#so now that that is done with its time to sleep

[luvfy0dor]

“Your Handprint's on my Soul ♡⁠˖” BSD men x GN!Reader ੈ✩‧₊˚

╰┈➤ Osamu Dazai, Chuuya Nakahara, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Nikolai Gogol

warnings; established relationship (Fyodor only), first interactions, kisses, Dazais can be platonic or romantic

description; aus/tropes with BSD characters, inspired loosley by my old post about book types/tropes

A/n; CHAT IM SPEEDRUNNING THIS AS I WRITE THE A/N IM ONLY 2/3 OF THE WAY DONE W NIKOLAIS AND NO ONE ELSE IS DONE EXCWPT DAZAIS BULLET POINT AND ITS 2 HRS TILL POST TIME GOTTA LOCK IN ALSO TYSM FOR 700 💖💖💖

⑅ Osamu Dazai ⑅

• There was only one bed when Dazai appeared on your doorstep one evening. You don't know where he came from and he wouldn't tell you, but he would certainly tell you he wasn't letting you sleep anywhere but the bed, even if you wouldnt allow him to either.

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'Knock knock knock' was the first thing you heard when you woke from your slumber in the middle of the night. You felt a little unsettled, but still tiptoed out of bed to the door, peering through the peephole only to see the big head of your coworker and friend on the other side of the door. You huffed and unlocked the deadbolt and opened up. "What are you doing here this late at night?" You asked, rubbing your right eye with the palm of your hand and yawning. "Oh, nothing much, just here for a stroll! It's been quite the long time no see, no?" He says, letting himself in and taking off his shoes at the door. "I saw you..." You peered over at the digital clock on your nightstand table down the hallway. "Like, 7 hours ago. And you texted me 3." You sigh and pull up your pajama pants. "Can I sleepover?" Your brows furrowed at his question.

"Can you sleepover- Osamu, we have work in the morning and- ugh, you know what, yeah, you're already here and it's raining, isn't it? How are you completely dry? I...I have so many questions that I'm not gonna ask right now. You can sleep in my bed, just don't touch anything else in my room, especially nothing in or on my nightstand, got it?" He shook his head and steered you towards your room with his hands on your shoulders. "Oh no, that'd be rude of me to take your bed! I'll take the couch." You shook your head and yanked him gently by the wrist. "No, you're taking the bed-" "why don't we both take the bed?" You were silent for a moment. "Yeah, sure, I don't want to keep going back and forth with this." You say with a sleepy shrug. He walked in front of you to your bedroom like he lived here on the regular and tossed his coat aside. You crawled back into the bed, pulling the covers up to your nose and feeling the bed dip beside you when Dazai crawled in too. He also took his fair share of the blankets, but you soon realized that Dazai was a blanket hog. "Oh my gosh, I'm gonna kick you if y'dont stop stealin' all the blanket!" You groan, yanking the soft material back towards you. "I am not stealing all the blanket, you're very dramatic." He says, rolling over and scooching closer so that he can still be completely covered by the blanket without yanking it back. Each time you moved, you bunched up more of the blanket and pulled it closer to yourself, leaving Dazai uncovered from his right foot to his knee. "And you call me a blanket hog." He starts to steal some of the comforter back, but you toss it over him and roll over to press your front against his, cuddling him. "You come to my house unannounced and steal my blankets..you can just be another source of heat if you wanna act like this." You sleepily say, eyes still closed as you slur out your words. His face was one of surprise for a moment before it melted into a smile. He put a hand on your head and pulled you closer. "And you know what? That's fine with me."

⑅ Chuuya Nakahara ⑅

• Chuuya reminds me of that one soulmate au where whenever you get marks on your skin, they appear on your soulmates too. Small scars, ink scribbles, and bruises would often appear on Chuuyas, but never because of his own doing.

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Earlier in the morning, Chuuya had noticed a new doodle on his forearm, this time it was one of a cat. Usually it was partially colored-in hearts or imperfect stars, but he always found other drawings of yours to be more amusing. He was currently relaxing on his couch after a long day of work, shoes kicked off and pajamas put on. He'd gotten bored of whatever nonsense he was watching on the TV and decided to examine the kitty on his arm a little more before picking up a pen and deciding to draw one next to it with a little heart in between them. He rolled his eyes at himself, Chuuya Nakahara, the best martial artist in Yokohama and port mafia executive was doodling kitty cats and hearts on his own arm to appease some soulmate he didnt even know. He sighed and leaned back again. It didn't take long for you to notice and quickly scribble a reply that read "Wow, finally. [poorly drawn eye roll emoji] took you long enough to actually interact w/ me! Started to think I didn't have a soulmate." You felt giddy over the whole thing. Yeah, it was stupid, but he drew a cat in love with the cat that you drew! This was the interaction that you had been waiting for since middle school when all the other kids were writing back and forth with their soulmates so much that they'd make frequent trips to the bathroom to wash off old pen ink since they had no phones to text with yet. Teachers hated it, but everyone was already willing to put their education on the back burner for these, essentially, randos. Not Chuuya, though. Chuuya never liked writing on his skin, the way the ballpoint dragged across his pale flesh made him shiver, and so he never replied to you. His focus on other goals also contributed to that ignorance.

After many years though, he finally decided to entertain the whole idea. Chuuya didn't care about who his soulmate was, if he found someone that wasn't them and he loved them, then that was that. He didn't think the universe should decide the only person he could truly be with, so he dated on his own accord. He checked his arm for your reply as if he was checking a watch and he watched the ink appear on his arm, letter by letter and stroke by stroke. He smiled a little and grabbed his pen again. "I never really cared to, no offense." You scoffed when you read that, crossing out the no. "Full offense taken. Anyways, where you from?" He thought on whether or not he really wanted to tell you, so he decided to play it safe. "I'm not telling you that immediately, what are ya, crazy? How old are you?" The number 21 quickly appeared. "And your name?" You started writing out letters, but the ink quickly faded. Chuuya raised an eyebrow and went to write out a couple stray question marks, but the writing came back in a different color. The ink was blue this time. "Y/n." "Okay, y/n, not that you couldn't be lying, I live in Yokohama, Japan. Can I get your number to make this easier?" You smiled and fist pumped. "Yeah, it's ---/---/----." You received a message about four minutes later. "This is better, I have work in the morning and I don't want to have to scrub off any more ink than this tomorrow." You laid in bed, perpendicular to the mattress with your arms hanging off the edge of the bed as you typed out a reply. Your conversation went on for another hour getting to know eachother before he told you that it'd be best for him to go to bed. You wished him a goodnight and he did the same. You knew it'd take a while to build a strong friendship and maybe even relationship, but the thought made you excited nonetheless.

⑅ Fyodor Dostoevsky ⑅

• When I think of my own highschool academic greatness (I'm failing algebra2/trig) I think of Fyodors geniusness and how much highschool/college aus remind me of him. I don't know if he'd try to juggle a relationship and school, but if he did he'd help you be the best student possible while securing that valedictorian title for himself.

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Fyodors slim hand gripped his pencil loosely and moved it acrossed the paper he was given for a written assignment. His hair was pulled back in a super small pony tail and his eyes flickered over to the clock every now and again, waiting for the bell to ring with each passing second. He promised to meet you in the library during lunch to study for your AP Bio test you had coming up at the end of the week. He never minded helping you study, it'd help him retain the knowledge anyways. Finally, the familiar 'ding' sounded throughout the school and he packed up his stuff and left. He walked through the hallways and down the stairs to the library where you were already waiting for him. You smiled and waved him over, opening your school-loaned laptop. "Hey Fedya. I know we always spend lunches together but like, thank you for helping me, I'd be screwed otherwise." You say with a small laugh. He smiles and sits down next to you. "No problem, I don't mind, I did really well in that class anyways." He said while watching you type in your password and pull up an assignment. "Yeah, it's just about- oh! You kept the ponytail in?" You asked him with a smile. You had put his hair up that morning while waiting for the first bell. "Ofcourse I did. It keeps my neck cool." He tells you, tracing shapes on the small of your back with his thumb as he read over the assignment. "This is easy, Myshka, what's the trouble?" "I can't grasp ecology." You say, feeling yourself start to nod off. He raises an eyebrow and hums. "Well, do you sleep during your class like this?" He grins a little. You hum in denial and open your eyes again, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. "No, I just stayed up late last night cramming and stuff..." You say, resting your head against your fist. "Well that's probably why you're having trouble, you work when you should be sleeping."

You knew he was right, you had other classes that you were doing work for and you had put AP Bio on the back burner because you, a) didn't want to do it, b) didn't think you could do it, and c) saw that you'd feel more successful seeing all those 0's in other classes turn into grades. "I know, I know." You groaned. "But maybe we can just get this one done quick since my laptop is already open." You reaffirm and lean your head on his shoulder. He nods and re-reads the question before asking you what answer you'd pick first and why. You told him and he told you if you were right or wrong, briefly explaining why you were incorrect if that was the case. You were only 5 questions in before Fyodor realized you weren't answering him. He looked to his side and realized you had fallen asleep on his shoulder. He smiled and closed your laptop for you and let you sleep against him for a little while, knowing he'd finish it with you later, very determined to help you get all of your work finally done so you could relax. You clearly needed it.

⑅ Nikolai Gogol ⑅

• Nikolai would be a great, flirty barista, which is why I think coffee shop au would be perfect for him. His ability would be of great use winning over a couple cents in tips as well as your heart.

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When you walked into your favorite, local coffee shop, the first thing you noticed was an unfamiliar face behind the counter. A tall man with long, braided white hair stood with a shaker in hand, clearly working hard to perfect s customers drink order. His eyes literally up when he saw you walking towards the counter, quickly pouring the liquid into a scribbled-on cup and capping it. "I'll be with you on one minute!" He says with a toothy grin, handing the drink to the lady waiting on the far side of the shop. He quickly returns to the cash register to take your order. "Hey! How can I help you?" He asks you and straightens out his apron. "Hi, uhm, can I have a (favorite drink), please?" He punched some stuff into the cash register and the visible screen in front of you showed you your total. "Anything else?" His eyes stared back into your own, making your heart race in your chest when you noticed just how beautiful he was. His differently pigmented eyes and sharp jawline along with the way his pointed teeth flashed when he smiled had your cheeks heating up pretty quickly. Not to mention his hair and physique.

As he was about to point out your staring with a cheeky expression, you muttered a 'yes.' He nodded. "Okay, your total is $4.20." You pulled out the first bill that wasn't a $1 from your wallet and handed it to him, Nikolais eyebrows raising when you put a $20 in his hands, but he stuck it in the register and counted up your change. "Okay, $15.80 is your change, can I get a name?" He asked you while giving you your change before grabbing a cup and sharpie. "Y/n." You quickly said, dropping all of the $15.20 in the top jar. "Ohhhh, wow! Y/n might as well take me on a date with a tip that big~!." He giggles and turns to make your drink for you while you wait with a warm face and stomach full of butterflies. "I don't think I'd mind taking you out on one." You say with a sense of confidence. "Hm, I might have to take you up on that." It's not long before he has your drink made, using a glowy portal to grab the sharpie on the counter relatively far away and scribbling something in your cup again. "Alright, here ya go! Have a good one!" He hands the drink to you, smiling a little bit when he feels your hand brush against as you take it from him. "Thank you, you too." You call back, turning around and walking away. Once you're out of the café, you rotate the cup 360° to figure out what he wrote on it, only to find ten digits acrossed the plastic. You smiled and your heartbeat picks up ten fold. You make sure to take a picture of it in a good lighting to ensure the visibility of all of the numbers, you might just have to arrange a date with him now.

A/n; AHHHHHHHHHHHH next time event post <3

[invisible-lint]

Everything Could Be Okay: Chapter 3

Rhys x Tamlin's sister!reader

Summary: The mating bond reveals itself

Warnings: brief allusion to pregnancy loss again, nothing explicitly mentioned though!

Word Count: 2.8k

Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2

You run down the hallway, ducking through a random door and shutting it behind you. You lean back against it, knocking your head against the wood. What is wrong with you? You cringe. Rhysand is probably thinking the same thing about you. For some inexplicable reason, you care what he thinks of you, and you’ve gone and made a fool of yourself. 

You look around the mystery room and smile. You seem to have found yourself in a music room. One side of the room is occupied by a large piano, while the other side is a seating area where people must gather to listen. You walk over to the piano, running your hand along the glossy wood of the instrument, breathing in its scent. You pull the bench out, sitting in front of the instrument. You gently press a few keys, happy to find out that it’s well maintained. You had spent much of your life in the music room in your own home, losing yourself in music. Your brothers had often joked that they always knew where you were, because if you weren’t out wandering the gardens, you were hidden away playing the piano. 

You stand, heading for a plush armchair and curling up in it. It was good to know this was here if you’d be spending so much time here. Perhaps you could get Feyre to sit in here with you so you could keep an eye on her. You yawn, exhaustion suddenly coming over you. You’re not sure you can remember where the room you were shown to is, and even less sure you want to try to find it, worried about seeing Rhysand again. So you stay curled up in the arm chair, comforted by the scent of the piano and let sleep claim you there.

When you awake, you’re covered by a blanket. You rub your eyes, wondering who had done it. You briefly wonder if it had been Rhysand, thinking about what he had done for you Under the Mountain. Even now, months later, you still thought about it. He had used his powers to give you pleasant dreams. It was so at odds with what you knew about him. A cruel male who was cruel just because he could be.

You stand and stretch, joints stiff from sleeping in the armchair. You glance out the window and determine you’ve probably missed most of breakfast. You might as well stay here for a little bit longer before going to find Feyre. You sit down at the piano, running a featherlight hand across the keys. You had no sheet music, but you’d been playing for so long you had plenty of your repertoire memorized. You close your eyes, launching into the song, muscle memory allowing you to find the right keys with no issue. You lose yourself in the music, playing song after song, time becoming meaningless. 

When you finally finish, someone claps in the doorway. You jump up, startled, knocking the piano bench over. 

“I thought when I found you in here that you had just found a random room to hide away in. I didn’t realize you were such a talented pianist. Although, I do believe I brought you here because you insisted on keeping Feyre company. Or was that just an excuse to get away from your brother?”

You take a deep breath, getting your temper under control before answering. “When I woke I figured breakfast was nearly over. So I thought I’d play a little bit and then find Feyre.”

“And why didn’t you want to come to breakfast? Are you avoiding me?”

“No.” Yes.

“Liar.”

“Am not!” 

He chuckles. “If you say so.”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Well I do.” 

“Feyre is in the library, practicing her letters. While the two of you are here, she is going to learn how to read. You know, I’m surprised. I know you helped Feyre Under the Mountain, so why stop helping her now?”

“You know nothing.” You take another deep  breath, not wanting to have a repeat of last night.

“No? Enlighten me then.”

“I tried. I suggested to Tamlin that I help her learn to read and he shut me down. I thought she’d be more receptive if the idea came from him. But he didn’t think she was ready. So I dropped it. And then he proposed and Ianthe had her wedding planning. If you can even call it that. It was more like Feyre sits in the room while Ianthe makes all the decisions,” now that you’ve started, it's like you can’t stop. “How am I the only one in that damned court that can see she doesn’t want to marry him? I tried to get her out of it, told her that if she had changed her mind I would come up with some sort of excuse so she didn’t have to marry him. I was actually relieved when you showed up because then she wouldn’t be stuck with him and I could have more time to try to figure out a way to help her! She is so miserable there and she is going to end up trapped!”

“Just like you are?” It startles you out of your rant, and you start to bolt, embarrassed that you’ve overshared again, but Rhysand is faster, carefully catching you as you run by. He looks at you for a moment, frowning. 

“Why do you do that?”

“Run away when I’m embarrassed? I believe it’s actually quite a common response, actually.”

He looks up, as if asking the Mother to grant him the patience to deal with you. 

“That’s not what I meant. You lose your temper, say more than you mean to and run away.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I’m simply curious.”

“Liar.”

He chuckles. “Are you avoiding my question?”

“I don’t understand you, Rhysand. You act like this cruel, careless male, but then I catch glimpses of someone else.” You tilt your head to the side, examining him. “I don’t think you’re as cruel as you make people believe you are.”

“I still think you’re avoiding my question.”

You sigh, giving in, not entirely sure why. “Fine. If you’ll answer one for me.” He nods.

“Tamlin and I are both quick tempered. But while I’m more prone to verbal outbursts…” You fidget, not quite sure how to finish the sentence. Rhys tenses, rage filtering across his face for the briefest of moments. He looks over you as if looking for signs of injury.

“He’s never hurt me. Or Feyre. It’s usually taken out on the furniture.” You wince, thinking about it. “I can only think of what he may be doing right now…” He wants to ask more, but there’ll be time for that later. His instincts are screaming at him to reveal the bond so he can keep you in Night and protect you, but he ignores it, shoving it down. 

“Now I believe you get to ask me a question.”

“Why did you use your powers on me Under the Mountain?” If he’s surprised by your question, it doesn’t show.

“You seemed to need the rest. I could see the pain you were in, some of it my fault, and there was something I could do about it.” 

“But why?”

“Does there have to be a reason? Perhaps I had gotten tired of seeing so much cruelty in the 50 years I had been down there.” You chew your lip. There he is again, that male behind the mask of cruelty.

“May I ask you another question, or do I have to worry about you trying to run away again if you share too much?”

 You give a breathy laugh. “You may, but perhaps you could let go of me?” He lets go of you, taking several steps back.

“Last night you said you’re trapped and miserable in Spring.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a statement, not a question.”

He narrowly resists the urge to roll his eyes. One thing’s for sure Mor would love you if he ever got to introduce you to her.

“My question is was that always the case?”

You blow out a breath, fidgeting with the ring on your necklace. “It’s… Complicated. Yes and then no and then yes. Before I had Andras, my husband, I was. And then when I had him… That time was incredible. And far too short. And then after… I lost so much that it would have been hard not to be miserable, even if I didn’t hate it there.” Your free hand brushes over your stomach and you see as understanding, and for the briefest moment, pity shows on his face. It makes your temper flare. You are so tired of people looking at you like that.

“Don’t look at me like that.” 

“Like what?”

You scoff. “You know the look. The look that everyone gives me when they realize everything that  I’ve lost!” You stalk towards him. He just watches you, surprised by this outburst. “I am so sick of that look! People find out and then they give me that stupid look! And then they know so they may not give me the look, but I can still see it there, just barely hidden.” You’re nearly chest to chest with him now, looking up into his face. “So don’t you dare start too.” 

He whispers your name, staring into your eyes. You’re not sure why you do it. If you’ve well and truly lost your mind, or if something about the way he’s looking at you, the way he said your name, reminds you of Andras, but you kiss him. He hesitates for a moment, knowing he should pull away, that whatever reason you're kissing him has nothing to do with him, but your lips are as soft as they look, and suddenly he’s kissing you back, one hand in your hair, the other on the small of your back.

 Just as suddenly as you had kissed him, you stop, backing away as if his touch burnt you. 

That’s the moment when the mating bond makes itself known to you, snapping into place. You sink to your knees, a hand over your chest, tears burning your eyes. He crosses over to you, slowly, eyes never leaving your face. He takes your hand in his, brushing his thumb over the back of it. You sit there together for what may be moments or hours. "You don't have to accept it. The bond. I understand it may be... You’re not ready to move on." You can hear the pain in his voice, see it in his eyes. You shake your head.

"It's not that it's unwelcome. Just... Unexpected. Andras... I thought he was my mate. I felt it when he died. So I thought.... I'll need time. I don't know how much, but I don't want to reject it. At least not outright."

"I can do that. I can give you time. I've waited for this, waited for  you, for nearly 500 years. And I'd wait 500 more if that's what you need." He presses a soft kiss to your knuckles.

"I'm not sure I'll need quite that long." You smile at him, giving an experimental tug on the bond, nearly gasping at the stars that light up in his eyes, knowing that you'd do nearly anything to get him to look at you like that again. You look away, stomach churning with guilt. 

“Don’t go back to Spring. Stay here.”

“I can’t. I can’t abandon Feyre.” He tucks loose hair behind your ear, and you resist the urge to lean into the gentle touch. 

“I understand… I don’t like it. But I understand. Just promise me something?” 

“Hmm… It’ll depend on what you’re asking of me.”

He smiles. “Promise that if anything happens you’ll reach out down the bond. And either I or someone else will come to get you. And then we’ll figure something out for Feyre.”

“Counter promise, because I can winnow myself. If anything happens and I feel the need to leave I’ll come here with Feyre and reach out down the bond to let you know.” 

“Counter promise accepted.”

“Good. Now I think I should go find Feyre.”

He nods. “Perhaps you should at least change first.”

“Is there something wrong with how I look?”

“No, you’re absolutely stunning. But you are wearing yesterday’s dress. And you slept in a chair.”

“I suppose you do have a point.” He stands, helping you to your feet.

“I am known to have one of those from time to time.”

“Rhysand?” 

“Call me Rhys.”

“Rhys?”

For a brief moment he swears he could die a happy male, just listening to you say his name. “Yes?”

“I forgot where my room is.” He chuckles, leading the way. You follow him, chewing your lip as you think. 

“I can practically hear you thinking, despite the fact that you have surprisingly good walls up. Would you like to share?” 

“Surprisingly good?” You raise an eyebrow, trying to decide if you should be offended. 

“Not a reflection on you, I'm surprised you were taught.” 

“Tamlin decided I should be after the night you killed our brothers and father.” He grimaces, not because he regrets killing them, but because of any pain it may have caused you. You stop, putting a hand on his arm to stop him.

“I know what they did. I saw the wings. I understand. As much as we butt heads, I have been better off with Tamlin as High Lord. My father was not a kind male and I hate to think of the kind of marriage I would have been forced into. I have never held any ill will towards you for their deaths.” Rhys lets out a breath he hadn't even realized he had started holding. 

“What about the garden?” 

“I was angry about it for a long time. What I said to you Under the Mountain… I was being consumed by my grief. I had just lost so much and it felt like it was for nothing because we had all ended up there anyway. But I had stopped being angry at you for it a long time ago.” He nods.

“My mother and sister. Their wings…”

“My father had hung them in the study as trophies. When Tamlin became High Lord, he burnt them.” 

He nods again, blowing out a breath through his teeth.

“What were you thinking about?”

“How I'm going to tell Feyre.”

You're not entirely sure how you might describe the look on his face, but it's clear that wasn't the answer he was expecting. 

“Are you sure that's a good idea?” 

“No. In fact it's probably a terrible idea. But nobody else tells her anything. And I'm not about to start keeping secrets from her. Plus if we may have to suddenly leave and come here, it's better for her to know why instead of having to explain it after.” 

“I… suppose you have a point.”

You grin, teasing him with his earlier words. “I am known to have one of those from time to time.” 

He laughs, the sound making your heart soar. 

The two of you start walking again and he stops once you've reached the door to your room. You linger in the hall, not quite ready to leave him yet.

“Thank you.” 

“Of course. I couldn't let you sleep in the music room all week.” You laugh. 

“No, I suppose not. Although now that I know it's far enough away from the bedrooms that I won't wake anyone, I may be spending quite a bit of time there.” 

“I could leave some sheet music in there for you. If you'd like.” You smile, eyes lighting up, and he already wants to be the reason you smile like that again.

“I would love that.” 

“I'll put it on the piano bench then. I have an idea of a piece I think you might like.” 

“I look forward to learning it.” 

“I'll have someone bring you food while you get yourself ready to speak with Feyre.” 

“Thank you, Rhys.” Once again, he appreciates the way his name sounds coming from your lips. 

“Of course.” He hesitates for a moment, uncertain what to do, before lifting your hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to the knuckles. 

You open the door as he walks away, stepping in and taking a deep breath. “Cauldron boil me…” You walk over to the deep bathing pool and turn the taps, allowing it to fill up, taking your hair out of the slept on hairdo from the day before. Once the tub is full of steaming water, you turn the tap off and strip, stepping down, settling into the water. Mother above… How were you going to tell Feyre that Rhys is your mate? And worse. How are you going to tell your brother?

A/N: And there it is! Chapter 3! I'm already working on chapter 4, so that one will probably be out later this week as well as hopefully a few other things! As always, requests are open, so feel free to send those on in if there's anything you'd like to see! I noticed that some of my taglist didn't work last time and I've hopefully fixed it this time!

Divider is by @tsunami-of-tears

taglist: @lilah-asteria @readingislife2006 @acourtofimagines @mistymoocow @irelanrose @darker-december @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @loving-and-dreaming @bravo-delta-eccho @sidthedollface2 @oucereeng @jesskidding3 @panther-girl-124 @jiarkives

[thir10th]

hey lovely! can I request a fic where r is feeling insecure with her body lately and emily shows how beautiful she is? fluff w some smut if you feel comfortable :)

Hi anon! your timing couldn't be better. This has been sitting on my drafts for weeks, i kinda hated it, but you just gave me an excuse to get back to it, so thank you for that and for requesting! Hope you like it <3

will you? - Emily Prentiss x fem!reader

summary: see the ask. I changed it a bit but the main idea is still there tw: insecure reader, face-sitting, oral sex, body image, tiny bit of angst (blink and you miss it) a/n: this one might be a bit messy but i still enjoyed writing it! like & reblog <3

You throw your bag far away when you enter the hotel room. This case was getting hard, nothing was making sense, and you had been working for the past 14 hours none stop.

You need to ether sleep, eat something, a shower, or an orgasm. Or maybe all of them

but that isn't an option right now, because you're mad at her.

You aren't even sure why you had gotten so upset about it, its not like she had actually done anything, but you were still annoyed.

You were actually mad at yourself, more than at your girlfriend, but her words still resonating on your head wouldn't go away.

Emily's arms wrapping around your waist make you jump, getting you out of your thoughts.

Hugging you from behind, she rests her face on your shoulder, you feel her warm breath on your neck, she kisses your cheek lovingly.

Her arms leave your waist to reach your shoulders, her hands massage your arms which makes you close your eyes in pleasure, relying on her touch. Maybe staying mad wasn't that worth it.

"You know what i think you need?" she moves a strand of hair to kiss the curve of your neck "mh- what?" you say, a smile of pleasure starting to form on your lips

"I think you know what" she answers, you can feel her smile against your skin, her teeth brushing against your shoulder, and then you realize what she has in mind

"No, no, Em, absolutely not" You refuse, pulling away from her touch, turning around to look at her, crossing your arms.

"ugh i can't believe you're still thinking about it, after this morning" there it is, you are pushing her away again.

Why is she so insistent though, why can't she just read your mind and understand?

"Ok, ok I'm sorry, I just don't understand. You're always so open to trying new stuff, and that, just... i don't know, baby, i just want to know why you don't want it, that's all" She says, her hand reaching to rest on your arm to comfort you.

You just can't tell her, you're too ashamed. That same morning your girlfriend had suggested you tried something new in bed. She had asked you, boldly, (like she always did) to sit on her face.

She had insisted so much, you had denied every time.

Really, what was there to hate? your beautiful girlfriend was literally asking you to fuck her face, to eat you out, to give you full control. But you just couldn't do it.

"c'mon, baby, i just want to understand" she is being gentle, using her persuasion skills on you, calling you by the special pet name that would only come out in moments of special intimacy or vulnerability

She knows how to get to you, and that only makes you angrier.

You take her hand off your arm, getting yourself away from her, you need to be alone.

"I'm gonna go take a shower, try to keep it in your pants while i'm gone, all right?" you spit at her, and seeing her mouth-opened expression, you regret it inmidiately.

Standing under the warm stream of water helps you get your mind off of things for a while, while you wander what's exactly got you all worked up like this.

Emily doesn't deserve any of this, she had been nothing but sweet. Yes, she has been insistent about it, but that doesn't mean she had to be hit in the face with your own insecurities.

Getting out of the shower you stare at your reflection on the bathroom mirror. God, you hate how it makes you feel, but what you hate the most is how you're paying your own frustrations with your girlfriend.

Wrapped in a bathrobe, you get out, ready to face an angry Emily, instead she lays on the bed, already on her sleep clothes, reading with her book resting on her knees

"Em?" you try, she looks at you from over her book, then gets back to reading

"You're not gonna talk to me?" you ask

"whenever you're ready to actually talk to me, then I will. I'll try to keep it in my pants in the meantime, though" she shoots back in a sarcastic tone.

She's right, you shouldn't have said that, it had been a low blow.

You sit beside her, taking the book from her hands and placing it on the nightstand. She looks at you with mixed anger and sadness.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, you know i didn't, this is just hard for me" you try to explain. "Look, I just don't think it's a good idea, alright?"

"I don't ever want to make you uncomfortable, but i want you to talk to me, i've been trying to get to you, and you just shut me out" she says, sitting upright on her spot on the bed, taking your hands on hers, looking you in the eyes

"it's just... i don't want to... hurt you" her mouth falls open once again "hurt me? that's what this is all about? baby c'mon, you won't hurt me, why do you say that?" her tone switches to full concern now, the previous argument already forgotten

"yes, i will, I will choke you with this big stupid things and you won't ever want to go down on me again" you finally let out

"well... I'll die a happy woman then" she chuckles, trying to downplay it

"Ok, baby, listen to me" she holds your face with both her hands, forcing you to look at her, the tenderness of her gaze deepening into you

"i love every part of you, even the ones you don't like, thighs included" she waits for an answer but you don't say anything.

Emily lifts your your chin with her finger, and leaves a soft peck on your lips, the contact makes you relax instantly

"you are smart" she says, leaving another soft kiss on your cheek

"and beautiful" now getting your other cheek

"and sexy" she kisses your nose this time

"and so, so hot" she moves back to kiss your lips again, and you chuckle nervously at her words

"what can i do to help you believe me?" you shake your head "let me bury myself into you, please" her pleading is getting too much, her thumb caresses your face so softly, so tenderly.

How could you deny her anything when she asks so sweetly? you finally nod, the huge smile spreading along her face

"Em, are you sure?” you ask, biting at your lip as you watch your girlfriend sit on the edge of the bed and recline back, laying face-up atop the covers with an eager grin spread across her face. “I might weigh too much…”

Emily raises her head up and shoots you a look. “Honey, I’m positive,” she says, trying to keep the whine out of her voice.

She wants you on her so badly she can barely stand it, eyes flickering between your face and the bathrobe that covers your thick, delectable thighs from view. 

A moment of deliberation passes, then, without another word, you reach down and untie the soft white hotel bathrobe, letting it slide down your arms to fall to the floor at your feet, leaving you completely naked in a matter of seconds

"fuck" you hear her mutter "you're so beautiful" Emily breathes

“Not as beautiful as you” you murmur as she clambers onto the bed.

You crawl up it until you are kneeling beside Emily's head, the mattress dipping slightly beneath your combined weight.

“Is it okay if I…?”

“Yes.” her decisiveness tells you she wasn't joking, she does want this more than you had thought

You take a deep breath in and then lift a leg, swinging it over Emily and settling it on the other side of her head so that you are straddling her, your cunt hovering mere inches over Emily's mouth.

"Promise me you will tell me if i'm too heavy, or if you can't breath" too excited to resist, Emily reaches up to thumb at your clit. 

“I will” she says, sliding her free hand along your thigh, rubbing comforting circles into the soft skin.

“I promise you i will tap you twice, but i won't need it" she reassures. "You’re gorgeous—fuck, I wanna taste you so bad.”

Cautiously, you lowered yourself down enough that your near-dripping pussy was just barely pressing against Emily’s face.

You were planning to keep as still as possible in order to resist the urge to squeeze your thighs around Emily or put too much weight on her, but that idea flew out the window almost immediately after her tongue darted out, flattening itself against the lips of your pussy before dragging upward and settling at the soft nub of your clit. 

“Oh,” you gasp, giving a shuddery little jerk of your hips before you can stop yourself.

Emily moans in reply, the sound vibrating against your walls and causes you to whimper again. 

Her tongue flicks out, circling your clit and applying occasional pressure, whilst two fingers push inside you, crook and rubbing at your sennsitive inner walls.

You shudder and gasp, quickly losing yourself to the feeling.

“Oh, fuck, Emily,” you gasp out, finally giving in to the temptation to reach down and fist her hand into her silky hair.

Your girlfriend lets out another appreciative moan when you give it a rough tug, the vibrations making every feeling intensify.

Losing yourself to the pleasure, you rock your hips against Emily, knees pressing hard into the mattress. She has always been an expert on driving you wild like this.

Her nose rubbing right at your clit and you couldn’t help but moan, gripping tighter on the headboard. God, she has the perfect nose for this.

Emily’s mouth wrap around you, tongue sinking into your pussy as far as she can while she sucks at you, eagerly lapping your juices into her mouth.

Her hands groped at your ass, encouraging you to roll your hips, effectively riding her face.

She keeps up the pace, mouthing desperately at your clit until you can feel yourself letting go.

Hips stuttering and then stalling. Your thighs shook up, inner walls spasming around Emily’s fingers as you fall over the edge and into bliss.

“Oh fuck! Fuck, Em...” You breath out, your chest heaving as you very slowly open your eyes, coming down to earth as Emily leaves little kitten licks on your cunt, sucking up as much of your juices as she could.

Your body shudders when her nose brushes against you again, this time an accident and she chuckles softly, helping you swing your leg over her and drop onto the bed beside her.

Emily stays put, lying face-up as she catches her breath. Then, once she feels able to, she rolls onto her side and grins at you.

"good?" she asks, her fingers softly playing with your hair

"absolutely perfect" You reply with a dreamy smile, pulling her to you for a kiss. You can't help but moan into her mouth at the taste of yourself on her tongue.

"I'm really sorry of what i said, Em" you said, keeping you face close to hers, holding her

"It's ok, I know you were upset. I just want you to know that i love every single part of your body, no exceptions" you kiss her sweetly, her words causing a warm feeling to spread on your stomach

"you're perfect" you say, pulling her in for another kiss

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope you like it! reqs are still open!

[lovelytsunoda]

purple haze // charles leclerc

summary: writing a novel is a long an arduous process. luckily for y/n, she has a very supportive partner in crime, and when it all works out, he's the only person she would want by her side.

pairing: charles leclerc x author reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, talk of deadlines, book referenced is a good girls guide to murder by holly jackson. gets a lil steamy towards the middle but nothing comes of it. still not sure how i feel about this one, but i havent written for charles in forever and i got an idea i really liked but i don't know if it worked out when i put it on paper.

by the time y/n closed her laptop, she felt like her fingers were going to fall off. she leaned back in her desk chair, gutted to find that the monaco cityscape outside her living room window was now pitch black, as might had fallen on the city.

her first book had been a red-wine and oasis fuelled fever dream, the last three chapters being written to ‘don’t look back in anger’. and now, the final edits were done.

“I’m so proud of you, mon tresor.” charles gushed, bringing her another glass of wine.

“the last three years are finally paying off. a good girls guide to murder is done, and the world is ready to meet pippa and ravi.” she grinned, clinking her glass against her boyfriends.

she had poured three years of her life into that book, and Charles had been by her side for all of it. through numerous rejections, edits and late night idea-vomit, nobody was prouder than charles was so see it work out for her.

and now he knew she needed a break.

taking her hand in his, he gently dragged her out of the desk chair and towards the couch, placing their wineglasses on the coffee table as he urged y/n to sit on the ground between his legs.

his hands were warm as he began to massage her shoulders, attempting to release the tension caused by the last round of edits, which she had worked on almost from sunup to sundown.

“there’s still so much to do.” she whined, tilting her head back to look up at her lover. “now there’s arcs and extra promotions and finding advance reviewers and-“

charles cut her off with a kiss. “none of that right now. right now, you and me are going to finish this bottle of wine and watch something pointless on tv.”

smiling to herself, y/n got up from the floor and moved to the leather couch, slipping seamlessly into charles' lap and nestling against his chest. his body was warm, and his sweater soft. even if his cologne was a little bit too strong, he made her feel safe. treasured.

"that sounds perfect." she hummed, gently turning his face so she could kiss him. "thank you for supporting me."

"always, my love." charles smiled before kissing her again.

SIX MONTHS LATER

it was half past five in the morning when the phone rang. charles could sleep through just about anything, but it was the vibrations of the phone against her side table that woke y/n.

she looked over at her sleeping lover, pressing a gentle kiss to the smooth skin on his shoulder blades before slipping out of bed and creeping into the hallway to answer a call from her agent, cecelia.

"cece, its five in the morning. couldn't this have waited?"

ceclia cleared her throat. "i've just heard from the american office. the preliminary numbers for the new york times list are in."

"fuck. how did we do?" she closed her eyes, holding up her crossed fingers and praying to every god she wasn't sure she believed in.

and when cecelia spoke again, she almost dropped her phone.

"okay. thank you for letting me know, cece."

she slipped back into the bedroom, bare, dry feet sinking into the plush carpet at the end of the bed before she sat down at the end of the bed, gripping the phone so tightly that her knuckles had gone white.

"mon amour." charles rasped, exhaustion in his voice as he rolled over onto his back. "what's wrong?"

"i just got a call from cecelia." she started, trying not to let her emotions show through. "she's just been on the phone with our american agent with the new york times numbers."

charles sat up, one of his warm hands going to rest on her thigh. "and?' he asked hesitantly, his piercing eyes meeting her uncertain ones in the dark.

"i made the top ten." she shouted, grin spreading all across her features.

making the new york times list had made everything worth it. all the sleepless nights when she had woken up with an idea she was scared to lose, all the rewrites, the weeks of writers block. the rejections, the aggravation, the insecurity.

this was it.

she had done it.

"i'm so proud of you." charles beamed, folding her into a hug. "i knew you could do it, my brilliant girl."

she dropped her phone on the bed, red-faced and giggly as she kissed him, allowing her hands to wander across his toned chest. "wanna show me just how much?"

THREE YEARS LATER

the theater was almost silent when the lights came up, the end credits of the final episode fading out on the screen. she held her breath, fingers gripping charles' hand so tightly that she thought she might break the fragile bones in her husband's fingers.

oh, yeah. they had gotten married about a year after her book had come out, while she was in the middle of writing as good as dead, the conclusion to the series.

since a good girls guide to murder had come out, her life had changed for the better. she felt more secure in herself and her talent, and the words had never come easier when she started writing the sequel, eager ton continue the story. she had since written two more books to complete the trilogy, as well as two standalone novels: five survive and the reappearance of rachel price. around the time that rachel price was announced, she had gotten another call from cecelia, asking if she and charles could come to london and meet with representatives from the bbc.

they wanted to turn her first book into a tv series.

she had been hands on from the beginning, throwing herself into her work and doing her best to make sure that the version of the story the readers saw on screen was the version that she had visualized when she'd first explained the storyboard to charles, the driver helping her connect everything on their living room wall with red yarn.

and now was the time. the time to see if it had all paid off. the theater was filled with minor celebrities, influencers, and the tiktokers who had made her book blow up in popularity.

it all came down this night.

"it's okay. whatever happens, you know you did your best." charles whispered in her ear, running one hand up and down her bare back. underneath the flimsy straps of her red dress.

she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath when the roar off applause began to drown her.

she rode the rush of emotions, allowing the tears of gratification and relief to ruin her mascara as she let her body go slack, resting against charles as she watched the room rise in a standing ovation for pippa and ravi.

"we did it. we made it, charles." she laughed, tilting her head up to kiss him.

"no, cherie. you did this. they're all here for you."

she watched as the event's host, a former spice girl that charles knew through his paddock connections, stepped out into the middle of the small stage set up at the front of the theater.

"and now, the moment i'm sure you've all been waiting for, a few words from y/n /y/l/n-leclerc!"

she wiped her eyes and fixed her hair, taking a deep breath before she walked across the stage, taking the microphone from geri halliwell, and turning to face the crowd.

in the front row, there was charles. her one true love. her biggest supporter.

and in that moment, she truly allowed herself to believe that she had made it.

[matchadobo]

I absolutely love how you write kidd sm!!! Can i request a scenario where kid and killer are cuddling with us? Appreciate it ^_^

KIDD & KILLER; cuddles

wc: 1453

warning/s: very sfw <3, gn reader

it happened one evening when it was awfully cold. the victoria had no choice to be docked by a wintry island given the exhaustion of supplies. you couldn't sleep because of the weather and the warmth of your skimpy blanket and sheer sheets were not enough to keep you warm.

the clock had already struck midnight and you felt restless. so you pulled yourself up from your bunk and dawdled at the kitchen, shivering. you intend to make yourself something hot, maybe reheat some soup or make tea.

stirring up some leftover soup from dinner on the stove, the heat of the forming smoke soothed you. you felt a rush of weariness in your system at the contact of warmth; you really are sleepy, it's just too cold. so it led to you almost falling asleep standing. if it weren't for kidd turning off the stove as his arm snaked beside you.

"is it that cold you'd wanna burn yourself?" kidd cleared his throat, reaching for a bowl from the cupboard above your head and placing it by the counter beside the stove. "it's done. if you plan on not burning the damn soup that is."

"sorry. why are you still awake?" you rubbed your eyes, pouring the soup on the bowl.

"could ask ya the same thing," he replied. kidd was garbed with his thick fur coat blanketing his huge frame. "smelled somethin' good 's why."

"i'm... it's too cold. i assumed this'll warm me up." you carried your bowl and sat by the chair surrounding the dining table. kidd was heating up a drink, probably some milk.

you started sipping on the soup before kidd stood beside the seat across from you, chugging on some milk. "that ain't enough to keep you warm."

"either i sleep somewhere warmer or eat something warm to keep myself from freezing to death. got no choice here, captain." you shrugged as you continue to fill your system with the warm soup.

"that ain't gonna cut it. don't want my crew members gettin' sick or some shit." he placed his empty glass down and leaned forward.

"what do you suggest me do then?" you answered a bit harshly this time, the weariness was driving you crazy and irritated.

"sleep with me. got a fireplace." he eyed you intently, his gaze inviting you into something that drove you even crazier than the momentary slips of his coat where his chiseled torso peaks.

"w-what?"

"you heard me. unless you wanna freeze your ass up, be my guest." he picked up his glass and placed it in the sink. "no time gettin' shy now. hurry up before i change my mind."

as the only shot of getting a shred of comfort, you took upon his offer after finishing your soup.

it isn't your first time being in his quarters, he invites you here all the time. to drink or do whatever you two do.

it smelled like the same metallic cologne he always wear, it was his usual dimly lit room painted in his favorites of red and black, his sizable bed was placed by the center of his room where his gargantuan frame would be perfect for, and the already lit fireplace that settled by the corner of his room.

you hummed a moan of relief upon entering, it already feels warm and its scent was comforting. the crackling of the fire can be heard even from the doorway. you sat before the fireplace, on his soft, raven bear rug. you hugged your knees and rubbed your hands haphazardly. shivering from the cold outside.

"the hell are you doing down there? bed's got a lotta space. " kidd shimmied from the middle to the side of the bed to make space for you. his fur coat was finally off and his body was full on display.

you looked behind you with cautious eyes. "if you try anything, eustass. i swear to god." you picked yourself up from the floor and dusted off your bottom.

"hey, i ain't the one needin' the damn fire." he raised his hands in surrender. "let's just wait and see who'll snuggle up for warmth as the night gets colder." his voice was coated with a cocky tone as your bodies finally touch.

he was really warm. aside from the fire in his room, his body temperature due to his large size was significantly higher than yours. he was the perfect, huggable body warmer.

little by little, your arms linked and your legs intertwined. it didn't take long for you to get tangled on his limbs and approach slumber.

until the door cracked ajar to reveal killer, who was embarrassed to have walked in. he raised his hands in defense and cleared his throat.

"sorry, didn't mean to barge in you two. just checking on you, kidd." killer started, trying to maintain a professional front even in your sleepy state. "it's awfully cold so... but it seems you're holding up well."

"what took ya so long, kil? been waitin' since an hour ago." kidd let go of you gently to face his best friend and to be able to talk clearly with him, a little to gentle for a pirate such as himself. you weren't used to it, not that you didn't like it.

"got ready for bed. dry off my hair and such." you could hear the chuckle behind the muffle of his helmet despite your back facing him. "y'all got room for one more or am i interrupting?"

"don't think shortcake over here has protests. matter of fact, they could use another source of warmth. poor thing's been shiverin', ain't ya?" his voice was soft against your skin, breath warm on your arm. kidd's loose arm held onto you closer but not firm enough to jolt you awake. he looked over his shoulder ar your sleepy state, admiring how peaceful you look as you drift off to sleep.

the door shut behind killer and he shortly crawled into kidd's bed. surprisingly enough, it fit these two big guys and even you in it just fine. there's even more space left.

as they cocooned you in between, snores started emanating from your slightly ajar lips. it wasn't long until you were deep in sleep and they started becoming drowsy too.

maybe it was the smell of your hair or the sight of your face. or the needy grip on their strong arms as you refuse to let go of them even in your sleep that helped them rest in this cold night. their guard was completely down and they relish on the warmth of one another.

shortly after, morning came.

"guys...! kil...! kidd...! i need to pee." you tried wiggling out of their strong grip, but their echoing snores were proof enough that they won't budge.

but killer was the first one to wake up and hear your protests. he moved over and even helped you escape kidd's grip who was still deep in sleep.

killer waited for you by sitting at the edge of the bed so you can crawl back without any struggle. he had his eyes shut and his luscious, blond hair disheveled. a clear sign of his sound slumber yet he still managed to sit up and wait for you so you won't have a hard time.

"thanks, kil. would've peed myself on the bed if it weren't for you." you laughed a little, nudging the blond. he waved his hand a bit and smiled at you as a response, although his eyes were half-lidded so you decided to hurry up and crawl back to where you were so you two could go back to sleep. it's still pretty early.

kidd was now in a starfish position, you ought to lay on his arm and snuggle close to him to make space for killer who later had a firm embrace on you.

"did you sleep well?" killer broke out, his low, hoarse voice tickling your ear.

you nodded and smiled, "i hope i wasn't much of a bother here."

"ah don't say that. it's not everyday you get to have cuddles like this." killer responded with a chuckle, his thumb rubbing circles on your skin.

"yeah, maybe we can change that. let's make it an everyday thing, hm?" you looked over to see killer's expression and giggled at how he blushed and hid his face under his hair.

and a comfortable silence blanketed the air of kidd's quarters. but for now, the three of you slept soundly in the four corners of this dimly lit room. the fire was already long dead, but the embers of the unsaid longings still remain strong amidst the warmth of your arms.

hello anon!! 🌷thanks for the kid & killer request i'm starting to enjoy writing for poly now whahahaha hope i did your request justice!

that was a long ass absence again huh ASJDAHDHDASJ very sorry a lot happened,a lot of personal stuff just came crashing in (ahem graduation ahem college next) and just when you thought it could get any worse i got fucking sick!! ain't that fun! but i'm recovering now and i hope it doesn't get worse

[luvlyhyunjin]

Fallen Star┃Jake Sim

twelve - were angels meant to look this somber? warnings: smut , unprotected sex (stay safe!)

Masterlist ✶ prev ✶ next

Serenity fills your body, mingling through your soul and travelling all around your being. Its touch warm and gentle. Like feathers that graze the skin of your wrist. And it presses right down on your pulse. The warmth seems to intensify at the sign of your life enough to pull you out of your darkness, opening your eyes to a pair of worried eyes that stare back at you. Despite the tiredness pulling at you, you feel a weird pain sneaking its way into your heart. It pulls at it so nimbly and your eyes close shut killing your confusion just as quick.

Were angels always meant to look this somber?

Your eyes flutter open with a jolt, the unfamiliar roof above you only adds to your panic as you scramble to reach for your phone. The time only plays a smaller part in your rising panic and so you get up in a haste. Realizing you’re alone in Jake’s hotel room has your cheeks growing red in embarrassment, you hadn’t meant to fall asleep and especially not on the couch. You were supposed to check on him and leave yet how did you manage to invade his space and above all that sleep in?

You hurry to move. As if the growing humiliation will die as soon as you’re out of the room.

“Shit,shit,shit” is the only thing falling from your lips like a mantra as you wash your face briskly. It’s only when you’re about to leave the room that you catch sight of the coffee and a couple of bills on the table. You pause, the coffee is still warm when you pick it up despite the lack of a note or any confirmation you know he left it for you.

It’s only a small gesture and yet like a flutter of a butterfly wing that has abraded the surface of your heart it spreads warmth through it. Setting an unfamiliar feeling right at the center, pulling at your heartstrings so easily along with the corner of your lips. They turn upwards with a smile embedded with softness as faint as the chirping of the birds outside.

Then you ensnare yourself in a similar trap, a cage that you just got out of recently and yet you’re now walking back into smiling and so an ever growing darker one follows. Akin to childhood scars that loom on your life. Fear.

On your way to work your mind recalls glimpses of last night, from Jake’s boredom filled expression to later the sight of his worried eyes staring at you. The cold scratched touches you felt against your skin. and yet you remain unsure the longer your thoughts stretch. It only propels the questions further: was the solemn angel looking down at you with broken wings a dream or reality?

You don’t get to think about that same question and instead about a hundred different ones prod at your mind throughout the day when you realize Jake is avoiding you. At first it wasn’t super noticeable or more accurately it wasn’t noticeable to you. It all started with you walking into his dressing room ten minutes late.

“Someone had a wild night,” Sunghoon comments, walking past you with a smirk and you hit his shoulder lightly with a giggle.

“Good morning.” You greet.

Jay tilts his head at you with a nod as a response and your eyes flicker to Jake who is sitting down in his usual seat. Probably minutes away from getting his makeup done. The lack of answer from him doesn’t raise any questions in your head.

However, you grow into concern the longer your gaze settles upon him, despite his face remaining an exuberant beauty the bags under his eyes dragging a bit deeper, eyes a little colder, they’re almost empty and his expression is nothing short of crestfallen.

“You okay?” you ask him, tone so soft that when Jake reaches for his earbuds and puts them on, you aren’t sure if he’s ignoring you or didn’t hear you.

It stirs a weird sense of anxiety within you, you brush it off.

Your anxiety comes back tenfold, brushing against your fingertips and this time you can’t seem to let it go. It’s in the way Jake never looks at you, not even for a spilt second and if he did somehow mess up and stumble upon your gaze, his irises are void of emotions. Like he’s nothing but a soulless body walking around. It’s in the way every time you talk to him, he’ll reply with a word or two, or not even acknowledge your existence as you fiddle with your fingers awkwardly.

Rationally you know you might be embellishing things in your head. You know that your relationship with Jake was never on friendly terms and it’s not like you and him were having delightful daily conversations. If anything, you have probably spent time in the bathroom more than any time talking to him. Yet how come you’re growing anxious over something so transitory? Closer to being notional than non.

Nonetheless you flow with a grave excitement when your phone buzzes and you see a message incoming from him.

my boss is a dick 🙏: Are you stupid? Yn: Huh? my boss is a dick 🙏: why are you carrying these heavy boxes? Ask one of the staff to do it.

You blink at the box you just left on the ground; it was only moments ago that you came across one of the staff struggling to carry boxes inside the building alone. It was a diligent call for help and who were you to ignore it?

Your fingers fly across the screen to type out a reply.

Yn: Oh, the staff looked like they needed help with it, so I decided to do it. my boss is a dick 🙏: you’ll hurt yourself. Leave them. Yn: Don’t worry boss 😤! I’m actually really strong! Read.

Although you kept checking your phone multiple times throughout the day, a reply never comes, and despite you telling yourself that he doesn’t need to reply, that he had left you on read multiple times before. That this is how Jake always acts. Your anxiety still grows tremendously. like thorns pricking at your being.

It drives you into a need to somehow please and tame down an anger that doesn’t even exist. It permeates into you and spreads through the vessels in your brain and you’re nothing if not a slave to your misplaced worries. And so, you stick to Jake’s side all day. Like a puppy following its owner and fetching them anything, ambitious for praises and maybe a pat on the head.

You only manage to get a side eye from him when you open doors for him, or when you’re fixing his chair, his belongings. You went as far as to fix his hair that was out of place. Apart from the weirded-out look he sent your way; you got nothing and it all accumulates to an explosion during lunch time.

“I think Jake is mad at me!” you blurt out, pausing the pacing of your foot back and forth and you chew on your nail nervously.

Sunoo and Sunghoon share a look that you don’t get to witness. Your eyes beholding the back of Jake’s head who’s busy eating his lunch no further than a few meters away from you.

“Why do you think so?” Sunoo asks between full bites of kimbap.

“I don’t know. Doesn’t it seem like he’s avoiding me?”

“He seems pretty normal to me?” Sunghoon says, eyeing the way you start to pace back and forth again.

“He looks a little tired that’s all.” Sunoo adds and you shake your head in complete gainsay. Just as you’re about to go on a full rant on why you think you should dedicate the rest of your life to giving Jake a handwritten apology for everything wrong you’ve ever said to him, your thoughts are interrupted upon hearing his next words:

“Why is this salty?” He’s complaining to Jay. Despite the distance and the loud chatter of the staff members you hear it so very clearly. And you know it’s god’s mercy that have finally fallen onto your lap. A golden ticket is offered to you, and you snatch it with vigor.

Like a being suddenly taken over by superpowers, your senses are heightened (probably by your enormous anxiety) you feel like spiderman when the words Jake’s mutter reach your ears like you’re next to him. And so, you dash towards him leaving behind a very confused Sunoo and Sunghoon,

“Your food is salty?” Jake jolts in surprise at your voice, looking up behind him at your figure that almost seems like it materialized out of nowhere.

“What the fuck?” he mutters, and your lips stretch into a grin, doe eyes widening, taken by a twinkle of a desperate need to please.

“There’s this new Chinese restaurant that opened close by the company. I can head down there and get you something?” he opens his mouth to answer but you don’t even let him, immediately picking up where you left off “I had a little chat with one of the employees earlier and she said they have really good spicy garlic noodles I can grab you some?”

You’re rambling. You realize it when the room grows quieter the longer your words take to fall from your lips. And so, your face burns with heat, turning hot and red in color when you feel multiple eyes are on you. Jake’s eyes are blank as they linger on you.

“I’m fine, yn.” he says so simply as if his words didn’t resemble that same pitying god, you hate so much.

“Oh well- “you cover up your discomfiture with a nervous chuckle, feeling overtaken by embarrassment that you cannot explain how it managed its way into you “I have this pistachio chocolate cupcake I got earlier in my bag I can get it for you.” You go to turn to grab it, but his hand circles your wrist to stop you.

The touch is so strikingly familiar. It has goosebumps erupting on your skin in the span of a heartbeat.

Your body keeps track of everything.

“Are you trying to kill me, bunny?” he deadpans, and you blink stunned.

“What?”

“Jake is allergic to pistachios yn.” Jay speaks from beside him, a soft smile colored in a similar fellow feeling, and you find yourself wishing your face didn’t burn the way it did.

“Oh right.”

You walk away with a smile tinted with pitiful awkwardness, it has you curling onto yourself and wishing to minimize in size. Or maybe blend in with the walls and not have to be perceived for a while.

Your pessimistic emotions only seem to intensify the longer your day drags on.  like a shadow trailing your every step and clinging to your feet. Painting the inside of your mind with an eerie silence and aiding your screaming insecurities to raise above all. Taking over every sense of logical thinking (not like you had any to begin with). Like a whirlwind of negativity that overtakes you they’re nothing but obstructive.

And that’s how you end up right outside of Jake’s waiting room. A cup filled with water and a couple of ice cubs just because you heard him talk about how his water wasn’t cold enough, it probably wasn’t something that salient. If Jake needed a different water, he would have talked to you or got it himself and yet you somehow found yourself way too far in. An it itch in your fingers and your limbs that you cannot seem to resist you rushed with that same ambition to please and got him water. Cosplaying yourself as some sort of a fairy that grants wishes. It’s the only way to persist before your thoughts anyways.

You have never been the type of person to eavesdrop so you aren’t sure why your hand stills against the doorknob when you hear the voices of Jay and Jake talking, it might not even be that much of importance but perhaps it was your unpliable need to know anything that could help quieten your anxiety.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You can leave early I’ll talk to Jennie about it.” you hear Jay ask and you press yourself closer to the door.

“I’m fine.”

“That was the worst attack you have had in a while Jake.”

“I know,” there’s a short silence that settles, your mind starts screaming at you, that you’re being ridiculous and to stop this nonsense yet your fingers flex against the doorknob and pause at his next words “and it had to be in front of her out of all people.”

Is he talking about you?

“Ah. You’re worried about that?”

“Of course, I am. I wish yn wasn’t there.”

Your heart, as weak as ever drops at that, shattering right at your feet and you stare at it, unable to move, unable to collect the pieces.

“I know. "a breath of exhalation escapes Jay "Did you even sleep? You look super fucking tired man.” he adds.

“I did sleep.”

“Jake.”

“For like three hours. I kept waking up because of her.”

“Fuck. I shouldn’t have let her stay back.”

You aren’t sure if their conversation ends there or the scratch forming on your heart has somehow started working as an obstacle to your hearing. Every fiber of your being throbs with a familiar betrayal, an all too known feeling that is always lingering around the corner clambers over you. Disappointment latches itself onto you.

At the sound of rustling behind the door you realize you can’t be standing outside like this and so collecting yourself is a trying task you attempt. And it all falls apart way too quickly, you opening the door and Jake walking out at the same minute. You don’t get a chance to blink or stop yourself before you’re bumping into him. The contents of the glass you’re carrying is splashed all over him. Soaking his shirt and you could only watch with terror as he drips in water.

“Oh my god,”  your hands are frozen in the air unsure if you should be touching him “I’m so sorry Jake – fuck” apologizes flee from your mouth without resistance. You’re overshadowed by liability, and you expect Jake to be angry, to glare at you and even go as far to yell because you deem yourself only worthy of such treatment.

But you don’t expect the apathy coloring his face. His eyes are drained of life and overtaken by exhaustion.

“It’s fine, bunny.” His words are out akin to a sigh and yours dissolve on your tongue. He dawdles past you with another sigh and your shoulders slump, eyes flickering to Jay who watched the whole thing unravel.

“s-should I get him a shirt or something?”

“I think he can manage himself yn.”

The smile Jay sends you is as gentle as ever yet there’s an underlining sympathy that makes you feel as if he knows you heard everything. You’re not indisputable enough to understand anything anymore. But you know that Jake is exhausted, and you have managed to add piles of burden to his already heavy shoulders. It is too late, but you realize then, that you have caught yourself too far in once again. Too much.

It's a familiar relic from a state you’ve always known, always found yourself drowned in. it’s mere moments that plunge you into the frigid truth and you’re constantly treading on recrimination of yourself.

You are but an infuriating entity.

God hated you. You’re sure of it. You must have done something so awful in your past life to end up where you are right now. There’s no other way to explain how you’re outside of Jake’s apartment with his phone between your fingers and you, drenched in water because the sky decided it’s the perfect time to pour the moment you stepped foot outside the company doors.

Jake is god’s favorite. This must be karma for spilling water on him earlier. You knew you were meant to walk into a mess the moment you were getting ready to leave and Jay had found you, an apologetic smile on his face as he told you that Jake had forgotten his phone and if you could take it to him.

You should have said no.

“What are you doing here?” Jake asks as soon as he opens his door, surprise evident in his tone as his eyes take in your trembling figure.

“Your phone,” your voice shakes as you extend your palm to him with the device in it. Jake blinks, taking his phone as he tries to register everything that’s going on, but you don’t give him a chance to linger on any passing thought. Not a chance for his eyes to take in your disheveled state.

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I’m sorry about everything." taking a deep breath in and then like a monster that has been unleashed, your anxiety transforms itself in the only way you know how to be; sorry.

"I’m sorry about pressuring you to see me yesterday. I’m sorry about falling asleep on your couch and I’m sorry about today I know I was being so annoying-“ your apologies fall like confessions, like sins and you’re only awaiting punishment to strike you.

“Woah! Woah, slow down yn.” He interrupts you, eyes fliting across your features in evident concern, and you take another deep breath in. not realizing how quickly your tears have managed to well up in your eyes.

“It’s fine,” he assures when you look down at your feet suddenly growing embarrassed “you’re fine.”

“Okay.” You sniffle, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

“Come inside.” he suggests, his fingers envelope your palm and you shake your head.

“I don’t want to annoy you.” You reply in a small voice.

“I’m not letting you leave like this bunny you’re shaking. Come on.”

As Jake leads you inside, you watch with an inquisitive gaze as he immediately places his phone on the counter and heads for the kitchen sink. You stand there for minutes that seem to stretch way too long as he turns on the water and seem to be washing his hands. your eyes dancing across the opulent interior as the sound of running water fills the silence between you two.

Your gaze settles upon the vase of blue colored flowers in the middle of his table. A litheness you don’t expect to see in his belongings. A struck of color in between his blacks and white, it looks out of place.

“What are those flowers called?” When Jake turns the water off and faces you, there’s a distant look in his eyes, as they flicker between you and the flowers. It's solely momentary, yet you capture it.

“Forget me not.”

You grasp how you dislike the way you act around him. Repeatedly stumbling on a cold façade, putting on an overly exaggerated charade that somehow never goes through. While Jake is akin to a strong mountain, unweaving. You feel like the wind, hallow and fleeting.

You’re pushed into feeling like an embarrassing child and the feeling stays even when you end up in his shower. Covered in a scent that isn’t yours but one that you know, one that is strong enough to provoke dark emotions from you. has your cheeks blushing and blooming into things you pretend you don’t know. Even when you’re all clean and dressed in another woman’s clothes that you can’t help but wonder why he has. Your blush remains despite the hideous green sense of foreboding crawling up your spine.

“Fits okay?” he asks once you’re out the bathroom and you hum an approval.

“Why do you have a woman’s clothes though?” the question escapes before you can stop it, your teeth biting down on your lip. And your insides are set ablaze when his eyes dart to them.

“They’re Soojin’s. She stays over sometimes.”

“You guys seem to be close.”

“Yeah,” he hums, brushing past you to the bathroom and your eyes follow him. Watching with intent focus “it’s good that she was there last night when you know..” You trail off, your fingers fiddling with the end of the sweater you’re wearing nervously.

“Soojin is always there. She’s so attentive and observant to the point where it’s annoying at times.”

His words resemble the edge of a blade that’s plunged straight into your chest. His words from earlier swirl around your head and that combined with her remnants lying in his space evokes emotions from you that you wish did not manifest within you.

The sound of running water fills the empty spaces of silence between you once again, you lean your head on the wall and watch as Jake washes his hands once again. Telling yourself it’s not because he just touched your clothes is a trying task you fail.

“How long have you guys known each other?” Your question hangs in the air, unanswered. His speech impairment has you raising an eyebrow in confusion. Jake is staring at nothing in particular, eyes unblinking and clouded. It takes a few tantalizing minutes before he snaps himself out of a daze.

“Huh?”

“I asked how long you guys have known each other?” you repeat, the syllables coming out slower.

In response, Jake closes the water and takes a step forward, his shoulder brushes against yours delicately and you hold your breath without meaning to “a while,” he mumbles, vaguely as he walks back into his room and again you follow.

You feel akin to standing at the edge of a cliff, close to jumping into an ocean filled with nothing but regrets and sorrow when he sits on his bed and his eyes find yours. As if finding the brightest star upon a dark night sky.

“C’mere bunny.” He pats the space in front of him, your knees buckle under you, you hear your heartbeat in your ears.

There’s no way for you to feel safe here, is what you think as you take hesitant steps towards the bed and with a lumbersome feeling clinging to your body. You settle upon the soft sheets, his scent envelopes you and the tilt of his lips is enough to have your cheeks warming up.

“Turn around.”

“What are we doing exactly?” you ask, tone laced with suspicion, and he rolls his eyes at you.

“Your shoulders hurt from carrying those boxes earlier today, don’t they? I have this pain relief gel for you. Turn around.”

You cannot help the surprise that overtakes you, hadn’t expected such a kind gesture from him and so like a thin thread of string you bend so easily. Pulling so effortlessly at your heartstrings, your blush only deepens, a darker feeling lurks beneath the surface.

“You don’t have to do that. I’m okay really.” You reply, a flimsy excuse of defiance.

“Bullshit. Turn around stop making me repeat myself.” His tone is stern and it’s enough to have you growing weaker if possible. You swallow around nothing, giving him your back and nerves creases your features.

With his hand encircling your waist he swiftly pulls you closer to him, raising a gasp from you when you feel his breath hit the back of your neck, eliciting shivers from you and an exhalation.

“I’m gonna lift your shirt up,” he whispers, voice so low it only helps you divulge into desires that you thought you successfully locked away. At your silent nod, he lifts your sweater enough for him to see your bare skin slowly come into view.

His fingers are cold against your shoulder blades, the feeling of his new forming scabs are rough and yet you manage to find tenderness lacing them. It’s anything but pleasant so why does it have heat licking its way up your stomach? Fiery hot and overwhelmingly impossible to ignore.

It’s the way his touch feels the same way it felt in your dream. Like grazing feathers, as soft as you imagine feeling heaven on your skin would be like. It’s as if you’re a delicate flower that he’s too afraid to pressure, to hurt. As if you would fall apart as easy as it is for his fingers to touch and perhaps that’s why it felt so facile for your brain to melt, like running water that is incapable of coming up with a strong enough defense. Conceivably you surrender.

When you turn your head to look back at him his face is mere inches away from yours. His eyes catch yours, capturing them into place and how is it possible for you not will yourself to him when they’re so clear. When they break through you as if you were a trivial piece of glass, you are so fragile you break with the blink of his eye. You fall apart with his rattled breath brushing against your lips, his thumb on your shoulder blade. You’re like a trivial piece of glass, see through and so you spill all your contents to him.

It’s in the way your irises soften in a manner so foreign to him, the tilt of your brows in affectionate rendition is so quick, almost like a ghost floating by that he’s not sure he sees it when this time your castle burns to the ground first. So abrupt, swift, and more than anything destructive your lips seek his as though they didn’t know anything else.

You kiss him and it’s innocent, short yet enough to have you breathless. Your body tingling with overflowing warmth when your hand cups his jaw akin to a delusional trick a sweet lover would pull.

“What was that for?” he asks when you pull away, eyes lidded as they implore into yours.

“I don’t know I just-“ you try to conjure a smart enough of a response. Something that could be passed by as sexy enough to match up with this brittle boldness yet you’re traipsing on your words and then there’s nothing. They melt on your tongue and in the darkening shade of his gaze “I’m sorry I don’t know what I was thinking.” You settle with, bashful like crushed petals of roses have found home on your cheeks.

Your temerity flees before it’s even here, eclipsed by a hallow void, touch starved.

You stitch your pride together with fallacious force, the same one you use to tilt your lips upwards into a faux smile. You attempt with a quivering heart that you pray will turn coarse one day yet today seems to join a chain of failures. That same shakiness runs through your hands as an attempt to collect the ashes of your dignity. You’re barely kept together by anything when his hand is turning your head to face him.

The intensity of his stare is unlike anything you’ve ever witnessed, it could only be inhuman. A beauty so out of this world it feels unjust to for you to behold. Jake is astoundingly breathtaking, exuberant as if every eyelash was carefully crafted by an angel. He is god’s finest work.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, bunny.” His words are whispered right upon your lips, and in a brief exhale, a fluttering of your lashes, he’s nothing sort of angelic and so you go to pieces, unsure if it’s a warning or an entitle of temptation.

You’re nothing but a trivial piece of glass, albeit even when you shatter, you’re rough and you cut into his flesh deep and painful. You turn your body fully to face him, as if controlled by your desire you straddle him, and his hands fall to your hips naturally. His palms itching all over until they are under your shirt, and you shudder.

“Should I finish it then?” you whisper back, wrapping your arms around his neck and your labored breaths are your enlarged lust's giveaway.

A phantom of a smirk starts to form on his pinking lips, and you don’t give room for triumphant to bloom further before crashing your lips into his. The kiss is nothing alike the one before, it’s rough and desperate, all teeth and tongue and you move together as if tranced, lead forward by an overwhelming hunger clawing at you. It makes itself evident in him when his arms tighten around your waist, pulling you closer into him, pressing himself more against you.

You taste so sweet, dripping with lure and Jake licks it up. Your body fits perfectly into his plan, articulated by his mind’s need to run away.

You feel him smile lazily against your lips when you start grinding down on him in a despairing need, your desire breaks your faith first.

“You want it that bad?” he murmurs, pulling away just enough to let his words out. It is more than enough to irk you, yet you find nothing to say back. Not when his fingertips are venturing under your shirt, grazing the soft skin of your hips.

You roll your eyes in apparent disregard, focusing on the way your body grows hotter by the second and yet Jake remains tenacious.

“Mhm?” He itches for an answer, gaze chasing your wandering one and this time you take his lips for yours in attempts to quieten him. It seems to work because he groans against your mouth, licking inside your lips as his hands move to the swell of your ass.

It works until it doesn’t anymore. Until the way his endless need to annoy you takes over.

“You’re awfully quiet compared to last time.” He says softly, leaning down to place kisses upon your jaw and if he wasn’t smiling you wouldn’t notice the teasing edge.

“And you’re awfully talkative.” You retort, turning your head to give him better access to your skin.

“Mhm.” There’s a pause, tantalizing enough to have you squirming on top of him when his teeth to nibble on your earlobe.

“You missed my cock that much?”

What a fucking arrogant piece of -

“You didn’t last long enough for me to miss it.” He chuckles against your neck, the sound travelling straight to your stomach and goosebumps erupt all over you. you convince yourself it’s because of the feeling of his lips.

“Acting if you weren’t the one who came first.”

“Are you gonna fuck me or what?” you huff, pushing at his shoulder and he follows easily enough to know there’s a catch. It manifests in the way he leans his head against his headboard with that smug smile disperses across his lips. Strands of his dark hair fall over his eyes almost perfectly into place to paint the picture of how a devil would gleam with satisfaction.

“Maybe if you beg me this time. Can you do that?” his words set your insides ablaze and you aren’t sure it it’s anger or just pure lust at this point.

You were never religious enough to go against sins, nor do you wish you were and so you chase after him, blinded by the glamour of him. Your foreheads touch and his eyes are on your lips following every rising breath you let out, his façade almost falls apart by the way you keep grinding against him, his cock is already half hard.it almost falters if your eyes weren’t turning hazy.

“Fuck off.” You breathe out against his lips, all bark no bite and he chuckles incredulously “I could just go and ask anyone else to fuck me.” You’re almost moaning your words out, the shake in your voice gives your want away and that’s why Jake is growing amused, titling his head to watch the way you somehow managed to hang on by the edge of falling apart without him touching you.

“Oh yeah? why don’t you go and do that then?” he replies minutely.

“Maybe I will.”

“Uh huh. Who do you have to ask?”

“a-a lot of people.”

“Like who? Give me names bunny.”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t. I’m just curious since you brought it up.” He coos and you huff in response, your frustration grows adjacent with your lust. You wish upon any star in the night that he’ll shut up and fuck you, his lopsided smirk tells you otherwise.

Your eyes harden into a glare, yet the trembling of your fingers and your heaving chest unravel your weakness for him. It’s all so evident to him.

“They’ll probably make me feel so much better too.” You mumble.

in stark contrast to your expectations, you somehow contrive to dismantle his curtains of indifference, every semblance of fun leaves his body replaced by a parching heat. Akin to anger that turns his stare icy, it has a shiver running down your body and a soft gasp escapes you when he pulls you flush against him.

“You fucking piss me off bunny.” He spits through his teeth and this time you’re the one glistening with elation.

“Good.” You breathe out when he rolls his eyes at you, he shifts your position and before you get a time to blink, to think. You’re on your back against the plush bed sheets.

“Quiet.” His lips are a breath away from yours and you arch into him, a yearning for the taste of him and he compiles. Meeting you in the middle for a kiss, too rough, too messy and yet his hand against your cheek is anything but that. Too gentle, too tender and you feel it in the deepest parts of you.

You loathe it.

You loathe it even more when you’re momentarily separated with your shirt being taken off and when your eyes cross again there’s a flicker in his gaze, they soften for a fleeting moment, his hand caresses your cheek and it’s too lenient for a sexually explicit instant. You almost miss it all, by the twinkling of an eye you dimly register how his eyes glaze over. How there’s a pause in his air as his eyes rake over your body, over your nude breasts, your slender neck and then he’s drowning in you, akin to an ocean he wants to bask in.

You’re almost as pretty as the forget me nots coming to life with full bloom in his living room. However, you’re nothing alike, you smell so much sweeter, cinnamon, and vanilla ricochets off you, and he comes by himself growing dizzy. You’re so cordial, equivalent to the cherry blossoms he witnessed last spring.

You’re almost as pretty as his forget me nots and yet you’re nothing like them at all. There’s no way for someone like you to be anything close to tepid. So, he ignores the question raising in your gaze.

It’s evanescent yet your heart constricts in your chest, painfully so when he leans down and kisses you again, your words are stolen by his soft lips, and he ventures with them just the same. Leaving a trail of kisses in-between your breasts and all the way down.

“Didn’t think you’d have a tattoo,” he speaks against your skin and it’s fairly unjust how you tremble. Your skin feels sensitive under his touch as if they were flames upon you.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“Is this the fucking alien from toystory?” his thumb brushes against your hipbone, right where your small piece of ink is at and you groan, overwhelmed by the need to hide your face somewhere.

“What about it?”

“It’s not very well done if I’m being honest.”

“Yeah, because it’s a stick and poke. My friend did it on me when he was like 17.” You look down to glare at him and it falters as quick as it comes, melting away into your arousal. Because the sight of Jake being between your legs is something you couldn’t have prepared for.

Not in this lifetime or the one before.

“Are you still friends with him?”

“Yeah. he’s my best friend.”  You answer with a sigh, falling back into the pillows with a flushed face when you feel Jake’s lips hover over your tattoo before he kisses right above it, slowly enjoying the taste of your skin.

“Jake..” Your voice comes out as soft as a mewl when you thread your fingers through his dark hair, you can’t help but think about how soft it is, how his sheets smell exactly like him. You realize a tad too late that you’ve somehow drowned yourself in pieces of him and it only flusters you further.

“Mhm?”

“What are you doing?” you splutter when your pants are swiftly unbuttoned and pushed down the length of your legs. You grow self-conscious at the realization that you’re almost fully nude in front of him for the first time.

“I’m gonna make you feel good. what does it look like I’m doing?” With bated breath, your thoughts grow overwhelmingly loud with screaming insecurities that you don’t get to register his next words fully;

“I’m not keeping you quiet this time so you can be as loud as you want to be. Let me hear you bunny.” His tone is laced with allure, profoundly ample for you to clench around nothing.

A squeal escapes you when you feel his breath against your clothed cunt and then he’s burying his nose into you, feeling you completely soaked, it’s only added inflation to his ego “J-jake w-wait-“ you sputter with a burning face, your fingers tug at his hair and yet he ignores you. busy with taking your panties off.

“When was the last time you got your pretty pussy eaten, bunny?” you open and close your mouth a couple of times in shock. Somehow your mind cannot keep up with how lewd an angel’s mouth could be.

It is not something you prepared to hear that you almost ebb and flow out of consciousness, your sanity clings by a hair.

“Stop asking me stupid questions Jake!” you groan, burying your burning face in your hands. and much to your annoyance he chuckles in response.

“So, you can be cute too.” Your heart, as delicate as it always has been, throbs against your ribs as if trying to break free. You peek at him through your fingers and his hungry eyes flicker up to yours as if he senses your stare. Their severity is enough for you to fall into a feeble silence.

you feel the hot muscle of his tongue trace over your dripping folds and your lips fall apart with a silent scream fuck! Is the only thing running through your mind when you tug his hair harder, and he groans against your pussy sending vibrations throughout your entire body. tongue pushing into your hole and lips kissing and sucking at your clit.

Every negative thought swirling around your mind moments ago grows faint then it dissipates instead being replaced with your stubborn pettiness that is telling you to keep silent, do not give him the satisfaction of knowing how good it feels.

It's all deemed impossible when he keeps flicking his tongue against your bundle of nerves until it’s pulsating, and you crumble exasperatingly fast.

“F-fuck!- mhm –“ Your body is buzzing with electricity, your sounds forcing themselves out of your mouth as your body withers against his sheets.

It doesn’t help that Jake keeps humming against your pussy, as if you do taste as sweet as he sounds. As if he’s having the time of his life watching you fall apart on his tongue. It only aids the last bit of resolve within you to shatter.

“Jake- oh my god- f-feels so good.” You cry out, hips arching so high off the bed and your toes curl in absolute euphoria. You feel akin to falling off a cliff, like constantly being on the verge of losing your mind when two fingers prod at your clenching entrance, proceeding to push in without warning. It’s all what it took for you to completely implode in ecstasy.

 “c-coming- I’m coming- holy” you attempt to warn him, your trembling fingers trying to pry his head away from your throbbing pussy, but Jake doesn’t relent, instead you feel him smile against you, reinforces his grip on your hips and buries his fingers deeper into you, following every buck and twitch of your hips with ease.

Son of a bitch.

“J-jake!” You aren’t sure how loud your voice goes, aren’t sure of how hard you pulled on his hair and how painful it must have been. You’re only sure of how your mouth falls open and by the end of your orgasm you feel like you’re floating amongst the stars. You whine when he keeps pressing kisses to your puffy folds, your hips bucking away from him.

“s-stop. Too much.” You whimper, with stroke of your fingers through his hair as if your digits have grown apologetic to their radge behavior on their own.

When Jake lifts his head, you catch yourself growing breathless once again at the sight of his face covered in you, nothing could have prepared you for it, nothing could come close to how he manages to look ethereal even while covered in your arousal. How his dilated pupils manage to find a way to cut right through you. you’re trying so hard to breath – equally stolen by your orgasm and how angelic he looks.

“Too much? I haven’t even fucked you yet,” he muses, an arrogant smile taking place onto his handsome face. Your mind is hazy that you don’t find anything to say back, your eyes dancing around his and he arches a brow at your silence and you almost squirm, a growing urge to look away yet your pride grows taller.

“Don’t tell me your shitty excuse of an ex never made you come twice before?”

“I don’t feel like talking about my ex when you’re about to fuck me.”

“Oh? Weren’t you the one talking about other men when I was about to fuck you?” his tone is stagnant, and you look away with hot cheeks. it’s inhuman how piercing his eyes are.

“that’s different.” You mutter weakly. Your mind is too fucked out to think of anything witty to say.

Thankfully Jake doesn’t seem to have anything to say either. Instead, the sound of clothes rustling fills the room as Jake takes off his shirt. When he leans over you, your eyes meet in all too presumptuous severity. It coaxes forth the gentle touch of his rough palm against your cheek and your palms trace his chest. and it’s prodigiously scorching. With a strong impulse, you kiss him first and he chases after your taste like a starved man.

His need grows glaringly obvious, his indifference crumbling albeit much later than yours, it ends up right next to your petty recalcitrant. It has a faint grin dancing upon your lips.

“I need to get a condom.” He whispers, his lips abutting against yours.

“I’m on the pill. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, just fuck me already.”

Despite your demeaning desperation you’re rewarded with a quirk of his lips, his thumb brushes under your bottom lip and when he places a fugitive brush of a kiss there, you grow a hinge to curl into yourself. There’s a divergent gentleness that coats his actions, it has the apples of your cheeks growing warm, tinged with pink. When he leans back his hand works fast to undo his jeans and you allow your eyes to travel across the expanse of his body with appreciation, you’re unable to hide it.

You find yourself growing in awe again, so pretty.

He’s so pretty.

When his lips touch yours, you think that’s what stepping into heaven must feel like, and you could only whimper against his lips when you feel the tip of his cock begin to prod at your entrance. It turns into a broken moan at the feeling of him entering inside you, your head drops back into the pillows and his hands fall on your hips with a bruising grip.

“Jesus, this pussy is gonna drive me fucking crazy.” He growls, thrusts growing faster and harder. Barely giving you any time to adjust or breathe. Your body pushed further up the bed with each thrust, the sound of skin slapping echoes throughout the room and it all grows way too lewd, too quickly.

Soft cries leave your mouth and your body writhes against his, your nails dragging along his back, rough enough to leave evidence for the following couple of days. You don’t have it in you to care, not right now not when he keeps driving his hips into yours, eliciting louder and louder moans from you.

“You’re so loud, bunny. Does it feel that good?” There’s a dark glint in his eyes when he asks, a mean edge to his tone.

“S-shut up- ah!” you try your utmost hardest to glare at him, yet you slip at a particularly hard thrust of his. His cold chuckle only pushes you further into anger. Like it runs in your veins and with your blood. It’s almost patronizing.

“How am I gonna explain this to my neighbors?” with his question he leans closer to you, his lips inches away from yours as they curl into a smile that should be considered evil “mhm?” he taunts and you groan, pushing his face away from yours with your hand.

“Fucking asshole,” you hiss. Resisting the urge to cover your face, you won’t give him the satisfaction of that. It all seems futile though when his grin goes wider. Pressing his lips onto yours with a short kiss, just to see you try to harden your eyes at him again.

To see the same glare melt away and then your brows knit together, turning your head and then you’re attempting to cover your face with a quivering hand, as if harboring a shield from the bullets he carries as his eyes.

“I’m close.”  He murmurs, a tad too sweet as his hands abandon your hips and circles your wrists instead, pressing them into the sheets and his hips are pounding against yours. And you can only gasp in response, your fingers flexing in his brutal grip, sure to leave evidence of his own on your body. Your own orgasm approaches just as fast and almost as intense as your first one.

“You too yeah? I can feel you clenching around me nonstop- holy shit.” you nod furiously. His voice alone is vigorous enough to send shivers of pleasure through your entire body and your eyesight starts to blur with unshed tears.

Jake cannot perfectly recall it, he’s almost sure he was enamored by how you look the first time he saw you but nothing could compare to how you look right now. Nothing could come close to how pretty you look crying on his cock.

It feels dizzying, the way your cunt keeps squeezing him and the way your face screws up, body trembling and mouth falling open it’s all more than enough to send him over the edge.

You don’t expect him to kiss you, but he does, it’s so softly sweet it steals your breath away and you’re growing frustrated because of it. Raking your mind to find a reason as to why and coming back empty handed yet again.

How is it possible for a mere kiss to feel unanticipatedly sinful?

You break it first, failing to look away fast enough not to catch his eyes and yet again you’re stumbling into weird feelings once more with how unweaving his gaze is. Strength that you lack and unlike him you’re constantly trembling. He captivates you with his beauty a second time and you’re more than thankful when he rolls off you with a sigh. It has you letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Despite the silence growing heavy between you two, it doesn’t last very long.

“Get up.” Jake speaks, stumbling out of his bed to change his clothes. A grimace on his face.

“What?” you ask, blinking at him.

“Get up. I need to wash the sheets.” He answers, monotone but not unkindly.

“Can’t we rest and then you can wash them later?”

“No. I’m washing them now so get up,”

But I’m tired.

“Okay.”

Are words you swallow down, realizing you’re probably being a nuisance. You tumbled into his apartment without permission and so you get up. Jake moves to tug off his sheets. As he collects them in his arms he shoots you a look.

You have already given him enough trouble these few days and just as the clouds of lust disappeared, the guilt takes over.

“I’m gonna go wash them in the other bathroom. Use this one to clean up.” At your nod he leaves the room.

You clean up at a speed that cannot be deemed human, putting Soojin’s clothes back on and leave without another word muttered to Jake. You leave with a heavy feeling clinging to the edge of your feet. It paints your whole being and only bleeds out from your eyes when you’re in the back of a cab. Silent tears stream down your face for the first time in quite a while.

It coaxes a deep self-hatred you know runs through your blood. From a trivial piece of glass, you grow to feel more like a graveyard, collecting bodies that never stay, never flourish into life, and mellow down to fleeting moments closer to death than anything else. Your existence feels embarrassing, overwhelming, and utmost cruelly lonely.

You realize it then, it was never Jake, or anyone else at that. It was always you.

When Jake comes back to his room there’s a bottled water and a protein bar in his hand that are deemed useless as soon as he sees that you’re nowhere to be found.

“What the fuck?” He mutters to no one, to himself and perhaps to the thoughts coming back to invade his mind like a parasite.

His disappointment doesn’t linger very long, it goes away with the shake of his head.

You realize chaos is unfolding the moment you’re in the corridor leading to your apartment. The sound of music is so loud that it cannot be coming from anywhere else. and you’re right because when you’re inside, bottles of alcohol lying everywhere are more than enough evidence to tell you so. And the smell of smoke greets you.

“What the fuck guys?” you exclaim, hand on your hips while a very high and drunk npp stare back at you. Jungwon is lying on your couch upside down, while Heeseung blinks at you with a joint between his fingers.

“What? We’re just having fun.” Ryujin defends with a giggle, words slurring together.

“I can see that.” You reply nonchalantly. With a sigh you go to turn off the music and a loud and in union “NO!” has you jumping startled, a look of horror washes over your face.

“Why do you have to kill the fun?” Niki whines.

“Your so-called fun is gonna get me kicked out. I could hear the music all the way down the hall.”

“Woah,” Jungwon speaks suddenly, stealing everyone’s attention “your tits look huge like this.” He says amusement colors his voice and really, you’ve long made peace with the fact that your friends are insufferable.

Yet it is moments like these that have you questioning why you kept them around for so long.

Niki with criminal like eyes, grabs a pillow and hits Jungwon in the face multiple times with it until it looks like he’s on the verge of suffocating him. You swivel your head away from them, you cannot be a witness to a crime you didn’t see.

“Come on! Let loose a little you need it as much as we do.” Ryujin says, walking to you and wrapping you into an embrace with an arm around your shoulders. She nuzzles her cheek against yours with a pout and you hate how your heart warms up immediately at the gesture.

“Yeah, you look tense as fuck Lilo.” Heeseung stands on your other side, his arm wraps around your waist and a bottle of soju in his other hand. Your eyes flit to it momentarily.

Instead of having an angel and a devil on your shoulders you wonder how you end up having two devils. Perhaps it was the unyielding urge to hit your head against your wall, or just the desire to walk to a mirror, steal a glance at your reflection and then watch it smash to pieces. It was the immense desire to run away. From yourself, from everything. And that’s why you end up snatching Heeseung’s bottle, chugging it down with one breath.

“Yeah! that’s my girl!” Heeseung whistles with a cheer and Ryujin turns to the music back up. It reverberates through your living room.

Out of nowhere, all your words feel too much inside of you. like your chest is so heavy and you need to unload it somehow. They come up to your throat so immensely fast there’s no way to stop them.

“I can’t believe I just fucked my boss again.” You blurt out.

You’d think that the sound of music was loud enough for them not to hear you clearly but maybe it was the same mockery that god liked to put you through every single day that manifests right now. A pregnant silence commences. Long enough for your confession to dawn on you,

Niki gasps and Jungwon tumbles off the couch with a thud loud enough for Ryujin to go check on him.

“What?!” Niki sputters, a mortified expression on his face.

“Again?” Heeseung looks at you, contrary to your brother he looks somewhat impressed. with a wiggle of his brows and a smirk tilting his lips.

“First time was at work and second time was like an hour ago.”

“Whore.” Jungwon mutters on the floor and you kick a pillow at him.

“I don’t think fucking your boss is a good idea yn.” you groan at Niki’s words.

“ugh I know!”

“Damn I wish I could fuck my boss.” Heeseung says and then there’s a heavy pause that follows.

“Your dad is your boss hee.” Ryujin replies with a disgusted frown.

It’s only a few hours later with more drinks in your system than you can count that you find yourself dancing around your living room with Heeseung. To You by Mallrat plays in the background and with his arms around your waist and yours around his neck. There’s a pleasurable buzz settling in your blood, drowning out the self-pity and hatred you were in withering in not long ago. And when he spins you around, with giggles erupting from you and a smile so big it starts hurting.

A feeling so close to peace nestles its way into you and stays for a while.

Holding on to you

Is all I want to do

The lyrics engrave themselves into your brain and even when the song is over and you’re still twirling around with Heeseung. They come back to you all night even when you’re so tired you end up passing out in the middle of your friends.

You’ve long made peace with the fact that your friends are completely insufferable.

Yet it is moments like these that make you thankful you kept them around for so long.

→ taglist : @slutforsjy @wonwoos-wineparty @nxzz-skz @piripurora @vousty

@realrintaro @slut4hee @chartrucewhore @iveivory @hearteyesforseungsung

@jooniesbears-blog @hee4lifer @pretty-bluntz @babrieeee @mandoscyare

@stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @softieluvsyou @seunghancore @chaewonshoney @chaeyunloveeee

@beommii @fuxktaekook @antonsgirlfriend @rockyhedgehog @lukeys-giggle

@arikazu @jakeyverse @not-very-slay-of-you @chlodavids @belovedsthings

@vveebee @pochamocharoll @direxila @nessas-archive

@riksaes @niniissus

[starringthesturniolos]

but its warmer in my arms- chris sturniolo

baby its cold outside part 2

summary- you and chris have a talk about why he is the way he is.

I open my eyes to see Chris, only to find his side of the air mattress was empty. His words from last night immediately come to mind.

"I could never hate you, angel, not in a million years. I'm sorry"

A thousand new question sprung up in my head. Is he telling the truth and if he is then why was he always so mean to me? But most importantly, why am I giving into him so easily?

After the way he's treated me for the past years, he shouldn't be able to hold me, hell, he shouldn't even be able to touch me. So why did I let him? And then it dawned on me. I'm in love with Chris.

That's why I hang on to every word he says. That's why his actions make or break my day. It's why his stare heats up my body, and why I enjoyed being in his arms last night.

"I'm in love with Chris." I say it out loud in complete disbelief.

"You talking to yourself dumbass?" Chris says while barging into the tent. I jump and turn around to face him. I look at him carefully to see if he heard what I said, but his nonchalant attitude says otherwise.

Anddd he's back to normal. I roll my eyes and ignore his question. "Where were you this morning?"

"What, you miss me?" he says while looking me up and down in a teasing way with a stupid smirk on his face. Fine, two can play at that game. If he wants to fake flirt, he can be my guest.

"Maybe I did" I say while impersonating his smirk.

He chuckles in disbelief at my comment and then sits down next to me on the air mattress. "Well, I'm right here now." he says. Somehow I can't find a way to respond to him, so I stay quiet. For a while, we just sit in silence and listen to the birds outside. For once, it was peaceful. But the whole time my mind was wandering, begging to ask questions.

"Did you mean what you said last night? That you don't hate me?" I whisper not wanting to break the delicate moment.

He smiles and lets out a breath. "I think we both know I don't hate you, Y/n."

While it's true that most people don't sleep next to the people they hate, it doesn't explain the other things. The picking me apart, leaving me out, or simply pretending I don't exist. Those things all seemed a lot like hate. So why does he think it should be obvious he doesn't hate me?

" I mean yeah we cuddled sure-" he cuts me off, like he always does. His intrusive thoughts getting the better of him. " Ew, don't call it that. That word is so weird. "cuddles" "

"Oh, grow up. that's what we did." I deadpan before continuing on. " Anyway, we cuddled, and it was nice. But that doesn't explain all the other shit you've done to me." I say exasperatedly.

"If you don't hate me, then why do you have to act like it" I say turning my whole body to him and looking into his eyes. He looks down to his lap in shame.

"I don't know." he whispers, eyebrows raising slightly. I laugh out loud. "Oh, you don't know, well that's just awesome." I wait and see if he's going to say anything else but he's still just avoiding my gaze. Annoyance bubbles in my chest.

"So you just pretended to hate me for no reason, got it" . I'm starting to get pissed off, so I get up to leave but Chris stops me. He grabs my wrist in a firm but gentle grasp.

"Wait" he looks up at me from where he was on the mattress. "Don't go. " he mutters, his eyes desperate.

"Then explain" I reply stubbornly. I go to sit down and he drops my wrist. He looks back down at his lap, his hair shielding his face again.

"When I first met you, I thought you were the most beautiful girl I had ever seen." he says quietly. My eyes widen in shock. He made me feel so inferior that day. "But you basically said I was ug-"

"I know what I said Y/n" he cuts me off but then pauses before he continues. "I say a lot of things I don't mean. But you already knew that." he says and then lifts his head up to meet my eyes again. Remorse and intensity were in them.

" I didn't want you to see how I really felt, so I pretended I didn't want anything to do with you.", he breathes out. His eyes travel my face looking for a reaction before landing on my lips. My heart beat quickens and I unconsciously lean in. Is he trying to say, what I think he's trying to say

"And how did you feel?" you whisper with your faces nearly inches apart. He smiles softly before attaching his lips to mine. His lips are soft and he's kissing me gently. My hands immediately travel up his shoulders into his hair and he deepens the kiss. I feel the passion and the want in all his kisses, confirming his confession. Tears start to stream down my cheeks. This is all I've ever wanted

Chris pulls away and cups my cheeks while whipping away my tears. "Did that answer your question?"

And then I laugh. A real, genuine one. "Yeah I think so. But I want to hear you say it." He smiles and then leans in again. Our foreheads connect, and I can feel his lips brush against mine as he says it.

"I love you. More than you'll ever know"

My eyes start to water again and I swallow. " I love you too, Chris" .

And with that he indulges in another kiss. This time he grabs my waist and pulls me into his lap. Who knew all this could happen in one camping trip??

@sturnstvr

@sturniol0s

@xoxotaylynn

Part 2, I hope you guys liked it. I just started writing, so if you read any of my fics I would love to hear feedback!! I want to get better at writing so I can use all the advice I can get. Love you guysss

[artsyannierose]

Talk to me about how Angel always being scared of ruining his first healthy relationship (with Husk) so he tries to be as “easy to love” as possible but Husk loves him flaws and all:3.

(Btw I cherish your doodles)

Huskerdust doodle just for you anon <3

I COULD TALK ABOUT HUSKERDUST ALL DAY ANYDAY YOU CAME TO THE RIGHT PERSON

Well let’s see hm Angel has had little to no experience in relationships

Like bro was a closeted gay when he was alive and presumably had no proper “relationships” with anyone other than Valentino and…well we know how that turned out

So he probably is going to have a hard time even comprehending the fact that Husk even loves him for who he is as a person and not to bed him like literally everyone else has

Like honestly when was the last time ANYONE gave Anthony/Angel Dust aftercare??? I’m willing to bet never. Everyone he’s ever slept with never stayed till morning or let him get even maybe a glass of water, he was just kicked out after business was done and done. Then he would just cope with all of it with drugs and Valentino I assume

Now he’s got a man who already made it clear that he doesn’t want this fake Angel Dust persona that everyone else wants to sleep with because of what they see on their TV screen, but is rather interested in getting to know this broken boy behind the facade. Nevermind the fact that they are together, Husk is first and foremost his best friend (aside from Cherri but like Cherri is his bestie to get into shit with yk) and the kind of understanding they share is way beyond “yeah you’re hot let’s fuck” like Husk is no fuckbuddy if hes fucking Angel then obviously he’s there to stay (which i love about him)

So Angel’s automatic response because of the derogatory way Valentino has treated him would be “omg I can’t mess this up i canNOT mess this up” and he would do everything in his power to make sure Husk is thoroughly comfortable and never shows any signs of disgust or such if ykwim. Husk is a bit too flustered at Angel flirting a bit too much? He’ll dial it back tenfold. Husk pins his ears back at listening to Angel vent about Valentino doing something shitty to him? Angel will change the subject. He’d probably be so overly cautious about Husk’s little reactions that Husk probably isn’t even aware of himself

Because the problem now is Angel thinks Husk loves him for how Angel makes him feel rather than Husk loving him for who he is. He’s just. In denial man. So he tries to basically “pay him back” by being the perfect boyfriend, and i say this assuming they HAVENT slept with each other yet because if they haven’t figured this out Husk would probably say its too early lmaooo. So when I say being the perfect boyfriend, i mean like cuddles and kisses and helping each other out, venting, all that cute stufffff

I’m sure Angel is just trying to doeverything he can without like alerting Valentino to the two of them because BOY that would end badly.

Anyway one day Husk asks him why he’s not really being himself (because of course Husk can read him because why couldn’t he) and Angel’s like “wdym” and Husk just prompts him like “you hide all the bad parts from me much more now than before (like before they got together) and maybe Angel isn’t even aware of this until Husk points it out. It’s gonna take him a second to open up just because he’s not used to it but Husk just makes him comfortable, he’d total all put Angel in his lap and just purr until he’s comfortable nskdnfssfiwvagfjnderhgr

Angel finally pours out his insecurities like a tide and hides his face in Husk’s chest while everything just comes out once he’s started. After hes done he would say something like “I didn’t want you to see me like this…im so sorry” but just bury himself further into Husk while Husk is just taking a second to process everything he just said.

Hed probably do something sappy like tilt Angel’s chin up and peck his lips before telling him “What makes you think I wouldn’t love you past your fears and flaws?” (IDC I WANT SAPPY IM. HERE FOR SAPPSYYPYYPY)

Hold on holy shit creativewriting burst right here SHORT DRABBLE YALL I WILL REBLOG THIS WITH A SMALL FICLET

ANYWAY YES HUSKERDUST ANGEL PROBABLY WILL STYART CRYING AND HUSK WILL JUST CUDDLE HIM CLOSER AND WHISPER SWEET NOTHINGS WHILE ANGEL CRIES ABOUT HOW MUCH HE LOVES HUSK

GOSHHHHHHH I love them sm I’ll shut up now ok bye

why can I write an essay for Huskerdust for free and not write one to save my English grade-

[bbyobbyo]

You don’t usually wake up at the same time as Jihoon, but he definitely makes sure that you wake up with him everyday.

content: fluff, established relationship, idol!Jihoon x non-idol!reader, domesticity, spotify as a plot point lol

wc: 1.6k

note: inspired by this reddit post which i thought was 100% something jihoon would do especially now that i know he uses spotify lol. i feel like im the only one who finds it hardest to write for their bias, i get really in my head about whether or not im portraying him in the way I want to. i’ve never written idol!au either (bc i think it’s easy to overdo) which only adds to me overthinking ahhhh but hope that you guys enjoy this one !! as always feedback or comments are appreciated 🥰 I read all of them and they make me so happy hehe

Jihoon swears there's something magical about waking up to a calm and quiet morning. The sun is barely just rising, blanketing the world in a soft twilight that cuts the dark blues of the waning night. And in his bed, he finds something equally as magical: your soundly sleeping figure next to him. The world is silent except for your steady breaths, and he has to take extra caution to not fall asleep again if just to enjoy the brief moments of tranquility like this during his otherwise busy life. Eventually he gets up to start his schedule for the day, taking one last look at your peaceful slumber in fondness before he closes the door behind him.

Make no mistake, Jihoon loves his job. Having 13 members in his group is fantastic, except when you realize that 13 people requiring styling and wardrobe before every public appearance takes a lot of time. His mornings may start early, but in reality most of his time is spent listening to music in salon chairs and dozing off in waiting rooms.

In fact, it was in the middle of getting his makeup done when he discovered that around 8:20 am every day, his Spotify (which he uses to listen to his daily Bruno Mars Mix playlist) stops playing on his phone and switches to… the speaker at home? He bought a new speaker a few days ago because the last one you had was on its last legs from years of use, but if it’s malfunctioning already then he might have to look into getting a new speaker sooner than he thought.

Upon closer observation, Jihoon also notices that the song has changed — it’s playing one of his songs, your favorite one actually. Immediately he realizes what happened. He contemplates shooting you a text to tell you to disconnect him and just sync your own Spotify account to the speaker, you’re home more often than him anyway. That thought quickly disappears, however, as he imagines you getting ready for work listening to the sound of his voice and genuinely enjoying the music that he pours his heart and soul into, he can’t bring himself to disturb you even for a moment. His eyes soften as he stares blankly at the Spotify home screen, headphones now deafeningly silent. Surely, Jihoon decides, he can live without his Bruno Mars Mix for just a while longer.

-

You sometimes wonder if your boyfriend is magic. Although a good morning text has been standard in your relationship since the beginning, it's starting to concern you how perfectly timed it is.

Normally, your morning routine is simple. Wake up. Get out of bed. Bump some tunes. Check your notifications. Brush teeth. Wash face. Get dressed. Pack bag. Leave the house.

You’re usually the one to text him good morning given your later wake up time, yet he’s been beating you to it lately. Yes, he knows you set your alarm 8:15 everyday because it's “the perfect amount of time you need to get ready and still make it to work on the dot”. But that doesn't explain why “rise n shine babe :))” pops up on your phone as you brush your teeth on the days you wake up early, too.

[8:06 am] you have to tell me how you do it

[8:06 am] Do what????

[8:07 am] im onto you mister 👁👄👁

[8:07 am] 👍👍👍

You spiral through the possible scenarios in your head: he has your location, but that wouldn’t tell him when you woke up right? Does your icon move around on the map? No, the location data isn’t that accurate. Maybe when you open your phone, your Facebook status shows that you’re online? No, you know for a fact that you both haven’t opened that app in years. Hmm, did he plant cameras everywhere in the apartment? Sure, you get the security utility of it but if he did it without telling you, there would be some SERIOUS things to talk about, maybe it really is all just guesswork and coincidence?

Sigh… you’ll get to the bottom of this eventually.

-

Jihoon doesn’t plan on telling you, but rather wants you to figure it out yourself. After all, he’s been dropping so many hints already. Your chill hangouts at his studio have a gentle hum of your favorite songs as background noise. He purposely asks you about the new albums of your favorite artists that, surprise, he’s already listened to. He even makes it a point to remind you that the speaker at home is hooked to his account every now and then.

Sometimes, he swears that you’ve figured it out and were just messing with him when you make little comments about your his song choices like “Really babe, you listen to your own songs this often? Are you sure you’re not a narcissist or something?” But besides these moments, there was no indication that you knew about his secret morning routine as you questioned him regularly about his tactics.

He has to admit, it was kind of amusing to see you growing increasingly suspicious of how on earth he figures out when you wake up, being particularly fond of the cute annoyed face you make when he tells you “No babe, I did not put an Air Tag in your pajamas, you barely sleep in clothes anyway.” Even your pout is adorable as you pretend to give him the silent treatment, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long. His little secret is safe for another day.

-

Jihoon has been working brutal hours lately. As deadlines for the upcoming albums drew near, his days start earlier than ever and end equally as late. However, the one thing he can always count on is coming home to you waiting for him.

It was the night of the new album release and you were more excited than usual, greeting him at the door like a lovesick puppy as soon as you heard the door handle turning. “Hi love, what are you doing up so late?” he pulls you into a quick kiss as he sets his stuff down.

“I wanted to wait to listen to the new album with you so you could see my reaction to it!” your eyes were beaming with enthusiasm. Jihoon’s heart swells at the sentiment, knowing that his partner supports him and his passions with such sincerity. You excitedly motion him to join you in your shared bedroom, full of anticipation to hear the fruits of your boyfriend’s labor for the past months. “Alright, you’re not allowed to be disappointed then” he jokes as he pulls out his phone, quickly finding the recently released album and making sure the volume is high enough before tapping the first track and handing it over to you.

Only a few seconds of the song passes before an idea flashes across your eyes. “Wait, let’s play it on the speaker!” you interrupt. You’re on your feet in seconds and before Jihoon could even reach over to press pause, you’ve already commanded your home speaker to play the track out loud. The music immediately ceases on his phone and switches over to the speaker.

Shit, he’s done for, he thinks to himself. He studies your face carefully for any indication that he’s been found out but surprisingly, your attention is laser focused on the melodies now reverberating around your apartment. You’re mostly quiet during the songs but the rhythmic nodding of your head and facial expressions are a tell all of how much you enjoy each track that plays, contorting in a myriad of impressed shapes as killing part after killing part reaches your ears.

As the album comes to an end you look like you’re about to burst at the seams. Your boyfriend can’t control his smile as compliments and detailed thoughts flow freely from your lips for the rest of the night, not ceasing even as the both of you walk through your unwinding routines together. God, you love comeback days. The elaborate music show stages that you will undoubtedly watch later that evening has already been pre-recorded, giving you precious time together in the morning before his schedule whisks him away from your arms once again.

As you get ready for bed, you drift off to sleep knowing that tomorrow, for the first time in what seems like forever, you can finally tell him good morning in person before he can.

-

Your alarm rings at 8:15 am. Jihoon doesn’t need to be up this early, but he would do anything in order to be the first thing you see when you wake. You roll around in his embrace and press a kiss to his cheek. “Good morning” you both whisper to each other at the same time, sending you both into a fit of giggles as you argue who said it first.

Jihoon watches in adoration from the bed as you so naturally go through your morning routine, one that he misses out on more often than he would like. Today, you forgo your usual morning songs as you queue up your personal favorites off the new album, much to his delight. He tries his best to burn this scene into his memory as you gather your things and prepare to head out, giving him one last kiss. You’re about to unlock the door when you pause in your tracks.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” he hums back from the bedroom.

“Enjoy the speaker, I can’t kick you off today.” you say with a smirk on your face as you exit the apartment, leaving Jihoon speechless.

[catnipaddictt]

hi! i was wondering if you could write something like where sam and reader have been best friends since forever, and the reader’s parents decide to go on a family roadtrip with sam and reader. the reader’s parents didn’t know they were dating but find out cause sam and reader fell asleep while cuddling/hand-in-hand

it’s totally ok if you don’t want to write it and sorry if this looked weird but i REALLY like your posts 💓

sam monroe x gn!reader

wc: 0.6k

cw: none this is just fluff!

comment: I LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS REQUEST SO THANK YOU ANON!!!

The early morning sun cast its rays across the nearly empty street. It would be deserted if it wasn’t for your family. Every year for as long as you could remember, your parents had done an annual road trip down the coast, stopping at small towns along the way. You look forward to it every year, counting down the days till summer break arrives. 

However, this year was going to be different to most. Your parents had agreed, no offered, to take your best friend, Sam, with you guys this time. What your parents didn’t know was that you and Sam had been dating for the better half of the year now, and you were both looking forward to spending this time together. 

You had known Sam since you had started school together all those years ago, and you had become attached at the hip ever since. Your parents like to recount the days when the two of you were 4 ft tall and a lot less trouble than you were now. As Sam got older, he took on a more alternative look, something you admire about him. He was just so…cool. You didn’t know how else to describe it. His black hair (which you dye for him) and selection of piercings suited him and his personality perfectly. And when he asked you to show him how to do eyeliner when you both turned 14 you happily obliged. 

You throw your bag into the back seat before climbing in and buckingly up your seatbelt. Your parents were going to drive the 3 minutes to Sam’s house to pick him up before beginning your road trip. The sound of the car’s engine excites you, and when you pull into Sam’s driveway a few minutes later you are ecstatic. You hop out of your seat, and walk swiftly to the door before knocking twice.

Sam’s hair appears before you see the rest of him and he grumbles out “It's too early for this sort of carry on, your parents are crazy.” You laugh at him. He was never very good at early starts. “You can sleep in the car, come on!” 

You pull Sam and his bag to the car and you both climb in, settling down for the long trip ahead. Your parents greet Sam and make some small talk before turning on the radio. The sound of rock ‘n’ roll fills your ears and you nod your head along in time to the beat. Sam just looks at you like you are insane. 

Sam lies his head back on the car seat headrest, looking up at the car roof. He is tired and you can tell. You sneak your hand into his, covered by the bags in between you. If your parents noticed, they certainly didn’t say anything. He glances at you, gently squeezing your hand in his ring-clad one. 

As your parents drive down the coast, your hands stay intertwined, even as you both slowly begin to nod off, waking up at the crack of dawn taking its toll. By late morning you are both passed out, Sam’s head resting on your shoulder.

Eventually your parents pull into a small town for a bathroom break and to stretch their legs. Turning around to shake you both awake, your mother shakes her head at the sight of the two of you. Somewhere along the winding roads, the bags concealing your interlocked fingers had fallen to your feet, revealing your hands. 

She laughs to herself, smiling before turning to your dad; “I knew something was up with them.” she whisper-yells, happy that it's Sam and not some other douchebag guy. You dad grins, “should we wake them up?” 

“No, let's let them enjoy their moment.”

When you and Sam wake up, you are both met with two smiling faces and a lot of explaining to do.

Apologies for any writing mistakes, let me know if you want to be added to the tag list!!

Taglist: @heartsforanakin @qvnthesia @ysrjune @anisscarletstarlet

[mphoenix-7]

Bitter Allies [Soap x Reader]

Chapter 4: The Cabin: Day 1 (pt.1)

Summary: You and Soap leave for your week alone together. Your first day together goes about as well as you’d expect.

Word Count: 5,960

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, swearing, angst, slightly suggestive language, Scottish language usage, lots of arguing, strong language

A/N: See the end of the chapter for the inspo pics of the cabin!

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Bitter Allies • Part 4

The next morning when your alarm went off at 0330. You wished more than anything you could go back to sleep, but Price said the plane was leaving at 0400, and you didn't want to be late. You feared your tarty arrival would make him add another week on to your sentence. Dealing with Soap for one week was going to be challenging enough, you weren't looking to add on more time.

Luckily you were used to waking up at odd hours and getting up super early. The military work you did didn't allow for any semblance of a good sleep schedule. If anything, by now, you'd become accustomed to being able to sleep and wake whenever.

Despite that, you were still super tired as you pull yourself out of bed and turn off your alarm. You didn't have too much time despite being up thirty minutes before departure. All you could really do was clean your face, get dressed, and do your hair before you needed to go. You planned on eating on the plane.

Once you were dressed and had freshened up, you had about fifteen minutes left, which was plenty of time. You pull out your pre-packed duffle bag, sleeping roll/pillow, and backpack. It might have seemed excessive, but you didn't know what you needed. Price didn't give you any indication of what would be provided and what you needed to bring. It was fairly safe to assume nothing though.

So your duffle bag had all of your clothes for the week, a towel, hygiene products, and some things to shower with. Your backpack held the more basic survival items. Flashlight, water purifier, MREs, cooking supplies, a knife, a fire starter, first aid kit, and then some books to help you pass the time. You wanted to bring a pistol as well, but you had a feeling Price wasn't going to let you take a gun with you.

Looking down at your packed things, you sigh to yourself. Maybe Price would change his mind when you got there. Maybe it was punishment enough to think he was going to make you do this, and then you'd have to spend all day unpacking and then doing the real punishment he had for you.

You could hope.

Collecting your things, you head out for the hell that awaits you.

***

Ghost was walking through the hallways back to his room. He hadn't been able to sleep last night, which was sadly a bit normal for him at this point. He woke up around 0200 and couldn't get back to sleep. So he decided to go to his office to get some paperwork done. He worked two solid hours before he ran out of work to do and opted to go back to his room.

His room was right next to Johnny's. He could have had an officer's bedroom, one with its own shower, but he sort of liked being closer to his team. Everyone was here aside from States, who stayed in the female barracks. The barracks they had currently weren't too bad either. They were cleaner, more modern. Much nicer than some of the others. He couldn't really complain.

As he got to his door, moving to unlock it, he hear what he believed to be snoring coming from Johnny's room. He paused for a long moment, listening carefully. He was supposed to be up already and heading off with States for their week in paradise, not sleeping.

Moving to his door, he knocked, figuring it wasn't going to hurt to check either way. If Soap wasn't there, none would be the wiser, if he was, then Ghost was doing him a huge favor.

"Johnny? You in there?" He calls out, but gets no reply. The snoring seems to continue though. Ghost tests the handle, finding it does turn. Of course Soap didn't lock his doors. He peaks insides, finding a lump still under the covers. Soap hadn't gotten up yet, and it was well past 0400 now.

"Johnny!" He shouts, pushing the door open more and finally making the other man startle awake. "What the fuck are you doing? You're supposed to be boarding like five minutes ago!"

Soap sits up fast, staring at Ghost with startled and sleep filled eyes. It takes the Scot about three seconds to fully process what Ghost had said before he looked over to his tiny alarm clock, blinking the time at him in red: 0407.

"Aye, for fuck's sake! Whit the fuck! Ma bloody alarm didnae go aff!" He shouts, his Scottish tongue thick as he throws his covers off and bolts around the room. He was only in his boxers, yanking his dresser open to grab some pants and a shirt. "Did they send you to come get me?" He asks hurriedly as he throws his shirt over his head and struggles to get his socks on.

Ghost watches him, eyes tracking his every movement. "No, I just happened to hear your loud ass snoring."

"Oh, thank God." Soap seems to relax a little bit at that, though he still keeps his quick pace as he gets ready. At least they hadn't sent anyone looking for him. He was sure they would soon though. Hopefully Price wasn't going to be too mad either. The last thing he wanted was to have to suffer another week with States all because his alarm didn't go off. He’d never hear the end of it from her if that happened.

"Fucking hell. You think Price is going to kill me?" He asks Ghosts as he gets his duffle bag and sleeping roll and throws them by the door. He gets to work on yanking his boots onto his feet and hurriedly doing the laces up.

"States will probably kill you first." Ghost answers truthfully, moving out of the way as Soap throws his stuff.

"Steaming Jesus, don't even bring her up. I don't want to even think about that lass right now." He groans, pulling his laces tight and doing up the remaining laces in a bow knot.

"You asked." Ghost shrugs as Soap springs to his feet.

"I asked what Price would do, you stoter." He grumbles, grabbing his bags from the ground and giving Ghost a pat on the chest as he passes. "Thanks for waking me up, I owe you one!"

***

You'd been waiting roughly fifteen minutes now by the plane, bags at your feet, and watching Price pace angrily. He hadn't been happy the second it hit 0400 with the Scot still nowhere in sight. You worried what he was going to do. You desperately didn't want him to extend your stay. You were here, why should you be punished when you were on time? Then again, if bootcamp taught you one thing, it was that if one member of your squad messed up, you all messed up.

"Aye! I'm here!" You hear in the distance. When you look, you can see Soap sprinting across the asphalt, duffle bag in one hand, sleeping roll under his armpit, and his free hand waving. "I'm so sorry I'm late. My bloody alarm didn't go off."

Price is glaring at him. Despite being one of the nicer military captains you've ever met in your life, Price was still a leader and didn't put up with people not listening to him. "You are fifteen minutes late, Soap. You've made me waste fifteen minutes of my time waiting on your ass." His tone was deep and rough.

"Sorry, Captain." He apologizes, but it doesn't seem to be enough for Price. You watch as he turns and walks to the plane, pulling out a large suitcase and throwing it onto the ground in front of you. You and Soap both stare at it for a long moment before looking up to Price.

"Listen up. Both of you. You are going to start working as a team. One of you messes up, you both do. And you don't blame each other, you'll blame your lack of teamwork and work to make it better. I want you both to repack your things into this suit case. What doesn't fit doesn't get to go. Your sleeping rolls don't count. You've got ten minutes to work it out."

“Captain, you can’t seriously-” Soap starts before Price cuts him off.

“I’d shut your mouth, Soap! You’re already on thin ice.” He growls. “Now, start packing.”

"Price," you quickly start, getting an annoyed look from him. He lets you continue regardless. Probably because you’d been on time.

“What?” He asks.

"Can you tell us what's already going to be there at the cabin? Like is there food already there?"

"I left some supplies for you on the plane. Figure it out." He says, looking to his watch. "And go."

You and Soap share a look before immediately ripping into your own duffle bags open. Clothes made sense to by the first thing to go in. Anything else could just be thrown on top. Quickly though, you are realizing just how much space they'd take up.

"Steaming Jesus, States! Take some of your clothes out!" Soap is already grabbing at your things and tossing them out. You grab his wrist to stop him.

"Don't throw my clothes on the ground! Throw some of your shit out!"

"I packed four sets of clothes! You have fucking seven!"

"Cause I packed enough for a week. I am not going to wear dirty clothes."

"Well you're gonna have to cause there's not enough room!" He yells, pushing your hand away. He tries to pull more out, but you stop him again.

"Fine! Fine, just let me do it! I'm taking seven pairs of underwear though." You start to take some of your clothes, stuffing them back into your duffle bag and trying to count out four pairs of pants and shirts. When you get to putting your underwear into the suitcase, you try to do so quickly so Soap doesn't see. However, you must not have been fast enough, because Soap seems to stutter in his movements.

"You have fucking red lacy panties?" He asks, making you blush furiously. To be fair, they were all different colors and designs. He'd only managed to catch a glimpse of the red ones.

"Shut up!" You growl, getting a grin from him. He thought this was funny.

"Who the hell you trying to dress up for?" He teases, but it's anything but playful. He's just being a dick.

"I said shut up! It's none of your damn business! These were in my bag, you shouldn't have ever seen them."

"Seven minutes!" Price calls out, reminding you to hurry. You still needed to finish packing your basics and needed to check the supplies you had on the plane to see what you might be missing. Time seemed to be going down way too fast.

Soap quickly moves on, throwing in his towel and a few others things while you try to put in your shampoo, conditioner, and a bar of soap in. Soap quickly tries to take them out though.

"Oh no," He starts, picking them up and handing them back to you. "We are using my stuff. We are already short on space, we don't need these taking up room."

"I am not using that horrible shit you use." You counter. Before you can argue it, Price is stepping in yet again.

"Come on, guys! You're down to six minutes! Work it out faster."

"You can pack that," you motion to his body wash. "But I get my shampoo. I will forget the conditioner, but I get real shampoo."

Feeling the time pressure, Soap all but growls. "Fine! Just move your ass!" He takes the shampoo from your hands and packs it away roughly before shoveling other hygiene things in. You're glad to see he's bringing deodorant among those things.

One of the last items you throw in are some tampons, which had Soap making a face.

"Oh, gross." He groans. "Don't tell me you're gonna menstruate."

You glare at him. "I might. I want them just in case. What, would you rather me bleed all over the place?"

"That's so fucking gross."

"What the hell you mean gross? You are around blood at the time!"

"That's different." He claims, making you stare at him in utter shock.

"How is it- you know what, forget it. Never, ever, get a girlfriend, MacTavish." He rolls his eyes but offers no argument back. Or maybe he would have, but Price cuts in.

"Five minutes, move! Lets go!" Price yells at you, making you grab your backpack.

"Go check the plan, see what we have, I'll throw in whatever we don't." You tell Soap as you start to put things in just in case Price calls time and you don't have them packed.

"No, cause you're going to mess with my stuff." He accuses, getting a glare from you.

"Can you just fucking trust me!? I'm not going to do that! I need to survive too!" You shout back, which gets him, reluctantly, moving. He runs over and hops inside the plan, pulling out the crates that had your supplies.

"We've got food! And a few MRE's. Probably enough for a week." He informs you. You still add a few of the MRE's you had just in case. "Looks like we also have a pot and utensils, water tablets, ..." He went silent a moment as he continued his digging.

“Come on! What else?!” You yell to him, growing frustrated that he seems to just be taking his sweet time.

"I’m working on it! Don’t get your red panties in a knot.” He yells back, making you huff. “Uhh.. a med-kit, flares, toilet paper, and a flashlight. I think that's it."

With that knowledge, you pack a few fire starters and then your pocket knife. The suit case was bulging at this point, but you hoped it would zip shut. Soap comes back out of the plane and looks over the things you've added.

"You two have one minute. Close it and get it in the plane." Price tells you. You try to shut it, but Soap quickly stops you.

"Wait, I've got one more thing." He quickly starts to dig through his bag and pulled out two, somewhat thick, black journals and some pencils. He throws them on top, and you shake your head.

"Really? Do you really need that?" The suitcase was already bulging. You were worried it wasn't going to close without the two books on top.

"Yes. I need those." He growls defensively, trying to move them to a different spot so they'd fit.

“So I can’t have conditioner, but you can have two fucking thick books?”

Soap glares at you. “I saw you pack a book. I get these.” He flips the top of the suitcase down. "Just sit your ass on it, I'll zip."

You would have fought him more about the books, but you are very aware you are running out of time. You didn't put it past Price to not let you have the suit case if you couldn't get it to the plane in time.

So you do what Soap says, putting all your weight on the bag while he tries to force the zipper alone the track. At first, you are worried it's going to break at any second the way he’s pulling on it, but he manages to get it shut.

"Thirty seconds!" Price calls.

Once Price calls out that time, you are scrambling to get off it while Soap is lifting it up. He grunts as he does, and you have to pause and watch him a moment. The muscles in his arms are flexing beautifully as he lifts the suitcase up. It's-

Oh God. You could vomit. Did you really just describe any part of Soap as beautiful? To be fair, he was a very good looking man. A very in shape one at that. But he could be pretty to look at while also being a train wreck on the inside. Still, you made a vow to never think about him in that way ever again.

"States, get your ass over here!" Soap shouts at you from inside the plane. He's already lifted the case inside while you're still on the ground by your stuff. Price is counting from ten seconds, and you scramble to your feet, running to board before Price says zero. Lord knows if he was going to punish you more if you aren't on the plane in time.

You make it up with about four seconds to spare. You and Soap are both out of breath a little bit, and Price is giving you a slow clap as he walks over.

"Didn't think you'd be able to pull it off if I'm being honest." He admits. "Since you exceeded my expectations, I'll let you go grab your sleeping rolls." He says, nodding behind him to the identical rolls still laying by your things. You and Soap both let out a groan, and Soap instantly lays into you.

"You kidding me, States? I do all that work lifting this overpacked luggage bag, and you can't even grab our sleeping gear?"

You're embarrassed to admit that the likely reason you didn't grab them was because you'd been distracted by Soap's muscles and then the horror of realizing you'd been staring. Of course you aren’t going to tell him that though.

"Well you could've reminded me to grab them." You try to cover, choosing to just respond to him the way you always did "That's what a team would do after all."

"Oh don't get all high and mighty, kiss ass."

"Soap go grab them," Price orders sternly. "Before I change my mind and tell the pilot to take off without them."

Soap peels himself from his seat with that order, grumbling as he goes. You stay where you are, watching him pluck both off the ground. Price stops him a moment while he's on his way back. They talk for a moment, and you think Soap takes something from him, but you aren't sure. You don't see anything though as Soap boards again and tosses your roll at you. You hadn't been expecting it, and it hits you in the face a bit. You managed to get your arms up just in time to block most of the impact.

"Hey!" You grumble as it hits you. You send Soap a glare and then grab your roll, moving it under the bench next to a backpack. "Don't throw my stuff around."

"Need to work on those reflexes." Soap mutters to you as he places his own roll on the other side of the backpack. You roll your eyes.

"Alright," Price says. "One week. You kids have fun. Don't fucking kill each other, got it? I don’t want to have to do all that paper work."

"Aye sir." Soap agrees, while you answer with a "yes sir."

***

The plane ride over was filled with a long silence. You didn't look at Soap, and he didn't look at you. It went on like this for hours. Price hadn't exactly told you where you were going, and at this rate, you didn't even know if you were going north or south. The only thing you really did know was that there was miles of trees below you.

Finally the pilot spoke to you over your headsets. "Touching down in five. Need to touch down in a clearing, so it's going to be about a two mile hike."

"Of course it is." Soap gripes over the headset. It's the first thing he's said since you took off. You sigh deeply, already preparing yourself for all the whining he's going to do while you make your way to the cabin.

The plane lands in the clearing, and you get up to gather your supplies. For only two people, there was a lot you needed to move. The container your food came in was a wooden box, so it was heavy. The suitcase was also super heavy, and on top of that, you also had your sleeping rolls and the backpack of supplies.

"How in the hell are we suppose to carry all this?" You mutter to yourself as you look down at all the stuff. The pilot had left the cockpit and was in the cabin with you, glancing over all your things.

"There's a wagon you can take. Might be a pain to get up hills or over rocks, but it might help to lighten the load a bit." He offers. "I'll go get it for you." He gives you a pat on the shoulder, and you offer him a smile.

"Really? That'd be great. Thanks." You hum, watching him leave. He must not have gotten the memo you and Soap were being punished. Still, you weren't going to say no to a wagon.

"Sure thing." He nods. "Anything for a pretty girl like you."

You are blushing furiously now, not expecting the pilot to say something like that to you. The compliment was appreciated, of course, though with Soap being around to hear it, you're more embarrassed than anything.

Soap was rolling his eyes and huffing as he watched the scene unfold. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest. Once the pilot is gone, you are glaring at him. "What?" You ask sternly. What could he possibly be all huffy about?

"You always flirt your way into getting the easiest route possible?" He grumbles, a venom to his tone. You stare at him in disbelief, mouth hanging open just slightly.

"I.. are you joking? I was not flirting with him. He's the one who offered to help. All I said was thanks." You don't know why you feel the need to defend yourself. Soap was just being an ass.

Soap rolls his eyes like he doesn't believe you. "If you show him your red lacy panties maybe we can get him to help us carry some this shite." He adds further, rather loudly, making your cheeks turn just about as red as your underwear. You throw an MRE at him, hitting him in the arm and making him jump slightly.

"Shut up!" You growl. "I do not need the whole world knowing something like that."

"Oh just me then, aye?"

You throw another MRE at him, but he's more prepared for it this time. He tries to catch, but misses. It just hits his hand and falls to the ground alongside the first one you threw.

"Stop throwing those! That's our food!" He growls, and you prepare to throw another one, but then the pilot comes returns.

"Here we go! Think this will work?" He asks, unfolding a decently sized wagon. It was going to work really well and definitely save you some strain. You look over to Soap, who's raising a brow at you, giving you a suggestive look. God, he was a child.

"Yep. That's great. Thanks." You say hurriedly, your tone coming off a lot less grateful than that poor pilot deserved. You take the handle from him and rush to pack up your stuff. "Soap get your ass over here and help me pack."

"You got it, lass." He says way too cheekily. He's just trying to get on your nerves. The faster you pack up and get to the cabin, the sooner you could get away from him.

He comes up right behind you, his breath on your ear. "What would you like me to do, boss." You flinch away from him, rubbing your ear of your shoulder. He's like a mosquito you can't get to leave you alone.

"Can you back up!? I don't want your stank breath on me. Just-just go make sure you have all your shit and make sure the backpack has everything we need." You snap, making Soap defensively raise his hands in surrender and back off. But you had a feeling he was perfectly fine with getting out of helping pack the wagon.

"Fine. Anything you want, princess."

You hated it when he called you that, but you just ignored him. It was too early in the day to be this mad at him. 

Luckily with him gone, it made it much easier to pack. You were still feeling stressed though. The suitcase is the first thing you put in, followed by just one of the crates of food. Already the wagon was pretty much full. You ended up dumping the other crate, just piling in food wherever it will fit. Hopefully the wagon would be just a little lighter without the extra crate.

The rest of the supplies was, hopefully, in the backpack. Given the fact Soap needed those things to survive too, you had high hopes he actually did a good job packing. When you regrouped, you forced Soap to pull the wagon, so he gave you the backpack to carry. You didn't argue that seeing as it was only fair.

The backpack was heavier than you thought it'd be, but not awful. As you walked down the ramp, you couldn't help but feel like you were forgetting something. With how rushed Price had you this morning, you hoped it wasn't something you left in your luggage back on base.

***

The hike to the cabin was worse than you thought it'd be. There was no cleared path that led to the cabin. It was all just woods. While the wagon seemed like a good idea, it got stuck on every rock, branch, and plant you passed by. You had to help Soap push it up the hills and get it unstuck so many times. It more than doubled the time it'd normally take for you to walk two miles. Every muscle ached by the time you reach the cabin, and tensions between you and Soap were running high.

When the cabin finally came into view, you were so excited. It looked so nice from the outside. It sat in the middle of a clearing, a big lake behind it, and sun beaming down on it. You swore it had a halo as angelic as it was.

That was until you stepped inside. The cabin you were staying in was tiny. It only had two rooms. Upon immediately walking in, you found yourself in the kitchen. It had an old wood fire stove for cooking in one corner, one cabinet for food, a few shelves, and a tiny table in the other corner. There was also a door which led outside to a small deck, and the lake was a good 15-20 meters away. There was also an old fire pit that sat between the deck and the water.

Off to the right was the bedroom. A wall with a door separated the bedroom from the kitchen. Inside was two cots, a dresser, and another wood stove between the cots. It was a really small room. The two cots took up a majority of the space.

"Where's the bathroom?" You frown, watching Soap from the kitchen as he stood in the middle of the bedroom. You hoped you'd just missed it somehow or it was hidden away.

"There isn't one." Soap grumbles, still cranky from the hike over. You were both pretty tired and hungry. It was around lunchtime.

"What do you mean? There has to be one. Where are we supposed to shower and-"

"Your eyesight's as sharp as a rubber knife, you know that?"

You were losing it. You'd just spend the last hour and a half walking two miles. You were sweaty, tired, and hungry. "Can you just stop being a dick and tell me?"

"There's an outhouse a few meters away from the cabin outside. You can shit in there. As for showering, you probably have to bathe in the lake." He answers finally.

You could die. Price was really pissed with you this time.

"Bathing outside. Just great." You mumble, looking out of the window to the lake. The water was probably freezing. Plus the thought of Soap seeing you naked made your skin crawl more than the thought of bathing with a fish.

While you'd been lost in thought looking out of the window, Soap came out of the bedroom to grab the backpack and the suitcase from the wagon. He wordlessly moves it into the bedroom, probably to start unpacking his things. Not wishing to be in the same room as him, you get to work on putting food away. You lift the crate of food from the wagon and set it on the ground then start to sort through the remaining food in the wagon.

A second later you hear a loud squeak. It sounded like the springs of the cot. Curiously, you looked into the bedroom to find Soap had sat on one. He shook his head and got up, moving to the other one.

"Hell no. Not dealing with that all night." He grumbles, sitting on the other cot, which was silent in comparison. You glare at him.

"Are you fucking serious? You're going to stick me with the bed that squeaks?" You stay in the doorway, watching as he unzips the backpack and pulls his sleeping roll from it.

"Yep. Snooze you lose." He says, unrolling his sleeping roll and laying it on the bed with his pillow.

You scowl are him from the doorway and storm over to grab the backpack from him to retrieve your own roll. Of course he was going to do this to you. "I fucking hate you, MacTavish. You're such an absolute child." You seethe, digging through the bag and not finding your sleeping roll in there. "Where's my sleeping roll?"

"Hell if I know." Soap answers, sitting on his cot and lying back while he watches you dig.

"What the fuck did you do with my sleeping roll, MacTavish?!" You shout this time, rage filling you. You needed that otherwise you were going to freeze every night.

"Christ's sake! I didn't touch your stuff! I don't know what the fuck you did with it!" He shouts back, matching your volume.

"You didn't pack my sleeping roll when you packed yours?!"

"Hell no! Why would I? I thought you'd have packed it in the wagon!"

"Why would I-?!" You take a deep breath, pinching the bridge of your nose. "So you're telling me my sleeping roll was right next to yours on the plane, but you packed yours, and left mine?"

"That is exactly what I am telling you."

"Why would you do that!" You growl at him as he sits up.

"Well for one there wasn't enough room in that bag for both with all the other shite that is in there. And I figured you'd grab your own bloody shite!" He growls right back, gripping the metal railing of the cot until his knuckles turned white.

"I was packing something else. I was distracted. You could have, I don't know, brought it over to me!"

"I thought you would have grabbed it yourself! You told me to worry about my own stuff, so I did!"

You groan aloud, running your fingers through your hair and pacing slightly. "Can you contact Price somehow and tell him to bring me my sleeping roll?"

"No." Soap answers, making you glare at him. "Don't you fucking glare at me! I don't have anyway of contacting him! Maybe you should have brought a radio if you were going to lose your stuff!"

"I didn't lose my stuff! My fucking teammate fucked me over and left it! You probably did it on purpose too!"

"Don't you dare fucking blame this on me, States!" Soap stands up suddenly, and he's right in your face. You find yourself taking a step back, but he just follows you. "I didn't do anything on purpose, so don't even go there! You did this to yourself! Fucking hell lass! Learn to take responsibility for your own actions, just like you should have at the debrief!" He shouts. "If you'd done that, then maybe we wouldn't be here! And you wouldn't be sleeping without your roll!"

You were shocked for a moment at his outburst, but quickly turn your gaze into a glare. The irony wasn't lost on you. He was demanding you take responsibility for your actions, but he wouldn't do that himself. Instead he just blamed everything on you.

"I should take responsibility? I should take responsibility!? You are always against me! Half the stuff I do is because I'm also being forced to work against you!"

"You're not being forced to do anything! You make your own damn choices and then blame me when it doesn't go the way you want it to!"

"You blame stuff on me all the time!!"

"Cause it always your fault! I tell you to do something and then you ignore me and treat me like I'm the enemy!"

"Maybe if you acted more like my teammate, I'd be less willing to treat you like the enemy!"

Soap's jaw clenched at your words. You stare at each other in silence. There's an intensity as you look at each other. You feel like at any moment, with a snap of your fingers, the tension is going to break. When it breaks, you're not sure what's going to happen. Before it can though, Soap finally breaks eyes contact with you.

"Fuck this and fuck you!" He snaps, stepping around you to leave the bedroom. His shoulder slams against yours as he does, and a few seconds later, you hear the cabin door slam shut.

Once he was gone, you feel your lip trembling. Already, one day in, and things were going terribly. You had to do this for six more days, and you weren't even halfway through the current one. You didn't know if you could do this.

Moving to your cot, you sink down and sob into your hands, the cot making a horrible creaking sound as you sit. The stress was getting to you and finally boiling over. This morning not being able to bring all your things, having no bathroom or shower, the long walk over, the hunger, the fighting with Soap... it was all too much. 

After sitting for a while, and Soap not coming back inside, you wipe your eyes and get to work on unpacking. You unpack your stuff, hoping to find your sleeping roll hidden somewhere among all the clothes. You didn't find it.

You then moved on to placing the cooking supplies and food onto the shelves and into the cabinet. Price had left you with some good food. A whole box eggs, bread (which was crushed a bit), cans of soup, beans, and corn, a bunch of MREs, and salt. You also had a small pan, two bowls, two plates, and two sets of silverware.

Once everything was packed away, all that was left to do was to sit around and wait for Soap to inevitably come back. You'd take a nap, but that was unappealing without your sleeping roll. You wanted to eat, but you didn't need Soap blowing up again cause you were wasting the rations or excluding him.

He didn't come back though. Hours passed. You got hungry eventually and went outside to start collecting wood to cook with. You looked for him as you did, but you didn't find any trace of him. You made one of the cans of soup, ate it slowly, and watched the door, thinking he’d come through any second.

As the sun began to set, and it started to get dark, you were really, really beginning to worry.

***

[minniethemoocherda]

Stay With Me

A/N: I cannot thank you all enough for all the support you guys have given me in response to my Morpherine fics! It has been completely insane especially all your incredible comments as well as all the amazing art over on tumblr! If it wasn't for you guys then I probably wouldn't feel as inspired to keep writing these fics so again thank you all so much!!!! Xxxxxxx

Ao3

FF.net

"NOOOOO!" Morph screamed as they woke up to find themselves sitting in a puddle of their own sweat and gloop.

They screamed again their bedroom door was broken down.

"What's wrong?" Logan demanded, claws drawn and body tensed ready to pounce.

"You giving me a fucking heart attack!" Morph cried, firing a pillow across the room.

Logan slashed through the first, but the second that Morph had launched a moment later hit him square in the face.

Morph was too riled up to feel any satisfaction at that fact.

"What are you even doing here?" Morph asked, feeling their body finally fully solidify back to its normal shape under the fabric of their oversized t-shirt.

"I heard you talkin' in your sleep." Logan grumbled.

"From all the way on the other side of the mansion?" Morph said pointedly, since they both knew that Morph knew that Logan's super-hearing didn't work that well.

That was when Morph realised that Logan was still wearing his uniform despite the fact that it was- Morph checked the alarm clock besides them- three o'clock in the morning.

"Do you want to tell me why you're not in bed?" Morph asked.

"No." Logan replied.

"Do you want to go back to bed?"

Logan sat himself in front of the remains of the doorway, watchful eyes glaring into the corridor outside.

"No."

"Do you want to come to bed?" Morph asked, which was something that if it were not three o'clock in the morning, Morph would never have asked.

After a moment's pause Logan again replied "No."

Morph sighed. The adrenaline of waking up from a nightmare and having their room being broken into was wearing off and now they just wanted to go back to sleep.

So they grabbed the duvet, sheets and blanket from their bed and carried them over to where Logan was apparently determined to stay on guard all night.

"What're you doin'?" Logan grumbled as Morph arranged the bedsheets around him.

"We are having a sleepover." Morph stated. "And I'm getting the pillow since you broke my other one."

Morph lay down on the duvet they'd placed on the floor, facing away from Logan into their room. The Wolverine still had his claws out but he didn't otherwise complain as Morph threw one of the sheets over the pair of them.

After a long time, long enough for Morph to think they might have made a mistake, Logan growled out a sigh.

"After we heard about Genosha I... I couldn't...I've been patrolling the halls all night-I just... I can't loose anyone else I care about." Logan growled, grief stumbling his words.

Slowly so as not to startle him, Morph sat back up. Logan was still facing away from them, never one to let other's see his weaknesses, but by now they had become experts at reading The Wolverine's behaviour. And they knew from the forceful shivers raking his body that Logan was literally biting back tears.

In that moment Morph would have done anything to help. But without the ability to change reality, there was little they could do. But that didn't mean that there was nothing.

Morph placed their hand on Logan's shoulder, his muscles taunt to the point Morph was worried they might snap. They squeezed their hand, hoping to share their own grief and to shoulder some of it for him.

Morph had never been on this side of loosing an X-men before. A stab of guilt as sharp as The Wolverine's claws buried its way into their stomach, at the thought that their own death could have caused the same amount of pain.

When they had learnt about Gambit's death, the only comparable pain Morph had felt was when they themselves had died. The concept that they would never again share each other's love for cooking or that they would never loose another heavily rigged card game, was impossible to comprehend. They weren't as close to Gambit as they could have been, however, as the only other openly queer person on the team, there had been a special connection between the two of them.

And Morph might not have shared the same history with Magneto that the other's had. The only reason they'd had to hate to him was that he was a generally shitty person who'd done some pretty shitty things. But when Morph had offered to take the team to Sinister's lair, he had been kind to them, making it clear that they did not have to if it brought back too many bad memories. And because of that, they couldn't help but grieve for him too.

And if Logan could finally open up, then it was only fair that Morph did the same.

"I.. I was dreaming... about that night."

They both knew what night Morph was talking about. The one where Morph was about to watch The Wolverine die and they sacrificed themselves to save him. Except in their dream there were too late. They lost him. Just like they lost Magneto. Like they lost Remy.

Because whilst being under Sinister's control was hell on earth, they would suffer through it all again if it meant that Logan was alive to lie beside them.

"I ain't lettin' nothin' get past me." Logan promised, finally turning to them. The grief was still there, it would probably never fully go away, but the pain that had been etched into the grooves of his skin, had been transformed into a steely determination.

"I know." Morph smiled, even after everything, unable to stop the fluttering if their heart at the sight of Logan's protectiveness directed at them. "And I'm not letting anything get past me either."

Feeling emboldened, from where their hand had been placed on Logan's shoulder, Morph traced his collar bone until their hand cupped the back of his neck.

"But even if you don't plan on sleeping, I have it on the trusted authority of my ex-therapist, that just lying down can help. So please, lay down for me." Morph's smile turned into a smirk. "I'll even let you share the pillow."

Logan blinked before shaking his head and snorting a smirk of his own.

"Alright, you win this one bub." He conceded, finally putting his claws away as he allowed Morph to pull him down to the pillow.

Morph reluctantly let go as they turned away from Logan to face the inside of their room, whilst The Wolverine took after his namesake and proceeded to nestle himself a den out of the bedsheets.

Now Morph hadn't really thought about the physics of sharing a pillow when they'd made the offer, as usual too preoccupied with making a joke to think about the consequences of opening their big mouth.

Because Logan's back was now placed firmly against theirs and the thin layer of his uniform was doing little to hide the solid layer muscle or stop the furnace level heat that his body was projecting. And due to his previous shuffling, the bottom of Morph's t-shirt had ridden up so that the sliver of skin between their briefs and their shirt could feel the full heat of Logan's body. It wasn't as if they hadn't touched the other before, But never that part of their body and even though the exposed skin was barely a few inches, Morph felt near naked at the touch.

They had no idea how they were supposed to go to sleep now. But eventually they must have.

Because next time Morph opened their eyes morning sun was beaming through their bedroom windows. At least that was where they assumed the light was coming from, as all they could see was the sleeping face of The Wolverine.

For a moment, Morph thought that they were still dreaming. Until they felt the breeze of Logan's breathe against the expanse of skin where their nose would have been.

As Morph blinked away sleep, they realised that the groves of anger and pain that Morph thought had been permanently etched onto Logan's face were relaxed, not completely gone but as close to peaceful as he could get.

They also realised that Logan's limbs were wrapped around their body like a koala in a tree as though he was afraid that if he didn't hold on tight enough he would fall. As a result Morph's hands, which had been trapped between the two of them, were braced against Logan's chest. Through the soft fabric of his costume, Morph could feel the individual bristles of his hair and under that the beating of his heart.

Perhaps they had died again, except this time they'd ended up in heaven instead of hell. That was the only logical explanation they could think of for why Logan would be holding them so close.

Well if this was their fate then Morph was happy to accept it, not that they were able to escape The Wolverine's grasp even if they wanted to. So with one last lingering look at the soft strokes of Logan's face, Morph drifted back off to sleep.

[polarisbibliotheque]

Hey Polaris, hope this helps as a vent piece:

Anger is one of the main traits of demons. Everyone's anger has manifested outward at least some point yet, one person keeps it under Heavy lock and key, Dante.

One day, the anger manifests in its destructive, gruesome and targeted anger in his Sin Devil Trigger as it manifests when that last patient strand snaps.

So here's the prompt:

As Reader wakes up from a hard hit, once fully back to full consciousness, they witness that destructive rage that Dante kept under lock and key. Nearby, Vergil is protectively standing in front of Reader but something's wrong, his hands quivering as he keeps Yamato out in front of him. The real question now pops into Reader's head, how do you calm to a blazing inferno that's unrestrained and now in full swing?

Dante going on a full Sin Devil Trigger rampage (or, very angry Dante)

Pairing: Dante x Reader

Summary: Vergil wasn't one to fear easily - but one thing he would always dread to see; and that would be Dante losing his humanity.

Trigger Warning: Reader stops breathing and is seemingly dead for a while. Lots of blood, lots of anger, lots of self-loathing on this one (they all need therapy)

Author's Note: Oh boy, this was a conversation I was having with dear Fury: how Dante is 10/10 the scariest when he's mad because he keeps his demon on a leash *cough* Subhuman *cough* and he's the one everyone should fear when going berserk, not Vergil. With all the requests I'm having, currently, Fury decided to leave this suggestion out until I had a little more time to write...

Fast forward a few weeks, I'm having issues with a couple of ~friends~ and, honestly, I haven't been this angry in years. To the point of trembling, laughing like a maniac, and wanting to fistfight the gods. Hence, Fury sent me this vent piece so I could satisfy my wrath in a more ~healthy~ way. Hope you guys like it, though, Dante needs a big ol' hug and someone to openly cry too, not just Vergil.

Again, they all need therapy

Not many things could stir fear in Vergil’s heart.

Mundus’ voice, silently taunting him in the back of his head, the memory of everything he had been through in Hell was one of those things. The other one was his twin’s fury.

It was a rare thing for him to grip Yamato with an unsteady pair of hands, putting a lot of effort and strength for them not to tremble – but the sight of Dante completely lost in his bloodlust was not to be trifled with.

The first time Vergil saw it with his own eyes was in Hell, when he and his brother spent a considerable amount of time to cut down the Qliphoth. Vergil was used to the taunts of demons and Dante was as well… Or at least he should be, at that point in their lives.

But the taunts were many. They had been running through the fields of fire without sleep for a couple of days – in the human world, probably, as time had a different flow in Hell – killing everything in sight; and hearing every kind of putrid taunt they could.

What made Dante snap, though, was a simple implication: that it was Dante’s fault that Vergil fell and got subdued by Mundus, suffering endless nightmares for years to come. A strange glint sparked in Dante’s eyes at that moment. The scream that rumbled in his chest was enough to be heard through many layers of Hell.

It wasn’t Dante’s fault, Vergil knew that very well. He had refused to hold his brother’s hand, there was nothing Dante could have done. It was Vergil’s choice, and his sin only. But… For the first time, he saw how much his brother blamed himself for that. How much Dante had suffered, all those years, alone in the human world.

As above, so below… Dante suffered alongside Vergil all those years.

And all of that because of a stupid, childish decision from Vergil’s part. He observed Dante in shock as that realization came down on him – and as he watched the prized human heart of his twin brother seemingly disappear, giving place to a blind, bloodthirsty demon in full Sin Devil Trigger fashion, killing everything in his path.

Vergil stayed away from the destruction, always keeping an eye on his brother… If he could call him that. Dante – the foolish, laidback, talkative, jack of all trades, witty and quippy brother he knew – seemingly was nowhere to be seen. He was gone, and everything left was his demon, with a never-ending thirst for blood.

Not that Vergil hadn’t had moments like those, but he was always alone. He would always find the end of his rage on the floor, exhausted, weak and cold. And so, he waited for Dante’s wrath to wear off – patiently, observing with a heavy heart, sorrow and guilt.

He didn’t enjoy seeing his brother like that.

That was the reason why, when Nico put to vote who was the scariest when angry, you threw your vote at Dante. You and the rest of the crew, except for the Spardas, decided to have a night out at a local diner, just to wind down and have a bit of fun – that sort of talk was a given when you were together.

“Dante, really?” Lady raised one of her eyebrows, staring at you with nothing but doubt in her multicolored eyes. “He can’t hurt even a fly!” When she said that, though, all of the eyes of the group turned at her in disbelief. “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been hunting with him for a while. Dante can be a weapon of mass destruction, but he just… He doesn’t have that heart.”

“Hmmm… I think I have to agree with you on that one.” Trish slowly stirred her chocolate milkshake as Lady thanked with a sip of her vanilla one. “Look, I saw him killing Mundus. I saw Dante fighting the greatest and worst of Hell. He can be dangerous, but his human heart doesn’t let him be scary.”

“That is exactly my point.” You were ready to defend your thesis like a lawyer at court.

“Then why the hell would you vote for him as the scariest?” Nico didn’t have a cigarette on her hands because she had been forbidden to smoke inside the diner, but if she had, she would have been pointing at you with it. “Big flamin’ demon got nothin’ on Vergil, that one’s got the eyes of a killer. Got you chillin’ just by lookin’ at you.”

“Vergil doesn’t control his anger that much – I go as far as saying he doesn’t control himself as much as Dante.” And with those words, you won all the shocked looks you could at that evening. You would count that as a feat. “Is Dante a fool of a Tûk, as my dear Gandalf would say? Yes, he is. Is Vergil a walking death omen? Yes, he also is. But, I have talked to him about Dante being angry, and Vergil gave me enough hints to make it very clear Dante doesn’t let all his feelings out – he chooses to pass as a very aloof himbo of a man, but he is far from that. I’ve been his partner for enough time to say I agree with Vergil.”

“You might have a point.” Kyrie took a sip of her strawberry milkshake, as you let a triumphant smile take over your lips. “Dante might be playful, but we all know he has very deep emotions underneath that. It’s just like with Nero and his punk attitude.”

“But instead, he’s a cinnamon bun on the inside.” Nico topped Kyrie’s phrase, provoking some laughs on the group. That was the most accurate description of Nero if you had ever seen one.

“Dante loves his human heart, but he has a certain beef with his demonic one.” You wouldn’t say to the whole group you went as far as to believe he actually loathed his demonic heritage, as that was something too personal, but you had a hunch they all had some suspicions of that deep inside. “He keeps it in check, hidden, tamed. He lashes out when it’s a good time to do so – when fighting demons.” As you started getting some hums of agreement, you sneakily took Trish’s milkshake. “We have never seen Dante actually angry. And I don’t think we ever will.”

“Oh, now you’re makin’ it difficult.” Nico had to ponder those words, even if she couldn’t really see Dante being as dangerous as you said.

“Eh, not for me. I’m still going with Vergil.” Lady shrugged, firm on her opinion as always.

You took a little longer to get to the final vote – discussing what you had just said, as Trish called you out for stealing her milkshake and having it back, only to share it with you – but the answer was almost unanimous: the scariest one on a fit of wrath was Vergil.

Almost, because you kept adamant in voting on your red devil.

Vergil never came to know about all of that, but if he did, he would have agreed with you – not publicly, as he would hold his new title with pride, always content on inspiring fear as a way to keep himself and his loved ones protected. He would, however, agree with you privately, remembering Dante’s display of wrath in Hell.

That was the reason why his hands trembled on Yamato during your latest hunt together – the one where everything went wrong.

If only you would wake up. Maybe he could save Dante’s soul.

It all happened so fast, Vergil didn’t even see how things ended the way they were at the moment. On one second you were fighting by their side, on the other, you were tossed on the floor, soaked in your own blood, chest immobile. Not breathing.

“Y/n! No, y/n!” It was the very first time Vergil saw Dante dropping everything to run towards you. His brother let go of his sword, ignored all demons around and ran as if you were the only being in that godforsaken place. Vergil had to put himself between him and the demons, keeping them at bay as Dante quickly made his way to you. “Y/n! C’mon, babe! Y/n!”

Dante’s knees hit the floor with a loud thud as he dropped all his weight by your side – not feeling anything at the moment, but it would certainly leave a couple of horrid bruises. As his sky-blue eyes met that harrowing sight, desolation filled his face; Dante forgot how to breath for a split second, barely feeling his very own hands, legs tingling as his body seemed to sink in the ground even further.

Vergil stated the very same thing his brother did – and he never thought he could feel that way with the thought of losing you; but there was Vergil, with numbness on his fingers and a sickness in his stomach. You were the little light that Dante had found in his life, one of the only good things that had happened to him during all his damned years of living. Vergil knew how important you were, how only you could make Dante smile with a sincerity he only had seen when they were kids. What would be of his brother – his foolish, stupid, beloved brother – if he lost you to demons as well…?

The answer would come very soon, but not without a fight from Dante’s side.

“C’mon, y/n, open your eyes…!” Dante’s voice trembled, in a way Vergil had never listened to before. He watched as his twin brother desperately tried to bring you back, heavy hands massaging your chest, followed by breathing inside your mouth, and repeating once more. “C’mon, babe… Don’t leave me here…!” Those words were a whisper as he trembled trying to make your heart beat again, giving his breath to you once more so you could also breathe.

The realization washed Dante’s body as a cold wave, as he slowly felt he wasn’t in his body anymore – his body feeling your weight on his hands, but his soul completely out. Maybe flying away to meet yours wherever you were.

But then, a twisted symphony of distorted cackles and mockery ripped through his ears – the realization also came to the demons, and now they gloated with their first victory. Not only that, but humiliated the son of Sparda for losing his own beloved just like his father had lost Eva.

Vergil was ready to unsheathe Yamato and unleash all his fury to cut those demons in million pieces for that lack of respect – and to allow his brother to mourn properly. He himself had to mourn: you were too precious at the Devil May Cry for Vergil not to feel your loss.

But he wouldn’t need that. A deep growl grabbed the Dark Slayer’s attention, making him immediately turn to his brother. Dante got up from the floor with nothing but rage in his eyes bleeding tears, bare teeth as his demonic heritage boiled to rip through his skin and unleash all its fury on his enemies.

If only Dante had waited a single second, he would have realized what Vergil did. He would have heard a faint heartbeat – trembling, but fighting to survive. He would have seen your broken body trying to breath underneath the blood.

Dante killed the first demons with their own weapons, running towards his sword with a scream that only grew in strength. Vergil kneeled by your side, checking your pulse on your neck, staining his hands with your blood but stating what made his heart beat faster: you weren’t lost. Dante had to know.

The floor rumbled. As Vergil turned his attention towards Dante, he immediately turned back to you to protect you with his body. Dante’s scream thundered through the floor, as if it came from the deepest pits of Hell itself – and a thousand degrees exploded in sparks and molten lava as his Sin Devil Trigger took the place of the man who stood there before.

Vergil was used to the flames of Hell, they would not hurt him. But he wasn’t used to the wrath of his brother – and that might be something none of you would be able to recover. Vergil could take the heat of the explosion that took down many demons in its wake, but your human body couldn’t – and that was the reason why he had to do everything in his power to protect you.

Those silvery eyes turned back at Dante, still keeping a protective arm above you. Usually predatorial, now Vergil had nothing but worry in his gaze, watching with desolation as his brother became the bloodthirsty ruthless demon he never was.

In that state, Dante could make mistakes. He could hit you without even realizing. A misplaced use of his power, a wrong swing of his blade, another explosion of million degrees into hellish flames… Vergil could survive, not you. And, if Dante, who hadn’t realized yet you weren’t lost as he thought you were, ended up being the real reason of your demise…

Vergil didn’t even want to think what would happen.

For all he could see at that moment was a demon fiercely fighting other demons – or, better yet, easily subduing and mercilessly slaughtering all of them. And that was something that was so intrinsic to Dante’s heart: his mercy. Having Dante without his mercy, his kindness, his gentleness, his love, was the same as not having him at all… That was the source of his power, like rage was the source of Vergil’s power.

Watching his brother lost in wrath was heart wrenching, but knowing it could get even worse if he was to completely lose his soul was even more harrowing. Dante’s eyes bled his pain, even in that form, as he soaked his whole self in the viscous blood of his enemies – a monster beyond salvation, a creature without a soul, a lover without a heart. A man with his fragile hope crashed into pieces, abandoning everything that made him who he was, to allow himself to find some comfort through burning his own wrath.

For the first time, it downed on Vergil his brother might not come back. If he lost you, if Dante fatally wounded you, Vergil would never have him again – for Dante would lose the very last brink of humanity inside of him; a brink that Vergil couldn’t even see at that moment and didn’t even know if it was still there. Dante’s eyes were red, his growls distorted and animalistic, his power… Greater than Mundus, greater than even Sparda.

If Dante approached, Vergil would have to fight him. His brother wasn’t in a leveled state of mind to see logic – and he could hurt you, even if Dante would never do that. With all that blind wrath, though, Vergil didn’t even know if his brother would answer if he called.

Holding Yamato with a stronger grip than usual, Vergil stood in front of your body, guarding you from whatever harm that could come your way – be it in demon form… Or in his own twin brother form.

The cold hand of fear, though, slowly crept into his heart and held it on its stark clutches. Yes, Vergil spent his whole life sparring with that fool he had to call his brother – hearing Dante’s taunts and impossible physics, as if he didn’t even make an effort to make Vergil look like a complete buffoon during the fight, no matter how much technique and skill he had – but never Vergil imagined not having that.

Having Dante was a given. Fighting him was a given. Bantering, arguing, sparring, behaving like the bickering old set of twin brothers that they were. Vergil could say he wanted to defeat Dante, but he never wanted to get rid of him. What would his life be without his stupid brother?

Empty. Silent. Cold. Devoid of color.

Dante couldn’t go. And, most of all, he couldn’t go by Vergil’s hands. But if he was too much of a lose canon, if he was too far gone in his demonic frenzy, Vergil would have to put a stop to it…

Like Dante did with him as Nelo Angelo so many years before.

Vergil had to hold the cry that seemed to want to force its way out of his throat – holding back the tears that now glistened in his eyes. He was the most foolish of all… He was responsible for putting Dante on the same situation he found himself in at the moment – and just now he understood how harrowing, how painful and how much of a hell Dante had to go through.

Alone. Just like Vergil was alone in Hell – as above so below, the twins mirroring each other’s fates, on their realms and heritage of preference.

They weren’t so different after all.

As you started to hear the chaos around you once again, your head was spinning viciously and the pain that spread inside your lungs made you think you were going to explode. With an almost inaudible moan, you felt tears streaming down your eyes as you tried to open them, seemingly inhaling blood and pain every time you tried to breathe. You could feel you were covered in something wet and sometimes sticky, but it took some time for you to raise a trembling hand in front of your barely focusing eyes to realize it was blood.

Were you dead…? What had happened…? You could barely remember. You didn’t even know what hit you: suddenly everything turned black and now you were feeling like a bulldozer went over your body and somehow you managed to survive. Perhaps you didn’t, but if you were dead, you wouldn’t be feeling that much pain… At least, that was what people always said that happened after departing from the human world.

Plus, you could still hear the demons – but now, screaming in fear and trying to run away from something that was growling in such an inhuman tone, you wondered if you guys had accidentally summoned something bigger. By the noise, it had to be. The likes of Mundus and the other Kings of Hell – Vergil being the smallest of them, but still as deadly.

Perhaps it was Vergil…? To be fair, though, he never went all out without a really good reason. Maybe he thought you were dead? He appreciated you as much as a brother would appreciate his twin’s partner, but you didn’t expect him to have such a visceral reaction to your death; Unless…

You widened your eyes as your whole body seemed to be washed by a cold wave followed by a lightening that made you tingle from head to toes. Your heart sunk in your chest and the painful breaths you tried before were all but gone. Vergil would have a visceral reaction if he lost his brother. And that, you couldn’t even fathom: life without Dante didn’t exist… Or, at least, it would be something you wouldn’t want to go through.

You forced your body up, slowly turning to one side and barely using your arm to keep your weight as you tried to see what was going on. You had to find him, you had to find Dante. You would crawl to his body, you would shake him around as you could, you would give him your breath, you would give him your soul – but you would try everything to bring him back. You would hold him as tight as you could, you would cry over him, and there wouldn’t be a living or dead thing in this world that would be able to part you from him.

You widened your eyes once more when you saw Vergil keeping your body as a guardian warrior and the source of the chaos and destruction was your beloved red devil – lost in a frenzy, dripping with blood, eyes melting like lava and nothing of human in them.

You had never seen Dante like that.

“Verge…” You tried to cough the word out, but it was nothing more than a dying whisper. You couldn’t see how the blue devil furrowed his brows, thinking he might be hearing things – until you allowed a harsher breath to hurt your lungs so you could try to raise your trembling voice higher. “Vergil…!”

He turned his head enough to see you in the corner of his eyes – doing his best to still keep Dante in his sight. A wave of euphoria washed through Vergil’s body as his hands seemed to get steadier around Yamato: he was right, you were alive. As the fighter you were, the survivor you were… You were breathing and doing your best to get back on your feet again.

“Y/n…” But he couldn’t even talk: the floor rumbled again and Vergil knew what was coming. You placed your hands on the ground, widening your eyes and furrowing your brows, having never felt that before.

For a split second, you caught a glimpse of what was going on: Dante harnessing his power, ready to explode. You had never saw that. You had never saw his eyes devoid of his humanity. You had never seen your Dante as a complete demon like it was happening at that moment.

And, something that you had never been conscious to witness, Vergil threw himself over you to protect your body from his brother’s wrath. You had to cower behind his frame, gripping Vergil’s coat lapel for dear life, but still feeling the burning of a thousand degrees engulf you.

The blue devil didn’t even waver – but both of you had something in your eyes… The dread of the harrowing knowledge that that was Dante. All that destruction, that chaos, that blood… It was all Dante.

You were right, after all. His rage was the scariest to see.

“I need t-…” Your voice was raspy, having to stop mid phrase to cough some more blood that needed to come out of your lungs. “I need to talk to him.” You tried to take a deep breath, but once again it just stopped with a harsh sting on your chest. “He needs to know I’m alive.”

“Hmmm.” Vergil agreed with his head, but you knew he was still pondering what you had said. He helped you up on your feet – doing more of the work than you, easily lifting your body with his strength. “Dante isn’t himself at the moment…” Again, Vergil stood in front of you like a guardian, gripping the Yamato with both hands as soon as he saw you could stand by yourself. If you faltered, though, he was quick enough to hold you. “You must keep that in mind.”

“I know… And I am scared.” You answered in a whisper, looking over Vergil’s shoulder only to see Dante mercilessly slaughtering the last unlucky demons. “But it’s still Dante.”

Vergil didn’t know what to do, if he was being honest with himself. He could have held you back and kept you safe, as his demonic side told him to do, but something inside told him he should let you do what you had to do. Those silvery eyes watched as you bravely walked in haste towards danger; towards hell and doom, ready to embrace it… And willing to make it stop.

“Dante! Dante, love!” You kept calling, but, as Vergil feared before, his brother didn’t respond. He was too far gone, too lost in Hell to come back that easily. Vergil followed your steps slowly, lingering like a shadow behind you… Ready to do whatever he needed to do if Dante’s demon didn’t even recognize you in that blind rage. “Dante! You can stop now… Dante!”

With all the filthy bloody corpses piling up on the floor, that flaming red-hot demonic figure slowly turned its head towards you. Covered in blood, sword dripping with red, molten lava eyes raining all its hollow pain. Expressionless, as he always was on his Sin Devil Trigger, made of fire and coal, hate and rage.

Did he recognize you…? Did he understand what was going on…? Vergil’s grip on Yamato got stronger, ready to unleash a blow on his brother in order to protect you. What you were doing was a gamble – and one with not so nice odds to you. There was a reason why Vergil let Dante’s anger wear out when they were in Hell: he knew there was a good chance Dante wouldn’t even recognize him at the height of his wrath, just like it happened with Vergil on those situations. So, to say the moment at hand was dangerous was a serious understatement.

But humans would always be fascinating, wouldn’t they…? At least, that was what Vergil thought. That towering demon with a flaming chest and leathery wings turned towards you, carrying his huge sword dripping with demonic blood, doing nothing but heavy breathing – and you decided to fearlessly walk towards it.

Humans.

Vergil kept his distance, watching it all unfolding with a weary heart and a trigger hand at ready to fight his brother – to death, if he unfortunately needed to – in order to protect you. He couldn’t have the certainty you had, as your steps kept going in Dante’s direction.

Your legs were shaking, your knees were trembling, but… It was your lover. It was Dante. No matter how much he was lost into his frenzy and wrath, you had to believe his heart would remember you. His soul. It all happened because he thought he had lost you, he had to come back upon knowing you were alright.

It didn’t matter how horrid his wrath looked like, you knew he was in there somewhere.

“Dante… It’s me, I’m alright…” Your voice was still a whisper, unable to speak too loud, but also trying to soothe the anger in his heart. You hesitantly reached out to him, making a growl rumble inside his chest and your steps stop for a while – with Vergil half-unsheathing his sword, ready to fight. “Love…” You called again, breathing as deeply as you could, resuming your walking and extending your hand towards him. “My Dante…”

You were finally at arm’s reach. Vergil held his breath, eyebrows furrowed, silvery predator eyes fixated on what was supposed to be his brother. You raised your hand higher, resting it on Dante’s face.

His Sin Devil Trigger form was nothing but rough. His skin seemed like hard leather and rocky coal, burning so hot it could almost hurt your hand. You wouldn’t back down though: compared to him, you were soft and cold, too fragile and breakable; but you wouldn’t leave. You caressed his rough face, fingers feeling the sharp teeth, the spiky crevices, the unwelcoming features of a face made in Hell.

You felt, though, an unlikely moisture reaching your fingers: a droplet, running from those fiery, empty eyes – those inhuman eyes. You looked at it running through your fingers to the back of your hand, looking back into those frightening eyes that had nothing of a soul in them…

But he was there, wasn’t he? It was him, a part of him that Dante always fought so relentlessly to keep hidden, to keep on a tight leash in the deepest corner of his self. You could see Dante in those eyes – and, as soon as that realization washed through the demon’s body, his head leaned into your hand.

With a flaming spark, the red devil was gone and you had the man back: tired, desolated, falling apart. Dante still leaned his head into your hand – now with soft skin, smooth lips, closed eyes and flowy white hair – almost like an animal that had never been touched with kindness in a whole lifetime. As he opened his eyes, you could see the redness of his tears crowning those sky-blue tones you always loved so much… And there was nothing but fragile vulnerable humanity in them.

“Hi, cowboy…” You whispered with a shadow of a smile on your lips, while your very eyes poured tears – you didn’t know what kind of tears, though, if of happiness, sadness, desperation, pity or love. Maybe all of them at the same time: it was inherently human to feel more than words could describe. You caressed his face as Dante himself started to pour all of his feelings out – this time, not in a fit of rage. “I’m glad you’re back.”

“I thought I lost you.” His coarse voice came through as if Dante had been weeks without speaking and his very own vocal cords were barely working. You didn’t doubt his body would be in pain after all he had been through during… That. “I thought… You were gone. I’d never see you again, you were… Like… Like…” Dante closed his eyes again, head hanging low. He could barely breathe as the words fought to get out of his chest and stop suffocating him. His tears hitting the floor while you took his hair out of the way so you could see his face – there was nothing but pain; a pain that hadn’t been healed since he was a child. “Like everyone in my damned fuckin’ life; those things… I thought they had extinguished… Your light, like everyone… Like everyone eventually does… By my side…”

That was rare. Very rare. Dante was very honest with his feelings and usually didn’t hide anything from you, but not to that point – the point where he would honestly and openly say how much he thought he was the thing that doomed everyone else who decided to live with him or be friends with him. That loathing he had inside his heart, that he hid so carefully, it wasn’t something he would say out loud – it was something you knew because you always understood him so well.

You let go of his hair and locked your arms around his large frame, resting your head on his chest – you could hear his heart beating, his human heart. Dante hesitated for the very first time in his life, keeping his arms by your side for a split second, his teary eyes shocked with your reaction.

After all, you had just seen his absolute worst. All the things he always smothered so much inside himself, keeping them on check, always so controlled. You had seen it in all its spiteful and horrid glory – and your reaction was to embrace him instead of running away. Dante expected you to run, it would honestly be the logic and most human thing to do after seeing all of that.

But you walked towards him with your heart beating in fear, touching his face to grab him out of the pit of wrath he was buried into, holding him tightly in your arms as he broke down in all his anger, misery, trauma and self-loathing.

It lasted a split of a second indeed – for soon Dante’s strong arms were wrapped around your fragile body, keeping you close and safe from harm… As well as having his face buried on your neck, crying all that smothered pain inside of his heart out. Your bodies were too exhausted to keep standing for too long – so when your knees wavered, Dante did the same and you kneeled on the floor, never letting go of each other; Dante holding you as tight as he could, promising himself he would never let go.

Vergil could finally put Yamato to rest. When they were in Hell, he allowed his brother’s rage to wear off while observing from afar. This time, he could do the same: guarding you and quietly keeping you both safe and sound.

A sad ghost of a smile graced the Dark Slayer’s lips as he calmly observed you. Maybe his brother was right after all, and he could only wish someday he would be as strong as Dante to carry such power.

A human heart.

[green-eyedfirework]

Bruce is out of town, Tim’s with the Titans, and Gotham belongs to Nightwing for the night. He soars through familiar skies, breathes the familiar smog, and fights the all-too familiar foes.

It would be Ivy, on a night when there’s no one back at the Manor, no one to help him through the burning cold stealing over him. He pushes it down, manages to restrain Ivy, sees her taken away, and gets up to an isolated rooftop.

Icy prickles are flooding across his skin, an ache settling into his core, and his body is trembling. He should get to his motorcycle, or call the car, but—he collapses to his knees on the privacy of the rooftop, just for a moment. He’s done for the night, and no one is waiting for him, so he can just—take a moment. Breathe in through the pain, through the longing, a physical manifestation of an emotional need. Convince himself he can get through this alone.

When there’s a soft impact on the far side of the roof, he flings his head up, suddenly aware of the tears forming beneath the mask.

Orange and black, giant sword, mask with one eye.

Deathstroke.

Of fucking course. What else would make this night more perfect?

Slade is studying him, silently, and Dick should absolutely get off his knees, should stand up and make a quip. He can’t afford to be weak.  Not in front of Deathstroke.  He wills himself to stand as another tremor goes through him, but his body won’t respond.

The last time he saw Slade, Dick told him they were through; he couldn’t keep sleeping with someone who was willing to kill innocent people for money. Dick hated himself every time they were done, the afterglow ruined by the inescapable knowledge of who exactly he’d just let fuck him. Slade didn’t argue, didn’t try to defend himself, just steadily watched as Dick gathered up his things and left. 

Dick hasn’t seen him since, not in six months, not until tonight. And now he’s here, while Dick is almost helpless. The wanting is—it’s consuming him, filling him with agony, and—

“Why are you here?” Dick bites out, wishing like hell he could get to his feet and make a show of strength, but keeping his voice almost-level takes every last bit of effort he has left.

“Finished a contract,” Slade says, and Dick closes his eyes for a heartbeat, because he knows that means someone died. While he was playing with Ivy, Deathstroke came into Gotham and someone died and—“Heard about your fight with Ivy.”

Heard about? Or engineered. A chill goes down his spine, dread settling into his stomach, distinct from the searing cold of the pollen. It’s not a coincidence that Deathstroke’s in Gotham when its usual protectors are away. This is the first time Dick has been isolated since he told Slade they couldn’t sleep together anymore.

“I handled it,” Dick says, as though it finishes the conversation, as though he isn’t suddenly aware that Slade is likely here to extract some kind of vengeance for Dick daring to judge him. And it’s not that Dick ever thought Slade was a good person, but he trusted Slade enough to be vulnerable with him, to be intimate and almost-soft, and—and he’s acutely aware that that trust is absolutely shattered. That Dick shattered that trust, and Slade has no reason to be merciful.

“Did you handle it?” Slade asks softly, and takes a step towards him. A spasm of longing, terrifyingly intense, goes through Dick, and he can’t stop the shudder.

If Slade gets near him—Dick can already feel how the heat from his body would drive away the cold, how the cessation of pain would be addictively sweet, how being close to another person would soothe the emotional void, and he can’t—this is Deathstroke, not his father or brother, not a teammate he can be vulnerable with. 

“Yes,” Dick says, but his voice cracks and he shudders again. He’s abruptly aware he can’t get back to the Cave, unable to fight through this longing, this need, this exquisite desire-slash-pain, and he needs Slade to leave before Dick can’t fight anymore.

He trusted Slade before with his wants, but soothing the relentless, agonizing cold has become a need and while a rejection of a sexual escapade would have been easily shrugged off—if Dick dares to ask for help with this, and gets rejected—

And why wouldn’t Slade refuse to help him, unless Dick was willing to rekindle their old relationship. 

It’s getting harder to think clearly, and Dick isn’t sure if it’s a higher dosage, or a new strain, or he’s just never gotten hit without a teammate, but it hurts, fuck, it hurts more than he can remember, and it’s all he can think about.

When Slade takes a step towards him, another spasm of longing runs through Dick and he spits out, “Stay away!”  It’s hopeless, Slade won’t stop, doesn’t care, made sure Dick would eventually want this but, he can’t stop trying.

Slade does stop, on the other side of the rooftop, silently watching again.  Dick closes his eyes behind his mask, needles sinking into his skin, one after another, each one a firebrand, and ice spreads further and further with every breath.  The tips of his fingers have already gone numb.  But he’s facing Slade, facing Deathstroke, only it’s not really facing him when Dick is trembling on his knees, looking up at someone who has a hundred reasons to want to hurt him.

“You don’t look too good, kid,” Slade says, and Dick would laugh, if doing so wouldn’t shatter him.  He wishes he were going fully numb, but instead he has painful tingling throughout his body, rising and falling agony he can’t seem to push away, and his entire being is focused on the  only way to get rid of this pain, standing on the other side of this rooftop.

“Go away,” Dick says, voice hoarse, desperately trying not to give Slade what he wants.  All Dick wants is the warmth of another person, but Slade was never a cuddler on the best of days, and he’s not going to do so now, not without something in it for him.  Getting Dick hit with pollen was a brilliant way to let Slade pretend at consent.

And Slade just stands there, a beacon of warmth, relaxation, a siren call to the absence of this searing, oversensitive agony, just a short walk away—but Dick can’t walk.  He’s wavering on his knees, hands curled into fists on his side, and if he just leans—but he can’t fall further, he can’t.

This is Deathstroke the Terminator.  Dick can’t rely on his goodwill, or trust him, or even let him—this man has more blood on his hands than any human alive, and the only reason he deigns to let Dick live is because Dick has pleased him in the past.

And Dick isn’t, he isn’t willing to give in, offer himself up again, not even for the promise of warmth and relief of the burning cold.

Slade isn’t leaving, but also isn’t saying anything, just standing there.  Dick cannot see his expression behind the mask, and every breath is an eternity of loneliness yawning wide, ice stabbing deeper and deeper, sharp and burning, and Dick—

“Leave,” Dick tries one last time, his voice almost cracking, but—but it’s too late.  His desperation is evident, there’s no way Slade’s leaving now.  Dick curls his fists against loose gravel, trying to find some kind of anchor, but tiny rocks shift in his grip, and there’s nothing to hold.  Nothing to clutch against the deep, slicing agony in his soul.

He’s alone.  He’s so, so alone—the sickening thud of bodies hitting the ground, a grieving, furious growl—he’s alone, he’s alone and he can’t bear it, he’s curling up and screaming without a sound because no human being was ever intended to live like this, like loneliness is a physical sensation that’s crushing him under its weight.

He moves.  Forward, though he hates himself, though he tries with all his might to stop it.  Forward, in the direction Slade is, in the direction warmth is, knowing exactly what it will mean for him.  Every fiber of his body is screaming at him to move faster and his mind is shrieking at him to stop, now, stop.

Dick thinks he can hear Slade saying something, but it’s just ringing, fading in and out, and he only stops when he sees boots in his blurred vision.  He can’t get off the ground, can’t even try, and he nearly collapses back as he cranes his neck to look up at the smear of orange and black.

He’s gasping for breath, heavy and shallow, his skin feels like it’s being peeled off in sections, there is ice at the very center of his being, and he will do anything to feel warm.

He raises a violently shaking hand, and manages to get it high enough to land on Slade’s thigh, curling against his belt.

Slade shifts, like he’s going to step back, and Dick leans forward to half-collapse against his leg, forcing out a desperate, “Please.”

Even that touch, through several layers of kevlar, feels like brushes of flames, and Dick has no energy left.  He’s trembling like he’s been dunked into Gotham Bay in the middle of January, and if Slade walks away, Dick won’t be able to lift his head, much less get off the roof.

He should’ve gotten back to the Cave immediately, no other pollen has hit this fast and this hard, and Slade can surely see the tears on his face now.  Dick squeezes his eyes shut and waits.

He wants—he needs to be closer, but he doesn’t have the strength, a five year old could break the weak grip he has on Slade’s belt.  Slade moves, and there’s more ringing, the world tilting oddly around him, and it takes him way too long to realize that Slade’s crouched down, the orange-and-black mask at eye level.

The hands on his shoulders feel like firebrands, and Dick can’t stop himself from leaning in.

“Kid,” Slade says, his tone flat like it’s not the first time he’s said it.  “You need to call the Bats.”  Dick almost wants to laugh, because does Slade think he would be shivering alone on this rooftop, at Slade’s mercy, if his family was in Gotham?  “I’m not leaving you alone like this.”

One part of Dick quails.  The other part rejoices, because if Slade lifts his hands, Dick will start screaming.

“They’re n-not in t-town,” Dick admits, shivering.  Slade curses.  Dick is torn between begging Slade to stay and pleading for him to leave.

If Slade leaves, Dick will drown in agonizing loneliness, wracked by oversensitivity and a burning chill.

If Slade stays, Dick is at the mercy of the world’s deadliest mercenary, helpless and vulnerable.

Slade solves this dilemma by straightening, and yanking Dick up with him.  Dick gasps at the dull blast of heat as Slade hoists him up, holding him in place with one arm around his waist before Dick does his job for him and practically plasters himself to Slade, locking his arms around Slade’s neck and hugging him like Dick is a koala.

The stinging is paradoxically worse and better—like the ice needles are melting, but slowly.  The heat isn’t quite enough, not with the Nightwing suit and Deathstroke armor in the way, but Dick can’t let go, it feels like his arms have been glued in place as he tucks his face next to the mask.

“Where’s your closest safehouse?” Slade asks, and Dick doesn’t even hesitate before answering.

Something in the back of his mind is shrieking.  Is begging to take over to stop him, to stop this—but the pollen has firm control, a torture designed specifically to attack Dick.

He can’t let go of Slade.

He’ll do anything for Slade to not let go of him.

And dread sits heavy in his stomach.

[personne-writes]

A ROTTMNT contribution to the Turtles Together zine

Alternate realities

----- I'm very proud to present to you my poem for the @turtlestogetherzine! The physical copies have already all been sold in leftover sales, but you can still buy the digital bundle here if you'd like. I'd recommand reading it on AO3, but if you'd rather stay here, be my guest! -----

Four brothers hang out under the clouded moon, Basking in New York City’s noises and light. They talk and they laugh on a roof out of sight; It’s too late for duty – and for sleep, too soon. They may be teenagers but at their center Lay powers and forces that never tire,  Sparks of energy, everlasting fire –  Often at the service of quips and banter.  The Blue one gushes about a job well done, The smile of the Red one is nothing but proud, The Orange one wonders silly things out loud Of which Purple knows much, yet kindly says none. “If everything changed,” Orange suddenly asks,  “In another life, or place, or world, or time Would we keep our colors? Would we still wear masks? Would we still be ninja turtles fighting crime?” Red and Blue whistle and start theorizing Orange happily helps their ideas fuse But Purple falls silent. His pulse is rising.  Science is calling. Who is he to refuse?

Between dearest walls, he retreats with his tools In one hand a pen, in the other a cup Both needed for work – he doesn't make the rules. Hours become days, still the math won't add up. As he struggles hard to make equations fit Something starts nudging at the back of his mind.  He is close – to what? He cannot quite name it Then, in a split second, dimensions unbind. 

It feels like his thoughts Are now being shared.   He tries to reach out. Perhaps, if he dared –   

Contact. Confusion. New realities. Alternate versions. Other families.

He sees things that he doesn't remember Unknown memories blending together.

Echoes of voices, Tales ancient and new All of them are his; All of them are true.

His instincts kick in The gears start to spin Narrowing on – There! The thing they all share –

Struggle. Everywhere. Missions, miseries Mortal ennemies Pressure and anger Menace and danger

Every version of him Every version of them They all stand. They all bite. They all dread and they all fight.

And Purple flinches. Can this be their essence? Responsability over insouciance Honor and duty against opposition Sacrifice for all without recognition?

No. That can't be it. This isn't who they are, Their fate can't be written with tears shed so far. In his heart, he knows there must be something more; With a switch, e feels it, pulising at the core.

The bad and the good things flow from the same source And he shifts and pushes to swim up its course. It all comes from a place of fondness and care The urge to take risks, to protect and repair The sense of justice and the dedication All boundless affection in demonstration.

The feeling is strong. As he follows its trace, The fragments of truth at once click into place. There, clear as day, is the universal law: Accross dimensions, the Turtles don't withdraw.

Lightheaded, Purple comes back to his senses. His lab feels too small; he needs wider spaces. He goes to the kitchen – the pizza smells nice Watches his brothers fight over the last slice Leans in the doorway and finds himself staring. His soul is catching up; his heart is flaring.

The familiar shouts of loss and victory Help him se the fabric of reality. No matter the world, no matter the plots twists In every timeline, his family exists.

The rift between their universes is crossed; Everywhere, there are green heroes in the night There are masks and colors even when all's lost There are sparks and fire ever shining bright

Faith stronger than doubt, Trust louder than fear Hope warmer than drought Love closer than near.

------

Thanks for reading! This was my first experience being in a fanzine and I must say it was quite the first time. I'm still astonished at the sheer quality of each and every contribution, but also at the professionalism and efficiency of the mods, not to mention everyone's enthusiasm through the whole project! All my thanks again to the Turtles Together zine team for letting me in and my regards to all my fellow contributors out there, keep being awesome guys <3

[thlayli-ra]

Stray (part 4)

Characters - CM Punk, Drew McIntyre, Larry, Samoa Joe

Pairing - CM Punk/Drew McIntyre, CM Punk/Samoa Joe (past)

AU - Stray AU

Rating - Mature

Warnings - Strong language, mentions of human trafficking, imprisonment and prostitution

Words - ~3,000 words (this is a longer one, yay!)

Summary - Punk asks a 'friend' for help

The door rang at six the next morning and Punk answered it immediately, already fully dressed.

'What did you do now?' the large set man on the doorstep grumbled.

'What makes you think I did anything?' Punk asked with his hand on his chest, taking offence to the accusation.

'When you call me at 5am telling me to bring spare clothes and my tool kit, I take that as a strong sign that you've done something,' Joe replied gruffly, stepping in past Punk and up the front steps. 'So just get it over with and tell me what the hell hap-'

He stopped mid-word when he reached the top of the stairs and found the stranger sitting innocently on Punk's sofa, naked except for a poorly fitting pair of boxer briefs and a dog collar around his neck. The newcomer gaped at the sight, then quickly dumped everything onto the floor.

'Excuse me,' Joe politely said to the stranger then roughly dragged Punk to the back steps at the far end of the living area.

'Ah, you grabbed me by the fucking neck,' Punk whined as Joe slammed the door behind them to give them some privacy.

'What the hell is that?' he demanded to know.

'I believe it's what they call an adult human male,' Punk shot back sarcastically.

'Don't get smart with me, Phillip Jack!'

'Oh, we're doing the Phillip Jack thing already, are we?'

'Just tell me who the fuck he is?'

Punk shrugged his shoulders. 'Dunno.'

'Well, what's his name?'

'Dunno.'

'Then where'd he come from?'

'I found him round the back of Mrs Goldstein's house. Good thing too, if she'd found him first she'd probably have had her third stroke and-'

'Wait! Wait! WAIT!' Joe scrubbed his eyes with his fingertips. 'What do you mean you found him?'

'Last night during the storm,' Punk retorted as if that made complete sense. 'Kid was all alone and banged up so I took him back here and cleaned him up.' Joe was trying to process just what the hell was happening but Punk didn't seem to notice. 'Hey, you know sign language, right?'

'I know exactly four languages, one of which is sign language, yes,' Joe replied, not following any of this in the slightest.

'Great! Come with me!' Gripping Joe by his broad shoulders, Punk shuffled him back into the living area and over to the lounge where the stranger was sitting calmly, stroking Larry who was sleeping next to him on the couch. 'Hey, so, this here is Joe, he's sorta, kinda, well, he's my-

'Friend,' Joe cut in abruptly.

'Yeah...' Punk muttered bitterly. 'Friend.'

The stranger stared blankly at them both.

'Well?' Punk looked expectantly at Joe. 'Go on.'

Heaving a huff of frustration, Joe signed 'hi, my name is Joe. What's your name?' when Punk cuffed him on the arm.

'He can hear you alright, I just need you to translate what he's saying.'

By this time, seeing someone else using hand motions had excited the stranger and he began throwing gestures right back at the large-set man who blinked with a furrowed brow. 'That's... not ASL,' he said, at last. 'Wait, where's your globe?'

'Pfft, I don't have a fucking globe,' Punk snorted.

'Oh really? Not even that one I bought you three Christmases ago?'

Punk quickly backtracked. 'Ohhh, that globe! Yeah I still got that globe.' He rushed over to a closet at the far end of the room and took a long time digging around before he finally produced it, still in its box and sealed.

'You keep it in the back of your closet?' Joe asked coldly, accepting the box from Punk.

'Just for safe-keeping, while I'm getting my office repainted.'

'Riiiiiiight.' Ripping the box open, Joe fetched out the plastic globe and placed it on the coffee table in front of the stranger. 'Can you show us where you're from?'

On instinct, Joe had turned the globe so that North America was facing the stranger but once he placed his large fingers on the sphere, he began turning it, passing over the Atlantic Ocean until he settled it at Europe. A wobbly smile broke his lips when he pressed his fingertip to a spot and both Punk and Joe leaned in for a closer look.

'You're from England?' Punk brows shot up.

The stranger gave a vicious snarl.

'From Scotland,' Joe corrected. The cat paw bobbed wildly. 'Hold on a minute...' Joe fished out his phone and began tapping away on the screen while Punk stared down at the tiny nation pressed beneath the stranger's large digit.

'We've been to Scotland before, haven't we?'

'Yeah, few times. Back when we were starting out, we had some bouts in Glasgow.'

'That's right! You from Glasgow?' The stranger shook his fist. He then began pointing his fingers upwards. 'You're from... Up? Uptown? O-over...? Over-town?'

'Skye?' Joe put in his guess but everything received a shake of the head. The stranger then splayed his fingers, hovering them around him. 'Air?' Cat paw! Cat paw! 'Oh, Ayr! You're from Ayr?'

'How do you know all this shit?' Punk asked, his nose scrunched.

'Unlike you, I like to try and learn about the places we visit.' Joe returned to his phone, ignoring the eye roll from the tattooed man. 'Ah, now it makes sense. He's using British Sign Language.'

'Is it that different?'

Joe sighed with exasperation. 'Yeah, it is.' He turned his attention back to the stranger. 'I've pulled up the BSL alphabet. Can you spell your name out for me? Slowly?'

'You could just have gotten him to write it out,' Punk pointed out with a scoff.

'He's been with you since yesterday and you didn't think to do that.' Punk snapped his mouth shut. 'Go on.' The stranger began moving his hands. First he pointed his left index finger up and placed his right index and thumb against it, opened up like a semi-circle, clearly making the shape of a familiar letter. 'D,' Joe confirmed. Then he crooked his left index finger. 'R'. Next he placed his right index finger on the tip of his left index finger. 'E.' And finally he knitted the tops of his fingers together, palms facing. 'W,' Joe said and put the all the letters together. 'Drew? Your name is Drew?'

The dark head and cat paw bobbed excitedly. Blue eyes pricked with tears from finally hearing his own name being spoken back to him. He wasn't the only one who found himself emotionally affected by the reveal. In the corner, Punk had gone deathly quiet, his lips hanging open slightly as his mind raced.

Drew... his name is Drew...

'So, how did you get over here, Drew?' Joe asked. The Scotsman replied by swooping his fist through the air, his thump and pinkie extended. 'You flew here?' Cat paw, but then the fingers grasped the collar at his neck.

'They flew you here,' Punk answered, understanding the hidden meaning. 'They guys who held you prisoner?'

Cat paw, followed by more finger spelling. Joe read them out as they were motioned 'L. I. E. Lie, they lied to you?' Cat paw, followed by a sawing and hammer motion. 'They said it was for work?' Cat paw, then another grasp at his collar. 'But they imprisoned you instead.'

'They forced him to fight,' Punk cut in, already knowing this part of Drew's horrific recent past. 'Probably around the illegal circuits, remember them? We looked into a few before we realised how fucking dangerous they were?'

But Joe was rubbing his fingers back and forth over his lips, deep in thought. 'Drew...' the blue eyes stared back at him. 'They made you do more than fight, right?' The Scot hesitated, glancing cautiously at Punk. 'That collar around your neck. Did they make you do anything... sexual?'

Punk hitched a breath, feeling his skin turn as cold as ice. The sensation overwhelmed him when he watched Drew's beautiful eyes darken and his head sink in shame. Punk couldn't contain the snarl in his throat as he scrubbed his palm over his face. His fists were shaking and he needed an outlet for it. Now!

He slammed his fist back against the wall. Hard. Feeling the skin break as it hit unrelenting brick. Joe looked up at him, his brows lowered. Go on, say it! Like a 'cornered feral cat'. Just fucking say it!

But it was Drew who piped up, flattening his left palm and swiping his right pointed finger beneath it. Joe's attention moved back to the large hands, trying to decipher them. Drew helped him by reaching down to shake the shattered chain at his feet. It was the first time the larger man had seen it and his face gave away the shock. 'But you escaped,' he explained, bringing Punk's focus back to the room.

Drew smiled broadly, then placed his thumb against his chest, swooping it around in a figure of eight. It took Joe a while to work out the sign but when he did, a grin broke out on his usually sullen face. 'Yes, yes I see,' he replied warmly and mimicked the same gesture on his chest.

Punk watched them both with bewilderment, wondering what joke he was missing out on, when Joe beamed up at him. 'You get it, right Punker?' he asked, doing the motion again. Punk shook his head. 'That means you!'

'Me?' Punk blinked, and looked over to Drew for confirmation. The blue eyes twinkled back at him, full lips spread wide revealing two deep dimples in his bearded cheeks. He did the motion again, swirling his thumb over his chest and Punk finally understood. He was following the path of the waves and serpent on his chest tattoo, just like he had last night in the wet room.

All of a sudden, Punk lost the ability to draw in breath. Overcome with emotion, he bit down hard on his cheek to stifle any sobs. 'Y-yeah,' he stuttered, shakily bobbing his head. 'Then I found you.'

With several mysteries solved, Joe moved on to the tasks Punk had sent him for. First on the checklist was removing the metal cuff and chain from around Drew's ankle. While Joe opened his tool box, Punk went into the kitchen to prepare some breakfast for them all. Larry lay flat on the couch, glaring at Joe as he placed a rod into the locking mechanism of the cuff and gave a threatening growl when Joe pulled back the mallet to strike.

'Yes, yes, I know Larry,' Joe said to the little dog. 'I promise I will be careful.' Another snarl. 'I promise! Urgh, you just had to adopt the dog that's a small furry version of you, didn't you?' he shot at Punk.

'Guess we're just the type that's nobody else wants,' Punk fired back from the kitchen.

He knew it was a cruel barb and from the corner of his eye, he saw Joe lower his arm and close his eyes, taking in a long, deep breath through his nose, the way he always did when he was trying to compose himself. Eventually he shrugged off Punk's vicious comment and moved on.

The cuff broke apart on the second strike and Drew's leg was finally free. He asked Punk to fetch the first aid kit ('under the sink, top shelf. You really should know this by now! What if you burn yourself or cut yourself with a knife in the kitchen!') then cleaned and wrapped the wounds on Drew's ankle. Once the Scot had been treated, Joe helped him into some old clothes of his. He may not have the height that Drew did, but he was large and broad so the clothes fitted much better than Punk's did.

By the time, they all sat down at the table to eat, Drew was transformed. Wearing a navy T-shirt and black shorts with his long hair pulled back in an old hair-tie that Punk had found in a drawer, he looked more... normal. Like any other guy. Well, except for the collar around his neck. Punk placed his food down in front of him and had a double-take, examining him from head to foot. He couldn't deny that he looked good. Really good!

He served Joe next then, after topping up Larry's bowl, he joined them at the table with his own stack of pancakes. Grabbing up the syrup first, he proceeded to empty almost the entire bottle onto his stack as Drew and Joe looked on in disgust.

'You never change,' Joe muttered. They soon tucked in and Joe's eyes lit up with the first taste of the warm pancakes. 'Wow, these are delicious! You've really improved your technique.'

Punk chewed his bottom lip awkwardly. 'I didn't make 'em,' he confessed. 'They're yours. I found them in the freezer box.'

'Wait, so they've been in there all this time?'

Punk never once took his eyes off the pancakes on his plate as he stuffed another bite into his mouth. 'Just... forgot they were there.'

The atmosphere dampened and they ate the rest of their breakfast in silence.

A short while later, Punk escorted Joe to the door. 'Thanks again for helping out,' he said, stuffing his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

'No problem, I just...' Joe gently shoved Punk out onto his front step and closed the door behind him with a quick glance upstairs to make sure nobody was within earshot. 'Punker,' he said, sternly and the cage-fighter knew there was a lecture coming, 'listen to me. Drew is a big guy. He's taller than both of us and he's clearly really strong.'

'I know what you're getting at,' Punk sighed, 'and I've been thinking it too.'

'Good,' Joe cut in with relief. 'Cause anybody who trafficked a guy like Drew here and kept him prisoner all these years has to be dangerous.'

'You don't have to worry about me,' Punk smiled weakly out the side of his mouth.

'You know you have a habit of getting yourself into stupid shit you're not cut out for.'

Punk bristled at that and folded his arms across his chest. 'What you saying here exactly?'

'This isn't your problem to solve. Drew was trafficked here illegally by criminals - you have to call the cops.'

'Why?' Punk argued, getting defensive. 'So they can just toss him in a holding centre somewhere. He's already been imprisoned against his will for years, I can't do that to him again.'

'You don't know that!' Joe protested. 'You're not a social worker-'

'No shit,' Punk snapped back, 'because I'm actually helping the guy.'

'You can't let what happened to you cloud your judgement here,' Joe tried to reason with the cage-fighter who was getting more irate and closed off by the second. 'I get that what Chez and her family did for you was incredibly kind and selfless but there's no expectation on you to pay that forward.'

'And what if I want to!' Punk opened his arms wide. 'What if I just wanna do the right thing here?'

'This isn't some fifteen year old kid we're talking about,' Joe kept his voice calm and composed, the way he always did when they argued. Punk hated when he did that! 'The guy looks to be in his mid to late thirties. He's not even from here, he has a whole life and family back home, maybe even a wife and kids.'

'He doesn't have to stay if he doesn't want to,' Punk debated, 'but until he's ready, gets back on his feet, who gives a shit?'

'And what if those guys come looking for him?'

Punk paused, pursing his lips. 'We'll be alright. I'll keep him safe.'

Joe scrubbed his hand across his brow, no doubt feeling a stress headache taking hold. 'It's not him, I'm worried about. I'm worried about you.'

'I told you already, you don't need to-'

'But I do! I can't help it. Every damn minute of every damn day I worry about you and it drives me fucking crazy! I can't keep doing this.'

'Then why did you answer my call at 5am this morning? Why did you even come here?'

Joe heaved a long, weary sigh. 'I don't know,' he admitted. 'I really want this to work out between us, this whole 'friendship' thing, I really do, but you've got to put in the effort too. You've gotta at least try to move on.'

'You're the one who left me!' Punk was raising his voice and he couldn't help it. All the pain and hurt from the past few months was spilling out of him like water gushing through a fractured dam. 'You don't get to tell me when I'm ready to move on. Anyway, how the hell am I meant to move on when I keep finding your shit all over my house!'

He clamped his mouth shut, realising his faux-pas too late. Joe stared back at him, furious agony marring his features.

'Exactly. Your house! Your career. Your hopes, your dreams. Your life. You, you, you! That's all it's ever been about. You're so fucking selfish!'

'Yeah, well why'd you stick around so long if I was such a shitty boyfriend and an even shittier fiancé?'

Joe shrugged his shoulders in defeat. 'Good question,' he said, bitterly as he turned away. 'Least you've matured enough to admit that at last.'

Punk could have called his name, could have told him to stay and they could talk things out properly but he knew it wouldn't work. The one talent that he had was making things worse. So he let Joe walk away. Again.

Stepping back inside, he forced all the pain down deep inside him again, pushing it into the dark recesses and sealing it tight.

Right now, he had more important things to worry about than whining about how his life was falling apart at the seams. He had a blue-eyed Scot called Drew who needed him.

Who needed him to be strong.

To be continued...

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