, and Bartenders

summary: short love story involving rooster and penny's favorite bartender.

pairing: bradley bradshaw x fem reader

warnings: none really, just some mild language and minor angst (if you can even call it that)

author's note: wow!! thank you guys so much for all of the love on my second fic "just roommates". i don't have a lot to say about it because honestly i'm speechless! with that being said, this fic has been in the works for months now and i'm exhausted with it. i wanted to write this and get it out back in may but everything with college really held me back and then from there i've just been enjoying summer and have been putting it off. so i apologize for the wait, but i hope y'all enjoy it!! likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated :)

word count: 5.7k

“Penny! Where are the extra bottles of Budweiser?” you call out, body crouched just below the countertop of the bar in an effort to find a hidden Budweiser bottle behind all the Corona’s.

Somewhere in the bar, Penny shouts back to you, a muffled, “Just got a new shipment order in this morning! Check in the backroom, they’re probably still in their packaging!” reaches your ears.

Huffing, you force yourself back to a standing position, leaning your weight against the bar for a few seconds before pushing off and heading towards the backroom.

Flickering the light switch on once the door is fully open, you begin the tedious search for the famous beer the patrons preferred to order at Penny’s bar. Sighing to yourself, you grab a stool just in case the box was placed on one of the top shelves. Jaxson had a habit of doing that, he knew both yourself and Penny preferred the heavier boxes on the bottom shelves, but he somehow always managed to “forget” that important factor.

Crouching low you start with the bottom shelves before moving upwards. Luckily, Jaxson put the newest box of Budweiser’s one shelf above the middle. Lifting the box into your arms, you steady yourself before moving back out of the room and towards the bar.

Maneuvering around the tables and chairs scattered throughout the bar was easier said than done. It wasn’t until you were able to push the box onto the countertop that you could take a breath, leaning your body weight onto the bar again with a huff. Flicking your hair over your shoulder, you notice Penny coming into your field of vision, a sly grin on her face.

“Jaxson leave the box on the top shelf again?” she questions, quirking a curious brow in the process.

Pinning her with a joking glare you smile, “Not this time, but it’s still heavy.”

“Hey, I’ve been doing it for ten years, trust me hon, it doesn’t get much easier” she chuckles.

Throwing your head back with a groan, you grip the edges of the bar, leaning back on your heels, “I’m sure I’ll get used to it soon,” straightening back up on your two feet, you turn to face Penny again, fixing her with your stare and point in her direction, “but, if Jaxson continues to put new, heavy, boxes on the top shelf, I can’t guarantee he’ll be around forever.”

Penny lets out a snort and nods her head in understanding, “I’m right there with you, but until then,” she gets up from her seat at the bar and pats the box of beer twice, “let’s get these in the fridge.”

With a forced laugh and a mock salute, you let out a “You got it Pen,” and resume struggling against the bottles of booze.

~

Nights at the Hard Deck fluctuated. Weekdays were a little slow, apart from Friday nights, with Saturdays being the busiest. Not that you’re complaining since that’s when you receive the most tips. And having the local aviators around as eye candy wasn’t so bad, plus, they’re generous tippers.

Tonight though, there had been an abundance of new faces floating around the bar. Mainly naval aviators, not to your surprise, but the sheer amount that had been crowding the bar was just a tad overwhelming.

Even Jaxson was flustered, his eyes flitting back and forth from you to Penny in search of some assistance. Unfortunately for everyone, you each were too busy struggling with keeping up with your own sides of the bar, and just when you thought you had a second to breathe, another patron would waltz up to your side and ask for a drink.

Glancing over towards Penny, you notice her interacting with a brunette clad in a leather jacket, an easygoing smile accompanying the glint in his eyes as he spoke with her. Smirking to yourself, you keep this interaction in mind and turn back to the guy in front of you, grabbing a bucket, loading it with ice and the six coronas he ordered, popping the tab off one before handing it to him with a smile, “Here ya go.”

The blond shoots you a smile, and pats a hand on the bar, shouting a “thanks” back in your direction. Moving around your section, you plucked empty bottles off the bar top and disposed of them in the large trash bin under the bar. And just as you were about to grab a clean washrag to tend to simpler tasks than dealing with the local riff raffs of the bar, another patron squeezes their way up to your side of the bar.

Flicking your gaze over to the guy you shoot him a small smile, “I’ll be with you in a second.” Snatching the wash rag, you tuck it into your jean shorts and take two strides back to the bar, leaning your forearms on the top, you shoot the mystery man a small smile, and pose the million-dollar question, “What can I get ya?”

After mixing the jack and coke your customer requested, you accept the twenty and continue working around the bar, popping bottle-tops off Corona’s, Heineken’s, and the bar favorite, Budweiser. All while simultaneously wiping any spills off the countertop.

A few hours later, the Hard Deck is looking less and less crowded, with all the civilians having cleared out. Which allows for you to sidle over to Penny and pester her for the next two hours before closing, sipping on your Coca-Cola in the meantime.

“Haven’t seen you all night, how’d it go?” Penny questions, permanent smile on her face and a light in her eyes you haven’t seen in a while.

Quirking your head to the side, you raise your eyebrows, “Clearly not as eventful as yours,” you smirk. Wiggling your eyebrows you throw out a second question, “Who’s got you all hot and bothered?”

Penny giggles at your playfulness, swatting at you with her dishrag, “No one special.”

“Now that, is a lie if I’ve ever heard one.” you point at her with the pinky finger that had been resting around the bright red can you’ve been holding.

Bringing the can back up to your lips, you smile, “Wouldn’t have anything to do with that brunette with the brown leather jacket decorated in naval patches, would it?”

This earns you another swat from the dishrag.

Leaning away from her, your smirk grows wider, “I’m taking that as a yes.”

Penny playfully glares at you for the second time today, and peers around you, nodding her head in the direction of your side of the bar, “You’ve got another one.”

Giggling to yourself you turn your head in the direction Penny motioned to, the sight before you halting your giggling almost instantaneously.

Bradley Bradshaw.

Cussing under your breath, you take the last sip of your coke and turn to make your way towards him, receiving a swat from Penny’s dishrag in the process.

“Bradshaw.”

The man of the hour turns in his seat towards you, honey brown eyes gazing into yours for a brief moment before one side of his mouth quirks up into a half smile, “Hey.”

“What made the navy drag your ass back here for?” you ask, snorting at his attempt at remaining casual, folding your arms over each other, jutting your hip out in a stance that you hope comes across as vaguely threatening.

Bradley taps his thumb on the bar top and shoots you an award-winning smile, “I’m not really sure about that yet, sweets” he states, his voice coming out in a low rasp, while his eyes wander behind you towards the bottles of liquor.

Rolling your eyes at the nickname, you open your mouth to shoot him a smart-ass retort, but instead, choose to close it and offer up the same line you use on everyone else, “What can I get you to drink?”

Bradley refocuses his eyes back onto yours, lips forming into a frown at your lack of retaliation, “Bottle of Budweiser if you have any would be great.”

Moving on autopilot, you bend down and sort through the fridge for another Budweiser, gripping the bottle and popping the top off, before sliding it forward towards the tall hunk of muscle in front of you, “You opening up a tab?”

Bradley looks over towards the pool tables where his friends were gathered around, no doubt betting on who was going to have to pay for the next round of beers. Turning his attention back to you, he stands from his seat, pulling his wallet out from his back jean pocket and holds his card out to you, “If you don’t mind, that’d be great sweets” sending you a small smile in the process.

Plucking the card from his grasp, you send a sarcastic smile his way before turning to the computer to input his information.

Bradley lets his gaze linger on you for a moment, then sets off back to his friends.

Hangman is the first to comment on Bradley’s singular beer and the sour look on his face, earning him a rough shove from Phoenix.

Nat turns to face Bradley, offering a sympathetic look, “Didn’t go well I take it?” she mumbles.

Hangman snorts and gestures with his beer towards the bar where you’re currently standing with Penny, “Judging by the way she’s standing,” sucking a breath through his teeth, “I’d say it went swimmingly.”

Jake goes to sip his beer with a smirk on his lips, satisfied with his dig, until Natasha forcefully bumps his elbow, forcing his beer to miss his mouth and instead spill down his shirt. Glancing towards her, scowl present on his face, Nat flutters her eyelashes and pouts, “Oops.”

Bradley covers his laugh with a sip of his beer, looking towards the dart board as a distraction.

“Maybe you should go get cleaned up.” Phoenix smiles, her words sickeningly sweet and not up for debate.

Grumbling to himself, Jake gets up from his seat and makes his way towards the bathroom of the Hard Deck. Once he’s out of sight, Nat fixes her gaze on Bradley, “Alright, tell me what’s going on.”

A huff slips past Bradley’s lips and he slumps into the seat adjacent to Phoenix, “That’s the thing Nat, it’s not really going anywhere.”

Nursing her own beer, Nat plays with the perspiration sliding down the bottle, “It’s probably gonna take some time Bradley. You can’t just show up after not talking to her for a year,” sparing you a brief glance she watches the way you smile and pop a cap off the bottle for a customer you’d been serving for the better half of the night, “stuff like that actually bothers a girl yaknow” emphasizing her words with a pointed look.

Bradley taps his thumb against the tabletop, a low groan leaving his throat, “I know Nat, I just didn’t know how to tell her I was being deployed for six months and then dealing with the Uranium mission on top of that,” he pauses briefly to sip on his beer, “It’s not fair to her.”

Natasha nods briefly, understanding where he’s coming from, “I get that, but that’s not your decision to make.” Pointing at him with her bottle briefly, she maneuvers it to gesture towards you, “She’s a big girl, she can make her own decisions.”

Bradley nods his head in understanding, moving his gaze to survey the room briefly, a red blush painting his cheeks and the tips of his ears.

Sensing how flustered he was Nat slaps the table and shoots him a sympathetic smile, “I’m going to get us a few more beers from our favorite girl. When I get back, you’re going to be done with all that sulking and were going to kick Coyote and Hangman’s asses in eight ball.”

An, “In your dreams hot shot,” settling over both Natasha’s and Bradley’s ears, the pair rolling their eyes simultaneously at the overconfident voice of Jake Seresin.

~

“Ready to start cleaning up? It’s twenty minutes before we close.” Penny asks, the clinking of glass bottles ringing in your ears when she tosses them into the trash.

Peeking at her from over your shoulder you send an exhausted smile her way, “Definitely, tonight’s rush took a lot out of me.”

Biting her lower lip, Penny begins wiping down the counter, “That the only thing that took a lot out of you tonight? Or did a certain tall, mustached naval aviator have something to do with it?”

She doesn’t look over at you when you whip your head to glare at her, instead choosing to continue to innocently wipe at the sticky bar top.

“Don’t start.”

Moving away from her, you begin to collect the remaining empties and toss them in the trash.

Ignoring her for another ten minutes, you busy yourself by sweeping up around the front of the building, avoiding Bradley and his lingering group of friends.

Maneuvering back to the bar, you grab the remaining glasses and bring them to the dishwasher in the backroom. Once you’ve loaded it up, you put in the dishwasher detergent and start it on a regular cycle, heading back out to the bar to help Penny finish up.

Gripping the rag in your hand you begin wiping down any places Penny may have missed, hyper fixating on the task at hand to avoid looking over at the man who ghosted you a year ago.

Penny eases herself into the space you were occupying, placing a hand on your shoulder in an attempt at gaining your attention. Looking up to the ceiling you breathe out, turning your head to give her your full attention. An apologetic smile is what meets you and you instantly feel your resolve soften.

“I’m only going to say this once, and from now on I won’t mention it.” Nodding her head in Bradley’s direction she continued, “He’s a good guy Hon, but unfortunately, he’s still a guy. And guys make stupid mistakes. Trust me,” an eye roll from her ensuing shortly after.

“I’m not telling you that you need to forgive him, but maybe hear him out?” she coaxes.

Looking over towards him, you watch as his drunken form laughs with his friends, “I’ll think about it Pen.”

“Okay honey,” leaning away from you she squeezes your shoulder, “Oh and I’ve gotta go pick up Amelia, soo could you close up?” she pleads.

Throwing your head up, you laugh, “Oh I see, just trying to butter me up so you can sneak out to go be with that Naval officer.”

Penny bites her lip at the thought and begins heading for the door, “Not yet, but maybe eventually,” she vocalizes, shooting you a wink in the process. “Alright guys and gals, time to go!” she calls out to the last group lingering at the back of the bar.

The blond calls back to her, “You got it Pen!”

Giggling to yourself, you finish up a few more tasks as the remaining aviators file out. Going to the storage room to grab some beers to restock the fridges for the following day, it’s always easier on you guys the next day if you restock the night before.

Heading back out to the bar you notice the handsome aviator you’ve been avoiding all night, sitting right where he had been earlier that night.

“Heyyy” Bradley smiles, clearly drunk judging by the flush that’s blossomed over his cheeks, neck, and ears.

Chuckling to yourself, you let an amused smile crawl across your face, “To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you again?”

Bradley hiccups and leans his head on the bar top, “I need to,” another hiccup interrupts him before he continues, “close out my tab” he rasps.

Nodding to yourself, you go over to the computer and close out his tab, printing his receipt and wrapping it around his card, you turn back to him and place the card on the bar top, sliding it towards his drunken form.

Bradley looks you over and smiles, “You’re really pretty.”

Choosing not to laugh at his words you fold your arms over each other and smile at him, “How are you getting home, Bradley?”

He hums, still looking you over in a daze, “I drove.”

Shifting a little in his seat, he uses one arm to reach into his back pocket, presenting you with the keys to his infamous blue bronco, jingling them in front of you with a goofy smile on his face.

Leaning towards him you grip your hand around his, easing the keys from his hand into yours. His eyes watching your hand as it encloses around his.

“I’ll be taking those big boy.”

Bradley groans, reaching his arms out towards you as you lean away from him, “Nooo, come back, I need those.” he whines out.

Shaking your head you muffle a chuckle at his drunkenness, “Bradshaw you can’t drive yourself home,” nibbling on your lower lip you spit the words out before you can take them back, “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

Bradley shoots his head up at your statement, “You’re taking me, where?” he questions.

Rounding the bar, you grab your purse in the process heading towards Bradley, “I am going to take you home.”

“How do you know where I live?” he asks, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. Cute.

Smirking at him, you quirk your own eyebrow, “I’m a witch.”

Bradley points at you lazily and whispers, “If you’re a witch, then tell me what I’m thinking about right now.” Promptly closing his eyes afterwards.

Looking up, you shake your head, smile growing wider on your face, “Burgers” you declare confidently, crossing your arms in the process. As if this motherfucker didn’t spend every waking minute with you for a year.

His eyes instantly open, mouth dropping in amazement, an emphasized “Yes” leaving his lips.

Offering your hand to him, you give him a small nod, “We can get some on the way home if you want?”

Bradley eyes you skeptically, “You promise?”

Smiling, you fold your fingers in, leaving your pinky out for him, “I promise.”

Slowly, Bradley wraps his own pinky around yours, giving it a firm squeeze.

“Alright, let’s get going. Joey’s Burgers sounds amazing right now.” Giving his hand a squeeze, you lead the way out of the bar, Bradley stumbling behind you, mumbling about some triple patty burger that they recently added to the menu.

Once the two of you managed to make it out the front door, you turned back to lock up, Bradley leaning his head on your shoulder as you did, making it a little more difficult to maneuver around in the process.

“Okay tiger, lets get you in the car.”

Leaning his weight on you some more, he scrunches up his face in confusion, “I’m not tiger, I’m rooster.”

Lugging his weight across the graveled parking lot and towards the bronco, you snicker at his words, “I know Bradley, it’s just a nickname.”  Earning a low groan from Bradley in response.

Once you’ve made it to the bronco, you focus on getting Bradley’s passenger door open, all while he leans more and more of his weight on you, at this rate the navy should just hire you if you can lug a full-grown man around a dark gravel parking lot.

After you’ve managed to get the door open, you coax Bradley into the passenger seat with the promise of burgers and a movie once you got him home. Rounding the car after ensuring he’s buckled himself in and jumping into the driver's seat.

Looking over towards him, you note the way he’s leaned his head against the window, arms folded over each other, in what you could only guess is an attempt at staying warm. Mindful of his potentially cold state, you don’t bother with turning the air conditioning on, and keep the volume of the radio low, trying to allow Bradley to relax as much as possible. He’s lucky he’s cute when he’s drunk.

Pulling out of the parking lot of the Hard Deck, you make your way down the street to Joey’s Burgers, ordering two large fries, two medium soda’s, one triple patty burger for Bradley, and one regular cheeseburger (with only ketchup) for yourself. Then continuing your mission of getting Bradley back home for the night before he’s sobered enough to realize he’d not only let you drive him home, but also from the driver’s seat of his beloved bronco.

~

Parking Bradley’s bronco wasn’t an issue, however, getting Bradley to move out of his passenger seat was.

Pleadingly, you rushed out a whispered, “Bradley, please get out of the car, you can’t stay in there all night.”

Receiving only an annoyed grumble in response, you tried again in the form of bribery, “I got you your favorite burger from Joey’s, if you get out of the car you can eat it while we watch a movie.”

This gets his attention and before you know it, you’re lugging Bradley out of his seat and across the parking lot. Somehow, he’s gotten heavier in the past twenty minutes of your drive. Mumbling to no one in particular, you let out a low, “He’s got a lot of groveling to do after this.” Huffing out a breath, you manage to pull him up the steps of the cozy one-story house, forcing Bradley to lean against the wall while you unlock the door.

Once you’ve managed to get the door open, you pull the brunette aviator over the threshold and towards the couch, kicking the door closed once you’ve made it inside.

The grey couch that had been centered towards the edge of the living room absorbs a drunk Bradley Bradshaw into its cushions, earning a content hum from him in response.

Throwing yourself down next to him, an audible sigh slips past your lips, leaning your head against the cushions in an attempt at seeking a moment of comfort before you inevitably must help Bradley into bed.

Lolling his head to the side Bradley fixes his gaze on you, eyes trailing across the expanse of your face, when the question, “What happened to my burger?” comes tumbling out of his mouth.

A sharp laugh is what Bradley gets in response, along with a, “I swear you become more and more like a dog as the night goes on.” Bradley is too drunk to understand what that’s supposed to mean, so instead, he widens his eyes and tilts his head a little, a silent question in regard to the aforementioned burger.

Yep, definitely dog like.

Swiping the bag of burgers and fries from the table, you pull Bradley’s special burger; along with a few napkins, out and hand them over to the man of the hour, who immediately starts to gobble it down like he hasn’t eaten in days.

While the man who resembles a golden retriever consumes his food next to you, you start the venture of looking for a movie you wouldn’t mind focusing your attention on until Bradley falls asleep, settling on “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days”.

Settling into the couch again, you curl your legs up underneath you and proceed to snack on the fries you’d gotten.

Everything was calm, for a total of thirty seconds.

Your peace being ruined by an overgrown buffoon looming over you to steal one of your fries from its container.

“You know, I got you your own fries,” you snicker, side-eyeing the Topgun graduate who has resorted to looking like a kicked puppy from your scolding.

“Yours tastes better.”

Snorting at the remark, you shake your head in exasperation, “Finish your food and if you’re still hungry, you can have some of mine.”

Seemingly pleased with the compromise, Bradley gets comfortable on the couch once more, and continues with consuming the fried potato.

After some time has passed, Bradley satisfied with his food and no longer pestering you for yours, you make an attempt to clean up. Which is instantly foiled by a tipsy Bradley Bradshaw, “Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you Bradley,” you wave him off, continuing your advances towards the kitchen.

Bradley forces himself off of the couch, stumbling after your composed form, “Sure seemed like it earlier.”

Tossing the leftover food in the trash, you grab a paper towel and the spray bottle of cleaner he always left under the sink, “And I don’t recall you being particularly sober within the past two hours.”

A small smirk graces Bradley’s lips while he leans his body weight against the doorframe of the kitchen arms folded over each other, “I had a triple patty burger from Joey’s an hour ago.”

Rolling your eyes at his retort, you push past him to get back to his living room, “You’re welcome then.”

Like a piece of gum on the bottom of your shoe, Bradley follows after you, “You don’t have to clean.”

Better than having to look at him while he’s sober and engage in this conversation.

Pulling your eyebrows together, you force yourself to concentrate on the coffee table littered with grease stains from the bag and a few misplaced French fries, completely ignoring Bradley’s piercing gaze.

Hearing him sigh, your gaze breaks from the table and flits to where he’s standing. Looks more like leaning to you since he’s clearly still feeling some of the effects of the alcohol. As your eyes roam over his figure, you take in his posture, his arms, and lastly his eyes, which are locked on yours and the way you’re examining him.

Looking up to the ceiling, you huff, bending to your full height. Abandoning the damp paper towel on the semi-clean coffee table before you address him.

“I don’t hate you.”

Bradley’s eyebrows lift, one side of his mouth quirking up in a half-hearted smirk, mustache following suit, “So you’ve said.”

Your eyebrows crease while your eyes pinch, fixing him with a glaring look, “But I don’t appreciate being led on for months either,” your tone heavy in the way you spoke to him.

Bradley visibly winces at the jab, “I know, not my proudest moment.”

Crossing your arms over each other, you jut your hip out, “Why’d you do it then?”  

Bradley crosses the room slowly, moving closer to your defensive stance with a slowness that resembled someone afraid of spooking a baby deer, “I didn’t want you to get caught up in all my shit.”

“One mission for six months is bad enough,” he pauses, “Another mission with no guarantee of survival a month after the last isn’t something I wanted to put you through.”

Your frown that you’d adorned for majority of this conversation, deepens, “That’s not something you get to decide, Bradley.”

A forced chuckle slips past your lips, “I’m a big girl, I’ve been able to make my own decisions for myself, for years. I don’t need you and your hero complex thinking you can make those decisions for me.”

Your eyes roam his face scowl still prominent. Finally uncrossing your arms, you poke a finger into his chest, “You should be able to trust me enough to tell me those things, and allow me to decide if it’s too much,” you pause taking a step back, hand retreating back to your side, “or if I care about you enough to stick around.”

Bradley tenderly reaches for the hand you’d forced back to your side, threading his fingers through yours, “I know, trust me I do. I just thought I’d be protecting you,” he breathes out, using his hand to bring you closer to him.

Your hardened gaze softens at his words, he thought he could protect you from himself, from heartache.

Settling your other hand on his chest, you tilt your chin up, the height difference between the two of you showing in the close distance you’re in.

“Like I said before,” you whisper, “That kind of decision I can make on my own.”

Bradley’s eyes are half-lidded as he looks at you, processing your words and what to do next with them.

Silence falls over the two of you, the only noise emanating from the tv next to you.

Breaking his gaze, you look behind him to see the clock hanging from the wall that’s surrounded by framed pictures of his parents along with a few pictures of himself with some of his squadron, taking note of the time.

Glancing back to him, you mumble, “You should probably go to bed.”

Bradley huffs at your suggestion but makes no move to argue.

Instead, he grips your other hand in his and pulls you closer, tilting his head to the side, “Tuck me in?”

Laughing to yourself at his suggestion, you give him a small nod, taking the lead down the hall to his bedroom, “Sure, do you want some warm milk while were at it?” you tease.

Bradley hums from behind you, “Now that you mention it,” he trails off, biting his lower lip to contain his laughter.

“Keep dreaming aviator,” you chortle.

“Oh I intend to,” is the retort you get in return.

Turning into his bedroom you push him towards his closet and gesture for him to change, turning your back to him in an attempt to avoid being distracted by his charm and physique, reacquainting yourself with his bedroom instead.

Not much has changed apart from the bedding which had gone from a pale blue to a darker green.

A raspy, “I’m decent,” makes its way to your ears and you turn to look for the source. Intaking a sharp breath at the sight of Bradley Bradshaw in a plain white t-shirt, and boxers, eyes roaming the expanse of his body before deciding you’ve ogled him too much.

Moving your eyes away from his lower half, you make your way to the closet in search of your own shirt and boxer combo, cause if you’re staying there’s no way you’re staying in your “The Hard Deck” tank top and jean shorts.

Wordlessly, Bradley sidles up behind you and reaches for his old training tee from his first days at Topgun, handing you the shirt and a pair of gray boxers to match.

Mumbling a soft “Thanks”, you make sure he turns all the way around before stripping down to put the new garments on.

Once comfortable, you glance to the opposite side of the bed Bradley’s in, fiddling with your fingers as you fight yourself on whether or not you can trust yourself with him again.

Screw it.

Acting before fully thinking through your decision, you climb into bed beside him, hiding under the covers for some warmth, and maybe from Bradley.

It’s Bradley’s warm hands that bring you out of your thoughts, hooked around your waist and pulling you to him, “You’re thinking too loud,” he mumbles, one leg slotting between yours.

Reaching up with your right hand, you glide your fingers through his locks, earning a sigh of content from him, “I just don’t want to get hurt again,” you confess, tugging your lower lip between your teeth.

The confession has Bradley propping himself up onto his elbow, his free hand finding your own, putting it square against his, measuring the sizes of your individual palms, slotting his fingers between your own once he’s satisfied.

“I can’t promise that being with me will never hurt,” he states, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Sighing, he continues, “I don’t know if something will happen to me when I’m in the air.”

You nod solemnly at his confession, running everything over in your head, the pros and cons of being with him, loving him. What that might do to you.

Bradley tilts his head toward yours, catching your eyes once more, “But,” he pauses, “I can promise that I’ll never voluntarily hurt you again, and I will do everything in my power to come home to you.” He finishes, voice shaky and his eyes displaying a vulnerability you’ve never seen before.

Scanning his honey-colored irises, you search for any doubt he may have hidden, finding none, a soft smile graces your lips.

Leaning forward, you nudge your forehead against his, eyes fluttering closed at the contact, “Okay” you whisper.

Opening your eyes to scan his face, trailing along the faint freckles that litter his cheeks, your smile widens, “but this is your last shot Bradshaw, don’t ruin it,” you tease.

Bradley grins back at you before closing the gap between the two of you, slotting his lips against yours in a kiss that had been a long time coming; by at least a year.

His tongue traces the bottom of your lip and without much coaxing, you open your mouth enough for him to slip his tongue in, maneuvering his body over yours for easier access. Bradley slides his hands down your frame to trace circles into your hip, while the other braces himself next to you.

Breaking the kiss, Bradley maneuvers his lips down towards your exposed neck, trailing open mouthed kisses lower each time before coming back to your lips, catching them with his over and over until the two of you have settled into a relaxed state, lazy open-mouthed kisses replacing the urgent ones you were enacting before.

Gently reaching your hand up, you slot your fingers into Bradley’s tousled locks, tugging ever so slightly, earning a low groan from him in response.

Smiling to yourself, you slot your lips against his one last time before leaning back, appraising him with a gentle smile adorning your lips, “I thought we agreed on sleep?”

Chuckling, Bradley moves a stray hair out of your face, “Sweets, will you please put me out of my misery and go on a date with me?”

Clicking your tongue, you drag him down closer to you, snuggling into his chest as you make yourself comfortable.

 “Mmm, dating the bartender, huh? Hope it’s for more than free drinks,” you quiz, trailing a hand down to his abs, tracing each one with your fingers.

A tender kiss is placed to the crown of your head, while one large hand sneaks under the back of your shirt, tracing small circles across your skin, “Definitely.”

Humming, you close your eyes, content with the warmth emanating from Bradley and his tender touches, “That’s nice.”

Bradley chuckles at your drowsy state, “So is that a yes?”

He receives a chaste kiss that’s pressed to his shirt, right where his heart is as you mumble out, “It’s a yes Bradshaw.”  

[tbzhub]

Lucky Charm

Pairing: drummer!Eric Sohn x gender neutral reader

feat. vocalist!Jung Subin, guitarist!Han Jisung, keyboardist!Choi Beomgyu, and bassist/vocalist!Lee Jooyeon

Summary: You’re the only one who can’t tag along for the entire tour.

Warnings: curse words, brief mention of drinking, kind of suggestive? idk

Rating / Genre: PG -13, metal band au, established relationship, fluff, angst

WC: 2.3K~

Artist Note: SO, I’ve been in a major rut and my lovely bestie, @everynewiee came up with a great idea to get me writing again. This fic is for her but feedback is encouraged and appreciated.

m.list tag list

“Ooookayyy, this is the last one” the roadie says, waiting rather impatiently for the pink instant film camera in his hands to spit out the final group picture. This last one was for you, a keepsake to commemorate the band’s monumental achievement.

Everyone had jitters of excitement, this was the first time that Fragile Senses was leaving the local scene after getting picked up to tour with a band that Eric has been idolizing since you’ve known him. The first leg of the tour started in your hometown and for the next three months, they’d travel around the country in a Subin’s cramped, rusty van opening for some of the biggest names in the metalcore scene.

It was exciting, it was going to be crazy, insane even. At least that’s what Beomgyu kept saying practically on repeat last night when you all went out to celebrate. 

The band always went out the night before a show, it was a silly tradition that Jooyeon started before their first ever gig a few years back, where they all got irresponsibly plastered the night before to quell the nerves, because in his words, “it’s easier to fight a hangover than stage fright,” and somehow it worked? 

You’ve never missed a night out or a concert. But after tonight you’d miss everything. While everyone else was down to squeeze into a 06’ Ford Econoline, you literally couldn’t. You were the only girlfriend that wouldn’t be tagging along and although Eric was super sweet and understanding about it, you couldn’t help the negative emotions that kept coming up.

You wanted to be with him, three months is a long time away… and the thought of the band being surrounded by groupies every single night worried you.

“Here you go,” Jisung says, grinning as he hands you the picture and then his voice goes loud.

“Alright, guys! We gotta get backstage to set up. Kiss your girls and boys, so we can go.”

“NO MORE PICTURES,” he snaps at Subin just before the vocalist is about to take what has to be the 247th selfie with his boyfriend. 

Your head swivels in the boy's direction just in time to see Subin cheekily snap another picture and then he’s peeled away from his boyfriend by Jooyeon.

“Eric, five minutes,” you hear Jisung say as everyone scatters to their respective places and duties.

-

Eric’s arm stays wrapped around your shoulder all the while he leads you towards the back entrance of the concert venue.

“This is cool, right?” He says and you can hear the smile that couples with the excitement in his tone as you quietly hum in agreement beside him.

“But I don’t get to hug you right before you go on,” you add in as you carefully make your way up a rickety metal flight of steps and his hand finds yours to give it a tender squeeze.

“You’ll be able to see me from a better angle though and this place is way nicer than any other venue that we’ve ever played in.” He counters happily. 

“Plus, now you’ll have this entire space to yourself”, he says and you hear the sense of pride in his voice as he opens the door to the VIP booth that he was able to reserve for you.

Your face lights up at the quaint space, the velvet cushions look comfy– much better than sitting on top of a large amp on the far side of a tiny stage like usual, but you also enjoyed being able to watch their band from behind the scenes, it made you feel special. 

Still from up this high you’d be able to see everything, even now you can see Beomgyu’s girlfriend and Subin’s boyfriend trying to snake their way through the slowly growing crowd of people waiting for the show to start.

You’ve never been able to watch them play from the pit like everyone else, too dangerous and Eric never ever wanted you in harm's way, not even for a moment. So now you’ve grown used to the backstage treatment and the hustle and bustle that came with the pre-showtime set up routines. But from up here, it just seemed like another thing you’d be missing out on and you couldn’t help the way your bottom lip juts out.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” Eric asks, frowning out of concern but you see the way he’s tapping his foot, antsy to get back to the guys, yet you know his care was genuine and earnest. 

This wasn’t the first time he’s asked this question and your answer still remains the same.

“Nothing,” you reply with a smile plastered on your face as you look up at him, hand coming to rest at the back of his neck as he leans forward and presses a kiss to the crown of your head.

“I’m proud of you. Thank you for this.” Your words come out hushed as he wraps his arms around your body in a warm hug and your face is buried into his graphic tee. You’d assume he’d smell gross and sweaty after all the heavy equipment they've moved around today in the hot sun but as you breathe in a long sigh, he still smells like your boyfriend; citrus and sandalwood soap, cologne, and the faint– yet distinct, smell of their makeshift recording studio.

“Okay, baby. I have to go, I know Jisung is backstage burning a hole through the floor waiting for me.” He announces, giving you another gentle squeeze before letting you go and walking towards the stairs.

“Good luck!” You call out as you sit down, starting to get comfy in your chair.

“Don’t need it! I have my lucky charm for one more night!” He shouts back from halfway down the steps.

Just when you’re about to pull out the picture from earlier to get a better look at it, you hear Eric running back up the metal stairs.

“Wait! I forgot something.” He says with a grin as he runs over to you and then he leans down for a kiss, lips waiting for yours to meet his own.

“Really? Aren’t you behind schedule?” You say through a giggle before you kiss him back.

“I can’t go on stage without it.” He murmurs against your lips before stealing a few quick kisses for extra measure and then he’s dashing towards the stairs once more.

And the cheeky smile he flashes your way before he finally leaves makes butterflies flutter in your stomach and your heart sink at the same time. Only Eric could create anomalies within you like this and this time it was because you knew you were going to miss seeing that sneaky smile so much.

You were going to miss him so fucking much.

-

You hear your name being called from the crowd below and smile once you see Jooyeon and Jisung’s girlfriends smiling faces as they frantically wave their hands up in their attempt to get your attention. Everyone was all together and ready for the next set to start. The opener was good but you thought Fragile Senses was better, their vocalist didn’t work the crowd like Subin and Jooyeon usually do when they perform so it made listening to their set rather boring for you.

The lights go dark and you hear cheers from the crowd as five dark shadows walk across the stage and you perk up when you recognize the last person in line and as everyone gets to their places you ready your camera, excited to film Fragile Senses first legit show.

-

“We did fucking amazing!” Beomgyu yells— again, rowdy as a toddler hopped up on a day's worth of sugar, but you suppose he still was riding the wave of a stellar night just like everyone else.

“We killed that shit.” Jisung admits as he fist bumps the hyped up keyboardist.

“Did you see how crazy that crowd got at Eric’s drum solo at the end? I saw someone’s shoe fly into the air and it never came back down.” Jooyeon says through a chuckle. “I almost messed up my last rift from laughing so hard.” 

“I have literally never sang in front of that many people before, I thought I was going to throw up.” Subin says and everyone starts laughing.

“But you didn’t and that's what counts”, Eric says pointing his drumstick at the older frontman.

“I can’t wait to do that again tomorrow! When are we going to get on the road, Jisung? Next stop is a 6-hour drive and it’s already 2am.” Subin asks, from where he lays sprawled across his boyfriend’s lap. Jisung looks over at Eric and you can see the silent conversation going on between the two but it was a language you couldn't speak. 

Finally, Eric lets out a heavy sigh beside you and then he hops to his feet, reaching his hand out for you to grab.

-

It’s silent at first as you both wait for your uber to come and pick you up.

“She’s 12 minutes away,” Eric says, shattering the silence with the worst sentence he could possibly say given the situation.

Only 12 minutes left.

“Okay,” you say and your lip starts to quiver.

“Baby, please let it out. I know you’ve been holding this in all day. Now we have like 11 minutes. I don’t want you to fall apart all alone when you get home.” 

Eric was right and you could hear the pleading hint in his tone but for whatever reason you wanted to live in denial just a little bit longer.

“M’ fine.” You mumble but the hot tears that spill down your cheeks say otherwise and Eric doesn't miss a beat at pulling you into his arms for a hug.

“I’ll call you every second I can. I’ll send you tons of pictures and I promise to text you so much that you’ll want to block my number before you go to sleep.” He starts, grip going tighter around your waist.

“I’ll send you a souvenir from each city I visit– I won’t wait to give them to you when I get back. I promise I’ll make the effort to make you feel special while I’m away.” For a second it sounds like he might be crying too.

“But–” you try to speak but your words dissolve into a sob as you feel warm hands rub up and down your back.

“I’ll miss you so much baby. I’m going to hate being a 9th wheel.” Eric says and you know he’s trying to reassure you with a joke and that makes you bury your face into his chest, wiping your tears all over his dark colored shirt. He really was the perfect boyfriend and you were going to miss him more than anything.

“I just– I don’t want to be left behind.” You finally choke out in a weak voice.

“I want to be with you for the entire tour and I can’t. I want to be like all the other partner’s. I don’t want you to feel alone while you’re away and there’s nothing I can do. I want to see you guys kill it every night, not just tonight.” You're rambling now as headlights begin to illuminate your bodies and you refuse to turn around.

“I can’t kiss you before you go on stage.” You say in a pout and Eric knows he shouldn't find any part of this cute but he does. You’re the cutest in his eyes.

“Then kiss me now.” He urges as he hooks his finger underneath your chin, tilting your head upwards before he melds his lips to yours and this kiss feels like so much more than a goodbye. There’s love, lust, yearning, and everything else packed into one single kiss, but above all else there’s a promise. A promise that Eric will come back to you in one piece and with stories to tell.

The uber honks twice, basically forcing you two apart and Eric frowns before opening the car door for you and helping you inside.

“Get her home safe please, I’m in love with her.” He says jokingly to the uber driver, before returning his attention to you for one more hug and a kiss on the lips.

“Bye baby, I love you. See you soon.” His lips are curved upwards in a smirk as he kisses you one more time.

“And who knows? Maybe when I’m a big time artist I’ll start flying you out.” He teases before closing the door and with that you leave Fragile Senses to embark on their journey with one less girlfriend in the mix.

You don’t feel happy but you also don’t feel sad. And as you sit in the back seat, letting some random woman drive you home, you remember that you still haven't checked out your picture since it’s been fully developed.

Pulling it out of your bag, you use the light from your phone to stare down at the group picture and immediately you’re giggling as tears roll down your cheeks.

Jisung looked more serious than he actually was with his girlfriend tucked underneath arm sticking her tongue out. Beomgyu was posed in a way that made it look like Subin was about to smack his ass while his girlfriend was throwing up the peace sign beside Subin’s dapper-looking boyfriend— the only one smiling like a normal person. Yoojeon was holding his guitar over his head while his girlfriend posed like she was screaming into a microphone. At the far end of the picture you were making a half heart against your left cheek while Eric’s lips were pressed to the other.

You loved it. The part you loved the most about it was how happy you looked surrounded by all of them. Three months wasn’t that long and even though you’d miss a lot, you were happy to have people in your life that they all wished you could come along for the ride.

[andhumanslovedstories]

An Annotated Dorian/Iron Bull rec list

for my bestie @hubristicfool who will not let me forget that I said I'd make one, and also for myself so I remember what I like, and also you, random reader, if you want to take a peek, but again, mostly for my very annoying best friend hey at least they all aren't incredibly long.

More to be added, but the website keeps crashing while I make this post and jesus christ I don't want to redo this

No chaos in the world by Nele (75k)

“No Qunari would accept a Tevinter mage so easily... unless it was a ruse. When should I expect a knife in the back?” It was a ruse, at least in the beginning.

On this, my most recent Dorian/Iron Bull kick, this is THEE fic for the pairing. It's got everything--slow burn, enemies to friends with benefits to lovers, Bull POV, Qun shit, Feelings but also Lying but also Lying to Yourself About Your Feelings???, angst, a sideplot dealing with Dorian and Alexius that I consider canonical now. Just very good. Currently my favorite fic.

Returns by taispeantas_laethuil (32k)

The Inquisitor's father comes for an unexpected visit.

What if Dorian was the Inquisitor? It's also one of the only fics I've seen that truly grapples with Dorian's complicity with slavery. This fic has a lot of ideas in it and they come together very well.

and you thought the lions were bad by PersonalSpin (20k)

Bull's pretty sure getting held captive by blood mages wasn't supposed to involve getting to know the guy in the other cell. Promising to get Dorian out of there was easy; the hard part was keeping Dorian alive.

hey you little freak, do you like it when characters you like have a bad time??? me too! Bull POV of Bull getting captured by evil mages and meeting his next door cellmate who is somehow having an even worse time.

Thin Walls Make Good Neighbors by WritingEmi (13k)

Iron Bull, new to Ferelden, moves into the apartment next to Dorian's. And Dorian, who arrived in Ferelden just two years ago, doesn't sympathize at all with his new neighbor and his struggles, not in the slightest bit. Or, Dorian secretly goes out of his way to make Iron Bull's life a little easier.

A go-to comfort read fic for me. Fluffy fluffy fluff with enough angst sprinkled in to keep the fluff a-coming.

Muffin Tops by some mysterious stranger ooooh (16k)

Bull owns a bakery. Dorian owns an art gallery. 100% pure, tooth-rotting fluff.

My other go-to comfort read. The author isn't wrong, this shit is PURE fluff. I don't like pure fluff in canon era, but I eat it up in modern AUs.

Anonymous by PeriPeriwinkle (6.9k)

It starts like this: Dorian, 28 years old, single and lonely. And also terribly horny. So he goes to a BDSM club that his friend Mae frequents, because what's the harm in enjoying some quick, fun, anonymous sexy times?

Speaking of modern au fluff. Hot, sweet, and I love the writing.

The Inquisitor's father comes for an unexpected visit.

Nothing to Regret by WritingEmi (44k words)

Dorian, still reeling from rejection by the Inquisitor, tries to find out about the truth of what happened to his friends in Redcliffe. The Iron Bull, at least, is a good distraction through the long period of waiting and Dorian believes he now knows better than to let emotions get involved with it all.

I fuckin love stories where Dorian and Iron Bull get together after one of them (but let's be real, it's always Dorian) is pining for someone else. This one is from Dorian's POV and makes wonderful use of my favorite thing single POV fics do--letting the readers know how much the other half of the couple is into the narrator while the narrator is completely unaware. Delightful. A little chef's kiss. Plus enough plot to keep you busy.

By a Law Divine by musiquetta (30k)

The Iron Bull and Dorian have been a 'thing' for a few months when the Inquisitor and Cassandra end their tumultuous romance. Technically, this has nothing to do with Dorian and Bull, except that Bull had always suspected that Dorian had been a little broken-hearted over Trevelyan not doing anything about the little flirt he had with the Tevinter mage.

And thus one majorly upset Inquisitor, a definitely not jealous Tal-Vashoth and a Tevinter mage caught in between all set off on a trip to Crestwood.

That can't possibly go wrong.

Similar concept to the one above, except this one Dorian and Bull are in an established relationship and there's alternating POV, which I also very much love. The misunderstandings in this one are delightfully sloppy and high emotion, and I really like Dorian's relationship with the Inquisitor.

in the future, when we fell in love by homsantoft (tofsla) (12k)

Dorian and the Inquisitor spend a lot longer than a few hours displaced in time by Alexius' magic. Working through all of the consequences takes even longer.

Time travel and pining for a person who is the same person as the person you love but not the same person. A two person love triangle. Author does a good job of balancing two time periods at once as well.

The Years Between by homsantoft (tofsla) (8k)

Dorian returns to Tevinter, and makes no promises when he goes. If there's a Qunari mercenary he desperately didn't want to leave behind, well, what good would saying so have done?

Mutual pining, between the end of the main game and the beginning of Trespasser.

Writing up a little thing for each of these fics about why I like them has made me realize the sheer extent of my love for mutual pining for someone you're in an established relationship with. Anyway, this one is more of that and very good at it.

honey we're the big door prize by sabinelagrande (3.6k)

The blood magic didn't quite work, but it did enough damage to matter. And then, out of nowhere, things go right.

Hey look, a short one! Funny, a little sad, and pretty hot.

T is for Tal-Vashoth by sabinelagrande (4.8k)

A group of qunari seek refuge at Skyhold, and Dorian's life gets wildly out of hand.

Hey look, another short one! I'm gonna do a little slew of little shorties down here for you, my annoying best friend, and I'm also going to aim this annotation directly at you: unfortunately, this very cute fic does feature your greatest enemy, aka small children. And it's adorable.

grope blindly towards happiness by sabinelagrande huh I'm beginning to think I maybe like this author (2.7k)

Dorian's life is full of choices. He might prefer that it not be.

Another good classic "hey what the fuck are we to each other" fic.

[sadistpet]

Meet the Writer

it's munday everybunny you know what that means

ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴍᴀᴅᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘɪᴄᴋ ᴜᴘ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴜʀʀᴇɴᴛ ᴍᴜꜱᴇ(ꜱ) ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ?

i love choosing muses that aren’t very. canonically fleshed out. it gives me a lot of opportunity to make them into my own ig :3

raikov is generally a pretty blank slate besides the little we know about him ( being violent / sadistic, being in love with volgin, u kno ) and i think he's potentially a really interesting character from what little we see of him. im personally not ascribed to the eva theory bc i think its kinda silly and robs him of a lot of his personal agency, but it is a common theory, so i kinda wanted to build up a characterisation that was more. faithful to canon rather than fanon u kno. plus sometimes my autism just latches onto specific random characters for no reason and in this case it was raikov JDSFHDFKJ my partner loves raiden and when we were scrolling his wiki page for the funnies obviously raikov's page comes up at the top as a "maybe you meant this" and i just kept coming back to him

ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ?

SURPRISINGLY ENOUGH i hate writing anything with like. eating?? which is ironic considering . raikov . but i just never know how to word it BUT aside from that i think combat is really the only thing ! just cause i feel like it relies heavily on input from both parties and i constantly feel like im overstepping kjshkfjhg

ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ?

fluff angst smut grins. they just come a lot easier to me, especially angst because i always have a LOT to say about silly little internal thought processes and i love writing sadness and pain ^-^ it makes me very gleeful ironically jdkhfdjhg i get very emotionally invested in angst especially. smut is a little bit harder? kinda like with combat ironically it heavily relies on the input of both parties but i do feel for the most part its pretty open ended fun :3

ʜᴏᴡ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴜᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ?

i just know. BUT NO SERIOUSLY sometimes it's just Vibes, sometimes it's through reading canon stuff and linking it back to my backstory for him, sometimes it's through interactions with others. there's a lot :3 i do put a lot of thought into my headcanons though, maybe like. too much lmao. but i enjoy it i really love doing a lot of analysis to get to my headcanons

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ɪɴ ꜱɪʟᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏʀ ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀʏ ᴍᴜꜱɪᴄ?

a bit of both ! rn i'm writing in silence and i think last night i was mostly writing in silence on my phone and then listening to music while i finished stuff on pc. i think it depends ? sometimes i just get really distracted when listening to music and end up completely neglecting actually writing HDFJGHED so i think overall i prefer silence, or something in the background that i've already seen before so i don't need to pay much attention to it

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴘʟᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇᴘʟɪᴇꜱ ᴏʀ ᴡɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ?

i love winging it :3 i like the unpredictability of it but i think i tend to like. outline ? replies before i actually write them properly. ive never really plotted with anyone besides a vague kinda outline or premise, because i do really like the unpredictability :3 but im always open to plotting grins cutely.

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ꜱʜɪᴘᴘɪɴɢ?

Yes. not just romantic shipping; sexual, enemies, rivals, whatever, idgaf I LOVE CONNECTIONS!!!!!!! i love being able to write relationships between characters. even if its like, familial relationships or whatever, i think it's SO FUN like ourgh. grins really big

ᴡʜᴀᴛ'ꜱ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴀʟɪᴀꜱ/ɴᴀᴍᴇ?

frances ! it’s not my irl name but the one im most comfortable using online. i also go by rosalind, neo, and vanya :3 one of these is closest to my irl name but youll never guess

ᴀɢᴇ?

22, 23 this year somehow

ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ?

september 17th !

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀ(ꜱ)?

pink. fairy tale pink. baby pink. any shade of pink

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴏɴɢ(ꜱ)?

UM im not sure ?? of all time maybe dysph.oric reverie by [redacted] and the art of suicide by emilie autumn and valley of the dolls by marina atm though its a stranger i remain and holding out for a hero

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ᴍᴏᴠɪᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ?

the thing (1982) !! oh it was so fucking good i really really enjoyed it. theres a bunch of old classic horror films ive never seen so im glad i could tick one off the list :3 the effects in it were absolutely stunning my goodness

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ꜱʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀᴛᴄʜᴇᴅ?

i think it was blue eye samurai ?? i gen dont remember

ʟᴀꜱᴛ ꜱᴏɴɢ ʏᴏᴜ ʟɪꜱᴛᴇɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ?

im so sorry for my crimes but it was the stains of time and then holding out for a hero

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜰᴏᴏᴅ?

meat. and sweet things. i dont think i really have any favourites in particular besides liiiike caramel

ꜰᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ?

spring ! all the other seasons make me depressed in some way somehow

ᴅᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ ʙᴇꜱᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ?

i have avoidant personality disorder so im too scared to explicitly call anybody my friend in case they hate me so unfortunately i will not think of us as friends unless yuou tell me we are. but if i talk to you / interact with you regularly just know i consider u a friend ok. snf

[asshlyyyy]

It's Only Love

Thank you so much for this request. I was actually writing something similar to this, and I still will. I want to try and get my request box cleared, and I really want to get back into writing.

I wanted to have this more on the happier end, considering I will have one that will be extreme sadness and angst. I hope that the comfort you wanted is present? I didn't do too much, more like... understanding and knowing Elvis.

Masterlist

Pairing: Elvis (or Austin!Elvis) x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Death, Sadness, Greif, Fluff, Spelling and Grammatical Errors Mostly Likely. Let me know if I missed any!

Word Count: 1.6k

"Could you do a fluff with Austin. Where the reader’s brother passed away and it’s his birthday and he just comforts her and they go to visit his grave"

In life, everyone had a mental priority list. If somehow you don't know what a priority list is, it is as simple as it sounds. It is a mental list that everyone has that shows who is the most important. Whom you rather be spending most of your time with. Whom you'd want to take the most care of. For some people the first person is themselves. For other people, it can be their significant other.

Your list was quite simple actually. First things first... the first person was your husband. You lived with him and breathed the same air as him twenty-four-seven. No matter his crazy ass schedule. You followed him everywhere he went, even if it meant you suffered just as much as he did. He was the love of your life, and you would do anything for him. Hell, you would risk your life if it meant saving him.

Next on your list came yourself. Just like your husband, self-care and self-health were very important. Being able to be openly available for your husband, and not have him have to deal with your own weight... just makes things quite easier. Not to mention, it's good to have a good self-care and self-love system. Because then you're less stressed, and your husband doesn't have to hold stress for you.

Third, on your list came your family. Now, this excludes your husband considering he is number one on your list. This includes the family you were born into. So, your mother... your father, and your brother. It was a small family, but it was your family. You loved them all very much. Nothing could lose your love for them. They all meant something to you and they all brought you something.

Your mother was an absolute angel. She always tended to you when you cried and made sure you knew how to understand your emotions. She also taught you how to care for others and how to understand their feelings. Your father taught you how to be tough. He taught you how to be rough. Your brother taught you almost everything else. When your parents were working, he took care of you. He taught you the things your parents didn't want to teach you.

Everyone else was below number three. Your friends, other relatives, Elvis' friends. They all appeared lower on your list. You wanted to focus your breath on people more important than those you hardly saw. Plus, you were sure that your friends were just using you at this point to get close to your husband.

A couple of weeks ago you got the worse news of your life. Your best friend, your older brother, passed away. Death affected everyone differently, and while someone like my husband can’t feel what I feel towards him, he still feels sad. He was a friend of his, and you were glad the two got along. You two were home when your mother phoned you. You broke down right there and couldn’t get the words out.

It wasn’t until later that night Elvis found out the news. So, while you dealt with the hard details of his death, Elvis took time off. He knew what it was like to lose a loved one. Especially a brother. He may have not known his, but still went through the same situation.

As you woke up, you felt your whole body fall apart. You knew what today was, and you’ve been dreading it since his passing. A birthday is a time to celebrate getting old int. Taking in a new age, but he was stuck at the age he died in. How do you celebrate something so happy, when they are no longer around? Do you just stop celebrating their birthday?

You were new to this whole death situation, and you didn’t like it. You didn’t know how you were supposed to do anything. Did you still celebrate their birthday? All these questions and you got no answers…

You stared at the ceiling blankly and shook your head. You turned to look at your husband, but instead, you just found his pillow and no body.  You let out a sigh and pushed yourself up into a sitting position and heard the door open. You turned your head and watched as Elvis walked in.

“Good mornin’ darlin’.” Elvis said as he noticed you were awake.

“Morning,” you replied tiredly.

“I figured we could go to the cemetery today?” He suggested as he opened up a few of the blinds. You looked at him confused. He wanted to go to the cemetery.

“You want to go…?” You confused. He let out a hum and nodded.

“I always visit ma mama on her birthday. Figured we could visit ya, brotha.” You smile softly and nodded.

“I would love that.” You replied.

You got yourself up out of bed and made it to the closest. You two get dressed and soon you two went downstairs. You decide it would be best to eat before you two leave. Of course, you two were going to stop to get some flowers. Why wouldn’t you? You couldn’t exactly buy anything for him to use, so get him some flowers to show that you care.

“What kind of flowers do you get someone?”

“Usually ones that remind you of them.” You replied as you looked at the selection of showers the shop had. Elvis hummed and looked around also.

Elvis picked up a bouquet of flowers and looked towards you, “what about their favorite flowers?”

“That too, but when its cases like this… well… it’s always best to go with ones that remind you of them.” You replied and looked at the flowers in his hands. You smiled and nodded. You didn’t know if he picked them up on purpose or not… but either way they were perfect.

“Yeah, these remind me of him. They hold that sense of… look I’ll fucking kill ya, but I’ll also love ya.” You rolled your eyes playfully at his explanation.

You took the flowers from him, “of course they do.”

You two went to the checkout and paid for the flowers. You then made your way over to the cemetery where your brother lay for the rest of time. It wasn’t that far of a drive, but it sure felt like forever. It felt like it did so long ago. The first drive out here was a painful one, and Elvis had to make many stops.

You’re still pained by his loss, but you knew that he was still around. He was up in heaven giving his advice now to those who need it. You smiled softly as the gates appeared in front of you. Maybe today wouldn’t be as bad as you thought it would be. You had your husband by your side and your brother.

“It’s not too bad outside,” you commented as you guys came to a stop.

“Not too cold, not too hot,” Elvis replied in response. You nodded and got out of the car.

Being in a cemetery can be quite frightening. There are hundreds of dead people, and not to mention these places can be sort of like a maze at some points. Never knowing where you are, or where the person you’re looking for is. It is all one big place to get lost in.

“You ready?” Elvis looked over at you.

You nodded in response, “let’s go.”

The two of you made your way over to his grave. Being here in the cemetery reminded you just how real this was. It always feels like a fever dream, but when you’re standing here… it is reality.

“Hi Aiden,” you said softly and laid the flowers down. “Happy birthday,” you smiled weakly.

Elvis wrapped his arms around you and held you close. “Happy birthday man.”

“You would’ve been thirty today. Ya old man,” you chuckled lightly

“‘M turnin’ thirty soon.” Elvis pointed out.

“And then you’ll be an old man,” you poked his chest lightly. You pulled away from him and sat down on the grass.

“Great, just great.” You laughed gently at his reaction and shook your head.

“Elvis picked those out for you, so if you don’t like it haunt his ass.” You talked to your older brother.

“Hey now, I didn’t sign up for a bullying class,” Elvis commented as he sat down beside you.

“You signed up for it when we got together. Don’t make this about yourself either, it’s Aiden’s birthday.”

“Oh, of course, my apologies. Go on,” he motioned his hand out. You chuckled lightly and rested your head against his shoulder.

“I thought today was going to be hard. Instead… it’s easy… It sucks that you’re stuck at twenty-nine forever… but at least you got to experience everything. Who wants to get old anyways? I think it’s overrated.”

“You think everythin’ is overrated,” Elvis spoke up.

“I don’t think you are.” You smiled at him.

“Mhm, just kissin’ up to me now.” You chuckled once more and closed your eyes gently.

“I miss you Aiden… we all do… but I know you’re here with us each and every day. Mostly because I know you would want to haunt us all.”

“Is that why my toothbrush is always downstairs?” Elvis started to question.

“Maybe,” you giggled and pushed Elvis lightly.

While a couple of hours ago today may have seemed like the hardest day… it turned into an easy day of remembrance. You got to spend it with your husband, and the two of you spent some time with Aiden. You really wished things turned out differently, but God had a path for everything… and he just reached the end of his.

Original Ask: "Could you do a fluff with Austin. Where the reader's brother passed away and it's his birthday and he just comforts her and they go to visit his grave."

If you don't know, my taglist is broken. While I work on figuring out a different method, I am just tagging mutuals. I hope to get it up and running in a little while.

Mutual Taglist: @babyhoneypresley, @emmymaehereeeeee, @venus-haze, @austinstyles

[starry-blue-echoes]

OK COOL SO-

In ASBR there's a fight between Yukako and Bucciarati, in which Yukako is aware of the inner workings of Passione, and even Bucciarati is surprised at how she knows. And that made me think "Oh Yukako's definitely part of the mafia" so now I have a Yukako joins the Bucci gang au. Basically after Part 4 Yukako's family moves to Italy and she and Koichi have a long-distance relationship as she keeps him from finding out she just joined a mafia because Koichi would just. Instantly blue screen at that fact. Also because Giorno steals Koichi's bag Yukako finds out and destroys him. As a treat <3 I have a whole fic about this if you're interested in it, plus art of Yukako in the Part 5 style I made.

BSFVNSRFNSBHBSHVBS W H E E Z E -

I'd love to read the fic if you'd like to share, but also I brought this up to an irl friend of mine, he thought it was hilarious, and I hope you don't mind if I ramble to you about some of the Thoughts we came up with for our own spin on the idea-

(also I'm writing this in the "universe" of my Cinderella Rewrite, just so I feel more comfortable with yukakoi just a heads up thanks okay bye)

so sort of a headcanon for me to start things off, but Yukako's parents are both very wealthy but also very VERY absent, and once she hit middle school they stopped hiring babysitters to watch her so she was more or less on her own aside from a handful of incredibly scant visits/phone calls. She never knew exactly where their wealth came from but it wasn't really like she could ask so

but then fast forward to the end of her first year of high school and her parents suddenly drop the bomb that they're moving for "business" reasons and she's going to live in Italy. Naturally she's completely heartbroken because she has a life here. Friends and a boyfriend and people she'd honestly call family, and now her parents are making her leave it all behind without so much as an explanation

it's..... definitely rough, but made a bit easier by how Koichi swears he'll do everything he can to stay in contact. They have calls at minimum four times a week, send each other packages all the time, and just do what they can because they genuinely want this relationship to work out

as for Yukako's decent into Passione Things and joining the Bucci Gang...... I'll admit, I'm not super sure how exactly at the moment. I want to keep it with the theme of how Bucciarati helps her out in some way, and I do have the mental image that she didn't spend a lot of time at home because the house was way too big and empty and it was honestly driving her crazy. He probably saved/helped her somehow and Yukako, who's been honestly starved of any kind of Positive Adult Attention since Morioh, just decides "welp, guess I'll die for him"

I think it would be funny if she didn't actually join the gang at first, she just kinda.... sneakily helps him out from a distance. She knows Stand Magnetism would force her to meet some Stand Users eventually, so at least this way she's doing it on her own terms. Of course she's eventually caught, but she does impress them with her knowledge on Stands and ability to use hers, so New Teammate Obtained

Yukako definitly gives them a different perspective on Stands. She's pretty cagey about the specific details of where she moved from, but they do know it has a pretty big Stand community and she's been in a fair amount of fights. They also know she has a boyfriend whom she loves greatly and if anything happens to him Someone Was Definitly Going To Die

I can see Yukako and Fugo are both Besties and Worsties, bonding over being Rich Kids With Shitty Parents and also the only ones who posses a whole Two(2) braincells all for themselves, but they also have two of the worst tempers and when they fight it's bad. She also manages to get on Abbacchio's Not Bad side somehow and the two like to vibe silently together like a pair of cats

and I had. Such a funy sorta angst idea for a way for canon to go (and everyone lives because Fuck Canon &lt;3)

so like. What if Koichi took the mission because it would be an excuse to visit Yukako. And the trip was supposed to be that week.

so ontop of the general stress of everything, Yukako is At Her Fucking Limit right now because she's supposed to be hanging out with her boyfriend for the first time in nearly 2 years, not going on the Worst Roadtrip Ever, she didn't even get a chance to tell him where she was going because this trip came out of nowhere-

and then by the time everything is over and Yukako gets back to Naples (still a little bit banged up from the last fight) it's unfortunately Koichi's last day here

were Diavolo not stuck in that death loop she would've ripped him to pieces with her bare hands

but then for a bit of fluff, a few months later thanks to the whole "now controlling the entire Italian underground which is a rather lucrative career" they're able to invite Koichi back so the two can hang out together for realsies this time

BUT in true Koichi fashion (for some crack), he accidentally gets ropped into Stand shenanigans and kidnapped again leading to a massive goose chase around the city

[yuu-loves-you]

TR boys reacting to self harm scars ( Tokyo revengers x GN!reader)

Tw: self harm ment,

Warnings: honestly probably OOC as this is my first time trying to write them in character and not just for my own comfort, included my own headcanon for Mikey and kazutoras part

Genre: angst but also comfort

Characters: Draken , Mikey , Mitsuya , Baji , kazutora

DRAKEN

Draken had decided to take y/n out on an ice cream date as summer had just started so it was relatively hot out. Perfect ice cream weather, one of the brothel workers had told him while giving love advice he didn’t ask for. As it was summer, y/n had decided to wear a short sleeved shirt and shorts as they had been sober for a while now anyways. So they didn’t think much of it, as they approached Draken and waved. Though they did notice him sneak a glance and they realized how awkward it might be as they never discussed this.The date went on as normal but they did notice Draken slip a few accidental glances that they couldn’t blame him for. Though, Draken ultimately decided not to address it and as the date came to a close he did say one thing before he had dropped them off at their house. “Hey, if you ever feel like how you felt when doing that again, just call me, okay?” They smiled, relieved they didn’t have to go through the whole story and nodded. “Thank you” before kissing him goodbye and heading into their home.

MIKEY

Y/n and Mikey had been dating for quite some time. y/n never wore short sleeves but he chose to not question it. Though today was somewhat different, because as they began to cook something nice for Mikey as he watched, they subconsciously rolled up their sleeves. Mikey wasn’t necessarily shocked to see the scars, as he’d known people do that. He himself had done it on rare occasions in the past. So he chose to ignore it as he happily watched them cook. When they were done they placed his plate down on the table for him and only then realized that their scars were quite literally right there on the table to see. “Ah- sorry about that I wasn’t thinking-“ they spoke, rolling their sleeves back down. But before they could do it fully, Mikey grabbed their wrist. They blinked at him , confused, before he spoke. “Hey… there’s nothing to be embarrassed or ashamed about. Those scars are to show you overcame that life challenge and are in a better place.. trust me, I understand.” Without thinking, he rolled up his shorts and boxers, exposing his own self harm scars on his thighs. There were few moments Mikey acted serious when with people, and this was one of them. It was something you could learn to appreciate about him.

MITSUYA

Mitsuya had invited his s/o over to help him get his sisters ready for a play date, this way they could have a nice date after,alone. As Mitsuya prepared their outfits he watched as his s/o rolled up their sleeves to make it easier to do the girls hair. He noticed the marks but didn’t think it was an appropriate time to comment anything as the girls were right there and he didn’t wanna worry them over something trivial. Specifically,trivial since they were all healed scars. Even though he knew they were old and healed it worried him as they’d been dating for a while. It made him wonder if he somehow missed the signs and didn’t notice they were hurting themself while the two were dating. Plus he didn’t even think his s/o knew he saw so he was a bit hesitant to ask, not wanting to disturb a sour subject. After dropping his sisters off and heading back to their house to commence the date where they’d planned to do self care like face masks and watch a movie. Once they arrived, before they could prepare everything Mitsuya gently took ahold of his s/o’s wrist. They stopped and turned to them with a head tilt. “Is it okay if I ask you something, love?” Mitsuya asked. Y/n looked at him, concerned and nodded. “Of course” Mitsuya took a deep breath to prevent him from faltering. “I had seen your scars earlier… did you happen to ever do that when we were dating?” His s/o froze up a bit but responded. “Yes, in the beginning of the relationship for a bit… but I wasn’t alone, I was getting professional help to better myself for us. So don’t worry or feel responsible, okay?” Mitsuya smiled softly. “Ok my love but if you ever feel how you did when doing that again, call me before anything, okay?” His s/o smiles back. “Of course..” they gave him a peck on the cheek.

BAJI

Baji and y/n had planned a little escapade of a date that’d pretty much just consist of them feeding stray cats. It was finally hot out , because it was summer so y/n had worn short shorts due to the heat being overwhelmingly hot. They went to find their boyfriend in “one of the alleyways next to the pet shop” as he had said. He was rather easy to find due to the incessant meowing of a loud cat y/n could hear when they got close enough. They saw Baji in the alleyway petting the cat and began to approach him. “Yo!” They said smiling. Baji turned his head and smiled excitedly. “Yo!!!” He paused for a minute and saw the scars on their thighs, he didn’t know how to ask about it without being insensitive. He was never the smartest, so instead of addressing it he ignored this issue for most of the date. As the day was reaching the end and he was walking them home, holding hands, he felt it was appropriate to ask about. Hopefully. “Why would you ever do that to yourself?” They looked at him worried but couldn’t sense any… disgust in his tone. Only pure concern. “Sorry, Kei. I… have depression and it’s super hard to explain but I used to hurt myself as an outlet for my sadness. I don’t do it anymore, I’ve been clean for a year now!” Kei looked confused, and flushed, with evident embarrassment in his voice he asked. “Sorry I’m not very smart, what does clean mean?” He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck. They thought this was adorable. “I haven’t done it in a year!” Baji whipped around and hugged them, he began peppering kisses on his face and neck. They laughed. “Kei stop that ticklessss heheh” he stopped. “Sorry, that just made me really happy.” He smiled wide. You could practically see his imaginary dog tail wagging.

KAZUTORA

Y/N and Kazutora had planned a date at his home to bake a cake. They chose Kazutora’s home since it’s always quiet and calm because his mom isn’t home a lot of the time. As y/n spoke they rolled up their sleeves. “Okay! Let’s get down to business!” Kazutora noticed their scars but instead nodded and pulled his sleeves up. Ironically despite being the first one to show their scars Y/N asked him something. “Kazu, if you ever feel like doing that again can you just call me instead and we work something out?” He flicked Y/N’s forehead. “Hey-“ he cut them off. “Of course I will, but only if you do the same. I like you a lot, I don't wanna lose you..” the end part was muffled as his face was beet red. Y/n smiled and kissed his forehead before they went back to work.

[aylacavebear]

Stockroom Antics - Chapter 19

Maria had changed jobs numerous times over the last five years, more to keep herself safe than anything else. Her mother had told her she was a fairy but she thought it was just her mom being weird. Honestly, though, she had no other way of explaining what had happened to her that stormy day before she'd gone into a coma for two weeks.

Please don't take my work. I'll post warnings for each chapter. Will probably be 18+ I haven't decided yet!

Word Count: 2524

Pairing eventually Dean Winchester x OC

Warnings: Angst

A/N: This one's written a little differently than my last one. Let me know what you think. It's the first time I've tried this type of writing. Chapters will alternate viewpoints as well. I also looked into an actual area so this one could feel more realistic. This one is taking on a life of it's own in a turn I hadn't anticipated, so adding a new tag.

----------------------------------------- Stockroom Antics Chapter 19

When the dragon crawled into your lap, it helped you relax a little. Plus, it felt nice to see it come over to you instead of interacting with Dean.

You still weren’t sure why it bothered you as much as it did. This whole “getting to know each other” thing made you nervous. Yeah, you enjoyed being around people, making them smile and laugh, but somehow, this felt different. So, you were nervous. Pinpointing why you were nervous was still something you couldn’t quite figure out.

The idea of adding to their grocery list felt strange. You even debated helping to pay for some of the groceries, but for now, keep that to yourself. When Sam mentioned you just going with them to the store, the idea was appealing. Then you thought about the dragon and how that would work. Would it stay at the bunker? It wasn’t like you could take a dragon out in public, no matter how small it was. People would freak out.

It was fairly embarrassing to tell them personal things about you, like reading fanfics on Tumblr. The thought of the things you enjoyed reading on there made you blush slightly, and you just hoped neither of them noticed. Thankfully, though, at least Dean had focused on baking. Although you couldn’t list specific things, so you generalized. 

Why did he have to look so damned adorable when he smiled the way he did, you thought to yourself. And the way he chuckled made you want to smile. Then, every time he’d called you sweetheart, it made your heart flutter a little. You pushed it away, though, as best as you could. No point in getting attracted to him, even if you would be staying with them while they figured this whole thing out. You’d already convinced yourself that you were weird, especially after your accident and these two hunted monsters.

Finding out that Dean loved pie like he did gave you an idea. There weren’t many ways you could contribute or show your gratitude for what they were doing for you, so you decided to bake for them. It was simple enough, and it was something you loved doing. Now, with your powers increasing, it might even be easier.

Finally finding a little courage, you asked about the sigils. You understood Sam's reasoning; it made tons of sense. But what Dean said made you smile a little; you just couldn’t help it. Plus, he looked really, really good with how he leaned back in his chair. Again, you shook the image from your mind, trying to focus back on the conversation.

Watching the interactions between the brothers was adorable. The little things where they were different and how they would get playfully frustrated with each other made you giggle or laugh internally, though. Their laughter was pleasant. Laughter was something you’d been missing over the last few days. Sharing why you were nervous was more nerve-wracking than anything.

It wasn’t until Dean said you were their kind of weird that you finally began to truly relax and genuinely smile, even if it was small. The two full beers and now your third were also helping you relax more. The dragon stayed asleep in your lap the entire time; its presence alone helped you relax further.

A half-hour later, Sam was picking on his brother about books, “You’d rather watch something than read, and you miss all the little details. The books are far better,” Sam insisted.

Dean leaned forward in his chair, “I don’t need all those things. The show is fine, and I get the important stuff,” he argued.

“It depends on the book and the show. What one are you two arguing over?” you asked curiously. This was clearly something they’d argued over before.

“Game of Thrones. The books are far better,” Sam insisted.

“I’d still rather have the visuals,” Dean chuckled.

You did your best not to laugh at both of them, “I can understand both sides. Although, having read the books and watched the show, you do understand more than if you only do one or the other,” you told them, giggling a little before taking a sip of your beer.

“That’s a lot of books, Sweetheart. I’ll stick to the show,” Dean replied, and his playful smirk made you smile again.

“See, that’s what I mean. You just dismiss reading, so you’re missing out,” Sam argued, and you could tell it was playful.

“I’ll read all day, for a case, but if I can watch something, I’d rather do that,” Dean stated, attempting to end the conversation on the matter.

You couldn’t contain your laughter at that point. Both of them were adorable, and so was their brotherly bond. As the conversation continued, you shared a bit about yourself. Yeah, you were still a little nervous about it, but alcohol was called liquid courage for a reason, and it was helping greatly.

“So, how come you live in the house you do?” Dean finally asked you, sounding curious.

The question threw you off, and your smile faded, “It’s been my home for so long, I don’t know, I just didn’t know where else to go,” you answered a bit quietly. Part of you felt embarrassed about your home, especially after seeing how the brothers lived. 

“Why not use your powers? Change it up?” Dean asked her.

Sam looked between the two. He had only seen the outside, although you were pretty sure that Dean had told him how your home looked on the inside. “I didn’t want to bring attention to myself. Only having a part-time job, I wasn’t sure how I’d explain the changes to the few friends I had.” You tried not to sound embarrassed, but it came out anyway.

“Makes sense. What about your family, though? They know you have powers,” Dean asked.

You shrugged a little, “I like my job and the people I work with… but…” you began, then trailed off, looking down at your beer. “With the King of Hell after me, not sure there is a safe place anymore.” Your tone had gotten quiet as the realization hit you. Where could you go at this point? You didn’t want to endanger your family, so that was out.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to make you sad,” Dean told you softly, leaning a little further forward.

When you saw him slowly reaching his hand toward yours, you held onto your beer and leaned back in your seat, putting more distance between the two of you. You did notice how he sighed and leaned back, though.

“It’s just… I don’t want to put them or anyone in danger because of me,” you replied, sipping your beer.

“Well, you’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like,” Dean told you, making a smile play across your lips.

Part of you did miss your home, your friends at work, and the solitude your home had given you. However, you also began to enjoy being at the bunker with the brothers. You weren’t used to living with people and were still in the adjustment phase. With getting to know them more, you were hoping that things might feel less tense. After another half hour, your sides hurt from laughing so much. You couldn’t figure out how the dragon was sleeping through it all. Five beers was your limit, and you were on your fifth. Things were going amazing up until Sam said what he did about someone called Rowena. Your mood instantly tanked, excusing yourself to bed the moment you finished your beer.

You scooped up the sleeping dragon and made it to your room, only slightly wobbly on your feet. Once your door was closed, you set the dragon on the side of your bed and changed into pajamas. Climbing under the covers, you just sat there momentarily, wrapping your arms around your legs.

Could Rowena get into the bunker? Am I even safe here anymore? Am I putting the brothers in danger just by being here? Would the witch do the spell without consent? What would I even do if she did that?

Too many questions raced through your mind, even allowing a couple of tears to slip from your eyes. You wiped them away and turned off your lamp, then got comfortable on your side facing the sleeping dragon.

“I don’t want them to be in danger because of me,” you whispered, setting your hand on the dragon’s back.

An image of bubbles played in your mind. All kinds of different bubbles: soap bubbles, the kind that kids make with those bottles of bubbles from the store, bubbles in bodies of water, bubbles in a boiling pot of water, bubbles you make when you blow in a straw in chocolate milk. You furrowed your brow and looked at the sleeping dragon.

“Bubbles,” you said quietly, then rolled your eyes, remembering earlier. Dean had called her that after he’d given her bacon. If you weren’t as emotional as you were at the moment, you might have gone down a different thought path than the one that took over your mind. Anger hit you first, along with jealousy, all aimed at Dean. With all that had happened over the last week, you really weren’t thinking clearly; right now, anger was easier. The alcohol wasn’t helping either.

Bubbles shifted a bit in her sleep, stretching some and getting comfortable again, closer to you. You wanted to talk to Astaria again but at the same time, you didn’t. Then, you wanted to cry but didn’t do that either. The anger was easier to hold onto, almost making you feel grounded. 

Morning came far too soon. You hadn’t dreamt that night, and it was only after five in the morning, according to the clock on the night table. 

“Why can’t I just sleep in,” you grumbled just as Bubbles jumped on your chest, looking down at you like a happy puppy.

You giggled and began petting it, “What? Are you hungry?” you asked her, smiling a little.

You were still angry, but not like you were the night before. When Bubbles tilted her head, and you had an image of a forest come to your mind, you realized what she needed.

“Ohh, you need to go outside,” you said quietly, wondering if you could even do that.

Bubbles vigorously nodded her head, making you giggle again. “Can you use the toilet? I’m not sure I can take you outside or if it’s safe.”

She tilted her head as if she had no clue what you were talking about. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

You used your powers, changing into jeans, a tank top, and a red flannel, leaving it unbuttoned, then headed down the hall to the bathroom, Bubbles flying and keeping up with you. The idea of showing a dragon how to use a toilet had only come to mind due to funny cat videos you’d seen of cats using the bathroom. 

Bubbles watched you, her head tilted, and she looked puzzled and curious. You could barely stifle your laughter at the entire situation. When you finished, you flushed the toilet, then looked over at her as she was perched on the countertop.

“Your turn. Think you can attempt it?” you asked her.

She looked from you to the toilet and then back at you, making you giggle quietly, “Want me to wait outside?” She nodded, so you waited out in the hall, trying not to laugh. 

The toilet flushed moments later, and then the door opened. You glanced over as Bubbles hopped down off the counter and joined you in the hallway, “Feel better?” you asked, stifling another giggle.

Bubbles nodded, so you headed to the kitchen, figuring the brothers were still sleeping, with her flying alongside you. While the coffee brewed, you began writing out a list of items that you’d need for baking. You still wanted to do that, even if you were still feeling annoyed at Dean knowing your familiar's name before you did. 

When you got up to get a cup of coffee, Bubbles hopped onto the floor, went to the fridge, and looked at you. The word “food” came to mind, but you weren’t hungry, so you sat back down at the table, returning to the list you had been working on.

Bubbles got annoyed at your stubbornness, but you missed the dragon roll its eyes. She walked over to you and tugged on your jeans, causing you to look down at her. “What?” you asked her, having no clue what she wanted.

She looked over at the fridge and then back up at you, “Are you hungry or something?” She nodded at your question and went back over to the refrigerator, then waited for you.

As you joined her at the fridge, opening it up, you peered inside, wondering what dragons even ate. What you didn’t notice was that Bubbles was already opening one of the bottom drawers and pulled out a green apple. She held it in her hands as she flew over to the bench seat next to where you’d been sitting earlier.

“So, what do you want?” you asked, looking down.

When you didn’t see her, you got a puzzled look and glanced around the kitchen, barely seeing her head above the edge of the table. Closing the fridge, you were still puzzled but shrugged it off and went back to the task of the list. Bubbles had been watching you as you wrote down items on your list. Then, it jumped up on the table and took the pen from you, setting its apple on the table.

“It’s a pen. You use it to write things,” you told her, chuckling a little.

Bubbles flipped over the piece of paper and attempted to write. It was clear that writing was something she had never done before, as it looked like the scribbles of a toddler. She glared at you, and you did your best not to laugh, no matter how cute she looked.

“It takes time to learn how to write,” you told her, then thought for a moment, “Come with me into the library.”

With that, you got up, grabbed your coffee, and headed into the library. There were still books strewn across the tables, so you used your powers, stacking them up neatly in a few piles. Then, you created some things to help Bubbles learn how to write. You weren’t quite sure how much she could understand, so you went with the basics: the alphabet and kindergarten stuff, along with a pad of paper and a pencil so she could erase. 

You sighed and sat in one of the chairs, wondering why she wasn’t communicating with you telepathically. Then, the anger flared back up because she’d communicated with Dean the day before, at least her name. You didn’t know about the other stuff. Using your powers, you retrieved the list you’d left on the kitchen table, along with the pen. Then, you continued your list while having coffee, and Bubbles taught herself how to write.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 20

Tag List: @djs8891 @deans-spinster-witch

Link to the series Master List

A/N: If you'd like to be tagged in future chapters, leave me a comment, and I'll make sure to tag you.

[justmydrawingsandfandomstuff]

20 questions for fic writers

Thanks to @the-bar-sinister for inviting mutuals to answer these ^^ (I'm just posting it here since it's my fandom blog)

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

As of now : 26 (without counting those of mine I translated in french). 20 for OMORI & 6 for Cult of the Lamb. Plus 9 OMORI fics translated.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 

As of now : 475 908 - 44 500 that is just translated works. So actually 431 408.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Mainly OMORI & more recently Cult of the Lamb.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Other kinky situations, BONUS, AU & more. (875 Kudos, Compilation of oneshots & requests, multiple ships)

Omori fanfic without a title cause I can't find one. (338 Kudos, ☀️​🌻​​🏀​🎀, My first ever fanfic, I'd advice to read the rewrite instead)

And so, he'd wait. (314 Kudos,☀️​🌻, Yandere/Yandere, Trigger warnings in End Notes of each Chapters)

I already know they don't need me... (226 Kudos,🔪​☀️ + 🌻​🏀 ➡️ ☀️​🌻​🏀​🎀, Angst with a Happy Ending)

Exploring kinks together. (204 Kudos, ☀️​🌻 + ☀️​🎀 + ☀️​🌻​🏀​🎀 as Sex Friends + Minor 🍳​🎹 & 🎀🍭 + Skippable ☀️​🌻​🏀​🎀🍳​🎹​ as Occasional Sex Partners, Has a prequel)

All OMORI but here's a little top 3 of my CotL fics by kudos :

And what is the point in playing such a sick game ? (123 Kudos, Oneshot, NariLamb)

More interesting as a mortal than as a God ? (106 Kudos, Multi-chapters, NariLamb ➡️ Aym/Baal/The Lamb/Narinder + LambLeshy + LeshyCat)

When will you marry me ? (82 Kudos, Oneshot, NariLamb, First CotL fic !)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try my best to, even if I can be slow and my replies are usually not wordy. Sometimes I just really don't know how to reply so I don't.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hmm...I only write happy ends so...maybe a few oneshots (very few) in "Other kinky situations, BONUS, AU & more." ?

My hanahaki chapter might have a more bittersweet ending note, maybe ? (☀️​🌻, kinda unrequited feelings but it's imply that it won't be for long...and a part 2 is in the work that confirm it becomes mutual)

Or the part 1 of my Twins AU chapter ? But part 2 & 3 make it all fine so... (​🔪​☀️​🌻 but part 1 focus on the 🔪​☀️​)

There's also the part 1 of the one where Omega|Basil is assaulted by random alphas, I guess ? But part 2 is all about his lovers comforting him. (☀️​🌻​🏀​🎀)

Again, at worst, my works end on a hopeful note and it's implied that everything will be okay. (or there's another part where things goes well)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? 

Again, I only write happy ends so it's a little hard to say...I guess all my Mari lives AU ones ?

Is it normal to have a crush on three persons ? (☀️​🌻​🏀​🎀 + Minor 🍳​🎹, Oneshot)

(10/31 - HALLOWEEN) (☀️​🌻​🏀​🎀 + Minor 🍳​🎹, Oneshot)

Nothing really had changed. (☀️​🌻​🏀​🎀 + Minor 🍳​🎹, 6 Chapter + 3 Extras)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Sometimes but rare enough. I usually delete comments if they pass the limits (insults, slurs, death threats, suibaiting,…)

I don't really mind people stating their opinions as long as it stay polite and don't pollute the comments too much.

9. Do you write s.mut?

YES!! I try to include it in a natural and casual way, especially in multi-chapters fics, because that's what I like to read. It's part of life so it's only natural that it's also part of the characters' life.

I'm aroace & both romance- and sex-repulsed so I'm a little picky with what I like and writing those (romance&sex) can be a little bit of a challenge sometimes.

10. Do you write crossovers? 

I never did and don't plan to in the future but you never know. Probably not though, not really my thing.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? 

Not that I know of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? 

Not by someone else. I translate my OMORI fics in french little by little myself. It's my first language but somehow writing is easier in english ?

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? 

Nope, and I'm not sure I could.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Well, outside of poly ships (cause I really can't chose between those), I guess Sunflower ? It became such an OTP, that I feel genuine distress if I try to read an OMORI fic where they're explicitly not together.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

None. Unless something happens to me, I will finish all of them even if it takes me years :)

16. What are your writing strengths?  

Um...I've been told that the way I write the characters dynamics is good ? I dunno, if there's some of my readers that see this and want to let me know what they think is my writing strengths, go ahead !

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Beside the way my disability mess with my ability to write so much that I need to use text generation (NovelAI) as an assistive tool ? I dunno, that's kinda the bigger one (￣ ￣|||)

Translating thoughts into words is pretty hard for me so...yeah.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I think I would only do it for a language I can speak well enough to not mess up too bad ?

19. First fandom you wrote for? 

OMORI in 2022 <3

The need for more Plural|Sunny fics compelled me ! (It's canon, you can't change my mind)

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? 

Oof, tough choice. I love all my fics quite a lot and I can't really chose one so...

And so, he'd wait. (☀️​🌻, mentioned before, I'm quite proud of this one and I love the Yandere/Yandere Unhealthy but Happy relationship going on there, someone once described it as the "healthiest unhealthy relationship" they've ever seen and...well I guess it fit lol)

It wasn't like things couldn't have been different... (☀️​🌻 + ☀️​​🏀, Short: 4 chapter, Angst with a Happy Ending, the whole "I let my chance pass and now he's with someone else" but with a polyamorous resolution~, I also love the discussion between Polly and Basil in the last chapter <3)

Always there for you, always loved you. (🔪​☀️ + ​☀️🌻 ➡️​ 🔪​☀️🌻🍉 + Minor 🎀🍭, Not completed but I really have a soft spot for this fic, I always write Sunny and Basil as autistic but in this one I feel it's the most obvious, also the 🔪​☀️​🌻​🍉!! I love that ship so much)

The door may be locked, but the window isn't. (☀️​🌻 + ❓, Soft Yandere|Basil who wasn't involved in Mari's death here, Not completed but again love the Unhealthy but Happy relationship going on there, the...almost wholesome if you don't think about it vibe)

They've been brothers for millennia, why would that suddenly change now ? (The NariLesh oneshot !! Who became a twoshot but shh...I just really love the whole polycule aspect in this one, the NariLamb moment is so cute, the LeshyCat with Thory playing matchmaker, Leshy comparing Nari's size to the Lamb lol)

Also a bunch of oneshots like the Basil front while visiting Basil. (Basil/Basil) or the Solo-bloodplay & Phone sex. (Basil/Sunny) or the Headspace|Basil fucks Sunny's eye socket. (Headspace|Basil/Sunny) (A lot more wholesome than you'd think when seeing the title, I promise) or Transmasc|Ace|Sunny part 1 & part 2, or...!

Aaand I'm not nearly social enough to even have someone to tag so anyone who's reading this and wants to do it can consider themselves tagged (⌒���⌒)

[onlyjaeyun]

Honestly, I'm not even a damn singer, and if Enhypen was all you wanna feature on our song, my ass would have came up with a verse, like maybe it's just praise kink coming out, but I would want to impress who I'm working with since you think you would want your feature to add something to a song, not just sing over the original song, like this ain't karaoke babes. I feel like the perfect song length is like 3:40, not too short, not too long, but all Hybe is making lately is like 2:20, like I think they are allergic to making long good songs, the longest song on both &Team's album and Enhypen's together is 3:48, and it's not even a real song, it's the prologue Mortal. Like War Cry is even shorter than Sweet Venom, like you don't have time to jam or get into the song, you get the vibe and just boom over, give us longer songs, like it's ridiculous, not every song needs to be short so it's easier to stream. I saw a Sweet Venom line distribution video, and it was probably the worst one I've personally seen for Enhypen; like Sunghoon got like 8 seconds, Jungwon got 10, Jake got 14, Niki got 15, Sunoo got 16, Jay got 18, and Heeseung got 46. Like I get it Heeseung main vocal, but you telling me the others couldn't have each hit one of those swee-hee-hee-t venom-nom-nom. Like War Cry is somehow better distributed with 9 members, despite Fuma getting only 4 seconds, Jo who has the most only got 22. Honestly, it do seem like that, like Enhypen with Bella, TXT with Anitta, and BTS with Sia. I honestly just want one question for Hybe regarding the next comeback, Chamber 5 studio version when, since it was just a cute song, and I think we need it, like Chamber 5 mv and all, I know Sunghoon would probably hate it seeing how he hated when Sunoo picked him to perform it, but that Chamber 5 dance practice with them dressed like fruits lives rent free in my mind, and we need a studio version. Also you listening to 10 Months while writing angst reminds me how I wrote this sad fic while listening to this song called Heartbeat by Carrie Underwood on repeat the whole time. Like the song is all 'I love the way you look in a firefly glow', 'dancing to the rhythm of your heartbeat' meanwhile I'm writing "No matter how long it took, even if he never found his way back to you again, you would never love another, and your heart would always ache for him, the one you believe is genuinely your one true love."

i wholeheartedly agree with the first part! i feel like ever since not only enha's but also new jeans' debut they've been making their new groups' songs shorter and shorter but i just dont get why? there was still so much potential in sweet venom as well as bite me so why not add another verse and make the song just thirty seconds longer??? i honestly dislike this wave of short songs like let me have at least 3 minutes to enjoy ???? i cant even get into the groove bc by the time i do it's already finished?💀 but yeah, genuinely wishing for their future tt's to bw a tad bit lobger to make the line distribution a little fairer 💔 i love love love jungwon's and hoonie's voices and would have loved to hear them more but we got them in still monster so i'm super happy (plus jay got to shine a lot this time and it makes me so 🥺 bc his voice is kind of my fave? but yeah)

also personally i just know those features are nothing but a way to promote bc she wasnt bad or anything but she also didnt add anything to the song imo 😭 i liked their harmony but that's it? she didnt even get a verse (which makes sense as the so g is so short already) but looking at proper collabs from their seniors like bts x nicki minaj it's just kinda disappointing but expected atp

and omg i love listening to happy songs when i write angst bc it kinda makes me write it even sadder than it is LMAO

[whoseafraidofliloleme]

HERE I AM. ONCE AGAIN. FEELING LOST BUT NOW AND THEN– (victorius theme starts playing)

anyways

when you said it was gonna get worse before it got better i wasn't expecting AN ACTUAL MURDER ATTEMPT???? like yes bahi girl pls get the treatment you need bc what was going thru your head

tbh at first i thought things were moving a bit fast but it was refreshing to see yn not forgiving jungwon right off the bat. she has SOME pride y'know. tbh i don't think i would've let jay go that easy but whatever he has pretty privilege ig 😒

also it's nice seeing jungwon and yn getting along <3 but tbh i would've loved to see more of the not-quite-friends-but-not-enemies awkward phase. just to laugh at them for a bit lmao

AND YES, REALIZE YOUR FEELINGS MY DEAR YNWON!!! i wonder how yn's gonna deal with it tho bc she didn't seem very thrilled in her priv. will her self-steem issues be deeper??? will i find out just how shitty her family is???? i'll see!!! ...another day bc i have to eat and do normal human being things

anyways, question time: what made you think of writing this smau with this particular concept??? and did you choose bahi and jay for any reason or were they just chosen at random????

have a good day and stay healthy <3

Not the Victorious theme song...

I wasnt kidding about that, originally it wasn't going to be that bad of an injury but then I was like if I'm gonna do it, I might as well make it hella dramatic ya know 😂.

It's not so much pretty privilege but moreso that Jay hadn't really hurt YN all that much. Jungwon in his asshole era hurt her a lot more so it was easier to forgive Jay than Jungwon.

See the plan was for there to be more chapters of them in the awkward not quite friends but not enemies phase but then it just started to seem too similar so I decided to cut that short plus there's angst coming so enjoy that.

Do I have surprises to come. YNs self esteem and family drama come into play in further chapters.

Please do carry on tmrw, go do all the things like eat and other everyday stuff. I'll eagerly await the next reblogs and ask 🫶🏼🫶🏼.

Oooh I like this new thing of answering a question at the end of your asks 😂.

So the idea originally was a spin on the good boy x bad girl trope but it somehow evolved into this 😂. Where YN is an annoying troublemaker but not like a bad girl in general. And Jungwon was supposed to be golden boy that was just perfect instead he's going through another redemption arc 😂. Jay being horrible kinda was inspired by Jaywons bond, like theyre so close and I love them but I decided to flip that in Jay being loyal and letting prejudice come in between being a nice guy. Bahi was just randomly chosen, I think it was more so that I knew Bahi better than I knew Gaeul if that makes sense, like I don't follow Kep1er but I love seeing the Huening siblings tiktoks and I think she's cute 😂.

I hope you have a good day and stay healthy too 🫶🏼🫰🏼.

[torrentide-a]

KNOWING YOUR PARTNER WELL CAN POTENTIALLY MAKE WRITING TOGETHER A LOT EASIER. ( REPOST DO NOT REBLOG ! )

✿ NAME       gaige! ✿ PRONOUNS       they/them ✿ PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION       discord! mostly because tumblr doesn’t,,,like to give me new IM notifs / I have to refresh my whole page to see new IMs, and 90% of the time I forget to respond dfsdkfjp plus I don’t??? even get IM notifications on my phone when I’m in class because of battery saver, so o(-( discord is a big pref for me. ✿ NAME OF MUSE(S)       ajax childe foul legacy tartaglia pick one lmAO

✿ EXPERIENCE/HOW LONG (MONTHS / YEARS?)       ohhh god I wish I knew. since the early 2000s? my best guess is 15-ish years, give or take.

✿ PLATFORMS YOU’VE USED       tumblr, discord, old school fandom chatrooms, forums, dreamwidth, gaia online, myspace (don’t look at me dsfhsdf), msn and skype back in ye olden days,,,,runescape--

✿ BEST EXPERIENCE       I think my best experience was in a multifandom chatroom I frequented with my friends in high school. it was just! crossovers galore, and it somehow just made sense. it was so wild and fun! ah I miss the simplicity of it. there was just. not a care in the world about all the little details back then.

✿ RP PET PEEVES/DEALBREAKERS       posts that go untrimmed kind of annoy me, but I wouldn’t call it a dealbreaker. promoting drama and / or posting a lot of negativity and shitpost-y content to the point where it’s the only thing on my dashboard kind of is, though. o(-( I don’t mind it once in a while, but when it’s the only thing? dsfkhdf none for me, thanks. I also??? hate when people,,,act above other writers,,,,who are only here to ship, like??? man. they’re not hurting you let them (me) write their funny little ships/romance/smut goddamn. why can’t they write things that they like. why do you gotta get so high and mighty about it. I don’t get it. we’re all just here to have a good time and indulge in this dumb little hobby hrhghrhgh

✿ FLUFF, ANGST OR SMUT       I enjoy all three in no particular order! it really depends on what I’m in the mood for at any given time. I’m always So Soft for fluff; it’s easily my favorite thing to write. but I’ve been kind of on an angst kick lately, and I won’t lie, I’m always down and in the mood for spice LMAO.

✿ PLOTS OR MEMES       I like a mixture of the two, tbh. memes are such a nice way to break the ice and explore new scenarios and concepts, but when I don’t have a direction or goal for a thread or a dynamic between two characters, I,,,tend to lose inspo Very Fast aaaa;;; 

✿ LONG OR SHORT REPLIES       I much prefer to start short and transition to longer replies if / when the inspiration strikes dkfjhsd a lot of people can set up a scene right out the gate, but I’m the opposite where I gotta start with a vague idea and feel it out / build it as I go DSFHSD IT’S WEIRD I KNOW I’M SORRY.

✿ BEST TIME TO WRITE       late night / early morning when everyone’s asleep and I have no distractions (I am so easily distracted dsfhdf)

✿ ARE YOU LIKE YOUR MUSE(S)       I think there are some similarities :thinking: like,,,I enjoy a good challenge (see: if I’m not suffering in a game, then I’m not having fun JKSDFNHD) and my family means the world to me, even if sometimes they’re not all that great, but,,,other than that, I don’t really think so. childe is an outgoing and charismatic go-getter, and I’m,,not LMAO. if there’s any character in genpact that I’m like personality-wise, it’s def tighnari.

tagged by @rosemourne ♥!! tagging nobody; please steal it I’m shy dsfhnsdkfj