#the next thing i'd know it would be dark out and the dogs would be bugging me for dinner

[inexplicably-spookified]

homestuck jumpscare?!?

[rin-may-1103]

Just a Bite.

Master Post | Next

Danny stared out at the busy street from behind his dumpster.

or well, not his dumpster, but it might as well be his considering how many nights he's spent sitting behind it like some rabid raccoon.

Two months ago, he would have been sleeping in his own bed. His glow-in-the-dark stars vaguely lighting up his room in soft luminescent colors. The sound of Jazz snoring in her sleep just a room over, his parents still milling around in the basement.

he would have just finished fighting the box ghost and collapsed onto his bed, the sound of his home lulling him to sleep.

Oh, how things can change in a blink of an eye.

No, instead of sleeping on his bed with his cartoon ghost sheets and NASA poster covered room, he's out here in some random dirty city, sleeping behind dumpsters.

dirty, grimy, rusty dumpsters.

"did you hear?" some lady dressed in a light blue summer dress asked, turning to look at her friend as they started to walk past. "Mr. Wayne donated another lump sum to that charity." she huffed, shaking her head like she had just said the most ridiculous thing she'd ever heard.

her friend stopped in the middle of the alley opening, her graying hair splaying in an ark as she twisted to face the other women. "my word! again? what the hell is that man thinking?"

the woman huffed, then smirked in amusement. "it's like he's shouting for the world to hear how desperate he is for attention. he thinks if he donates enough money to those scoudrails they'll love him or something. With how he's acting lately, it's like he wants all the street rats to barge into his home asking for money, food, and clothes."

her friend clicked her tongue in disgust, "I'd believe it. he has so many kids now, it's like he's running an orphanage. someone, anyone really, with black hair and some tragic story could walk right in and not even be noticed. they'd blend right in with the others."

"I heard it's genetic, his father was the same way before he met Martha. Bruce's blood son, Damian I believe, acts just like his father. the boy's been spotted taking stray cats and dogs inside. It wouldn't surprise me if the paper posted about him convincing his father for another sibling at some point."

the women then turned and started to walk away, their conversation slowly bleeding into the surrounding city ruckus.

Danny leaned back, resting his head against the crumbling brick behind him.

walk right in and not be noticed? wouldn't that be grand. He had heard of Mr. wayne and his gaggle of black-haired children. What were their names again? he could have sworn Sam told him before, in one of her rants about rich society.

Richard Grayson was the first, Danny remembered because Tucker had been making none stop dick jokes for a few hours. Danny didn't understand why the man would willingly go by Dick, but then again, who was he to question someone's name when he fights ghosts like Skulker and Technis on a daily basis?

Next was... Jason? Sam had mentioned there was a whole conspiracy theory of how his death was a cover-up. how all the unsolved crime community swore it was Bruce who killed the kid, that or the kid had some terminal illness that Bruce didn't want the media to know about.

thennnnnn-

Danny glanced around, trying to dig through his memories of Sam's rant. Dick: the orphaned circus act taken in the night his parents died. he's romanie? maybe, Danny wasn't too sure on that one. Jason: taken off the streets, one of his parents was out of the picture and the other one died of a drug overdose.

and then there was..... Tim! Right, Tim, the one who was Mr. Wayne's neighbor before his mother died and his dad went into a coma, then died later on. right, right. he was the known tech genius, the one who took over the company while Mr. Wayne stepped back for a while.

there were others? like, four others? Damian, the lady said he was the blood son sooo, that would imply he was the only bio kid.

who else was there? hmmmm.

well, either way, Danny's tired brain agreed with the women. someone, anyone, who looked vaguely like the other kids could walk right into the house and no one would notice.

it was a bad idea. a terrible one really. but. Danny was hungry.

he's been sleeping behind dumpsters for a few weeks now, he hadn't had anything good to eat in forever, and he was tired. (not as exhausted as he was back home, but still tired. who would have guessed he'd sleep more while homeless?)

he wasn't going to steal from people, his core wouldn't allow him to. and well, he's pretty sure Dan would have stolen already, so there was no way Danny was going to. not unless his life was at risk, and well? it wasn't right now, so no stealing.

but this? walking right into a house and blatantly taking food? right in front of them?

it wouldn't be stealing if he just flat-out didn't try to hide it. they'd be able to stop him and send him away. heck, he doubted he'd even make it past the front gate before they turned him away.

...

was he really going to do this?

...

yes, yes he was.

standing up, Danny started making his way out of the alleyway and over to the tall building with Wayne's name on it. It was a good place to start, maybe he could even find one of the kids and walk with them. or, even better, he could find Mr. Wayne and walk with him. he liked that better than following some kid around.

suddenly, a car honked right next to him, the window rolling down to reveal a tired and disheveled man behind the wheel. glancing up, Danny made eye contact with the taxi driver.

the man yawned and gestured for him to get in, already speaking before Danny could decline. "Mr. Wayne! Your father," yawn, "Father already paid for me to take you home. just hop in."

Danny blinked then glanced around, looking to see if the Wayne the man was talking about was around. nope. turning back, Danny spotted a green sticky note on the back seat.

well, alright then. guess he was getting into the taxi and doing this after all. Clockwork obviously approved if he messed with the timing of things.

Next

[weaselle]

RECOVERY

I spent a lot of my life depressed without admitting it to myself and then i spent a year so depressed i could hardly make myself do the bare minimum to keep my body alive, and now it's about 3 years since i got up from that lowest point and while i am still struggling with myself things are objectively a lot better.

and i just want to put a couple things i've learned, both to remind myself of how far i've come, and in case any of what i've experienced helps anyone else.

You can't run from the darkness

When you're super depressed it's easy to focus on how much you don't want to be depressed. When everything is darkness you tend to wish you could escape that darkness.

but you can't. The darkness is all around you. You can't run away from it without running deeper into it.

instead, follow the light.

don't think of it as escaping depression, think of it as seeking joy. Don't run away from the darkness, walk toward any lights you can see.

At first it will be very small things. The taste of a food. The way your favorite color looks. A smell you like. For me one of the first things i could find to remind me of joy was the way a warm shower feels.

I would just stand in the shower and lean into the tiny, tiny joy of that feeling. I would describe it to myself, how it felt good, what about it felt good. It didn't cure me, it didn't make me less depressed, but it was a little point of joy to focus on, to breathe into like a tiny candle flame in my darkness.

I would memorize that feeling, so that later, when i felt like nothing ever brought me joy anymore, i could think, no, that's your depression lying to you, you felt joy, however small, right there in the shower just yesterday. And, maybe there is more somewhere else.

Even today, it's been a hard week, i'm feeling a lot of hopeless and helpless feelings clamoring away at me, but... i have spicy soup. And spicy soup is a NEW joy. I found spicy soup joy as i was following any little light i could out of the deepest part of my depression.

I never put hot sauce in soup before then. But today i am drinking the broth of a very spicy soup and as much as everything else is complicated and difficult and scary and dark, there is a bright mote of joy in this sip of spicy soup. And in the next one. And the next. I enjoy it, i love it, all the more that it is new, and if i had given up four years ago, i never would have known this small joy, this new favorite tiny thing.

Who knows what other little joys i may find?

If you have come to a place in life where you have lost the knowledge of how to feel joy, it is important to remember that feeling joy is like anything else in life. The more you practice, the better you get, the more of it you can do at higher levels.

And there are only so many minutes in the day. The more of them you spend acknowledging what feels good, the less of them will be left for feeling bad.

you can't escape the darkness by fleeing from it, but you can find the light by moving toward it.

Chop Wood Fetch Water

Another thing i learned was a truth about the exercise advice you always hear.

For where i am in my recovery now, common exercise has very little impact. I don't really get the endorphins people talk about, and i don't tend to feel better about myself after i work out unless i already feel pretty okay about myself to begin with. i don't mean to say there is no point in me exercising, but, i walk about ten miles a day holding onto 8 energetic dogs and i do a fair amount of lifting and bending and stuff for my job, and it's fine but it's not, like, doing a whole lot for me at this point in my recovery (tho i do think more recreational exercise will come back into play a stage or two on in my healing process)

HOWEVER

There was a year there where i was only getting out of bed to go to the bathroom. When i was only able to force myself to eat just enough each day to stay alive because i'd made a promise to myself, and that promise was almost all i had left.

and the right kind of exercise is what pulled me out of that.

the RIGHT kind.

See, someone close to me needed help with a physical job. That was an important part and why this method is known historically as some variation of Chop Wood Carry Water -- it's intensely physical, which is important, but also, it helps the people around you. These days our personal communities tend to not need wood copped and water carried the same way. But you can get the same effect helping someone move all their furniture, doing all the yard work for your friends and/or family, volunteering for a charity that builds housing for homeless people, SOMEthing physically taxing that helps people.

In my case, my aging father needed help re-shingling the roof. So i promised i'd help.

So i got up every morning because he was expecting me. And i climbed the ladder because he would see me if i didn't. And i lifted and carried and hammered and worked hard. It took a week of six to eight hour days.

Right away, the fact that it was helping someone else made it not matter so much that it didn't feel like it was helping me at first. I couldn't deny that i was doing something good, that my existence had positive meaning, however small.

But very soon, it changed something fundamental in my state of depression. You can't do physical labor in the sun 7 hours a day without drinking a bunch of water. Without working up an appetite. Without getting very tired at the end of the day.

See, i had been struggling to make myself drink enough water, i was fighting to make myself eat even one small meal's worth of food each day, and i couldn't get a good night's sleep to save my life. And these things all made my depression much much worse. You think you get sad or angry from skipping a meal, consider being chronically undernourished. You think your mental state is worse after pulling an all nighter, think about what never getting a good night's sleep does.

But a couple days into this job with my father, and suddenly i was hydrated, i was eating full meals, and i was sleeping soundly at night.

THAT is what pulled me out of that deepest part of my depression.

So in a way, it was exercise that saved me. But not how people often say "have you tried exercising?" More like pushing myself physically to the point that my body demanded the things that previously i couldn't get it to want for itself.

Instead of forcing myself to eat i was craving food. Instead of staying up to all hours and then tossing and turning, i was physically exhausted and slept early and hard. (and, weirdly, being physically exhausted was somehow a relief from being emotionally/mentally exhausted)

Lastly

Healing often isn't noticeable while you're doing it

"healing is a process" is something you hear a lot, but i think it's more helpful to say something like

"Healing is like growing your hair out from short to long. You can look in the mirror every day and not notice it happening. And even when you can tell for sure it's longer than it was, you still can't really do anything with it, and it may seem pointless. But then one day you can tie it back in a ponytail and you realize how much it's grown and how many options are open to you now and you're really glad you stuck with it"

Now excuse me while i go meditate on the joys of my remaining spicy soup.

[mallowmaenad]

6'3" Underweight Trans Girl With Eyebags whose wearing an Oversized Black Sweater: I recently remembered all of my past lives. Most of it was spent as various plant life and fungi in the same twenty foot radius in a forest by a rural interstate route until a robin ate the seed containing my soul and flew to another forest where I reincarnated as her child. I would then die a tragic death at a young age to a local fox where I'd live a long life as her kit and eventually die of old age, I then spent several generations as various plant life and fungi in that forest which was eventually destroyed by industry.

I was a tree during that time and my plant fibers were processed to manufacture paper used to make a sticker placed on an orange whose peel was placed in a compost bin, eventually leading me to the dark yet decadent life of a worm until I then eventually expired and awoke as a tomato plant in the care of a kindly older woman, it is that life whose memories I treasure the most.

She was a very skilled and warm woman, and many of my cycles afterwards were spent as my own kin in generations of tomato plants in a blink of an eye. One day she took me into her car in a pot, I remember how she spoke to me. At the time she had named me Reynolds, she had set into a trend of naming me after Hollywood actors she found attractive. It was the day before her daughter's birthday and I was to be her gift, I could not feel bittersweet about this a the time, because I was a tomato plant.

She buckled me into the back seat of a car as if I was a child of her own and drove down a rural interstate route, illuminating the black sea of the night sky with her headlights as the shadows seemed to drown out anything but us. A deer with bone wasting disease stood in the road like a grim reaper, white eyes shining as her aching foot tried to react in time on the break peddle.

The two embraced in a bloody collision, I remember the deer in its last moments weakly nibbling at her flesh as they both bled out in an agony they were ignorant to, I wilted and died in that car along with her and that deer, I do not know what the journey of my soul was like, but my next life was as a patch of semi-feral grass on the side of a similar road caught in the mouth of a possum eating a partially full discarded box of Wendy's fries who was then promptly turned into road kill, when the day was new a burly Appalachian man whose stern demeanor hid a soft heart would legally and cleanly collect the cadaver and break it down, using the remains for a meal some yuppies would find ghastly. This man was my father- or rather my father in this cycle of life.

I know in my heart of hearts that you were that old woman who nurtured me so many times as her beloved tomato plants, you had the rare privilege to live your life as an incinerator at a crematorium, but the march of technology and nut after bolt you grew broken, a death by a thousand cuts, a death by a thousand bodies. Your massive metal cadaver was melted down over time, the raw materials eventually finding itself to a factory that manufactured bullets, a life of darkness in a cardboard prison only to be shunted into a pistol's magazine... your entire existence is interesting, stretching the meaning of what it means to be eaten and to live. The meek 24 year old boy thought nobody would mourn him when he was gone, you lived as an amorphous patch of greenery ahead of his grave stone.

A curious thing would happen during a visit to this boy's grave, his childhood dog either in embarrassing coincidence or a moment of sentience began to dig at where the body was, being wrenched back as it began to desperately sink his teeth into the soil, ripping you asunder. Almost as divine penance, you lived your next life as a member of this dog's litter, you'd be named after the boy, despite being a girl. Maybe the dog was given some precognition and wanted to eat the boy and take his soul into its mouth to get her the life she always wanted. You were unfortunately born with a chronic condition that led you to a young death, the girl's mother crying just as hard after the vet put you down. You were buried lovingly in her back yard where you became a tomato plant, your same mother not being as much of a green thumb as mine but she devoured your fruits all the same, eventually giving birth to another meek boy after growing pregnant during the time when your last tomato was picked off your wilted stem. I have pursued you since that day with my whole body and spirit, one part unintentional one part in this moment of enlightenment. I love you, and I will love you for the rest of forever.

Trans girl who dropped out of high school to make Hello Kitty breakcore who has her girlfriend's dick in her mouth and is high as fuck right now: Waash dat?

Their shared girlfriend sitting across from them playing Wario Land Shake It on her modded Wii U: Was I the deer with bone wasting disease?

6'3" Underweight Trans Girl: ... Yeah...

[theminecraftbee]

Joel turns around. Martyn is standing there. His eyes are a burning red that gives Joel the heebie-jeebies. If anyone would know to be scared, it's Joel! He would! He'd recognize a mad dog if he saw one anywhere!

Anyway, all of that is to say that his high-pitched scream had been totally justified. "Oh my word Martyn what are you doing here?" he says, clutching his hand over his heart, several feet further back than he'd been thirty seconds ago.

Martyn snorts. "Is the sign not for me? Figured there was no one else it could be for."

"The what?"

"The sign."

Joel turns around. Outside his base, the other Mounders have hung a helpful banner: "SORRY EVERYONE YOU LOVE IS DEAD <3".

He'd told them it was kind of rude, hanging that up. Sort of made light of the whole thing, really. His wife and Mumbo and Jimmy had died, guys, don't be idiots about it. Bdubs had loudly told him that he was TRYING to be helpful, Joel, geez, why don't you appreciate his efforts? Pearl had shrugged and said they don't exactly make cards for this kind of thing. Joel's pretty sure they do, actually but...

Sorry everyone you love is dead. Hah.

"My wife is dead, Martyn," Joel says.

"Who, Lizzie or Jimmy?" Martyn says, weirdly dark. "Anyway, my husband's dead, so--"

"Your what?"

"Mumbo and I got married one time. Everyone forgets that for some reason."

Joel has to think about it a while. "Huh."

"Yeah. Anyway, you've still got the other Mounders, huh? Don't know what you're crying about. Thought the sign had to be for me. Thought I'd show up. Get cake. Kill some people. You know how it is."

"If there's a TNT minecart in my base, the first thing I do after I turn red is kill you," Joel says.

"That's not really how it works this time," Martyn says.

"Yeah, well, screw you," Joel says. "Also, they didn't make me any cake. I should ask them for that next. Hah. A cake."

"You know, maybe don't ask for that? Parties tend to go wrong in this game."

"And who's fault is that, huh?"

"Hey, don't look at me! Or, do. Since I'm going to kill everyone, on account of everyone I love being dead and all. Really convenient excuse for murder, that. I should use it more often, if it didn't involve the crippling grief," Martyn says.

"Oh, please. At least you tend to have people to love in the first place," Joel snaps.

"Oh, right, that is your curse, isn't it?" Martyn says. "Sorta broke it last time, but you do tend to get isolated and a bit crazy. Hey, I wonder if we're the ones who traded, actually what with the whole wolf thing."

Joel blinks. "What?"

"Oh, we're all cursed," Martyn says. "After all, They like it better that way. Hey, do you think Jimmy's curse transferred to Lizzie, got cancelled out by the fact Lizzie tends to die stupidly, or got broken? Personally, I'm thinking random fluke, when it comes to canary nonsense."

Joel stares at Martyn. His throat is dry. "What?"

Martyn stares back. "Hey, I'm the mad dog this time," Martyn says. "You probably shouldn't be the one growling."

"Well then, you should stop saying stupid shit," Joel says.

"Stupid? Please. It's obvious everyone is cursed. Nothing to be done about it but to play into the--"

"NO ONE IS BLUMIN' CURSED," Joel shouts, his vision suddenly red and blurry in a way it shouldn't be when he's still on yellow. "NO ONE IS BLUMIN' CURSED. THERE'S NO SUCH THING! YOU'RE JUST, JUST MAKIN' UP REASONS IT ISN'T ALL A TRAGEDY THAT EVERYONE I LOVE IS FUCKING DEAD, MAKING UP REASONS THAT IT--NO ONE IS CURSED! IT JUST HAPPENS! IT JUST HAPPENS! IT JUST FUCKING HAPPENS! AND WOULDN'T IT BE BLUMIN' NICE IF THERE WERE A HIGHER POWER BUT THERE ISN'T SO SHUT THE FUCK UP ABOUT CURSES!"

He's panting. Martyn is staring at him. He stares back, a snarl on his teeth, the echoes of wolves and of grief, grief, grief, grief playing at the back of his throat.

"Joel?" Martyn says, hesitant.

"My wife is fucking dead. My best friend is fucking dead. One of my new possible best friends is fucking dead. Sorry about your husband, I guess? Get out."

"Bold thing to say to the guy who can kill--"

"I SAID GET OUT!"

Martyn stares at Joel a moment longer, and Joel finds he's not scared of the madness in his eyes at all.

Martyn leaves.

Joel realizes he's crying. The tears turn into giant, ugly sobs. Sorry everyone you love is dead. Sorry everyone you love is dead. Sorry everyone you love is dead.

"I blumin' hate caring about people," he says to no one at all through choked breaths, and he kicks a rock at the banner for good measure. It pokes a little hole through it and bounces off the dick-shaped tower behind it.

"Someone really should have made both of us a blumin' cake, they should," he says next, and he sits down until Pearl runs over, having heard the shouting. His face is red and his vision is still swimming. She stares at him, gathers him in her arms, and cries with him, and for the life of him, he doesn't know if that's any better.

[songbirdseung]

puppy nanny / park sunghoon ☆

synopsis: with his busy life, he hired a dogsitter for his baby gaeul.

pairing: idol!sunghoon × dogsitter!yn

His days blur into a whirlwind of rehearsals, interviews, and performances, leaving little room for the simple joys of companionship. Yet, nestled within the chaos of his existence and career is a precious soul that demands his attention—a spul wrapped in white fur and filled with boundless love. Gaeul, his beloved pet.

Sunghoon knelt beside Gaeul, her soft fur warm against his fingertips as he gazed into her trusting eyes. The exhaustion of another long day lingered in the lines of his face. "I'm sorry," he murmured, " I know, I haven't been there for you as much as I should. It's just that things have been so hectic lately... and I've been pulled in so many directions."

My little baby titled her head as if understanding the weight of his words, her eyes filled with a silent understanding that tugged at his heart. "But I promise, things will be different from now on." Sunghoon continued, his voice tinged with determination. "You deserve to have someone here with you. Someone who can give you the attention and love you need. I'm going to find you a nanny. Someone who will care for you just like I do."

—

Sunghoon sat alone in the dimly lit studio, the hum of silence punctuated only by the soft click of his phone unlocking. With a heavy sigh, he opened his contacts list, fingers hovering over the screen as he contemplated his next move.

"Hey, Sunghoon," Jungwon's voice broke through the quiet, his presence a welcome interruption to the solitude that threatened to consume him. "What are you up to?"

Sunghoon glanced up, a weary smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he motioned for Jungwon to join him. "Just trying to find someone to take care of Gaeul while I'm away," he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation.

Jungwon nodded in understanding, settling into the seat beside him with an easy familiarity. "Actually, I might have someone in mind," he said, his tone casual yet tinged with excitement. "A friend of mine, Y/N. She's incredible with dogs—trust me, she has taken care of maeumi before."

Sunghoon's interest piqued at the mention of Y/N's name, his curiosity sparked by Jungwon's endorsement. "Really? Tell me more about her," he urged, his gaze fixed on his friend as he awaited further explanation.

Jungwon grinned, reaching for his own phone as he pulled up Y/N's profile with practiced ease. "Here, take a look," he said, passing the device to Sunghoon as he eagerly awaited his reaction.

Sunghoon's eyes scanned the screen, his interest piqued by the image of Y/N smiling brightly amidst a backdrop of lush greenery. As he read through her profile, a sense of warmth spread through his chest, a flicker of hope igniting within him at the prospect of finding the perfect caregiver for Gaeul.

—

Sunghoon stared at his phone, the soft glow of the screen casting shadows across his face as he hesitated, fingers hovering over the keys.

Sunghoon: Hi, this is Sunghoon. I got your contact from Jungwon. He mentioned that you might be able to help me with something important.

For what felt like an eternity, the silence of the room enveloped him, the seconds ticking by with agonizing slowness. And then, just as doubt began to creep in, his phone lit up with a new message, a beacon of hope amidst the darkness.

Y/N: Hi Sunghoon! Nice to meet you. Jungwon told me about Gaeul and how you're looking for someone to take care of her. I'd be happy to help!

Sunghoon's lips curved into a relieved smile at Y/N's response, a sense of gratitude flooding through him at her willingness to lend a hand. With renewed determination, he typed out his reply, his fingers dancing across the screen with newfound purpose.

Sunghoon: Thank you so much, Y/N. Would you be available to meet and discuss the details sometime soon?

As he hit send, Sunghoon felt a flutter of anticipation in his chest, his thoughts consumed by the possibility of finally finding the perfect caregiver for his beloved companion. And as he awaited Y/N's response, he couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty that had plagued him for so long.

Y/N: Absolutely! I'd love to meet Gaeul and discuss how I can help. When would be a good time for you?

—

The air hummed with anticipation as Sunghoon stood outside the quaint café, his pulse quickening with each passing moment. He glanced at his watch, the hands ticking closer to the appointed time, his heart racing with a mixture of nervousness and excitement.

And then, as if on cue, he spotted her—a figure approaching from the bustling streets, her presence a beacon of warmth amidst the chaos of the city. Y/N's smile lit up her face as she caught sight of him, her steps quickening with each stride as she closed the distance between them.

"Sunghoon?" she called out, her voice a melodic cadence that sent a shiver of anticipation down his spine.

"Y/N," he breathed, his own smile widening as he stepped forward to greet her, the weight of the world lifting from his shoulders at the sight of her.

Their meeting was a blur of introductions and laughter, the hours slipping away in a haze of easy conversation and shared moments. And as they lingered outside the café, the promise of friendship hanging in the air, Sunghoon couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude wash over him—a feeling that perhaps, amidst the chaos of his busy life, he had found a kindred spirit in Y/N.

But it was when they finally made their way back to Sunghoon's apartment that the true magic began to unfold. As they stepped through the door, Gaeul's excited barks filled the air, her tail wagging furiously as she bounded towards them with unbridled enthusiasm.

Sunghoon's heart swelled with pride as he watched Gaeul greet Y/N with a fervor he had never seen before, her eyes alight with joy as she nuzzled against Y/N's hand with unabashed affection. It was a sight that filled him with wonder—a testament to the special connection that had formed between them in such a short time.

"I can't believe it," Sunghoon murmured, his voice tinged with awe as he watched the scene unfold before him. "She's never warmed up to anyone this quickly before."

Y/N grinned, her eyes sparkling with delight as she reached out to stroke Gaeul's fur, her touch gentle yet filled with an undeniable sense of warmth. "She's a special one, that's for sure," she said, her voice soft with affection. "But I think she knows that she's found a friend in me."

— A month later —

As Sunghoon stepped through the door of his apartment, the familiar scent of home enveloped him in a warm embrace. It had been a long month filled with grueling schedules and endless performances, but as he crossed the threshold into the sanctuary of his own space, a sense of peace settled over him like a comforting blanket.

Yet, it was the sight that greeted him in the living room that truly took his breath away—a scene so tender and intimate that Sunghoon felt as if he were intruding upon something sacred.

There, bathed in the soft glow of the evening light, Y/N sat on the floor with Gaeul nestled in her lap, her fingers gently combing through the dog's fur as she whispered soothing words of comfort. Gaeul's eyes were closed in bliss, her tail wagging lazily against the carpet as she basked in the warmth of Y/N's affection.

Sunghoon's heart swelled with emotion as he watched the scene unfold before him, a rush of tenderness flooding through him at the sight of Y/N's gentle care for Gaeul. In that moment, something shifted within him—a realization so profound that it took his breath away.

For the first time, Sunghoon saw Y/N not just as Gaeul's nanny, but as a kindred spirit—a soul whose compassion and warmth resonated with his own. And as he stood there, silently observing the sweet moment between Y/N and Gaeul, he couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude wash over him—a feeling that perhaps, amidst the chaos of his busy life, he had found something truly precious in the form of Y/N's presence.

"Sunghoon," Y/N's voice broke through the quiet of the room, her eyes meeting his with a warmth that mirrored his own. "I didn't hear you come in. How was your day?"

"It's just... sometimes it feels like I'm drowning," Sunghoon admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of desperation. "Like no matter how hard I try, I can never seem to catch my breath. And I'm scared, Y/N. Scared that if I keep going like this, I'll lose myself completely."

Y/N listened intently, her heart aching for the pain she saw etched in Sunghoon's eyes. She reached out to gently cup his face in her hands, her touch a gesture of comfort and understanding that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

"You're not alone, Sunghoon," she whispered, her voice filled with an unwavering resolve. "I'm here for you, every step of the way."

—

Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are HIGHLY appreciated!! ☆

[credince--writes]

Hands (1)

God, you dream of those hands.

Original Prompt:

Size Kink & Breeding Kink with Konig.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - AO3

Konig x Fem! Reader

(A/N): I accidentally fuckin deleted the original post while trying to add links to the other 2 chapters, so reposting LMAO. I'M SO SAD BC IT WAS ONE OF MY BEST PREFORMING POSTS.

Honestly? It started in a very innocent way.

"I'm taking off your gloves."

He sat in front of you, tapping his foot on the cold tile. Currently under the attention of you from the intended use of his hands in combat.

Which is why you were inspecting for broken knuckles.

Most of his gear had been taken off, set aside along with the hood that donned his head on missions. Now, you were pulling the gloved that clung to the asking of his hands off. Inspecting the pale skin beneath them.

"You know, I'm starting to think you do dumb shit like this on purpose." You glance up at him.

"I'd never." He replied.

"Because I'm lookin' at these hands, and I'm seeing a whole lot of unnecessary bruising."

"It was necessary."

You quirked a brow.

"You just, happen to lose your gun there soldier?" You pulled back, leaning back against your seat and shooting him an amused glance.

"Sometimes, things are better done by hand."

"mmhm." You mumbled.

Eyes trailed up his hands, finding stray scars and following the veins leading up to his forearms.

Man,

those were some big hands.

"Is everything alright, doctor?" He asks, amusement twirling around in his eyes, sparking out in his voice.

Maybe he was catching on to your oogling.

"Just making sure nothing broken. Can't imagine it would be fun to work with broken fingers."

"Nein."

"This hurt?" You ask.

"Nein."

"Then you're fine. I'll give you some meds and send you off on your way."

"Danke!" He shot up, clamping a hand down on your shoulder, man near enveloping your entire left side.

You started to imagine what it would be like if that big hand wrapped around your neck.

"Be careful, please."

"Of course." He shot a sideways, toothy grin. The side that his nose crooked over to and the side with the one crooked canine that made him look like a dog ready to chase a bone.

He turned, starting to walk away.

"You know, König." You stated. He stopped a turned around. "If you want to visit me, you don't need to have an injury."

His eyebrows raised, and you could swear there was a blush that tinted his cheeks. "I'll consider that for next time."

Before turning and leaving.

And he did visit you.

One visit turned into two.

Then four.

Then he just popped in so often while he was not on a mission he became part of your routine.

Have a cup of coffee with König in the morning, maybe even join him for dinner and enjoy it in the sanctity of your quiet and private office.

Just so happened that the longer you spent with him the more your thoughts were clouded.

His hands,

his thighs,

fuck, you can't even imagine how big his cock would be.

You'd like to think you were better than this.

Pressed up in your shower thinking about the huge man, wondering what his bare chest would feel like curling up over your back.

You closed your eyes, trying to picture just how good it would feel.

It would be right after he comes back from a mission, the dark look in his eyes still clouding his consciousness as he's still in the mindset of a soldier, a killer.

His steps would be heavier- you'd hear him walk into the bathroom, the rustling of clothing as he strips the cloth covering his flesh discarded down to the ground without a second thought.

He'd slip into the shower, with your head placed under the stream of hot water. Almost comically so, his head would be unable to reach the stream of water without immensely bending at the knees.

You'd hum, leaning back into him as he'd reach his arm around your waist, pulling your wet body closer to his. Head dropping down for his mouth to latch onto the nape of your neck, biting and sucking on the sensitive skin.

Gasping throwing your head back farther and allowing it to bump against his shoulder, letting out a light whine that he'd love to harvest from your throat.

One hand would drift down, widening his palm as it flattened and slid down your tummy, nearly covering the expanse of your abdomen before it dipped down, lower.

His other hand would grab your chin, pulling your head back to meet into a feverish kiss. Pressing your back up against the cold wall of the shower, holding it up against it.

On a normal occasion, you'd be terrified to slip, but you just know with his arm slinked around over you waist toying dangerously close to your cunt that there was no chance of slipping.

No chance of him letting you go.

A digit would brush up through your folds collecting the slippery production of your arousal, dragging his finger ever so carefully up until it traced around your clit. Circling it, dangerously so.

Applying pressure as the rough pad of his finger pushed against your clit, mouth devouring any noises you let out.

It hurt, in a way.

One that was so delicious you only wanted more.

His large finger pressing down on your clit felt heavenly, the feeling of his tongue pushing against yours as you swapped spit in the most degenerating fashion.

Your hips unconsciously pushed forward against his hand, bucking as he pressed you firmly against the wall.

He'd tsk, giving you a light scolding before removing his mouth from yours completely, allowing a thin strand of spit to cast its way from him lips to yours.

God.

You could just die.

He'd snicker, that snicker that made his lip quirk upward revealing his crooked tooth. All before he'd lean in and ask,

"What do you want me to do, Schatz?"

"Fuckkkk." You'd whine, letting your head bump against the shower wall. "Please." You'd whisper out.

"Hm?" He'd ask, still toying his finger around your clit.

"Finger me- fuck, please. Please finger me."

His finger would leave your clit, diving back down and just barely poking into your entrance.

The digit was long and thick- it felt like nearly two of your own being stuffed inside you. Even more so as the single digit could curl up in such a delectable manner pressing up against the spongey roof of your core.

You'd breathe harshly, ducking your head up against his neck and arm gripping at the expanse of his back and nails digging into the pale and freckled flesh.

He'd add a second digit, and you felt like you were on cloud nine.

No,

You felt like you were on cloud nine as he removed his free hand from you, bringing it down and rubbing on your clit as his other hand pumped mechanically in and out of you, curling his fingers forward and circling the pad of his finger against your clit.

It would feel like your legs would give out first, but he'd keep you upright as you came, his mouth would latch onto yours. Shoving his tongue into your mouth claiming you in the best way possible.

Body draped over yours, his large hands pleasing you to the point of competition-

Blinking, you realized there was no man draped behind you.

The water in the shower had run cold a long time ago, but the pleasant buzz in your head from your shameful masturbation numbed any embarrassment for a few moments.

You sighed, turning off the water and glancing down at your fingers.

For now? Thinking of his large hands would have to do.

[therhythmafterthesummer]

Hi. Long time reader. Big fan! Hi!

I have a question. Would you ever consider doing a "7 days" drabble or something? I've always wondered how Mr and almost not quite Mrs Pack Leader both handled the 7 days from when Pretty found out about the awoo awoo, to when she returned home with more knowledge and acceptance?

Can I have your autograph? Big fan! Much respect! Wow!

you sent this ask on may 2023. it's been over a year. OVER A YEAR... i told you i'd consider it and i did ☝☝☝

it's probably not exactly the same as what you'd imagined and it's also been the first thing i wrote in a long while, but i hope it's entertaining and that you like it and that it doesn't suck~

Pairing: Werewolf!Chan x Human!F.Reader (one of the main pairings of my WereRoomies series. reading Alpha Dog before this one is highly recommended as it’s something that happens within that story). | Word Count: ~1.8k | Themes & Warnings: fantasy/supernatural AU · roomies idiots to ??? · there's like a smidge of angst but probably not enough for it to be taken into consideration · pre-relationship situations · this was barely proof-read oops

minors do not interact.

‘I’m a werewolf… We’re all werewolves’

‘We’re all werewolves…’

‘We’re all werewolves…’

Werewolves.

Everything you thought you knew about the world around you was completely obliterated a week ago. It wasn’t every day that one learnt that supernatural creatures lived among humans, so it was–quite understandably, in your opinion–an absolute shock when your roommate revealed to you that he and the rest of his friends were, in fact, werewolves.

Werewolves. As in, a half man, half wolf creature… You’d been unknowingly living among werewolves for four whole months and you’d convinced yourself that they wouldn’t have told you if you hadn’t literally seen one of them shift from his wolf form into his human one with your own two eyes.

You’d been trying to process this knowledge for a whole week. The first couple of days, you told yourself you had just imagined the whole thing, up to the conversation you had with your roommate right after the fact…

But then, the text messages started coming in.

> Yang Jeongin (neighbour): im sorry > i know i probably spooked you when i shifted > i couldnt control it honestly > i was too shocked > i shouldve done better > sorry

> Lee Minho (neighbour): hiya > just wanted to check in on you… > hope you’re well

> Bang Chris (roomie): hey… how’re you

You weren’t imagining those. They were very real. They stared at you from within your phone’s screen whenever you opened your messaging app, reminding you that the whole thing had actually happened.

When you started digesting the situation and accepted it had happened, you felt angry. 

They lied to you. Every single one of them had lied to you. They lied by omission, at least… It wasn’t like they ever said they were human, but you’d never really considered the fact that people needed to specify something like that.

You’d found yourself laying on your childhood bed, fuming at the thought of these people possibly laughing at your expense, maybe toying with you like you were somehow less than them. Like you were prey.

But after the initial fire of anger subsided, you just grew… confused.

Going online to research something could either go really well or really bad. The higher the number of the page in your search engine became, the more you started to wonder if these dark corners of the internet held any truth about the topic at all.

A website with ten year old graphics drawn in 8-bits exposed how werewolves lived among humans. It went in detail on their super-strength, their enhanced senses, and their innate desire to live in communes. All of which just sounded like someone was detailing lore for their next fantasy story.

There was no way for you to fact-check any of the articles and forums you found, no way of knowing what was real and what was simply made up by someone’s hyperactive imagination.

So it was towards day four of being away from your usual residence that you remembered a key detail. 

There was a person that was close with your neighbours, the childhood friend of one of them who you could now vividly recall telling you how ‘Being human kinda sucks sometimes. We can’t do shit’.

At the time, you thought she was just hyperbolising. There was no way you would’ve thought she was actually confirming to you that she was human and that she somehow knew of beings with greater abilities than her own. There was no way she didn’t know.

So you went to your recent chats and clicked on the one with the phone number that was still saved with the same name it had when your neighbour Minho had shared it with you. You really needed to update it, but that was seemingly insignificant at this time. With trembling fingers, you sent a message.

< You: you knew didn’t you?

It didn’t take long for the reply to come, signalled by the gentle vibration of your phone, bringing with it a knot that made its home in your throat.

> kittenkittykat🐱: Hi, how are you? I’m fine, thanks for asking LOL. > I’m gonna need you to elaborate on that, babes.

< You: about the guys and their… condition

You saw the ‘typing…’ message appear and disappear for a long minute, until the person on the other side finally replied.

> kittenkittykat🐱: What condition?

It annoyed you, you’d admit. She was acting aloof, there was no way she wasn’t. So you ignored the heavy feeling in your chest and decided to get to the point.

< You: the… furry one < c’mon, don’t act like you don’t know < there’s no way minho didn’t tell you about what happened the other day < hell, there’s no way you don’t know what the boys are < you’ve known minho for years

> kittenkittykat🐱: He did tell me. > I just wanted you to tell me you knew yourself. > And yes. I’ve always known. > I’ve known Minho since before he contracted lycanthropy.

< You: contracted? < are you saying he wasn’t always like this?

> kittenkittykat🐱: …Yes > You’re either born a werewolf or turned into one. > To be honest, I don’t think I’m comfortable disclosing Minho’s past in much detail without asking him first. > In any case, please don’t be mad at them. > Or me, for that matter… > It’s not just something you go around telling people that have no connection with the supernatural, you know?

You knew she was right. Deep within you, you knew. You kinda… understood. 

Before you could reply to that last message, she sent more.

> kittenkittykat🐱: Know that any questions you’ve got, you can ask me. > After so many years I think I might know a thing or two about the furry men… > And women. And, uh… people. > Furry people. Yes. > Anyway, I know of some resources online, too…

And resources online she shared…

Some of the dodgy websites you’d found hadn’t been too far off. Apparently werewolves did live in communes, more accurately referred to as packs, which aligned perfectly with the whole living situation your roommate and your neighbours had. When you moved in with Chris, you were surprised to see how close he was with his friends, you brushed it off as their apparent lack of toxic masculinity, but now you knew.

Now you knew…

But did you, really?

You figured the only way to get proper answers was to actually speak to them–to him, more specifically. After all, you lived with Chris. In the same flat. You were missing it terribly, your flat… and maybe you were even missing Chris.

But you weren’t ready to face him.

What would you tell him? How could you even approach the situation? 

Especially considering… Well, the very inconvenient crush you’d developed on your roommate… Your roommate that you now knew was a werewolf.

You hadn’t really entertained the thought of doing anything about said crush… You were convinced that it’d probably just complicate things, but all it took was a charming smile and the sight of dimples to make you want to risk it all.

It was a reaction that you now questioned.

He wasn’t human. On the off chance that you did risk it all, would you even want to be with someone like him? Or, more importantly, could his supernatural condition be somehow influencing you into believing you liked him? Was he literally charming you?

You figured you needed to know…

One of the forums your neighbour’s friend shared with you had this whole section dedicated to romancing a werewolf, explaining how their designation affected the whole process most of the time. This led you to another section where you learnt about those designations, about what an alpha, a beta, and an omega were. 

Alphas were usually the leaders of a pack, according to this site. Very protective, territorial, particularly stubborn… It definitely sounded like Chris to you. His friends looked up to him, and it took only one word said in a serious tone for them to do anything he asked them to do. 

This knowledge led you to many threads. ‘How to deal with a violent alpha?’ ‘Our alpha is forcing us to do things for her, how can we stop her?’ ‘Tips to take an alpha [in a fight] pt3’ ‘Tips to take an alpha [in every hole possible] pt5’

Some conversations were a bit too explicit for you to comfortably read them. Not because you were a prude, by any means, but because anything too explicit would make you think about your roommate a bit too much… You weren’t in the most appropriate mood to think about ‘An alpha’s preference in bed’ or ‘How to stretch for an alpha’s knot’ –whatever that was.

You were more in the mood to dig into all these threads related to violent, overly possessive and controlling alphas. You felt like you needed to know about this supposed inherent nature of your roommate’s.

These people didn’t particularly sound like Chris. Yeah, he wasn’t perfect, and anyone could tell he wanted to be the one in charge at all times, but he’d never given you the feeling that he was forcing anyone around him to do anything at all. 

Admittedly, you might’ve gotten a bit too invested in the topic. It started to worry you when all you could read was these horrible experiences people had with alphas–both in platonic and romantic settings. But eventually, you started seeing the opposite side. 

‘Our pack’s alpha is honestly great. They always make sure we’re okay with any decisions taken…’ ‘As an alpha, I can tell you that any alpha that tries to force you into anything is just toxic and abusive. We aren’t all like that…’ ‘I feel very cared for when I’m with my alpha…’ 

Those testimonials gave you a bit more hope. They reminded you that in this short time you’d spent living with Chris, he’d done nothing but made you feel comfortable. He was that type of person, it didn’t matter if he was a werewolf.

Crush aside, you liked Chris. He was a guy you felt you could trust; yes, he’d lied by omission, but if you thought about it with a clear mind, it was pretty obvious that he wouldn’t just outright tell you he wasn’t entirely human. He seemed genuine, but you needed to hear his side of the story with your own two ears, without the panic of suddenly seeing your younger neighbour’s body twist and turn in ways you never knew were possible.

So with that in mind, on day seven of you being away from the place you considered your home, and after reading many articles and comments from people online, you left the comfort of your childhood bed, gathered your belongings, and left your mother’s house.

You were determined to get answers. You needed the truth, directly from the wolf’s mouth. If knowing Chris was a werewolf meant he’d kick you out, then you wanted him to tell you. If knowing he was a werewolf meant you’d be able to perceive malice in Chris, you wanted to see it.

In all honesty, if Chris was as genuine as he seemed and if he wanted you around, you genuinely wanted to stay, lycanthropy and all.

© therhythmafterthesummer 2024. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my stories.

General Masterlist | WereRoomies Masterlist

[brotherwtf]

Prompt: receivers muse is touch starved and sender gives them affection they aren’t used to. 

Pairing: Clegan

TOUCH STARVED GALE FUCK YEAH GIVE THAT BOY SOME SNUGGLES

more touch starved clegan this is my personal heaven

YES OMFG I wrote about touch starved John in my last ask, but honestly touch starved Gale is SO FUCKING GOOD

his dumbass wouldn't even realize that he's touch starved, would just be like "huh I crave John's touch and feel myself falling apart at the seams when he's not here with me, how strange", maybe doesn't even realize it until John physically forces himself into Gale's life.

----

He doesn't even realize he's awake until he hears John's panicked voice calling his name, feels a concerned hand on his shoulder shaking him gently.

It's still dark in his room, must be midnight or something, and he can barely make out the silhouette of John standing above his bed, eyes glowing in the dark.

"You alright, Buck?" John whispers.

Gale doesn't even realize something was wrong. There were a lot of sounds he couldn't pick up on, the sounds of screams, plane engines, and barking dogs melding into one horrible symphony that almost always droned at night. When he was with Marge, she told him he sometimes shot up from the bed after one of his nightmares, couldn't even remember it the next day.

He must have done something violent for John to come running from his bedroom to where Gale was staying in the guest room.

"'M fine, Bucky, go back to sleep," Gale says, and John gives him such a stern look it almost causes Gale to retreat into himself.

"I know you're lying, you don't gotta lie to me," John whispers.

He knows, by God he knows. He could never lie to John.

"Just a nightmare, it's normal," Gale mutters.

John gives him that same expression and urges Gale to move over in the bed. He hesitates but allows John to crawl in next to him. The bed is in no way big enough for both of them to fit comfortably, but John still shoves himself into Gale's space.

"I get them, too. God, that fucking war sure did a number on us, huh?" John mutters.

He has his arms poised as if he's going to wrap his arms around Gale, and Gale doesn't quite understand if he even wants that or not. He slowly accepts the embrace, positioning his chin awkwardly on John's shoulder, a loose hand on his bicep.

John's arms wrap around Gale's middle, bringing him in closer until their bodies are flush.

It feels like the first rays of sunlight on a cool morning, the welcome spray of rain after a stifling summer day. John's arms wrapped around Gale centers him somehow, bringing him back to John's guest room in Manitowoc. When John sighs something deep into his shoulder, he can feel the tension start to leave him.

Gale doesn't know how he hasn't craved this sooner. John's firm body against his is like an anchor, helping him stay tethered here instead of travelling to the barren wastes of Germany. It's warm and whole and solid, something that Gale has longed for ever since he came back.

He doesn't realize when the tears start flowing until John takes his face from Gale's shoulder, looking him in the eyes with that same concerned expression on his face.

"Oh, Gale..." John whispers, but Gale doesn't let him finish.

He leans forward and presses their lips together, something chaste and brief, but something that Gale didn't realize he was holding in for so long. He moves to keep up, to escape because he knows John will hate him for doing it, but John's grip tightens on his shoulders.

His expression is unreadable, and Gale is ready for him to spit in his face and call him something cruel, but he just leans in and kisses Gale again. It's filled with so many things that words couldn't express, and it makes Gale's head fuzzy. One of John's hands comes up to tip Gale's chin towards him, moving his lips gently with Gale's.

"I need you to stay with me, John, I don't think I'd survive without you," Gale whispers, voice loud in the quiet night.

John rests their foreheads together, smiling something sweet.

"I'm never leaving you again, Gale"

[maxwellatoms]

What kind of video games do you like to play Mr. Atoms?

So many! Assuming there's time. These days there's generally not, so I've been bingeing Vampire Survivors in half-hour doses.

Above is a gif from Noita, my top game of the pandemic. It's an old-school "Metroidvania", but every pixel is simulated and you're a witch who can manipulate her spells (and thereby the world) in a seemingly infinite number of ways. Here, I've built magical "buzzsaws" around myself, which blinded me to the shadow amoeba. In Noita, almost every death is due to hubris, and I think I love that pendulum swing. If you're lucky and skilled, you can become a walking whirlwind of destruction, but you're always your own worst enemy. Bonus: You can turn your vomit into rats.

I'm currently on a break in the midst of my Baldur's Gate 3 run, with a party consisting of my BG2 character's daughter, Karlatch, Lazelle, and Shadowheart. Ladies' Night!

I'm also playing a bit of Shadows of Doubt. I'm not sure it'll hold up long-term, but it's got a lot of potential.

I don't really limit myself by genre or platform, but I'd say that I primarily play indie PC games. The games in my Steam library that I keep going back to again and again?

Cities: Skylines: A chill City Building Simulator. Lots of fun mods.

Darkest Dungeon: This thing is a classic strategy game IMO.

Death Road to Canada: A light, fast Project Zomboid. Dogs with guns!

Dwarf Fortress: For me, it's the ultimate fantasy sim. I love it so much. Looking forward to Adventure Mode finally appearing on Steam.

Project Zomboid: The ultimate lonely 2D zombie apocalypse survival game. Or non-survival game, I suppose.

Total War: Warhammer: For when I'm in a strategy-y mood. Like a lot of people, I'm a bit soured on the modern DLC scene, so I'm still waiting on #3 even though I'm a Chaos stan.

Not on Steam? I do play some Star Citizen from time to time. I backed it a decade ago. I used to joke that it was the game I was going to retire into, but more and more that's looking less and less like a joke. Still, it's made some good progress in the last couple of years and I'm hopeful that repair and engineering turn out to be fun.

The game I'm looking forward to most would be the next Elder Scrolls. I know it's still a ways off. Ever since my Nereverine landed in Morrowind with the intention of becoming a just and righteous cleric and instead found herself an unwitting villain and colonizer, I fell in love with the Elder Scrolls and it's deep, gray lore. It is (for me) a great way to really get into a character's head. Roleplaying... go figure.

Since Morrowind (and a backtrack into Daggerfall), I only allow myself one canon playthrough. My rule is to "let it ride", so that aside from death, if I screw up or if something unexpected happens I don't save-scum. All of my characters are related, either by quest or bloodline. I already know that my next character will be Aventus Aretino (the kid you catch summoning the Dark Brotherhood). My Skyrim character (above) had adopted him and then left him in the hands of a vampire, so I should be covered even if there's a big time jump. Now I just have to wait six more years for the game. And then maybe two for mods. God I'm so old.

I need to spend more time with Dave the Diver.

Anything current I'm missing out on?

[judasgot-it]

i would like to know what hunting dogs would do when they want reader sits on their lap?👀

I am so late to this request but in honor of learning that Tecchou is 6 foot today.... mwah

Scenario: What they do when they want reader to sit on their lap (Jouno, Tachihara, Tecchou) Also slight NSFW elements but like it's mostly jokes. Thought I'd let y'all know ahead of time.

Jouno

He's not one for physical touch usually since it overstimulates him, but once and a while he likes to be warm and would definitely be some weird cheesy guy to use it as a sort of intimidation tactic. Like mafia men who pet cats.

If it's in any sort of public setting, it's because he is well aware you're hot and sexy (everyone who reads this is, because I said so) and loves to cuck people sometimes. He's probably into some shit like that idk

He probably does it in the most obnoxious way possible too - you'd think you're in some dark romantasy with the way he's acting. It's all a part of some evil scheme to piss off some dude that he's mildly annoyed by

Definitely does it once and a while though whenever you're in fancy af places. Dude likes to be praised and has a lot of money, don't tell me he wouldn't love to have someone pretty in his lap calling him nice things

Especially if you're his partner, he wants to show off that he won - he's blind, not stupid. He knows people are jealous.

Pulls you in by the waist and talks as if it's the first time he ever met you. He'll pull out some poetry and shit while tracing your hipbones, he does know how to make you feel enamored.

At home? In private? He probably likes his space but when he wants to have you in his lap, he just does it.

What are you? Too busy for your boyfriend? Nuh-uh. He just takes you. Are you going to punch a gift horse in the mouth?

Jouno has a big ego sometimes, thinking his mere touch is so special.

Although I think it's less of a physical want for touch and more of a security thing. He needs to know that you're there and aren't going to disappear from him

I think sometimes he is a little insecure and he just needs a hug, but it's hard to ask so he just. Pulls you into his chair and buries his face in your shoulder

I also headcanon that he gets cold easily, so once and a while he gives in and just uses you as his portable heater

Tecchou

Is all up in your space all the time, doesn't even realize how it might look to others.

Touching you, kissing you, practically glued to your side and staring at your face. If he's not on a mission, he is obsessed with you no matter what.

If you can't sit next to each other he'll just have you sit on his lap - he has big thighs, he makes a better seat anyway. Or he'll sit on the bench and let you sit on him if it's too cold for you - he's a gentleman, even if it means freezing his own ass off.

Isn't super handsy like Jouno is, he just wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady and hold you close to him.

Definitely manhandles you though, makes you feel like you weigh nothing when he just casually holds you in one arm like a cat

He's more casual about it, but that's because PDA can be pretty easy for him. As long as he can have one hand on his sword, he's happy and feels safe

At home he can sit like that forever, but that's also because when he's on his time off he becomes the laziest dog around sometimes. If he's allowed, he would just cuddle up with you and do nothing but sleep

Has fallen asleep with you in his lap, which was cute but also you both avoid making it a habit since he is heavy and will hold onto you so tightly as if you're going to drown or something.

The best option he has is to pull you into his lap and spend time with you like that, even if all you're doing is reading a book or mindlessly scrolling through tiktok

He just wants to feel you there, since he spends so much time away from you

Admittedly he is most likely to get carried away from simple cuddling to other things...

Tachihara

He only asks when y'all are alone - like REALLY alone. He is used to his mafia image, and even when he doesn't have to keep it up at headquarters, he's scared of being teased.

Likes to hold you in his lap and just talk about each others day, it's one of his favorite forms of cuddling since he can just hold you with him while you're both in the office

He's a little lanky, he's built but he is shifting around a lot and it's hard for him to have you on his lap for so long. He doesn't have the biggest ass in the world (unlike some other dogs on this list)

Like Jouno, is really touchy though - he kisses you, teases your skin, and plays with your hands

He wants to enjoy the time he is spending with you, and if he could he would memorize your entire body with just his fingertips

It's almost like a massage when he does it, tracing your thighs in little patterns while you quickly fill in forms you both needed to do yesterday. He's enjoying his time, what can he say?

At home?

Dude is having you on his lap while you both play games or do your own thing. Parallel play

He want his time, but he doesn't want to lose time with you

It's a compromise, so he can sit on his computer playing PalWorld while you scroll your phone

It's warm, so y'all have the AC down and a blanket on just to enjoy each others company

Almost like a casual date lol

Idk if these were good tbh, I feel like they're very general? IDK

[ms--lobotomy]

5th fic in 4 (?) days? I'm so normal. I'm so normal. I'm so normal. Aaah [Previous] [Next]

Summary: Your first day of work after you start feeling a funny way about the funny merman.

Word Count: 1257

Content Warnings: car dependent infrastructure, Typhus existing again, cliffhanger

Image Credit: @squishyowl

Your fingers drummed on the steering wheel as your playlist looped back around to that song. You couldn't close your eyes, not now, but your heart beat faster in your chest as you remembered how he held you, the beat of his hearts against your face. It's just fascination, you told yourself. You haven't even known each other for a week.

You pulled into the employees' parking lot before you found a spot, cut Dave Grohl off mid-word, and got out of the car.

"Sorry, Dave," you mumbled as you locked it.

You speedwalked towards the door, going through all the familiar motions of clocking in. You looked at the time. Two minutes late. You sighed as you checked in with the baby turtle. It was a green sea turtle, but the babies were more black or dark brown than anything. You bent down to look at it. The tank was very small, but the little one didn't seem to mind it. After a few moments of swimming, it settled on the bottom. The corners of your lips quirked up before you heard footsteps behind you.

You turned around. It was Typhus.

"Hey," he said casually. "Oh, you found the Nurgling?"

"The what?"

Typhus chuckled. He came in close to you, and you backed away slightly. "I call him the Nurgling," he said, looking down at the tiny sea turtle. "I don't know if it's going to be his name, it's a bit of an in-joke I have with someone. Haven't given him a nametag yet, either. First thing I'm going to do today. How's the merman?"

"Oh," you said, slightly taken aback before remembering that he was there too. "He's doing... better than expected. I showed him some of my music, and he seemed to like it. I hope, at least?"

"Alright, okay," said Typhus, nodding slightly. "Didn't know that one of the first things you'd do when you found a merman was to show him dad rock. But to each their own."

"Why, what would you do?"

"I'd show him Slipknot, personally," he shrugged.

You let out a slight laugh, turning to walk away before he continued.

"I think someone should check up on him," he said. He was much taller than average, reaching almost 7 feet standing. "Don't you think?" He moved a little closer to you, and you backed away, but you were getting precariously close to the wall. Shit.

"I mean, I would like to get to know Stella better," you mumbled. You tried to walk away, but he shifted in front of you.

"Aren't they so busy, though?" he asked, turning up his nose a little bit. "I don't have anything going tonight, and I'd hate to get in the way of anyone's activities. Besides," he said, "all of us found the merman. It's all of our duty to look after him, right?" His leg was almost between yours, and you shrunk back even further.

"Excuse me, what the actual fuck are you doing?" asked the girl with the brown ponytail.

"Maya, it's not what it looks like--" said Typhus, backing away.

Maya was around 5 feet tall at most, but she looked at Typhus with nothing less than fury in her hazel eyes. "Back off, Typhus. Now." Her hands were clenched into fists, with only the chipped nail polish on her thumb showing, but her tone was more akin to scolding a disobedient dog.

Typhus looked at her, then at you before backing away slowly. "Guess we should get back to work," he muttered before turning tail and heading towards one of the animals in need of rehabilitation.

"I'll say," said Maya, glaring at him before she turned back to you. "I know you don't want to hear this, but you're going to have to stand up for yourself one of these days," she said, in a tone low enough that Typhus couldn't hear. "I know we're coworkers, but I care about you. And I hate to see this... asshole get in your face when you clearly don't want it."

You paused, shuffling your feet before steeling yourself. "I'll do my best," you mumbled.

"You said that last time," said Maya, raising an eyebrow.

"Alright," you sighed. "Alright, I'll try for real this time."

"Thank you," she replied, moving off to her next post. You stood there for a moment, hands over your stomach. You grabbed your index and middle finger with your dominant hand before heading off to your post and starting the workday for real.

...

The workday ended in due time, slow and steady. Most of it was spent in the breakroom when not checking in on the animals and feeding them. Typhus was gone from the picture for much of it, gods know where. You said your goodbyes to the group before getting back into your car, and your playlist was back where you'd left it. You sighed, putting your head on the steering wheel.

Alright, you reasoned with yourself, you need to go home. You have a merman to attend to.

The song finished, and you showed up at your house soon enough. You didn't even enter through your front door, instead beelining to the back. Mortarion looked up at you, his tail swishing in the water, before he swam to the side of the pool.

"How was... work?" he asked. "Do pardon me, I am still learning your species' nomenclature."

"Work is the right word," you said, kneeling next to him. "I do hope you didn't get too lonely, Mortarion.."

"I endure," he said, looking up at you. You took off your socks and shoes and left them by the side of the pool before you looked down at your pants.

"Is something wrong with your pants?" Mortarion asked.

"I..." you started. "So, humans wear pants underneath their pants. Most of the time, at least? And it's a bit uncouth in our culture to show them. Uh..." you started, blushing. "Man. I'm too tired to go upstairs and change. Is it okay if I show you the... garments under my pants?"

"I don't see anything wrong with it," Mortarion shrugged before you tugged off your pants. You took your phone and keys out of your pocket, and put them on the glass table by your pool before dipping your legs into the pool again. Mortarion looked away, before he looked back up at your face.

"You're beautiful," he said, before tensing up. You heard a car pull into your driveway, and you tensed up too.

"I'm not expecting anyone," you said, getting up quickly. "Please. Hide?" you asked.

"You don't exactly had a huge pool," he grumbled, submerging himself.

You entered through the back door, and looked out front. The car was... familiar, though you couldn't put your finger on where it was from. Hurriedly, you looked for something to put around your waist before you found a blanket on your couch and draped it over you as quick as you could. And then you saw the person coming out of the car.

It was Typhus.

Part of you was relieved that it wasn't a fed or anything, but it was Typhus. You rushed back towards Mortarion, towards your backyard, as he made his way through the gate. He shut the wooden thing with a quiet thud, as his eyes darted to you. You shifted the blanket over your legs, glad that it was covering quite a bit.

"I..." you started, your fists balling up. You looked to your feet. "I didn't invite you here."

Taglist: @bispecsual@justeverythingnothingelse@bleedingichorhearts @nekotaetae@historitor-bookshelf

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

School-side Staycation - Staff Shenanigans

@ashipiko has a super fun 1k follower event going on that reminded me of a conversation I had with a friend a While ago!! I decided to turn it into a drabble, so I hope you guys enjoy some NRC Staff Shenanigans!! (Including my staff/greenhouse caretaker oc, Aspen Zoi - I apologize in advance for the stim word "like" OTL if you don't check out his profile, just know he speaks like your stereotypical surfer/hippie/stoner)

Also apologies OTL I have to write on my phone due to Technical Difficulties, RIP my formatting. Um just as a heads up, there is some food talk in regards to calories and dieting. It's not talked about a lot, but it is in there.

Also also this is my first time writing all the staff together so I hope it's at least entertaining!

---------------------------

"Turkey burgers, really Divus, I'd have thought better of you." Mozus scoffed lightheartedly over the younger man's shoulder, watching the black latex clad hands work in a mix of shredded vegetables into the meat.

Crewel raised a questioning brow to his senior, using his shoulder to push away hair from his face for the upteenth time that day. Even with his dark shades on, both the unamusement and the spark of competitiveness was felt to be fanned.

"Well, Mozus, if you cared to ever look past those dusty old history books of yours and indulge in the dietary world, you would know that ground turkey-"

"Sucks. It sucks." Vargas interrupted, shaking his head in disappointment. He was wearing near neon orange shorts and a white tank top, though clearly splattered with some stains from his preparation, shades sat nicely atop his lofty locks. His food was currently concealed in the two heaping platters he had under aluminum foil as he set them down on the table next to the barbeque. "It's got less protein, less iron, less zinc, and more sodium than ground beef. It has a little more 'healthy' fat," the air quotes were heavily emphasized by the gym teacher, "but for Sevens sake Divus, it's supposed to be a vacation sort of thing. Let the kids loose for a little while."

An audible "hmph" left the alchemy professor, moreso at Trein's smug grin than Ashton as he refocused on his work. His UV protectant, black, long sleeve shirt was rolled up to his elbows, a simple red short sleeve button up layered on top. "Not everyone can afford to give up their calorie intake over a vacation."

"Then you may as well have just made black bean patties and volunteered yourself to make the vegan option."

Trein sighed and shook his head at Ashton's apparent naivety as he opened his grill, throwing a few patties on. Perhaps his air of superiority would have been less humorous if not for the cargo shorts, white shirt, the blue, green, pink and yellow tropical overshirt, the matching, tropical bucket hat, and the apron that read "Grillmaster", but Trein continued anyways.

"He's using the leftovers of his dogs food that he thawed and forgot to use."

An awkward silence filled the air between the three of them, save for the soft sizzling of Treins burgers and the distant sounds of their beloved students having fun. Ashton spoke up in near disbelief.

"....Divus is that-"

The older of the two suppressed a scowl, trying to play it off best he could as he waved off his former underclassmans concern.

"Ground turkey is ground turkey, how I was going to use it is irrelevant! Really now Mozus was that necessary?!"

Vargas exchanged glances with Trein, before grinning a little more, willing to 'poke the bear'.

"I know you call them your pups but..."

Crewel felt his eye twitch slightly. Not much got to him, but the implication that 1. His dogs weren't incredibly dear to him, and 2. That his students weren't held to the same regard as his dogs in terms of how he cared for them, was not something he felt he could articulate well enough to get it through Ashton's thick, thick skull.

" It's still perfectly fine food, it's ought to be better than whatever Dire has!"

In an attempt to get the attention off of him for once, Crewel directed his, and his colleagues attention to the approaching headmage, ignoring the soft snickers behind him from Ashton for the sake of his sanity.

The headmage wore a huge grin under the stupid mask of his, dressed in his normal vacation attire. His arms were outstretched, as if anyone there would hug him as a greeting - none of them would, but especially not now that one was grilling, the other had his hands plunged into raw meat, and the third...well Vargas wasn't doing anything that would impede him from doing so, but he pretended to look busy as he fidgeted with the aluminum foil from one of his platters, careful to not lift it up.

Trein glanced at the headmage as he joined them under the white tents, his clawed gloves drawing most of his attention as Dire lowered his arms to his sides.

"Dire. What are you bringing to cook?"

The headmage looked at him blankly before smiling, chuckling a little awkwardly as he took his hat off and held it to his chest. As if he didn't already look pathetic, now he looked like he was going to apologize, and the staff in front of him already looked unamused.

"Ehe, well you see, I was generous enough to allow our students host this event-"

Knowing glances were exchanged between the three as Crowley continued.

"So neeever did I ever think my kindness would be taken advantage of like so! After all the budgeting and set up and organizing and ordering and nights laying awake and wondering how to make today the best success it could be, I didn't think I would be expected to cook too!"

The masked man rested the back of his hand against his head dramatically, trying and failing to gain the sympathy of the staff who all very well knew he had signed off on the event, and being a part of the catering. Hell, he had admitted it himself- he hadn't done any of that. That was all part of hosting, something that had very much not been on his shoulders, like many other responsibilities this year.

Vargas moved to the table across from Crewel, starting to make a protein-packed sauce to go with his still-mystery food, shooting Crowley a bit of a shit-eating grin.

"Well I guess you better go buy hotdogs or something from Sam's and be prepared to lose."

An indignant squawk left Dire, his dramatic display clearly not working in his favour, and he couldn't fathom why.

"Lose??"

"Hot stuff comin' through! And it ain't just me-"

Sam wheeled a tri-level service cart over the grass with ease, thanks to magic, each level with absolutely delicious smelling, but hidden food. Aspen followed close behind, Willow, his Pekin duck toddling after him.

Dire moved out of the way so as to let the trio through, Sam moving next to Vargas and starting to load tray after tray onto the serving table, a determined and slightly crazed expression on his face.

"Ain't nobody beatin' Mama's mac'n cheese recipe. Not even your fancy ass brisket Ashton, don't pretend like that ain't whatchyer tryna hide under there, I know you too damn well fo' you to try an' hide it."

Vargas and Same broke into easy conversation as Aspen hung back with Crowley, who was still visibly confused. He looked down at his hands, as if they held the answer to his questions.

"Lose?? Beating his mother's recipe??? What have I missed????"

Aspen's single, amused "haaah" was rather annoying to the headmage. Despite the sharp turn of his head and the glare he directed at Aspen, he just gave him his same old dopey grin.

"Aww man, you really didn't, like, read anything you signed, did ya? The teacher who like... looses the cook off gets pelted with water balloons by like...the whooole student body. It would really suck if one of us forgot to bring something. It'd be like...immediate disqualification or whatever."

The blond tilted his head a bit and giggled as he watched a few of the students play volleyball not far from them, oblivious to the rising panic on the headmage's face.

"But you haven't brought anything?! So what if two faculty members didn't bring anything?! The penalty is halved, right?!"

Aspen let out a small laugh.

"Hah. As if. Babygirl and I made seven layer salad, which is like, on Sam's cart, and a buncha desserts last night, isn't that right?" He bent down to pick up Willow, kissing her head as he cradled her. "I mean sure, baking isn't, like, COOKING but I don't think anybody is gonna complain about brownies 'nd, like, homemade ice cream, y'know? I just gotta wait to bring it out cuz..like....the ice cream...duh."

He waited a beat, the rising panic from the man beside him finally catching on. He was about to ask, but Crowley was on his knees next to Sam in a split second, holding his hand and groveling.

"PLEASE- no, actually, as your boss, I DEMAND you open your shop and sell me the best cuts of meat- no, actually, I want as many tube's of ground beef, ah, no, Trein is already- ground PORK-"

Sam shook his hand away from Crowley in mild disgust.

"Oh hell no, might I remind ya, I'm on vacation, as are the rest of us and the little imps. If you want to serve hot dogs, you'll have to go into town and move fast. Otherwise you're gonna have to embrace your fate of death by a thousand waterballoons." Sam swapped the position of one of his trays with Vargas' platter, so as to get his jerk chicken onto the grill after changing his glove out for an untouched one.

"With all due respect, your poor plannin' does NOT constitute an emergency on my part, Mr. Crowley, Sir."

Dire let out an undignified noise at Sam's facetiousness and lack of cooperation.

Trein looked down at the rather defeated looking headmage and sighed at the mess of a man, shaking his head again in disappointment.

"For Sevens sake, pull yourself together Dire. You could go ask the ghosts in the Cafeteria if they've got anything they'll lend you to cook."

Crowley looked like a kicked puppy at Trein for a moment before standing back up, beaming and near launching himself at him for a hug, which Trein avoided as if this was something that happened often. Despite not getting what he wanted, Crowley clearly had new vigor.

"Ah! You're right. Of course, if the ghosts are there I could- hm! Nevermind, nevermind, yes thank you my dear friend, I knew you wouldn't let me suffer! Unlike SOME people." He shot a fake dirty look at the rest of his beloved faculty, only to be met with snickers and mildly amused expressions. Yes, even with all their jests and disagreements, these were the people he felt most comfortable around. His expression softened for a half second before he clapped twice and smiled widely again.

"I'll be back with something delicious! I swear to defeat you all!" His voice lilted playfully, before he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

A shared sigh came from Trein and Crewel, amusing their younger colleagues with the similarity.

Crewel wiped at his head with his shoulder again, grinning knowingly at Trein.

"Mozus."

"Divus." Trein kept his focus trained on his burgers, though his voice had an air of amusement to it, and it was clear the corner of his mouth was kicked up in a small smile.

"Were you really trying to be of assistance?"

Crewel finished rolling the last of his turkey blend into disks, turning his full attention to his conniving collegue.

Trein hummed a bit in response.

"Yes. Not to him, to us, but his absence makes it much easier to concentrate."

Crewel shed his latex gloves, put some hand sanitizer on and walked over to 'supervise' Trein's grill, before grabbing a patty that was cooked and looking over it in mild disgust.

"Concentrate on what, perfecting a burn on your patties, oh 'grillmaster'" he mocked, breaking a piece off and eating it, hardly hiding his distaste.

"Ah, I see, you're trying to make up for your lack of seasoning using charcoal, well old man I can guarantee the turkey burgers you were so quick to dismiss will certainly be better than that piece of semi-edible Sahara."

Trein sighed, annoyed, plucking the rest of the patty from Crewel's fingers and throwing it out.

"I always burn my first one. It guarantees I won't burn the rest of them. If you used those astute powers of observation you're so proud of, you'd have seen the rest of the burgers are cooked beautifully."

He lifted the foil just enough to show Crewel the admittedly, mouth-wateringly delicious looking patties underneath, though Divus refused to show any indication that he was impressed.

"They're still bland. The students don't have a grandpa stomach like you."

Trein rolled his eyes internally, huffing, but even Sam and Aspen snickered at the comment.

"It will be fine once I make my sauce to go with them. My daughters love my cooking, I'm sure our students will as well. You have your dogs as reference for your tastes. I would be more worried if I was in your shoes."

Crewel moved towards Sam, who made room for him, moving his chicken to the top rack so Divus could use the main part of the grill to start cooking.

"You say that as if I don't cook for myself either. Really Mozus, I'm hurt by how lowly you think of me. Besides, I understand cooking as not only an art, but from the very chemical bases of it. I have every confidence that if no one else, I will be getting votes from Pomefiorians."

Aspen snorted from behind him, waving his hand dismissively.

"Nahh, Poms are gonna go for Sam's mac or, like, his chicken. They're like, tired of eating that Vil guys super bland food. Ya might, like, get Vil himself? Maybe? But I feel like he's prolly just gonna beeline it to my salad cuz of that new green diet thing one a his freshies said he's on. I only know cuz like, they were getting veggies from the greenhouse. If anything, I think ya might pull a few votes from Savanaclaw, but like, to be honest, even as a vegetarian, Ashton's brisket looks really good and prolly will come in after Sam's food."

Crewel let out a soft sigh, but Vargas was beaming, as Sam and Aspen exchanged finger guns and a wink. Trein squinted slightly at his watch.

"Lunch is meant to be in about 45 minutes. Aspen, Vargas, seeing as the two of you have nothing better to do, I suggest you start cutting up veggies for the burgers and fruit for after. Just make sure to use some hand sanitizer first."

The two exchanged a glance, both mouthing a mocking, lighthearted 'yes dad' behind Trein's back, making Sam snicker a bit.

"Dontchya worry Mozus, they got it covered."

-----------------

And that's where my brain stopped RIP

In case you're wondering, Crowley showed up like 3 hours late and got ambushed. It's okay though his "food" would have put him in last place anyways.

I'm not used to typing things like this out on my phone, and I'm even less used to reading them so this is not proofread or betaread or like. I'm not. Rereading it so here's to hoping it flows okay and it's as engaging as I think it is lol.

ANYWAYS thank you for such a fun event Ashi!!

Taglist: (ask to be added)

@fluffle-writes @my-cursed-brain

[sky-is-the-limit]

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚗 𝚊 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚊 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜 (𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜) 𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔.

𝙲𝚆: 𝙰𝚏𝚊𝚋!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝙽𝙵𝚂𝚆 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝙿𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚂𝚎𝚡, 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 (𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐.)

𝚆𝙲: 𝟸,𝟿𝟿𝟷 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜.

“Did you get the photos I sent you?”

The wistfulness you felt with the sound of his voice was unmatched. It had been exactly three weeks since Kyle had to leave for another confidential mission, leaving you behind to deal with the all familiar saudade that washed over you every time he had to say 'goodbye'.

It was difficult to deal with, especially when there was nothing you could do to bring your person back to you.

Late nights without him were especially lonesome, sleeping without his warm frame beside you, his defined arms holding you close to his heart as though you'd vanish in the middle of the night.. Even that felt like a chore.

“I've been staring at them for the last 15 minutes, Kyle.” The beaming smile never left your lips as you admitted it, your fingertips still tracing the outline of his face on the screen.

Little gestures like this were enough to show you how much you mean to him. Despite being in a dangerous, unfamiliar environment, away from the warmth of your embrace, he always found time to send you photos to ease your worries.

“Because of the dog?” A sense of guilt started heaving in your chest to the sound of the exhaustion in his voice. Kyle had only asked one thing of you whenever he had to go, to always leave the work talk for when he would come back as the time you had on the phone was limited and he wanted to cherish every second.

“There's a dog? Oh, right. He's cute, too.” It was sweet how he took advantage of your soft spot for dogs to send you photos of every stray found in his way, though your attention was darted elsewhere the second you clicked on them.

Kyle was striking, as if angels had carved every feature on his face. From his delicate curls to his square jaw, he was statuesque in every sense, no matter what was hanging his body.

Yet there was something different whenever he was in uniform, the way those khaki trousers hugged his muscular thighs, his defined arms stretching the soft material of his shirt and that hat..

The same hat he put on you whenever he felt possessive, not letting you take it off whilst holding you in front of a mirror, skin slapping against skin tremendously slow and hard to get his point across. That you were his, and his only.

“But I'm cuter?” Kyle rested his cheek against his palm, resisting the urge to shut his eyes to the comfort of your voice, make belief that he is laying next to you.

“Cute isn't the right word I'd use when you're wearing your uniform, babe.” His velvet chuckle resonated in your chest, reminding you of the effect his playful tone had over your body.

“Oh? And what would you use instead?” Ah, Kyle and his lively cheekiness. His familiar smirk was evidently plastered on his lips even if you couldn't see it. You could hear it present in his voice.

“As if you don't know.” No matter how long the two of you were together, he never failed to make you flustered like a school girl.

“I wanna hear you say it, love.” His voice was a hushed whisper in the dark, a gentle brush against your ear that sent shivers down your spine.

“Fucking hot.” Your heart pounded in it’s cage, rattling the bars that were your ribs as the words came out of your mouth in a breathless whisper. There wasn't a definition good enough in any dictionary to describe the attractiveness of Kyle Garrick, fucking hot would have to do.

“Is that so?” Kyle murmured, his voice dangerously low, letting goosebumps to slither down your spine.

“Mhm..” You mumbled quietly, and without realizing it, you placed your hand on your bare thigh, drawing small circles on your skin.

Was it the nervousness of his overwhelming presence even through the phone? or the desperation to feel him on your skin? You couldn't tell the difference, nor that you had the mind to analyze it.

“You know, you haven't sent one back yet, and I miss my girl.” He cooed, emphasizing the last two words to make you quiver instinctively.

“My appearance isn't very.. decent right now Kyle.” You confessed the state you were caught in when the phone rang.

Once missing him started to feel too intense for you to doze off, you just let your hand wonder on your body, fantasizing that your boyfriend was safe next to you, touching you, devouring you whole. It was one of those nights and unfortunately your usual ritual was left unfinished. Or so you thought.

“Especially for pictures..” Was that part necessary? Very much so judging from the way he was heavy breathing against the shell of you ear, muffling something to himself before responding.

“Why? What are you wearing, Y/N?” He breathed, voice thick and gravelly with need and desire.

Drawing a slow breath, you glanced down at yourself. “Nothing.” You blurted out, the only sound following, your gentle breathing against the phone receiver.

“Fuck.” Suddenly, he was very much awake. There was a throbbing growing between your legs, a heavy pressure filling you up with each passing second of listening to his heavy breathing on the other end.

“All you have to say is 'please'.” Your own voice surprised you, tone oozing with desire and need. You were instantly spurred on by how intensely you wanted to show him how bad you missed him, how much you graved him.

“Bloody hell, Y/N, you're killing me here.” A surge of arousal hit your body instantly, feeling the near instant reaction between your thighs arising by the second to the sound of his suggestive tone.

“Now Kyle, that is not-”

“Please.” His words tumbled out in a fast-paced torrent, echoing the racing thoughts within his mind.

“Please, let me see you.” You could hear him suck in a shaky breath, followed by an increase in shuffling coming through the line, and you were sure he was opening the message. If it was up to your own judgement, it was not one of your best.

Hell, from the way your hands were trembling as he plead to see the sight he had seen so many times before, you were surprised it wasn't overly blurry.

“Fuck. You're a bloody masterpiece.” His words were a soft murmur, a soothing balm over your frayed nerves and you squeezed your thighs together at the praise, you felt yourself flush with renewed excitement. 

“I was thinking about you, you know.” Quietly you admitted, feeling the blood rush faster in your system, from your heart down to your throbbing core.

Kyle's pulse spiked as the words registered in his brain. He cleared his throat in an attempt to regain whatever of his composure was left but nothing on the other end.

 Then you heard a soft exhale, and Kyle seemed to be walking around, a few metallic clicks made in the background before he grunted and settled down on what you assumed to be the bed of his bunker room.

Indistinctively, your hand clutched onto your phone so tight, you feared it might break.

“Spread your legs.” There’s a little undercurrent of firmness in his tone that made you shiver. No hesitation, just Kyle's voice, assured as always. Overwhelmed, your entire body became impossibly still, and you just laid there frozen, unblinking, lips slightly parted.

“Kyle, where are you-” His forwardness didn't surprise you one bit. You figured out a long time ago that the quiet and calm facade was for the outside world.

Your attempt to keep a cool demeanour was cut short. Your body was practically melting into the mattress, vibrating with anticipation.

“I said, spread your legs, Y/N.” Yeah, he was definitely alone. It was like his voice was in your head, pulling out the threads of all your longing desires. The room around you, the past, the future, faded out until it was only him, sparking on your skin, inside you. 

“Okay.” You whispered softly, your body flushing not from embarrassment now, but from the promise hiding behind Kyle’s words.

A promise that guaranteed to leave you shaking, even from afar. You put your phone on speaker and hastily placed it on his pillow as though it would feel like he is right there, next to you.

“Now trail your hand down your body. Feel yourself.” His voice sounded deeper than you had ever heard it as he gave you orders. With a shaky exhale, you did as told, placing your finger gently around your throat and then began to gradually trail it down to your chest, feeling every inch of naked skin. 

“Imagine my hand on your skin, caressing your chest.” His silky smooth tone filtered through the line, inspiring a tinge of anxious excitement within you, and so you did.

“Bring one hand up to your mouth, darling. Wet your fingers for me.” His voice sounded deeper than you had ever heard it as he gave you orders and so you obeyed, bringing your fingers up to your lips before sucking on them with the same pace you suck on his.

After feeling satisfied with the wetness coating them, you took them out to await his next command.

“I’m sure you would’ve done it better, baby.” You remarked, trying for a more confident tone but instead affecting a rather sensual whisper.

You were really getting into it now that your imagination was taking over and, you suddenly realized, you were a lot hornier than you’d given yourself credit for at the start of this.

Your body was responding to everything he was saying just as eagerly as if he were really on the bed with you, which just made filling in the blanks all the easier.

“Mhm.” He issued a soft groan of approval before continuing. “Till then, baby, go ahead and wet your nipples for me.”

Closing your eyes, you scooted a little further down on the mattress to try and get comfortable so you could slip fully into the memory fueled fantasy.

You cradled your breasts delicately at first, your fingers slowly followed the contour of your body. But, in an attempt to mimic Kyle's touch, you swiftly readjusted your grip to a firmer grasp.

You closed your eyes and envisioned Kyle crawling on top of you as you forcefully fondled your tits. His physique was strong and unyielding, with lithe muscle. He pinned you to the sheets with ease, taking everything he desired from you without inquiry or worry.

“I'm touching them right now..”  You stuttered out, your cheeks immediately flashing, anticipation making your throbbing sex soak up even more.

"Pinching them, rolling them, imagining it's your hands on me. God, I wish I had your mouth on me right now." You sighed quietly, rubbing your thighs together in quest of some much-needed friction.

You were as powerless in front of the real guy as you were in front of the made-up mirage in your imagination, and you eventually slipped your hands up a little higher to pinch your nipples between thumb and forefinger.

“Good girl.” The raspiness in his voice pressed every right button to unlock your body before drawing a tentative breath. ''Now trail your hand between your thighs baby, feel your skin like I would.''

You slipped your fingers between your sopping wet folds, trembling from head to toe when a fresh burst of pleasure exploded behind your eyes at the contact to your clit. Drawing circles around it in quick, shaky motions, you arched into the touch. It was almost blindingly good, your expert precision unrivaled. You knew exactly where to apply friction and what sort of pressure to use.

“God-I miss your fingers.” You whined when your body began to react to the indelicate contact, eyebrows furrowing to the sensation. You shook your hips in eager eagerness as a new surge of desire flowed forward to coat your folds, which was not how you typically touched yourself.

“You miss having my long fingers inside you, baby? Stretching you open before I fuck you?” He asked slyly, his voice noticeably dropping an octave to a huskier cadence.

“Mmm, yes Kyle- God, I miss you.” You whined desperately, reason and calm eroding from merciless elation.

“I'd press myself against you, so you could feel my cock rubbing against your clit, fuck, I'm so hard for you right now-” His voice came out as a throaty whisper, and this time you couldn't hold back your shudder, eyelids fluttering.

“I miss you inside me Kyle-I miss you fucking me.” A shaky exhalation flowed through the phone, nearly forgotten by the cushion, the filthy sound eliciting chills all over your body.

“I miss tasting you, having to work so hard to eat it all because you're practically dripping on the mattress.” He hummed almost to himself. You imagined him doing that while his mouth was on your cunt, and you squirmed wildly.  

Your spine shuddered so violently that your back bent instinctively against the covers. The power in his melodically flowing voice made you tremble as you uncomfortably transferred the phone to your other ear.

You doubled down on your ministrations, enraged at being subjected to this kind of pressure. You strained against the covers, pulling your pussy lips apart and massaging your clit with such genuine desperation that it nearly hurt, as the pressure built up abnormally quickly.

You were dizzy and hot, painfully so, even sickeningly hot, but you were desperate to achieve climax. You had no choice, and your pulse was pounding madly in your chest as you careened recklessly towards the finish line at breakneck speed.

Suddenly the cool temperature of the room turned into unbearable heat, sweat dripping down from your forehead, hair messy against the silky pillow as you bucked up your hips against your palm, biting down on your bottom lip in an unsuccessful attempt to calm your sounds but as you got closer to climax, you couldn't control it.

Kyle continued speaking, his voice diving an octave lower and growing rough.

“Now slide one of your fingers into that pretty pussy of yours.” His voice snickered, but you could hear clear as day how breathless he was, how desperate you had made him, and the realization had your thighs shaking.

“Fuck-” Your voice sounded so broken and wrecked as you inserted one finger in your soaked hole, curling it upwards to hit your sweet spot, slick dripping down skin instantly.

“That's right, baby, do it just like I would.” Fucking into yourself slowly, you obeyed to his command, agonizingly feeling every inch of you. You jolted as if you’d been electrocuted, tense and shirking as you gripped the sheets so tight, your fingernails might leave marks underneath.

“Fuck, angel, keep going, keep fingering that wet little pussy for me.” Kyle urged, his voice strained as his breath lodged in his throat, listening to you moaning and gasping in response to his filthy words.

“Please Kyle-” You begged, not sure what exactly you were asking for but knowing you didn’t want him to stop talking. You added another finger to your dripping hole, crying out at the slight stretch.

“You like that baby? When I fuck into you?” He asked, managing to fill his tone with teasing even as his heavy breaths gave away how turned on he was.

“Tell me.” He prompted when you didn’t respond, too busy fucking yourself with your fingers to the sound of his voice.

“Yes, fuck-” A whine forced itself out of your lungs, the simple command sounding so filthy from your boyfriend's mouth. “Yes, Kyle!” You whimpered an answer around your gasping breaths.

“I'll be back soon, baby, soon so I can bury my face between your thighs and make you come on my tongue.” He promised, the words sounding like they were wrenched from the very depths of his soul. “Then I’m gonna shove my cock deep in your cunt and fuck you dumb.”

“Kyle-” You wailed out his name, fucking yourself harder as you imagined him looming over you in bed, his massive frame fucking you into the mattress, his cock buried deep inside of you, your arms and legs wrapped around him.

“Wanna see my cock stretch your little hole while I pound into you, wanna see your eyes go all hazy as you get drunker and drunker on my cock, angel.” He babbled, like he was helpless to stop himself from voicing every one of his dirty thoughts about you.

“That's it, that's my good girl, fuck yourself stupid to the sound of my voice.” He praised, making warm pride curl through your chest as more wetness flooded your core.

Even with how far gone you were, you could hear the confident smirk in his tone, but your body only heated and tightened hard in response as he spoke, your thumb circling your clit at a faster pace to match your fingers thrusting in and out of you.

The orgasm rocked you with such ferocity that the bed trembled under you, your toes uselessly straining at the blankets. You shouted, writhing as your pussy clamped down tight on nothing in erratic, fluttering palpitations, powerless to stop it.

Despite the flood of endorphins coursing through your system, it seemed empty, and you whimpered, the sound fading to a feeble little whimper before you could completely enjoy the high.

“That's my girl.” There was that warmth again in Kyle's voice that wrapped itself dangerously around your stomach, squeezing it tight. 

“Kyle?” You were still basking in the afterglow of your climax, voice feeble, as soft as a whisper.

“Yes, love?” He chuckled, sounding lifted in spirits to the sound of your broken tone. The smile on his face was transparently clear in his tone, and you couldn't help but to match it.

“Your turn.”

[bonny-kookoo]

I have a request for Velvet Heart.

I'd like to know how or why things changed for Jungkook, what happened in the past that brought him so close to madness.

A/N: Obviously warning for Yandere content, psychological horror, mental illness. Don't read if that makes you uncomfortable, I'm not responsible for what you consume.

Jungkook has always been a little.. vulnerable, mentally. He's easily stressed, and stress makes him act irrationally sometimes- but no one ever thought it would become an issue, down the line.

He's just soft. It'll be fine when he grows older.

Wrong. It just got worse.

So much so that after yet another incident of someone finding out his phone number and mass calling him, he's brushed off as no issue at all. That he's old enough to deal with this on his own now- 'You're 21 now, that's an adult, Jungkook. And adults have to make their own decisions.'

Suddenly. Huh?

Suddenly he's supposed to be independent.

After years and years of being babied and belittled and having everything chewed up for him so he wouldn't have to use his teeth for anything. Suddenly he's supposed to hunt down his own food and provide for himself.

And it's when he realizes it, in the darkness of his small private apartment he got scolded for buying last year.

He's nothing but a product. No one actually cares for him- only for what he represents. A brand. A puppet. Something to buy. Nothing to love.

He's told to just ignore it, use another phone or request another number and just move on from it. But how can he move on if there's people out there who call him nothing but a dog for simply missing a comment on a livestream? He can't just play after everyone's tune, there's too much music at this point, beats bleeding into one another so much so that he can't find a spot to place his feet any longer.

He keeps tripping, and everyone blames him for it.

They've even taken his phone away from him entirely, years back. Now they're doing different things to control him. Tell him to concentrate, loose weight, gain it back, loose it again. Get surgery, don't get it, or rather get it but hide it. Promote this, just to get blamed if the brand does something stupid, stop promoting it just to get called a coward.

Die, but stay alive, but also die, but also keep going. What's going on?

Left?

Right?

Is there a middle to choose instead?

He's got no voice. He sings, loudly so, stable as ever- but his voice doesn't belong to himself. Is what's wanted, it's what fits the concept, just like the rest of him.

Interchangeable. Morphing, constantly.

One day he's the boyfriend, next he is the brother, then he's the boy next door, just to become the sexiest crush all the girls want. What is he?

Who is he?

He hasn't called back the company, has locked his doors and shut the blinds. He doesn't want to do this any longer, this is all just insanity, doesn't anyone see this? Is everyone just so obsessed with wealth that they don't care about being honest?

He's walking alongside Han River, hood deep over his head, facemask hiding what's exposed, clothes dark. He doesn't want to be known, by anyone, ever again. But even if he moved to the other end of the world, starting again as a no-name is a luxury he'll never be granted.

Someone's sitting on the ground, clothes wetly sticking to the skin. Long hair. A girl? He's not sure.

You're moving, barely so, shivering, body trembling in the cold temperature. He lends you his jacket, eyes wide open as they look at yours. You're like a scared little animal, nothing behind those eyes that's coherent, but most importantly-

there's no recognition.

Even when he pulls his mask down a little to test it- you don't seem to know who he is. You don't talk at all, even when asked for your name.

You just cry, scared, terrified, leaning closer to him when he tries to get up.

Is that affection? Or maybe what affection could feel like?

If so, this is affection without any thought behind it. Nothing to gain. Nothing to receive. You just want to be close to him. To him.

Not to him.

It's so wrong. God it's so wrong, it makes him nauseous, makes him panic a little when he realizes that he somehow managed to get you into his home, where you now sleep in his bed, freshly showered, arms wrapped in bandages, hair dried, dressed in his softest clothes, safely tucked beneath the covers.

He should call the cops. But then he'd be blamed, right? They'll think he's insane, a creep, a criminal- and when it get's out, he's a wanted man, even if he somehow doesn't get put into jail.

No. He can't do that.

He can't have that.

But he can have you.

And he wants to have you.

Someone who wants him.

And not the version of him staring back at him from the billboard across the street.

You're just what he needs.

And he'll become all that you'll need in return.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Including Sunlight

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 4

Series Masterlist             Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader 

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around. 

warnings: swearing, fluff, Frank having unhealthy coping mechanisms

a/n: I'm so sorry that this update is late, everyone! I've had a wacky month and it has completely thrown me off. Huge shout out to @xxdrixx for reminding me (again XD) to post what I'd written, and to my loves @madschiavelique and @gracethyomen for helping me plot the upcoming angst arc!!!

w/c: 5.9k

You hadn’t known Frank for very long, but that didn’t stop him from becoming a necessary fixture in your life. Needing Frank was similar to needing light, or fresh air. Sure, you could go without it for a bit, but it would drastically reduce the quality of your life. 

Two days into his “business trip” (which you assumed was a cover for some illegal shenanigans because what sort of freelance construction worker has business trips), you were missing Frank something awful, and it seemed like Max was too. Though you’d tried your best to stick to the existing routine Frank had explained to you, the dog would get mopey in the evenings, laying his head on your lap with a dramatic sigh as he stared longingly towards the door. 

Frank hadn’t so much as sent an emoji since his departure, a fact that highlighted his already glaring absence. You had no idea if he was even alive, but you refused to go down that path knowing you’d never make it out of that endless anxiety spiral. Hoping not to bother him while he was away, you’d refrained from reaching out. Until Max’s heavy sighs were too much for you to bear. 

“I’ll see what I can do, buddy.” You promised, pulling out your phone and taking a picture of his pouting face. 

Sending Max’s sulking portrait off to your stoic neighbor, you included a message. 

You: I think he misses you. Hope you made it safely. ❤️

You were about to set your phone down, not expecting him to respond, but your phone buzzed immediately. 

Frank: Sorry, bud. He behaving for you?

You: He’s being a perfect gentleman. Please come back to us in one piece. 

Frank: Cross my heart. 

Smiling at the fluttery sensation in your chest, you set your phone down and resumed petting the pitbull taking up residence on your lap. 

Come back to us. A poor imitation of your melodic voice played throughout his brain on a loop as he got settled in the motel and began recon. It had been hours since you’d texted him and Frank couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not that he could ever stop thinking of you; the only thing that had kept him going through the bland, cross-state drive was the knowledge that he had you to return to.

And didn’t that terrify him. The knowledge that he had forged a connection valuable enough to anchor him on bad days should have triggered his factory reset. Cut all ties, change home and job, never look back. But you made him weak–sapping the resolve out of him with your doe eyes and intoxicating personality. He’d never be able to leave you like that, even if his proximity to you would get you killed.

Gritting his teeth, he began disassembling his rifle for the umpteenth time, hoping the familiar rhythm would provide an opportunity for his mind to claw its way out of the paranoid spiral it was currently parachuting down. Because it would do him no good to imagine the ways this could all fall apart. The high that your genuine care ignited in him was a hard one to shake, and he craved your affection more than any drug. 

Frank was no stranger to being forgotten, hell, most days he wished for it. Disappearing into the shadows made his work easier and it had helped him prevent situations like this, like you, in the past. Yet here he was, three states away, feeling desired and significant because of four little sentences of fucking text. You were a goddamn miracle. 

Placing the final piece of his weapon back into its place, he drew his hands towards himself, examining them. Given the nature of his work, both legal and less than, the skin was rough and littered with impressive callouses. Streaks of gun oil, dirt, and general grime lingered on the pads of his fingers and under his nails, a testament to the indelicacy of his job. How could he allow himself to touch you with these hands?

How could the universe allow him to indulge in something so pure, after what he’d done? 

He’d given you his name, his real one, but there was no way you knew the extent of his crimes against the people in your city–if you did, you’d surely never speak to him again. Before meeting you, he’d never questioned his choices. Wiping the murderous, sex-trafficking and drug-dealing scum from the face of the Earth was his purpose, and he lived it with pride. Pulling the trigger, releasing bullet after bullet into the chest of some criminal douchebag, it was the only reason he had the energy to keep going after the loss of his family. 

But the violence, that he’d made peace with, it separated him from the rest of society, kept him from forming attachments with people as delicate as you. Not to mention, you valued an honesty he couldn’t provide, and a stable relationship would require it…not that he was intending on pursuing that with you. Right?

Sighing wearily, he pinched the bridge of his nose, heart pummeling his ribcage. You deserved to know the truth about who he was and what he’d done, but Frank wasn’t sure he possessed the courage to break that news to you, to risk losing you forever. 

Shifting uneasily on the fraying wicker chair, Frank studied a chip in the faux wood of the table he was seated at. Rubbing a thumb over the exposed plastic, he pondered his next move. His short recon session had verified Madani’s hunch that the arms dealers operated after dark, like most criminals, but sitting around the dingy motel room until then was a one-way ticket to insanity. 

As if his body was pitying his moment of unprecedented indecision, his stomach growled ferociously. Fuck, he could use a decent meal and a hot cup of coffee. Plucking his keys and handgun from the nightstand, he shoved his arms into a black canvas jacket before braving the outside world. 

Digging your glove-covered fingers into the laminated dough, you folded it over itself a few times before placing it back in its designated proofing bin to rise. Taking another lump of the yeasted mixture into your grasp, you savored the pleasant cushiony feeling beneath your hands as you worked, the slightly fermented smell of raw bread swirling around the kitchen as you flipped the mass. 

Your heart thumped serenely as you kneaded the dough at a steady pace, creating a beautiful rhythm you were more than familiar with. It was music, of a sort; the pulse in your ears acting as the bass while the cacophony of rattling spice jars and cracking eggshells composed unique melodies unlike anything else. 

Life was complicated, but food was simple. Customizing pastries and generating new recipes was an outlet for any emotion you could dream of. Tugging at the strands of dough helped soothe the tension in your shoulders, a symptom of the intense restlessness you’d been feeling since Frank left. Though his text had confirmed that he was alive, you couldn’t help but wallow in a feeling of gut-wrenching regret as you lived without him. If something happened to him out there, you’d never be able to tell him–

Shaking your head fiercely to clear the anxious thoughts from your mind, you raced to the walk-in, once again pouring your jittery energy into a recipe rather than letting your composure erode into nothing. Stabilizing the precarious tower of ingredients you’d stacked with your chin, you tread cautiously over to a clean station, unceremoniously dumping the contents onto the steel bench before popping your head out to the front. 

“Stace, you want somethin’ to eat?” You called to the girl, who was currently standing by the register on her phone. 

“What are you making?” She barely lifted her head with the question and her ambivalence made you snort. 

“Oh, you know, same old.”

With a small shrug, Stacy nodded. “Sure, why not.” 

Grinning, you ducked back into the kitchen and popped the lid off of the industrial blender, quickly whipping up two vibrantly colored and impeccably garnished bowls for the pair of you. Passing a spoon to Stacy, you smiled as she dug in eagerly.

“What, you didn’t eat breakfast this morning?” You giggled, reveling in the way her eyes lit up as she ate. 

“Had a feeling you’d be cooking up a storm today.” Stacy replied, tilting her head at you knowingly. “You tend to do that when you’re mopey, and I’m never opposed to a free meal.”

Rolling your eyes, you huffed in defiance. “I’m not ‘mopey’.” 

“No?” Your dark-haired friend smirked. “That’s why you’re staring at that stupid bowl like it killed your family?” 

Ignoring her pointed look, you angled the bowl slightly differently before pulling out your phone. 

“It’s a pretty meal. I wanted to take a picture.” You reasoned, snapping a few photos of the deep violet mixture. 

“To send to lover boy?” Stacy snorted, wiggling her eyebrows at you. 

“No! I mean, maybe, I guess. I mean—“ You spluttered and Stacy laughed boisterously. “Shut up!!” Pouting, you shoved your phone back into the pocket of your apron and stuck a spoon into your breakfast. 

“C’mon, princess, don’t let my teasing interrupt your pitiful flirting attempts. I’m sure he wants to hear from you.” Stacy’s expression was nonchalant, as always, but her gaze softened when your shoulders slumped. “I’m serious. He’s like, embarrassingly into you.” 

“I think you might be confused about which of us is ‘embarrassingly into’ the other.” You whined, burying your face in your hands. 

“Oh you’re pathetically head over heels for him too, that’s why you have no game.” 

Scoffing, you shoved at her shoulder. “You know what, I don’t need to be insulted like this. Get out of my kitchen.”

“It’s not insulting, it’s true!” She chuckled, eating the remaining few bites of her food as you struggled to force her out the double doors. 

“Out, out, out!” You panted, finally getting her across the threshold. 

The whoosh of air from the batwing doors blew stray hairs from your face, giving you pause. Did it matter why you reached out to him? He seemed to appreciate it…

“Fuck it.” 

Frank turned the cheap off-white mug in his hands, letting the quickly fading warmth seep through the material and into his palms as he looked out the streaky window. A gray hue had settled over the rural town he was camped out in, courtesy of the building storm on the horizon. The clouds mimicked his mental state, growing darker by the minute as the world remained stagnant. 

A low buzz caught his attention, his hand shooting out to stop his phone from vibrating off of the table. Flicking the screen open, his heart swelled with affection, like a ray of sunshine peeking through the barrier in the sky. 

You: *image* It’s official, I’m becoming a hipster. I was more concerned about this photo than eating my breakfast.

Not attempting to hide his smile, Frank shoved his empty cup aside to free his thumbs. 

Frank: Well, it looks so good, I might have to forgive you. What is it?

You: A smoothie bowl, very easy to make and quite tasty.

Frank: Never had one of those before. Looks good though, sunshine.

You: Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll make you one sometime.

Frank inhaled deeply, imagining that you were nearby and he could smell your soft vanilla soap. The thought of you cooking for him upon his return warmed his heart while simultaneously cracking it in two. He missed you dearly. Drawing his forearms into his chest, he took a picture of his own food, frowning at the grainy quality of the picture as it sent.

Frank: It ain’t as pretty as yours, but I’m eating breakfast myself.

The remnants of a stack of bland pancakes and some tough bacon paled in comparison to the gorgeous, speckled smoothie thing you’d sent him. Why it was in a bowl and not a cup, he wasn’t sure, but clearly you knew what you were doing so who was he to judge? A few seconds passed and Frank briefly wondered if he’d said something wrong. Before he could preemptively apologize, another bubble appeared on the screen.

You: Glad you are able to feed yourself without my help. I was starting to wonder…

Frank: Oh shut up, you goof. I do miss your cooking though.

You: Just my cooking?

His fingers hovered over the glass display, his brain scrambling for a response that didn’t reveal just how gone he was for you. In the end, he couldn’t find one.

Frank: Not just your cooking, honey. I have some work to do, but take care of yourself and Max for me, will you? 

You: Of course, Frankie. Have a good day :)

Frank: You too, sunshine.

Clicking the power button on his phone, Frank flipped it over, settling his head against his rough hands and massaging his forehead. Coward.

The shrill ringing of his alarm shattered the remnants of his uneasy slumber. Whipping his arm out from under the sheets, he stopped the piercing noise with a frustrated growl. Sitting up was a process, thanks to the new bullet wounds in his shoulder and hip—a true testament to how sideways yesterday night had gone. Madani’s brief had implied that this would be a cut and dry operation. Get in, confirm the sale, contact her team, leave. He’d been given strict orders to not shoot unless absolutely necessary. 

Which was a great plan, in theory. Frank was more than on board with it, even if the whole “no shooting” thing lengthened the process. If it kept him on Madani’s good side, and still managed to get him home before Lisa’s birthday, he could live with it. 

Apparently, the rookie member of Madani’s team was not so thrilled with Frank “stealing” so much of the glory. After Frank’s recon session and subsequent confirmation of the sale, the former Marine was about to call for backup when a scrawny 20-something kid darted into the dark warehouse after the arms dealers, holding nothing but a goddamn glock. Anticipating bloodshed, Frank was grumbling and sprinting after him before the gunshots started. 

Pulling the kid out by the straps of his ill-fitting bullet-proof vest was a task Frank managed by the skin of his teeth, procuring two moderate injuries in the process. Of course, the knowledge that the FBI was on their tail sent the arms dealers into a frenzy. Frank was sure they’d crossed state lines before Madani was even done screaming. Honestly, he half expected the poor woman to have steam coming out of her ears–she’d cussed at the kid with words even Frank considered impolite. 

Not that he could blame her, he was fuming all the same, especially when Madani had explained that he wasn’t off the hook for the mission and should head back to the motel to await further instructions. As if he was reliving it, the conversation that followed played in his head on a loop, their screaming match echoing off the walls of his brain. 

“For fuck’s SAKE, Madani, I did what you wanted–why should I be punished for the stupidity of this asshole?”

“Oh, he’ll be dealt with, believe me. But the agreement was to get Roshev and Miller into my custody. Not give my team a half-assed warning and head back to New York scot free.”

“Half-assed–you’re fucking joking. I had to ditch the objective to rescue YOUR DAMN AGENT.”

“Go back to your room, Frank. I won’t ask again.”

“You’re not–”

“That’s an ORDER, Castle.”

So here he was: waking up on a shitty mattress, his skin and hair still streaked with dirt and blood (because the crappy water pressure and freezing temperature had infuriated him to the point that he’d cut his shower short after cleaning his wounds), in pain and in desperate need of a better cup of coffee than anyone around here was capable of brewing. 

On top of that, it was his dead daughter’s 18th birthday–a fact that hung over him like a cloud of poisonous gas, slowly squeezing the air from his lungs, and he was powerless to stop it. He wanted to scream, to cry, to grieve for her, to do something, anything–but instead he was fucking stuck here, beneath Madani’s thumb until she tired of him. 

It was naive to think that he’d be home today, maybe drinking coffee that you had made specifically for him, bringing flowers to the cemetery, taking Max for a walk, trying to have a quiet day in Lisa’s memory instead of waiting around to deal with two scumbags who got paid to arm other criminals. He should have just shot them.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes with a rough hand, he stalked to the bathroom to clean up–given that a man covered in blood would probably scare the poor waitress at the diner down the street shitless. As he was rubbing a towel through his hair, his phone buzzed–presumably with a curt message from Madani about something else he’d done wrong. Groaning internally, he braced himself for another argument, but it never came. 

Instead, his phone had an unopened message from you. Flicking open the home screen, he felt a weight fall off his shoulders as he pulled up the photo you’d attached. 

It was a beautiful picture of you holding a basket of vibrantly colored cherries in the midst of some sort of farmer’s market. Your delicate features were highlighted by an array of pinks and oranges, courtesy of the sunrise in the background. Your smile was bright, your eyes sparkling as you beamed at the camera. 

Your first message was a simple explanation of your morning activities. 

You: It’s market day! I bought these gorgeous cherries to make some tarts. I’ll save you one ;)

As he was rereading the message, allowing his general irritation to fade as thoughts of you flooded his brain, his phone vibrated again. 

You: Thinking of you today. I’m just a text away if you need anything ❤️

Sinking down onto the motel bed, his throat constricted as he processed the sentiment. He was surprised that you remembered today was hard for him, even more so that you offered to be a line of support. But that was exactly who you were, wasn’t it? Someone who cared so deeply for the people around her, and for some fucking reason that included Frank. 

Typing and retyping a response to you, Frank blew out a breath. He felt almost…jittery. 

Frank: Thanks, sunshine. That means a lot. I’m looking forward to that cherry tart when I get back. 

You: I’ll make you as many as you want, Frankie. 

Lips twitching, he imagined you whirling around your kitchen in one of your signature patterned dresses making him a special batch of pastries. His heart squeezed painfully; your absence was taking a toll on him that he had not expected. Before he could consider his next message to you, Madani’s number flashed on the screen, indicating an incoming call. Lips curling into a silent snarl, he answered. 

“What, Madani?” He rumbled out.

“Well, good morning to you too, sunshine.” Her response wasn’t meant to dig under his skin, she simply meant it as a superficial jab, but the inclusion of the pet name he associated with you ignited a white hot anger in his gut, feral and hungry. 

“The fuck do you want,” He bit out. 

“Watch your tone, Castle. Remember who owes whom a favor here.”

Rolling his eyes, he brought out a more polite tone. “Yes, ma’am.”  

She huffed across the line, “Fuck you too. We found them. I’ll send the coordinates now.” 

“Lookin’ forward to it.” He ended the call.

Stretching your legs as best you could beneath the hefty pitbull, you sighed. 

It had been hours since Frank’s last text and you were not handling it well–the image of the little typing bubble on his side of the text chain haunting your every moment. Logically, the presence of those three flashing dots just meant he had started to type something and then forgot or had something else to attend to, but that knowledge didn’t quell the anxiety growing in your chest. 

He was out there, doing god knows what, on his daughter’s 18th birthday, presumably alone and hurting–and there was nothing you could do but wait. And cook him a lasagna of course. Which you had, giving your apartment the pleasant aroma of onions, tomatoes, and ricotta cheese as the dish baked. 

Your consciousness vibrated with the tenacity of an anxious chihuahua, listless with boredom and concern about your sweetheart of a neighbor. Squirming out from under Max’s head, you chuckled as the sleepy pitbull huffed in annoyance. “Sorry, bubba. I need to move around.”

In the final 30 minutes that you lasagna baked, you managed to throw together some simple pastry dough and pull out the small basket of cherries from your fridge. Popping one of the scarlet fruits into your mouth, you began to pluck the remaining stems off before removing their pits. Once they’d been sufficiently prepped, and your hands were adequately smattered with droplets of maroon fruit juice, you dumped them unceremoniously into a pot to create a compote. It didn’t necessarily pair well with lasagna, but you’d promised Frank a cherry pastry. 

Originally, you’d considered making him a cherry basil frangipane, identical to the ones you’d stacked in the bakery’s display case that morning. But, after the day he’d probably had, you figured he’d want something…less intricate. The compliment you’d given him during his first visit to the cafe still held true–Frank was simple and honest. He wasn’t difficult to please, but fancy words and expensive ingredients alone wouldn’t cut it. The food had to be good. So, you pulled out all the stops, making a recipe that you hadn’t made since you lived with Leo: cherry turnovers. 

Unlike your wonderful neighbor, the majority of patrons in the city needed a reason besides quality to continue giving you business. Elaborately decorated pastries and unique flavor profiles were what kept the cafe in business, so you hadn’t tried selling a modest dessert like these since your first few weeks at the Rainy Day Bakery. It was familiar, comforting even. You hoped it would bring Frank similar satisfaction. 

Trading the bubbling lasagna for a tray of triangle-shaped pastries, you brushed your hands on your hips. Re-covering the pasta dish, you hurriedly cleaned your kitchen, wiping away the traces of flour and sugar that inevitably dusted your countertops after you baked. As you rinsed out the mixing bowl, a high-pitched whimper popped the bubble of silence surrounding your apartment. Sitting rigidly by the door to your apartment, Max’s dark eyes pleaded with you. 

“Gosh, you’re right, bud! It is dinner time. I’m sorry, I got carried away. Let’s go get you set up, huh?” 

Snatching Frank’s spare key from your counter, you attached Max’s thick leash to his collar and jogged him back to his apartment, adding an extra handful of kibble as an apology for making him wait. Stroking his short fur a few times, you slipped the key into your pocket, scurrying back over to your apartment to grab the turnovers before they caught fire and reduced the building to ashes. 

Carefully balancing the pastries and lasagna in your hands, you marched back over to Frank’s apartment. Pretty soon, and with only one close call, the food was lined up on Frank’s countertop to cool. Brushing your hands together, you admired your handiwork. 

“Please tell me ya haven’t been sittin’ here with the door open all night.” 

The gruff voice behind you made you jump in shock. Whirling around, your fear morphed into pure joy as you took in the ruggedly handsome man before you.

“Shit, Frankie! You snuck up on me.” You practically squealed, rushing to hug him in greeting. He grunted as you slammed against him, hissing as you squeezed your arms around his hips. Eyes widening in realization, you started to pull back. “Oh fuck, you’re hurt, aren’t you? I’m so sorry, I–” 

Before you could unwrap your arms from his body, his broad hands splayed across your back, muscular arms tugging you back against his firm chest. 

“‘M fine, honey.” Came Frank’s soothing rumble. You felt him press a kiss to your crown before he buried his face in your hair. “Missed you like crazy, sunshine.” His voice was soft, as if he didn’t want you to hear the darling confession. 

“God, I missed you too, Frankie.” You chuckled, your eyes prickling with tears, your body in awe of your own honesty. With his stubbled chin atop your head and his thick arms around your waist, you felt entirely sheltered by his body. He’d created a bubble of safety and serenity for you, as he always did. 

Remaining in his arms, you shifted out from under his head to examine him. Though you’d felt it across your scalp, his beard was noticeably overgrown and in need of a trim. His hair greasy and mussed, streaked with grime, just like his face. The skin of his face was tinged red, with blush or sunburn you weren’t quite sure, and the bags under his eyes were deep. In spite of yourself, your bottom lip stuck out, brow pinching in concern. Bringing a hand up to cradle his face, you stroked a thumb gently over his cheek, careful to avoid the sizeable bruise across it. 

“Oh sweetheart. What did they do to you?” You asked quietly, feeling choked up as the hulking man nuzzled into your touch, his eyes falling shut with a weary sigh. 

“It’s nothin’.” He murmured, his words worn out—as if he’d spoken them so many times they’d lost all meaning. 

“Then it shouldn’t take long to get you cleaned up.” You smiled, the gesture not making it to your eyes. Standing on your tiptoes, you pressed a kiss to his prickly cheek before unwinding his arms from your waist. He started to retract his arms, to tuck them against his sides, but you caught his fingers with yours, grasping his hands tenderly. “Come sit, sweetheart. You must be exhausted.” 

The poor man didn’t argue. Instead, he let you tug him to the couch and sit him down, his lips twitching with fond amusement when you tucked a blanket around his shoulders. “This ain’t mine.” 

You shrugged, the hint of a smirk tugging at your lips. “I redecorated.” 

“I was barely gone three days.” Frank snorted, rolling his eyes at you. 

Poorly stifling a smile as you pretended to be annoyed, you spoke as though it was obvious why you’d done it. “Your apartment is freezing, Frank. Did you want me and Max to get hypothermia while you were gone?” 

He huffed a laugh. “Still bossy.” Letting his head tip back to meet the spine of the couch, his eyes fluttered shut. Your cool touch manifested on his cheek once again. 

“Do you have a first aid kit, Frankie?” 

“Under the bathroom sink.” He answered, his words slurred ever so slightly with fatigue. He received a slight squeeze of his arm in response, your warm fingers leaving a lasting imprint on his skin. 

A year ago, he would never have let himself have this—a moment of peace. Time to let his guard down, to trust someone else to ease his pain. But the combination of his aching body, his heavy eyelids, and your fussing nature had him letting go of a tension he’d held for years, and he couldn’t bring himself to care. 

Soft footsteps alerted him to your presence. Though his eyes were closed, he could hear you shuffle into a crouch, your chest positioned at his knees. 

Stifling a groan, he straightened his posture, wincing slightly as the motion tugged on his day old stitches. His eyes immediately focused on your adorable form in front of him, your own gaze roaming over the various bruises covering his visible skin. Dipping a washcloth into a small bowl of water, you gently lifted his wrist, washing away the dried blood on his knuckles. As you worked, a small river of dirty water–tinged pink from his scarlet blood–dripped down his fingers and onto your dress. 

He watched the trio of droplets fall, time slowing as if to highlight the moment that reignited his anxiety. Splashing across the multicolored fabric, the liquid seeped into your skirt, staining it as you held his hand. Your kindness was endless, and his presence was tarnishing it, ruining it, ruining you. 

Jerking his hand backwards, he cradled it close to his chest. “Lemme do this. I’m gettin’ blood on your pretty dress, sunshine.” He started to stand but you shook your head, gently pushing him back into the cushion and taking his hand in your grasp once again. 

Looking directly into his eyes with an intensity that you always seemed to carry, your lips curved into a small smile. “Frank, it’s just a dress, sweetheart. I promise it’s ok. Let me help you?” With your free hand, you stroked a wayward strand of his hair off of his clammy forehead.

Despite the fact that your gaze conveyed your desire to continue patching him up regardless of his answer, your tone was stilted–giving him the option to deny your help. 

“You’re too sweet for your own damn good, you know.” He sighed, letting his arm go limp in your grip to let you finish what you’d started. 

“Well, you’re too stoic for yours. Makes us quite a pair, doesn’t it?” Your eyes glimmered roguishly, your smirk encouraging him to roll his eyes. 

“Whatever you say, sunshine.” He snorted, knowing full well that you were right. 

You made quick work of tidying up the split skin across his knuckles, moving on to the bruised skin of his cheeks. 

“Didn’t know you were growing this out, Frankie.” You quipped, tugging gently on the untamed curls of his beard. 

His lips twitched, revealing a glimpse of his teeth as he smiled. “Wasn’t plannin’ on it. Whaddya think?” 

Making a great show of shuffling back to study his face, you tapped your chin. “I like it.” 

“You do? Last time it was this long, everyone thought I was some sort of hipster.” 

Shrugging, you focused your eyes back on the cloth in your hand. “I always like how you look, Frankie.” 

Frank’s breath caught in his throat, unable to quite make it to his lungs. Thankfully, he could blame his lack of response on the fact that you were rinsing the injuries on his face, rather than his own lack of emotional intelligence. 

Eventually, you heaved out a breath, looking at him with a raised brow. “Did you want me to look at whatever’s bothering you here?” You asked, gesturing to his hip. 

“If I told ya I have no idea what you mean, would ya call me on it?” He grumbles, not quite sure how he’d feel revealing that much of himself to you. 

You thought for a minute. Nodding once, you answered. “I’d roll my eyes, but respect your desire for privacy.” 

Swallowing thickly, he huffed a nervous laugh. “Fair enough.” With two fingers, he tugged his loose shirt up and over his head, not bothering to disguise his grimace as he rotated his injured shoulder. Pulling the waistband of his pants down an inch, he suddenly felt a surge of fear, not sure how you’d react to seeing his array of scars. 

Inhaling sharply, you traced around his stitches with a finger. “Oh, Frank.” 

“It’s—“

“It’s not nothing.” Taking his hands again, your intensity returned. “You mean something to me. Seeing you hurt…it’s never nothing, ok? Not to me.”

A lump formed in his throat, he nodded as he tried to swallow it down. “Sorry.” 

“No apology necessary,” You squeezed his hands, placing a tender kiss on the raw knuckles of his right hand before grabbing a roll of bandages from your pile of supplies. “I’m not upset that you’re hurt. I just don’t want you to be afraid to lean on someone else for a change.” 

You dressed his larger wounds in contemplative silence, your soft skin a welcome change to the rough contact he was used to. 

“How’d ya learn to patch people up, sunshine? Playin’ nurse for other neighborhood menaces behind my back?” 

You giggled. “You’re my only patient currently. Cross my heart. I’ve just gotten used to first aid after injuring myself my whole life.” 

Bringing a hand up to cup your cheek, Frank’s brow furrowed. “Injurin’ yourself? What do you mean?” 

Eyes widening in realization, you shook your head. “Not intentionally! I’ve just been a klutz for as long as I can remember.” Chuckling sheepishly, you added, “Takes a toll every once in a while.” 

Laughing with relief, he traced a finger along your jaw as he withdrew his hand from your face. “Ah, gotcha. Christ, had me scared there, pretty girl.” 

Your face flushed with heat at the new pet name. You tied off the fresh bandages and stood up. “You should be good to go, unless you’ve got any other areas that need to be looked at?” 

Blushing as his mind traveled to less innocent places, he shook his head. “I’m fine, honey. Thank you. Really.”

“Anytime, sweetheart.” You winked at him, heading to the kitchen to dispose of the dirty water and trash. As you rinsed the last of the grime from the bowl you’d used, Frank moaned behind you. 

“Holy shit.” His words were mumbled around a mouthful of pastry, the other half of a cherry turnover in his hand. Swallowing with another horrifically attractive noise, he lifted the dessert in a gesture. “Did you make these?” 

“Yes, but they were for after dinner!” You scolded, your smile completely betraying your feigned annoyance. “Cherry turnovers. Do you like them?”

“No, they’re awful.” Frank deadpanned, shoving the rest of the pastry into his mouth ungracefully. You giggled, uncovering the lasagna before he could reach for another turnover. 

“Would you like some actual food, you heathen?” You asked through stray laughs. 

“You made me a lasagna?” 

“Thought you might want some comfort food today. So I made two of my favorites.” 

“Thank you,” Frank spoke your name gravely, as if it was a prayer. “God, sunshine, I dunno what to say.” Your heart ached as his voice cracked around the words.

“You don’t need to say anything, handsome. Just eat, so you can rest soon, yah?” 

Frank couldn’t help but let the tension he’d been carrying for days roll off his back like droplets of water, his eyes crinkling with fondness as you puttered around his kitchen as if you had it memorized. You plated two hearty servings of lasagna and took a seat next to him, handing him a fork. 

“I’m glad you made it back safely.” You smiled, your gaze more timid than he’d ever seen it. 

“Me too, sunshine.” After placing a kiss on your forehead, he speared the fork into the food on his plate, taking a massive bite. 

“You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me.” Frank groaned, beaming at you. 

Laughing brightly, you took a bite of your own, overjoyed to have Frank to eat with again. 

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