#~he'd probably have another rage

[feraecor]

“👀” + “He’s moved on and living a happier life despite the outcome of before, y’know the whole ‘out of sight, out of mind’ .” (Nesimah about Sivel // 🥺😌)

@lunarxdaydream | Third Party Muse Answers | Accepting (cause its funny)

Tia ran a hand through her hair absently as she sat next to Nesimah's bed, waiting for him to regain consciousness. After his fight with Sivel and their argument, all in the center of the revel, it had been a hectic scene of trying to get him out of there without any one stopping them.

Propping her chin on one of her hands, she absentmindedly fiddled with the blanket. "You know...he's probably moved on, Em. He's pretty happy, at least from what it looks like. I've seen him with that one gentry and..." Tia huffed and pressed her forehead to the bed. "Despite what happened before...y'know before the whole out of sight, out of mind stuff...he's been moving forward..."

"I think you should do the same thing. Focus on yourself, maybe finding a purpose outside of the past...something or maybe someone to focus on? You have friends here, but you've been alone so long...its just something to keep in mind..."

"You have people in your corner, Nesimah and I just...don't want you to keep hurting yourself like this." Tia sighed and pushed at his hand. "So wake up already and buck the fuck up."

[local-hellhound-steals-spaghetti]

Watching Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron again as an adult is so great because not only do you appreciate the nostalgia and joy of it, the stunning 2D animation mixed with early 3D techonology and well written tight story with a main character that never speaks.

But also you appreciate that the plot relies on horses, despite not being typical talking horses in cartoons, being extremely intelligent to the point that they are aware of their captivity and exploitation. And it involves a hyper intelligent horse dismantling (or, at the very least significantly delaying) American colonialism's expansion into the west.

This horse also very likely killed many colonialists when they were either launched at high speeds from his back, kicked in the head or blown up in a train explosion.

Good for him.

[iamthatonefangirl]

grumpy x sunshine but filthy smut where reader is just his wittle baby :( loves and does anything for her and she’s the same for bucky

baby - nsfw bucky barnes

this might be the softest smut I've ever written in my life. totally got away from me.

(lmk if you'd like to choose an emoji, I'd love to hear more from you 🤍)

~~~

you're wrapped up in his arms, the lights dimmed low. the soft, warm luminescence from the lamp makes you glow like an angel, he thinks.

you are an angel. you have to be, because how could you be real?

you are ethereal, a beam of joy and happiness for him in a world that is otherwise nothing but a void of endless nothingness and despair. you can do absolutely no wrong in his eyes; he'll defend and protect you until the day that he dies.

he's got you in his lap, wrapping his arms around your torso to keep you close. you dangle your arms over his shoulders, lazily wrapping them around his neck.

your foreheads are pressed softly together, the act so intimate and full of love it makes you feel like you’re one.

he's just barely moving you back and forth, keeping you oh so close to him while you moan lowly at the pressure of him buried inside you.

he breathes in your scent, just feeling the way you make his whole body soar with love and the surge of happiness that runs through him like a never-ending jolt of electricity.

~~~

when you met him, you were told to expect the worst. you were briefed that he doesn't talk to anyone, doesn't leave his apartment except for work, etc. you were mentally prepared for the antisocial homebody you had been forewarned about, but you weren't nervous. you would just be yourself and hope for the best.

but when you met him, he wasn't staring at you like everyone said he would. yes, he was staring at you, but not with the rage of a thousand suns like you anticipated. his eyes were wide open in... curiosity?

he was shy, but he shook your hand no problem.

internally, he was a wreck. he was melting just from seeing your smile, something that had never happened to him before. he was stunned into silence. sure, he never really made the effort to speak to anyone else anyways, but you?

how was he supposed to talk to a pretty girl like you?

he would only embarrass himself, or look like a pathetic loser, or maybe you had made your decision about him before you met him. maybe you already hated him, and he didn't even stand a chance.

he knew how his demeanor came off; he didn't care what people thought of him. ideally, they wouldn't perceive him at all. the dream life would be to work, stay in the shadows, and never have to speak to another soul again.

but you... god, you were just something else. he wanted to say more to you than he had, he wanted to prove to you that he was more than the angry, people-loathing person everyone else probably told you he was.

after your first meeting, he felt a fool. he blubbered and stuttered like an idiot, and Sam smacked his shoulder and chuckled as you walked away. he scowled at him and stalked off, as usual.

he was just a hateful person. no reason for you to think he could be more than that.

~~~

"you're so pretty, sweetheart," he whispers to you, taking in the sight in front of him. your eyes are shut so softly, relishing in the way he's making such gentle love to you. it's almost sickening how sweet the scene is.

he brings a flesh hand to your cheek, cradling your face in his palm. brings new meaning to "his whole world in the palm of his hand."

"oh, baby," you mumble to him, moving your hips against him a little, neediness taking over your mind. "Bucky, baby, my baby..."

"come on," he whispers. with your eyes closed, you don't see the way his face pinks up. "I'm not a baby. you are my baby," he says, adjusting his grip on you, keeping his hands pressed against your soft skin. his fingertips dip into your flesh ever so softly, making sure not to hurt you. he'd go to the ends of the earth to protect you, rip out anyone's spine for you...

"but you are my baby," you whisper back to him, eyes still shut. your voice is a soft whine as you slowly move back and forth. "you’re my baby, Bucky. my baby, my Bucky, all mine..."

your words send him into a spiral. him? your baby? he's fucked.

"would... would you say it again?" he says, so low in the back of his throat, the words are barely audible.

"you're my baby," you repeat, and he somehow pulls you even closer, as if you're not already as close together as humanly possible.

"and you’re mine, sweetheart,” he tells you as he begins to move you both, still keeping you pressed tightly against him as he lays you on your back and begins to move his hips between yours so slowly and perfectly. “god, I love you,” he breathes.

you let out a soft little cry. "shh, pretty baby, I'm here," he says to you, his tone just a little higher, the way it shifts only around you. "you know I'm here. I'll always be here. just let me take care of you, my baby.”

~~~

every time you spoke to him him after your initial meeting, he felt like his entire reality was warped. time seemed to speed up, moving way too fast whenever he got the chance to speak to you. it was never enough time.

he found himself smiling, even blushing around you. everyone else was shocked, wondering if the man was on drugs or something with the way he seemed to perk up around you.

but no, no drugs.

you lit up something in his soul that he didn't know was possible.

no matter how scared he was, how convinced he was that you were going to say no, he knew he cared too much about you to not make the effort. he was so deeply in love with you to not ask you.

and if you said no, he would deal with it the same way he dealt with everything else: by pretending he didn't care and falling deeper into his hatred for the world.

lucky for the both of you, when he asked you out, you said "yes!" with a vibrant smile and a small spring in your step. he thought he would never be happier than he was in that moment.

oh, but he was wrong. that moment when he got down on one knee, and saw the way your face lit up in pure delight and excitement as you exclaimed, "yes, yes, yes!" over and over again?

that was the happiest moment of his life.

~~~

he reaches down to where your hands are now interlaced, running his fingers over the metal band on your ring finger. he proceeds to bring your hand to his lips to press a kiss to your knuckles, to the permanent mark he's now left on your skin, forever.

a beautiful diamond for the most beautiful girl in the world.

having you, here, under him. it's the biggest privilege of his life to call you his, and he's going to spend the rest of his life trying to prove that he deserves to have you.

"you feelin' good, baby?" he whispers to you, cupping your face in his hand once more. "tell me what you need. anything at all, it's yours."

you shake your head. "it's perfect, baby..." you whine, lifting your hips to meet his.

"you ready for me to make you come, baby?" he asks, pushing a strand of hair out of your face.

"yes, please, James," you ask him, and he brings his lips to your neck.

"no need for pleas, baby, I'm gonna give you everything you want for the rest of our lives."

he moves your legs to wrap around his waist and kisses your neck up to your jaw, doubling down on his efforts as he fucks you so sweetly.

"that's my girl. my baby, my fiance," he whispers as though he's speaking to himself. "you're doing so well, babydoll. come for me."

your legs tighten around his waist, trapping his hips against yours as you bear down and reach your release with a cry of his name.

"so beautiful, that's it, baby," he whispers, holding you through it.

"I love you, James," you whisper as you find your breath again.

"oh, baby, you'll never know how much I love you. how much you've changed my life for the better. how afraid I am of the feelings I have for you... and how I'd rather die than run away from the feeling, no matter how much it scares me."

your eyes well up with tears of joy, and he wipes them away with a soft brush of his thumb.

"I'm yours, forever, babydoll," he whispers, and leans in to kiss you like the world depends on it.

because it does. you are his world.

~~~

who am I and what have I done with horny bri. I guess I'm a softie now

masterlist

join my tag list

bucky tag list:

@clavedelune @starfly-nicole @avengersfan25 @thewiselionessss @hextech-bros @a-book-lover-things @ruexj283 @mrsnikstan @sleepysongbirdsings @sapphirebarnes @bananababygirl10 @multiversefanfics @winchestert101 @andziabarnes @chrisevansleftnipple @daisydark @luckyhornet @maryevm @avengemepercy @mandoloriancookie @starstruck-cowgirl @doubledizzy22 @yvespecially

[urmum-lovesme]

how would toxic! rafe react to trying to leave him?

So first I thought he'd probably chain y/n up lowkey but then I thought he's such a manipulater so. . . 😼

The light coming in through the large white windows casted long shadows across the walls, and Rafe sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, rubbing his eyes like he’s trying to physically wipe away the conversation.

"Y/N, I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of this."

His voice is low, tired- like she’s the one exhausting him, like she’s the problem. Y/N stands a few feet away, arms crossed so tightly over her chest it almost looks painful. She wants to scream, to shake him, to force him to understand- but she already knows how this is going to go.

"No, Rafe, I—" She exhales sharply, pressing her lips together before shaking her head. Her voice is steadier when she speaks again.

"I put up with a lot of your shit, but—"

"-excuse me my shit-"

"-but I won’t let you cheat on me!"

For a change, she doesn't back down which causes his head to snap up, brows raised in disbelief. His voice carries that familiar, dangerous edge- the kind that tells her she’s treading on thin ice. The words are barely out of her mouth before he’s scoffing, shaking his head as he leans back on his hands.

"I’ve not fucking cheated on you. You’re deluded."

"Right. So I just imagined hearing Topper and Kelce talking about you with some girl at that party I just didn’t happen to go to?"

She lets out a bitter laugh, one that doesn’t reach her eyes and Rafe rolls his eyes in response,

"Jesus that’s what this is about? You’re really losing your shit over a conversation you weren’t even part of?"

"I know what I heard Rafe!"

Her voice cracks, but it’s not from sadness- well maybe slightly- but it’s mainly from rage. From frustration.

"They said you were all over some girl and that you left with her—"

"-That’s bullshit, Y/N. They’re just trying to fuck with you—”

"No, Rafe. They weren’t." Her voice cracks, but she steadies herself.

"because they didn't even know I was listening.”

He lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. His hands go to his hips, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as he looks away like he’s trying to keep his temper in check.

"You’re really gonna listen to them over me?”

She doesn’t say anything, instead averting her eyes from him And that? That sets him off.

"Oh, so what- you don’t trust me now?"

He steps closer, his voice rising. She straightens her spine, blinking back the tears in her eyes as she looks to the boy.

"I don’t know, Rafe. Should I?"

And it’s so genuine, so soft, that for a moment and it makes his anger falter. But Rafe hates feeling guilty. So instead of answering, he shakes his head, laughing humourlessly as he turns his back to her, pacing slightly. His hands run through his hair before resting on the back of his neck.

"This is so fucking stupid."

His voice is quieter now, almost—like if he says it softly enough, she’ll feel bad for bringing it up. But she doesn’t, instead her brows draw into a deeper frown as she speaks again.

"It’s not stupid to me."

And that’s what kills her. That he thinks he can do whatever he wants and she’s just supposed to sit there and take it. There’s a thick silence between them and it's broken when Rafe exhales through his nose, his hands dropping to his sides before he turns back to her.

"So what now, huh?" His voice is almost tired now.

"You gonna break up with me over some dumb fucking rumour?”

She blinks at him.

"If it’s a dumb rumour, why do you sound so guilty?"

And for the first time, he doesn’t have an answer. She looks at him, her eyes filled with resolve, shaking her head slowly as she breathes out a shaky sigh.

“I’m not doing this anymore Rafe.”

The words escape her lips with finality, and without another glance, she turns toward the door. Her fingers curl around the handle, but before she can reach for it fully, she feels his grip on her wrist, yanking her back with surprising force.

"Hey, hey, wait-" 

His voice is frantic now, his hand tightening around her wrist as if he’s afraid she’ll slip away. He pulls her toward him, his chest rising and falling rapidly as his grip falters just slightly.

“C’mon baby. . . it’s just a misunderstanding don’t leave.”

She shudders in his grip, the irritation growing her chest. She twists her wrist free, the movement sharp, and she stumbles back a step, glaring at him.

“Stop it, Rafe- We’re done.”

His breath hitches, a flicker of something close to fear crossing his face. He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like her rejecting him, walking away from him. The very thought of losing her sets something off inside of him- something ugly and primal.

"No we’re not, stop it."

His voice cracks with an edge of desperation now, and his words come faster and more urgent. He steps forward, closing the space between them, his expression morphing into something less controlled. But she’s had enough. With shaking hands, she grips the door handle again and this time, she yanks it open. Before she can step through, he slams his hand down onto the door, the noise sharp and violent as it echoes through the room.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

Her body tenses, but she stands her ground. Her voice is stronger now, though still shaking with raw emotion.

“Yes, I am, you’re a fucking cheat.”

The words are out before she can stop them, and it’s like a slap in the face for him. His face twists in anger, his nostrils flaring. His voice is low and dangerous, the fury in it palpable. He takes a step closer, his chest nearly pressing against hers as he glares down at her.

“Watch your fucking mouth.”

“I can’t believe you would do this, Rafe- I can’t fucking believe you.”

She can feel the heat radiating off him, the tension crackling in the air. Her words are barely a whisper, but they hit him like a freight train. The weight of them, the hurt, the betrayal- they sting more than she wants to admit. Her hands are trembling now, but she refuses to look away from him. He watches her with a mix of fury and confusion, a fight brewing in his chest. It’s a twisted battle- part of him knows he’s wrong, knows he’s been pushing her too far. But another part of him, a darker, possessive part, refuses to let her go. He’s never had control slip from his hands like this before, and it’s making him feel something he doesn’t know how to handle. Rafe exhales sharply, hands tightening into fists by his sides as he mutters, shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re overreacting-"

“No!” Y/N fires back, her voice loud and defiant. “No, I’m not!”

He takes a step toward her, his hand outstretched again, but she pulls away from him quickly, moving further from the door, clearly uncomfortable with how close he’s standing. Rafe asks, his voice tinged with annoyance.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t want to touch you right now”

“I didn’t fucking sleep with her Y/N! What is your problem?”

“You fucking kissed her, Rafe-”

"I was high okay?!"

“That is not an excuse!”

Y/N’s eyes flash with fury as she stares at him, her hands balling into fists by her sides. Rafe’s face twists with frustration, as if he’s still trying to grasp what she’s so upset about.

“Jesus, it was a mistake, okay? I know it was stupid, but it wasn’t like I wanted to be with her.”

Y/N’s expression hardens as she looks at him causing him to pipe up again,

"What you want me to apologise? I'll apologise- I'm sorry alright? It was a mistake."

“You seriously think saying ‘sorry’ is enough?”

She asks, voice dangerously calm, but underneath she was shattering, small pieces of her heart crumbling. She shakes her head, disappointment dripping from her every word.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a fucking prude and didn’t want to go out with me.”

Rafe looks at her, irritated, as he crosses his arms. Y/N stands frozen for a moment, completely dumbfounded. She asks, the words so sharp they could cut through the tension in the room.

“Are you seriously blaming me right now?”

“You’re always so fucking difficult, Y/N,”

His eyes narrow as he steps closer to her and he speaks through clenched teeth. She stands still in the middle of the room, seething with frustration. Rafe watches her carefully, his eyes narrowing in disbelief at her words.

“I’m difficult? I’m dif—okay you know what, fine,”

She says, voice tight with rage as she turns on her heel and strides toward the his wardrobe. She opens it and begins pulling her things out- clothes she kept at his place for the nights she stayed over. A soft rustle fills the silence between them as she stuffs them into her bag. Rafe’s confusion shifts to anger, but he can’t seem to control the rising panic in his chest. He’s high, and everything feels more intense than it should. His thoughts race with the fear that she’s really going to leave.

“What are you doing?”

He demands, his voice growing sharp. She doesn’t answer. She just keeps packing her clothes into the bag as if he isn’t even standing there. He presses, his words harsher now, desperation seeping into his tone.

“Hey, c’mon,”

Still, she doesn’t respond. Rafe’s eyes flick to the door and back to her, his mind spiralling. The paranoia sets in, his voice cracks a little, the crack of vulnerability that betrays the fear gnawing at him.

“Y/N, I’m fucking talking to you!”

Y/N keeps her jaw clenched, trying to hold it together, the pain of everything simmering beneath the surface. But she stays silent. Rafe steps closer, standing on the other side of the bed, his hand pressed to his forehead.

“Baby... I know I fucked up, yeah? I know I did but I won’t do it again- Y/N, look at me. I’m fucking talking to you.”

Her eye's never look up him as she finishes packing her clothes. He watches her, breath shallow, the weight of his actions heavy in the air. She doesn’t react. She doesn’t give him anything. It’s breaking him.

“Shit, c’mon, Y/N- don’t do this”

Rafe mutters under his breath, his voice breaking. He’s panicking now, biting his nail and staring at her helplessly as if that will stop the situation from spinning out of control.

“I’ll buy you anything you want,” he says, desperation coating his words.

“I’ll get you that bracelet you wanted... what was it? Shit... Cartier?”

His eyes dart around as if searching for some answer to fix this, to stop her from walking out. Y/N strides over to the drawer where her perfume sits beside his cologne, each bottle a reminder of all the nights spent here. Her fingers brush the delicate glass, and she pulls it off the shelf, intent on adding it to her bag. Rafe's heart races as he watches her, the panic growing heavier with each passing second.

“No, no, wait, wait-”

He says quickly, his voice rough with anxiety. He steps forward, reaching out to grab the perfume from her hands, his fingers wrap around it, and for a brief moment, she lets go of it, her lips pressed together in a thin line. Her silence is more unbearable than any words she could speak. She simply turns back to her bag, her movements calculated and controlled as she zips it up. Rafe stands there, frozen for a moment, watching her every move with disbelief. Y/N picks up the bag, holding it tightly in her hands as she turns to face him. The tension between them is suffocating, and she doesn’t meet his gaze. Instead, her teeth are clenched, her expression rigid as if she's fighting the urge to cry.

He can’t take it.

Rafe’s eyes are locked onto her, his expression shifting from panic to something more calculated as he steps forward, reaching out to grip her arms. His hands slide up and down her forearms in a feigned tenderness, but there's an underlying desperation in the way he holds her.

“Y/N…” His voice falters, but he catches it before it gives way entirely.

“I love you.”

His hands tighten on her arms, the grip harder now, like he's trying to hold onto her, as if she might slip away at any moment.

"You’re really just gonna leave me? Just like everyone else- just like… everyone always does?"

There’s a hurt in his voice now, something wounded, but his eyes tell a different story. He’s trying to guilt her, twisting his emotions into something that might keep her here. His chest tightens with the weight of his own manipulation, and he leans closer to her, eyes desperate, pleading.

“Don't you love me?” he whispers, and his eyes glisten with tears that he can't fully control now, though they don’t fall.

“You- you don’t care about me.”

He’s staring at her, holding her with more force now, his fingers digging into her arms, and though she tries to pull back, his grip only tightens.

“Please,” he continues, his voice breaking slightly.

“I... I would do anything for you hear me?”

His hand moves shakily to her cheek, his thumb brushing against her skin as if trying to feel some kind of connection. His tear-rimmed eyes lock onto hers, and his breath is uneven as he speaks again, his voice shaking.

“I love you. You’re all I have… please don’t leave me.”

Y/N stands there, frozen in place, the weight of his words settling over her like a heavy fog. She can feel his panic in the way he holds her, in the way his fingers tremble against her skin. It’s hard to tell where the guilt ends and the genuine emotion begins, but the desperation in his eyes is undeniable. Rafe’s grip on her tightens even more, and then, suddenly, his whole demeanour shifts. His breathing becomes erratic, his face contorting with raw emotion that she wasn’t expecting. He drops to his knees in front of her, his hands slipping from her arms to clutch at her waist, pulling her closer.

“No,” he chokes out, his voice breaking with a desperation that she hasn’t heard from him before.

“You can’t… you can’t leave me, baby please you can’t…”

She stands there, frozen, her mind scrambling to make sense of the overwhelming rush of emotions and the way he’s unraveling in front of her. His face presses into her stomach, and he sobs into her, the sound raw and painful.

“You promised,” he whispers against her, his breath hitching.

“You said you’d never leave me. You can’t do this. I… I can’t do this without you.”

He holds onto her tightly now, his arms wrapped around her waist, fingers digging into her sides as though he’s trying to hold her in place, trying to keep her from slipping through his fingers. She can feel the dampness of his tears against her skin, the weight of his pain crashing against her, and it leaves her standing there in shock, unable to move or speak. She wasn’t expecting this.

This… vulnerability.

This breakdown.

The intensity of it almost paralyses her. Rafe's breath comes in short, harsh bursts as he continues, his voice breaking apart with each word.

“Please don’t leave me baby. . .”

He whispers again, barely audible, as if she might not hear him if he doesn’t say it enough. His body trembles slightly, his hands shaking around her as if he's holding on to the last piece of reality he can. All Y/N can do is stand there, her mind a blur, her heart pounding, unsure of how to handle the intensity of his breakdown. Rafe’s grip tightens around her, his fingers twisting in the fabric of her shirt. He looks up at her with those tear-filled eyes, pleading, his voice barely holding together.

“No- no- I love you,” he says again, his voice cracking.

“I fucking love you don’t you get it?”

Her heart aches at the sight of him like this- so desperate. But she feels the weight of everything he puts her under, pain, lies, betrayal, and the suffocating pressure in the pit of her stomach expands at the thought. She shakes her head, her voice trembling as she tries to make him hear her.

“Rafe, this isn’t normal. . .”

She says, her words weak, almost too soft to be heard over the storm of emotions he’s throwing at her. But he shakes his head, refusing to listen. His hands fist tighter in the material of her top, pulling her closer.

“I’d give up everything for you,” he insists, his voice thick with a mix of fear and anger.

“Everything. Y/N you can't leave me-”

“-Rafe, just let go of me.”

She pleads, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t loosen his hold on her at all. She tries to take a step back, trying to break free from his grasp, but he’s not letting go.

“No, no,”

He repeats, his voice growing more frantic, more desperate and then slowly, he moves up, his knees shifting as he rises slightly, his eyes locking onto hers. His face is flushed, his skin red and blotchy from crying. There’s an intensity in his eyes that makes her breath catch in her throat.

“I’d kill for you. Y/N, don't you understand? ”

Y/N can barely breathe, the tears welling up in her eyes as she stares at him, a wave of conflicting emotions crashing over her. She’s scared. She’s angry. She’s confused. She doesn’t know how to react to this raw, desperately unhinged version of him in front of her. His hands slide down to take hers, lifting them gently, pressing her hand to his lips. She can’t move, her body trembling as he places kisses on her hand, trailing them down to her ring finger.

“I love you,” he whispers, his voice breaking once more.

“I’m going to make you my wife-”

“Stop… please-”

She whispers, her voice barely audible, the words escaping in a broken breath. But Rafe’s grip only tightens, pulling her closer to him again. She closes her eyes briefly, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill. He peaks again his voice low, like a promise, or a threat—she can’t quite tell.

"Going to be mine forever.”

And in that moment, she doesn’t know what to do.

She doesn’t know how to escape from this.

[hyuckmov]

haechan — settle down (rockstar hyuck) | part 3 of 3

wc: 11k (lol) genre: angst, smut (18+ minors dni), fluff warnings: unprotected sex, making out, creampies, fingering, oral (f recieving), lowkey don't have that dog in me anymore so this is kind of vanilla, dirty talk, aftercare...? needs to be read after part 1 and 2 a/n: fucking finally. so so so sorry for the wait and also this is lowkey probably so BAD because its been a hot minute since i've written for tumblr. because this could be written/ended in so many ways, AN EPILOGUE IS COMING with a 'happy' ending, just not putting it here in this part because i think i should post this out first on it's own. i love you guys so much, thank you to every single person who's read, commented, let me know how much you liked it, and waited so patiently. i cannot express how much it means to me.

—

"whose party is this again?" 

"jaemin's friend chenle," mark says, placing his drink down on one of the tables. "think they should be around here somewhere." 

through the smoke, he can see your eyes shine. you've come even closer now, and it's as if every movement of yours is liquified, rendered in slow-motion – you flick a strand of hair out of your face and it's like he can feel the damp air on your cheeks, a slow smile spreading across your face like sunrise spilling over the horizon, that lovely curl of your lip that he's memorized. he feels his chest cave in when he hears you laugh, feel you take another step closer to him even though your eyes never meet his, even though you never look his way – every memory he has of you threatening to burst through his seams. 

your skin glows under the dizzying lights, and all he can think about is the fact that you’re so close, he could reach out his hand and touch you. but he can’t. you weren't his – and he was the one who had thrown you away.

jisung comes up to you, and haechan can see his friend's shy smile met with your beaming grin as you turn to face him. jisung is saying something to you – a hand gently placed on your shoulder as he speaks into your ear, the other gesturing vaguely towards the upstairs rooms. and then you're nodding, and haechan watches wide-eyed as he takes your hand in his and begins guiding you up the stairs. 

he can't help it – he only waits a beat, enough for you to disappear up the stairs, before he's rushing through the crowd, climbing the stairs two at a time. he rounds the corner just as he sees the flick of your skirt as you disappear into the nearest room, the door clicking shut softly. taking a moment to calm himself down – chest heaving, wringing his hands – he pads softly towards the room, placing both hands on the door, straining to hear anything that might be going on. 

low voices. the rustling of fabric. haechan's imagination spun out of control – jisung's large hands on your skin, his plush lips exploring your neck, your soft sounds, the way you might look under him. he heard a light laugh, and he pressed even closer to try to catch what was being said – what if he had you on his lap? what if you laughed because he'd kissed you behind the ear like haechan did once? it had caught you by surprise, and you'd giggled – burying your face in the crook of his neck. you were sorry. you were just sensitive. haechan had wanted to pull you into his chest and never let you go. 

he knew he was breaking his own heart – over-analyzing each muffled sound that came through, all his thoughts drifting back to memories of you. but he couldn't seem to peel himself away as the party raged on and on downstairs, didn't want to be anywhere else but near you even if you didn't know he was there. he had never felt this way with anyone else before – never needed anyone else like this, never afraid like this – and the realisation roared loud in his ears along with the feverish ghost of your fingerprints all over his skin. 

–

jisung knows haechan's going to talk to him. 

can see it in the way he hangs back after practice, fiddling with his guitar and placing it back on its stand, before picking it back up again for no real reason. there was something off, slightly, about haechan these days. not enough for jeno or mark to comment about it, to hold an intervention, but things had definitely changed – haechan never brought around girls, or showed any interest when jeno and mark would discuss them. he was quiet, and subdued during practice, absorbed in his own guitar, or else discussing new songs with mark in low voices. and strangest of all – jisung mused, slinging his own bass over his shoulder as he ambled to the door – haechan started to seem afraid of jisung. 

jisung – who had for the longest time been the most timid and shy of the group, the least experienced by far. he remembered how haechan would tease him if a girl paid him any slightest bit of attention: half-joking, but half trying to build up his friend's confidence. he remembered how he used to be wary of haechan's attention at after-show parties, because haechan would watch him like a hawk and push him into any girls he showed the vaguest interest in. he remembered his shock at haechan, who had never been mean or vindictive – a pain sometimes yes, but never truly cruel to him –, standing there obstinately in his place on stage, staring down at you in the crowd. 

to the version of haechan now, who could barely look him in the eye. 

"jisung?" 

haechan clears his throat. jisung stops in his tracks, turning back to look at haechan. 

"yeah?" 

haechan's gaze is directed at his shoes. swallowing, he takes a moment before he asks. "uh…how was…um…how've you been?" 

jisung has to stop himself from laughing out loud. "i've been good," he says, amiably. he's not going to let haechan have it easy. 

"nice…nice," haechan mumbles. "uh…seeing anybody?" 

"haechan," he keeps his tone light. "come on." he moves towards where haechan is standing awkwardly, taking a seat down on one of the stools. after a beat, haechan sits down too. 

"how did it go with y/n?" haechan sounds almost timid – like a child asking a question, but scared of knowing the answer. 

"can't you ask her yourself?" he knows he's making things difficult, but he needs haechan to work for it. needs haechan to articulate, because he knows that's the least you deserve. 

"i…i could," haechan says. "but i…i don't want to seem possessive. i already fucked up by wishing her luck on the date and i just…" he buries his face in his hands. jisung doesn't say a thing, waiting for him to finish his sentence. "i don't want to hurt her anymore…but i need to know. i need to know what to expect.…" haechan's voice is so small, like he's disappearing into himself. 

"haechan…" he starts, slowly, but haechan cuts in, hurriedly. 

"if you really love her, jisung, if you're happy together, i'll back off. i won't see her again. it'll be…it'll be too hard to see her with you but that's for me to figure out. you…you should both be happy. she deserves you, ji. you'll be good for each other." 

"what are you even saying…" jisung lets out a nervous laugh. he knows haechan tends to get dramatic – loves blowing moments out of proportion, lingering on stories that were fun to tell and relive. loves to exaggerate – always taking the smallest details too seriously and making light of things that had real consequences. but as he watches haechan – curled in on himself, he sees that this is something else entirely. this haechan was anxious and overthinking, unsure of himself, fractured into a thousand different wants and needs. 

"i'm serious, jisung." haechan, the vocalist he is, keeps his voice as steady as possible. "i'll back off if you tell me to. if i'm making it hard for you in any way…" 

"haechan, it's…it's going to be fine. it's not what you think." 

"you…you're not together now?" a hint of hopefulness. 

jisung chooses to be kind. "we're not," he says, gently. when haechan's lips part, he continues on, interrupting him. "it had nothing to do with you. we're just…not." 

"i'm sorry," haechan murmurs, finally lifting his head. "i know you wanted it to work out." he truly means it.

"i'm happy with the way things are now," jisung says it, and he means it too. "but…but you know she's going to start seeing other people, right?" 

a beat. "yeah…yeah of course." 

"you can't go after all of them and ask them if it's working out or not, you know?" jisung says, wryly. "at some point…you need to just talk to her." 

"i…" haechan break off, a pained expression flitting over his face. "i don't have anything to say. but i really want her to be happy. i just want her to be happy. but it sounds…" he catches the look on jisung's face. "i know it sounds like a guilt-trip. i know what it sounds like." 

"give her space," jisung suggests, quietly. "figure out what you're willing to give. who you can be for her."

"hyuck or haechan." he says it almost spitefully. he had never hated the difference more. 

-

you were in the crowd today. 

it had been a little over a month – 6 days more, to be exact, – since haechan had last seen you in the crowd, each time spotting your face easily, everyone else fading to nothing. each time noting every which way your eyes shimmered under the lights, the ways your pretty lips curved into a smile or a shout, or even each time you looked away, distracted. 

he'd practically rushed into the dressing room after the show ended, anxious hands tugging at his clothes, trying to fix himself up just in case you decided to come find him. questions had spun around in his mind so much during the show, he was afraid he would start singing them in place of mark's carefully written lyrics. he's thought of a thousand ways to bring it up, but he wishes he could just ask — how've you been? have you forgotten me? 

he's still lost in thought when the dressing room door opens softly, the lock turning gently in the door barely louder than a whisper. 

"haechan?" 

he turns, and you're there. you're wearing a new dress, probably the shortest one he's ever seen on you, black glittery fabric barely brushing the tops of your thighs. but he doesn't linger on your body, his eyes seeking out your own, the flush of anticipation and adrenaline in your cheeks, the way your hair falls slightly loose, framing your face. the question is on the tip of his tongue, his lips are parting, his breath catches in his throat –  

" – don't worry," you say, breathlessly, as you catch the look on his face. "no one saw me." 

oh. 

walking towards him, you pull him into a hug, arms wrapping around his neck, so you can brush your lips against his cheek. pulling away, you peer at him, wondering why he's looking at you so lost. like he was wondering something since he laid eyes on you tonight.

you frown. "were you going to ask me something else?" 

his lips part, soundlessly. you've never seen him so speechless. his arms tentatively circle around your waist, fingers brushing the fabric of your dress, and understanding dawns on you. 

"yes, it's a new dress," you smile. 

he swallows, the cloudy look clearing from his eyes as he finally runs his heavy touch down your back, a feeling you've grown used to. 

his tone is slightly darker when he plays along, masking the traces of disappointment. "for me?" 

you nod, letting his hands wander to the zipper, eyes traveling to the mirror to catch the way he fiddles with it, slowly starting to drag it down your spine. 

what you don't catch, is the way he's looking at you – lip caught between his teeth, eyes focused on the side of your face, regret and sadness and a desire he still couldn't shake coursing through his body. you had come back – and maybe that was all that he should care about. 

"come home with me," he blurts out, suddenly. "i have to show you something." 

confused, you look back at him, frowning. "now?" 

he swallows. "yes. we'll still…it's just…" he stammers, confidence draining as he watches you zip your dress back up. "i mean…i just…thought you'd like my bedroom more than this dressing room. you said- you said it was uncomfortable, that last time…" he trails off. his head droops, fingers picking at his nails. 

you place your hands on his chest. his head lifts just slightly, glancing at you through his lashes. "haechan," the ache in your chest making your voice soft – barely above a whisper. "why are you so nervous today?" 

"i'm sorry," he starts, but you shake your head. "it's been awhile."

"that's fine, i'll go home with you," you say, smiling, hoping to reassure him. the words instantly relax him, and he lets out a breath. you can feel his chest move under your palms. 

"i'm sorry," he repeats, softly, but you don't know what he's saying it for. 

–

you don't know how you ended up here. 

one moment, haechan was unlocking his door, one hand fumbling with the keys as he held yours tightly in his other palm. the next, you were pushing him against the door – his plush lips, soft and tasting slightly like honeyed lip balm, finally kissing you deeply in a way you'd craved. and then he was sweeping you up into his arms, your legs locked in around his waist, his bag slumping to the floor as he focused all his attention on you. placing you on the countertop, he takes his time with your lips – his hand first cupping your face, then working its way down your neck, as if he was making sure you were wholly real through touch since his eyes were closed for the kiss. 

"hyuck?" you murmur. 

guilt pricks at your conscience when you feel him falter. you would never admit that you realized the name did something to him – made him more desperate and more tender all at once. you used it sparingly, only in certain moments, and tonight seemed just right for it, what with the way his touch was already so infused with longing. 

he hums in acknowledgement, pausing. a gentle palm tilts your face towards his, and his eyes are wide and patient. 

"what's wrong?" he asks. 

"i want to suck you off," you mumble, your words coming out rushed and careless. you almost think he might not catch it, but haechan goes still. his hands, caressing your face, stop moving.  

"what?"

your mind explodes with a million thoughts. did he not want you to? how many girls had sucked him off before you – did he think you wouldn't be good enough? was he not attracted to you enough? 

he was still just looking at you – something unreadable in his eyes. 

"do you not want me to?" you ask, doubt making your tone come off a little more insecure than you'd have liked. "is it…is it because i've never done it before?" 

he blinks. "what?" he repeats, again. 

you shift, uneasy. "you can teach me," you insist, holding onto his arms, wanting to be closer to him. "i'll practice…" 

"oh god," he whispers. "oh… oh y/n…" his hands barely skim your skin, nervously tucking your hair behind your ear. "don't," he says, quietly. 

"why?"

i don't want to hurt you," he says, voice so tender it wavers under the weight of his feelings for you. "being able to touch you is already everything to me-" he trails off, biting his lip, and then he's weak in the knees, and you melt into his embrace as he holds your body against his. "i don't want you to do anything you're uncomfortable with." 

"i want to please you like the girls before," you protest, weakly. "i want to…i want you to tell me your fantasies." 

"all that matters to me," he says, slowly, eyes suddenly grave and solemn. "is that i'm here with you. just you." he holds your hands up to his lips and kisses the tips of your fingers. 

you don't know what to say. the charged atmosphere from before has dissolved into the night, leaving a balmy and sweet taste on your tongue. the only thing that feels right is to hold him in your arms and hold him as close as you can. 

he's looking at you, before suddenly pulling you into him as if he could read your mind – arms wrapped protectively around your back, one hand coming up to stroke your hair as you lean into his chest. 

the memory of that first night comes back to you – the first time he rejected you. he hadn't wanted to hurt you then, either. and then he proceeded to in all ways possible – playing with your heart in a terrible back and forth. and then he disappeared from your life, and then he came back and something was different – in the way he touched you, looked for you, looked at you, was careful with you. 

but you moved on – told jaemin, told yourself you weren't waiting. you'd gone on a date with jisung, and then to some more with a few other guys on campus. you didn't hang around the band all the time now – didn't show up for every concert. and even when you did, you rarely stopped by to see haechan – spending more and more time with jisung, who was steadily becoming one of your closest friends. 

you tried to keep things light when you did visit haechan. always easy, relishing in how well he knew how to please you, how he always knew what to say. and for the most part, he was able to play along – a smile always tugging at the corner of his lips, or his tongue poking into his cheek as his eyes turned dark. 

but it was on nights like these – when the moon was a bit too bright and the air between your lips and his dense like honey, your skin heated and his face flushed – when you used the wrong name, or he said things too vulnerable and too intimate. it was on nights like these when you are faced with the reality that he made you feel the way no one else could – even as he was ever-changing, ever showing you a different side of himself. on these nights you plunge your hands deep into the kaleidoscope of him, and its like diving into shattered glass. 

–

"i wanted to show you this," he murmurs, shyly. 

he places a pair of headphones clumsily on your head, his long fingers scrambling to adjust it on your head, trying not to pull at your hair. your hands come up to help, and you shoot him a reassuring smile. 

it was even later in the night. you were both showered and dressed for bed – you in a long-sleeved shirt of his that you liked. when you came into the bedroom, he was fiddling with his laptop – and you could hear snippets of his honey-sweet voice starting and stopping as he tapped at his keyboard. it was natural, to head over to the bed and lean your head on his shoulder, as he started to explain to you what he was doing, eventually grabbing his headphones from the bedside table. his skin smells faintly of baby powder, and his bare face under the dim light is so soft – mellowed curves, the constellation of moles on his cheek ever visible, eyes tired but warm. 

he clicks play, and his voice fills your ears – clean, without any backing vocals or instruments. you try to catch the lyrics, but he mumbles through his words, voice meandering effortlessly around the melodies, drawing beautiful loops. his voice is delicate and gentle, flowing water with a current of electricity running through it, humming and buzzing with dangerous life. 

it ends all too quickly, and haechan – who was watching your face carefully the entire time, clicks on a few more tracks. you can hear his voice, muffled from under the headphones, start to explain. 

"that's…that's my draft for the melody. i made it for this, uh, it's one of mark's demos–" 

a sultry, low beat now plays, low strings filling in the gaps. when his voice leaks in, you feel your cheeks start to heat up. the same melody from before – so innocuous and sweet, maybe something even vulnerable – sounds sinful all of a sudden. you can practically hear the scream of the crowd punctuating each line, and now even the way he mumbles is hazed with a sort of suggestive glow. 

you look at him, wide-eyed. he's still watching your face, this time his lip caught between his teeth, looking up at you through his lashes. when the song ends, you tug the headphones down from your ears, and he takes them from you absentmindedly.

"mark told me to try writing for that. he said it suited my voice —" 

"it does," you respond. your hands reach out to play with his, tracing the way his fingers curved, running your touch along his calloused finger-tips. 

"but i…i don't know. i want to write something…something that feels…" he stumbles over his words, eyes lingering on the way your hands play with his, the gentleness of your touch. "that feels like this," he finishes, softly. 

"like what?" you hum, tracing loops on the back of his hand. 

but he doesn't respond. 

"do you like it?" he asks, quietly. 

you give his hand a squeeze. "sing it for me?" 

his hand trails off to the keyboard again, but you hold it steady in your palm. "no, sing it for me now. here." 

he's still. you almost think he won't do it, but then he's pushing the screen of his laptop shut, and he turns to face you. 

this time, when he sings, he gets all the words out. 

in person, his voice is hushed and soft, like every word is a secret. his eyes flutter shut, and he ducks his head shyly as he continues. when he ends, his voice trails off, and he doesn't turn to look at you, staring at his hands. you stay silent, until it's like he can't bear it, and his head turns to face you, eyes seeking reassurance. 

"i like it just like this," you tell him, softly. 

his smile blooms. 

—

"keep haechan on his toes," jaemin says, leaning back in his chair. the steam from the coffee he made – a 2am jaemin specialty — curled gently in the air, your hands nursing the mug in front of you, sipping just to have something to do. "don't see him for awhile. keep him guessing." 

"that's cruel," you mumble. 

"he's done crueler," he points out. "you know you don't owe him anything, right?"

"i know i don't," you say, slowly. "i just think that it would kill me not to know how he's doing. if he was going on dates with other people…" 

"and would he tell you?" 

no, is your automatic answer, one you can't run from in your head, but jisung cuts in. 

"he wouldn't go on a date with someone else," he shakes his head, leaning back in his chair so he could stretch out his long limbs. blinking sleep from his eyes, he shook his head again to clear his bangs away from his eyes. it had been late already when he showed up, after a show, bringing food, a tired but giddy smile on his face. "you really fucked him up, that's all i'm going to say."

"he may not go on a date, but he'd fuck someone else, probably." jaemin rolls his eyes. 

"we actually haven't fucked in awhile." the realization feels like butterflies in your chest – an uneasy, fluttery feeling. 

"what?" jisung looks at you in disbelief. "sorry," he adds, suddenly sheepish when both you and jaemin stare at him. "i just thought that was the big part of your relationship." 

"it was…" you say, slowly. ignoring how jisung said 'relationship' when it was really never that. "but…but i don't know. recently we always get distracted…or… or he's… i don't know." 

you think of his unmade bed. the careful, tender loop of his arm around your waist. you think of the way his lashes flutter when you lean in to kiss him – 

and yet, there was something bigger bothering you about this, something that tugged at your gut, the words forcing themselves out of you. 

"i hate that it feels like there's nothing more to me than this." 

"y/n, what are you talking about?" jaemin asks, his voice quiet. when you pause, he presses on, urgency in every word. "what did he say to you?" 

"nothing," you shake your head. "he didn't say that to me, it's something i feel. no matter who i'm with…even when i'm alone….i can't run from it." you take a breath. you hated admitting this, but jaemin's eyes were kind as they looked into yours. "even when we weren't talking, i was thinking about him…and tonight…jaemin i don't think anyone should be able to make me feel like this." 

“there's nothing wrong with being in love," he says, carefully. when you don't say a word, he continues on, as gentle as possible. "you know that no amount of attention he gives you will change the way you feel, right?" 

he was right. if you really dared to dream – to use up every last shooting star, count on all of the angel numbers — and haechan, donghyuck, gave himself to you fully like you wanted, you would still be afraid of losing him. a sick flutter beats in your chest at the passing thought of him slipping away again – that all this fight would have been for nothing. 

it was as if jaemin could read your mind. "there was a life before him," he reassures you. "there is so much more without him. you just need to start living like it, to really see it."

you had nodded, but you couldn't shake the feeling that no matter how many shows you skipped, no matter how many times you drove by his apartment or ignored his messages, it wouldn't change a thing: that even though there was a life before him, maybe it wasn't one that you wanted anymore.

—

you're cutting through the park on your way home from class, when you hear a shout of your name. you barely have time to turn before a small girl is launching herself at your legs, standing high on her tip-toes to throw her arms around your waist. 

"slow down!" 

you'd know that voice anywhere. 

haechan looks different. he's dressed in a striped sweater, glasses askew on his small nose. your heart skips a beat – he looks warm, and cozy, and comfortable. behind the frames, his eyes glow when he looks at you, an involuntary smile tugging at his lips. 

the two of you just stand there, looking into each other's eyes. every sense of yours is heightened –  the autumn air cold on your skin. the light catching everything around you. and your heart beating in your chest, speeding up with every moment you continue looking at him. you can't help it: even now you smile looking at his face. 

he raises his eyebrows. 

"what?" you blurt out, caught off-guard. 

he laughs lightly. "what are you doing here?" he asks, like he's explaining a question. 

"just…passing through," you say, slowly. "you?" 

"the…uh…kindergarten's right near here." haechan point vaguely at a point in the distance, you only look at it for a second before you focus back on him. you can't help it. he smiles again. "you're just passing through? can't you stay for awhile? we were going to get ice cream." 

his sister tugs at your sweater, excited at the sound of ice cream. you look down at her face – she has the same nose as her brother, the same bright smile. 

"just for a bit," you concede. haechan pumps his fist, playing up his excitement to make his sister laugh. it makes your heart go still and race all at the same time. 

—

"we need to talk." 

there was something wrong with haechan. 

the smell of rain and cigarettes hung in the alley behind the dingy venue. haechan sits on the steps with his head in his hands, jeno leaning on the wall opposite, jisung against the doorway behind. it's mark who stands directly in front of him, as he rubs his face with his hands, trying to calm down. mark who crouches down, mark's prying hands which make haechan lift his head to look at them. 

"what happened?" he asks, his eyes blazing. 

haechan swallows. "it's been a bad day," he tries, weakly. 

"it's been a bad month," jeno corrects. at haechan's glare, he raises his eyebrows in a silent challenge, and it's jisung who pipes up.

"i think people are starting to notice something's off," he says, softly. "that you play differently, sometimes."

"you mean that he messes up when she's not in the crowd," jeno says, bitterly. 

"i only messed up today," haechan mumbles. "it won't happen again." 

"what about yesterday? it's like you weren't onstage at all." jeno protests. 

haechan opens his mouth, but closes it. he knew this conversation had to happen, that things would lead to this – his fingers faltering, his mind going blank as his solo began. jeno's drums continuing relentlessly, mark's eyes on him, as he shook his head fiercely, trying to clear his mind and focus all at once. unsure of what to keep — the image of you, or the chords he'd worked so hard to get right. 

"hyuck, do you need a break?" mark asked, his words slow and gentle. "we can stop performing for awhile, cancel some of our gigs…"

"no," he breathes.  "don't." he doesn't want to lose all of it – and because he knew that if he stopped performing, he didn't know if he would ever see you again. 

and it's like jeno reads his mind. "she's not going to like you like this," jeno says, his voice impersonal. "she likes the version of you onstage, remember? it's how she first met you, it's what kept her coming back for more." 

"jeno." mark's voice is stern, but haechan looks up right past him, hurt pooling in his eyes. 

"i know," he breathes. "i know that. but i don't know if i can be that around her anymore." 

"not just around her," jisung notes. "you're not haechan anymore. it doesn't make you happy." 

"i know," he repeats, quieter this time. 

"hyuck, listen," mark sighs. "you're not doing yourself any good going onstage like this. i'm canceling the next few shows –" as haechan protests, he cuts him off with a hand on his shoulder. "no. we could all use a break." 

"mark," haechan croaks. "i can't." 

"we'll still have practice," mark says, firmly. "you still have to show up for all of it. and those songs i told you to work on —" 

"you should go home," jisung adds. "take care of your sister." 

there's a pause, as they wait for jeno to chime in. 

"none of it matters if you don't figure it out with her," he says, a tone of finality ringing in his words. he straightens, broad shoulders squared, suddenly much bigger under the lights. "if you need to get over it, you have to. staying like this is hurting everyone." 

haechan's lips part, soundlessly. there's a sharp creak, as jeno stalks back into the venue, followed by mark – who pats haechan gently on the shoulder. vaguely, haechan waits for the sound of jisung's soft steps to fade, but they only shuffle closer, until the lanky boy drops down next to him. his legs stretch out into the dingy alley, as haechan hugs his knees closer to his chest, for the first time perhaps truly afraid of what he was about to hear from his friend.

"sometimes, we meet the right person at the wrong time-" jisung's voice is quiet, almost a murmur, but the words still scrape against haechan's skin, rough like sand. 

"don't say that." he bites his lip harshly, a sudden rush of anger at the pity in jisung's responding sigh. "don't fucking say that." 

"haechan, it's okay. she liked you, but then she moved on after you realised you —" 

"she didn't –" his fist clenches, restless in his lap. "she didn't move on." 

"really? not at all?" jisung's eyes are fixed on haechan's, holding his gaze. "after weeks of telling her you couldn't give her what she wanted…you think she's still waiting for you?" 

"ji-"

"why should she wait for you?" 

haechan swallows. "she shouldn't," he mumbles. "i…i need to really let her go. jeno's right." he truly means it.

jisung hesitates. he's been spending more time with you, as friends – joining on your movie nights with jaemin, or else baking together, or letting you style him for shows and concerts. and the more time he spends with you, really gets to know you, the more he can see why you and haechan seem to need each other. your patience and gentleness matched the soft way he's seen haechan take care of his sister and at times, mark. he watched the way you sometimes falter – worry overtaking your features for a split second when you stop at a red light, or your teeth tugging at your bottom lip as you stand in front of the stove – and instinctively he can imagine haechan's confidence, his natural propensity to make everything seem easy, fitting in with you and taking care of you. 

but he knew that haechan could only give you his attention – not his heart, not until he was brave enough to admit how much you meant to him. 

your resolve to stay friends with him was as flimsy as haechan's promise to let you go. jisung almost wanted to laugh at the insistence both of you had, upon lying to yourselves. 

"be honest," he says, gently. "what do you want?" when haechan doesn't answer, jisung's low voice continues on, coaxingly. "what's your best-case scenario? what do you want to happen?" 

haechan takes a deep breath. "i don't know." 

jisung tries to hide his disappointment. "do you not know, or are you not ready to say it?" 

"i don't know," haechan mumbles again, burying his face in his hands. i don't know if i deserve it. 

the two of them sit there for a long, long, time. 

–

there was something wrong with haechan.

something's different. that's what jeno had said earlier, after the show. exhausted from sleepless nights, screaming fans making him feel nauseous, haechan barely paid attention to anything during his performances except for his own guitar. he hardly looked at the crowd, didn't acknowledge their pleas of his name, as if it wasn't one he recognised at all. 

he'd started missing parties, and was barely there even if he showed — ignoring the way girls swarmed around him, wondering if he was playing a new game, one where they had to work harder to earn his attention. it was a game they never won, his eyes trained on his cup, or else on the door. 

but out of all of haechan's bad habits, this might be the worst of them – sitting in the living room past midnight, sipping down to the last dregs of his alcohol, waiting for the knock on his door. 

it was late now — so late that the hours had bled into the next day. he hadn't seen you at the concert, not at the party, and despite telling himself not to dream, not to hope, he still carried enough desperation in him to stay up again. 

he's relieved he did. 

his hands shake as he opens the door. his hands falling to his sides as he drinks in the sight of you, letting you in. 

"hi," you breathe, and you don't ask before you lean into him, soft lips brushing his plush ones. 

he's at a loss for words, his tongue numb in his mouth, limbs still heavy from how tired he'd been all day. he lets you guide him to the couch, into the cushions. lets you straddle his hips, holding your body close to his with careful arms, as he meets your kisses gently.

something's different, but haechan's not the only one who's changed. on nights like these, all you do is take and take and take. 

"i haven't seen you in a while," he murmurs. quietly, softly, the words almost getting lost between kisses. immediately after he says the words, he slots his lips with yours firmly, as if afraid of what you would say if he let the space between you and him grow. 

"i've been busy." at the crestfallen look on his face, a small smile tugs at your lips, and you lean in to brush your lips with his. "why? did you miss me?" 

"i did," he says, almost timid. "i missed you."

at this, you raise your eyebrows. "you could have had anyone else." 

but he shakes his head. "i missed you," he repeats, hands mapping your skin, as if checking if you were really here, seeking the familiar way you fit into his palms, your slopes and your edges. 

"i missed you too," you say, meaningfully, letting him pull you in for another kiss. but when you push against him, body rocking into his and mouth open and wanting, the glow in your eyes tells him you're talking about something else entirely. 

his mind races. the feeling of you against him wakes him up like nothing else, the way you touch him, your smell and your taste setting fire to all his senses. there's something sweet about your lips tonight, something he wants to savor on his tongue and drown in all at once. 

he doesn't want to waste any of this, because this was the only thing you ever wanted to see him for — and that's what he tells himself as he pulls you into his body, because finally, finally, your attention is all on him, an electric heat simmering over each fibre of his being, the feeling of your body too sweet to be true.

but it's been one too many nights he's waited, a weight on his chest and a drowsiness he can't shake overcoming him like a cloyingly sweet poison. 

"i–" he's cut off by a shuddering inhale as your lips travel down to his neck, your hips grinding against him just right. "baby, i'm sorry," he tries again, his hands now gripping onto your waist, trying to steady you, even as he gives up. "i don't think i can take care of you tonight." 

you still. 

"don't go, please," he begs. "i'm sorry, it's been…it's been a long day and i…" he breaks off. the performance. the fight with the band. the fact that he'd been drinking for hours, the starless sky inky black outside his window, his fingers still stinging from plucking at guitar strings all night. "just give me a second," he stammers, burying his face in his hands, tugging at his features, before looking up at you with tired eyes. "i'll be fine in a minute, then we'll go to the bedroom, i just —" 

your hands slide down the slope of his shoulders. 

"don't go," he repeats, hands fumbling for yours as he brings them up to his lips, like a prayer. "i can take care of you, i promise. just…" 

"donghyuck," you say, softly. again you smile, cupping his face in your palms. his round cheeks, plush lips, the slight flare of his nose. he almost goes cross-eyed staring at you, as you lean in close and kiss him again – this one different from the rest, close-lipped and chaste. 

"hyuck, let me take care of you tonight, okay?" 

caught in a riptide of his own longing, he lets go. 

"you don't have to do anything," he mumbles. his hands tentatively touch your waist, the barest brush of his fingertips, before he's encircling you in his arms, easing you into his chest. slowly, tentatively, he holds you close by the weight of his arms, a large hand reassuringly patting the space right beneath your heart – clumsy, rhythmic thumps that trailed off into a lingering warmth. "i just want to hold you here, like this." 

he can feel the tension that spreads down your spine, your breath caught in your throat. your lips are parted, your eyes looking at his in an unreadable expression. 

"do you not like it?" he asks, his voice small. his hands fall from your waist, nervously tugging his sleeves down over his palms. "i…i'm just…" 

"i do," you say, slowly. and because your faces are so close, the thought is barely crossing your mind before you press your lips against his. it's supposed to be quick, reassuring, but the look on haechan's face when you pull back makes you lean in again right away. 

it was a look that was open and hurt, his hands still tangled in his lap. his eyes stayed open as you kissed him, as if he couldn't dare believe it was real — finally blinking shut when you kissed him again, his slight relief melting on your tongue. his teeth sunk into his bottom lip as you clumsily got up off the couch, and as you straightened, he ducked away from your gaze, staring at his hands. 

"hyuck," you start, but he shakes his head. 

"it's fine." he still wouldn't look at you - fiddling with the hem of his shirt. "you don't have to stay, it's late." 

"hyuck, listen to me." 

"i know," he says, quickly. the slightest trace of fear in his voice. "you don't….you don't have to remind me, i know. it's too…you said we couldn't…"

" — hyuck, i wasn't going to say that." 

his fingers falter, but he stays silent. 

"i can't fall asleep properly in your lap," you explain, slowly. "let's go to bed, okay?" 

he looks up then. "really?" 

"i said i want to take care of you," you repeat, his wide eyes making you feel shy all of a sudden. "i mean it." 

he lets you take his hands, body following pliantly as he stands from the couch, as you lead him to his bedroom, his eyes focused on your intertwined hands. it's both a familiar and unfamiliar feeling — crawling into his bed with his clothes on your body, sinking into the soft sheets and letting the senses of him wash over you. the usual buzz of pleasure isn't there, and its a different tiredness that seeps through your veins, one that comes with feeling safe. 

since when did you start feeling safe with him? 

you feel his weight sink in behind you, the duvet rustling against skin as he turns. an arm curls around your waist. his head lowers into the crook of your neck – you can feel his soft hair, his pouty lips brushing your shoulders in a light kiss. 

"the band is taking a break," he mumbles. "because of me."

"hyuck?" you try to turn in his arms, but his grip only tightens on your waist. he shakes his head. "hyuck, what happened? are you okay?" 

"m'yeah, i'm okay now." he shifts. "just…i just don't know if i like playing in the band anymore." 

there's a pause. 

"are you…are you disappointed?" the thumb drawing circles on your hip stills. "say something," he whispers. "please." 

"why would i be disappointed?" you ask, quietly. placing your hand on his, you turn, facing him as he encircles you in his arms. his eyes are half-lidded, tousled hair falling over his brows, his cheek squished against the pillow into a half-pout. it's almost instinct – the way your hand goes up to his face to brush his hair out of his face, fingers absentmindedly tracing his moles. 

you can feel his lips move against your fingers. "would you still come to see me?" he wonders, softly. "if you didn't have a reason to?" 

you bite your lip. "i would want to…" you say, slowly. "but i don't know if i should. haechan, what's going on? does music not make you happy anymore?" 

his heart aches. your care for him fills his lungs, making his eyes begin to prickle with tears. 

"i don't think the haechan…donghyuck thing is good for me." 

"oh." your thumb brushes over the bridge of his nose. "hyuck…" you start. "i don't…i don't want to overstep." 

his face falls. "sorry," he says, his voice small. "i won't bother you with it…you don't have to…"

"no, i don't mean…hey, listen to me." you wait until he looks up at you through his lashes, nervously. "i think i've gotten to know haechan and donghyuck, you know? i mean…" your heart skips a beat, suddenly shy at your own honesty. but you've already let your guard down – it's no use. "of course i like haechan. haechan's the one who invited me backstage, haechan's the one who made me go on that rooftop…but…" you take a breath. 

the sleep had worn off from haechan's eyes – he was alert as he watched you now,  hanging onto your every word. 

"i've gotten to know donghyuck too, i think. i hope. donghyuck makes the best sandwiches for his baby sister, donghyuck has a bear tattoo because he looks as cute as one, donghyuck is always gentle with me even when i ask him not to be." your thumb traces the constellation of moles he has again, tracing down to his neck. you draw him closer – the way he's looking at you: like you're his entire world, like your words were the only thing keeping him breathing, filling your chest with a tender kind of ache that didn't go away. 

"donghyuck and haechan aren't that different, not really. they're still you. i like them both. i like all of you. if you woke up tomorrow and told me you were someone else, if you were suddenly becoming someone new, i think i'd still want to fall asleep next to you anyway at the end of the day. because i know you –" you breathe in, sharply. "i…i think i do. i…hope i do." 

he doesn't say anything. just leans in, and brushes his lips with yours lightly – once, twice, and finally sealing them in a kiss. he kisses you deeply, intensely – it wakes you up, that familiar feeling stirring in your belly as your hips move of their own accord. a liquid euphoria fills your veins as he pulls you into him – him on his back, you laying on his firm chest, the toned muscles on his chest grounding you, a feeling so familiar, one that you craved for a long time. you've never felt safer, in his arms. he kisses you like with every moment apart, he wonders if you're still there, and each time he sighs into your mouth it's with relief that you're still here, with him. 

"do you want to…?" he asks softly. he's breathing heavily, but he tries to calm himself down. his tongue darts out to wet his lips, and it's that act – so innocent, so nervous even though you've both done it a dozen times with each other, that makes your heart beat harder in your chest. 

"it's been awhile," you murmur. 

"i know." he nods, swallowing. "it just…it hasn't felt right. don't…don't get me wrong, i want you all the time-" he practically groans with frustration. "it's just recently i just…i've been really confused. it's so stupid, but i didn't know which version of me you wanted –" 

"just you," you assure him, softly.

"let me make it up to you then." his tone is just as soft. 

you take his hands, and slide them under your shirt. gently, he tugs it off of you, sitting up slightly to take his shirt off as well before focusing back on you. you're giddy with the feeling of his touch again, nostalgia heightening every single sensation. it's not just hyuck tracing his hands over your chest – his lips finding your nipples, tongue darting out to tease them lightly. it's every single time he's touched you before – in the backseat of his car, hands moving urgently. in your bed that first time – so careful because you were extra sensitive. you have to focus to get back to the present moment, where he's watching you carefully again – noticing that you're lost in your thoughts. 

"everything okay?" he murmurs. 

you nod. "i just missed you so much," you whisper, and you can feel his desperation in the kiss that follows. "i need you now." 

"need to prep you, baby." gently, he eases you onto the bed, crawling down your body as you tug off your shorts and panties. your legs spread, needily, as you can feel him inch closer to your core, his hands coming to hold your hips. "stay still for me?" he mumbles, his eyes dazed as he watches you nod, his own head bobbing along absentmindedly, guiding you through it as he encourages you to bend your knees, baring yourself to him. 

the first flick of his tongue on your clit makes you mewl, hands coming down to grip onto his hair. 

"i know, baby," he comforts you, drawing small circles on your thigh as he leans into suckle your clit, making your hips buck up. he holds you still, patiently continuing to circle your entrance and lap at your clit. "fuck…you're getting so wet, angel." he slides in a finger, and the intrusion makes you clench around him in sensitivity, especially as he kitten-licks your clit shyly while easing in another finger. 

"need you now," you whine, voice reaching that pitch only he seems to bring out in you. his fingers pump more urgently, now curling towards the front of your walls, as he applies more force to your clit with his tongue, massaging the sensitive bud. 

"need you-" you choke out. "need you inside." 

"just give me one right now," he says, a slight plea to his voice. "please, angel. cum for me please, –"

"wanna cum with you inside," you sniffle. that gets his attention. he crawls right up your body until you're face to face, kissing you deeply, palms coming up to hold your face, careful to keep his fingers away. it's heated – your hips rolling into his as he finally loses control, hips bucking into yours until he's practically humping you as he kisses down your neck. your hands go to his waist, and he whimpers into your skin, finally tugging down his sweatpants, and you feel a familiar weight against your core. 

"condom-" he gasps, breaking away. the muscles on his body flex as he reaches for his bedside table, you can feel them move against your hands. 

"have you been fucking anyone else?" 

he blinks. "no, not since…" he breaks off. "no. and i'm clean. mark made me check." the sound of your giggle makes him smile momentarily – a goofy, lopsided grin that makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. 

"i want to feel you-" you say, slowly. "please." 

he sucks in a breath. "this…this isn't one of those things you're trying to do to please me, right?" he looks at you, skeptically. "it doesn't make a difference to me, you know that right? i just want you to feel comfortable. and safe…" 

"i am comfortable," you assure him. "i'm on the pill. i really just want to do this with you." 

"because-" he suddenly sits back, running a nervous hand through his hair. "i'm fine with using protection, you know that. i…i love how you feel either way. i never want you to do anything you don't feel absolutely right about…"

"is this about the blowjob?" you raise your eyebrows at him, smiling when you see his eyes widen. "because i'm going to do that too, with you. i want to make you feel good." 

now it's his turn to laugh, tilting his head back. his adam's apple bobs in his throat. "you have no idea-" he murmurs, voice suddenly low and serious. "you have no idea how good you make me feel just by the way you look at me. by the way you say my name." 

"hyuck," you say, patiently. "i need you. don't make me beg." 

"i should be the one begging," he murmurs, and this time when you reach your arms out, he lowers himself right into your arms, letting you wrap your arms around him. he strokes himself a few times, eyelashes fluttering, before slowly easing into you – a soft sound escaping his lips as his eyes went unfocused. it really had been awhile – his length filling you up, stretching you out in a way that was almost painful, but that pain was quickly dulled by pleasure as his body pressed against yours. 

"fuck-" he curses, eyes screwed shut in concentration. "can i…can i please…" 

you rock your hips against him, letting him in even deeper as he bottoms out. "move-" you whimper, "please-" you barely finish your words before he's already drawing back, barely pulling out before fucking himself back in, short intense thursts feeling dizzying. his slender fingers find your clit again, applying a light pressure as the blunt tip of cock perfectly hits the spongy part of your walls, the sound obscene in the quiet room. you were so aroused, you felt that you were making a mess of his thighs – wetness making the scene seem ever more lewd, creaming around his length as he increased his speed, groaning lowly to himself. 

"cum for me, princess," he pleads, lips dipping down to mark the sensitive part of your neck. you were already close from all the teasing – and once again the familiarity of every touch and movement sends your senses into overdrive. your entire body tenses as you climax, and you can hear him hiss out another string of curses, mixed with your name and every term of endearment under the sun. 

"where do you want it?" he all but whimpers, hips still fucking into you like a reflex. 

"inside-" you mumble, ankles loosely hooking behind his back, trying to stop him from moving away. "hyuck, please come inside, fill me up please-" with a soft cry, he pushes in deep – and you can feel him cum inside you, making a mess between your thighs, the feeling so arousing that it awakens something inside you, and your hips begin to move – begging for more. 

"wait-" he pants. "give me a minute, angel-" his eyes are closed again, head lowered, as he pushes through the overstimulation, feeling his soft cock slowly begin to harden again. the sounds falling from his throat now are scratchy, hoarse whines – a sound so dirty it makes your heart beat even faster, a sense of defiled innocence you've only ever heard in his music. the angle in which he's rutting into you stimulating your clit, pushing you closer to your edge as you fuck up onto him. 

"hyuck?" you push his bangs out of his eyes, tracing your hands over his shoulders, his chest. your fingers brush past his nipples and his mouth falls open with need, an achy sound releasing from the back of his throat, his puffy lips parted obscenely. you pinch his nipples again, gently, experimentative, and you feel his body shudder as he cums again, this time going still. it's so fucking arousing, an different side to him that you've never seen, that you feel yourself climax as well, the stimulation overwhelming. 

the both of you lay there for awhile, before he seems to come to his senses — a shaky hand moving the hair out of your face. 

he looks at you, and you look at him. 

and as if he can't help himself, he kisses you again – this time so soft and gentle, almost as if it were the first time all over again. 

"you alright?" he mumbles. 

you nod. 

"let's clean up in a second," he breathes. "just…let's stay like this for awhile." 

you nod again. you don't trust your own voice. something is happening – something tastes different in the air, something in the way you're looking at each other, something in the way he's touching you now – as if you might break or bruise if he even let his fingerprints get onto your skin. in the way he's looking at you now – something urgent in his gaze. 

"are you…are you free tomorrow night?" 

"i am." you sound stronger than you feel. 

"can i take you somewhere?" 

pause. "yeah." you give him a small smile. "i'd like that."

the smile that breaks out across his face is one that you know like the back of your hand. 

–

sitting across from you now, with your plates already cleared away and all that's left is your last few sips of wine, it hits you how that this is the most normal setting you've been in with him, possibly ever. his long legs stretched out under the table over by your chair, gently placing down his wine glass as he looks at you, his expression soft. his face is lit up by candlelight, hair falling over his brows in a hopelessly endearing way. 

"you good?" he murmurs. 

you nod. things feel cozy, and comfortable – it's a feeling so foreign but at the same time so familiar, you have to keep reminding yourself that this is real. 

he bites his lip. "pretend i'm jisung," he says, impulsively. "and…and you're describing how this went to him. how…how did you find it?" 

you give him a look, but he looks so shy, so nervous to be asking you this question, that you decide to play along. 

"well, jisung-" you take a deep breath, smiling when you see him smile too. "haechan picked me up today, that was really nice-" 

"-sounds like the bare minimum," he mumbles back, head bent.

"well, yeah it kind of is. but he doesn't have the best track record." you see him wince, so you let that comment linger for awhile before continuing on. "he's been a gentleman today. he…he took me to a restaurant that he found out i've been meaning to go to for awhile now, because he asked jaemin beforehand." 

"and that's…creepy? doing too much?" 

"it was thoughtful," you mused. "even though he made the reservation for the wrong date…"

"fucker," he shakes his head. 

"...it was nice because we got to go to walk around, and there was this moment, um…" his head darts up. now you can see him break character – something piercingly vulnerable in the way his bambi-brown eyes shine. 

you swallow. "we were crossing the street…and he put his hand on my lower back, just to guide me forward, and when we got to the other side he took my hand in his and just…held it-" 

he's looking at you, slightly confused and a little nervous. 

"yeah?" 

"he…he usually only acts like that when we're alone…when there's no one around." he still looks lost, so you reach forward across the table, taking his hand in yours. as if on instinct, his hand squeezes yours. "it's sweet," you reassure him. "it was really sweet." 

he bites his lip, but nods to show that he understands.

there's silence, for a bit. you think of breaking the silence, of saying anything, when suddenly he clears his throat slightly, sitting up a little straighter.

"hey, mark-" now he's doing the same bit, and it catches you by surprise a little - making you smile. "yeah, i'm still with y/n. i...uh...i fucked up the reservation, you were right, i should've checked again..."

"i really like spending time with her," he says, slowly. "i...i can't stop staring at her - she looks so beautiful tonight. and...and i can't believe she's finally here with me, that i somehow didn't fuck this up. and um...we were in this record store just now...and i was listening to her talk about an album she liked -" a smile plays on his lips as he recalls the memory. you suddenly become aware that your heart is beating hard again, pounding in your ribs. "and she was so excited, and she kept laughing as she talked, and...and i just realised i would do anything to make her that happy, all the time. and that i want it to be me, i want to be the reason she smiles like that."

you swallow.

"haechan..."

"you don't have to say anything-" he rushes to say. "i just...i just wanted you - i mean, uh, mark - to know."

"okay." you take a deep breath. "and um, i want jisung to know that-"

"yeah?"

"i like spending time with him too," you say, faintly.

he nods, but he doesn't smile.

-

as the car pulls up to your driveway, the quiet hum of the engine is silenced – headlights turned off, only the soft glow of streetlights casting their pools of gold over haechan's face. it's so quiet, you hear the shaky breath he takes as he steadies himself. 

"i have something for you," he murmurs. you can feel the warmth radiating off his body as he leans to pick something up from the backseat, the comforting smell of his perfume making your heart warm. but then you hear the crinkle of paper, his hair falling over his face as he sits back into the driver's seat, and your heart falls in a completely different way – your insides rushing with inertia, dizzy and heady – because he's holding a bouquet of dark red roses. they're wrapped sweetly, tied off with a piece of red ribbon to match the blooms, and your eyes linger on the way his fingers tremble as he holds them out to you with both hands. 

his starts to speak, but whatever he falters as he watches you stare at the soft petals, stems completely stripped of their thorns – and he bites his lower lip, breath caught in his throat. 

"too much?" he asks, softly. "i just thought…i just…mark and jisung said it would be a good idea," he stammers, lowering the bouquet as one of his hands falls to his thighs, nervously clenching his fists. "i was supposed to give them to you when i picked you up, but i got scared…you don't have to take them, i just thought…i wasn't thinking-" 

your hand closes around his hand holding the flowers. your other goes to his face, your thumb brushing his cheek as he falls silent, his eyes fixed on yours, caught in the haze of your touch. slowly, so as not to startle him, you lean in and kiss him gently. it's a beat before he kisses you back, as if he couldn't believe it, and when you pull away just slightly with a soft sound, you can see the nervousness in his eyes. and so you lean in to kiss him again – you kiss him until his lashes flutter shut, until you can feel him settle in his seat, sighing into your mouth as he kisses you deeply. you pull the flowers into your lap, his hand giving up control easily, coming up to your face to hold you in his palms. 

"hyuck." 

he pauses, leaning back – but his hands only leave your face when you hold them in your own, guiding them down to rest against the center console, your fingers intertwined. 

"i never want you to feel like i'm ashamed of being seen with you," he blurts out suddenly. 

"what?" 

"i never meant to let it get that far," he continues on, looking at his hands. "when i first met you…i wanted you to be like everyone else. i tried to do what i always do, but i just couldn't. you kept getting in my head, and i kept hurting you, and i didn't know how to stop and i just-" he exhales. "i never want to make you feel like that again." 

"hyuck, was this a date?" 

he swallows. "if you want it to be," he starts, but then he shakes his head. "the truth is, i was afraid you would say no if it was. but i really want it to be. i really really do." 

"hyuck," you take a deep breath. "whatever you're going through, you're not going to find the answer in me." 

"y/n, i love you," he says, quietly, tenderly. he says it like it's the easiest thing in the world. "i want to be a person who deserves to be with you, and love you, and i know you think you can't change me, and it isn't your responsibility to try at all…but you already have, and you can't take it back. when i'm with you i feel like i can see this version of donghyuck that i want to be all the time for the rest of my life." 

"no two people should change to be with each other –" you start, but he shakes his head. 

"we aren't a scenario," he insists. "this isn't a hypothetical. there's no should and shouldn't, because you know me –" he's pleading. "i'm not the same boy you saw onstage that first time you came to our show, and you're not that same girl on the roof," he pleads, voice breaking, tears welling up in the pretty cut of his eyes. "why is it so hard for you to believe that this version of us is meant to be together?" 

there's silence. 

"i can believe it," you start, quietly. "that's what terrifies me." 

you can see him start to lose hope. he can't force you to stay with him when you're not ready, and he doesn't want to be that person either. 

"i…" he hesitates. he wants to say so much more to you – that no one else makes him feel the way you make him feel. that he feels like he'll never love anyone again, not the way he loves you. the fact that you're it for him in a million different ways, a love he never thought he'd find. that he'll never be able to give anyone else a fair chance. 

but he can tell his love makes your shoulders heavy, makes your eyes go foggy with tears. already, you look shattered sitting in the passenger seat of his car, his love a weight on your chest that you don't know what to do with. already he's losing whatever bravery he had before – the bravery his love for you had given him. 

"sometimes-" you start, breaking off, your voice quivering. "when we're together, i feel like i could do it for the rest of my life. that you're the only one i've met to make me feel this way, that i'm the only one who knows you so deep." 

"you are," he breathes. 

"but-" your voice rises, agitated. "you hurt me. again and again. i came back when i wasn't ready, i should've given it more time, i just couldn't stay away. and then you came back into my life, and i forgave you to be with you again, and i tried to give other people a chance but i just…i just couldn't. what if this is too soon again?" 

i'll wait. the words are on the tip of his tongue, but he knows its the wrong thing to say, wrong thing to want. there's nothing romantic about waiting for someone – it's a cruel promise, one that rots each day going by in the wait for the future. 

"do you…" he takes a deep breath. "do you want to let me go?"

you nod, slowly. haechan can feel his heartbeat in his ears. 

"i'm not sorry," you whisper. "it's not right. you…i know you think you know what you want, but i need you to be sure of who you are, and who you want. i can't give you the answers." 

haechan remembers how – and it seems so far away, almost like a dream now – the night you went out with jisung, he dreamed of you. dreamed up the final version of you and him – everything good and always good, coming backstage to you, coming home to you. and some part of him had dared to hope, that despite everything, despite himself, the two of you would make it to that final version. 

but maybe the final version of you and him was this – the sound of the car door shutting as you walk up the steps to your apartment, and him crying all the way home, roses left in the front seat of the car, the ghost of your hands burning on his face.

(EPILOGUE RELEASE SOON)

@neochan, @ahncosette, @18shy @kittydollzz @jenoslutie @pussymode @yyfka @cheolctrl @jaeminsballs @mysummerhyuck @strawberrytyong @rosiejunnie @nctzen4eva @haechskies @wickedrei @sundamariis @liliansun @lanadreamie @nodisdino @angelwonie @foxydumps @manooffline @moonsmias @skzct7 @iscocohere @ficrecnctskz @makiswrld @itskkung @simpforarmihn @aryraaaa @rbf-aceu @laubyrinthine @yujuvly @nctevia @hyuckenjoyer @guhhfgbbj @girlwholoveslpreppyattire @kasperneo @eneiyri @toroufriteh @cauliephays @jisoung @niinjo @wonaoi @yuskitty @strawbabyz @readingisgodly @daegalfangirl @minkyuncutie @feat-sun @chaoticstrawberryland @shawnyle @sofix-hc7 @scftharu @spageddy @adorejaehyn @manooffline @02mrk @tyongspice1 @runahways @neosdaisy @hotmessexpress35 @kim-seungmins-gf @delllllllsstuff @nohunlee @kingsoowolves @enhasrii @fnafgirl87 @imzerozen @toroufriteh @torothecatt

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝐖𝐞 𝐒𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞 ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚

Pairing: Viltrumite!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: Discussion of the Invincible Wars, so series-typical violent topics. I don’t get detailed about it tho

Tags: Fluff, kinda slow burn tbh for being so short, went a bit of a different route with my interpretation of this variant – figured our boy could use a break from all that heavy stuff ❤️‍🩹

Word Count: 1,060

Synopsis: The world is ending, but for Mark, his life was only just beginning the moment he saw you.

Inspiration: ‘Thinkin Bout You’ by Frank Ocean

a/n: for my beautiful, perfect lovie @itsbuddhasbelly!! thank you for encouraging me with my dumb little works – it makes my very happy. :’)

One year ago

The world ended.

Or—something like it. Cities crumbled. Heroes fell. The sky turned black with smoke and fire. It was the Invincible Wars, they called it later. Like it was history. Like it could be measured and filed away and understood.

But when it happened, there wasn’t anything so clean about it.

You remembered standing on your front lawn, barefoot, clutching your phone with trembling fingers as the sky split open.

People ran. Screamed. Begged.

You just… stared.

And then he appeared.

Hovering in the air like something divine. Blood on his uniform, glowing eyes, an aura like gravity itself bent around him.

And then—he saw you.

It was like something paused inside him. The rage, the war, the mission—it all halted the second his eyes locked onto yours.

He didn’t kill you. He didn’t even threaten you.

He walked toward you without a word, as if drawn by a force he didn’t understand. You didn’t flinch. Couldn’t. Your body had forgotten how.

When he reached you, he took your hand, careful like you might shatter, and pressed a kiss to your knuckles.

"You’re the most beautiful woman in the universe,” he said, voice quiet and reverent. “I’d know. I’ve seen it all.”

Your mouth parted, heart in your throat. But before you could speak, he released your hand and stepped back.

“I’ll come back,” he promised, simple but unquestioning. “I want to know you.”

Then he vanished.

And somehow, your town—unlike every other—was left untouched.

Present Day

He kept his promise.

You didn’t think he would, honestly. You thought it was some twisted fluke—some battle-weary god getting sentimental in the middle of a war.

But he came back.

Weeks later. Then months. Then more.

Sometimes he brought gifts. Rare things. Impossible things.

A blue flower that glowed softly in the dark and sang lullabies in a language you didn’t know.

A ring made of a mineral that couldn’t exist on Earth—it shifted colors based on your mood, and Mark refused to tell you how it worked.

A stone orb that projected constellations from planets light-years away—“This one’s my favorite,” he said. “I used to go there to think.”

Sometimes he just sat. Both of you on the porch, your legs swinging off the steps. He'd look at you like he was memorizing your profile. You’d pretend not to notice.

He always gave you space. Always let you speak first. And when you didn’t, he never pushed.

This particular night was quiet.

The stars hang heavy overhead, bright and unknowable.

He lands soundlessly beside you, a familiar presence now. You’ve long since stopped jumping when he arrives. He doesn't make grand entrances anymore—just shows up like he’s always belonged there.

He holds something in his hand. Another gift, probably. But he doesn’t offer it yet.

Instead, he speaks.

“Do you not think so far ahead?”

You blink. “What?” He’s quiet for a second. Then—

“I’ve been thinking about forever.”

The words hit you like gravity.

You should be afraid. Should remind yourself of what he’s done. Of the war. Of the blood.

But then you look at him—this godlike being sitting on your porch like it’s holy ground because you stood on it once. And all you can do is whisper, “Forever’s a long time.”

He smiles. Not a smirk. Not smug. Just… hopeful.

“I have it to give,” he says.

You watch him, heart thudding like it’s caught between stars and soil.

He holds something out. A small, smooth crystal, glowing faintly. When you take it, it's warm—alive, almost. Inside, a swirl of constellations shifts and dances.

He watches you with that same intensity he always has—like you’re something sacred. Like this moment matters more than anything else in the galaxy.

“It’s a Viltrumite bonding token,” he says. “We don’t really do ceremonies. But this… it means something.”

You look up at him, and your heart squeezes.

He’s so sure. So ready. So Viltrumite.

But you’re not. Not because you don’t care—but because you’re you. Human. Flesh and fear and caution wrapped in something just as fierce.

Your gaze softens, and you give him the faintest, sweetest smile. “This isn’t Viltrum, Mark.”

His brows draw together, ever so slightly. Confused. Almost… angry? Hurt?

“Here on Earth,” you continue gently, stepping closer, “we take things a little slower.”

For a second, his face falters. Just a flicker. Barely there—but you see it. That moment where centuries of instinct and expectation collide with something fragile. Something new.

You reach out, closing the distance between you—not just physically, but emotionally. You step into his space like you’ve always belonged there, like gravity’s been leading you both to this point all along.

Your hand brushes his chest, over his heart.

And then—gently, deliberately—you rise onto your toes.

The kiss isn’t rushed. It’s not some desperate, fiery collision.

It’s slow.

Intentional.

A quiet promise wrapped in warmth and breath and closeness. His lips part slightly against yours, like he’s surprised—like he’s never been kissed before.

He doesn’t move at first. Doesn’t push. Just sinks into it.

One of his hands lifts—hesitant at first—then cups your jaw with reverent care, like you’re made of stardust and the whole universe is watching.

You pull back, only just, your forehead resting against his. Your hand still anchored over the steady beat in his chest.

“How about we start with this?” you whisper.

He exhales, the sound shaky—almost stunned. Like he’s still reeling, like you tilted his axis and he’s trying to find true north again.

His eyes meet yours. There's no smugness there. No grand speeches. Just awe.

“Then we’ll start here. But just so you know… I’ve seen the future. It always leads back to you.”

It takes a second for the words to sink in. You blink, stunned, as if you’re not quite sure whether to laugh, cry, or kiss him again.

Instead, you just shake your head, a breath of a smile curling at your lips.

“You really are something, Markus.”

He leans in again, his hand still cradling your jaw like he’s afraid to let go.

And somewhere above you, the stars keep burning. Quiet. Eternal.

But down here—on this porch, in this moment—forever has already begun.

[salsakiyoomi]

i ii

sukuna feels like he has met you before.

something about you was sickeningly familiar — perhaps it was your smile? or maybe your voice? or maybe it was just the way you cooed his name ever so softly like he was something more than just a regular customer at your coffeeshop.

he doesn't know what it is about you that gets him to have this ever consuming feeling of deja vu, like he had met you before — maybe he'd seen you on the street weeks prior to coming into your coffeeshop, or maybe it was simply another lifetime that he met you in, or another universe — yeah, the multiverse theory or whatever, did he actually believe in that shit? not really, but he did entertain the thought.

he doesn’t know, really, really doesn’t know why he gets that sickening feeling of deja vu whenever he sees you — your smile was like one from his dreams, and your visage belonged on a medieval painting just from how beautiful it was — absolutely breathtaking, he’d even say.

nevertheless, the all time business and stoic ceo finds himself falling for the loving and bubbly barista at the local coffee shop he gets his usual coffee from.

“ryo!” you exclaim and god, the way his nickname falls from the tip of your tongue — while being all too familiar — it also painfully flutters him, and he can tell there is already a hint of red at his neck.

“hey, beautiful.” he greets, leaning against the counter and he catches the faint glimpse of a blush blooming on your face — probably from the nickname. he smirks, glad he has an effect on you.

“the usual?” you ask with a smile, clearing your throat.

“yeah.” he hums. watching as you go and attend his coffee — black and bitter, exactly like him. he thinks, if you were a coffee, you'd be…iced caramel macchiato, light on the heart and sweet of the tongue.

woah, where did he get that thinking from?

well, he actually knows where got it from — the moment he met you, along the intense feeling of deja vu, he fell for you. like, actually fell for you, no exaggeration. sukuna loved you for all he knew. well, actually, he didn't know he was capable of any feeling other than unadulterated rage towards his employees.

but you proved him wrong, because every time he saw you, he got that sickening feeling of his heart fluttering and his chest tightening, along with butterflies stirring in his stomach.

fuck, he was hopeless for you.

“there we go.” you say, handing him his cardboard cup of coffee, “hope you have a good day, ryo!”

and for a moment, he really considers it — considers asking you for a date, or giving you his number maybe. or perhaps confessing his undying love for you — no, wait. that was too much.

but the point is, he really, really wanted to take you out on a date, maybe to a classic restaurant just so he’d see you all dolled up and he’d hold your hand and tell you how beautiful you looked, and maybe the night would end with you at his place, in his bed while he made love to you and —

he decides against it.

not yet, he thinks.

and for the first time, the overconfident ceo thinks he isn’t ready — whether he was too shy or he simply just wasn’t ready for you to reject him, he wasn’t sure.

and so, he smiles back at you and takes the cup from your hand, his fingers brushing softly against yours for a split second.

“yeah, you too.”

and he decides, that for the time being, he’ll settle for the deja vu and the multiverse theory.

a/n : this drabble by @deathofacupid inspired and pushed me to make part two of the 'soul ties' drabble lol

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Ghost King Phantom answers a summons to a new dimension to find a sacrificial offering in three magic circles. One, holding Bizarro, another holding Artimus and the one in front holding Red Hood.

Phantom has no idea who these people are, but he knows the people in charge must be powerful mages or whatever. Doesn't matter. None of the mages hes ever had to face had known about his Halfa status so naturally thier wards and protections wouldn't work on him. He captures the kid with a naselly voice and his orange cat in a force field to give to Jazz later. She had been talking about wanting to study the psychology of a supernatural being for a while now so he'd help her out.

He made quick work of the other mages before turning around and facing the "sacrifices" the two in the back were still out cold but the one in front, the one in the red helm was radiating terror and rage. He was shaking even though Phantom hadn't done anything to him and had no intentions to. Danny landed outside the circle, trying to whisper something conforting as he stepped closer.

The moment he stepped into the ring however, the red runes turned into a bright green and the three circles disappeared. Danny didn't feel any different so he assumed it was nothing and he freed the captives before disappearing, none the wiser that Klarion the Witchboy had made a few translation mistakes in the slave contract and accidentally married a terrified Red Hood to Phantom, the High King of the Undead and King of the Lazarus dimension, also known as the Infinite Realms.

Danny probably learns he married that guy at some point but just kinda shrugs it off. Polygamy is legal in the realms and thier marriage doesn't change much. Sure, Danny is practically contractually obligated to save this guy if he's ever in mortal peril but Danny has no problems with that. He'd do it anyway.

So he just ignores the situation hoping it doesn't come up again.

It does.

Repeatedly.

I'm so surprised we don't have more Dead on Main ghost king marriage aus where Jason/the pit inside of him is terrified of Phantom. Let's change that

[undreaming-fanfiction]

The Corroded Coffin used to think they'd be the new Metallica or Judas Priest. But where their passion and hard work never lacked, their big break just never came.

What did come, however, was an unexpected change of their career path.

It started innocently enough - they went through yet another failed meeting with recording studios, they'd travelled pretty far and it was for nothing. Instead of going back to Hawkins and risking another one of Eddie's road rages, they decided to break into an abandoned house and drink their sorrows away.

That is, until their empty bottles started collecting themselves, something invisible touched Gareth's shoulder and the dusty floor started showing written messages.

Jeff wanted to flee. Gareth to faint. But Eddie and Freak just shrugged. Eddie gestured towards the approximate ghost location and said "by the power of I don't give a shit anymore, I compel you to sit down and stop it, we'll clean the bottles when we leave tomorrow."

The rattling stopped. There was a moment of silence when the Corroded Coffin actually thought it had worked, but then the ghost overcame its shock and physically threw Eddie, his bandmates and their things out.

They sat on the wet grass for a while and contemplated their whole exitence. Eddie was pretty shaken about the whole thing because he'd just managed to royally piss off a ghost and lived to tell the tale. But apart from absolutely terrifying...it was also fun?

And his friends seemed to think the same. Jeff patted his shoulder and said: "not bad for a first touch with the unknown, huh?"

They stayed in the area and tried again. They decided to tape over their promotional video - not so great, they had to admit after rewatching it - and started documenting their ghostly encounters. And maybe it was just the timing, maybe it was their interactions and personalities, but it worked. They showed some of their tapes to a local TV station and they got a cautious yes, more than they ever had with their music.

They got assigned a small crew, Fred with a camera and Chrissy for sound, wrote their own episodes and did plenty of research. And they got to try quite a lot of different approaches with their ghostly friends. Eddie was amazing at taunting the ghosts, making them appear if there were any present. Gareth had a wonderfully calming presence, managing to save the CC's ass several times. Jeff was the brains, he made sure they'd always know the history of the house and the probable identity of the ghost. And Freak decided to dabble in the occult sciences with a terrifying precision. There could never be enough salt in Eddie's van for all the circles he made.

It all went well until they learned of the Creel House in Hawkins. They went there, did their research and before entering the house, they ordered some pizza for dinner. They assumed it would be over by midnight, thinking it was just another sad story of an unresolved murder, but the ghost of Henry Creel was out for blood.

Oh, and he also controlled the spiders of the house. That was new.

To set the scene: The crew had fled the house about an hour ago. Eddie was crouching behind an old table, blocking Henry's barrage of kitchen knives, shouting "IS THIS THE BEST YOU'VE GOT?!". Gareth was behind the table with Eddie, but he went more into the wailing territory with "I DON'T THINK THIS WILL HELP YOU MOVE ON, HENRY!". Jeff had blocked himself in the pantry and kept trying to identify the triggering moment - "I think he's re-enacting the murder of his mother, guys! Does that help?!" (it doesn't). And Freak gave up on salt circles and was now tossing handfuls of salt around the house with a questionable technique but unwavering determination.

Suddenly, a car horn.

Then, a bitchy male voice: "Are you coming to get your pizza or what? I have other customers to get to!"

Eddie gritted his teeth as Henry added heavy pans to the mix and hit his shoulder. "We're a little busy surviving here! Ask Chrissy to pay you!"

There was a muffled and annoyed "ugh" from behind the door and then: "Is it Henry again?"

Eddie just blinked. Gareth was more ready to answer: "Sure is! He's not a fan of our exorcism!"

And the pizza guy didn't leave. He just huffed and said something that sounded suspiciously like "amateurs".

Eddie wanted to punch him.

But before he could do that, the front door opened. Gareth held his breath, half expecting a sound of knives hitting their target.

Instead, they heard a few more steps and then: "What the fuck, Henry?!"

A faint whispering reached their ears, but they couldn't decipher it. But the pizza guy could.

"I don't care they didn't get your permission, Henry. Yeah, it's annoying, but what are you going to do? If more people die in this house, it's going to get demolished. You know that. Yeah, I know the house is old, but it's great for your spiders, right? They'd be homeless. Do you want to make your spiders homeless, Henry?"

They dared to peek from behind the table, and Eddie had to pinch himself. Because in the middle of the dusty dining room stood one of the prettiest young men Eddie had ever seen, hands on hips and arguing with something invisible.

The man completely ignored them.

"That's what I thought. Now, apologize. No, they can't hear you, so get creative."

All four CC members stared as words formed in the spilled salt: "SORRY".

The pizza guy seemed to be pleased. "Good job, Henry. Now, let me get them out of here and I promise I'll get the Party to bring you some new spiders when they capture them outside, yeah? Three knocks, slide them in a glass behind the door. Got it. Take care, Henry."

Only then did he look at Eddie and the others and frowned. "That's your cue to leave. Get your stuff and go, now." And as they were quickly collecting their scattered notes and recording equipment, he added: "and say goodbye when leaving. Don't be rude."

Four rushed "Bye, Henry!" and "Sorry, Henry"s later, the Corroded Coffin was standing on the grass outside, feeling the setting sun on their skin and smelling fresh pizza. Gareth promptly paid for the delivery, and everyone proceeded to thank their mysterious savior.

"I'm Steve," he said after they'd all expressed their thanks, "and you're stupid. Do you really do this without anyone who sees and hears them? Do you just stumble blindly into haunted houses for a fun and stabby time?"

Eddie had to swallow down a very bitchy response of his own. "Sorry to stroke your ego even more, pretty boy, but a man of your talents is hard to come by."

And Steve, to Eddie's massive shock, just cocked his head and fluffed his hair, probably out of habit, but damn. "Well, consider yourself lucky because I'm open to job offers," he said with a wink that brought Eddie back into his teenage fantasies. "You need someone like me, and I assume you pay better than pizza delivery. Do you?"

Turns out, their producer was willing to get one more person on board, especially when they finished processing the leftover footage from the Creel house.

Steve was an amazing addition. He was snarky, self-confident, easy to look at and most of all, he was fun and compassionate. Watching him communicate with ghosts of kids and help them move on made Eddie's icy heart melt.

But one day they were on a site of an unfortunate teenage death, Steve was chatting with the ghost of a 17 year old girl like they'd known each other for ages, he was laughing, cracking jokes, and then:

"No, he hasn't kissed me yet."

Eddie turned around on his heel and stared at Steve, snickering to himself and talking to a misty figure next to him. And worst of all, they were both staring right at Eddie.

"Hasn't even asked me out, no. You'd think he'd be interested, but I guess I'm doing something wrong."

And Eddie's head short-circuited, and all the repressed fantasies from nights next to Steve in their trailer came back with vengeance. He howled and threw himself at Steve, kissing him right on that bitchy mouth. "Doing something wrong?! Steven Harrington, those shorts of yours are doing everything right, but how about you say something, huh?!"

Steve returned the kiss to the cheering of the CC guys, Chrissy's clapping and Fred's disgusted noise, and shrugged when they broke apart. "I knew you'd get it, eventually. Oh, and Heather?" he turned to the ghost. "You're the best wingwoman ever, in this life and after."

Four good things came from this ghostly encounter:

After the kiss, Gareth finally gathered enough courage to ask Chrissy out. She said yes.

The episode with Heather became the most watched episode of the CC's show.

Steve and Eddie remained in an equally blissful and teasing relationship for the rest of their lives.

And finally...

The TV station decided to design official merch for the CC's show: incredibly short shorts that said on the backside: "DOING EVERYTHING RIGHT".

[mangocurist]

hiiiiiii jet @jumped-for-the-yaoi @daylilie (idk which acc to tag so i just did both) . guess who decided to write wincezam (i fucking love that name so damn much can you Tell)

cw they do like makeout and wemmbu is implied to have a boner at some point? idk lol i wrote most of this in a rage last night while i was still post limited it hasnt been edited

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖥧⚶⋆⭒˚｡✧𖦹✮𖤓✮𖦹✧˖°⋆⭒˚｡⚶𖥧𖥧𖤣.𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖥧⋆⭒˚｡✧𖦹✮𖤓✮𖦹✧˖°⋆⭒˚⋆

“Ugh. Dude, this is like, the third time this week, Wemmbu. Can you like, try and be a little more normal about me?” 

Zam rolls her eyes at him when his guards drag Wemmbu into the throne room, the clothes he'd borrowed (well, stolen, but on Lifesteal, there really wasn't much of a difference) from his doppelganger slightly stained with soot and redstone. 

Zam’s smiling as he looks down at Wemmbu, a brilliant light glowing from the sunny halo that encircles his head. He wants to rip it from Zam’s skull and use it to slit his throat— but Flamefrags is standing just a block away with a netherite sword, and while Wemmbu could probably survive it with the same exploits that got him on here in the first place, he'd really rather not reveal his hand immediately. 

Also, Zam’s rather nice to look at when he’s acting all confident like this. It makes Wemmbu wonder if he could've pushed his own Zam into acting a little more like this, if he just turned up the pressure a little more, pushed her buttons until she could no longer deny the blood on his hands.

Hm. Well, maybe not, on second thought. 

Wemmbu wasn’t sure if he liked that pacifist Zam who refused to raise her sword at any cost, but would send her guard dogs at any person who crossed her. At least this Zam was willing to get his hands dirty.

“You're— you're like, embarrassing yourself at this point. Seriously. Give it up, you're not gonna do anything with your… what was it? Orbital cannon? That’s a stupid name.” Zam blinks, one hand sweeping a strand of curly golden hair out of his eye, and stands up, walking closer and closer to Wemmbu until she stops right in front of him, motioning for Flamefrags and Manepear to leave them alone.

He's expecting the sword to his neck, sure, but the point of the blade pressing into his skin and the warm feeling of her fingers against his face, gently tracing the length of his cheek are unexpected variables— and, oh god, is that fucking perfume or blood? It smells like iron, so it could be either, but there’s also a tinge of some floral scent that he can’t quite place. Either way, Wemmbu shifts uncomfortably on the ground, silently hoping and willing Zam to come just a little closer. 

When she does, another unexpected thing happens. The sword falls to the ground, completely forgotten, as she settles on her knees, lowering herself to the same height as him. Oh, wow. It usually takes longer than this, but Wemmbu certainly won’t complain. “You are actually so stupid. Did you know that?”

To Wemmbu’s credit, he doesn't immediately jump forward and try to eat Zam’s face off. He’s not quite sure the prince-emperor would appreciate it if he ruined his makeup this early into the day. Then again, he did try to bomb the Prince Zam Empire earlier this morning, so surely she wouldn’t be too mad about her makeup compared to the attempted nuking? 

He doesn’t have to worry about that, though, because as it turns out, it’s Zam who ruins it first, yanking Wemmbu forward by his fitted shirt collar and smearing lipstick across his mouth as she cups the back of his head, teeth nibbling on his lower lip as he tries to wear down Wemmbu’s defences. At some point during the kiss Wemmbu thinks he can taste blood, and when he dares to look at Zam in the eye she’s grinning like the little yellow smiling freak she is. 

When Zam finally pulls away, Wemmbu is left practically reeling, glaring up at the prince who just smiles sweetly at him, pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket to dab at the blood staining her face. “You lost this time,” Zam says, then, as an addition, “And also twice before that. Three in a row is a pretty bad track record, dude.”

“Oh, shut up,” Wemmbu rolls his eyes. 

He’s about to say more— point out the fact that he’s never really actually won, because that would require him to level the Prince Zam Empire to the ground and honestly he doesn’t really want to do that, not if it means that Zam won’t be around to match him anymore; or maybe the fact that he hails from a server where murder is the norm and it would be so much easier than Zam thinks to shove a sword between his ribs, make him choke on a poisoned meal or gouge his eyes out with Wemmbu’s bare hands— but then Zam is sitting on his lap, soft, ungloved hands pulling his face down to level, and Wemmbu—

Well. It’s pretty hard to think with a prince in your lap. 

It’s harder (haha) for Wemmbu specifically because this isn’t just any prince, this is Zam, and his blood is still crusted at the corner of her lips where the handkerchief hadn’t reached, and it’s just difficult for him to do anything but stare up at Zam reverently.

“You’re the one who’s going to shut up,” Zam says, voice dripping with honey, and then he bites Wemmbu again, tongue darting out to lick away the blood before she’s on him again, practically trying to smother Wemmbu with the taste of his own ichor. He can honestly barely think with the weight of Zam in his lap and the feel of her touch on his face, but Wemmbu is a self-saboteur in the best of times and he thinks himself a comedian, so when Zam reaches behind him to undo the chains binding his hands, seemingly bored by his limited reciprocation, the first thing he does is reach into his inventory for a small stick of TnT and put it in his hotbar.

Zam doesn’t notice what he’s doing immediately, which is good, if a little worrying. Seriously, for someone who faces so many goddamn assassinations (and he would know! He’s been the attempted assassin no less than 28 times, and it’s been only a month or so since he’s found his way onto Unstable) she really has no sense of self-preservation when in the middle of a makeout session. 

Speaking of. Wemmbu snakes his hand underneath Zam’s shirt, revelling in the fact that she shivers at his touch. He traces along the flat planes of Zam’s back, then slowly inches his way back to the front of her shirt, and— oh, God. Is he not wearing a fucking—

Okay. Cool. Wemmbu has his hands on Zam’s boobs. That’s… cool. The prince doesn’t seem particularly nonplussed about it, either, he actually sounds quite happy about it, but this is a little bit too out of Wemmbu’s depth, and when he’s feeling a little bit out of his own depth, he makes stupid decisions.

He switches his hotbar item, and it takes only a second before Zam is wrenching himself away from Wemmbu, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Wemmbu,” Zam says slowly, as if she's sounding out his name. He blinks at her, trying to emulate that kicked puppy look that always worked on his Zam. It's a losing battle, but he figures he may as well try. At least he’ll look cute while dying with a sword stuck in his gut. Or maybe Zam will put it in his dick, which will look less cute, but it’ll be funnier, for sure. “Did you just try and put a stick of TnT up my shirt?”

“Well, I wasn’t actually going to do it, I think, but I kinda stopped thinking when I touched your boobs,” Wemmbu says, shrugging when Zam turns an almost murderous glare onto him. He sounds much more casual than he feels, still reeling a little from the unexpected experience. A little voice in his head mocks him for getting so riled up at touching boobs for the first time, and Wemmbu ignores it to try and face Zam properly. He’s going to pretend that TnT slipup was on purpose, starting now. “Give me a head start?” 

“You have ten seconds to get out of my sight,” Zam says, the rage in his voice practically palpable. Wemmbu laughs shakily, even as he stumbles his way out of the palace, weaving past each and every guard Zam sends running after him.

“Bye-bye, your highness!” He blows a kiss to Zam as he leaves, grinning when he notices the begrudgingly amused smile he sees her trying to hide. Hey, at least he didn’t fumble as spectacularly as that other him did. Speaking of which… he hadn’t framed his doppelganger in a while, had he?

Well. At least he had that to take his mind off things.

(Somewhere halfway across the world border, a different Wemmbu sneezes. “Please don’t tell me I’m about to be banned from another country.”)

[dipperpepper77]

"Trial Period" (NSFW) LADS men

Dipper's Delusions (But Long) (It's split into two parts so keep reading for resolutions!) Tags: NSFW (MDNI), AFAB reader, pure filth. Read at your own discretion, ANGST, they act mean, mentions of stalking, toxic behaviors, messy relationship dynamics, fluff ending, break ups/makeup

Intro: This break up was NOT mutual. He made that known in every possible way. But, you were a woman riddled with pride, often stopping you from making things right until it was too late. The day was so vivid in your memories that you tried anything to get it out. The soft television static as you stared at his devastated expression. It was like you somehow confirmed that his worse nightmare WAS true... he truly was unlovable. You never seen him crumble until that night. You had to manually stop every muscle in your body to rush to his aid. The way he was hunched forward sobbing into the carpet. Those eyes that never begged for anything but you. You felt your mistake at that moment. But, you couldn't get yourself to make it right.

You want to know what made it even worse? It wasn't his hoarse voice sobbing for you to stop packing your things. It wasn't him telling you that you were all he had, no... none of that. It was when you ripped your jacket off the hanger and saw something fall from your harsh movement. He didn't even notice that you saw it. Not with how hysterical he was. The small jewelry box. Fuck. How, you hated yourself when you realized... he wanted to propose.

It's been months. You tried so hard to maintain your pride. But, when the spring flowers wilted... when the air got colder... you knew. You were at fault. You broke up over something that could've been an honest conversation. You found yourself going on so many dates to get your mind off of it. But, you couldn't even get yourself to feel real emotions with these bachelors. You were picking at the steak, listening to the ramblings of a coworker who went on and on about how many wanderers he's killed. Your mind was elsewhere... more like it was thinking about a timeline that didn't exist anymore. It was now fall. You'd probably be looking at venues with him. He'd kiss your temples as you skimmed through wedding catalogs. Knowing yourself... you'd probably have to close his eyes as you looked for wedding dresses. Now you're here, biting into cold steak.

You felt eyes on you constantly. It was not unnerving for one reason or another. You knew who that gaze belonged to. You wanted nothing more to rush to him and apologize. But, when you did... you were met with absolute and unadulterated rage. He was crumbling and YOU were out giving affection to other people. Trying to start a new life that was supposed to be HIS. So... started the "trial period". An agreement made by you. Let him take his anger out. Become the outlet for his hostile emotions. In return, whenever he's ready... you can settle on whether or not he wanted to continue the relationship.

Rafayel: (1) His usual bubbly and dramatic behavior was long gone. He was stoic and almost brooding. Moving your hand every time you tried to intertwine your fingers with his. It's fine. You'll stick to the agreement. You pushed all your spit to the front of you mouth, dispensing it to his length. Usually, this would have his body shivering. Making him look at you with a soft blush and a plea to continue. But, when you looked up... you saw him expressionless. His fingers threaded through your hair, grabbing a handful towards the base of your skull. Your eyes widened as your air got cut off by him using you like a toy. Not even a pant was heard from him. "Did you do this with everyone you went on a date with too?" You shook your head as you shut your eyes tightly. "Say it... use your words". You tried to talk but he'd push farther and farther into your inviting mouth. "Come on... oh right, you can't."

(2) You were draped over Rafayel's lap as he painted. Shivering slightly as you not even a cloth adorned your skin. He dragged the jade color on the canvas as his other hand occupied itself pressing the tip of another paintbrush on your sensitive bud. Your hips lifted a bit only for him to smack your ass so hard you flopped back down. He continued until you felt the paintbrush entering you. "Keep it there. If it so much as moves... our contract ends." His thumb rubs soft circles on your bud as you clawed at the couch. His large hand gave yours a harsh smack as well, reminding you the amount his couch costed. "Did I give you permission to destroy my couch? No? So keep your hands forward." You toes circled as he rubbed you just the way you liked. But, you had to work overtime to tell your pussy not to clench or pulse. There was no way you'd lose this chance.

(3) You had sex with Rafayel when he was in his lemurian form before. But, it was gentle and understanding of your mortal body. He would rock into you as your hand pumped his second length. That wasn't the case at the moment. His webbed hands covered your mouth as you laid on top of your ripped clothes on the sand. His tail swishing so violently that it kept splashing the shallow sea water onto your face and body. Your nails dug on his back so hard as he rocked into both your holes. The force and pace was inhuman. Yet, you didn't care. Not right now. He was finally making noises. Finally moaning your name desperately. His cocks rubbing against each other from the gummy layer separating both your holes. You felt your face getting splashed more and more with the water, making it hard for you to breathe. It somehow made it even more pleasurable. "F-fuck... stop fucking moving. I'm going to cum soon. Hold your breath until then. It won't be long."

Xavier: (1) Oh... how pissed he was. He opted for silent treatment. He laid on his back before bed. You only wore panties and a tank top. He made you straddle his naked lap. "I'm going to bed. Grind on it until I'm awake. Don't stop." He was out like a light. Holding on to your hip gently. You pushed the silk fabric to the side as you slid back and forth on his length. The edge of his tip rubbing deliciously on your clit. This would be fine... amazing actually. Until it was hours in and he would NOT wake up. Your body shaking and trembling. But, you knew the moment you stopped he'd wake up and end the contract. He started to stir awake after another two hours. When he rubbed his eyes you finally stopped moving. Your cheek placed on his chest as you panted. He moved your face off him, grabbing his length to press against your anticipating hole. Pushing the tip in only to pull it back with a pop."You haven't got your fill? What a greedy thing."

(2) You should've known there was more to it when he asked you to the park. Or the second message ordering you to wear a skirt and nothing else underneath. You really should've known. Public sex wasn't really in his alley. He didn't like the idea of anyone else seeing you. But, since you went on those dates... you dressed up for them... you wanted to be seen, huh? Now here you were. Reduced to a babbling, begging, sobbing mess. People frequently passed by in the path you were being ravaged at. He had you in reverse cowgirl. Making you look at people getting closer and closer, all while being covered by your body. His hips jerking into you so hard that you couldn't stop moaning. His balls slapping your clit every single time making your tits bounce violently. "Oh... look. Someone's getting closer." The thrusts sped up. You slapped at his arm to get him to slow down at least. Anything. But, he leans to your ear. A promise and a threat laced deliciously into one. "Don't. The pretty contract said I could do whatever I please."

(3) You saw his newest bank statement going to glow in the dark markers. Not really knowing what his intentions were with it. But, you paid it absolutely no mind. Until the bedroom is pitch black and you knew exactly what he had in store for you. His name was written all over your body as if he was claiming you in the most humiliating way possible. Your cheeks had his name written on it, one on each tit, the valley of your breasts, your ass, tiny little 'Xavier's scribbled on each fold. He used his evol to light the room up, setting the ink. "No one will see this, don't worry... unless there is a power outage". Cheeky bastard. His lips latched on to your neck. Fucking into your swollen puffy pussy as his pace never relented. Not when he could see his name laying ownership on every inch of your skin. Chuckling to himself as you started to get close to your orgasm. "Who owns this pussy? Tell me." His name came out of your lips as a broken squeal. "No. Say it again. Every syllable." This kept happening over and over again. "Say my name once more... promise it's the last time". You both knew it wouldn't be.

Zayne: (1) You were getting a "check-up". So normal right? Yeah it's also normal that he spread your folds with his pointer and ring finger, the middle finger circling your entrance. "Any sexual activity in the last couple of months?" There was something... borderline sinister laced in his tone. The pad of his finger tapped at your entrance, a hint to respond quickly. You shook your head. The smirk on his face did NOT go unnoticed. His middle and ring finger inserting inside you. "Good girl." Even with the praise... you still felt tension from him. Your legs trembling on the hospital bed as he pushed his fingers out and in with the loudest squelching sounds. He used his evol on his stethoscope. Rubbing the even cooler metal on your nipples. Seeing how beautifully they hardened and peaked. All while his other hand worked on pumping in and out of you. He kissed your belly softly. "I'm going to listen to your heart for any... abnormalities." His stethoscope kept rubbing on your nipples, no where near your heart.

(2) You were his plus one to a medical gala. Dressed in a backless, long sleeved black dress. His hand stayed on the soft arch of your back. It was a good night... or it was in your mind. You spoke to the male doctors a little too much, in Zayne's eyes. Smiled too politely. Which he didn't tell you he had a problem with, more like... he showed you he had a problem with it. His hand escorting you quickly to his car. Your hand going to open the passenger door but he pushed you to the backseat. Now, that's how you got into this position. Your heel was almost falling off your foot as he rammed into you. The back of his car was cramped for both of you. The car was fogged up, rocking violently, everything just a clear show of what was going on inside. His hand covering your clit. Not letting you touch yourself as he fucked you into oblivion. "You don't get to cum until I do". He was nothing but a patient man. He would last hours if it meant pulling multiple orgasms from you. "I feel you tightening up. Keep it in."

(3) You went to pick him up from the bar. He wasn't one to drink, obviously. But, this was the first time in many years he's even agreed to go with his colleagues. He was on you like a savage animal on the dining table. Setting you on the middle of it. Clawing at your clothes as he crawled towards you. His large body covering yours. His hands cradled your head as he spoke roughly in your ear. "Missed this? Huh? To think... those people were so close to you." Your words came out like pants. His hand gripped your cheeks hard. "Speak.. brat." You clawed at his arms. The pleasure was so overwhelming. "Get your hands off me. Compose yourself and respond to what I said to you. NOW". Yes, sir.

Sylus: (1) You struck his pride. So, be prepared to face those consequences. One on your tits was in his mouth as he fucked into you so slowly. He bit on the soft squishy flesh. Leaving the same bite marks he left on your other breast. You didn't know what to beg for anymore. Beg for him to stop biting so hard? Or beg him to speed up? You wrapped your arms around his neck. Your eyes saying everything you wanted to say. Usually he'd accommodate, he'd smile at you and do whatever for your pleasure. But, he just moved his teeth to your shoulder. Then, to your collarbones. By the end you were littered with bite marks and desperate because he kept edging you towards an orgasm only to deny you. Motioning for you to leave his room even though he didn't cum either. "Leave. I'm tired."

(2) You were upside down. Your vision blurring every time his length pushes into the back of your throat. His evol kept you flush against his body face as he licked soft and slow swipes of your pussy. It seemed he was getting off on this. Going so desperately slow that you felt like it was torture. Your hands were tied behind your back, clawing at the manipulated energy of his evol. He groaned into your pussy as he rubbed the tip into the back of your throat again. His hands snaking to your head to keep his length deep in your mouth, grinding until you were forced to swallow all he had to give you. Giving your neglected bud a soft lick, making you crash to the edge quickly. He knew your body so well, made it so it was one of the most unsatisfying orgasms of your life. He chuckled into your folds, "what's the groan for?" You tried to speak even if his soft cock was in your mouth, but, you were cut off by him sucking on your bud. Eating you like a man starved. You whined. The sound was a warning for what was to cum. He pulled back when you gushed on his face, a gurgled sob escaping your throat. "Again. Give me ten more. I don't care how long it takes."

(3) His room had a massive mirror. You thought it was to admire himself or something. Only to find out he bought it the day after you both were intimate the first time. Now, he was using it to his advantage. His hands cupped your face forward as he pounded you from behind. His abs rubbing against your back as he smiled at you through the mirror. You head leaned forward, nuzzling into the black satin sheets only for him to use force your gaze back towards the mirror. "Kitten, I told you not to stop looking at the mirror". It was too much. He looked like a greek god with how his sweat dampened his hair, how it trickled down his eyebrow, how it glistened his abs. "You're tightening up, doll. Do you like this?"

Caleb: (1) His sweet girl is gone in his eyes. The moment he saw you on all those dates, it seemed like you faded away. But, lucky you... he was MORE than willing to bring you back. To show you who you belonged to. He wasn't acting like Caleb. No, absolutely not. He was Colonel Caleb. He would put you through this trial run and break you down until you knew better. His mechanical hand kept vibrating on your nub as his evol pinned you to the bed. You shrieked as you felt it heating up so much to the point it was an unbearable heat. "Nuh uh pips... Five more seconds." Your eyes were welling with tears. The pleasure and the uncomfortable burn was making you see stars and come back to in seconds. "One..." he kept pressing harder on your poor abused nub. "Two." You were squealing at this point. Wanting to cum so badly but the burn was making you move your hips away. "Three." He moved. The burn replaced with an ache and disappointment of not having an orgasm.

(2) You were sitting in the co-pilot seat as Caleb flew you personally. It should be a great honor to be here. To be flown by Colonel Caleb personally like he was your butler. Until he put it into autopilot. Pulling you on to his lap. Slipping his hard length into your greedy hole. "Make me cum in ten minutes. Go on. I'm not going to help you". Your hands were placed on his toned thighs as you rode him. His mouth latched on your tit. You didn't know if he was doing everything on purpose or not. Usually at the five minute mark he was pulling the condom off to fill you up properly. But, now it was eight minutes and nothing. Not even a drop of cum. You felt the aircraft drop. Hurdling to the earth. You looked at Caleb in panic. "Two minutes... you have two minutes for me to fix this." You barley made it on time. Your heart racing as he landed safely. Your womb full of his cum.

(3) Days like this you realized how strong Caleb was. He lifted you up in a full nelson position whilst keeping your crotchless panties on. Fucking into you hard as his evol kept you up. He used the time his hands were free to grab your phone. Easily getting in and going to your contacts. One by one he was deleting every single man in your contact list. "Did you go on a date with him? Hmm?" You had to be honest. Giving him a meek nod. He growled in your ear. Slamming into you harder as he blocked the number. "Going on dates... all while soaking my cock? Didn't take you for a slut, pips... don't worry. I'll make her pay the consequences." He rubbed your bud with his mechanical fingers. He smiled at the mess. His fingers grazing the fabric of your panties. "You'll give me this pair when I'm done with you." Your liquids sprayed all over the furniture. Gasping for air as he chuckled. "You're a big girl... you'll clean your filth up later."

FINAL DAY OF CONTRACT: Winter was finishing up. The promise of spring showing with how the blossoms were scattered on the streets. You had your hands deep into your pockets. Fingers shaking slightly with anticipation as you waited for him to say something, anything. He opened his mouth to speak but just as quickly shut it closed again. You didn't know why... but, you felt you needed to start the conversation. "I... I saw the engagement ring". You saw the way his shoulders shook. As if he wanted to cry or maybe he was just riddled with stress. His hands went into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out the box. The same cut, style and stone you wanted. Something so uniquely you. A promise that, no matter what, he'd always adore you.

Rafayel (pt.2): "My beloved bride... let's go home". You didn't need further coaxing. Smiling to yourself as you placed your things back into his house. He took you to the ocean, the waves hitting the shore so melodically that it almost lulled you to sleep. He smiled as he put down the blanket for a picnic, his gaze focused on the ring on your pretty finger. He kissed your temples as he whispered praises and confessions of love. "I love your eyes... kiss... your nose... kiss... your lips..." He pulled you to his lap. "Let me show you how much I love ALL of you."

Your bodies moved together like a beautiful dance. Your breasts pressed tightly on to his chest as he rocked up into you. "I love you..." "I love you..." "A-ah... I love you". You loved when he was like this. Cheeks and ears tinted in a rosy blush. How his eyes shut closed and he nibbles at his lower lip. He held you so close to him, his fingers rubbing your nub. "Come on... feel good on me. Please". You finally let go. The ecstasy and romance making it so overwhelmingly good. Especially how your walls were painted by his warm liquid love.

Xavier (pt.2): "My light... you're all I'll ever want." You both walked around Linkon. It was an unspoken thing between you two, walking aimlessly to expend the night as much as possible. He kept making excuses to look at your ring, even if he was the one who bought it. "Oh such a pretty ring madam... who got this for you?" He teased you all night. How beautifully your prince smiled as the sun started to set. His fingers intertwined with yours. Kissing your knuckles as you both headed home.

His kisses got more and more heated. Your apartment smelt just like you. You chest pressed against the wall, your leg propped up with his hand as he thrusted into you. "Sorry... I'll make it up to you. Promise." He groaned into your ear. You could feel his balls tense as he was reaching his peak. "S-shit... you feel so good.." You both flew off the edge. He pulled out a bit to spray the rest of his cum on your folds.

Zayne (pt.2): "My love... I'll always make time for you." He took you to a small bakery he found after the breakup. His smile never falling as he held on to your hand. The smell of croissants, cupcakes, chocolate, macaroons filling your nose. Warm rich hot chocolate filling your throat. He took your hand as he got his phone out, snapping a picture of your ring alongside the cute atmosphere of the bakery. "Help me with a caption, dear?"

He pants into your neck. His dick rubbing between your folds. The slit of his tip rubbing precum on your little nub. He kissed your neck as he groaned. "Fuck... I'm not even inside you yet and you feel this good." His thrusts sped up as he drizzled his cum on your folds. Grunting before he pushes his sensitive dick into your pussy. "I got one more... cum with me baby." You didn't even need to be told twice. His whimpering mess made you closer and closer to your orgasm.

Sylus (pt.2): "Kitten... what a beautiful art piece you are". When you got home everything was set up beautifully. Luke, Kieran and even Mephisto in on it. You could see the gold paint on Mephisto's beak and Luke & Kieran's hands. The dining table had an array of food scattered throughout. Sylus led you to your seat, seeing your name etched in gold on the side of it. Giving you a permanent seat in his dining table. He kissed your finger, right on the ring he got you. "Now... I'd get to see you every afternoon for dinner."

He made love to passionately. Cradling your head as he rocked gently into you. "There you go, angel. You feel so good, pure heaven." He kissed your face lovingly. Rocking a bit faster to get deeper inside you. Your legs shook gently as they wrapped around his waist. He nuzzled his cheek into yours. "Cum with me... please angel." You nodded as your walls tightened around his length, a clear sign you were there. He whispered sweet nothings into your ear as you both came together. His cum dripping out of you.

Caleb (pt.2): "Pipsqueak... I've been waiting for so long to call you my wife." He brought you back to his home in Skyhaven. Leading you to your shared room as he got a box from the closet. Handing you a photo album he was preparing for you. "It has all our memories... and some letters I was writing." You looked at your pictures from your childhood, high school years, when you'd visit each other during college. But, you saw the letters he made you. The poems and sonnets of him even as a young boy... all saying he'd marry you one day.

Your hands laid on his chest as you rode him gently. You panted and moaned as he stared up at you with those big puppy dog eyes. "Y-yes... you know my body so well..." You saw his muscles flex and twitch, so you kissed his temple. Seeing him bite his lip so hard you could've sworn he'd bleed. "I can't... fuck.. not until you do." You came hard on his length. Seeing his head roll back as he came inside you over and over again. Seeing the warm liquid spill out and coat your thighs.

Dipper's notes: It's a long one. Thanks for reading!

[smallestapplin]

Hello!! I hope you’re doing well!!!

I saw that you wrote for a reader x Decepticon harem and I think I had an interesting idea!

So we all know that TFP! Megs gets a little Eugh when he’s on that purple space crack, so who do you think would be the best for Reader to go hang out with when they want to avoid Zooted Megatron? Cause we all know it’s unnerving to be around someone when they’re unpredictable, so it’s natural that Reader would want to go “hide” with someone to stay out if possible conflict!

Thank you so much and have a great day!!!

Oohh good question. I think, in order in the transformers prime universe, it would be

Soundwave.

Breakdown.

Knockout.

-

Soundwave is number one as no one truly bothers him, and Megatron doesn't ask much of him. You can hide in his Chassis while he works.

In truth it's where you're safest, and Megatron won't see you in his dark energon state. Soundwave doesn't speak, but his slow and gentle actions so he cares, he doesn't want you hurt.

It's like being hidden in plain sight, and anyone who noticed dares not say a thing in fear of Soundwave, or Megatron possibly finding you.

-

I placed Breakdown above Knockout for one reason.

He's not caught up in shenanigans like Knockout is.

Breakdown is very sweet on you, you can hide in his large Chassis by his spark, or vibe in his habsuite. Besides Breakdown does get bored doing more mundane things he has to do, having you to keep him company is nice.

He'll usually have you on his shoulder, only rushing to hide you when he hears pedesteps.

-

Knockout is at the bottom of this list, but he's still a very safe option as he he's the entire medbay to himself most of the time, so you basically get to pick where you want to hide.

Besides he likes to pamper you, clean you, dress you up, make you look all cute.

He'd hate for his hard work to be ruined, so he keeps you hidden away and safe from a raging Megatron.

Not to mention he leaves the ship pretty often, even if it's to just street race. If you asked him if you could tag along, maybe get some fast food, stretch your legs, he'd be more than happy to.

Probably even call it date night.

-

What all three have in common is they would lie to Megatron's face about your whereabouts.

You are the decepticons darling, of course even in his feral state Megatron wants you, however his mood flip on a dime and he's not above throwing things.

You're squishy, at best you'd only get hurt, more realistically you'd be killed in the wake of his rampage.

-

Also, I know he joins the cons long after Megatron is freed from dark energon, but Dreadwing would also be a good choice.

You have his word, you'll never be hurt so long as he's there. He thinks you're odd in a cute way, and likes it when you pick him.

His wings will twitch behind him, happy.

Another Chassis to hide in, another one that's very spacious for you. And to feel your warmth next to his spark has him weak.

He will not cave, he will not break, you are his top priority here.

[holdmytesseract]

Safe Haven

Daryl Dixon x fem!Reader

Summary: When Daryl threatens to lose his grip and gets swallowed by the trauma he experienced in the Sanctuary, you try your best to catch him and being his safe haven he desperately needs.

Warnings: quite some angst, fluff, insecurity? mentions of scars, injuries and torture, nudity, FEELS, FEELS, FEELS

Set in Season 7!

Word Count: 3k

a/n: This story is based on an idea from @erebus-et-eigengrau . I hope you like how this turned out, lovely friend! 🤗

EoH Masterlist °☆• Daryl Masterlist °☆• Masterlist

"Daryl?" You spoke his name in a quiet voice as you took the archer's hand slowly and carefully in yours. His fingers twitched, but didn't pull away from your gentle hold. "Do you trust me?" Your voice was just above a whisper; so afraid to scare him off or make him feel even more comfortable than he probably already felt.

Tainted, yet still incredibly beautiful blue eyes met yours, as Daryl lifted his gaze; peeking through long strands of sweaty, greasy chestnut brown hair which hung in his face. You patiently waited for an answer while your thumb had absent-mindedly started to caress the rough skin on the back of his hand - an attempt to provide him some comfort and reassurance.

The archer started to nod; merely noticeable, but he did. "'M trustin' ya," he added quietly; voice even more raspy than usually. Hearing those words leaving his lips caused your heart to skip a beat. Sure, you and Daryl had been a thing for quite a few months now and deep down you knew that he had been always trusting you. Unless he'd have never opened his heart for you. But nevertheless was it wonderful to hear.

You nodded, "Okay." gently squeezed his hand and gave him a small smile. "Come with me?" Daryl nodded once more; wordlessly and let you guide him wherever it was you wanted to take him.

Your destination was the small trailer you - and now Daryl, shared in Hilltop. Crickets and some distant chatter from the other residents was all that could be heard alongside yours and the archer's steps through the grass.

You led Daryl inside your home and closed the door behind the both of you - never letting go of his hand. Not even for a second. Cautiously stepping closer, you lifted your free hand to cup his cheek; feeling the greyish hairs of his beard tickle your palm. Daryl's eyes fluttered shut at your touch; a soft gasp leaving his lips.

Your eyes widened. "Fuck..." You cursed under your breath; knowing that you just did what you swore you wouldn't do. Unintentional or not. "Daryl, no, I-" You inhaled a shaky breath; afraid to hurt him. "I put that wrong. I don't ask you to tell me what... What happened there. I would never force you to do so. Never. It's entirely up to you. Your decision." You gave his hand another reassuring squeeze. "A-All I wanted to say is... We need to give you a shower and fresh clothes... Your wounds... They... I don't want them to get infected. L-Let me take care of you, please?" Your gaze never left Daryl's; always checking in on him - on how he felt.

"My love... I won't ever force you to this..." you started; gently tracing the last remains of a bruise underneath the archer's eye. "Never, b-but-" Before you could even finish your sentence, you felt Daryl flinch slightly; a literal storm of emotions starting to rage inside his eyes - and you immediately realised that you had chosen the wrong words.

Daryl had escaped Negan and the Sanctuary not even a day ago and whatever they had done to him... Whatever he had experienced... You knew it was something traumatic. Something horrible. He hadn't told you. Not even a word - and you would never force him to do so. If he ever wanted to talk, you were going to welcome him with open arms and a sympathetic ear. You were his partner after all. You'd wait until he was ready to open up to you - whenever it might be. One day, one week, one month, one year - or hence, even never. All you cared about was his well-being and safety.

The archer swallowed at your words; seemingly giving your words a thought, before he bobbed his head in a small nod. "Y-Yeah, a'right," he whispered and turned his head only a few inches; just enough that he was able to press a feather-light kiss against your palm.

Another soft smile darted over your face and you retreated your hand from his cheek. Then you gave the hand which was still neatly tucked in yours a small tug; urging him on to follow you again - what he did.

The bathroom wasn't really spacious. Barely big enough to fit two people inside, but you had less and definitely worse. You wouldn't complain. Never. This was the end of the world after all. You'd take what you get and make it work.

Once again you closed the door behind the two of you, before returning to face the man you loved. "You trust me?" You repeated your question from earlier, now that he knew what you were up to - just to make sure. Your thumb worked gentle circles in the skin on the back of his hand.

It wasn't like you had never seen him shirtless or well, naked before, no. You did. That wasn't the point. But this right now... This was different. So much more... intimate. Perhaps the most intimate moment in your relationship so far, since you and the archer had yet to take the step of being physically joined. You, neither Daryl didn't want to just rush into things. You both agreed to take your time - which definitely proved to be the right decision, because you and the archer weren't exactly experts in romantic relationships.

Like before was Daryl's answer a clear 'Yes'. Giving his hand a last squeeze, you let go - much to the archer's dismay. His hand twitched - unbeknownst to you, as he held back the urge to chase after your hand - your reassuring touch, which kept him grounded.

Instead were hovering your hands now above his shoulders; fingertips grazing the plaid shirt he wore over the white t-shirt. "M-May I?" You asked hesitatingly; again afraid to make him feel uncomfortable, despite his promise of trust.

Nevertheless did it happen from time to time, that one would walk in on the other after a shower or while getting dressed to which you and Daryl got used to and normally were comfortable with. It had taken him quite a while longer than you, though, given the fact of how insecure he was. Not exactly about his body itself, but the scars which were covering it - a steady reminder of his abusive father and the traumatic past he had experienced. You felt absolutely honoured; heart aching with love, as he started to feel comfortable enough around you to be shirtless and even naked.

A higher declaration of love didn't exist. Not when your name was Daryl Dixon.

You squatted down and made quick work to untie the laces of his shoes. "Can you take off your shoes for me, love?"

"Y-Yeah," Daryl's deep voice managed to snap you out of your thoughts; giving you permission to help him. You smiled gently and shrugged the plaid shirt over his shoulders, down his arms; throwing it carelessly aside on the floor. Next was the sweaty, stained t-shirt he wore.

"Can you...?" You asked; gently tapping his elbows. "O-Or does it hurt?" Wordlessly, Daryl lifted his arms and let you pull the dirty t-shirt slowly and carefully over his head; leaving him shirtless - and the sight you were greeted with caused a gasp to leave your lips. His upper body was littered with bruises and cuts. Your heart ached seeing all his injuries; violently inflicted to the man you loved. You swallowed hard, "Daryl..." quietly calling out his name; voice filled with hurt. The archer lowered his head. "'S okay... H-Had worse," he muttered and definitely tried to downplay the extent of his pain - physically and probably even mentally.

You instantly shook your head. "N-No, it... It's not. They hurt you..." Tears gathered in your eyes, as your fingertips hovered over a particularly dark bruise on his rips. You didn't receive an answer. Daryl's eyes were still directed at the ground, but you could see that he was chewing on the inside of his bottom lip. You couldn't quite tell what was going on in that pretty head of his. Was it insecurity? Shame? Guilt? Fear? All of it? Whatever it was that had captured the archer's mind, you knew it wasn't good and therefore immediately tried to pull him out of this again.

Your hand found his again; fingers intertwining as you guided him towards the trailer's shower. You slid the creme-white curtain aside and opened the tap; hand underneath the water jet to feel the temperature. Once the water was pleasantly warm, you turned to face Daryl. "Water is ready. I, uh, I'm going to give you some space now, okay? Call me whenever you need me, yeah? I'll be just outside the door." You squeezed his hand and gave him another soft smile, before letting go and stepping aside.

Your tender voice urging to Daryl's ears seemed to do the trick. Slowly, he lifted his gaze; even more troubled blue eyes meeting yours, as he started to kick off his shoes, together with the socks.

Now there was only his jeans and underwear left. Hesitatingly, you reached for the button and zipper of his pants. Locking eyes with the archer once more, you silently asked for his permission again. When there was no objection, you continued and helped him step out of his jeans first and lastly out of the grey, absolutely uncomfortable looking briefs. A few small grunts left his lips; clearly indicating that his body was definitely aching and hurting - which gave your heart another jolt. And Daryl? Daryl didn't even do as much as flinch. His gaze was still directed on the floor; his mind most likely returning to wander down that dark path like minutes before.

You cursed yourself internally.

Space. The word echoed through Daryl's head like the ring of a gunshot. Well, it certainly felt like a bullet had pierced his heart to leave him aching and bleeding. Space... It was the last thing he wanted from you. Watching you walk away only caused to double the pain. He needed you as close as possible. You had been already too far away from him for the last weeks. He couldn't bear to lose you again - even if it was just for a few minutes.

"N-No, please... Stay. D-Dun'- Dun' wantcha to go," he whispered; voice strained and raspy. It caused you to stop dead in your tracks. Stay? He wanted you to stay? Your heart skipped yet another beat. You swiftly turned to face him once again. The expression on Daryl's face broke you. He looked so... lost. Desperate. Afraid. And once again, you immediately noticed that you had just committed another mistake.

How could you leave him alone after all he's been through; thinking he needed the space, when it was clearly written all over his face that he needed everything but space?

"Of course, I'll stay. If that's what you want..." You spoke in a compassionate voice; the gears in your brain turning.

"Do you feel comfortable enough for me to join you? T-That okay for you, o-or...?" You asked Daryl cautiously; not wanting to take this too far. But to your slight surprise nodded the man opposite you immediately. "Please..." That one word was enough.

You made quick work to shed your own clothes; leaving you entirely bare as well. Daryl didn't make a sound. Except for shy eyes travelling your now exposed body - and his cheeks flushed. You took his hand in yours again; unbeknownst anchoring him to you - to the here and now and not letting him wander off to the Sanctuary again.

With a soft smile, you gently tucked at the archer's hand; pulling him into the shower and underneath the pleasantly warm water jet after you.

He was visibly comfortable - and that was all that mattered.

The water was quick to get the both of you soaking wet; Daryl's chestnut brown bangs sticking to his face. You brought your hands up and gently peeled the loose strands away and out of his face; not missing the opportunity to caress his beardy cheeks. The archer just stared at you in silence and didn't even move an inch. He relied completely on you, as if he had lost the control over his own body. His heart in the palm of your hands.

"C'mere, sweets," your voice grabbed his attention - and the lack of warm water cascading down his beaten and bruised body. He blinked and took a step closer to you. "I'm going to wash your hair now, is that okay?" Daryl gave a confirming nod and within seconds had you squirted some shampoo on your hands and buried them in his curls; massaging gently. The man's eyes slipped shut with a cute grunt and groan of relaxation and satisfaction. You couldn't help but smile.

While you washed the archer's hair, he was fighting the urge to bury his head in the crook of your neck and shoulder; hands twitching to cup your hips - but he didn't dare to do so; too afraid to cross a line. He didn't want to do something wrong and push you away. It was a nightmare he wasn't strong enough to fight right now. Never - if he was being honest.

Once you had rinsed the brown mop of hair on his head, you moved on to his body - but not without asking for his consent again. You were even more hesitant and cautious in that regard, since touching his head and touching his whole body were two very different things...

"Dar... Will you allow me to..." You questioned him almost nervously; trailing off and kinda awkwardly gesturing between the bottle of shower gel and him. "I-I don't have to. Y-You can-" "I trust ya." And once again were - this time three - words enough from the man in front of you to jump into action; feeling a rush of love flooding your veins. He was trusting you enough to let you touch his body. Even in the vulnerable state he was currently in. It meant the world to you and you were determined to show him. You gave him yet another sweet smile and went to work; always making sure to capture his eyes now and then to make sure he was still okay with what your hands were doing.

Rinsing off the remaining soap, you got the first real close look of the tattoo on his shoulder blade and his scars, of course. You felt a pang of compassion and sorrow deep in your heart. Life had certainly left its marks on him. That much was clear. He didn't deserve this... All the pain. All the hurt. All the losses he had to endure. It wasn't fair.

You started with his soaping his upper body; feeling the bumps of his scars underneath your palm - what you didn't mind at all, of course. You had told him a hundred of times by now that he was beautiful to you no matter what.

Your touch was soft and delicate; making sure to not hurt him and being cautious about his cuts and bruises. Unfortunately, you couldn't prevent the shower gel from getting into the deeper cuts, which caused Daryl to hiss and you to repeatedly mutter the words 'I'm so sorry.'. Then you moved on to his legs and gave them a gentle scrub as well, before you went to rinse the soap off of his body again; starting with the front and lightly tapping his shoulder to signal him to turn around for you - what the archer did. Wordlessly - but words weren't needed anyway. Not between the both of you.

Returning the shower head back into its holder, you felt the overwhelming urge to give him all the love he deserved and slowly snuck your arms around his waist; pressing your smaller body against his back. Daryl flinched slightly at the sudden contact, but his muscles relaxed instantly again; knowing it was you and not just anybody. And yet he couldn't stop the gasp to leave his mouth when your lips started to trail a path of kisses over ever single scar and bruise; mapping out his broad back.

Until now.

Daryl's eyes slipped shut; a feel of love and comfort rushing through his veins - so much, it was overwhelming. It was like the connection he shared with you had reached a new kind of depth - in the most positive way. He hadn't felt this loved and accepted in years, decades even. Not before you stumbled into his life.

Daryl had felt like falling deeper and deeper; a dark hole sucking him in. It was like his body was present, but his mind still stuck in the hellhole Negan had caged him in.

Emotions exploded within Daryl; his heart threatening to burst from his ribcage with all the love it was feeling. He couldn't help himself but to turn in your embrace and press his forehead against the crook of your neck; not hesitating this time.

Now all he could feel and see was you. Even when he closed his eyes.

Sure, the archer's mind would still need some more time to heal, but you had caught him; kept him from losing his grip.

His sudden movement caught you by surprise at first, but then you just smiled and buried your hands in his wet curls, while Daryl's calloused, gentle hands skimmed over your bare back, sides and hips. But not in a sexual way. All the archer wanted was to feel you; needing to convince his brain that you were truly real - and his. Yes, it was the most intimate moment you and Daryl shared - and it was perfect.

Sure, sex was great, but that... That was a whole other level of intimacy. It was so much more.

You were so lost in the moment, that you didn't notice how your archer's tears mixed with the warm water still cascading down over your intertwined bodies, as he almost frantically held onto you.

Tags: @angelwings-crossbowstrings @belitoxx @lou12346789 @fictive-sl0th @marvelcasey05 @loz-3 @mischief-dream @whore4romance @stitchintimefan @making-the-most-0f-it @erebus-et-eigengrau @km-ffluv @0-aubrie0 @sweetz1919 @mikaela-granger @secretsicanthideanymore @dilfdixon @txtttttttttttttt @dixons-sunshine @stiveroon @cakesandtom @mayday2007

If you'd like to be added to my taglist, please let me know! 🤗

[grimdarling69]

Another deaged Dan and Ellie or otherwise known as Crack pt 6

Pt1. Pt2. Pt3. Pt4. Pt5.

Kon could immediately tell something was wrong with the kryptonite weapons firing at them. Another green blur shot at himnand he spun in the air over it. A move to evade the blast and check on his family.

The kryptonite guns had just enough kryptonite for it to be dangerous only if the blast hit them. They'd immediately go down. Another blast entered his field of vision, and he swerved to the side. He tried to use his supervision but was only met with lead. They couldn't get closer because of the guns, and he could see Jon get angrier his eyes glowed red in warning of his laser, and Kon flew up to evade him.

"Superboy! Don't use them it could deflect -" his father spoke from his higher position quite a few paces away from them, but Jon ignored him.

The vision hit the gun, and the metal melted into orange, red, and green mess. Like an ugly Christmas tree. Weird. Usually, Luthor would have more security than this. Something is officially wrong.

The batjet he'd been keeping an ear out for since he left finally arrived just as Jon melted another one. The jet swerved the blasts even though he doubted it could even hurt them at this point. The jet shot st a few of the blaster and destroyed them an even more explosive mess. Kon used his own vision, his glasses held in place below the lasers on his face with his hand. Another gun exploded, and his father finally got the hint and exploded several of his own.

The jet careened around them and expertly angled between the already destroyed guns and landed onto the beach. He continued exploding the guns but kept an ear out for the bats on the beach. The ones closest to him were mostly destroyed, so he joined his father in his sector while Jon landed on the beach.

Good luck.

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

Jason was not having a good time at all. Not to say he expected to have a great time rescuing his little brother, but he was hoping to try to get some of the bubbling green rage under control by demolishing some robots. He may possibly not have the best guns for demolishing these robots, he was handling it of course, he was a bat after all, he'd be an even worse disappointment if he couldn't handle some glowing green robots that remind him heavily of thing he'd prefer to leave in the past. He risked a glance toward Dick and could see him take down several robots in an expert acrobatic movement that sent him soaring off each of their head and switching between crushing or electrocuting them with his escrima sticks. Show off.

One of the robots he was fighting suddenly crackled and burned a smoking trail into the sky before exploding and sent himself and several other robots crashing into the walls and each other. It must have been faulty wiring. He knew he didn't touch that one, Babs was still mostly blocked out, and none of his siblings were running to patronize him for getting hurt. If he didn't know better, he'd say the robots were cheaply made, but that's never been Lex Luthors style.

"Red Hood. Help Red Robin turn the robots off in the central monitor room. We need to manually plug Oracles systems into the computers here." Right. Thank you, Bruce, for always being there at the worst possible times. He groaned and attempted to shake the tweeting birds away from his head.

"On it, Batman." He couldn't bring himself to use any stupid nicknames right now. He cataloged all the other bats just in case. Goldie was still the same show off. Red Robin had knocked out his robots and joined him for destroying his wave. Spoiler and Signal were in the rafters doing... something with his powers and reflective baterangs. He wasn't touching that with a fifty foot pole no way. They had a tendency to make things explode with those things. Orphan and Batman were still outside the burning hole in the wall they blasted to get through, so he couldn't find them, but they were probably kicking ads anyway. Suddenly, Tim launched himself backward through the air using his staff and landed behind him, hunkering down and messing with his wristcomputer. That assshole definitely planted explosives. He quickly got one last hit on the current robot and used it to launch himself past his head. Just as he landed, several small bombs exploded on the robots and collided with each other, creating more explosions.

"Time to go Hood."

"Lead on, Replacement."

----------

Why does Superman always disrupt my plans? Not just Superman, he reminds himself, he'd brought their son and his brother. As well as Daniel's family or Damian, whatever. The bats were the worst destroying his robots and his walls. Okay, maybe he didn't have the best robots here because they might be missing quite a few parts and kryptonite. But he needed for the portal, and both Vlad Masters and Lex Luthor were anything but resourceful.

The monitor beeped erratically. Gods above if Damian was going to flatline again. He technically wasn't flatlining but pumping ectoplasm through his heart instead of blood at that moment, and that messed with moniters, and when that happens, nurses get all hysterical and almost actually flatline him.

It wouldn't be such a problem if Damian wasn't severely lacking ectoplasm. Typically, his blood was made of both of it. All that rest from the medicine induced coma that he put him in certainly helped him fight the corruption and was now creating his own. See, if only Damian listened to him more often. It'd be better for everyone.

The moniter died down again, and he sighed and ran a hand down his face.

"Whatever am I going to with you?" He muttered with his head leaning back.

"Maybe stop beating me up." He shot up toward the voice. He wasn't supposed to be awake yet, but this was better anyway. He had to get him into the portal before the bats destroyed all the robots. Another litte voice in his brain betrayed him and reminded him the portal was still not done, and they were closing in.

"Little Badger, you know I don't start fights. I end them." He reprimanded.

"And you know I hate that nickname, and we both know you start fights all the damn time."

"Language." Damian stared unimpressed at him. How was he meant to explain this? The supers and bats somehow discovered where we are and are fighting their way in and are currently tearing the main control room apart? Actually, that isn't that bad.

He told Damian just that, and somehow, he didn't seem to like his paraphrasing. Can't please anyone anymore.

"What do you mean my family is here? How could they track us? This isle is supposed to be superproof."

"I don't know, but I don't have some ideas. I believe Susan has betrayed our trust and ratted us out. I will unfortunately have to fire her, and I was just beginning to like her." He sighed. All the best employees turn out to be useless and disloyal. That's why he prefers A.I. Until it started to betray him, too. Ugh. Never get good help anywhere nowadays.

"Vlad! Focus! I need to get to the portal right now!" He winced.

"Well, about that -" Damian shot up and stumbled on his legs from not moving for two weeks, probably. He reached to steady him.

"Don't touch me! Leave me alone." His godson growled and scampered past him. He left the medical area and quickly started studying his current readings and calculations.

" I've already checked hundreds of times. I can't find out what's wrong with it." He tried to explain but was forced to watch, and Damian grabbed a random red pen and started scribbling all over his things. He sighed again. Teenagers.

"I've got it!" Oh you've got to be kidding me!

"You're trying to create your fancy portal. We don't have the time or materials for that, but we can recreate The Fenton Portal. Most of the ectoplasm is soda anyway. I stashed some in the fridge around here since you banned me from drinking it while we were working." He explained already halfway across the lab and opening a fridge labeled 'chemicals only'. Why does he even try anymore?

More alerts were popping up. Most of his robots were down now and the last remaining ones were the brainless ones not connected to the central computer that luckily he didn't have connected to some of his tech just in case, including this lab. Which now meant he would need to take control of the robots himself. Unless he wanted them to be defeated in less than a minute. Luckily again, most of the kryptonite he had that he hadn't rerouted into the portal was inside those portals.

"I'm going to attack your family now." He announced, cracking his knuckles and hacking into his own robots easily.

"Don't kill them, or I'd have to kill you." He replied, ripping and welding parts together. He's pretty sure he just watched him weld something together with 7up. Nope. Not today.

-----------

Jon was feeling...off. He, for some strange reason, felt an urge to let himself be hit by the kryptonite. Not in a suicidal way, but in a way, he instinctively wanted to be...with the kryptonite. Something that is incredibly dangerous to kryptonians like him even if he's only half.

For a while, he dodged guns, destroyed guns, destroyed robots, and then the Reds destroyed the main computer, and most of the robots deactivated until... the robots suddenly started to get stronger and smarter.

TV moniters suddenly flickered on and Lex Luthor was displayed.

"Luthor! Return Damian Wayne now to uss and we will consider lessening your sentence." His father spoke loudly, assuming mics were around somewhere.

"Oh really? You've never been able to get those charges to stick before. What make you think they'll suddenly stick now?" He mocked cruelly.

"You won't get away with this, this time, Luthor." Batman threatened.

"Coming from the man who can even get a failed circus clown to stay in prison? I think I'll be fine."

"Luthor, I know that something is going on. If you tell us we can help you." Nightwing spoke masterfully, emphasizing the man who stole his little brother. He didn't trust he wouldn't stare screaming and yelling at the crazy fruitloop if he tried to say anything. Wait-fruitloop? Where did that come from? He shook his head to clear the thought, but he somehow made eye contact with the shadow he suspected to be Orphan. Who is somehow emitting a very concerned aura. He ignored that and focused on the conversation just in time to hear large explosions from the TV.

"Damian!" Nightwing yelled out. Superman glanced around wildly as if trying ti will himself into seeing or hearing through lead.

He was concerned... but he didn't feel as worried as he should be for his best friend. Like he was definitely worried but he had a gut feeling he would be fine. And a little exasperated for some reason.

"What the hell are you doing? Get back to work! If we don't get that portal open before they find us, I'm going to rearrange your organs upside down!" Luthor yelled behind him. He could feel his face heat up, and he covered his eyes just in case.

"Don't you dare threaten him!" Nightwing yelled at the screen. Batman was starting at his wrist screen as if it would disappear if he looked away. The shadow had slunked away sometime. Spoiler and Signal nowhere to be seen.

"What are you gong to do? Reach through the screen and throttle me?" He taunted.

The screen suddenly started to glitch out in green bursts. It reminded him of kryptonite but...

"I've found them. Follow these directions. I'm almost there myself." He overheard Signal from Batmans comms. He repeated them twice, but he had already grabbed Nightwing and saw his dad grab his own bat. They couldn't go as fast as he wanted to because of the tight spaces, making superspeed dangerous to the supports. If they went too fast, the building could go down on them. They went faster than they should have anyway.

They reached the door where Signal, Spoiler, and Orphan were trying to wrench the doors off the hinges using several blowtorches and a misshapen crowbar.

"I've got it." He set Nightwing on the ground and cleared the door off the hinges just to see a large explosion of green. And Lex Luthor shooting powered up kryptonite(?) from his hands.

He dodged the blasts but his father wasn't able to and was sent flying to the wall smoking.

"Dad!" He screamed his anger at him forgotten. He flew over him and he vaguely remembers a yellow blur following him.

There was a smoking crater on his chest. Burns of all degrees decorating his suit.

"Dad?" He collapsed to the floor infront of him.

"It's okay, Jon. It's not that... bad... it looks worse than is. I promise. Go...bakc to the...fight." his dad spoke, his voice cracking, and he knew his dad was completely powered down. He had to get him to the sun.

"I'm getting you out of here." He promised and gathered him into his arms carefully. He was about to laser several random walls down when Signal handed him the closest trajectory to the outside.

"Hurry. We can handle this." He lied. They couldn't handle a powered Luthor, and he's couldn't let his dad die. He nodded and turned his head away, and his eyes lit up in burning pools of red.

----------

The green was mesmerizing. The only word Cass could describe it. Like it was the only thing that could understand her. It reminded her of the Lazarus Pits.

She ran inside with Spoiler, Nightwing, and Batman close behind. Luthor tried to shoot at them, but they dodged skillfully. She looked past him and could see Damian typing madly on a computer. His movements were deliberate, and he knew what he was doing, but his body betrayed hum to her. His fingers were still, but his wrist twisted slightly too much. His ankles shifted weight between one another. His head tilted backward like he was physically stopping himself from looking at them.

"Damian!" Nightwing vaulted over a blast.

Damian froze for a second but willed himself to continue with new determination, painting his body. Something wasn't right. He should be running to them. Telling them he had a plan they ruined but would pause for enough time they knew he was struggling if they asked for it.

"Damian? We're here to save you!" Nightwing dodged another blast. She could see his plan. Distract both Damian and luthor. It was working, too. Luthor was occssionly shooting her, but he'd all but forgotten about Batman and Spoiler in the rafters.

Damian wasn't at all easily distracted she could tell from his headtilt he was watching them. He sped up the computer. The large portal machine expanded, and greens swirled around.

"Shut it down, Damian!" Nightwing shouted, attempting to rush luthor but failing. She launched herself using the distraction to take luthor out. He is somehow stronger than she can remember flung her off rough enough she hit the wall. She saw stars and failed to rise. Her vision was blurring, but she could see Batman's blurry figure attempting to subdue luthor and succeeding. Where's spoiler?

There she is! Spoiler kumped down on top of Luthor and put meta cuffs on him using the elemnt of suprise. Nightwing reached Damian just as the portal exploded, adding unfamiliar purples mixed in. Nightwing was thrown back, but he recovered and ran back. Batman and Luthor struggled in vain for control. She blinked, and Spoiler was a purple blur at her side.

Her body riddled with worry. She reached out and gently prodded her for injuries.

"Fine. Help little... brother." she tried to say, but it was mostly slurred from the blood loss. Spoiler glanced at her nervously and took out her field aid.

"No. Fine." She attempted to convey, but she just shushed her quietly. She turned back to the fight just in time to catch Damian slip through the portal. Nightwing didn't hesitate to run after him.

"No!" Her father's voice and anguished growled after watching two sons slip through. He tried to follow them, but Luthor got free and broke the computer powering. Just as Batman reached the edge, he hesitated, and the portal fizzled out.

She tried to stay awake but the gentle shushing from Spoiler lulled her into the embrace of darkness.

---------

Dick Grayson hit the strange glowing bluish snow and rolled to a soft stop. He looked around frantically and spotted Damian kneeling on the ground. He had his arms wrapped around himself, and his face was screwed up in pain.

"Damian!" He ran to him and kneeled by his side, hesitating to grab his son if he was injured but wanting to scoop him up after being missing for two months now.

"You shouldn't be here." He murmured but he leaned against him heavily.

"I've been looking for you everywhere. We almost thought you were dead." He gave up looking for physical injuries apart from the maybe a mix between 1st and 2nd degree burns and clutched his son to his chest.

"It's not...safe for you...here."

"And it is for you?" He gathered him in his arms best he could, minding the burns on him. Neither of them were wearing clothes meant for the storm.

The strange snow was colder than any snow he's ever seen before, and it had an otherworldly component to it. Another point for the interdimensinal portal. Behind then sharp hissing screeched behind them and the greens snd purples disappeared. Shit. That was their way out.

"Who goes there?" A large voice echoed from the trees and he cursed himself for not studying his surrounding more. A large...yeti? Emerged from the pine trees he wore armor and had a ice prosthetic hand. He looked mean and rugged.

"Frostbite!" Damian yelled from his arms and started struggling. He gripped him tighter. Like hell, he was letting him loose after everything. Even if he somehow knew this kinda of cool looking yeti. The yetis eyes lit up in what he thinks his recognition.

"Great one? Have you returned to us? Who is this?" The yetis voice was softer but still dangerous he kept his mouth shut and hoped Damian knew what to say.

"My-baba? We need to get your village. I need some help." Wow. Damian had never acknowledged he was anything other than his older brother before. If he wasn't a bat and damn good at compartmentalizeing, he'd probably start crying. Or pass out. Probably both.

"All right then, Great One. Any family or friends of his is friends of ours. Follow me."

Which is how he came to be standing in the middle of an entire town of yetis getting scrutinized by Frostbite(?).

"So how did you meet our King? I've never seen you before." He questioned curiously. What the actual fuck did he get into now.

[lizthewriter]

now i'm all about you / theodore nott

PAIRING  best friend!theo nott x reader

SUMMARY  theo pushes you to realize how toxic your boyfriend is and how you deserve much better. theo being much better. (tw: reader's boyfriend calls her explicit names)

QUOTE  "clung to the nearest lips, / long story short it was the wrong guy, / now i'm all about you," - long story short by taylor swift

WORD COUNT  1.8K

WRITTEN  7.13.2024

theo glared at the wall with an unbridled fury as he rubbed your back, your sobs filling the room. he was going to kill him.

who was him, exactly? oh just your good-for-nothing boyfriend. now theodore loved with his whole heart. he truly did. but he couldn't for the life of him understand why you were going out with an absolute wanker like him.

you were so paticular about who you allowed in your life - but this arse somehow slipped his way through the cracks. this boy somehow always found a way to make you crawl into theo's arms with tears in your eyes, a broken heart, and wounded pride. and damn it, he's been holding himself back from knocking sense into ypu because he was afraid that kind of talk was coming from the fact that he'd been bloody in love with you since the day he first laid eyes on you. but he knew it was beyond that now. all he wanted was for you to be happy - and you very obviously weren't.

"hey, do you think you can look at me for a second?" theo asked in a gentle tone, shifting away from you slightly to get you to pop up out of your shell. you raised your head away from his chest (where his sweater was now damp with your tears) - he practically felt his heart break at your apperance. cheeks shiny with tears, eyes red and puffy from crying, hair frizzy and messy.

"i am telling you this as your best friend and someone who cares about you," theo started slowly, taking your hand and placing it in his. "you're an amazing person. and you don't deserve to be treated like this. you deserve to be treated like - like a queen! all right? this shitty guy shouldn't get a single sickle of your time."

"but - but what if this is the best i can get?" you asked with a sniffle, the waterfall of tears returning as your chest heaved. another pang of his heart, another surge of his rage. "what if i break up with him and then i'm alone forever cause no one else wants me?"

"i promise you, that's not true," theodore told you reassuringly. "i'm not complimenting you to be nice, i'm being honest, you're genuinely one of the best people I've ever met and i'm grateful i have you in my life . . . anyone else who's fortunate enough to be friends with you will see and recognize that as well. please. for your sake. break up with him. he only ever makes you upset. and you deserve to be happy."

the responsive silence weighed more heavily on theo than it probably did on you.

"maybe you're right," you sniffled in response. you wiped away your tears with the edge of your sleeve before theo offered you a tissue. "i deserve to be happy."

he smiled softly. "that's right."

"yeah . . . why do i get to be treated like this when i'm nothing but a great girlfriend?" you exclaimed angrily. "i mean, does he go sobbing to his friends about this stuff or is he just going about his life like- like he's not ruining mine?"

you stood up suddenly. "thank you, theo. you made me realize something today. i'll be right back."

"wait, i didn't mean break up with him no-" he wasn't even able to finish his sentence before you slammed the door to his dorm behind you as you rushed out of the room. he sighed, then chuckled. "well, that was anticlimactic," he said sarcastically to himself.

-

you laughed gaudily, your nose buried in a bouquet of flowers. your arm wrapped around him. your eyes admiring him. your body leaning against him.

what a prick, theo thought.

your "boyfriend" was manipulating you and you couldn't even see it. or at least, you didn't want to see it. see, you had confronted him. made a whole scene in front of his friends. landed a stark slap across his face. but he just as easily won you back in your moment of post-relationship weakness. by bringing you flowers and chocolate a promising to be better.

and here you were in hogsmeade, where you had invited him on a double date. you hooked him up with one of your friends, who was obviously very into theo and very dissappointed to see theo not granting her even a moment of his attention. she sat grumpily beside him, sipping on her butterbeer while grumbling under her breath.

"i'm going to grab us some more drinks," you said with a wide grin, getting up out of your chair. turning around, you bumped into another student trying to carry an obscene amount of butterbeer which accidentally slipped down your entire front. soaking your shirt, causing the thin fabric to cling to your chest.

"watch where you're going!" your boyfriend shouted at the kid, who mumbled apologies under his breath as he began to clean the mess he had made. he grabbed a handful of napkins from the center of the table, beginning to wipe at your chest, but you gently pushed his hands away as you wrapped your eyes around your body to protect from the wandering eyes of neighboring tables. "and you, couldn't you wear something a little less . . . showy?" he asked you under his breath, all though theo could hear him well enough. "i don't need other guys looking down your shirt."

"there's- there's nothing wrong with my shirt," you mumbled, receding further within yourself.

"you look like a cheap whore walking around like that."

you shut your eyes tight, almost as if you were afraid of standing up for yourself. "you said i looked pretty earlier."

"don't you dare call her that. and stop trying to police what she's wearing," theo said suddenly, getting up from the table and wrapping a protective arm around you. your boyfriend narrowed his eyes at theo. "when you should be helping her instead."

he took what was supposed to be an intimidating step towards theo. "take your hands off of my girlfriend."

theo chuckled bitterly. "your girlfriend? you certainly don't treat her like one."

"i'm warning you."

"just stop," you said quietly, placing a hand on your boyfriend's chest. "i was right. this . . . this wasn't a good idea. thank you for the flowers and the drinks but we're done."

you didn't even look him in the eyes as your hand slipped away from him and theo turned around, leading you out of the three broomstick.

"you're a little bitch you know that?" he called after you, causing the whole bar to go deathly silent. "probably cheating on me with theodore 'i miss my mommy' nott. date a pathetic loser like that and see-"

the crowd let out a collective gasp as he was suddenly shut up by theodore's fist meeting his mouth. red rinsed theo's knuckles - he couldn't tell if the blood was his own or your boyfriend (well, ex-boyfriend he now supposed) but to be honest, he didn't care. "you keep your filthy mouth shut," theodore spat.

"that's it! you two, out of my pub!" madam rosmerta exclaimed, shooing you and theodore away with a rag. as you left, you glanced behind you to see her giving your ex a good verbal beating. "oh and the headmaster will be hearing about this! students fighting, in my pub! not in so many years have i seen such disrespect to a public establishment!"

"here," theo said, placing his rather large coat around your shoulders as the two of you exited the three broomsticks. "are you okay? he said some pretty shitty things to you back there."

"i'll be fine," you responded with a weak smile. "i'm really sorry, you shouldn't have had to-"

"i wanted to. punch him in the face, i mean. he deserved it." the two of you soaked in the silence wrought on by your awkwardness. "he's wrong. you're not a - you know, what he called you. and i don't think anyone in that pub would assume that of you either."

"that means a lot to me, theo . . ." you paused, reflecting on your past relationship. "you want to know something?"

"hm?"

"i knew he was bad for me. of course, deep down, i knew. i guess i just hoped that he would be the person i thought he could be, the best version of himself. but . . . he didn't turn out that way." you buried your face in your hands and sighed. "merlin i feel so stupid."

"you're not stupid," theo reassured you, stopping in the middle of the road to place both his hands on your shoulder. "you're optimistic and you always believe the best in those around you. and that's one of the things that i- i love about you. it's not your fault that not everyone deserves your kindness."

the corner of your lips curled upwards and for a moment, you felt your heart pang in your chest. the way theo was looking at you, well, you didn't want to delude yourself, but there was so much love in his gaze. so much kindness and compassion. and looking back on your friendship, you can't remember him having done all the things he's done for you for anyone else. and you can't think of a single moment, at a drop of a quill, that he wasn't there for you when you needed him.

"you're too kind to me, theo," you mumbled in embarrassment, your cheeks growing red at his praise.

"i'm not kind, only honest, you know this."

"i- i can't help but think there's a reason you're so nice to me," you suggested subtly. it seemed so obvious to you now - it made so much sense. "theo, you have been there for me whenever i needed you. and you've helped me through so much. it's hard to think you'd do all that for someone you just consider . . . a friend."

theo paused and his silence made you nervous. maybe you were looking too much into it, reading too much into it?

"if my care for you were coming from a different place . . . hypothetically, how would you respond?" he asked, nervously shifting the weight of his body from one foot to the other.

"hypothetically, i'd say i would need some time to properly move on but i wouldn't mind going on a hypothetical date," you responded, pretending to consider the prospect. "that is, of course, if you can fit one into your hypothetical schedule."

theo smiled, a grin so wide you were sure his face would split in half. "i think i'd hypothetically be able to work something out."

[phoenix-art-official]

Stan did things to survive he wasn't proud of. Just now, he was using his teeth to break off the locking mechanism of the car trunk he was tied up in. He felt cracks and jolts of pain, and he kept having to swallow blood, and every moment that passed was another that he had to think about everything that had lead him here.

Betrayal, mostly. Cruelty, definitely. Stupidity, sadly.

Stan knew he was stupid. He thought he had wised up over the years, but it turned out he was just as gullible and hopeful as he had ever been. Even now some small part of him was planning on finding the closest payphone as soon as he got out of here, so he could waste a couple of quarters calling a man who he hadn't spoken to in years and who hadn't cared about him in even longer.

He'd made friends on the road. Or he thought so, anyway, but it turned out those "friends" were actually "enemies," and those "girlfriends" and "wives" were also "enemies." Go figure.

His shoulder cracked from where it lay on the floor and he groaned through his teeth. He thought for sure he'd popped the damn thing back in its socket. Oh well. He liked to brag about being able to pick any lock with his hands tied behind his back and blindfolded, but so far that didn't seem to extend to field medicine. Or maybe that was just because he had already wriggled out of the blindfold.

He was maybe panicking a bit. Which was good, he needed the adrenaline. It helped him keep yanking and tugging and cracking against that stupid latch, no matter how often he had to pause because he felt enamel crunch between his jaws instead of metal. That familiar beating in his chest, in his head, in his soul.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Sur-vive. Sur-vive. Sur-vive.

Eventually, the trunk popped open. Eventually, a haggard, sweaty man covered in blood wriggled out and flopped onto the sand. Eventually, he pulled his hands down around his feet and in front of himself, popped his shoulder into its socket again, and broke the zip ties around his wrists and ankles. Eventually, he levered himself upright and shivered in the cold Nevada night air, looking at the miles of stars above and desolate nothing below. Eventually, he saw the light pollution down the road and began stumbling towards it.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Well, he hadn't died this time. That was good. And what was more, he currently had a grand total of a dirty dress shirt, some jeans, some loafers, a fleece hoodie, and... oh yeah, absolutely fuck-all else. He was also beat to hell, probably concussed, thirsty, hungry, cold, and...

Huh. How did he feel?

The physical, bodily complaints were always loud and easy to pinpoint. But emotionally, where he expected a white-hot boiling furnace of rage in his chest, he felt instead something icey cold, heavy, and leaden.

Hm.

He made it to a gas station. There was a payphone under flickering sodium lights, a single car being filled with gas- Stan still couldn't say he missed not being able to siphon gas, everyone pumping it themselves made it so much easier- and a young woman doing the filling. He started towards the payphone, not even really thinking about what he would do when he got there, and then someone screamed.

It was the woman. She stared at him. He stared back. The light flickered over her wide eyes. A long moment passed where Stan didn't really know how to fix that.

He lifted a hand to wave reassuringly at her, spin some tall tale, maybe ask for a bit of change.

"Stay back!" she shouted. Then she took off a shoe, screamed, "Scram," threw it at him, and got into her car, driving off into town.

The shoe hit him in the face.

It didn't hurt that much. It was just a shoe. Everything else hurt way more. Especially his jaw.

So why did he feel like he was dying?

Maybe because it was always like this. People shouting at him, throwing things, telling him to "Get off my lawn," or "Stay away from me," or "Keep your mouth shut."

"Stay in line." "Get back in your cage." "Sit down." "Don't ask stupid questions." "Don't come back until you've made millions."

"Go." "Sit." "Stay." "Shut up."

People sucked.

Stan looked off in the direction the woman had driven in.

People were after him. Sooner or later, they'd find out he was still alive, and try to correct that mistake. There were no people who would try to keep him alive. Just him. Always him. Stanley Pines against the world. Alone.

He looked up. The stars looked dimmer from here.

Ba-dum. Ba-dum. Ba-dum.

Just until the heat died down. Just until it was safe. Just until he could stomach the looks he was going to get. The hate. The disgust. The disappointment.

Stan crept toward the back of the gas station and hid.