#this is because of a mixture of his body both being much warmer than your average stalien and his body not being good at filtering the

[dizzydancingdreamer]

The Calm in The Storm | Stephen Strange

Hey lovelies, happy Sunday! I deviated from my requests today as I was feeling kinda down. I'm adding it to the master list because I used the prompt. This is pretty self indulgent-- still a reader insert but just what I was feeling for a good part of the day. I really hope this gives you a sense of peace like it did for me-- All my love!

Appetizers (Tags): Fluff, a smidgen of angst at the beginning

Entres (Pairing): Stephen Strange x F!Reader (Third person)

Sides (Prompts): 8: “Look, it’s me, I’m here, deal with it. Let’s move on.”

Notes: Requested by: me LOL

Word Count: 1.4k

Dinner at Dizzy’s Master List

The water pours over her head, rolling down the curve of her spine and the slope of her chest, completely engulfing her in the warm water. She can’t tell if she’s still crying— or if she ever was to begin with. She feels numb. Overworked and burnt out. That kind of melancholic exhaustion that sets in after a long day of feeling everyone else’s emotions alongside her own. She’s tired.

She lolls her head onto the cool tiles, closing her eyes as the water now streams over her lashes, catching for a moment before dropping to her feet with the rest and swirling down the drain. The stream passes her lips on the way, gliding down her chin, and she wishes she could work up the energy to move away. Sighing she cracks an eye open, glancing at the bottles lining the shelf. The thought of having to wash her hair— of raising her arms from their slumber at her sides— makes her want to scream.

“Need some help, baby?”

She jolts up— something which makes every rusty joint in her body groan in protest— whipping her head to the side where a familiar head pokes past the curtain.

“Stephen, you scared me.” She sighs— again— letting some of the tension melt from her shoulders.

The water is still pouring over her, catching on her limbs and waterfalling off of them, exposing every curve in intricate detail. If it were any other day she would wrap her arms around her chest, her cheeks blooming with heat and embarrassed. Right now, though, she can’t do more than press her lips together, watching as the man watches her, a deep crease forming between his dark brows. His crystal eyes are filled with worry, big and shining. It makes her own chest bubble, her magic drawn to his emotions. She sighs. All she can do is sigh.

He doesn’t say anything for a few moments and soon the sound of the shower running is not enough— not enough to cover the heavy silence— which leads her to murmur through the rushing water. “What are you doing in here?”

He blinks as though finally remembering he has a purpose other than interrupting his girl’s shower, ducking his head back from the curtain. She almost questions him— I’m serious, Steph, what are you doing— until she hears the latch of his buckle and the sound of his jeans pooling with a thud on the ground. Oh. Finally some of the heat pools in her face. He’s joining her. On cue he shuffles the curtain back open, lithe body on display as he steps in next to her.

“Steph—” He pulls her wet body to his chest, leaning down to wrap his corded arms under her own, pressing her against his body until she’s staring at his lean chest.

“Look, it’s me, I’m here, deal with it—” he mumbles softly as his jaw nuzzles against her temple, beard scratching at her skin— “let’s move on. Not leaving you alone, okay?”

Somehow his skin is warmer than the water, his hands splaying against her spine, slightly shaky but entirely him. His skin against hers is blissful— both to her and to him. She can feel his aura settle as his lips press against her temple, the anxiety lacing it dying away. In turn her own, overextended soul takes a breath. The relief makes her head drop against his chest, her forearms settling next to her head. The movement of his shoulders slouching— the final click of his energy settling back into the calm flow that it usually is— is like balm to her stiff body.

“You could have told me.” Her skin pinches at the dull ache in his words and skin.

She runs her nose across his sternum, lips moving against his now dripping skin, catching a few of the droplets. “You have enough on your plate as it is, Mr. Sorcerer Supreme. Didn’t want to add more to that— your job’s more important.”

His protest hums in his chest immediately, his chest rumbling beneath her cheek as she turns her head to meet his blue eyed stare. “Don’t say that. All I do is fight, baby— you keep the team together. You really think I could do the emotions thing all the time like that? I didn’t become a therapist for a reason.”

She pats his chest, her skin prickling with his attempts at humor, clearly meaning to ease her magic with his own emotions— a mixture of concern and love. “Oh I know, honey.”

“Hey—” he chides, his voice and aura remaining light as he chuckles— “rude.”

She giggles, sagging more of her weight against him as his nose shuffles through her sopping hair, his own breathy chuckles joining hers.

“You love me.”

Stephen doesn’t have to answer for her to know it’s true— she can feel it. It exudes from every part of him, strengthening when she suggests it and curling around her body in a fog of warmth and sweetness. Not all emotions have scents— thankfully— but this one does. Stephen Strange loving her smells like picking strawberries in the august heat. Like sun kissed skin and tarte lips. If she weren’t looking at him now, watching the shower stream soak his skin, she would think she’s on a farm— it’s wonderful.

His lips pull up higher, his trembling hands dancing up her back. “More than anything— turn around.”

She scrunches her nose at the tall man. “Why?”

He rolls his eyes in return. “Do you have to question everything?”

“I’m dating you.” She deadpans and he laughs again, chest shaking and aura lighting up at her gentle teasing.

“Rude again—” he leans down further and her fingers search up instinctively, scratching through the hair on his face— “but fair. You were looking at my shampoo a minute ago. I want to wash your hair, sweetheart.”

As soon as he says it she can feel the flick of nervous energy pulling at her magic. She knows why his aura shifts— even without her abilities she would have been thinking about it alongside him. His hands. They’ve had the conversations before— she’d love him without hands, let alone with hands that shake, and she makes sure to tell him that as much as he needs. Still, he’s always been conscious of them. She doesn’t blame him but she hates how uncomfortable he gets, his energy darkening— like there are spiders crawling over his skin and, by default, hers. It’s the worst feeling and she would do anything to take it away for him.

She passes him a soft smile. “You don’t have to, Steph.”

His heart jumps, aura spiking and pink flashing behind her eyes, the sweet strawberry scent magnifying. “I know— I want to. Turn, baby.”

She doesn’t protest any further, spinning in his hold— she doesn’t want to make him feel like he can’t do it. She knows he can. Perhaps with a little less dexterity and a little more focus than her own fingers could do it but that’s part of what makes her so desperately in love with him. She knows at one point those hands were sought after. They were practically life giving. She wants him to know that they still are— that everytime he touches her it feels like her entire being is being lit up. Even when they’re simply shuffling through her hair.

Reaching around her, firm chest pressing into her back, he grabs the bottle. She can hear him squeeze some of the woodsy scented soap into his hands before setting the bottle back down. Her body thrums in anticipation, her skin electrified and scalp prickling. The first touch of his hands smoothing against her hair has her sighing one last time— this time though it’s from delight. From the pleasure that melts across her bones and has her tipping her neck against his collarbone. His fingers— while a tad quivery— are heaven against her. He is heaven.

She has to tell him.

Outstretching her hand behind her, she blindly finds his neck, her fingers curling around his skin and massaging lightly. “Hey, Stephen?”

“Yeah, baby?” She can hear the focus in his voice— feel his determination edging green into her magic— and she pushes her head further into his hold, fingers tightening.

“Thank you for being the calm in my storm.” She pauses, waiting for the jolt of his heart again, her lips pulling into a blissed out grin before adding— “I love you.”

He doesn’t say anything but when she breathes in all she smells is strawberry jam and sunny days— his way of saying I love you too.

[lizbotw]

Could you do an Akaashi Keiji imagine where his girlfriend steals the T-shirt he was wearing after they made out as they got distracted from studying and they playfully argue over the shirt as they both enjoy the view of each other? I’m just soft for Akaashi...

T-Shirt || Akaashi When His S/O Steals His Shirt

same, like honestly who isn’t? i just love him. this ask made me soft, tysm for the request, i loved this ♡ please let me know what you think! also first official scenario/one-shot post :) (even though the others were basically already one-shots on their own but shhh) also, this is gender neutral even though you said girlfriend ♡

warning: suggestive content (making out? but that's about it. also akaashi is hot but we already knew that so here's me describing it)

word count: 3k

Akaashi Keiji

You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, excess saliva dragging across the surface. “Ugh, Keiji, get off. You’re crushing me.”

You squirmed, legs kicking out as you tried to use the momentum to roll him off of you. No such luck.

“Mmm, just a little longer...” His breath tickled your neck, hands still dragging down your sides, balling around the fabric of your loose shorts and then releasing it.

You slumped back down, letting your arms fall away from where they had been looped around his neck. Spread starfish on the floor with an immovable force on top you in the form of your boyfriend, you were about to resign yourself to your fate until your eye caught a glimpse of the colorful textbook page still splayed out on his desk. “No. I swear to God if I fail this math test because of you...”

“Yeah? What are you going to do if you fail? Finish the sentence,” came his muffled reply as he buried his face deeper into the crook of your neck. You could feel the vibration of his laugh and shivered at the feeling.

“I won’t come over anymore.”

The vibration increased as he chuckled against your skin and you instinctively brought one hand up to ball into his hair, stretching your neck away from him and in the opposite direction—he knew you were ticklish there.

“Sure you won’t.” You could tell he didn’t believe you and you didn’t blame him—anyone could call that bluff from a mile away.

While you were trying to think of a witty comeback, you felt him shift and suddenly the weight was gone, leaving you feeling empty at the unexpected lack of contact. Blearily blinking up at him, you could make out his face hoovering above yours for a moment as he supported his weight with his arms planted on either side of you before he pushed himself into an upright position with a slight groan, clearly wanting to stay tangled up in your arms a little longer.

Keiji sat back on his heels and studied you, still straddled about your waist, and right as you opened your mouth to stick your tongue out at him in retort to the intense stare, he shifted again and got up (meaning you got absolutely zero satisfaction out of teasing him), carefully stepping over you.

You kept laying on the floor, watching Keiji closely as he rose and stretched, his back to you now and muscles shifting. His shirt had gotten lost somewhere in the scuffle of limbs and lips earlier, so now his entire torso was on display, toned and rippling under his every movement. Your fingers had traced over each of those lines mere seconds ago, yet you found yourself wondering what they felt like now, as if something about them had changed within the short span since you last touched them.

Sure, you had been the one to tell him to get up, ruining the moment with the reminder of the crushing reality that school still existed, but you weren't above redacting your earlier words and calling him back to you just so you could tug on his raven hair with the same cheeky smile you always found yourself sporting in situations like this. You wouldn't even complain about him laying the wrong way on your stomach and crushing all of the air out of you this time either—promise.

Of course, once again, your words died in your throat and you had to change plans when he made for the bedroom door—you had gotten lost tracing the lines of his arms and hadn't noticed when he had stopped stretching his arms above his head—and you sat up with a jolt, your head throbbing a little at the sudden movement.

“Where are you going? You're not getting out of studying that easily, mister."

Keiji paused in the doorway, hands curled around the edges, and he turned to look back at you over his shoulder, eyes half-lidded and gaze piercing—you swore your heart caught on fire (you silently begged for someone to put it out) and you involuntarily gulped, throat suddenly dry. He hummed in acknowledgement of your words, ignoring your stiffening up at the look he was giving you (although you were sure he noticed it, judging by the way his eyes raked over the small signs of your body language before returning to look at your face).

"Yeah? I was under the impression you didn't like studying on an empty stomach but-"

"Oh! Go then! What are you waiting for?" The prospect of snacks had you perking up, although you were still acutely aware of the tingling in your lips where he had bit a little too hard before, the feeling spreading from that one spot to the rest of the area. You ran your tongue over your lips to cool the feeling—it was studying time now, so reminder to self: get your mind out of the gutter. "Bring an extra bag of chips too. I'm tired of sharing with you."

He quirked an eyebrow, pursing his lips in a way that was a mixture of silent disapproval paired with him trying to hide a smile. (The truth was that you were the one who always took his chips and he didn't even need to scold you out loud for you to understand the correction that should be made in your statement—although even if he did say anything, you would have stuck with your claim that he was the real chip culprit between the two of you, no matter how untrue it was.)

Seemingly realizing that he was going to lose the internal battle of trying not to smile, Keiji pressed his lips together even harder and turned his attention away from you and instead to where his hand was curled around the doorway, watching as his fingers ran over the ridges and bumps. "You got it." And then he was actually gone, out of the room and disappearing down the hallway. You could barely hear his footsteps, even if you tried to strain your ears—they were as quiet as he always was. Reserved and to himself, Keiji seemed to decide that his footsteps would be the same way.

Fully alone now, you flopped back onto the floor, staring up at the ceiling and hands clasp together on top of your stomach. You were replaying the events of that evening in your mind, smiling to yourself as you thought of every little gesture he had made for you.

At some point, plans had been made to study together for the upcoming exam week and that's how you had found yourself on his doorstep, shifting the weighty bag full of textbooks from arm to arm as you waited for him to let you in. It had taken but a mere minute for him to unlock the front door and usher you inside, taking the bag from you—you knew he had been waiting for you, plus he was always a sucker for being on time.

You'd been to his room many times before, but you always looked around to see what had changed from last time, even if it was as minuscule as a stack of papers that hadn't been there before resting on his nightstand.

There was a small, low table in his room, similar to a coffee table, and you two always sat on the floor around it—you found it much more comfortable than sitting on the straight-backed wooden chairs (serious and foreboding in their stance) in his kitchen and dining room. There was a certain freedom of movement on the floor (whether it be to shift closer to him, to spread out your array of pens and highlighters next to you, or to dramatically flop down with proclamation of "I give up!" when faced with a particularly difficult worksheet problem) and a certain aspect of casualness that came with it that set you at ease the same way his presence always did.

This evening had been similar, books crowding the area (and not just school books—“Keiji, I know you like to read, but I have no space for my notebook here and if you don't move your stupid novel right now- What? No, it's not relaxing to read during breaks, what do you think we've been doing this whole time?”) and both of you staring intently down at your work. Keiji had been particularly playful this time though (you thought back to his teasing retorts from earlier when you had told him to get off of you—yeah, he was definitely acting a little different this time around) and one thing led to another before you two were collapsed on the floor next to the table, breaths coming fast and both of you missing your shirts (listen, he had started first, okay?).

Now that you thought about your missing garment, you realize the room was a little drafty, a breeze blowing through his open window and curling it's chilling fingers around your torso. You shivered, wrapping your arms around yourself and sitting up again. Now where was was your shirt...

Your careful glancing around the room stopped short when you caught sight of the bunched up heap of fabric right next to you. You considered it for a moment before reaching out and plucking it from the floor, shaking it out and holding it up in front of you to confirm was it really was; a familiar shirt unrolled from where your fingers pinched the top of the fabric near the neckline. Keiji’s.

Hmm... well it wasn't like he needed it right now. And that was all the justification you needed before an evil smirk spread across your features, mischievous plan brewing in your mind, and you tugged on Keiji's shirt—finders keepers.

Feeling warmer now, you scooted back over to the table, folding your legs under it and messing around with the strewn around papers you had left out, trying to make sense of the mess. You found what you were looking for and straightened up your books, lining them up in front of you before picking up a pen (you were pretty sure that that was also Keiji's) and trying to get back into the working mindset. You actually had to finish this work at some point (even if along the way to the finish line you took a few unplanned breaks in between with your boyfriend’s tongue down your throat—oops, what?) so you easily fell into the groove of writing, your pen scratching against the paper and the quiet hum of the wind outside keeping you company.

It wasn't long before Keiji appeared in the open doorway, balancing a few packets of snacks in one arm. His small grunt when a pack of cookies almost fell off of the top of the stack and he had to angle his arm to keep it in alerted you of his presence (once again, the muffled footsteps paired with your intense focus on your work did not help) and you looked up. Two bottles of water were gripped in his free hand and you reached out to take them from him once he came close enough, allowing him to use both arms to wrap around the mountain of snacks and then carefully let them spill out onto the table so you could take your pick. He sat down next to you, just as he had before, and started to sort the snacks into piles so they wouldn't contribute more to the mess you two had already made.

You pushed a pack of chips off to the side to make room on the table, a small space revealing itself when you did so and on which you rested the water bottles. "No tea this time?"

He didn't even look at you as he focused on the task at hand. "I know you get tired when you drink tea, so no."

"Hmm, but isn't tea supposed to help when you're studying?"

"This isn't a relaxing studying session. We have a lot to catch up on to make up for that missed hour." Even from the side you could make out the beginnings of a budding smirk on his face at your expense. There he was—your responsible boyfriend. He really was going to go all in on you today it seemed—you thought you had escaped his serious study plans because of how playful he had been earlier, but now that he had blown off some steam, it seemed like he was back to his old disciplined self. You internally groaned at the prospect. Couldn't you just go back to cuddling on the floor, even if it was a little uncomfortable?

"Yeah, and who was the cause of us getting sidetracked?" you shot back, not letting him get away with this.

He paused his movement and glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. "...Shut up."

You grabbed a bottle of water and cracked the seal, taking a long sip of the cool liquid to commemorate this small victory over him. "Mhm, that's what I thought."

Keiji finished sorting the snacks into some sort of order moments later and, satisfied with his work, sat back. "Mhm... okay, now that that's done..." He looked around him, twisting in place as he looked behind him, at his sides, and around the table, brow creasing further as he went on. "Where is it?" he muttered, his eyes now glancing further into the room beyond where you two were sitting for whatever it was he was he was missing. "Have you seen my shirt? I could've sworn it was right here...” He shook his head in apology. “Right... sorry, I must have misplaced it, I'll just get another one." He was still racking his brain in bewilderment—trying to figure out where his shirt could have mysteriously disappeared off to—as his eyes continued to rake over the room, but as he moved to get up to walk over to his wardrobe, his gaze zeroed in on what you were wearing. His eyes narrowed in confusion before recognition spread over his features.

You decided to play dumb for now, taking another sip of water to hide your smile. "What are you looking at? Quit staring at me like that."

"(Y/N)..."

You turned to face him fully now. "Take a picture, it'll last longer, Keiji," you taunted, teasing lilt in your tone clearly getting to him as you stuck your tongue out in retort, him bristling at the action (perhaps more so out of a certain type of interest in how the words rolled off of your tongue though, rather than for any other reason).

"If you really wanted to wear it, you know you could have just asked me, right?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"My shirt, (Y/N). Can I have it back? I'm actually feeling a little cold right now." He ran his hands up and down over his arms in an effort to generate some warmth and you remembered the open bedroom window. Good. That's what he deserves for distracting you from studying in the first place.

You picked back up your pen and twirled it in your fingers as you leaned on the table, elbows resting on the surface, feigning nonchalance. Out of the corner of your eye you watched him, you gaze mostly focused on the pen in your hand as part of your "cool, calm, and collected" act (you wanted to play around with having the upper hand here for a little longer). Wanting to get a better look at him though (you couldn't resist the temptation of drinking in the sight of him), you dramatically looked away from the pen and back to him, as if considering his earlier request for his shirt back.

His hair was still messy from when you had ruffled it before when his teeth had found your neck, and now as he took a sip from his own water bottle, you could see the slight wetness the liquid left behind on his lips when he took the bottle away, not bothering to wipe it away. Your eyes widened at the slight glisten—he knew what he was doing—and you resisted the temptation to immediately look away in embarrassment, instead forcing yourself to don a coy grin and return to taunting him.

"I recall you complaining about it being too hot earlier, Kei, so I'm not sure which one's the truth now." That had been when you two were still pressed together, feeding off of each other’s body heat. And now came the dangerous part—an invitation, the anticipation of the results of the light provocation already stirring up butterflies in your stomach. “If you want it back that badly, why don't you just take it?"

You expected the crashing of lips, him cutting you off and swallowing your words, taking advantage of the fact that your mouth was open—but instead all you got in response was a small tilt of his head and then a knowing smile. Ugh, you should have known it would have turned out this way, you falling just shy of triumph. He never even fell for Kuroo's, the master of provocation’s, taunts, and while Keiji let you get away with a lot because you were you, you were naive to think you ever had the upper hand here.

He brought a hand up to cup your cheek, thumb running over your lips. You wanted to bite out a bark of “Quit teasing me, Keiji,” but also didn’t want to risk him drawing his hand away either.

Your impatience was put to rest soon though when he spoke, voice low. “I guess I really will have to take it back then." And then he leaned in, your own eyes fluttering closed, and the soft movement of his lips against your own had your heart doing summersaults. You know what? Maybe this was better than what you had in mind.

“So much for playing nice," you felt him murmur against your lips when he pulled back slightly to run his tongue over them. You shivered at the sensation and wasted no time obliging him with your lips slightly parted now, dropping your pen somewhere on the floor and moving instead to splay your hands on his back for support. Your fingers ran over the surface as you had so desperately longed to do before as he continued the sweet onslaught against your tongue. His hand still cradled your face, but now the other one took a special interest in gripping your waist and toying with the edge of his shirt there—A.K.A. the object of his attention (although that title gradually seemed to be slipping to you as he got more and more engrossed in your quiet, shuddering breaths against him, you practically melting against his chest).

Just like last time, a single kiss turned into many, each one more desperate than the last, and before you knew it, you were on your back again, Keiji's fingers playing with the bottom of the fabric of your shirt and tentatively running his hand over the skin underneath, gradually creeping higher. (He seemed to be making a conscious effort not to accidentally lean his elbow on your upper arm again this time either—that had hurt.) Well... you guessed the studying could wait for later. A few detours along the way were fine, weren't they?

[joonie-beanie]

The Best Kind of Workout

Pairing: Beelzebub x Reader

Word Count: 5,525

Preview: A simple request from Beel turns into a big issue when you lose yourself to your feelings for him.

"I want you. All of you."

Now the real question is...can you fit all of him?

** Please note that this is a cross-posting **

This chapter was originally posted on 2/22/20 as a part of my “Devil Doms” series on AO3.

It starts out as an innocent request—a text from Beel, asking you to come to the gym and film him. You agree without giving it much thought. You don’t exactly have anything better to occupy your time, and you’d be grateful to get away from Mammon’s constant unannounced appearances in your room, so—you slip on your shoes and exit the House of Lamentation.

Lucifer would have your head knowing that you’re leaving without an escort—after all, not all demons are as nice as them—but Beel had given you a tour of the gym before, and it wasn’t a very far walk.

Within minutes, you’re entering the brightly lit building. It’s not too late—only about 9pm—but not many demons are inside.

Well…it is a Friday, and you suppose that people would rather be out having fun than working out in a gym that smells overwhelmingly like air freshener.

“Y/N,” Beel calls, and you search for the sound—your eyes eventually finding him. He’s stood near a bench press—dressed in a fitted black wife beater, and a pair of baggy sweats. You’re not sure why, but all of the sudden saliva is pooling in your mouth, and you have to remember to swallow. Perhaps it’s because you’ve never seen him in his workout clothes before—his pecs and abs outlined by his top, and his tanned, beefy arms shining with a thin layer of sweat…

“Y/N?” he speaks again, and you blink out of your trance, your eyes finding his. He’s frowning at you, worry in his gaze. “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah! I’m fine,” you respond, and hurry over to wear he’s standing. You greet him with a smile—still a little frazzled—and Beel immediately returns it. For a second, he lifts his arms—leaning in as if to hug you—but then he pulls back.

“I’m sweaty. You probably don’t want a hug,” he says, as if saying his thoughts aloud. You’re tempted to argue that you’ll take a hug from him whenever—because honestly feeling his large body engulf you—his scent sticking to your clothes, and his chin resting against your head—is a huge guilty pleasure of yours—but the moment is already gone. Beel has stepped away, positioning himself on the seat of the bench press.

Annnnnddd you’re staring again, enraptured by the simplistic charm he exudes solely by being in his element. His thighs are spread, messy orange hair falling into his eyes—and while the sight isn’t scandalous, it’s just…he’s just…very handsome.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, his hand reaching forward. He grabs your wrist, tugging you to him. You lose your balance slightly, and your hand lands on his thigh, his free arm steadying you by your hip.

“You’re really red…,” he mumbles, releasing your wrist and raising his palm to press against your forehead. His brows are creased in concern once more—his face close—and you feel yourself getting even warmer.

Oh god, what has gotten into you?? Sure, you’ve always thought Beel was attractive, and perhaps had thought about him before in a light that reached beyond friendship, but…why is this happening to you now?!

“I-I’m sorry,” you say, releasing a deep sigh. You press back, separating yourself from him slightly. “I’m fine, Beel, I promise.”

“Truly?” he asks, the warmth of his hand still lingering on your hip. His fingers press into the fabric of your jeans, not allowing you to fully get away—not until he believes you.

“Truly,” you assure him, smiling. He eyes you considerately, as if debating whether to trust you, but after a moment he smiles as well—his touch falling away.

“Good. Do you think you can record me then? I want to make sure my form is okay, and it’d be helpful to have a video to review later.”

“Sure!” you say, moving to pull your phone from your pocket. In the back of your head, there are alarm bells ringing. You’ve just agreed to record Beelzebub working out—how are you going to handle that, when your thirst for the Avatar of Gluttony is finally starting to catch up with you?!

I just need to play it cool, and stick it out, you think to yourself, getting your video recorder ready as Beel positions himself under the barbell. Your eyes flit to the weights lining the bar—multiple huge discs of metal secured on either side. You can’t tell their weight, but you’re sure that it’s a lot. Probably enough to kill you if you tried to lift it.

“Ready?” he asks, and you nod—hitting the red button on your phone screen.

“You’re good to go,” you respond, and Beel presses upward—lifting the barbell from the rack. He lowers it to his chest, and then pushes it up—his face scrunching in concentration as he works under the challenging weight. You keep your eyes glued to your phone screen—hoping that it will help filter the effects that Beel’s workout is sure to have on you—but of course it doesn’t.

The muscles in his arms flex—thick veins tracking up and down his tan skin—and immediately you’re already reminding yourself that you need to breathe. However, that’s easier said than done—your eyes trailing down his arms and settling on his chest—his pectorals rising and falling with each press of the bar.

Slowly, you move around the equipment, filming Beel from different angles—assuming that’s what he wants. At least despite the heat flooding your limbs, you’re still somewhat aware of the task he’s given you.

As you circle him, your gaze rakes down his torso—soaking in the patch of skin that has been revealed thanks to his top riding up. The prominent V of his hip bones has you biting your lip—your breathing picking up slightly, and your eyes travel lower still. Thanks to his current position, with his back pressed flat against the bench and his sweats not leaving much to imagination—his bulge is quite obvious.

You swallow harshly, freezing in place as your thighs press together. Your pussy throbs—heart thumping against your ribs—and you forget about what you’re meant to be doing. Instead, your mind begins to wander.

If he’s that big flaccid, then he must really be packing it when erect. And suddenly—you’re imaging Beel’s cock inside of you—pushing you to your limits as he buries himself between your wet walls—his touches soft despite his large stature. You don’t feel small all the time, but you’re sure he would make you feel petite. Maybe your stomach would even protrude a bit—

“Oi~”

There’s a hand on your head—fingers running through your hair—and you blink back into reality. Beel’s staring at you, eyebrows raised curiously.

“Did you zone out while filming? I put the bar back and you were still standing there, staring off into space.”

“I…,” you attempt to respond, but your brain feels as if it’s short circuited. You’re hot all over—and it doesn’t help that Beel’s fingers are petting through your hair so fondly.

“I just…you look good working out,” you admit, unable to keep the truth from coming out. (Likely because you’re needy beyond measure right now, and actually want him to take the hint.) Despite your efforts to maintain an innocent friendship with Beelzebub, you want him to touch you more than anything. You thrive on his hugs, and any lingering contact, and you crave more.

“Oh,” he responds, apparently not having expected that response. There’s a bashful look on his face, his eyes darting to the side. His fingers slide from your head—but you chase after his touch—catching his hand midair and pulling it back to you. You cradle it near your chest—selfish, and not wanting to let him go.

“I…,” your words escape you, embarrassment flooding you as you attempt to work up the courage to tell him what you want. At seeing your inner turmoil, Beel lifts his hand to cup your cheek—your fingers still gripping his own. Your heart skips a beat when you meet his gaze—a mixture of worry, and…excitement? held in his eyes—

“I want you,” you say, voice almost a whisper. Suddenly feeling a little bold at the admission of emotions you’d been holding onto for too long, you shift your face in his hold and press your lips against his fingers. Beel immediately turns red, his eyes going wide. His mouth opens, but no words come out, and an ache pangs at your heart.

Maybe you’ve just ruined everything. Oh god, you shouldn’t have opened your mouth, what were you thinking?!

Your hands leave him, foot stepping backwards as you prepare to run away, but luckily—Beel’s brain finally digests your words. Before you can get too far, he grips both of your shoulders, spinning you back to face him. A noise of shock leaves you—but the sound is muffled by his lips as Beel drags you into a kiss.

Despite his gentle nature, the kiss is far from soft—your lips feeling as if they may bruise. You feel his tongue drag against the seal of your lips, and a quiet moan leaves you—your body beginning to melt against him. However, just as you begin to lose yourself in the moment, a whistle in the background throws you back into reality.

Your cheeks are flaming, wide eyes scanning across the floor of the gym as you and Beel mutually part. The few demons present are all looking at you, interest clear on their faces—a look of “don’t let us stop you”.

“C’mon,” Beel speaks up suddenly. He grabs your wrist, swoops down to snatch the bag he had brought with him, and then leads you to the door. A few teasing calls follow you out, and you find yourself pressing closer to the Avatar of Gluttony, needing somewhere to hide.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles after a few seconds—his strides long as he leads you up the street. You struggle to keep up, your eyes darting to his face. From the looks of it, he seems a little upset with himself.

“No, Beel, you don’t need to be sorry,” you try to tell him, but he doesn’t respond. He continues to pull you along—the House of Lamentation coming into sight. However, you know that you need to do something before you arrive home. If he sets foot inside, then you’re sure he’ll bury himself in the fridge and attempt to drown out his current regretful feelings with food.

“Beel,” you say again, louder. You lift your other hand and place it atop his—fingers curling against the side of his palm. At the same time, you begin dragging your feet, forcing him to slow down—and after a few seconds, the two of you come to a stop.

Around you, the street is quiet—illuminated by soft lights overhead. Beelzebub still won’t look at you, and you sigh, gently prying his grip from your wrist. Luckily, he doesn’t put up a fight, and you cradle his palm between your own as you step around to face him.

He still looks shy, and guilt-ridden. He had mindlessly kissed you in a public space, in front of others. And sure, you don’t exactly like feeling so embarrassed, but…your words had been what sparked such a reaction from him.

“I still want you,” you admit quietly. Reaching one of your hands forward, you gently rest your palm on the swell of his chest—your eyes lingering on his lips. “It’s…okay, if you don’t feel the same, but—”

“I do,” he interrupts you, his finger cradling your jaw. He leans down to meet you halfway—and you’re once again reminded just how big of a boy Beel is—pressing to your tippy-toes as you lean into him. He’s a little more cautious this time—his lips melding with yours gently.

You sigh at the sensation—your arms lifting to wrap around Beel’s neck as you intentionally deepen the kiss—urging him on. And he takes the bait, slotting his mouth against your own.

With each passing second, you feel the warmth in your belly expand—snaking all the way to the ends of your fingers and toes. At the same time, Beel’s tongue drags against your own, your shared kisses quickly becoming more passionate. His arms wrap around your waist—pulling you against him, but you still feel too far. So, he momentarily breaks the kiss—leaning down to grab the backs of your thighs. A cry of surprise leaves you as he hefts you up.

Beel really is the size of a small tree.

“Cute,” he laughs against your lips, your legs securing themselves around him. You smack your hand against his chest—embarrassed—but he quickly smothers any rebuttal you could have said with his lips. This time, he picks up where you left off—his tongue pushing into your mouth and stealing your breath away. You moan against him—your breasts flush with his chest, and the Avatar of Gluttony has never been so aware of that fact.

However—

“Mm--!” you gasp as you feel something prominently poke against your womanhood through your jeans. Beel pulls back slightly, his cheeks dusted pink.

“I want you too,” he says, as if it isn’t already obvious. Your heart thrums at his words, and you cup his face in your hands—pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

“Maybe we should get home, then.”

Beel nods, and your eyes widen as out of nowhere, his horns appear on his head. Without hesitation, the sixth born jumps into the air, and you hold onto him for dear life—even as he shifts you so you’re being held in his arms bridal style.

“Gosh, I forget you can fly,” you breathe, watching his wings flutter behind him. Beel only chuckles, his head ducking down to nuzzle at your neck. You shiver, his tongue lapping over your skin.

“You taste good,” he mumbles, his teeth nipping at your throat, and you fight to keep from whining.

“Beel, just—wait, till we’re inside, please,” you beg, your fingers running through his hair. You swear you hear a small disappointed grunt, but nonetheless Beelzebub listens—his attention refocusing on getting you back to the House of Lamentation.

As you approach, Beel goes not to the front entrance, but instead circles around the large mansion until he finds the window he’s looking for. The glass pane pushes open without trouble, and when you send him a curious glance—his feet touching down on the upper balcony of the room he shares with Belphie—Beel shrugs.

“Belphie keeps a window open in case he ever needs to sneak out.”

Honestly, a part of you is curious to know where the hell Belphie needs to be sneaking off to, but right now, that’s not your priority. No, currently, you want nothing more than to quench the throbbing ache that has settled between your legs.

“C’mere,” you say, grabbing Beel by his collar. You drag him into another messy kiss—your other hand sliding down the hard planes of his stomach until you find what you’re looking for. A guttural sound bubbles up in Beel’s throat as your fingers trace the outline of his cock—the hard member trapped within the confines of his sweats and underwear.

Oh god, he’s huge, you realize, and the thought that you may not be able to fit him (while to some may seem scary) has your already soaking panties becoming even wetter. You want to feel him inside of you—stretching you out and filling you in all the right ways. Even if it hurts, even if tears wet your eyes, and you feel like you may split.

“No fair. I want to touch you too,” he mumbles, his hands dropping to your waist. He grabs the hem of your shirt—forcing you to break the kiss as he tugs the fabric right over your head. You flush red, but Beel is nice enough to even the playing field—dragging his own shirt off of his torso. It drops onto the floor beside your own, and you immediately reach forward—your fingers dragging the length of his abs.

“You really were made in heaven,” you whisper, and Beel’s face goes red at your praise—his dick twitching within its confines. He doesn’t know what to say—so he doesn’t bother responding with words. Instead, he cradles your jaw with one hand—his mouth settling against the opposite side of your neck. He begins biting and sucking at the soft skin, and your knees feel weak. A whine leaves you—one of your hands moving to grip his hair, while the other sinks down to the waistband of his sweats.

Your fingers sneak beneath the layers of fabric, and Beel breathes a shaky, hot breath against you as your digits curl around his length. He’s thick, and hard—your hand too small to encompass his girth—but to Beel, any amount of friction feels like a taste of paradise.

As you slowly stroke him—tracing him from base to tip—the Avatar of Gluttony continues his feast on your neck. His tongue traces along your collarbone, teeth nibbling every so often, and you tug at his hair—a whine caught in your throat.

“Beel,” you pant, and you feel his member twitch in response to your breathless tone. His touch slips from your face—his palm moving downward and splaying against your breast. He frowns when he realizes your bra is hiding the soft mound from his touch, and quickly moves to slide the strap from your shoulder. Once he’s done so, he shoves his hand beneath the padded cup—your nipple slotting between two of his fingers as he gives the flesh a squeeze. You gasp—your hand tightening around his length—and Beel retaliates in turn.

He rolls your nipple between his fingers—his sharp canines scraping against your skin as he gives your shoulder a playful bite. The action sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your womanhood, and you moan, your knees buckling.

Beel is quick to steady you, his arm moving to wrap around your waist. He rears back, glancing down at you—flushed pink and eyes blown out with lust—and knows that he won’t be able to control himself much longer.

“Let’s get somewhere more comfortable,” he says—an edge to his voice. Beelzebub bends down, as if he intends to pick you up once more, but pauses. His purple eyes stray to look at your bottom half—your legs still hugged by a pair of jeans, and he frowns.

“But first, I want to get you out of these.”

His fingers pop open the button on the waistband, the zipper following soon after, and you think your heart may beat right out of your chest.

“I-I can do it!” you say, bending over to push the fabric down your legs. Beel frowns, wanting to have continued undressing you himself, but as you fold yourself over—attempting to step out of your pants—you reveal your back to him. And, in turn, the clips of your bra, which is also still frustratingly in place (well, sort of).

So, the Avatar of Gluttony makes quick work of un-securing your bra—the undergarment quickly sliding down your arms and falling to the floor just as you finish stepping out of your jeans. Your eyes go wide in shock—the hot air between your bodies breezing across all of your freshly revealed skin.

“That’s better,” Beel smiles—a playful laugh sneaking past his lips. He reaches down and tosses you over his shoulder as if you weigh nothing. You squeal, one of his hands securing you around your waist. The other rests on the inside of your thighs, but as Beel makes his way to the spiral staircase that leads down to the main area of the room, you feel his fingers brush up against your panties.

You bite your lip, your fingernails pressing small crescents into the skin of his shoulder blades as Beel moves the crotch of your underwear aside. A single digit pushes between your wet walls.

“More,” you breathe almost instantly, your hips wiggling in his hold. Beel listens faithfully, adding a second. He begins to work you open slowly—your juices rushing over his skin and a quiet moan leaving you. Beel curls his fingers as he fucks you—your legs jolting when he finds your sweet spot, and he grunts happily in response.

With each step down the stairs, his cock bounces within its confines, and Beel desperately misses your touch, which had granted him some relief. You’re so small in comparison to him, and he doesn’t want to hurt you, but he’s also aware of what you desire. So, he presses a third finger inside of you—your breath hitching as your pussy finally begins to feel the stretch.

“Too much?” he asks, stepping from the staircase. His eyes scan the room—he hadn’t even considered checking to see if Belphie was in—but luckily there’s no sign of his brother.

While Beel isn’t as greedy as Mammon, and doesn’t usually mind sharing, right now he wants you to himself.

“No,” you respond, shaking your head. Your toes curl as his long digits press all the way inside of you. “It feels—ah—really good.”

Beel steps beside his bed, and gently lowers you to the mattress—his fingers never leaving you. His gaze rakes down your body—soaking in the sight of your bare torso, and the needy look on your face as he thrusts his fingers into you once more. Your pussy clenches around him, and the Avatar of Gluttony leans down to kiss you.

“Y/N, I don’t want to hu—”

“I want you. All of you,” you interrupt him, gripping his face between your palms. There’s hesitancy knitting on his forehead, his lips frowning, and you kiss him again—smiling.

“I want your big dick inside of me, Beel.”

“Mm,” he groans at your words, his finger wetly dragging out of your cunt. You mourn the loss, eyes tracking Beel as he finally reaches to his hips, pushing his sweats and underwear down his thighs. His cock springs free, and your tongue darts out to wet your lips.

As Beel rids himself of his remaining clothes, you sit up—reaching out. Your hands enclose around him—two hands needed to cover the entirety of his girth. Beel releases a shaky sigh at the feeling, his palm resting against your hair as you lean in—lapping your tongue against the bead of pre-cum leaking from his slit.

He watches you like a hawk—his fingers rooting in your hair as you continue to kiss and lick at his length. His member throbs in your hold, and a sense of pride settles in your chest. Gathering spit on your tongue, you drag the wet muscle against a prominent vein on the underside of Beel’s shaft, and you’re rewarded with a tug of your hair.

Beel guides your head away, and you glance up, spotting his flushed cheeks.

“Don’t do that,” he says, clearly enjoying it too much—risking that the fun end too soon—and you smile, your touch disappearing from him. It’s then that Beel steps aside, kneeling against the mattress and positioning himself against the headboard. He beckons you forward—holding out his hand—and you take it after pausing to reach down and discard your panties.

He drags you up to meet him, watching as you swing your leg across his body, settling on the upper parts of his thighs. His dick sits curved against his abs, and you reach down, taking it into your hand and holding it up straight. It nearly reaches your navel…

“Oh fuck,” you say, your walls clenching. You press onto your knees—Beel’s hands finding your waist. He lifts you from the mattress, helping position your body over his pelvis. With your grip on his length, you place the head of his cock at your entrance.

Steeling himself, Beel lowers you down—your walls tight around him as he slowly sinks inside of you. You moan at the feeling—your hands moving to press against his pecs to steady yourself. With his hands still guiding you, Beel urges you even further—pausing when your breath hitches—your pussy clenching around him.

“F-Feels good. So big,” you say, reassuring him that you’re fine before he can even think to ask. Beel can see the ecstasy painted on your face, and it drives him forward. He captures your lips in a heated kiss—his tongue stealing your breath away as it enters your mouth. You moan into him—Beel swallowing your sounds as he forces you to take more of his length.

You’ve never been so full before—inklings of pain letting your brain know that it may not be a good idea to venture so deep so quickly—but you’ve never cared less. In this moment, you want nothing more than to wholly be Beel’s.

And besides—there’s nothing wrong with a little bit of pain. In fact, one may argue that it actually makes it better.

“Fuck--,” you pant, breaking the kiss for a much-needed breath of air. Your fingernails have curled into Beel’s skin—nerves on fire as he continues to slowly inch you down onto him. Heat expands throughout your limbs, fire licking at the inside of your stomach as you waver on the border of pain and pleasure. However, when you glance up at Beel’s face and see his pinched eyebrows, his eyelashes fluttering as your tight pussy grips him so deliciously—you’re reminded that this is exactly what you wanted.

Finally, after what feels like forever—but in reality, is likely less than a minute—your thighs brush the inside of Beel’s hips. The head of his cock pushes up against your cervix as he bottoms out inside of you, and you choke on a cry. Beel’s chest rises and falls rapidly beneath your palms. He’s never felt so good in his life—and despite the fact that he desperately wants to buck up into you, he knows he still needs to give you time to adjust.

So, he reaches a hand around the back of your head and guides your body forward. His mouth connects with the soft mounds of flesh on your chest—tongue flattening against your nipple—and your spine instinctively curves—pressing you closer to him.

Beel continues to alternate between your breasts—sucking, lapping, and nipping at the sensitive skin—until he finally feels your hips move against his. The action is slow, and experimental—as if testing the waters—but despite the fact that you still feel as if you may burst, the pain has died down. Now, all that’s left in its place is an overwhelming need for release.

Beel fights to contain himself as you begin rolling your body against his own—your tight, slick walls hugging his dick and dragging him closer to his demise with each passing second.

“Y/N,” he breathes, a plea caught on his tongue, and you move one of your hands to cup his face.

“You can move,” you tell him with a smile, and immediately Beel is wrapping his arms around you—hugging you to his chest. He scoots away from the headboard, his head now resting on his pillows, and you realize he’s aiming for better leverage. However, before you can think to ask if he wants you to adjust your position, Beel begins fucking up into you. You cry out, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you hold onto him for dear life.

“F-Fuck, Beel,” you moan, your breath hot on his skin. Lewd, wet sounds echo through the room with each smack of Beel’s hips, and you feel your legs begin to shake. You’ve never been so full—your walls being stretched out by his cock with each desperate thrust.

His breathing is heavy in your ear—his grip on your torso leaving no wiggle room. You’re subject to whatever Beel is craving—which is apparently a hot and heavy path to release—and you don’t even mind. Each drag of his length between your walls has the coil of pleasure in your gut winding tighter—more and more whines slipping past your lips, and Beel has never heard anything more beautiful.

“Aah--!” you cry when he adjusts his angle ever so slightly, his cock brushing up against your g-spot. Immediately you’re seeing stars, body going limp in Beel’s hold. He feels your arousal dripping down his member and onto his thighs. You’ve gotten so wet for him that he never should have worried about you not being able to take him.

“Y/N,” he groans, unable to help himself. Your pussy is swallowing him so deliciously, he’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to last like this. Thankfully, you’re getting close—little chants of “Beel” “close” “please” reaching his ear.

Beel feels your pussy begin to tighten around him—your spine curving in his hold—and he knows this is it.

“Fuck,” you moan, tears appearing in your eyes as the pleasure surging throughout your body suddenly overwhelms you. Your teeth latch onto his shoulder—a desperate attempt at keeping yourself from screaming—and Beel’s rhythm stutters.

“Shit,” he breathes, beginning to lose himself, but you beat him to the finish line. With a muffled cry, you come undone around him—your pussy latching onto Beel’s cock as your orgasm swells into every inch of your body. The increased pressure on his length forces the Avatar of Gluttony to his bliss as well—shallow breaths fanning against your hair as he empties himself inside of you.

For a moment, the two of you are still—simply trying to catch your breath as you begin to come down from your highs. Then, you feel Beel’s softening length slip from inside of you—his cum leaking from your pussy—and your eyes go wide. You look up at him, face bright red, but Beel only smiles.

He presses himself up into a seated position with one arm—the other still intent on not letting you go—and then slots his lips against yours. You melt into the kiss—soft, and tender, and just what you need.

“I really enjoyed that,” you tell him, lifting your hands to cup his face.

“Me too,” he says, leaning in to kiss you again. However—

Grrrrrrrrr

You and Beel both pause, looking down at the space between your bodies. Beel moves a hand to settle against his stomach.

“Oh, I guess I haven’t had anything to eat since before I went to the gym.”

“I’m surprised you’re still alive,” you snort, and Beel chuckles—swooping in to kiss you once more before his hands find your waist and lift you off of him.

“Do you want anything from the kitchen?” he asks, scooting off the bed. You watch him as he grabs his sweats from the floor, slipping them back on over his legs. You realize from his question that he fully expects you to spend the remainder of the night here, with him, and your heart flutters.

“I’ll snack on whatever you bring back,” you tell him, and Beel nods. Not bothering to put on a shirt, the Avatar of Gluttony heads to the door. Within seconds, you’re alone in the room, and you move to the edge of the mattress. You press your feet to the ground, gasping when your legs wobble—threatening to give out.

He really fucked me so good that I can barely walk, you think, cheeks pink. Your eyes turn to the spiral staircase. You had been intending to go upstairs and get your clothes, but you don’t want to risk tripping and hurting yourself.

So, instead you cautiously make your way to Beel’s dresser. You dig out a long t-shirt, and then head into the bathroom. After cleaning yourself up, you return to the main room—Beel’s clean shirt covering your torso.

You’ve just replanted yourself on his bed when the door clicks open. Your gaze turns up, expecting to see Beel standing there with a mountain of food in his arms, but instead you find…Belphegor.

He’s frowning at you, suspicion in his gaze. His eyes rake around the room, pupils narrowed.

“You’re wearing Beel’s shirt,” he finally says.

“My clothes were dirty,” you counter. Belphie cocks an eyebrow—a grin tugging at his lips.

“Okay. Then explain the hickies on your neck, and why the room currently reeks of sex.”

At that…you can only turn red, and Belphegor sighs. He opens his mouth, as if to complain, but then pauses. His eyes widen, gaze raking over you once more.

“…you fit him?”

And now, you really think you might die of embarrassment.

[pit-and-the-pen]

hii can i request a fred fic for prompt 37 where it’s like a snowy/rainy sunday or something along the lines of that? thank uu xx

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ah I’m so so so sorry it’s been so long but so many things popped up. 

That being said, I hope you like it❤️❤️

Fred x Reader

Warnings: None

Taglist:@thoseofgreatambition @ickle-ronniekins@obsessedwithrandomthings-blog @harrysweasleys @kpopgirlbtssvt @shadowsinger11 @harrypotter239  @elf-punk @bitchywhisperswizard @wand3ringr0s3 @m1rkw00dpr1ncess @lunalovegxxd 

                    -------Baby it’s cold outside. -------

It was just one of those days that you couldn’t stay warm. Even bundled up in the common room sitting by the fire with a long sleeve and a jumper. Plus the blanket your mom had sent you for Christmas. 

Holiday was just wrapping up and people were slowly starting to trickle back into the castle but without that many bodies crowded in the common room, it felt like an ice block. Every inch of the castle was freezing. The stones seem to trap it from the wind currently rattling the stained glass windows. The one good thing about the wind thought was that it was shaking off some of the snow that was packed in, letting in some sunlight and raising the temperature by a degree or so. There was a single stream of sunlight and just like a cat, you were curled up in it. perched on the windowsill, the glass sucking up the mixture of heat from the fire and the sunlight. The words from the random book you grabbed off of the shelf in an attempt to distract yourself were just going in one ear and out the other. You sat in that window for hours, saying hi to the other kids that walked in, hauling trunks and holding multiple layers in their arms from the walk up the many many flights of stairs.  A loud laugh from right outside of the portrait hole got your attention. It was a laugh so warm you seemed to forget how cold the castle felt. A laugh you could tell from anywhere, the responding laughter only further cementing who it was. The picture swings open and you see the flash of red hair. You sink back down when you see it’s about  a foot too short. Ginny. Followed by Ron who was getting yelled at for shaking his still snow covered beanie out on top of the girls head. You giggled quietly to yourself. Trying to hide the disappointment that it was the wrong Weasley. But he must be close, you know it. “Do it again and I’ll hex you.” Ginny yells in a stern voice. Running her hand through her hair to get the clumps of snow out. “I’d pay good money to see that” A voice called from right outside the entrance. It felt like your heart jumped into your throat. George had walked in, followed by Fred. You had lost all interest in the book you were pretending to read. A smile instantly popping up on your face. You hadn’t seen Fred all of the holiday, unlike last year when you had spent almost all of break at the burrow. It sort of had made you spoiled, spending every moment with Fred for almost over a year. Suddenly whenever you didn’t see him for long periods of time it was like a small part of you was missing and boy, did that scare the crap out of you.

His eyes met yours from across the room and the smile he gave you could have melted all the snow outside. The room seemed to float away as you started to unwrap yourself for all the various layers you were bundled in. 

Your ears vaguely picked up the sound of someone in the room whistling at the little scene you two made but honestly, you didn’t care. Something about Fred always pulled you in, like magnets. 

“Hey there.” He said in a small surprised voice as you wrapped your arms around his middle. His own hands going into your hair to give you a few calming pats. You placed your chin on his chest so you could look him in the eye. Your cheeks started to hurt from how much you were smiling. 

He tried to take a step forward but you just gave him a tighter squeeze. 

“Gosh, keep that up and people are going to think you missed me.”He gave a fake look of horror. “Worse than that they might actually get the impression you...like me..” He chuckled at own joke. 

Moving his hand from your head to just under your chin, he tilted it up so he could lean down and give you a quick peck. 

“Enough you two, you’re going to spoil my dinner before I’ve even eaten it.” George shouts from across the common room. A small part of you had forgotten anyone else was even there. A small pout must have formed on your face because Fred just winks at you before whispering “later than” into your ear, causing your whole face to heat up slightly. 

The feast that night left you all feeling full and sleepy. The perfect thing for such a cold night. If possible the lack of sun actually made it even colder. You couldn’t just retreat into the warm of your window anymore, so you settled for dragging a plush loveseat by the fireplace and trying to finish that same book from earlier. 

“See she’s already forgotten about me.” You heard a familiar voice say with a laugh. 

“I wish it was that easy, Weasley.” You shot right back. 

He grabbed his chest and folded over. “I’m wounded.” He chuckles again before grabbing your head and tilting it up so he could give you a kiss on the forehead. Your eyes close and your face crunches up as you fake a grimace. 

Fred plops down right by your side. Draping his legs over the length of the couch, covering the book in your hand. You sigh a dramatic sigh and look over at him. He quickly looks away, whistling very loudly. Sighing again you scoot over a little so you can put your head on his chest. You did have to admit he was warmer than all the blankets you had. 

After a few moments, you stopped playing the little game of being indifferent and wrapped both arms around his middle again, cuddling even further into his side. 

One of his arms goes around your waist, the other going to your hair. “Someone is cuddly tonight I see.” He murmurs before leaning his head against the top of yours. 

“What can I say you’re warm.” You say before closing your eyes. 

“I missed you too.” Is the last thing you hear before you drift off. Warm for the first time all day.

[kyrisflowerfield]

Glass (Gojo)

Angst Warning. Spoilers for those who haven’t read The Shibuya Incident

He was home. He was okay. With you, and okay. The house was silent as you laid in your husbands arms trying you’re best not to cry in sheer…relief? Exhaustion? No, definitely an odd mixture of both…. “I’m sorry.” The words were quiet, softly fluttering around you before hitting your brain, you heart. “You’re completely exhausted because of me, you’re hurt.” You were silent for a moment, still taking in his existence beside you, the day had been hard, admittedly. You fought a special grade on a mission only to come back to hearing about Satoru’s capture in the Prison Realm, you didn’t question it though, simply fought like hell until he was back, with you. Always with you. “Don’t apologize for my physicality, I don’t even care anymore really. Apologize for scaring me so much.” You looked up at him, finally taking your face away from his warm jacket, shivering at the cold that swept through you despite the blanket on your sore body. You could feel the tears, still stubbornly unshed, stinging the backs of your eyes as you refused to cry, refused to be so weak. “You don’t know how scared I was Toru…” You hated how much your voice was wavering, how fragile it sounded. “Coming home to hearing about you, stuck in some cursed box.” You could feel yourself trembling, the weight of it all finally hitting you, tipping you over, making you curse your inevitable fragility. “You can’t leave me like that Satoru…” Salt drops finally dampening your cheeks. “I need you, I need you here Satoru, with me.” Arms pulling you closer stroking your hair as the thread that made your stability, your persona of being calm and collected, was pulled. “Just like you promised-” Thread? Pulled? No. No, no, no. Glass, thin, fragile glass, shattering. Hitting the floor and turning to shards, shards that then split in two, four, a thousand. You broke. “Satoru!” You were shaking now, crying into his shoulder as the object of your worries whispered apologies into your hair, holding you delicately. “I’m sorry, I should’ve been here for you.” No, like it was his fault. He didn’t ask to be forced into a box. “S-sorry, I shouldn’t be so weak r-right now.” You cursed yourself for stuttering, get a fucking grip idiot. Your better this. “….Y/N. It’s okay to cry. You’ve always held me when it was too much, let me hold you.” And you shattered all over again, spilling onto the floor. “Sa-Sator-” “I know” He shushed you, pulling you closer, holding you tighter. “It’s okay Y/N. Let it all out.” And you did. Shaking and sobbing in his grip, shivering under the blanket as your thoughts went out the window, filled instead with his warm affection, his lightning blue eyes, pure snow hair wiping your slate clean. ——————————————————————————————————————————————– You weren’t sure when you fell asleep, only that you woke up warm, mouth full of Satoru’s signature jacket as lay, pressed into his shoulder. A soft gentle kiss graced your forehead and suddenly there was no glass on the floor. The pane of glass fixed as though it never shattered in the first place. ‘That’s right…’ you thought to yourself. 'With him I’ll always be okay, even if I’m fragile glass…’ Your eyes fluttered shut again but just before sleep overtook you, you were once again filled with feeling of warmth, lightning, and snow. Satoru Gojo’s affection, his eyes, his hair. His soft 'I love you.’ fluttering in the air only to land on you, wrap around you, warmer than any blanket. ——————————————————————————————————————————————–

So I uh, hope that was good…? QwQ I tried. If you liked it please tell me and I’ll try to write again! Give me a prompt or something, even if it’s just a word or a title you want put to use! That being said, have a wonderful day!

Kyriyuin is signing out!

[illfoandillfie]

The Come Down

Pairing: 70s!Roger Taylor x Fem!Reader

Summery: It's hard for Roger to unwind after the excitement of playing a gig. But you have a favourite way to help him.

Warnings: SMUT (18+), but also quite fluffy, rough sex, enough to leave marks but nothing overly kinky, some hair pulling, scratching, shower sex.

Words: 4226

A/N: This started life as a blurb about brushing Roger's hair - a thought I haven't been able to shake for at least a week - but gradually turned into a full on smut fest lmao. I guess Rog just has that effect on me...

Taglist: @laedymoon​ @dtfrogertaylor​ @vee-ndetta​ @atomic-watermelon @kellypenac​ @labessieisallama​ @deakyclicks​ @jennyggggrrr​ @drowseoftaylor​ @hannafuckingsucks​ @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming​ @queenmylovely​ @supersonicfreddie​ @taron-egrotten​ @johndeaconshands​ @borhapbois​ @stardust-galaxies​

It’s Pavlovian, the way you react to Roger’s playing. If he wasn’t so charming you’d curse him for it. How all you have to hear is him counting everyone into the first song of the night and already you’re thinking about later, about what happens when you get home. Most weeks are the same though you’d never call it a routine. That sounds too boring, too predictable and Roger is anything but boring and predictable. But there is a pattern forming. And it all starts with that fucking count. The way he twirls his drumstick as he settles himself to play. He’s wired from the beginning, from even before they get on stage. Bouncing on the balls of his feet as they get ready, endlessly joking and playfully teasing. So much so that your side hurts from laughing just a little bit. And that energy, that excitement, only grows as they play. Feeding off the noise of the smoke-filled bar and the way people cheer and his mates playing beside him. You watch him every show, close to the front though a little to the side of the stage. He can’t see you anyway and being out of the main crush of people makes it easier to get to the bar again if you want another drink. Not that you ever do. You’re too entranced by it all. The way the four boys perform, make it look so effortless, though you’ve heard the spats and hours of practice that prove it’s not. The way the crowd follows them and spurs them on. Girls with eyes glued to the fingers roaming over frets and plucking at strings. Voices slurred with alcohol or rough from yelling or husky from smoking, all mixed as they call out names of favourite songs and cheer no matter what gets played next. Your attention wanders back to Roger more than anyone else though. Hands rapidly flying from one drum to another, his whole body caught up in the movement, twirling his sticks between notes because he can and he wants everyone to know it. His head tipped back, flung forward, hair and eyes wild. You don’t quite understand how his hair doesn’t get in his way, doesn’t annoy him with the way it flicks around every time he moves. But it mustn't because he refuses to cut it whenever you make the suggestion.

By the time their set is drawing to a close you’re feeling pretty fired up yourself, high from second hand smoke and the bass drum vibrating through your bones and the way Roger’s glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, his shirt open, the necklace you gave him glinting as it catches what little light there is. The final notes ring out, overwhelmingly loud, and you know that’s your cue. Ducking under arms and squeezing between people as you push back to the bar to order the usual after gig round of drinks. The barman knows you by now, so you don’t have to say anything before he’s pulling out glasses, a mixture of shots and pints and a couple of cocktails thrown in for colour, and by the time the selection is laid out before you the boys have materialised at your side. Roger is quick to wrap his arm around your waist as you all down a few shots and then grab the rest of your drinks and head to a table. The lack of space between you and he doesn’t stop a couple of bold women from approaching, flirting with him as they congratulate the band on another great show. He thanks them, polite but uninterested in whatever they’re trying to offer, and pushes on with you tucked tightly to his side.

For a while you just hang out but Roger’s still completely amped. Half his beer is gone the first time he brings the glass to his lips and he fidgets in his seat, restless energy personified. He’d play a whole second set if he was asked. No one asks. Instead he crosses his legs, un-crosses them, slouches low, sits up, arm on the back of your chair then dropped to grab your hand then rubbing your knee then tapping the top of the table. His laugh is frequently heard cutting through the noisy conversations around you as he leans across the table, sits back, slides lower in the chair and then pops up straighter once more. Never still for long. It’s a relief when Brian suggests packing everything into the van. You help them wind up cords, carry amps out the back door. When everything’s packed away there’s more drinking and joking around. Roger’s hands wander a little further, unashamedly squeezing your arse or sliding up your thigh until you remind him where you are. The room feels ten times warmer than it did before and you wouldn’t have stopped him except your sat across from his best mates and something about the way he’s touching you makes you think he doesn’t have the cognitive awareness to recognise that. He’s just got too much adrenaline, too much energy he doesn’t know what to do with, fogging up his brain. He obviously has ideas though, the same ideas you’ve been trying to ignore since he first sat down at his kit. He leans towards your ear, asks if you’re ready to leave. You nod, say goodnight to the others. Roger tells them to stay out of mischief, voice a little louder than it needs to be. “Look who’s talking,” “They’ll be no mischief on my watch, I’ll look after him.” “Y/N you’re an enabler,” “As long as he’s not getting arrested,” “Oi, fuck off,” “Quick Y/N, get him home before he slags off the wrong person,” There’s laughter and a round of see you laters, a few nicknames the boys wouldn’t want their mothers to hear, before you exit the bar, Roger’s arm around you once more.

His voice is still loud on the drive home and he taps out a beat on the steering wheel, antsy, eager to continue the night unobserved by everyone else. Your ears are still ringing so you can only imagine what’s going on in his head – a play by play of the best parts of the set probably. A song he likes comes on the radio so he turns it up loud, winds his window down, grinning at you, letting the whole neighbourhood hear the whine of the guitars. “We should cover this one,” he half shouts, accelerating a little, the rhythm of his tapping fingers changing to match the music, “Fuck! We should cover it! Bri’d go feral for the chance to play it,” You agree though you aren’t sure he hears you. You’re lucky he hasn’t started air drumming along. It happened once before, his foot suddenly hitting the break as he put it down in time with the song’s beat. You’d only been going slow then so all you’d had to deal with was a honk from the car behind you. Roger apologised, promised to be more careful, and you laughed it off. It’s a bit of a wonder he hasn’t ever repeated the mistake with how into the music he gets, how absentmindedly he drives, especially after a show and a few drinks. Muscle memory and second nature. Maybe he shouldn’t be driving but you live close enough that it doesn’t even cross your mind to call a cab. The song fades out and is replaced by yours. The song that was playing in the second hand store you’d met at. Roger takes his eyes off the road to find yours, smiles, clearly thinking about that day. You’d been trying on a dress you’d found, modelling it for a friend to get her opinion, when Roger had complemented your look, suggested adding a fur coat to it. He offered his own but said he’d need your number so he could get it back. You’d laughed at the line but decided you could afford to reward his boldness and written your number on the back of his hand. The coat had kept you warm for the rest of the day and many since. You’re about to say something about the memory, ask Roger if he really thought the pickup line would work (judging by the look on his face when you’d pulled a pen from your bag and grabbed his hand, he hadn’t) but he’s already singing along, hand squeezing your thigh again as his attention shifts back to the road. He glances at you a few more times, encourages you to sing along by holding his closed fist in front of your face like it’s a microphone. He keeps singing as he pulls up in front of your apartment, turns off the engine, steps out of the car. You meet him at the edge of the driveway where he grabs your hand and twirls you around in a circle, both of you giggling. And then he’s heading inside, up the stairs, pulling you along with him.

Your heart is beating faster now, fully aware of what’s coming, like one of Roger’s drum solos playing out against your chest. Roger doesn’t disappoint. He opens the door with enough force to make it bounce off the wall behind it, helping it shut with a kick from his foot. His hands are well and truly occupied, resuming their path over your body, grabbing and squeezing. There’s a flurry of movement from his hands, like he isn’t sure where to start or rather like he’s eager to start everywhere all at once, before he focuses in on your shirt and getting it off of you. It hits the ground carelessly as you walk backwards, further into the apartment, but Roger’s fingers are already working at the fly of your jeans. He gets the button undone, gets distracted trying to kiss you without overbalancing. His hands slide over your stomach, your sides, down to grab your arse and pull you into him. It’s only then he remembers the zip on your pants and moves one hand back to pull it down. You start removing his clothes but you’re too slow for his liking. He has energy to burn and he wants to burn it right away. No stopping to savour the moment, no slowly working up to the big finale. No, he wants to be in you already. And it’s impossible to pretend you haven’t been thinking about exactly that since right back at the start of the evening. You kick your jeans across the floor as Roger tears his own clothes off. There’s enough time for half a breath before he spins you around to face the wall, pushes your back to make you bend at the waist. He doesn’t bother to remove your underwear at all. Fiddling with the clasp of your bra would be too time consuming and why bother pushing panties down when you can pull them to the side instead. He laughs as he realises just how damp the crotch of your knickers is. “Good. Don’t need to worry about fingers.” You gasp, tense up as he plunges into you. His grip on your hip is tight enough that the tips of his fingers have turned white, keeping you in place as he roughly fucks you. A small scratch appears in the wallpaper as you try to find a sturdy grip. An impossible task. You have to make do as best you can, relying on Roger to hold you in place. “Love how wet you get from watching us play,” “Just you, Rog,” you whimper as he uses you. He laughs, somehow grasps you even tighter, “Good. My needy little groupie.” He nips at your neck and you turn your head, lips opening with a whimper as he pushes himself deeper into your heat. The kiss is messy, teeth colliding as he tries to release all that pent up energy he’s been carrying around since he exited the stage.  You don’t cum that first time, you never do. It’s about Roger’s need for release, Roger’s excess energy, not yours. But you don’t mind. He’s gone above and beyond for you plenty of times before and he’ll do the same plenty more to come. The least you can do is be a pliant hole for him to get off in after each gig.  

You stay bent over, palms pressed firmly against the wall, as Roger gives a few extra thrusts, prolonging his own pleasure, before he pulls out. You stay there as he leans against you almost hidden by a curtain of his own hair, panting heavily in your ear, until he can find it in him to stand up. You stay there, with his hand on your back to keep you in place until he sees his cum dribble from your cunt. He’s calmed a bit, the bounce in his step a little less pronounced, but he can be worn out further. He needs more, needs to fully come down from the high of playing, if he wants to get a wink of sleep. When you regain your full height and turn to face him, he kisses you. He almost catches you off guard with it, making you pull in a sharp breath as his lips meet yours and he presses you into the wall. You feel completely breathless when he pulls back, dizzy from the taste of him. You both laugh softly as you look at each other, still so close you’re breathing each other’s air. “You’re sweaty,” you say softly, , dragging one palm down his chest, pouting a little. The statement is fact but it’s also code for please keep fucking me. It’s the sexy kind of sweaty. “That’s what happens when you play drums and then come home and fuck a slut,” You try to hide the shiver his tone sends along your spine, how hungry for more one little degrading name can make you. Unsuccessfully judging by the way Roger winks at you. He knows you too well, knows which buttons to push to turn you into the needy slut he so enjoys using and you so enjoy being for him. Not that it takes much to get you there, especially after he’s dropped a quick load in you and left you eager for your own release. If you had the space you’d drop to your knees to clean his cock with your tongue, taste yourself on him. But he’s still got you up against the wall, boxed in by his arms, so instead you bite your lip and give him a look that you hope comes across as either sexy innocence or sultry seductress. He laughs again, leans into your ear, “You need it that bad, love?” You just nod as he catches your earlobe between his teeth and gently tugs. There’s no point pretending otherwise. “You’ve wanted it all night, haven’t you?” He pouts back at you, teasing, mocking you for being so easy, “Let’s give her what she wants then.” He’s hasn’t quite finished speaking when he grabs your hand and pulls you into the kitchen. Sometimes you make it to the bedroom, sometimes you don’t. Tonight there’s no chance, or at least not until you’ve taken him a few times. He clears off the small square table where you eat most of your meals with a sweep of his arm, sheets of uni notes and scrawled ideas for the band fluttering to the floor, beaten there by the loud thump of one of his biology textbooks. The moment the surface is free he’s lifting you onto it, pulling your underpants off as you focus on your bra. When it too has joined the mess on the floor you lie back, arms around Roger’s neck to keep him close, the cold pendant hanging from his necklace making you shiver as it gets caught between you. He kisses you again, bites your lip with a smile and then dips his head towards your chest instead. You twist the ends of his sweat damp hair around your fingers as he enters you again. It’s not quite the same as when he took you against the wall moments before but it’s still rough, fast, hard. The first time he fucked you like that you were surprised such an angelic, pretty, soft boy could be such a devil. Biting you, pulling on your hair, leaving you with marks from how tight he held you. But you left him with marks too, nails digging into his arms and back, tugging on his hair as much as he tugged on yours. He’d just laughed when he saw the scratches in the mirror. Laughed and told you he loved you for the first time. A lot of firsts that day. He says it again now, words gasped between rapid breaths and those little whines he makes. You’d say it back except you’re not sure how to form words anymore, aside from fuck and god and his name if he’s lucky. He doesn’t mind though, he always enjoys making you speechless. You moan as he mouths at your neck, pounding into you like a fucking jackhammer, and he raises his head just enough to gloat. “Feels good doesn’t it love?” You’d call him an arse if he’d just slow down and let you breathe, a cocky bastard, a big-headed prick. You must manage to stutter one of them out because Roger responds. “T-think you mean epic – fucking – shag,” there’s a few panted breaths and then an order to rub your clit and you don’t even consider disobeying, slipping a hand between your bodies to find it. Your so close already, wound up beyond belief, eyes screwed shut and body arching as you moan. It only takes a few more moments for your climax to hit, accompanied by a violent thumping from the other side of the wall that you barely hear and that Roger only laughs at.

When you can open your eyes again they meet Roger’s. He’s still leaning over you, both palms braced against the table top, but he lowers himself a little to kiss you, smiling against your lips. You mewl as he pulls out of you once more but he swallows the sound. Slowly he retreats, pushes his hair back from his face and then takes your hand to help you sit up. He stays standing between your legs, kisses you a few more times as you both relearn how to breathe properly. His nose bumps against your cheek as he finds your lips once more, like a cat displaying affection. It’s a much softer kiss. “How’re you feeling?” “Mmhmm, good,” your voice sounds raspy to you so you swallow as best you can before saying more, “need a shower.” He laughs again, a soft puff of air against your mouth as he rests his forehead against yours, “Always so practical.” “One of us has to be,” “So you keep saying. D’you think you can stand?” “Let’s find out. Get ready to catch me.” Roger helps you down, helps you stand on shaky legs, helps you walk to the bathroom. He insists on helping you into the shower too, saying he feels responsible for your lack of mobility since he’s the one who fucked you so well. You bat his shoulder but let him accompany you into the bathroom and under the steaming water. “Mr Johnson next door hates us by the way,” he said it with a grin, looking very happy with himself, “Think we might have been overheard,” another laugh, his hand sliding from your waist to press against your pussy. You lean against Roger as his fingers rub over you, collecting the evidence of the evening so far, sliding along your slit before pressing into you. “Think we can piss everyone off a little more though, don’t you,” You agree with a soft moan, the sound echoing around the small bathroom as Roger pulls his fingers free, lifts your leg, slides into you once again, pressing you against the cold tiles on the wall. Its much slower that time. Partly because of the location, partly because Roger isn’t as hyped as he was before you got home. He holds you tightly though as you whine into his neck, his fingers on your clit. The noise makes your head spin, the drops of water hitting the floor of the shower, his grunts and encouraging words mixed with your own sighs and moans, all of it bouncing around the room, layered over each other. Your orgasm builds relatively slowly, kept alive by the constant pressure around your clit more than the cock buried in you. And Roger doesn’t chase his release like before, doesn’t thrust into you forcefully. Rather, he just holds you as close as possible, bucking his hips a little but mostly just enjoying the way you clench around him as you get closer to the edge. He swears in response to the way you tighten, warns you he’s close. You reach up and drag your fingers through his hair, press your lips to the base of his throat. He doesn’t hold out much longer, running out of energy to maintain control like that, pressing you firmly against the wall as he fills you again. His fingers fall from your clit as he shudders through his release but it’s only a momentary lapse, the pressure back even as you whine at the loss. You both know you’re close, Roger leaning into your ear to tell you to let go, to cum for him. When it does hit, it’s not an earth-shattering orgasm. You don’t see stars, don’t scream, don’t collapse in an exhausted heap. You let out a soft whine against Roger’s skin as warmth spreads through you, calm and nice. He rubs his hand over your hip until you let go of his hair, let your foot drop back to the floor. The steady stream of water reminds you where you are as Roger kisses the top of your head. He asks how you feel now, stops hovering quite so close when you say you’re fine to stand on your own. But he doesn’t go further than the corner of the shower, watching as you wash your hair and lather yourself in soap, just in case. He gives you a hand out when you’re clean but stays under the shower himself while you get changed and take care of your post-sex routine. When you glance back at him he’s got his eyes closed, head tilted back, relaxing.

You’re sitting in bed, a book open in your lap, though you aren’t really reading it, when you hear the shower close off, the soft pad of wet feet, and Roger appears in the doorway. He digs around in his clothes for a minute, finds some clean underwear and slips them on quietly. He smiles at you, a soft sleepy sort of a smile, as he takes the towel to his head, trying to wring as much water from his hair as possible. When he can’t be bothered with it anymore he lets the towel drop to the floor, a problem for tomorrow much like the rest of the mess you made through the apartment. A trail of lust fuelled destruction you’ll need to pick up and put away. He grabs a hairbrush from the top of the chest of draws and sits beside you, trying to hide a yawn. “Tired?” “No,” Roger lies, settling himself and beginning to work the brush through his locks. “Well I am so if you were planning on starting another round you’ll have to do it on your own,” He shakes his head as he tugs the brush through a particularly knotted section, “I’ll keep – fuck – I’ll keep that in mind. You got any spare socks I can use?” You laugh but Roger winces as the brush gets caught once again. “Jesus, knew I should have used more conditioner,” “You want some help with that?” “Yes please,” You mark your page and place the book to the side before pushing yourself to your knees and shuffling closer to Roger. He turns around so his back is to you, handing the brush over his shoulder. Slowly and carefully you start to untangle the knots his hair has twisted into, pulling the brush through small sections over and over until it runs smooth. “You ever think ab-” “I’m not cutting it Y/N,” “Just a suggestion,” “If I cut it you’d have nothing to hold on to.” “Fair enough,” You keep chatting as you brush Roger’s hair, able to feel him relax against you, the tension leaving his shoulders and neck, able to hear the exhaustion in every word he says. By the time you’re done his eyelids are drooping, every ounce of the overabundance of energy gone. “C’mon babe, time for bed,” you say, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. Roger just nods, shuffles around until he can crawl under the covers. You put the hairbrush on your bedside table and join him, laying on your side to face him. He takes one of your hands, lazily tugs it to his lips. “Love you,” “Love you too, Rog,” He lets his eyes close but doesn’t release you. Not until he’s well and truly asleep.

[liannyeong]

Crimson (Chapter 8)

Summary: Jaebeom and Yujin spends more time together.

Word count: 2976

Pairing: Jaebeom X OC

Warning(s): a little angst, but mostly fluff ^^

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16

A/N: I’m back! :) A slightly shorter chapter this time... I hope to make it up in the next one... ;) Show your support for my works by buying me a coffee! Follow me on Twitter for random updates.

Yujin wakes in the comfort of her own room, but her eyes feel heavy and swollen. She recalls crying her heart out, into Jaebeom’s chest. Or was that just a dream? A dream in which she nearly stabbed Jaebeom in the heart? Nevertheless, the morning is peaceful, with the sunlight streaming through the windows and a soft breeze blowing into the room. Outside, she can hear the melodious chirping of the birds.

Yujin stretches her body, taking a deep breath in before sitting up. That’s when her eyes land on Jaebeom. She hadn’t felt the dip at the foot of the bed. The male fae is perched there, face buried in his hands. With his back turned on her, Yujin notices how broad his shoulders are. She reckons he could envelope her entirely.

“I don’t get you,” he speaks in a hushed tone, as if he’s afraid of breaking the peace in the quiet morning. But Yujin can feel tension in the air, suddenly weighing down on them. Jaebeom runs his fingers through his hair, the locks messy after all the tugging. He stays in position even as he continues. "I thought that maybe, you will come to like me. Whatever I did, it’s all done with you in mind: Would Yujin be okay with it? Will she dislike it? If I do this, will it scare Yujin away? I just-- I kept telling myself that even if you don’t like me, at least, you wouldn’t hate me. You wouldn’t want to run away from me. But now I-- I don't know anymore.”

There’s exasperation in his voice and it strikes a chord in Yujin’s heart. She hadn’t realized how thoughtful Jaebeom was towards her. She had been so caught up in playing the victim, thinking that he was out to get her. On the contrary, all he has ever done is take care of her well-being.

Jaebeom turns his face slightly, just enough for Yujin to see his side profile. He looks pained, eyebrow furrowed. “Do you hate me that much? That you wish to kill me? Just what am I doing wrong? What am I lacking in? What isn’t enough for you?"

Yujin surges forward, grabbing his face with both of her hands. Jaebeom's red eyes are moist, a deep pool of sorrow in them.

"You haven't been anything but kind to me," she assures with a gentle smile, though her own voice is shaking. "I was too blind to realize it. I'm sorry for hurting you. I was selfish, I--"

Jaebeom tears her hands away, placing it back on her lap. "You felt trapped, I understand. Everything happened against your will. But I still-- I tried. I tried to make sure that you'd like me. That you'd see me. So tell me, Yujin," he pauses to hold back the tears, but raw emotions evident on his face and in his voice, "Tell me what I need to do."

The female drops her head to his shoulder, silent tears streaming down her face. "It's not entirely your fault. I'm to blame too! I promise I’ll be better. I’ll try--” Yujin shakes her head. “No, I want to be your wife. Properly.”

She looks up, her vision blurred with all the saline liquid in her eyes. Jaebeom is looking back at her, no words being said.

“I will try,” she continues, “And if anything displeases me, I’ll be sure to tell you. No more hiding things away. I’ll be transparent with you.”

Jaebeom seems touched by this, smiling through the tears. Yujin reaches to wipe it away and the fae holds the hand against his cheek. He nuzzles into her touch, nodding slightly before murmuring into her skin, “I believe you.”

In that moment, the wind blows quietly and Yujin feels something has shifted between them.

---

They fall into an unspoken routine afterwards. They do things together -- anything at all. When preparing their meals, Jaebeom would cast a fire on the stove, manipulating the heat on Yujin’s request. Washing the dishes is mainly Jaebeom’s responsibility because he can dry it quickly by transferring the heat from his bare hands to the utensils. They even read their books quietly, side by side. To them, it is of utmost importance that they stay in each other’s company for most of the day.

Tonight, after their stomachs are sated with food, they lounge at the back porch, facing the farm. They are comfortably seated at the sofa, watching the moon in its full glory. A soft breeze blows over them and Yujin wraps her arms around her body. Lanterns are lit at the corners, but it’s too far to feel the heat.

"Cold?" Jaebeom asks.

"Just a little. Perhaps a small fire would be nice," she responds.

But the male doesn't light a fire. Instead, he throws an arm around her, pulling her in, such that her back is leaning against his body. In this position, Yujin can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. She finds herself relaxing in his hold, revelling in the warmth that radiates from Jaebeom's body.

"It's much warmer this way," he murmurs into her ear. Ironically, Yujin shivers. His fingers worm its way between hers, hands interlocked. Yujin feels the male nuzzle his face into her hair, taking a whiff as if he's smelling fragrant flowers. Her heart pounds erratically in her chest, and she's sure that he could hear it loud and clear. What can she think about when Jaebeom is infiltrating her every sense?

Abashed, Yujin tries to distract herself. She plays with his fingers, pretending that it’s more interesting. She notices how his hands feel nice against hers, how it fits perfectly in hers. She also notices that he’s still wearing that iron ring on his little finger. Yujin grazes her thumb over the ring head.

"Does it bother you?" Jaebeom asks, noticing her attention on the ring.

Yujin can't bring herself to answer that. Honestly, she feels a pang of disappointment in her heart. After all, they're married now. How would one feel if her partner is wearing a gift from a past lover?

When she doesn't reply, Jaebeom slides the ring off, holding it up between his fingers. The ring glints in the dark, reflecting the moonlight off its surface.

"It's a memento. A reminder that love can change me," he says, gazing at the ring before slotting it back to his finger. "I didn't have the best character. I was always angry, I hated the world." He lets out a chuckle. "I even used to hate Jinyoung! I was ousted because I’m a halfling. The entire faefolk despised me. No one accepted me. I was hidden away like a dirty little secret, while Jinyoung is free to roam the streets. He had everything I didn’t. I wanted to wreck him, to take everything away from him."

Jaebeom then smiles to himself, fondness in his eyes. His gaze has softened, as if recalling a precious memory. "But how can I when he looked at me with those wide eyes. As if I was a hero. He used to follow me around even though everyone ignored me. He didn’t shut me out like the other faes. He saw me for who I am, rather than what I am. For that, I’m always thankful for his existence in my life."

The fae lets out a deep breath. His brows are knitted now, and Yujin wants nothing but to smooth those creases on his face. Despite that, she keeps her hands to herself, waiting patiently.

"When the Water court found out about my existence, they wanted my family exiled. They wanted to execute my father for loving a Fire fae, and me for being born into this world, for tainting the purity and the reputation of the Water court." The fae scoffs. "They had me all tied up, humiliated in front of the Water faefolk. I would have died, if not for my father’s sacrifice."

A tear drops his face, and he wipes it off haphazardly. Yujin can feel a mixture of fury and sorrow in him.

"I was so furious at the injustice, at their baseless discrimination. In my anger, I gained control of the executer's mind. Chaos ensued, and I was sure I would have been killed. But my father managed to break free from the cuffs and sent me to the mansion. My mother was already hiding away in the mansion when I came. The next thing I knew, my father took the blame for everything and..."

His shoulders are slumped now, and it’s as if he admits defeat. He lets out a shaky sigh. "And I'm still alive."

Jaebeom holds a hand up, igniting a small ball of fire in his palm. "I don't deserve to live when I am this weak. I can't even control big flames. This is the only thing I can do. I'll never be as good as the pure faes. I'll never be enough--"

"That's not true," Yujin interjects, grabbing his wrist. The fire instantly vanishes. "You are good enough. You may not be a pure fae, but you have garnered a string of loyal faes -- just look at your servants and Jinyoung! Forget about the rest of the faefolk. You changed the lives of the faes you took in. You gave them a home that they were not able to have. Powers aside, you are not incapable at all! You're brilliant, witty, caring, dashing even--"

The male raises a brow, cracking a smile on his tear-stained face. "Dashing?"

Yujin flushes at the slip of tongue. "That's not the main point!" she squeaks, earning a laugh from the other. "The main point is that, you're more than you think you are."

Jaebeom offers a smile, eyes glistening in the dimness of the light. He seems touched by her words. "Thank you, Yujin," he whispers.

A momentary pause follows, before Jaebeom speaks again, brushing the pad of his thumb against the ring head. "After all that chaos in the Water court, a girl appeared in my life. She was like first sliver of light at dawn, the calm after the storm.”

Sorrow appears on his face. "This ring was made without a proper measurement. It could only fit my little finger. Despite it being made from paper, it bore the weight of a promise. The promise of forever. But I hurt her, and I willingly let her go."

"Do you miss her?" Yujin hesitantly asks, even though she might feel hurt from the answer. "Do you still... love her?"

Jaebeom turns his face, meeting her eyes. The look on his face changes, an expression Yujin can't decipher. He reaches for her face, his knuckles lightly brushing against her cheek. His gaze has softened.  

"Sometimes," he murmurs. "But you're here now. That's enough for me."

Yujin blinks at the male. A question that has been itching to be asked is at the tip of her tongue. She turns away, and this snaps the moment.

"Was it Princess Yena?" she asks, voice nearly quiet.

"What?"

"Yena. Was it her?" she repeats, adamant in avoiding the male’s face. "I mean-- Did you not have anything special with her? You two look good together... Jinyoung did mention that you're very fond of the Choi siblings and that Yena likes you a lot, so..."

"And because of that, I would return her feelings?"

"Well, it's not impossible, is it?"

To Yujin's surprise, Jaebeom laughs out loud, throwing his head back. She wonders if she had cracked a joke. His laughter subsides a moment later. Jaebeom shifts in his seat, angling his body towards her. He takes Yujin's hands in his own.

"Please don't get the wrong idea, Yujin," he begins. "I only see Yena as a sister. Nothing more. I dote on her as much as I dote on Youngjae. Unfortunately, Yena misinterpreted my affection for love. That's why she's rather... possessive about me. You must know that I don't like her in that way at all."

Yujin nods slowly, showing that she believes his answer.

"Believe me, my love." Something about that term of endearment makes her heart flutter. "You are all I think about now."

Yujin lets out a playful scoff, trying to play off the fuzzy feeling that he induced in her. “What have I ever done but hurt you?”

"Love is the taste of sweetness after a long bitter," Jaebeom says with a shrug.

Yujin laughs. "What, are you a poet now?"

"I am not, but you, my love, are poetry."

Yujin is so flustered by this, she slaps the male on the chest. Needless to say, she can't help the curling of her lips. In the next moment, Jaebeom captures her lips with no resistance.

---

Their relationship has evolved to become more affectionate, but they still don’t share the same bed. Even though they spent their time in each other’s company, they would still part ways and sleep in separate rooms. Yujin finds herself being comfortable with Jaebeom, having put her guard down around him. She has learnt to be relaxed and lets herself loose around the male. If she was told that she would come to enjoy Jaebeom’s presence weeks ago, she would have believed that a spell was cast upon her. She would have attempted to escape the mansion more than once, or even attempt to kill Jaebeom again. The thought of that brings shivers to her spine. It saddens her if Jaebeom ceased to exist in her life. The love and attention that she receives from him has made her life much sweeter.

It’s the last night before they head back to the mansion. They spent the day lazing around, cuddling on the couch in front of the fireplace. Yujin wonders if the warmth that she feels all over her body is from the flames or from Jaebeom’s embrace. Either way, she has never felt so content before. She has never felt genuinely happy like this.

“I can’t believe that we’re heading back to the mansion tomorrow,” Jaebeom breaks the comfortable silence between them, earning a laugh from Yujin.

“We can always come back here. You know that.”

“Yeah but…” The male sighs. “I don’t even want to leave. It’s so peaceful here.”

“I’m glad that you feel safe here,” Yujin says. “You’re always welcomed here.”

Jaebeom turns his head, meeting her eyes. The light from the flames dance on his pale white skin. With his crimson eyes, Yujin briefly forgets that Jaebeom is a halfling. She wonders how different a pure blooded Jaebeom would be. For one, he’ll definitely be stronger.

“You really mean it?”

The female nods. “I trust you, Jaebeom,” she says, her voice soft, like it’s a secret between them. “I was a difficult person at first but now, I don’t hate you. In fact, I--” she pauses, a little embarrassed at what she’s about to say next, “I enjoy your company. I like to be around you.”

This seems to have an effect on the fae for he stares at her with wide eyes. He’s probably in disbelief. After all, she had attempted to kill him almost a week ago. But here they are, carrying out a civil conversation. No, fostering a proper relationship between a husband and a wife. Well, at least a part of it.

A smile spreads over Jaebeom’s lips, exposing his pearly white teeth. It’s the kind of smile that reaches his eyes, the one in which they turn into crescents. “Yujin, I--” He fumbles for words, too happy to form coherent sentences.

Yujin shifts, facing the male fully. This time, she’s the first one to initiate a touch. She brings his hand to her face, placing it against her cheek. She holds it there, nuzzling into his warm palm. Her thumb rubs against the skin on his inner wrist.

“You have no idea how happy you’ve made me,” Jaebeom whispers. “This past week, it was crazy, but I-- I’m just so--”

Yujin pecks his lips, catching him offguard. “I know,” she assures with a smile. “I know.”

Jaebeom returns the smile, turning their hands such that their fingers are interlaced. A moment passes and Yujin has the wildest thought in her head. On impulse, she calls out his name softly.

“Hmm?”

“Could you stay with me tonight?”

The face that Jaebeom makes is almost comical. His eyes have gone wide, his jaw agape.

“N-no! N-not that kind,” Yujin flounders, realizing how the earlier question sounded like. “I meant like-- Just sleeping next to each other! N-nothing more than t-that!”

The Fire fae coughs, his cheeks colored a deep shade of red. He scratches the back of his neck. “R-right… I-- uh--”

“It’s alright if you don’t want to…” Yujin mumbles under her breath.

“It’s not that! I definitely want to but--” He covers a portion of his face with a hand. “I’m afraid that I wouldn’t be able to control myself…”

Yujin bites her lower lip, blushing at the implication of his words. Her cheeks are burning, and she shakes her head, as if it helps in clearing the thoughts in her mind.

"I trust you, Jaebeom,” she says later, convinced. “I know you wouldn’t do anything I dislike."

The fae looks conflicted, as if he doesn’t trust himself. But in the end, he gives in, nodding his head subtly. Almost instantly, Yujin tugs him on his feet and leads him up her room. In record time, they slipped underneath the sheets. Yujin settles half of her body over Jaebeom’s, coiling a leg around his. She presses her ear against his chest, listening to the soft beating of his heart through the layers of clothing. Jaebeom settles his hand around her waist, supporting her in place. Yujin sighs, contented, before falling into a deep slumber.

[soyeahitsmiddleearth]

Hold Me, My Hands Are Cold pt. 1

Fili x Reader x Kili

These cold nights suck, but being sandwiched between two pretty princes doesn't suck in the slightest. 

*There are two other parts on my AO3 that are smut if you're interested*

Traveling during the days is rather easy for the most part. 

All you really have to do is keep an eye out, not fall off your ride, and follow the group. If there's conflict you hide in the middle of the group, and joining in on pleasant conversations is basically second nature. 

These things are all a cinch. Easy as pie. Simple. 

What isn't so simple, is staying warm at night when your little body simply refuses to retain heat. 

Your body just doesn't stay warm all that easily, and as frustrating as it is you certainly can't complain about it because it's your choice. You prefer not to sleep in the middle of the group despite the persuasion of the others.

"It's safer." They insist.

"It's so much warmer." They assure.

"It's quieter." They promise. 

"We won't bother you."  They lie.

On night one you knew that there is no way you'd be able to stand another night in the midst of this pile of dwarves. Bilbo shared much of the same sentiments, too. So the both of you sleep together at the end of the group, but he doesn't need the warmth like you do. And, believe it or not, Bilbo Baggins is also a horrible blanket hog. 

Now, you've only actually slept next to Bilbo, Dori and Nori, and Bofur so you don't know if all of their sleeping habits are the same, but you simply cannot afford multiple sleepless nights in a row. 

Only that's exactly what you've got now that the air has turned icy and the ground frozen as the nights get colder and colder the deeper you get into winter. 

The cold was bearable at first because the beginnings of winter aren't usually that bothersome, but after the first week it really began to freeze.

It was at this time you began to share your sleeping space with Bilbo, and though the first two nights of sleeping next to the hobbit were nice, he didn't take long to show his true colors. In the middle of the third night, you awoke to the feeling of your warm covers being literally ripped off of you. One look to the right told you that it was Bilbo who had done it, and unconsciously too. 

No matter how hard you pulled on that blanket or how vigorously you shook him, you simply could not get him to let it go. So you eventually gave up and lay there on the freezing ground with nothing to cover you other than the chilly air. 

This went on for another week. 

Eventually you reached your breaking point, though, and explained to Bilbo as kindly as you could that you think your sleeping arrangement is going to have to end. He actually seemed kinda bummed about it and asked you why. 

"But you get so cold at night, what's prompting you to leave?" 

"I don't know if you've noticed, my dear Bilbo, but your sleeping habits are going to be the death of me. Every morning I wake up nearly frozen through, so while I very much enjoy sleeping next to you I'm afraid I just can no longer handle it when it's so cold." You reach up and place your hand on his shoulder, smiling sympathetically. "I hope that isn't too harsh. Once the heat returns, though, I'll be back." 

At the end of your explanation Bilbo is smiling, so you assume that you haven't hurt his feelings and go about the rest of your day. Little did you know, the two princes were eavesdropping not too far back. 

---

When night falls once more and the sun is replaced with the white light of the moon, Thorin calls for everyone to stop and set camp for the night. 

You assist Gloin and Bofur in securing the ponies as part of your nightly duties, then move on to your things which you'd settled against near a tree off to the side and further from the fire than you'd like. 

Before long Bombur has some soup cooking in his large pot, and the smell wafts over to your sleeping area. 

Not 10 minutes later is said dwarf calling for everyone to come get their food, but you decided to wait until everyone has got their before going to get your own to avoid the hassle. 

Two pairs of feet disrupt your meal time, and when you look up to see who belongs to those feet, you smile. It's Fili and Kili, and they've both got their dinner in hand as well as an extra bowl held in Kili's other hand. 

"Hello, boys. What can I do for you?" You ask, moving to stand up. 

You're stopped when Fili places his free hand on your shoulder and urges you to sit back down. "We just came to eat with you, is all. We brought you a bowl as well." The older brother explains.

Suspicion makes you look between the two of them distrustingly before you zero in on the food that Kili is holding. "What did you do to it?" Your approach to this is wary, for you're not entirely certain that they wouldn't mess with your food just to prank you. 

"You think we would mess with your food? I'm hurt that you think we're stupid enough!" Kili exclaims with a good-natured laugh. 

Fair. 

You sigh and pat the spots next to you, "Well, sit down then. But I'm warning you, any funny business and I'll skin you both." Your delivery isn't the most threatening you will admit, but it was meant as more of a joke anyways.

The two dwarves settle on either side of you and Kili hands you the extra bowl, and the rest of dinner goes in comfortably with nice conversations and lots of joking around. 

Eventually, though, the soup is all gone, bellies are full, eyes are droopy, and it's time for lights out. 

When Fili and Kili left that ever present cold returned, so you burrow into your bedroll and cover your head with your blanket in hopes of warding off the mid-night chills. Like you expected though, it does very little. 

You don't know how much time passes, but pretty soon you're more focused on warming up than you are on actually sleeping. For a split second you even regret your decision not to sleep next to Bilbo anymore. 

At some point your teeth begin to clack together upon their own accord, and you've since pressed your knees to your chest and wrapped your arms around them in hopes of keeping all of your heat centered. The cold has also decreased blood flow to your fingers, toes, and face, so everything has begun to feel frigid and stiff. It's gotten to the point where all simple movements are a chore. 

Right as you're about to accept your fate of becoming an ice cube, there is movement somewhere just in front of you. 

You're alert right away, but, not wanting to notify whoever it is that you're awake, you don't immediately jump into action. Instead, you grasp a part of your blanket and slowly tug it down to catch a glimpse of the intruder. 

But it's no intruder at all. Rather, you're met with two handsome faces hovering over you less than 5 inches away. You jump and pull your blanket back over your head reflexively, startled at how close they were (how did they move so quietly??). 

Quite chuckles register just above you and it successfully makes you huff indignantly. 

You reach up and pull your blanket back down, glaring up at the pair of them suspiciously much like before. "W-What are you two planning?" You stutter out despite trying to appear cross. The chattering of your poor teeth is just too strong to stop with speech, apparently. 

They look at each other and have a silent exchange instead of answering you, and when it seems that they've come to a conclusion they both straighten up. 

So you try again. "Hey, whatever shenanigans you're getting up to I want no part of." 

Still they do not answer. 

Verbally at least. 

Before you can even open your mouth to demand acknowledgement again Fili is at your feet and Kili has moved behind you. You try to sit up but a pair of arms coming up beneath your armpits and hands grabbing your ankles halt your movements. 

You almost complain, but Fili's hands are really damn warm on your icy ankles and- holy shit these two are strong. 

They lift you up like you're nothing and walk you over towards where their things are, still offering no explanation to their antics might I add, and moments later you're being lowered to the ground gently to lay between their things. You almost get up to return to your things, almost, but when Kili walks back over and grabs all your belongings and brings them over, you realize you just don't care enough. And they've already succeeded in kidnapping you away from your cold patch of ground anyway, and their patch of floor is much warmer than your own. 

You don't really know what you were expecting when they came over and 'woke you up' and literally carried you over to their area, but when Kili settled down to your right and Fili did the same at your left, suffice to say Y/N.exe has stopped working. 

Warmth spreads to your cheeks as you look back and fourth between the two, meeting their eyes each time you turned to look at the other and vise versa. 

"Did we startle you?" Fili asks suddenly, amusement sparkling in his pretty blue eyes. 

You just nod dumbly, looking at him silently as you try to process what the hell is going on. 

Then Kili speaks up, "We've shocked her dumb." It's meant as a joke, you know, but yeah he's not wrong though. 

"I'm not used to being ambushed like that. Especially by two handsome princes who are constantly pranking everyone else." You reply evenly despite your horrid mixture of embarrassment, flattery(?) and incredulity. 

"Aw, she thinks we're handsome." Fili speaks up again. 

Oh god did you actually say that part out loud?

They laugh again.

Shit you didn't say that in your head either.

You shake your head quickly and pull your blanket up to just under your chin. "W-Well, why did you bring me over here anyways?" An attempt to be nonchalant is made on your part, but you don't really think it's working. 

"Isn't it obvious? You're cold, and we are quite warm. Just because we like jokes doesn't mean we'll let the cutest member of our group freeze in the night." God the way Kili says that is so natural it's almost like he isn't complimenting you in an obvious attempt to fluster you. 

"Aye, Kili's got it exactly right. And there is no recollection of you saying you want us to bring you back, so..." 

Ah, now you get it.

They may have brought you over here by force, but they by no means intend to make you stay if you don't wish. 

Who knew they are actually total sweeties behind... nah you knew that the whole time. 

Deciding that their explanation was good enough, you look back up at the sky and lay your arms by your sides. "I'll accept that. But I'm not getting any warmer over here by myself." You state in an attempt to be confident. 

You only fluster yourself with your words though, and when a blush settles across your face again, they decide to poke and prod at your cheeks. 

"She's gone and made herself blush." Wow, great observation Fili. It's not like it's obvious or anything. 

"Okay, okay, we shouldn't bother her anymore. I'd hate to see her explode... or leave." Kili states in a softer voice than before. 

It seems they've had their fill of teasing you (finally), because you're suddenly being engulfed by two strong (WARM) pairs of arms. 

Fili, who is still at your left, turned onto his side and wiggles his right arm beneath your head and ushers your head to rest on his shoulder. Then he moves his not-pinned arm to lay on your stomach, curled so his hand lies on your sternum, between your breasts. It's not a sensual touch in the slightest, and the heavy weight there makes you feel protected.

Meanwhile, Kili has also turned onto his side with his heavy arm settled across your midsection. You can feel his chin pressing lightly against the top of your bosom, his head resting on your shoulder as his leg comes up to wrap around your own. His fingers press into the soft flesh of your side, and you release a quite, pleased sigh. Much like Fili, his touches and the placement of his head is in no way meant to be venereal. 

Being wrapped up between Fili and Kili like this makes your heart thump in your chest, and for a few moments you're not sure what to do with your hands of if it's okay to move.

"Relax love, just get comfortable." Kili mumbles muffledly against your chest. 

You try to do as he says and shift around slightly, closing your eyes as you lay your right arm just below Kili's and grasp his hand while simultaneously turning your head to press against Fili's neck because of the access this position gives you to it. 

Right away you're wrapped up in a cozy warmth and two safe embraces, and for the first time since this horrible winter has started, you feel comfortable. 

Sleep came quite easily to the three of you that night, and for the first time since this damn winter settled in, you actually slept through most of the night. 

When you wake, it's still dark and you aren't quite sure what time it is. 

It doesn't seem like anyone else is really awake yet other than Ori, who is on watch and minding his own business like a good boy, so it must mean that you've got a good few hours left to sleep.

You simply stare up at the sky above for a little while, before an obvious weight on your chest comes to your attention when someone moves. 

At some point in the night, Fili removed his arm from behind your head (no doubt because it fell asleep) and it was no tucked beneath him. His left hand had somewhat migrated in the middle of the night and now, instead of on your sternum, his heavy hand, quite literally, is placed on top of your left breast. Thank god it's the left one, though, because it's your favorite. One of his legs is hooked around your left one too.

While you're gazing down at your intertwined legs, you see that your other leg is entrapped as well, stuck between Kili's as he's basically on top of you. 

Kili's head also migrated in the middle of the night so that it's now laying on your sternum between your breasts in place of where Fili's hand was before (now you're beginning to wonder if it really is accidental, I mean come on, both of them?). His right arm is curled around your midsection too, and your right arm is sprawled out off to the side.

Your left hand is no longer clutching Kili's, for instead it simply rests on your stomach. 

Slowly you lower your head back to the ground, allowing your eyes to slip shut once more when they begin to droop. You're much to comfortable, more so than what's good for you probably, and you find that you loathe the idea of getting up any time soon. 

It doesn't take long for sleep to get ahold of you again, and when it does, you're basically dead to the world. 

---

The next time you wake up, it's not a natural occurrence. 

Movement and soft whispers bombard your senses, and, wanting to things to stay as they were, you whine and mumble a quiet, "Shh... 'm tryin' to sleep..." 

The shifting stops right away and silence ensues once more.

Right when you're at the edge of sleep again, though, you feel something gentle sliding down your cheek and another 'something gentle' caressing your arm. 

With a quiet sigh, you open your sleepy eyes and release a big yawn, eyes watering from the action. 

The first thing you see is Fili's face hovering above yours and his hand gently rubbing your cheek. You glance down and are met with soft brown eyes looking up at you with an expression you've never seen on that face before. His fingers are gently stroking the cool skin of your arm, and it successfully causes goosebumps to spread across your arms and legs. 

You break eye contact when heat begins to spread to your face, and you look back up at Fili who was watching you the whole time. 

"G-Good morning." You stutter out shyly, gaze flickering down to Kili's briefly. 

They both grin at you and reply in unison, "Good morning, Y/N." 

They're whispering, you notice, and with a quick graze of a look around camp you see that only a few early risers have begun to get up for the day, for the sun has only just begun to peek out from the horizon. 

The weight on your chest suddenly disappears, and another face comes up next to Fili's. 

You don't try to get up and instead just look up at the both of them. "Um... hello." You greet again. It seems your brain has ceased all rational functions, because you can't come up with anything witty or sassy to say for once. 

"Hi." Kili whispers back, not seeming amused by your loss for words like he normally would. 

Okay now it's getting kinda weird. 

You reach up slowly and pinch their cheeks in your hands, watching as Fili's nose twitches and Kili straight up glares at you. 

"I guess we haven't broken her after all." Fili muses, sitting back to give you some space. 

You sit up into a seated position once they're both out of your way and you stretch your arms above your head to loosen your tight muscles, squeezing your eyes shut from the effort. You groan softly from the pleasant stretch of your limbs, arching your back slightly to raise your hands higher. Once you're satisfied you allow your hands to drop back to your lap and reopen your eyes, looking between the two who are, still, staring at you. 

A blush unconsciously stains your cheeks again, and you begin to wonder when you've become so self conscious around these two. 

Whatever trance they were in seems to have broken, because suddenly they're both smiling again and moving to gather their things. 

"Now wasn't that much better than freezing to death?" Kili asks, slinging his arm around your shoulders after shoving all of his items at his older brother. 

"Hm, good question," You pause as a bashful smile curls at the corners of your lips, "I'll have to try it again before I can decide." 

Your answer seems to please him, because his grin grows and he looks over at his brother, "What do you think?" 

Fili only rolls his eyes at Kili's antics as he packs your blanket back into your pack for you, "Of course she has to try again, no one can make a decision after only trying something once." 

"Yes, I do suppose you're right, Fee." 

"Of course I am!"

"I wonder what else we can do to shock her?"

Gods these two are going to be the death of you. 

[thatesqcrush]

Soul Savin', Pt. 4

Rafael Barba x Reader. AN: Taking a lot of liberties and using a lot of prompts and part of a challenge here, specifically: @madpanda75‘s “from your smutty prompt list, can you please do “Friends don’t do this kind of shit!” where Barba and the reader go to a bar, have some tequila, then do some body shots” as well as @delia26′s “I turned out liking your a lot more than I originally planned.” Finally, using Jewel’s “Who Will Save Your Soul” as part of @thefanficfaeriebirthday challenge.

CW: language, some parts NSFW. Some dub-con, because they’re buzzed,angst, continued slow-burning. Flashbacks are indicated with italics.

AN: Please forgive any typos. Again, writing through grief is weird AF. I’m trying my best.

WC: 2600

--

Rafael signaled for the bartender.  Six shot glasses were lined up. You each lifted a shot glass. “For Sean,” you proudly exclaimed.

“For Y/N, the best detective and friend a man could ask for. Well done today.” Rafael returned. You gave him a toothy smile and clinked your glass with his.

“Otra vez.”

Rafael nodded and lifted his shot glass, and quickly tossed it back before tuning the glass upside down on the bar top.

You gave him a small head nod and did the same; you both repeated the same with the two remaining glasses. The endorphins from the honeytrap mixed with the buzz from the alcohol was making you feel warm; your inhibitions were starting to fade. You didn’t care for the consequences – all that mattered was that you wanted Rafael and were tired of keeping your feelings at bay. Desire was bubbling at the surface, ready to spill over like a pot of boiled liquid.

You made your decision. You asked the bartender for the bottle of tequila, salt and limes.

“What are we doing? Body shots?” Rafael laughed, his eyes crinkling.

“Yeah, what of it? Lets live a little,” you stated. “Have you ever done a body shot?”

Rafael didn’t immediately respond and you squealed with delight. “Oh, this is going to be fun!”

You reached over and grabbed Rafael’s hand and ran your tongue on the back of his hand, just below his index finger. Rafael’s heart pounded in his chest as he watched you pour the salt on his skin. You ran your tongue over the salty skin and then knocked the shot back. You grabbed a lime wedge and bit down, sucking on the lime juice. You gave Rafael a smile, with the lime wedge in your mouth before removing it, dissolving into a fit of giggles. “Your turn.”

Rafael let out a shaky breath. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. You unzipped the zipper of your very oversized sweatshirt slightly, and shimmied the material off slightly. You pushed your hair back  and tilted your neck, exposing your skin.

Rafael’s eyes darkened at your exposed skin. His mind flashed to earlier in the evening, as he watched you shake your shit all over the strip club, like you owned the place. His cock twitched again and he decided to give into his desire.

Rafael stood and took a step closer to you. He helped you stand up, and he wrapped his arm around your waist, bringing you closer. You were millimeters apart. His large hands were soft and warm and he gently tilted your head. Skin exposed, he lowered his face to your neck. Your skin, which was still covered in body glitter, smelled like warm vanilla. He quietly groaned before taking a long broad swipe along your neck. You moaned and it was euphoria in Rafael’s ears. He pulled back, shook the salt shaker onto your skin, and resumed his actions. You squirmed in Rafael’s embrace, biting your lip hard to prevent you from obscenely moaning. As Rafael sucked a mark into your neck, you gasped, “Friends don’t do this kind of shit!”

“Then I guess we were never friends,” Rafael husked in your ear, before pulling away to toss the shot back. Rafael slammed the glass down on the bar top. You grabbed Rafael’s face with your hands; his five o’clock shadow prickled your palms. On wobbly tip-toes you stood and pulled him into a kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. The kiss was intense, all teeth and tongue clashing against one another, desperate and hungry. Finally, Rafael pulled away and you briefly whined at the lost connection. The dark look in his eyes sent an involuntary shiver up your spine.

“Let’s get out of here.” You requested.

“Are you sure?” Rafael asked. ‘Please say yes, please say yes.’

You stepped closer to him and placed a small kiss on the corner of his lips. “Yes guapo.”

Rafael let out a shaky breath. He hadn’t been called guapo by someone significant since Yelina and hearing you call him that made his heart skip a beat.

“If we want to get out of here, I have to pay the tab.” Rafael murmured returning your small kiss with a small kiss of his own. He signaled for the bartender.

“I’ll get us a cab.” You offered, nodding your head to the door. “I’ll see you outside.”

You shivered while you tried to hail a cab. It was warmer earlier, but it had cooled off substantially.  The city smelled like petrichor and the street glistened as it had rained earlier. Just as you were about to just give up and call an Uber, a yellow taxi-cab slowed down and pulled up.

You opened the door and poked your head in. “Just waiting on someone.” The driver nodded and you leaned against the side as you waited for Rafael.

Rafael burst out and looked frantically side to side, and you could feel the sigh of relief he exhaled as he noticed you. He quickly strode over and cupped your face with one hand. His other hand settled on your hip.  Wordlessly, he captured your lips with his once more. You let out a sigh as he sucked your bottom lip. The kiss continued for another five seconds before you were interrupted by the cab driver.

“Are you two getting in or am I wasting my fucking time?”

You both jumped and you felt your cheeks grow warm. “We’re coming – hold your damn your horses, Jesus fucking Christ!”

Rafael chuckled at your outburst. The driver huffed and Rafael rolled his eyes as he entered the cab after you. Rafael rattled off his address and you felt a mixture of relief and excitement to be going to his place, versus yours.

The streetlamps were a blur as the cab sped towards downtown. The entire ride was filled with the two of you kissing, desperate for each other’s touch.  You rubbed his thigh through his pants and Rafael nuzzled your neck. The heady scent of his cologne invigorated your senses. Rafael’s lips ghosted along your skin and your pussy throbbed against the confines of your jeans. You were already so aroused, and nothing had even started yet. Rafael couldn’t wait to show you how much he wanted you – to feel you. His pants felt tights and he was desperate to relieve the ache that had settled.

Music on the radio played quietly. If you had truly listened, you would have realized that “Who Will Save Your Soul” was playing.

Who will save your soul when it comes to the flowers now Who will save your soul after all the lies that you told, boy And who will save your souls if you won't save your own?

 The cab finally came to a stop. The cab driver barked at the two of you, causing you to both jump. Rafael apologized and handed the driver a large bill, well covering the ride plus tip and then some.

 “Mr. Barba, good evening. Welcome home. Ms. Y/N, lovely to see you again.” The doorman greeted.

 Rafael coughed slightly, trying to regain some composure. “Good evening Anthony.”

 You gave Anthony a small smile and wave, murmuring a hello; you allowed Rafael to grab your hand and let him lead you in.

 --

You both tumbled into his apartment. Lips still connected, Rafael used his leg to slam the door shut behind him. Hands were everywhere, desperate and eager to touch one another’s flesh.  One of Rafael’s hands slipped under the hem of your sweatshirt and traveled upwards. He was extra cautious with his movements, as he knew your side was bruised from being kicked earlier. As he made his way to a breast, he was pleasantly surprised to learn you were bra-less. His hand cupped and squeezed one globe, before moving onto the other. With his thumb and index fingers, Rafael rolled and tugged at your nipples, until they were hardened pebbles.

“Too many clothes.” You managed to say breathlessly in between kisses. Rafael nodded and pulled away. You were both breathless from your intense kissing session. You reached for the hem of your sweatshirt and flipped it over your head before moving your hands down to your jeans and unzipping them. You kicked off your shoes, before pushing your pants off. Rafael followed suit – shoes, shirt, then pants. Rafael’s gaze traveled over your body and lewdly, stroked himself through his boxers.

With a growl, Rafael was upon you once more, his lips crashing against yours. You whimpered as you opened your mouth, allowing his tongue to enter. As your tongues tangled, Rafael’s hands traveled to your thighs. He gave them a squeeze before lifting you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he carried you towards his bedroom. You collapsed onto the bed, a tangled mess of limbs and Rafael rolled you, so he was on top. You hissed slightly, the pain from your ribs, were sobering to not just you, but to Rafael too.

Rafael propped himself up, his arms along side your head and he looked at you, his face full of concern.

“Y/N “ he began, his voice somber. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

You leaned up and pressed a hand onto his chest, pushing him off you. Rafael sat on his haunches while you sat up fully. “Wait – why? Don’t you want this?” After a pregnant pause, you continued, your voice low, near a whisper. “Don’t you want me?”

Rafael leaned over to press a gentle kiss on your lips and then rested his forehead against yours. “I do – believe me I do. But you’re hurt and we have both been drinking.”

You bit your lip and nodded slowly, feeling your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. “Okay. I’ll just get dressed and go.”

You began to move but an outstretched arm stopped you. You looked over your shoulder at him.

“Stay the night. Please.” Rafael implored, his eyes searching yours. You wanted to, so badly. Part of you hesitated to wonder if in the morning Rafael would still be interested or if this would be chalked up to a mistake of too much alcohol. You had a feeling the friendship was effectively ruined. But you were a consummate professional and even if your friendship was ruined, you would not let it get in the way of work.

“Y/N… please. Say something.”

Your eyes flickered past Rafael’s shoulder to the alarm clock on the nightstand. It was late and your buzz was starting to fade into exhaustion. You weren’t wild about really leaving at such a late hour, even if you were only a few blocks away. You agreed and internally decided to make sure to leave before Rafael woke up in the morning.

Rafael pulled you into a soft kiss. “I’ll get you something to wear.” The bed creaked as he stood and he made his way to his drawer, where he pulled out a pair of sweatpants, which he quickly slipped on. Rafael fussed a bit more, looking for something you to wear. He eventually produced his old Harvard Law t-shirt and gave it to you.

Rafael climbed back into bed and you snuggled on his chest where sleep befell you both.

--

The next morning you woke up to the smell of coffee and cinnamon. From a distance you could hear music in the background. You winced as you sat up. Sunlight pored into the bedroom through the curtain and you raised your arm over your head in an attempt to block the light. You looked to the left and noticed Rafael wasn’t in bed. You glanced at the clock – it was 9:15 A.M. You were appalled that you slept in and did not get to sneak out. At the corner of the bed were your clothes piled neatly.

“There’s my answer.” You mumbled to yourself. Your stomach growled and you made a mental note to grab something on the way home. You took off Rafael’s shirt and slipped your clothes back on. Your sweatshirt reeked of booze and you crinkled your nose in disgust.

“Just play cool – say Olivia called and you had to come in after all.” You told yourself. “Totally believable.”

“What’s believable?”

You jumped, startled. You turned around and found Rafael in the doorway, an amused look on his face. He stood shirtless, his sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips. You felt your mouth go dry as you drank him in. You noticed one hand was balled in a fist and the other, held a glass of water.

“I – I – uh, good morning Rafael.”

“I figured you could use this – for the hangover and your ribs,” Rafael continued as he dropped two pills in your hand.  “I have coffee in the kitchen, and I was about to order some food.”

You mumbled your thanks and took the painkillers. Rafael watched you intently as you chugged your water. You wiped your mouth on the sleeve of your sweatshirt and thrust the glass back into this hand. “Thanks for letting me stay the night. I should go.”

“Look, I know last night wasn’t ideal.” Rafael protested, setting the glass down. “But I meant what I said. I want you. I turned out liking you a lot more than I originally planned.”

You cocked your head, studying his expression in a veiled attempt to eek out anything that would indicate what he was saying wasn’t truthful. “Come.” Rafael outstretched his hand and nodded his head towards the living room.

You took Rafael’s hand and allowed him to lead the way. “I should have done this that night you were here – when I invited you to hear my closing.” Rafael looked through his vinyl collection, quickly finding the record he was looking for. You instantly recognized the cover to the record as the one you chose. Rafael waited for the turntable platter to stop spinning before he gently removed it and returned it to its cover. Finally, Rafael set the new record to play and Moonlight began to play.

Rafael returned to you and took you into his arms. He caressed your face gently, pushing your hair away from your face. “I should have kissed you that night. And every night before then and every night after. I shouldn’t have waited.” Rafael lowered his face and brushed his lips against yours. You felt your heart swell at his proclamation and eagerly returned his kiss. His stubble prickled your skin and you lasciviously wondered what it would feel like in between your legs.

Your tongues gently rolled over one another’s as you each explored the caverns of your mouths. You moaned slightly and Rafael took the cue to deepen the kiss. Your hands ran up and down his defined arms, before running down to his sides. Rafael nipped your bottom lip and sucked it in between his teeth, causing you to moan.

Rafael moved back to your neck, focusing his ministrations on a particularly sensitive spot. You ran your hands into his hair and gripped tightly as he sucked a mark into your neck. You whimpered as he used the tip of his tongue to soothe the bruised spot.

“Still have to go?” Rafael asked breathless, his voice hopeful as he pulled away. He beamed inwardly with pride at the hickey that was beginning to develop.

You shook your head, smirking. “No.”

“Good. I want to have breakfast and I bet you’re just delicious.”

You laughed heartily at his comment and then squealed as he picked you up, hoisting you over his shoulder and leading you back to his bedroom.

TBC.

Tags:  @melsquared79 @madpanda75 @youreverycolor @tropes-and-tales @neely1177 @the-baby-bookworm @mrsrafaelbarba @skittle479 @ottosuricato @delia26 @sass-and-suspenders @mommakat32 @dreila03 @beccabarba @garturbo @lovebennycolon @imjustreallynosy @sweetsummertime99 @whyissvuruiningmylovelife @scarletsoldierrr @cesarofangirl78 @redlipstickandplaid @redlipstickandblacktea @zoeykaytesmom @differentshadesofgray @misssirenlove @esparza-army @bananas-pajamas @mishaissocoollike @fanficfaeriesrafaelbarbalibrary @theenchantedgalleryofstories @thefanficfaerie @trekinthruthestarwars @catnip987 @choppedgalaxynerd @pieceofshittytitty -anyone else, just ask, xo

[moonlightjeno]

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 :: san x reader

𝙜𝙚𝙣𝙧𝙚 :: angst, fluff ??

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙩 :: 2k

𝙖/𝙣 :: i’m not dead. this was actually gonna be a lot sadder than it actually is. and hey i’m writing for ateez now. kinda? idk man inspiration. any ways, i’m still kinda in a hiatus of sorts andi wrote this in the span of like an hour because a. san and b. i’m in an angsty mood. this is not proofread. 

[ 6:09 pm ]

the dirt is still wet from what seemed to be a never-ending thunderstorm. The booms are a constant echo in your mind, that separates you from the rest of the world. When you look at the ground, a single flower greets you, the lilies white petals the only white in the dark and clouded day. Even it’s the stem, usually green seemed dull compared to the pureness of the white flower. The stone that stands behind it manages to clench at your heart, and you can feel your hands curl around the soil. Fingernails covered in dirt, that you would worry about later. It takes three breaths, for you to look up, and the coming sun causes an almost rainbow in front of the grey cobblestone. 

The words seem to get stuck in your throat, you can feel them, a jumble of thoughts and emotions that you have pushed back for almost a year now, threatening to spill and tumble out of your mouth. But every time you open your mouth, no words leave, instead, the water that rims your eyes begins to spill down your cheeks. The water droplets are salty as they land in your mouth and into the soil, creating a pitter-patter on your hand. Breathe in, breathe out. The lily in your hand seems to stare back at you, the symbolism of it making your heart clench with each breathe, and you know that you can’t breathe the words that can’t get out and block any air into your lungs until a sob rips from your throat. 

Pit, pat, pit, pat. Pitpatpitpatpitpat. And breathe. 

It’s too much, the memories that flood you. His dimpled smile, and childlike behavior. It’s too much how anytime you laugh, you think that you don’t deserve it because you were supposed to be laughing with him. You were supposed to hear his squeals and feel his arms wrapped around you in a never ensign bear hug. You were supposed to get more time, more time to share your love, more time to know him, more time. 

Time. the one thing that is limited in this world, the thing that we can never promise each other, but make the most out of.  And you know this, you know that every time you visit the grey headstone, every time that you’ve tried to make it to where you are now your feet are no longer in your control, you are detached from the world and the world seems so far. So far that you are longer part of it, you know that you are in it but the words the sounds around you are all muffled never clear. You know that you are alive only by the beating of your heart and the constant breaths that leave your body, and the never-ending ache in your heart. They’d all visited him. Every single one of his members, it had all happened to fast for you to process one moment he was net to you, the next he was gone. The only thing you had left were the memories, like a shard of glass. Glimpses into a life, that were now broken. Though beautiful, and capturing everything you loved, but sharp and ready to cut you. The instinct to lock the memories up is instant, it’s what you’ve done for the past year shove the memories, every laugh and smile that you’d never have again to that place in your mind that you’d never reach. But this time, this time you breathe again. 

“I…” the tears rush forwards again, their warmth a weird sense of comfort, and then a small smile grazes your face when you take out the old camera the last tape you’d recorded of san on it. 

Breathe in. breathe out. 

“I… there’s… it’s so much” you start. The video is playing over and over again, the clips lasts exactly 22 seconds. You know because you’ve counted them, you know because you can’t remember the number of times you’ve watched the clip of his smile shining above everything else. You start again and this time there seems to be no end. “When you left, i didn’t understand. Why? Why out of anyone did you have to leave me? So many people have left, so many have passed and gone, except you. It had always been me and you, san. No matter what, that was always the plan” you smile, the memory of the two you when you had met for the first time fresh in your mind. 

The lock that you’d latched onto the memories, open and the flood came. It’s a rush you realize now that you’ve finally let yourself let go on the tight lock of emotions. “Damn it.” it’s almost a yell, but it doesn’t reach very far, before you can’t breathe again the salt in your mouth making it dry.  “It was supposed to be us, to forever. But I guess that’s what everyone thinks when they lose the person they loved the most, don’t they san?”  you can’t help but ask him, willing that maybe he’ll materialize next to you, a dimpled smile directed in your direction, and if you close your eyes and think hard enough, you can hear the filter of his laugh. Wooyoung and Seonghwa talking in the background as san cracks a bad joke, when you open your eyes you see him in the old black and white camera. Looking at you, with those eyes that held the world. And you’d know what he’d say,  hoe there was no point in dwelling in the past luv, to just focus on now, on all the happy things on the bright spots you have in your life. And you did, you shut your eyes, a grim smile on your face as you clutched the old camera close to your chest, forehead resting against the cool surface of the cobblestone. If you opened your eyes you would have seen the engravings, on the tombstone. 

CHOI SAN

THE TRUEST FRIEND ONE COULD HAVE

1999  - 2021

“I miss you. I miss your laugh, i miss you dragging me on random adventures at two in the morning with wooyoung because you two were hungry. I miss going to sleep, only to wake up with your arms around me. I miss how no matter how long of a day you’d had you’d always have a smile on your face, and be ready to be there and be you. There are so many things i miss, so many things i would take back if i knew, if i just knew that you’d be gone. And i sure as hell hope they’re treating you well where you are, or i might just have to go fight them myself” and you almost swear you could have heard the faint chuckle of your best friend, from somewhere but when you open your eyes for a second you don’t see him, but it’s as if you know he’s there listening somehow. “It’s been a year. You know the moment the beep paused at the end of the line I was almost sure I was dying with you. But I am still here, and you’re not. I was going to play this video for you, the members helped me make it, it’s a compilation of all the times you’d made us mad only for then for us to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. But the moment i opened the camera, this video of you plays. It’s at one of you’re rehearsals, a dance practice for a competition, I can’t really remember which one, you guys went to so many. But this one in particular, was the first time you sang. You were scared, you kept asking me and the rest of the team ‘what if the public doesn’t like my voice? What if i break? What i a forget the lyrics?’ ” it was also the day you realized you’d fallen in love your best friend. And you knew the tears were threatening to come again, but you found your words again, the rainbow seemed to dance in front of you, it’s different colors and bright light. 

“You killed it though. I knew you would, wooyoung even made a bet about it. But that’s not it. I look at this video, and you look so happy san. Your eyes whole the world, the dance in the light and seem to captivate everyone and everything. And i can barely keep focused for more than five seconds before i start to break down again” the last words come out almost as a choke, but the ease on your lungs seems to have softened. And the pitter-patter has slowed down, your hands are no longer clenched together and your heartaches even if just a little, but it’s less. The video continuous to play on its a never-ending loop, and the lily seems to be blooming a little brighter than when you had first arrived. The wet soil, is still cool against your knees but it’s become somewhat familiar, the grey cobblestone you can finally read. The engraving still pangs you hear, it still makes you want to scream and rip something to shreds because at times you can’t believe that he isn’t here anymore, and then the never-ending pain becomes a little warmer with every note he sings, and every giggle you hear over and over again. Until it’s the only thing you hear, and you can breathe again. 

Death. No longer by your side, the moment the white machine from the overly white hospital bed beeped monotone. Dead, but not always gone, the memories stored in the box of memories you have never being able to be separated from pain and joy. The never-ending mixture of both emotions, and so many more that you don’t think you’ll ever be able to truly filter out, or get a grasp of. It’s times when those two hit you so hard, and the memory of his smile stops your breathing when it feels like nothing will ever go back to normal, and you know that it never will. But you think you can create a new type of normal, one with that box of memories not shut away but next to you the mix of emotions always swirling, and you ready to take them on. It’s when you feel the tap of the shoulder, and turn to face seven other boys, that the weight of the memories and everything that is san seems to loosen a becomes happier. Because you know that he will always be there, always be with you in your memories even if they hold pain because the pain comes from the love and joy those memories hold. In time, you hope, in time, maybe you can breathe again. In time.

[joonsdragoneyes]

Russian Roulette [M][1]

{Warning: This fic and the corresponding chapters contain mentions and descriptions of eating disorders, mental health, violence, vomiting, death, profanity, and angst. Please proceed with caution if any of this may potentially be triggering.}

7 people trapped in a bunker during the end of the world should’ve been the much brighter side to this situation. Being around people whom you love and with years of supplies should’ve been guaranteed survival. Some handle it well, and others manage to pretend. However, when supplies run low, tensions rise as everyone raises a question they wonder if they even truly want the answer to.

The small bed creaked softly as Yoongi wiggled himself free of the man holding him close, doing his best to see in the heavy, inky darkness. The much larger form caging him there was noticeably warmer than the bunker's cold air, especially since the blanket was gone, having been given to the younger ones a while back. He yawned, deciding to give up in his effort to free himself as he let gravity knock him against the hard surface of what he was told was a mattress.

His eyes by then had adjusted, dropping onto the small trio huddled together in the corner. The three were wrapped neatly under the gifted blanket; their bodies practically piled on top of each other in an attempt to hold onto any extra warmth they could get. Jungkook could still be seen shivering slightly under the blanket, Taehyung and Jimin both scooting closer, their arms wrapping tightly around him, and each other, in the process.

A soft scrape echoed from the other side of the small room, his eyes falling once again into two more figures asleep on the ground, their shivering bodies also huddled together. Upon closer inspection, he realized that one of the men was awake, causing him to watch as Hoseok slowly shuffled, rolling on top of the older man next to him in a desperate attempt to keep warm. Jin, in his sleepy state, didn't seem to mind.

Deciding it was better to attempt to sleep again, Yoongi rolled over, facing the man he was resting in the arms of. His chest could be felt rising against his own, the mans' breath hot against his cold face. He, himself, was shivering inside of his hot cage, his smaller frame cuddling yet closer to the still sleeping Namjoon holding onto him. 

He found himself hesitating before wrapping his arms around the much larger man as well, pressing his face against his muscular chest as he moved yet closer. He wasn't tired at all at this point; in fact, he felt somewhat jealous of the others being able to sleep during a moment like this. He found his mind trailing to Jungkook, remembering how the younger man had been asleep since they had come down here.

The poor man was only awake for a few hours at a time, seemingly during the moments where his body merely couldn't sleep any longer. He still joked around, and laughed, and was just as energetic with the other younger ones of the group as usual- he was just sleepy, so he said, anyway. Something about it was too familiar to Yoongi. It worried him. 

"Are you awake?" Yoongi whispered, feeling the sudden change in the larger mans' breathing. Namjoon shuffled, nodding before lowering his head a bit to face the smaller man. "Yeah, I'm awake."

"What time is it?"

"I don't know, Yoongi. Possibly 2 am? It's hard to tell for sure."

Yoongi paused, rolling onto his back as he turned to look at the large metal container on the other side of the room. He huffed, still shivering as he finally pulled himself free, the concrete floor cold through his thick socks, stretching as he stood up. He grumbled, feeling disgusting. He hadn't showered in a month, and it was an awful feeling besides his currently painful hunger.

"I'm hungry. Do you want something?"

Namjoon sat up, a soft scraping noise echoing from under him as he slid off the small bed, shivering as he stood up. His muscles moved under his loose clothes as he also stretched, nodding as he let out a yawn. "Yeah." He spoke softly. "I'll wake up, everyone."

Yoongi nodded in response, his hands shaking as he felt along the wall, feeling for anything resembling a light switch. A soft click sounded from under his slender hands, a loud buzzing ringing through the room as it flooded with light. He blinked, trying his best to ignore the pain that filled his eyes.

"Good morning!" Jimin chirped, crawling tiredly from under the blanket. "Or night, I'm not sure. Either way, hello, everyone." He spoke, plopping softly onto the concrete floor. His hair was standing up in almost every direction, the sight enough to bring Yoongi just a bit of joy. 

"Good morning." Jin yawned in response, pulling himself gently from under the still sleeping Hoseok. 

A loud clanging sounded as Yoongi pulled out a small pot and little stove. Thankfully, it was battery-powered, and they definitely had enough of those- the only question would be whether they had enough food. 

"Ah, we're eating?" Taehyung piped up, sliding from under the blanket, his eyes heavy as he slowly turned to face the sound. "Not yet, you can keep laying down," Namjoon replied softly as he made his way over to Yoongi, a few cans resting comfortably in his arms. "We've got enough, don't worry," Namjoon whispered to the smaller man hunched over the little stove, making sure it was just loud enough for him to hear.

"I'm not worried." Yoongi lied in response, his voice even lower. 

"We're eating?" Jungkook questioned, exhaustion filling his voice as he also slid from under the blanket at the commotion, a pout forming on his face as he received the same response Taehyung had. 

"You all can rest; I just woke you up so you'd be ready when it was done. Save your energy." Namjoon explained, ignoring the fact that he, himself, had none to use. The act of waking everyone up had, in itself, taken most of his energy. He was tired, but the act of waking them up 'just in case' was more than enough to drain him. The thought of having to check to see if they even would wake up was an exhausting thought in itself, and it was one thought he couldn't shake from his mind.

Trying to hide his fears from not only himself but the others was what took everything he had. The sound of everyone discussing how energetic and calm he was during the times they thought he was asleep kept him running. It made him feel like they'd get back to the surface once again, and that feeling was the one thing keeping him from succumbing to the exhaustion. 

"Almost done." Yoongi piped up, his eyes dark and heavy from his many weeks of attempting and failing to sleep. He had stopped shivering, whatever heat coming from the stove seemingly enough to keep him warm. It was almost odd how eager to finish the meal he was- after all, he wouldn't even touch it.

Whoever was younger ate first. It was easier that way. Yet, he still found himself eating less in his effort to feed everyone else. Maybe this was one he would finally finish. He highly doubted it, but it was a thought he'd hold onto.

Jimin scooted closer, watching closely at the mixture of soup and some vegetables and the last bit of meat. He bounced a bit on his knees, excited as he watched the older man calmly stir the little pot. Namjoon could be heard walking by him, grabbing little cups in order to serve it out. Seconds would usually be available, but everyone was still eager to come in to get their serving. 

"Tae, Koo, wake up, it's time to eat." Namjoon cooed a bit softly, shaking the two younger men to wake them up from where they had fallen asleep again. The two yawned, crawling out from under the thick blanket and over the still steaming pot. Yoongi gently filled the cups as full as he could, watching as Namjoon handed them out. The three younger men instantly took a long sip from the cup, not even waiting for the silverware.

Yoongi watched as Namjoon plopped next to him, a faint smile on his face. He seemed happy just watching the three young men eat their fill, not minding that he needed to wait for his. Of course, he'd be next, but he already was beginning to feel full just watching the others eat.

Hoseok by then had woken up, remaining in his spot to conserve his energy, knowing he would have to wait for a bit. Jin had scooted close, sitting close to Yoongi and Namjoon tiredly, his breathing slow. He was also exhausted, remembering his long conversation with Jungkook the night before.

Hoseok by then had woken up, remaining in his spot to conserve his energy, knowing he would have to wait for a bit. Jin had scooted close, sitting close to Yoongi and Namjoon tiredly, his breathing slow. He was also exhausted, remembering his long conversation with Jungkook the night before. 

The three turned their heads at the sound of Jungkook laughing, his arm swinging playfully at the small fight- if it could be considered that had broken out among the three youngest. Over what was anyone's guess, though, it'd be quite literally anything because knowing them.

Given their laughs, it wasn't anything serious, not even close. But it was still enough for Jin to calmly tell them to quiet down, watching as the three continued to eat, laughing amongst themselves about something- likely an inside joke of sorts.

Yoongi let out a small cough in the dusty air, pausing before finally handing Namjoon his cup as well, watching as the man next to him graciously began to eat. The color seemed to instantly return to his face, the sight surprising given that Yoongi couldn't even tell that any had left. 

Namjoon hummed a bit in delight, sliding a bit away as he began to slow down, attempting to enjoy every bit. He could always get more, but he didn't want to rush. Jungkook, by then, had come back to get more, a large grin spreading across his face as he received his second meal. Jimin and Taehyung followed close behind, the three scattering off in order to eat together somewhere else.

Hoseok finally scooted over, his face bright and joyfully as he graciously accepted his own serving, scooting into the spot Namjoon once occupied to eat. Namjoon made his way back over, Yoongi merely handing him the spoon so he could get his own. He was getting tired and wanted to sleep. He knew he wouldn't be able to, but it was a nice thought.

The younger trio's soft laughs on the other side of the room caught Hoseok's attention, Yoongi and Jin both watching as he stood up and made his way over, plopping down amongst the three. Yoongi yawned, handing Jin his own cup, trying his best to ignore the frown on the older man's face.

"It's your turn," Jin said, pushing it back. He wasn't hungry either; he hadn't been for quite some time. He wanted to lay down or spend time with the others, but he wasn't sure how to avoid the concern that would arise from him not having an appetite. Besides, he knew Yoongi hadn't eaten much either; he was so obviously exhausted there was no way he thought he was fooling anyone.

"Just take it; I'll eat whatever is left. It would be about the same anyway. I"ll just go last." Yoongi explained, pushing it back to the older man, who finally took it. The pain he felt could be ignored for a while; he had managed to do so for this long. Plus, he knew Jin was stressed and wouldn't be hungry, but he'd be damned if he didn't make him eat something.

He grinned as he watched Jin finally eat, watching as Hoseok also came back for more before running back over to the younger trio. Everyone seemed content, and it made him feel warm inside. Jin grabbed his own second serving, Yoongi, left to watch the remaining bit in the pot. Jin had scooted away, a conversation starting with Namjoon as soon as he arrived over there. 

Yoongi huffed, taking a few long sips of the remaining mixture, hands shaking as he set the pot back down. For some reason, he was struggling to finish it. His breathing was heavy and pained, hands sweaty as he struggled to lift the pot again, taking another long sip. 

He groaned, scooting away from the pot as it clanged against the small stove. It was over, at least for today. It was the least of his worries now, and all he wanted to do was try to make the best of his waking moments. Tiredly, he scooted close to where Jin and Namjoon sat, instantly joining in the conversation, a big smile on his face.

[someonefantastic]

Ok, Who Had Natural Disasters on Their 2020 Bingo Card?

Forgot to cross post this yesterday whoops. Anways, we're getting so close to the end and I am both very excited and also sad to see this go. Oh well, at least we have four more days! I had such fun writing this, pining shules is such fun and I hope y'all enjoy reading this! Probably takes place between 3x13 and 3x16 Heavy T rating due to slight nudity and some innuendos but it's still SFW. Also warning for scars/past trauma (nothing too bad though) Summary: It was all Shawn's fault, that much Juliet was sure. It was his fault they were stuck in the woods in the middle of the storm and it was his fault they'd have to find a way to get warm. Unfortunately she was having a very hard time staying mad at him... it was probably the hair. also on ao3 ___ It was all Shawn’s fault.

Or at least, that’s what Juliet told herself as she trudged up the river bank. It was rainy and wet, a mixture of mud and leaves sloshed beneath her toes. Her shoes had long disappeared, swept away by the raging waters and she mourned the loss of those heels. Her clothes clung miserably to her skin doing little to protect her from the onslaught of rain pelting her. Groaning, she brushed her soaked and tangled hair out of her eyes.

Behind her was another groan as Shawn waded towards dry land. Reaching the grass she turned around, hands on her hips as she watched him peel himself from the river. If she hadn’t been pissed at him she may have admired the way his flannel clung to his skin, revealing a surprisingly toned upper body or the messy damp hair that hung just barely over his eyes. But those were memories for a different day because she was fuming.

“What the crap was that Spencer?” It was more of a demand than a question and he squinted up at her.

“What?” His eyebrows furrowed. “You’re mad at me for saving your life?”

She shook her head, scowling. “You didn’t save my life, you almost killed us!” She paused for a moment before deciding to add, “Plus I had that guy!”

Throwing out his hands he began to walk towards her, “Jules please, he was about to shoot you. It was either a bullet or the river.”

She humphed, turning away from him. “You still could have killed us.”

She heard him sigh and a hand was placed on her shoulder, “Jules, I’m sorry. I panicked and made a rash decision. I just… got…” Another sigh, “scared.”

Her anger froze as his words struck her. He was scared. She had seen a lot of emotions from him over the past few years- knew he could be kind and gentle in addition to his usual brand of eccentric- but she had never seen him scared. Truly scared, not just running away from a supposed ghost or a suspected murder. More importantly, he was scared for her. Her heart twisted, emotions that she’d felt before but never paid much mind starting to bubble to the surface.

“I forgive you, Shawn,” She started, turning around and offering up a small smile. “But next time, let me make the rash decisions. I am the one with the training after all.”

He gave a nod. “Deal.”

Thunder rolled in the distance and she found herself frowning yet again. It had been raining for three days straight- an anomaly for typically warm, sunny Santa Barbara- and it seemed like another thunderstorm was upon them. She looked around, trying to get a sense of their surroundings but she recognized nothing, the rain doing little to aid her quest.

“I think we’re lost.”

He spun in a circle, eyes darting around. “Agreed.”

She gave another heavy sigh, and shivered, her wet clothes barely defending her from the frigid air. “I guess we’ll just have to lay low for now. Hopefully, they’ll send a search and rescue team out soon or the rain will die down.” A violent shiver wracked her body. “But for now, we should find some way to get warm.”

“Aw man the one time I didn’t bring a tent to a crime scene.” He joked and she rolled her eyes.

Spotting a nearby pine tree, a small smirk broke out across her face, “We don’t need a tent.” She trekked towards the tree, ignoring his confused looks. “You don’t happen to have a knife on you do you?”

Still bewildered he reached into his pocket, producing a small swiss army knife. “Never leave home without it.”

She raised an eyebrow, admittedly a little impressed by his forward-thinking. Taking the knife from his hands- and ignoring how her fingers tingled as they brushed against his- she started breaking and cutting down pine branches. Shawn soon jumped in, following her lead as they gathered the material. Once they got enough, she then began leaning them against the trunk of the tree, forming a tent-like structure.

When they finished, she stepped back, hands on her hips to admire their work.

“Wow,” Shawn spoke up from beside her, “That’s amazing that you know how to do this.”

She shrugged, “I was a girl scout.”

“Doesn’t change what I said.”

She turned her head, ready to thank him but her eyes went wide as she noticed him shaking violently. Glancing down at her own hands, her worry tripled as she watched them tremble.

“We need to get warm.” He said, staring at her with concern and she wondered if she looked as cold as he did.

She nodded and beckoned him into their makeshift shelter. It was a tight fit, the design leaving them with little wiggle room. She wound up face to face with him, their chests pressed together and their noses inches from colliding. A shiver ran down her spine- though not from the cold- rather it was from his warm breath ghosting over her skin. It smelled like pineapples and mint and it took every bone in her body to keep her from leaning forward and tasting him herself.

The air hung tense around them and she had to duck her head, attempting to break the hold he seemed to have over her. This had been a very bad idea. Why on earth did she think that being near Shawn would be a good idea? She was trying to avoid these feelings for pete’s sake. They had been dancing around each other more and more as of late. She was attracted to him for sure, a realization that had hit her after football pants and charming smiles and coming to terms with the fact that she didn’t hate flirting with him. But she couldn’t act upon it. She wasn’t ready, he wasn’t ready, it wasn’t their moment.

He shivered against her, snapping her out of her thoughts as she examined how his face had gone unusually pale. Her own body was freezing, a permanent chill that seemed ingrained in her bones. This wasn’t working. They needed to get warm faster. If one or both of them got hypothermia, it would cause their bad situation to get even worse.

She squeezed her eyes shut, knowing what she had to do but hating that she had to do it. With a sigh, she opened them, biting her lip. “Shawn… we need to get warmer.”

He cocked an eyebrow, a smirk breaking out over his face. “Detective O’Hara, are you asking to cuddle with me?”

She shook her head, beginning to shimmy out of their shelter. His face dropped and he sat up slightly, looking at her through the opening. “Jules, I was joking, I didn’t mean to make you leave.”

Rolling her eyes, she sat back on her haunches, pulling off her suit coat. “Yes, Shawn we can cuddle.” Her tone was exasperated but she couldn't help but inwardly smile as his eyes lit up. “But-” She held up a finger, effectively silencing whatever flirty remark he had, “we need to do something else first.”

“What-” The question died in the air, his eyes going wide as she began to unbutton her blouse. “Jules…”

Heat began to crawl up her neck and into her cheeks as she watched him stare dumbfounded. She took a deep breath, attempting to quiet her nerves. “Skin to skin contact is the fastest way to get warm. Plus with our wet clothes, we’re just waiting for hypothermia to set in.” That was good, that was logical and she couldn’t argue with logic.

Unfortunately, he could. A sly grin spread across his face as he got out of the shelter. “Just admit you want to see me naked.”

She shot him a glare which promptly lost its effect as she shed her shirt, his eyes lingering on her newly exposed skin. “Not naked. We’re keeping our undergarments on. This is purely professional.”

“Understood.” He nodded, pulling off his flannel. “Just two co-workers cuddling half-naked in the woods... super professional.”

Sighing, she cocked her head to shoot him another look but froze at the sight of his bare chest. His baggy shirts really did not do him justice. He was surprisingly toned, fit in all the right places but not overly muscled. Running from bad guys sure had its perks. He had filled out nicely, no longer the skinny lanky guy that she had first met- she didn’t mind Shawn then but now… he could get her hot under the collar with just one look. His arms looked particularly nice and she wondered what it’d be like to be held by him.

Closing her eyes, she shook her head, trying to rid the hundreds of nonprofessional thoughts that were racing through her mind. Now was not the time to be imagining the guy you had to cuddle with for warmth in some not exactly appropriate situations. When she opened them again, he was staring at her curiously, clad in just boxers and she suddenly couldn't remember how to speak.

“Jules please, I know it’s a lot to take in but try to control yourself.” He was joking of course but it did little to stop a blush from forming across her cheeks.

She removed her pants quickly, not giving herself any more time to think before getting back into the shelter. He crawled in behind her- taking some time first to pull some extra branches over the opening and situate their clothes at the entrance- and lay down in his previous spot. They weren’t as close as before but it was close enough and she felt her face heat up again. He was very attractive from afar but now… up close… she almost forgot how to breathe.

The two lay in almost silence, wind swirling around outside of their shelter and an awkward tension hanging over them. He was staring intensely at a spot above her and she couldn’t help herself from taking advantage of the opportunity to look over his body. He really was toned, and smooth, and she wondered what it’d feel like to run her hands down his chest.

Closing her eyes, she tried to ward off any more unprofessional thoughts with little avail. When she opened them again, her attention was caught by a faint scar in the middle of his rip case. It was long and thick and faded yet still there and she knew it was from heart surgery. She wanted to ask him about it, wanted to know his secrets and dive into his past but she also knew now wasn’t the time.

Her brain instead switched to her own scars and her stretch marks- bullet and knife wounds, cuts and scrapes from broken bones or on the job injuries- and she shifted uncomfortably, arms moving to cross her chest, suddenly self-conscious. She wanted him to think the best of her but it was hard when her body was so broken and worn.

“I’m sorry Jules.” His voice snapped her attention back to his face, eyebrow cocking at his expression. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Her eyes widened and she realized that he noticed her shift in mood, though he drew the wrong conclusion. She shook her head, “If anyone should be sorry, it’s me. This was my idea after all.” Biting her lip, she avoided his eyes. “Besides... I’m not uncomfortable because of you.”

He made a little sound of curiosity but didn’t say anything else, clearly waiting for her to continue and she sighed hating having to be vulnerable before him. “I’m just… maybe… a little…” She looked up at him through her eyelashes, “self-conscious.”

His eyes widened, “Jules...”

“I know, I know, it’s stupid.” She was quick to backtrack. “I see these scars and marks and I just think I’m broken and I know it’s not true but that’s just how I feel.”

Eyebrows creasing, he adamantly shook his head. “It’s not stupid at all. I know feelings suck sometimes…” She looked down again and he sighed. “Look Jules, I have a giant scar on my chest.” He gestured to the area, making her cheeks tinge pink. “It’s the part of me that I like the least but so far in my life barely anyone’s thought I look ugly with it and if they did, then it was their loss. It’s part of who I am no matter how much I dislike it and it tells a story. I’m sure your scars do the same so you don’t have anything to worry about.” She offered him a small smile.

“Besides, I think you’re… I mean you’re… well-” He bit his lip and hope rose in her chest, curious to what he’d have to say- curious if this was their moment after all. “You,” He finished and the moment ended.

She was quick to recuperate from her disappointment, shaking it off and smiling at him. “Thanks, Shawn.” The smile turned playful. “And if it makes you feel any better, I think you’re not too bad yourself.”

In a flash his signature smirk was back, eyes dancing. “It’s the hair, right? Girls dig the hair.”

She laughed, “Sure. It’s totally the hair.”

Chuckling, he grabbed her hips, pulling her closer. Suddenly, she found that it was very hard to breathe. Her body was pressed flush against his, noses inches away from touching. She was so close she could see the splatter of freckles over his nose, flecks of brown in his eyes, the stubble that lined his chin.

“Sorry,” He muttered but his eyes showed no sign of regret.

“You need to stop apologizing.” Her voice was low and husky and frankly, she wasn’t sure how she was able to speak.

His eyes flickered from her’s to her lips. “Noted.”

She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Would it be slow and soft, their lips caressing in a gentle dance? Or would it be hard and fast, as if they never wanted to breathe again? Her stomach clenched, heart beating so hard that she thought he might feel it through her skin. She wanted so badly to kiss him, to run her fingers through his hair or down his cheek, feeling his stubble scratch against her palm. To pepper little kisses across his scar and see that Shawn Spencer that he didn’t dare show to the world.

But she couldn't kiss him. Not today.

Today they were just two co-workers, lost in the woods during a thunderstorm. They weren’t dating, she wasn’t his girlfriend, they were just friends. Friends who had to snuggle half-naked for warmth but friends nevertheless.

“Shawn…?” She asked, breathlessly.

His voice was barely a whisper, “Yeah?”

She swallowed heavily, trying hard to get the words out. “I guess we should get to the snuggling part.”

“Well...” He shrugged goofy grin back on his face. “If you insist.”

They shifted as best they could inside the small shelter, maneuvering so that one of his arms was under her- just above her shoulders- and the other was wrapped around her upper back as he held her tight. Her arm hooked around his neck, the other going to his lower back. They were even closer than before- something she didn’t think was possible. She could feel the heat from his body spread through her own and she wondered what it’d be like to get to sleep next to him every night.

Their gazes were fixed on each other, an unspoken tension between them. She was transfixed by his eyes, captivated in a way that she never wanted to be free from. The line between friends and more than that was there, so evident and begging to be crossed with one simple kiss. She could do it, she could kiss him and change their lives but a clap of thunder caused her to jump a little, effectively destroying her resolve.

Now just wasn’t the time. Instead, she ducked her head, resting it against his chest as he tucked her under his chin. His breathing was steady, peaceful, and combined with the rain and the warmth in her chest, she found herself growing tired.

“Good night Jules,” He whispered and she wanted to reply back but the next thing she knew she was fast asleep.

When she woke, she'd have a world of problems and emotions to sort through but for now, she was perfectly sleeping next to Shawn. It turned out, being held by him was so much better than anything she could dream of.

[indiavolowetrust]

Carajillo

SUMMARY: Some things are truly set in stone. After the tension arises in the Devildom and Celestial Realm, the human is called back to attend a summit.

TW: Mention of Rape

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

BARBATOS: september 21st, 5:21 a.m.

It is a rather simple process. The coffee beans only take thirty-two seconds to grind, the water requires five to ten minutes to boil, and the coffee requires four minutes and eleven seconds to steep. It is seven seconds to fetch a glass, twelve seconds to place the cubes of ice from the ice box into the glass, and one minute to pour the liqueur into the glass. Once the coffee has finished steeping in the french press, it takes twenty-two seconds to finish the process of pouring the coffee into the glass.

I know this. I know each and every ingredient to make carajillo, as she had called it. I have memorized every possible method of brewing and melding the properties of the cocktail together, and I have recorded every possible outcome from each process. I know the exact measurements of each ingredient, the most viable temperature for the cocktail, and the notes present in the drink.

I know these things, and yet I still manage to make too much each time.

It is a side effect of her death, I would imagine. Six hundred and sixteen days have passed since the time of her expiration. Fourteen thousand and seven hundred eighty-four hours. Eight hundred eighty-seven thousand forty minutes. It is also known as a total of fifty-three million, two hundred twenty-two thousand, and four hundred seconds -- most of which I have used to silently mourn. Half of which I have used to berate myself, the incessant questions plaguing me in all hours of the night.

How long had she known of her fate? How long had she suffered? I ask myself. Had I tried one more time -- effectively placing us in the eighty-seventh cycle of the events -- would she have lived?

Worse, I wonder if she detests me for committing such acts on her. With her.

The outcomes had carried the same characteristics throughout the course of the cycles, albeit with small variations. A strangling by the stairs, the marks around her neck black and blue from the force of the assault. A stabbing outside of her own room, her hands still pressed to the wound as she had tried to get help. A deadly fall from the top of the stairs, her body crumpled in a broken pile at the bottom. The forced ingestion of poison, the evidence of a struggle seen in the aftermath. Then I had found her body stuffed into a chest in a storage closet, a trail of blood leading to the gruesome scene, and something inside me had snapped.

But there is no benefit to contemplating the consequences of my actions now. All the anguish and sorrow in the world would not bring her back. The regret would leave my heart heavy for the next millenia, and then I would have to forget. I would force myself to forget, regardless of circumstances. I had been lucky to avoid a revelation on Lord Diavolo’s part, to avoid the punishment that would surely come with using my abilities in such a manner. A millennia would be enough to mourn the loss.

I take the glass with me to a seating area by the window. While the diminutive nature of the kitchen forces a rather unconventional use of the space, I find the set up to be rather charming. Cozy, as one would call it. The seating area has been nearly built into the window, allowing its user to overlook a portion of the labyrinthine garden, and the table has been graciously donated to the space as an afterthought. I begin to raise the glass to my lips.

“Isn’t it a little early to be drinking something like that?” asks a voice.

Her voice.

But it can’t be her, I realize with a start. She’s --

Maria slips into the space across from me, playfully drumming her fingers against the table. “It’s a shame you didn’t wait for me,” she teases, a smile pulling at her lips. Her eyes flicker briefly to the cocktail in front of me. “I would have loved to have tried it together for the first time.”

What are you doing here? I want to ask, staring unabashedly at what must be a figment of my own imagination. Why are you here? How did you get here? Is this some cruel part of my mind playing tricks on me?

“You’re dead,” I manage.

“I am.”

I lower the glass back onto the table, not quite trusting myself not to drop it. “Are you --”

“Real?” she finishes for me. Maria reaches over and traces her small fingers against the back of my hands, pressing lightly, and the contact is as solid as it had been when she was alive. Albeit much colder. “Of course I am. Does that answer your question?”

“Not quite,” I respond, struggling to control the tone of my voice. “I would like -- no, I need more answers.”

Maria is quiet for a moment, regarding me -- and then she sighs, sinking into herself. “I was lost for a long time. A really, really long time. I don’t know if it was because I died down here or because I wasn’t allowed up there for -- for doing that, but I couldn’t remember who I was. I didn’t know where I was.” She presses a hand to her face, as if she were trying to subconsciously suppress a painful memory. “But then someone called me by my name, and I remembered. Ended up here. I think it was you, now that I think about it.”

“That’s impossible.”

“Well, time doesn’t really work that way when you’re dead,” she says, reading my meaning. Her finger idles with the edge of the glass. “It’s -- it’s harder to think when you’re dead. To keep time stick-straight and linear.”

Silence settles between us. The light of the false moon almost filters through her form, the composition shifting between that of a translucent nature and one that appears more solid. Dark, unruly curls frame the soft angles of her face, making her appear almost pitiful, and her frail shoulders are visible at times through the phantom blouse. Revealing the olive tone of her skin beneath. My eyes begin to trail her form, and I study the shape, looking for any indication that this apparition before me is not the human I had foolishly come to cherish. That this is only part of some horrible, conjured image. I find no such sign. Her dark gaze meets mine briefly, holding it for a moment -- but she looks away quickly, biting her lip.

Despite everything that I have seen of her, I feel inclined to be ashamed.

“Where will you go?” I say, attempting to distract both her and myself from the blunder. “It isn’t uncommon for spirits to wander to such a deep level of the Devildom, but you can’t stay here.”

She blinks. “I’m sorry?”

“They’ll eat you alive here. Devour you. Tear you apart. In limbo, where you were before, nothing lives or dies -- but such rules do not apply here.” I level my gaze with hers, trying to suppress the emotion in my voice. “If you perish a second time, there will be nothing of you left.”

“And if I don’t want to leave?” she ventures.

I pause, wordless. Unsure of how to answer. She should hate me. She should detest me with every fiber of her being, given the things that I have done to her. I had taken her innocence in every way possible. I had forced her through the ordeal again and again, unable to fathom the consequences such traumatic experiences could have on her psyche. I had used her for my own selfish means, simply believing that keeping her alive would make the both of us happy. I could not accept the reality of her death, rejecting the very idea -- and in turn I had brought unimaginable suffering onto one I had come to cherish. One I had truly, hopelessly come to love, twisting the concept just as a demon would.

“I’m sorry.” I cannot bring myself to look at her, the guilt swallowing my conscience. “I --”

“The Celestial Realm is on the brink of war,” she says, her voice suddenly on the other side of the room. I lift my head to see that she is making carajillo with the leftover coffee and the liqueur I have left on the counter. Her rough measurements are evident in the color and aroma of the cocktail. “While I may have avoided becoming a martyr, it appears that a coup d’etat has already been staged. If little action is taken, Lord Diavolo will have a much more significant disaster on his hands. That’s why I came here.”

To be corrupted, I realize, gazing upon her ethereal form. She came to me to be corrupted into a demon.

Her eyes are sharp. Determined. “Will you?”

Even death has not changed her. She is still that bullheaded, stubborn mule of a human. Difficult, as always. Hopelessly infuriating. Willing to use the sheer force of her will to deny death its cold clutches. I find myself almost smiling at the fact, a mixture of both trapped grief and inexorable joy coming to the surface. The silent forgiveness is nothing short of jarring, the unspoken words speaking at a greater volume. Maria smiles back, lifting her glass in a strange sort of truce. I move to stand by her side, meeting the edge of her glass with mine, and take the first sip of the drink together with her.

It will take a millennia to truly beg for her forgiveness. A millennia to atone for the acts I had committed, the suffering I had inflicted upon her. And then it will take a millennia more to earn all that I had needlessly thrown to the fire. War or not, conflict or ceasefire, I find that I am completely willing to do so. I would prostrate myself before her for the end of time, if she so desired.

I find that the taste is truly all that she had said. Deeper than the blackest night. Warmer than a summer’s day. Sweeter than the parting kiss of a lover. Unforgettable in every manner possible.

END

[behindheremeraldeyes]

title: his wife

summary: After finding out Sakura is also at the Astronomy Research Facility, they’ve been meeting every night to investigate the place. One night, though, he sees something that leaves him worried about his wife. Could she even be called that anymore, though? — Canon Universe,  Based on Sasuke Retsuden.

a/n: So… it took me a while to post this because of my tests and because of, well, life itself, but… It’s finally here! This story came to my mind as soon as I finished reading Sasuke Retsuden, and I still can’t believe such beautiful book actually exists! Here it is, @corazonmazapan ! I really hope you enjoy this one, and please, leave me your comments! 

.

.

The bell rang like every other evening, and almost immediately, hundreds of shelves were dropped to the floor. The clinking sound of metal reverberated across the construction site, blending with a wave of relieved sighs just to compose a raw and tired symphony. The loud, crackling spines indicated that another day of hard work had finally come to an end to all of the prisoners around the institute, and if anything, that was a reason for them to celebrate.

Every day, hundreds of men worked under terrible conditions for over 12 hours just to hear the deafening sound of their temporary freedom. Normally, after the bell, It didn’t take long before heavy steps marched in unison across the dry and frozen courtyard, staining the common ground that separated the east and the west buildings with a mix of dirt and sweat. They walked close to each other in order to preserve the heat from their aching bodies, and amongst the many voices chattering in that horde of prisoners, the only wish that could be heard was to return to those dark and freezing cells so they could say goodbye to another day of their eternal sentences.

For all of those men, that was a moment of pure joy and relief, as if they had just finished another normal day of work, and even if they knew that was not really the case, perhaps, it was better to think like that instead of facing the harsh reality of the incarceration. They wanted to return to the closest thing of a home they had, where they could eat something, chat about useless things and gamble until the lights were turned off and exhaustion eventually lulled them to a dreamless sleep.

That was the best part of their days, for sure. A part filled with darkness and silence, where all of them could finally slip away into oblivion and enjoy their well-deserved rest.

Well, at least most of them would. For one of them, the real job was about to begin.

Amongst all of those prisoners who were trying to renegade their past and who wanted nothing more than to survive another night, a man walked around those dark corridors with extreme precision and dexterity. He moved around that rocky dungeon like a dancer moving across the surface of a lake, not letting anything escape his sights, and taking note of every new detail that had been modified since the previous night. For darkness itself was a familiar path to his skilful eyes, Uchiha Sasuke had no trouble in finding his way towards the infirmary, especially since he already knew the directions by heart. After finding out exactly what could be found in that place, it didn’t take long for him to draw a map in his head.

During the previous week he had spent alone in that place, not even once had Sasuke considered getting some medical help from the current doctor of the institute. His cellmates would always return from the infirmary saying the old man was no warmer than the walls that surrounded them, and that he never really cared to help anyone. They called him a sadist, who was always trying to test some new medicine on the prisoners, and most of the men suspected he was the cause of so many deaths that had been occurring lately.

He was a monster a lot worse than Menou. And needless to say, it was a relief when he suddenly disappeared and a new doctor came in his place.

Unlike the previous one— unlike that entire place and everything that had once stained the hearts of those men— the new doctor was kind and gentle, treating every one of them as humans and not just diseases. She was always worried about her patients, never judging them for their actions in the past, and always making sure to give them her best. In other words, she was a gift from heaven to those poor souls. They didn’t deserve her, but they were really glad to have her— someone— taking care of them.

As soon as the rumours were proven right, it didn’t take long before the prisoners started to like her, and of course, it didn’t take long before they spread the word of how pretty that woman was. They talked about how smooth her hair looked, her shiny eyes and her delicate curves; and at first, none of that talk actually mattered to the Uchiha. He figured that most of that men hadn’t been with a woman in so long that it was very likely that those words were actually filled with lust and yearning instead of logic and discernment. Their manly needs were certainly speaking for them, and he could only hope that doctor knew how to take care of herself around those potential beasts.

Still, he had nothing to do with that. Until, well, he had everything.

It was right after he was poisoned by Menou that the Uchiha realized that all of those words that had been used to describe that doctor were actually being used to describe his beloved wife. Sakura had infiltrated the Astronomy Institute in order to aid him in his mission, and even if he was extremely glad to have her by his side once more, it was safe to say he grew more and more conscious of the men who decided to visit the infirmary. A sense of protection started to take over his thoughts, and whenever he heard someone talking about the new doctor and her physical traits, it wasn’t easy for him to just sit and ignore, especially when it was Jiji who started the whole thing just to piss him off.

It was his wife they were talking about, after all.

Still, Sasuke knew better than to let his emotions get the best of him. Their mission and their secret identities depended on his composure, and he was not a child to jeopardize everything over nothing. He simply remained calm, told her to be aware and even gave her a ring to keep track on her if things eventually went south. It was a ring made with his chakra and his birth stone, and as soon as the men started to see it decorating her finger, they would realize that she was not a single woman.

Or, at least, that was what he was hoping for. It was not like he had actually heard any word about the doctor wearing anything new around her slender fingers. Later, though, he found out the ring really was a bit inconvenient to wear while examining the patients, so his wife chose to keep it safe in her pocket.

Not that he cared, though. He certainly didn’t.

It didn’t take him more than 6 minutes to reach the infirmary, and as soon as he got there, the door opened to reveal a happy prisoner leaving with his arm bandaged. The red cloth tied to his neck matched the soft color that tinged his cheeks, and Sasuke told himself that that blush was just a mixture of relief and the low temperature. Another man would sleep a little better because of his wife’s healing hands, and that was the only thing he should care about.

Even though his hand was clenched, the Uchiha managed to brush those unnecessary feelings away as he finally entered the infirmary. “ Sakura.” He said, softly, as her name rolled out of his tongue. He used his knuckles to gently knock on the aluminium door, making his presence known as he walked inside, careful enough not to catch her by surprise. “Are you ready?” His dark eyes searched the room, stopping only when they met her emerald ones beaming at him.

“Eh, Sasuke-kun?!” She smiled, her cheeks gaining color almost as immediately as her eyes widened in a joyful surprise. “ You’re quite early tonight.” She simply spoke, and it was possible to tell her eyes were examining him, looking for any trace that indicated that there was something wrong with him. "Did something happen? You’re not hurt or anything like that, are you?”

“Tch. You worry too much. I’m fine.” He stated, calmly, and he watched as her shoulders relaxed a bit. As always, his wife’s overprotective side was showing, and even if he didn’t want her to worry about him, it was impossible not to feel the slightest joy at the thought of having someone caring about his wellbeing like that. “I just came straight from the construction site, that’s all.”

“Oh, okay then…” Sakura smiled, then, clearly convinced by his words. “If you want some water or something to eat, there are some supplies inside that cabin.” She gestured to the cabin on the west side of the room, the pen in her hand leading the direction. “Eat as much as you want.”

“And how about you?”

“Don’t worry about me!” She motioned with her hand, shaking it from left to right in front of her face. “There’s enough for both of us this time. I went to the kitchen today and gently asked the boys if I could cook something on my own. They took the ingredients from a secret compartment, so I bet the quality is better than the stuff they serve for you guys at the cafeteria.”

“Hn.” He nodded, then, moving towards the cabin so he could take a look at what she had got them. As expected from his wife, she always managed to find ways to get what she wanted without too much effort. Her kindness and her gentle words were perfect for undercover missions, helping her through people’s tough facades and discovering their hidden secrets. They would give her all the information she needed, and more than that, they would give her things normal people would never even dream about.

Sakura is a sly and smart kunoichi. And because of that, he was going to eat something that didn’t taste like crap for the first time in weeks.

When he opened the cabinet, not only he found a couple of bottles of clean water, but also some energy bars and her famous soldier pills. She took them anywhere she went, and even if they don’t really taste that well, they make him feel a lot better after a day of hard work.

Next to the pills, there were also 3 bento boxes and a couple of oniguiris, and he couldn't find the right words to express his gratitude as soon as he tasted the tomato inside of one of them. She had prepared them just the way he liked them back when they were genin, and the innocent surge of nostalgia warmed his chest at the memory of his younger-self tasting those rice balls with her during their travels.

“Thank you for the food, Sakura.” He thanked her just as he swallowed the second tomato oniguiri. Truth was, he had been starving since earlier that day, and it was quite refreshing to taste something that was made especially for him after so long.

“You’re welcome, anata.” She smiled, happily, sparing him a quick glance before returning to her paperwork. “Shall we start then?"

“Don’t you wanna rest a bit before, Sasuke-kun?”

“It’s fine. I don’t need to rest.”

“Okay, then…” She shrugged in acceptance, her lips curling up at her husband’s dry sense of duty.  "I just need to write down some details of the last patient’s physical examination first, then we can focus on the investigation. Shouldn’t take me more than 5 minutes. Is it okay? You can just sit on one of the beds if you want…”

“Hn, you’re taking this fake job too seriously.” He spoke, a sly smirk decorating his face. “Just tell me when you’re done.”

“Hai!”

Her soft voice filled his ears as he slowly walked towards one of the many empty beds of her infirmary. More than anyone, he has always known how diligent his wife is towards anything that involves her medical duty, and just because they were undercover, it didn’t mean she would ignore her patients when they needed her most.

She was too responsible for that, he knew.

And all of that responsibility within her made him proud of the woman she has become.

After hours of hard labour, Sasuke discovered that waiting without doing anything was quite relaxing. As he sat on one of the beds across the room, his wife stood near her desk, scribbling something on her clipboard and completely unaware of the world around her. Sakura was completely focused on her notes, and for he knew it was important for her, Sasuke just stood there in silence, waiting until she was done with whatever it was that needed her full concentration. His trained eyes were observing his wife as she was doing her job, and before he knew it, he started paying attention to her body’s secret language. 

She looked serious like that, wearing her pristine-white lab coat. Pink lips pressed in a thin line, eyes half-closed while observing her notes and a single, rebel lock of hair falling forward to brush her left cheek. Even if he hated to admit it, he understood why all of those prisoners immediately became infatuated with her. Not only she’s a kind and gentle doctor, Sakura is also the prettiest woman he has ever seen, and not even once in all of these years has he doubted that statement. Having her so close to him after so long only served to reassure him of the things he already knew by heart, and at times like that— times where they could simply rest and enjoy each other’s company— that he reminded himself of how strong their connection is.

It goes beyond their bond as teammates and as fellow war heroes; and their beloved daughter exists to prove his point. Together, they’re a very powerful duo, and no distance in the world can ever break them apart. 

No distance and certainly no insect— as Jiji claimed the other night when they were walking back to their cell.

Her presence around those men was probably just leaving him a bit uneasy, and he was certainly worrying over nothing, for sure. After all, she will always be Uchiha Sakura.

Right?

“And it’s finished!” She exclaimed, her voice bringing him back to reality. A relieved sigh escaped her lips as she stretched her tired torso, and a childish smile crept onto her lips as she unceremoniously let the patient’s file fall on her messy desk. “And the most frustrating part is that I know all of my work is for nothing since the director will probably throw my report away.”

“Well, at least try to think the prisoners are thankful.”

“Are they?” She asked, truthfully, looking at him with a soft expression. “I mean, you must hear them saying something about me, right?”

“Aah. I do” He said, closing his eyes and trying to ignore most of the things the prisoners actually said about his wife.

“… And?”

“And what?”

“Well… What do they say about me, Sasuke-kun?”

“Tch. They like you, I guess. They say you’re kind and that they’re feeling better after you came to the institute.”

“Really?!” She smiled, her eyes beaming in excitement. “It’s really nice to hear that! Some of these guys have never even seen a doctor in their entire lives. It’s hard not to sympathize with their life stories.”

“Hn, I bet it is.” He scoffed, bringing his leg up to the bed and looking away. Even if he knew his wife was truly concerned about those men’s health, there were certainly other things more urgent crossing their minds whenever they talked about her. Those imprisoned men have long forgotten what it meant to be civilized, and not being able to reveal his identity drove him insane sometimes. 

Everything would be easier if he could only warn the others that she was his wife. Perhaps, he thought, they would back off or at least stop saying those indecencies around him. She was a married woman, after all. That much they knew. 

Or so, he thought. 

“Sakura, I think we should get started.”

“Oh, yes, you’re right, sorry.”

She chuckled, finally taking off her lab coat and hanging it on the back of her chair. She fixed her shirt, and when she turned around to get her black gloves from a box behind her desk, something unusual caught his eyes. It was as round and white as he remembered from their younger days, and it was simple enough to pass unnoticed by the people from the forgotten country that was Redaku. Sakura was wearing her clan’s round crest instead of the Uchiha fan, and he was sure his expression mirrored his inner astonishment.

His eyes were glued to the old-new crest on her back and slowly, he stood up and started walking towards her. His eyebrows were arched, his lips were slightly parted and for a moment, it was as if he didn’t recognize his own wife with that circle on her back.

What was going on there?

Could it be that she packed her old clothes instead of her regular ones? He knew her body hadn’t changed much since she was a single woman, but still, what the he—

“I'm ready!” She spoke cheerfully, as she was definitely glad to have finished all that mandatory paperwork, and it was easy to say excitement was starting to grow on her at the idea of resuming their investigation. “Shall we?”

“Sakura…” His voice was low and alarmed, and her soft expression suddenly changed into a curious one.

“Eh? What’s wrong, Sasuke-kun? Are you not feeling—“

“What is this?” He said, looking forward and straight at her.

“What is what?” She turned around, as if looking for something unusual around the room.

“This.” He pointed at her, and instinctively, she started touching her cheeks with her hands and looking down at herself as if in search of any stain or rip. Her head moved around, swaying her pink hair, until she lifted her head once more to look at him, a blank expression taking over her face.

“Is there something wrong with me?”

“Yes.” He answered dryly, scaring her. “I mean, no, not really, but… Why are you wearing this shirt?”

“Is there anything wrong with it? It’s such a comfortable shirt.” She adjusted the hem of the shirt, playing with the frontal zipper as to make sure everything was okay. "I don’t think I understand your point.”

“You’re not wearing your clothes, Sakura.”

“Oh…” Her eyes widened and her lips formed a pout at his words. She blinked once, twice; and slowly, she opened her mouth. “What?”

“Tch, you’re not wearing the Uchiha crest. Why not?”

“Oh!” She smiled, finally understanding her husband’s point. "Well…” She started, leaning back against her desk. She crossed her hands across her chest, carefully looking at him as if to try to understand his words. “It's not like I can wear the Uchiha crest here, right, Sasuke-kun.”

“Why not?”

“What do you mean by why not? It’s because it would blow up my cover, of course.”

“They know my name here.” He said, flatly, his arm simply resting next to his body.

“They know your name is Sasuke. They don’t know you’re the Uchiha Sasuke.” She stood up straight, her green eyes locking with his. “The director doesn’t really care about who the prisoners are. They don’t need your files, let alone your last names… But I’m a part of the staff here. I had to give them my documents, sign papers… They had to know who I am.”

“And that would be…?”

“Haruno Sakura.”

“Tch. Great.” He scoffed, an annoyed expression taking over his face.

“What's the matter, Sasuke-kun? Why are you so upset?”

“Hn, I’m not. I just didn’t know you would actually change your married name for this mission.”

“Actually, it’s not my married name. I’ve told them I’m a single woman so they wouldn’t ask more questions about family and other relationships.”

“What?!” His voice escaped his lips louder than he had initially planned, surprising her a bit. Sasuke was clearly annoyed at her statement, and if he were to be honest, he didn’t really know why.

Logically thinking, his wife was only doing what was best for the mission. She was hiding both of their identities and their village’s location; and she was keeping them all safe. More than just the two of them, Sakura was also thinking about Naruto, Sarada and all of those patients that were relying on her. All she had to do was tell those people her maiden name and pretend she was a single woman again.

It was really no big deal.

Still, just imagining his wife— who was now just his single comrade and not his wife anymore— amongst those thirsty men infuriated him. It drove him mad with a feeling he couldn’t quite name, and it made him worried about what could happen to her. It was not like he believed that any of those men would actually respect a married woman if they lost control over their hormones, but still…

Whenever he was away in his missions, knowing his wife was proudly wearing the Uchiha crest made him feel less lonely in that big world. Even if it was just a symbol, it was important for him to know he was not the only one wearing it anymore, and he knew from the bottom of his heart that his wife respected and cherished his clan’s history as much as he did. Though if the blood of his family doesn’t run in her veins, she displays the crest proudly on her clothes, and that alone made him feel safe for reasons he couldn’t quite explain. Knowing it was not there anymore — knowing they were not really married in that fake adventure—made him feel distant. Insecure, even. It was stupid of him, he knew, but it was not like he could force himself not to feel any of those things.

“Tell them you’re married.”

“…What? Why would I do that now?”

“It’s for you own safety.”He said simply, not wanting to dwell into more details of his emotional reasons. "You don’t know these men. You don’t know what they could do to you if they had the chance.”

“Oh, and do you really think that me being actually married will change anything if my fake husband is miles away from here? Come on, Sasuke-kun.” She giggled, clearly thinking her husband was delusional. If not for their mission, she would probably be laughing at her husband’s sudden jealousy attack.

“You can say I’m here.”

“And risk compromising our mission? Definitely not.” She shook her head, hiding her hands inside her pockets. “Why does it matter to you, anyway? I actually thought you would find it exciting to fool around a little just like when we were single.”

“I am not single anymore.” He said, simply, as if it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world. "And neither are you.”

“Well, I know, but…” She sighed. "Why do you care so much about it, Sasuke-kun?”

“Hn, can’t I just worry about you?”

“Not like this.” She said, lifting a challenging eyebrow at her husband. “Don't tell me you’re actually jealous, Sasuke-kun.” She teased, earning nothing but the judgmental stare of his stoic face.

Her accusing words hit him deeper than he had expected, and it took him quite a lot of effort not to break his perfect poker face. Uchihas don’t get jealous. They’re above such illogical emotion, especially when they’re already married to the said object of jealousy. It was silly to even consider something like that. Sure, he’s also a man made of flesh and seeing all of those men trying to approach his wife made him a bit mad and overprotective, but he didn’t consider it to be jealousy.

“…This is ridiculous. I’m not jealous.”

“Then why do you want those men to know I’m married?”

“I've already told you, Sakura. It’s for your own safety!”

“And I’ve told you I don’t believe you.” She stated, her eyes still connected to his. There was a childish tone to her voice, and if anything, that only served to annoy him even more.

“If I tell you I’m jealous, will you say you’re married?”

“It depends. Are you?”

“Definitely no.”

“Then I won’t say anything.”

“Tch, you’re annoying, Sakura.”

She giggled once more after his words, taking a step back and carefully pushing some papers away from her desk so she could sit there. Her legs dangled over the metallic edge, and if anything, Sasuke was confused regarding her true intentions. Knowing his wife, there was just no way she would just let go off that matter so simply, and he couldn’t help but observe her with his skilled eyes.

“You know…” She started, a soft blush tinging her cheeks. “This certainly brings back some memories, don’t you think?”

“How so?”

“Oh, come on… Uchiha Sasuke calling Haruno Sakura annoying.” She smiled. “We just can’t seem to leave some old habits behind, right?”

His eyes widened for a millisecond, and he realized that, indeed, it felt like they were once more their younger versions. She was the annoying Haruno Sakura, the only girl he has ever loved and he was once more the stoic Uchiha Sasuke that was searching for redemption. They weren’t quite traveling like back then, but they were together outside their village, and they could only rely on each other to get back home safely.

Side by side, they were fighting enemies and infiltrating places for the sake of their village, and while they did so, their feelings for one another only got stronger. Haruno or Uchiha, he has always harboured a great affection towards the pinkette, and with the passing years, that affection has naturally turned into love. He already loved Haruno Sakura back then, and fate made sure to create a bond between them that not even he could destroy. She’s always been a part of his family, and when she started to use his last name, well, that was just a mere formality for him.

Her last name didn’t really matter, he realized. It never truly did. Their bond was greater than that, and it was not like he couldn’t keep them at bay for a couple more days until they could both head back home.

It was not like the strongest kunoichi in the world wouldn’t be able to take down whoever pissed her off. His wife has proven him many times that she can protect herself, and if anything, he would once again have to find it in himself to trust those polished skills of her.

“Hn, it’s different now.”

“How so?”

“We're adults now. We’ve changed, don’t you think? Sarada exists to prove my point.”

“…Indeed, you’re right.” She chuckled, crossing her ankles. “We did it all together. Just you and me. Sasuke-kun and Sakura. Isn’t it enough?”

A pang of guilt made his heart skip a beat, and soon, Sasuke realized his emotions had taken him too far. He was behaving like a teenager all over again, and as always, she was the one to bring him back to reality. Once again, he had lost an argument against his wife’s logical words. He really should start practicing more.

“Aah. It is.” More than enough. He nodded, closing his eyes for an instance as he organized his thoughts. He heard his wife’s feet touching the ground once more, and soon, she was standing close to him. 

“Finally you agree with me!” She said, dramatically throwing her arms up in defeat. “Shannarou, we don’t have time for this. We’re here to help Naruto. I can take care of myself if any of those guys come after me. I’m a shinobi, too, remember?!”

“You’re right, Sakura.” He said, nodding in acceptance. “I’m counting on you to take care of those insects, then.”

“Insects?”

“Never mind.”

“Well, I’ll take care of them, too.” She said, cheerfully and absentmindedly, as she walked past him, softly patting his left cheek with her gloved hand. “Now let’s just go, Sasuke-kun.”

“Hai!”

And so, after leaving it all behind, the power couple left the infirmary and went out in order to find out more about what was hidden in the darkness of the Institute. They worked together, completely trusting each other, as their actions were in perfect synchrony only years together could grant them.

It would be a long and busy night for the couple, for sure.

And if anything, Uchiha Sasuke could use that chance to spend more time with Haruno Sakura— that annoying girl who would, one day, become his wife. 

——————————

The commotion began during their short lunch break. He was sitting at the cafeteria alone near the rocky window, eating whatever it was that looked decent from his plate, when one of the prisoners gathered a bunch of his friends and started talking a little too loud for his own liking. Normally, the Uchiha would ignore those silly and stupid conversations, but as soon as the pink haired doctor’s name was mentioned, his ears perked up as he focused on every word shared amongst those men.

He knew he should just let it go, but it was stronger than him. As a ninja, he had to know. 

“You won’t believe in what I’ve found out! It’s a tragedy!” One of them said, drama tinging every syllabi of his sentence.

“What’s wrong, man!? What happened?”

“It's Sakura-sensei…”

“What about her?”

“I went there to pay her a visit, and then, I swear it felt like a good time to make a move.” He started, Sasuke’s hand clenching in a tight fist.

“And then what?! Did you do it?! Did you go for it!?” The other man asked, his eyes shining in curiosity.

“And then… She told me she has a fiancee waiting for her at home! She’s a compromised woman, gentlemen! With a ring and all!”

“What!? You can’t be serious!”

“Sakura-sensei has someone she loves already?! No! It can’t be!”

“Unfortunately, it’s true…She said they’ll get married as soon as she returns home.”

“Crap, of course a woman so beautiful like her wouldn’t be single.”

“Yeah…Her fiancee must be a lucky man.”

“Lucky and stupid, for sure. How could he let his beautiful wife come to an all-men prison so far from their home? He must be an idiot, for sure.”

A sly smirk took overs lips, and as he took a sip of what he believed to be a soup, Uchiha Sasuke decided to simply accept those words. Of course his stubborn wife wouldn’t just accept his suggestion and say she’s already married, he thought. Still, it was already enough. He accepted his new title as the lucky and stupid fiancee for the moment, until the day when they could both go home, and once more, be husband and wife.

fin.

[wri0thesley]

Special lewd post for the bday hubban please

Hey Nat! Hope your doing well! Can I get HCs or a Scenario of Speed with a super subby fem s/o giving and receiving oral for the first time. Ugh I love how rugged and dangerous but also loveable and kind Speedwagon is 😍

well, anon! this might not be super subby but it worked too well for his birthday so Here We Go! HAPPY BIRTHDAY MR SPEEDWAGON WE WUB YOU

Teaching A Lesson - Speedwagon/Fem Reader

NSFW, AFAB reader, fem pronouns, 2.5k.

You don’t know when your thoughts about Robert E. O. Speedwagon had turned from fear into desire; somewhere, perhaps, when you started smiling and blushing when he looked at you. When you’d realised that - though dangerous in his own right - he was only a danger to those who he thought deserved it. When his hand has brushed yours - even though your dainty gloves - and you’d caught his eye and he’d grinned at you, sending an unfamiliar shock through you that you’d realised when you’d gotten home and had stripped out of corsets and stockings was very much want. 

You had ended up, eventually, crushed against Robert’s bulk in an alley on the wrong side of London, his mouth on yours and his hands pulling your petticoats and skirts up around your hips. You had never imagined losing your virtue to a street rat in the public filth of a Whitechapel alleyway - but that was how it had happened, and when Robert had pulled out of you and kissed you on the mouth you had looked at him and thought; I am glad this is how it has happened. 

It’s hurried trysts, at first. Robert is not a man of fixed address, and there is only so long you can be away before the others you share your home with grow suspicious. Although you are far from a lady, you are at least respectable in the shared apartments above the dressmaker’s shop that you share with two of the other seamstresses. They have beaus - one of them is betrothed - but to be out at night alone with the object of your affection is unthinkable, lest your virtue be shattered before you can be shackled by wedding rings. 

That does not mean you do not want to spend a night together. And when Robert promises you a night in a real bed in a little room above a tavern that he’s staying in for a few weeks, you’re giddy. You tell the other girls that you’re staying with your sister whilst she’s visiting London, and though you see a brief flash of question in your eyes - you have never mentioned a sister - they accept your excuse, and you leave that evening with a neatly packed valise, you can barely stand how excited you are. 

The valise is not unpacked that first night, because Robert is on you in moments, seizing you about the waist and grinning at you, his handsome scarred face lit with adoration, murmuring your name as you’re tossed gently onto the bed and your body and his become one, over and over. You fall asleep with bare bodies tangled together, and you wake up in much the same way. 

You have all day to do whatever you and Robert wish - but as soon as his fingers trail whisper-soft across your bare hip and he leans in to ghost his lips over yours, his eyes glittering with something dangerous, you know exactly what you are wishing for for the rest of your sojourn. 

“How about,” you murmur, your own fingers running over his arms, stroking the ropes of scar tissue scattering his muscles, “we spend the entire day in luxury?” 

He grins. 

“I’m not one for luxury, love,” he says, his voice a purr - his accent would make the women who come into your shop turn tail and flee. For you, that grit just sets a fire low between your thighs. “I’m a man of simple tastes. Pretty bird, bit o’ cash--” He smirks. “And I’ve got both of those right now, in abundance.”

You smile back at him. 

“The luxury I’m talking about,” you whisper, leaning in, kissing a scar just above his heart he told you he earned in a knife fight. “Is the luxury of having time to learn one another’s bodies--”

Your words awaken something in Robert. There’s a flash of dark hunger in his eyes, and his tongue wets his lips and he looks at you. You feel flushed and warm beneath the gaze. 

“Well,” he says, his voice breathy. “There’s been something I’ve been thinking of teaching you about.” 

You keep eye contact, biting your lip. 

“I’m more than willing to learn.” 

“I’m very happy to hear that.”

And he’s on you with his mouth, kissing your neck, suckling blue-purple bruises into your throat, his fingers stroking over your bare skin. Even without going anywhere near the ache between your thighs, you feel heat and slick gather there - although you and he haven’t explored much further than quick and desperate tumbles, he knows where you’re sensitive. He knows which parts of your body make you light on fire when he brushes with his fingertips, and which places make you moan weakly - and by the time he’s spreading your legs, settling further down on the uncomfortable bed so that he’s positioned firmly between them, you’re putty in his hands. 

You’re always willing to follow his orders, of course. Something about submitting to him - a man who ought to be below you and yet commands so much power and presence, who is equal parts carnality and danger - always has your knees trembling. 

“Look at how gorgeous you are,” Robert growls, his eyes studying that place where your legs are parted with hunger, like you’re a meal he’s excited to devour. “Oh, you’re going to be a treat to taste, love.”

Your face flushes warmer. You-- you couldn’t have heard that right, could you?

“T-taste?” You stammer, and Robert lifts his head lazily to look at your embarrassed face. He chuckles - a low sound that makes you want to squirm - as one of his hands lands heavy and comforting on your bare thigh. 

“Aww, love. You ain’t never had anybody use their mouth on you before?” His smile is wicked, and then he suddenly widens his eyes comically, feigning surprise. “Oh, of course! You ain’t ever had anybody but me, have you? Don’t you worry, love. I’ll enjoy teaching you this one.”

Before you can respond to that, he’s dove between your thighs, tongue and mouth hungrily lapping at your slick like he’s been deprived to not be allowed to do this to you yet. You know that this is one of those things that’s supposed to be sinful and wrong - but with the wet heat of his tongue toying with your clit and circling your entrance and drinking you in, you can’t imagine why unless it’s because of how sinfully good it feels--

One of your hands tangles in his riot of wild golden curls, your face - still pink with a mixture of embarrassment and desire - peeking up to look at him. And oh, that sight of him with his head bent and his tongue working, scarred face gorgeous in how hard he’s concentrating on you and eyes blown with desire at the same time . . . a moan tears from your throat and a shock of pleasure goes through you as you’re forced to rest your head back and concentrate on nothing more than Robert’s well-practised tongue as it lavishes attention upon every inch of your sex. 

The hand still on your thigh creeps down, and you whimper and shift, gladly spreading your legs further apart as you feel his thumb nudge at the entrance to your sex. As he slides slowly in, his tongue moves attention higher, to the pink nub of your clit where it is swollen to attention - and as he suckles on that, your hips twitch helplessly towards the warmth. 

Every nerve in your body feels as though it has been lit aflame; it always feels like this when Robert and you make love, but at the same time it never truly feels like this. There’s something far more intimate about his mouth on you, a shock of knowledge that what he is doing would be shunned in other circles - and it’s partly that creeping feeling of shame that makes the way he plays your body with his mouth feel so delicious. 

One, two, three strokes of his thumb combined with rhythmic sucking on your clit pushes you over the edge, and you do not bother to hide the wail of pleasure that issues forth from your mouth as your peak washes over you in waves. Robert’s tongue slows, guiding you through the final aftershocks of your pleasure, but pulling away before it can be too much for you. You blink up at him, dazed, as your lover wipes his mouth with his hand. The entire lower half of his face is wet with your slick, and that sight . . . oh, that sight sends a fresh pulse of desire over you, though your own aftershocks have barely receded. 

“You were noisy, love,” Robert says, grinning. “Have I got t’find something to keep that mouth of yours out of trouble?”

He gathers himself onto his knees, and you’re made very aware that he’s enjoyed having his mouth on you just as much as you’ve enjoyed it by the state of his cock, flushed and standing proud. You bite your lip, avoiding his gaze. 

“M-maybe,” you breathe, with a good idea of how exactly he plans on making sure you’re quiet. 

“C’mere, love,” Robert says, crooking a finger, settling himself on the edge of the bed. You crawl over to him and he chuckles. “No, not here. On the floor on your knees, sweetheart.”

The pet names are soft, but there’s still a steel behind everything Robert says that has you glad to be on your knees instead of standing before him with them trembling in anticipation. When you’re settled in place before him, he smiles and runs a hand over your own face, your eyes locked with his. 

“What do you think I’m going to ask you to do?” He asks, his smile suddenly looking far more wicked than before. “My lady! Who’s never ‘ad the pleasure of being fucked with a man’s tongue. What d’you think I’m gonna ask you to do with your pretty mouth?”

Your face feels pink with embarrassment, your eyes level with the hard length of his cock. He cocks one eyebrow at you, waiting for your answer - and though it’s an effort to force the words past your lips, you whisper:

“I--I’m going to use them on y-your-- c-cock--”

Speedwagon laughs heartily. 

“Then do it, love,” he says, his voice husky, as you lean forward. “I’m not going t’hurt you. I wouldn’t go through all that trouble just to off you now! Just take it in your hand and suck it--”

You’re not embarrassed to be naked in front of him. You’re not embarrassed that he made you come, that he’s been inside you, that you see him and can barely wait to drop your petticoats - you are embarrassed that you’ve never done this before, and you have no idea how good you might be at it. You don’t want to disappoint Robert!

“Don’t worry,” he says, as if he senses your fear spiking in the air. The hand on your face cups your chin, pulling you close, and you hesitantly raise a hand to wrap around the shaft of his cock. At the feel of your fingers on him, he breathes out low and slow. “You won’t break me. I’ve had worse.”

You press a kiss to the tip of his cockhead, pink and ruddy, beading with precome even now. Hesitantly, you give a kitten lick to that bubble of his arousal, and his breath hisses out through his teeth. Fascinated by the sound, you lick again, and as you see muscles in his thighs jump, you decide to take the bull by the horns and let your entire mouth open, working his length in slowly so as not to overwhelm yourself. 

Robert groans out your name, thighs trembling - one of his hands comes to rest very lightly on your head, and though you can tell that he clearly wants to fuck your mouth with abandon, he holds himself back whilst you explore the feeling of having a man in your mouth for the very first time. The taste of him is musky and salty - unusual, but not unpleasant - and you envelope more of his cock into your mouth, taking him as far as you can comfortably go. It’s still only about halfway, but as you hollow your cheeks and lick at the shaft you do have in your mouth, you develop a kind of rhythm with where your hand is gripping his cock to ensure none of him feels left out. 

Robert’s breathing is heavy and erratic as you fall into a rhythm - as you bob your head and suck and lick, your cheeks hollowed. Your eyes do not leave Robert’s own face - he’s flushed with pleasure and his eyes are dark and big as they drink in the sight of his pretty prim lover on her knees on the floor, his cock in her mouth. 

Much like when his mouth was buried in that most private part of you, something about the taboo of what you’re doing sends thrills through your spine. Robert groans, his hips rocking into your mouth - and though you know this is probably far from the first time he’s had someone on their knees for him, you can’t help but feel that the lure of despoiling someone so otherwise pure is an aphrodisiac to him just the same. 

“Faster,” he manages, and his voice has a crack in it that you know means he’s not far off his own peak. You redouble your efforts - your tongue covering more ground, your hand faster, your head bobbing on his shaft with a renewed purpose. You find that you want him, desperately, to tell you that you’ve done well--

His eyes squeeze shut, his hips thrusting erratically, all of his control slipping as he chases his release and fucks into your mouth - and when he does come, the twitch of his cock alerts you to make sure you’re ready for the salty rush of his seed as it fills your mouth. Your eyes widen but you take it, letting the ropes of his release paint your mouth. 

Breathing heavily, he slides his cock out of your mouth, looking down at you with warmth suffusing his gaze. You swallow the milky mess he filled your mouth with, and he lets out a shuddering breath that you know is both admiration and desire. 

“You’re perfect, love.” He says, sounding dazed - and you get the impression that, if nothing else, you succeeded in one place. You certainly didn’t embarrass yourself by not being good at that, did you?

You imagine, from the way that your body is already throbbing with want, that it won’t be the last time you use your mouth on Robert. In fact, as he beckons you up and pulls you into a kiss, perching you on his knee, you can already feel his cock stirring - and you’re certainly ready for a round two. 

You have the full day ahead of you, after all - and a whole night.

[clericbyers]

Mike and Will are fooling in the snow one night after an evening out with the Party. Will is laughing really hard after throwing a snowball at Mike, his nose and cheeks red from the cold, his short brown hair a mess from under his wool cap, he's so breathtakingly beautiful. Mike is so, so in love with this amazing boy. He knows Will is IT for him. He can see them together 50, 60 years from now. ("I love you, you giant dork." Eskimo kisses are always the best under the snow.)

“Catch you on the flip side!” Lucas shouts to the others as he gathers his bike from the Wheeler garage and sets himself to head back home.

“See ya tomorrow, Lucas,” Mike replies warmly, tucking his gloved hands into his jacket pocket with a chilled shiver. Dustin pats him on the back and heads over to grab his bike as well.

“You two take care tonight, alright?” he says once he’s wheeled himself in front of the curb where Mike and Will stand side by side. “Tomorrow is gonna be amazing.”

Will rolls his eyes and Mike can’t help the smile on his face at the sight. “You always hype up your campaigns but it’s just an excuse to help Mike level up faster.”

Dustin sends him an affronted look. “Hey! Mike should be thanking me for making sure he’s not a drag for you and Lucas. He’s always losing so many hit points every time he steps three units to the left.”

“I don’t lose that many!”

“You nearly died touching the juice of a poisonous berry, Mike.” Will reminds him. “Not even eating it, just touching it. You need the XP points; it’d just be nice if someone here didn’t play favorites while helping you.”

“You are really one to talk about picking favorites, Byers.” Dustin motions to Mike with both hands in an exaggeratory fashion. “Look at him. Your favorite.”

“He’s not!”

“I’m not?” Mike puts a hand to his chest with a gasp. “All this time, I thought being your friend since kindergarten made me your favorite.”

“You’re my favorite first friend.”

“The only one I hope.”

Will grins and slips his arm around Mike’s. “Sorry to tell you that Dustin and I actually met long before we did.”

“Mike, we did no such thing. I didn’t even know you until 4th grade; tell him to stop lying. Will, stop before you make him beat me up with an irrelevant speech of a rant.”

“I won’t beat you up,” Mike rolls his eyes but pulls Will closer to him. Will giggles and leans into the embrace. “Maybe just scare you a little by spending the next twenty minutes being the devil’s advocate and explain why The Breakfast Club is the worst movie to grace this earth.”

Dustin gapes. “You’re a horrible best friend; I hope you know that, Mike.”

Will cackles against Mike’s arm and Mike looks down at him with a smile, always so happy to see Will grinning and, in general, happy given everything that’s come to pass in the past few years. Dustin kicks up snow toward the two before laughing and giving them each a goodbye before biking down the street back to his house.

This leaves Will and Mike alone at the curb, which is nothing new, but this is the first time they are left alone like this as a couple. That’s still such a wild concept for Mike to accept but to be fair, it’s still only been a few hours since they went official. Will’s tucked into his shoulder a bit more, staring out at the snowflakes falling from above. Mike wants to go inside where it’s much warmer but a snowflake lands on Will’s red nose and he goes cross-eyed trying to look at it and Mike’s heart hurts so much.

“You wanna spend a few playing in the snow before it gets too cold?” Mike asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible with his question.

Will perks excitedly. “Yeah! Let’s try to make a snowman on the lawn and see if it lasts into the morning.”

The shorter boy untangles himself from Mike’s arms and bounds toward the snow piling up in the yard. Mike is a little slow to follow, breath caught in his throat as he watches Will start piling up snow to pack into a sphere. He’s dressed for winter to the nines; neck draped with a scarf, hair half buried under his wool cap, fingers covered with gloves that are getting wet from his ministrations. Mike takes a second to soak this moment in, how he gets to think back on this moment not as ‘that time I built a snowman with my best friend’ but as ‘the first time I built a snowman with my boyfriend’ and that thought brings a flood of heat to Mike’s freckled cheeks.

He shakes his head and follows Will’s imprinted steps in the snow to help him roll the base sphere. They manage to work together to build the first two snowballs for the snowman in relative piece, sneaking in small nudges and quick shy glances whenever they pass each other by. Mike feels brave for a moment and presses his lips to Will’s cold cheek when they pause for a moment after getting the second sphere on top of the bottom one. Will giggles and playfully shoves at Mike but his eyes are glowing and Mike thinks tonight can most definitely be labeled as the best night of his life.

Mike turns to focus on the last sphere for the snowman, distractedly packing snow into a tight ball when he feels sloshing cold ice smack him on the back. He yelps, tripping over a snow pile he had created during his task, and stumbles across the lawn trying his best not to faceplant from the force of it all. At the sound of loud laughter, Mike flips around to glare at the offender, but finds all words caught in his throat at the sight before him.

Simply put, Will is breathtakingly beautiful. He’s laughing at Mike, cackling and doubled over with a hand to his stomach as he bellows into the night. His cheeks and nose are rosy red from a mixture of the cold and his buoyant laughter, his hair is a disordered mess under his snow-covered hat, his eyes are scrunched tight with pure joy as he laughs and snowflakes settle on his lush lashes, and Mike…Mike is so in love with this boy.

It hits him like a freight train, the intensity of the love Mike has for Will, and he knows right then and there that Will is it for him. No one else can fill his heart with such unadulterated love like Will does. No one else can ever compare and he was a fool to think otherwise for so long. Tonight is so special, tonight is the night Mike knows he can see him with no one else but Will. He can imagine a scenario 50 years in the future where he’s watching the first snowfall of winter as he sits next to Will on their porch holding hands and remembering this particular day. He can’t imagine what he’ll do later in life but he knows that it wouldn’t be his life without Will at his side.

Will’s concerned now, his laughter subsiding as he takes in Mike’s stricken and silent posture. “Are you okay, Mike?” he asks, rushing over to take Mike’s face in his hands. “I didn’t mean to shock you so much.”

The shock of cold wet gloves to his face brings Mike’s thoughts to the present and he looks down at Will with probably the biggest heart eyes he could muster. Will flushes but manages a shy smile as his gloved thumb rubs against Mike’s cheek. “I’m fine,” Mike replies softly, “just thinking about how much I love you, you giant dork.”

It’s only been a few hours since they started officially dating–despite the fact Mike feels like he’s been dating Will for most his life to a degree–and maybe for others it would be too soon to say something as important and emotionally dramatic as I love you, but Mike’s loved Will since before he knew how to read more than a letter at a time. Mike loving Will isn’t news. It’s not shocking. It’s not overly dramatic. It just is.

And Will’s face lights up like the street lights after 6 PM and Mike really cannot stress it enough, he’s so in love and he gets to say it aloud to Will whenever he wants to instead of wallowing in the emotions by himself. “I love you, too,” Will mutters softly, so gentle like the gloved fingers caressing Mike’s cheeks. He’s a little more shy with saying it even though he’s the one who ultimately asked Mike out.

Mike smiles and leans down to chastely kiss Will’s forehead. He lets his lips linger for a moment before pulling away to press his forehead to Will’s. They stare into each other’s moonlit eyes, raven brown against hazel green, and Mike hopes Will can read his mind like this because he can’t put his feelings into words right now but this is sunshine after a rainy day with a double rainbow reflected in the lingering droplets in the moist air. This is the taste of a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie that’s still chewy and the chocolate is hot enough to melt in your mouth. This is the conclusion to a story he never thought he’d receive or deserve. This is everything.

Mike’s eyes hood over and he parts his lips just the slightest as his eyes trail down to Will’s pink ones. Will too starts to close his eyes, leaning up to close the gap between them as desired. Mike takes his hands to Will’s waist, tight and shaking and oh god, he’s kissing his very first friend, his longest friend, his best friend turned boyfriend, for the first time and he might die from how hard his heart is thumping in his chest. His nose is smashed against Will’s cheek and his neck strains a little from the angle but it’s so perfect tasting the snow on Will’s lips and feeling Will’s lashes against his face as he’s breathing in Will’s warmth.

Will pulls away with a chuckle, eyelids fluttering as a goofy smile drapes itself across his kiss-plush lips. Mike wants to kiss Will again and again if he looks this gorgeous every time. Instead, Mike tilts his head enough to rub his nose against Will’s own. He can feel Will’s breath against his lips and it makes him smile, too. They hold each other’s hands between themselves, fingers twined and wet and cold but nothing matters in comparison to the happiness spread throughout their bodies at every point they’re connected.

This night will go down in Mike’s memory as ‘the first night of many with the love of my life’ and he wouldn’t want it any other way.